Open our gates - out of love for God

In John’s Gospel there are 7 sayings of Jesus that start with the “I am” These include “I am the way the truth and the life”, “I am the light of the world” “I am the bread of life” and “I am the Good shepherd” perhaps being the most famous. But one of them “I am the gate” is perhaps not so easily recalled.

A gate brings to mind something that separates those on the outside from those on the inside. It could be said that a gate is there for two purposes; For protection and / or privilege.

Last Bank Holiday Monday we went on a walk organised by the Wilts & Berks Canal Trust. We walked from Chippenham to Lacock and back. And part of the route followed a public footpath that skirts the Duchess of Cornwall’s house at Ray Mill just outside Lacock. And there were definitely gatekeepers and gates there I can tell you. And although you can’t see the gates from the footpath, the gates are there for protection and also a sign of privilege.

We may get that idea of a gate and its purpose. But when we think of Jesus in that context, and indeed the idea of gates and gatekeepers for our churches, what message is that saying?

I suppose that for two thousand years the church’s proclamation that Jesus is the gate has served both ideas – the idea of Protection and of Privilege. And this thinking makes sense when we take perhaps the most famous of Jesus’s “I am” sayings in
John 14:6

6 Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.

What Jesus is saying is:

You come in to the Kingdom of God via the gate that is me Jesus Christ. I will offer you protection and by entering in to the Kingdom you are adopted into God’s family. So therefore you are privileged.

And it’s worth remembering that for those John was writing for, those who entered by the gate that was Christ had to then close the gate on the flock that remained in the Synagogues and in the Temple. They were turning their backs on the old way and they needed to put in place barriers - spiritual and physical - for their own protection. Jesus was the gate to a new way of life and the Kingdom of God.

However, from that time onwards such an understanding had led to concern. Questions of exclusion and inclusion have raged ever since. Who was in or out theologically, morally or ethnically? And since John’s time, a whole multitude of divisions have grown up in the Church haven’t they so that the flock is now in many different folds.

And it seems to me that we in the church have decided that having Jesus as the gate isn’t enough and so we have chosen to build our own gates inside his gate!

The Church of Christ has been putting up its own gates for centuries. There were the differences between the Celtic and Augustinian Christians. Then there have been splits between what would now be termed the Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholic churches. And of course in the 15th and 16th century the Protestant Church split from the Catholic Church. And now within the Protestant Church are many denominations. And let’s not forget that at one time the Methodist Church in this country was split – chiefly between Wesleyan Methodists and Primitive Methodists.

Christians like to be within the fold but we then we seem to want to put up our own gates to keep others out.

It’s quite possible that some of you here remember a practice that was common in many Methodist Church certainly until the early 1970s. And that was what could be termed “A fenced table” or “A closed table." A fenced table or a closed table is the practise whereby communion is open only to accredited members of the Christian community. This practice meant that only members of the Methodist Church – and I mean the very specific definition of being a Member within Methodism – could receive communion. I certainly remember as a child that at the end of a Sunday service those who weren’t Members were asked to leave or at least it was made clear they would not be allowed to receive communion because they weren’t members.

Fencing the table is thus the opposite of open communion, where the invitation to the sacrament is extended to "all who love the Lord" and members of any denomination are welcome at their own discretion.

The phrase “Fencing the table” goes back to early Scottish Calvinism, where the communion table literally had a fence around it, with a gate at each end. The members of the congregation were allowed to pass the gate on showing their communion token, a specially minted coin which served as an admission ticket. And the token was given only to those who were in good standing with the local congregation and could pass a test of the catechism.

Of course in Methodism now it is the practice for all who love the Lord to receive communion if they wish. But what message were we in Methodism sending in the past with our practice?

St Augustine apparently described the church as “a hospital for sinners” which I think is a good description. But by putting in our own standards and restrictions, such as a closed table, it seems to me that the message is sent that if the Church is a hospital for sinners, some are more sinful than others. Which is not the case in Christ’s eyes.

My point is that as Christians those of us who are in the fold can seem too keen to impose rules to keep out those on the outside. We want to be the gate keepers rather than the gate openers. Why?

Is it because somehow we see ourselves as needing to be gatekeepers in order to protect the morally weak and vulnerable within the fold from the thieves and bandits who might come in and taint us?

Or is more about the fact we like to see ourselves as a privileged community of the ethically pure?

Or do we like to be gatekeepers in order to keep out the wrong sort of people?

Just before Easter I saw a story about a statue placed in front of a church in Davidson North Carolina USA. Now when I was in America last year I visited Davidson a number of times. It is a small pretty which is very affluent. It is home to Davidson College a very exclusive University.

The statue is of a homeless Jesus The statue, a work by Canadian sculptor Timothy Schmalz, places Jesus on a park bench, sleeping in a thin shawl. The man is unidentifiable as Christ save for crucifixion wounds on his feet.

The statue depicts Jesus as a vagrant sleeping on a park bench. St. Alban's Episcopal Church installed the homeless Jesus statue on its property in the middle of an upscale neighbourhood filled with well-kept town homes.

"One woman from the neighbourhood actually called police the first time she drove by," says David Boraks, editor of DavidsonNews.net. "She thought it was an actual homeless person."

That's right. Somebody called the cops on Jesus.

"Another neighbour, who lives a couple of doors down from the church, wrote us a letter to the editor saying it creeps him out," Boraks added.

Some neighbours feel that it's an insulting depiction of the son of God, and that what appears to be a hobo curled up on a bench demeans the neighbourhood.

Some in the community disagree with the message the statue sends. "Jesus is not a vagrant, Jesus is not a helpless person who needs our help," Cindy Castano Swannack, who called police after seeing the statue, told WCNC. "We need someone who is capable of meeting our needs, not someone who is also needy."

Source: http://www.npr.org/2014/04/13/302019921/statue-of-a-homeless-jesus-startles-a-wealthy-community

Now this is the reaction to a statue of a homeless person. Imagine what the reaction would have been if a real homeless person turned up at that church? I suspect many would have wanted the gate keepers to keep that person out.

For years St. Anthony's Catholic Church in San Francisco has served meals to people in need. Over the doorway to its dining room the church has posted a sign bearing the inscription: Caritate Dei. One day a young man, just released from jail and new to St. Anthony's, entered the door and sat down for a meal. A woman was busy cleaning the adjoining table. "When do we get on our knees and do the chores, lady?" he asked.

"You don't," she replied. "Then when's the sermon comin'?" he inquired.

"Aren't any," she said. "How 'bout the lecture on life, huh?" "Not here," she said.

The man was suspicious. "Then what's the gimmick?" The woman pointed to the inscription over the door. He squinted at the sign. "What's it mean, lady?" "Out of love for God," she said with a smile, and moved on to another table.

Caritate Dei – Out of love for God. Maybe all churches should have that painted above our doorways to remind us to keep the gate open to those who want to come and know the Lord.