In the fall of 1955 I sat in the auditorium of the Speed Scientific School at the University of Louisville, one of about 300 newly admitted engineering students. The dean welcomed us, and yet also warned us. He instructed us, “Look at the person on your right. Now look at the person on your left. Only one of the three of you will graduate from this school.” He did not mean that literally, of course; he meant it to be a statistical probability. But as I looked at the person on my right, I was pretty sure I knew to whom the statistic would apply quite literally. I was seated next to the only person in the room who was both black and female. Given the culture of 1955 in Kentucky, I wondered how she ever even got to engineering school. I knew there would be no support for her in a place where good old white boys and a few middle class nerds were the norm. I was right. She lasted less than two quarters.
Of course honesty requires that I tell you I lasted only about six quarters. I guess it was the guy on my left that made it through, because I heard a different calling. I hope the young lady on my right heard one as well.
A half-century ago we did not expect much from African-Americans, nor did we expect much from women, at least in certain fields. And African-American women? The culture I grew up in expected them to be mothers and domestics, maybe teachers, certainly church ladies, but not much more. We would have to agree today that people with these descriptors have come a long way. We might even pat ourselves on our collective backs and announce that we have come a long way as a society. We might figure that it is no longer necessary to mess with affirmative action, no longer crucial to observe Black History Month, no longer advisable to play old tapes to talk about racism and prejudice. We might think all of those things, but we would be wrong.
Today the issue raised by the Old Testament leader Nehemiah still rings true, “Why should the work stop?” Why, indeed, should the work stop? What work? Kingdom work. Reconciling work. Breaking the chains of racism work. Why should this work stop? It should not. It must not. This is spiritual work, and it must not stop.
Let me review briefly the setting of the story from Nehemiah. After the nation of Judah had been sent into exile and its cities and its Temple destroyed by the Babylonians, along came the Persian Empire under Cyrus the Great. The Persians defeated the Babylonians and adopted a new policy toward the subject peoples. Cyrus agreed to let the exiles of Judah return and rebuild Jerusalem. Nehemiah was the leader who felt the call to undertake that task. Two men, Nehemiah and Ezra, would lead a nation to put itself back together, physically and spiritually. A people once enslaved and downtrodden would now be permitted to retrieve their identity and to take their place in the family of nations, breaking their chains.
But at every point Nehemiah’s work of rebuilding met opposition. Those who had filled the power vacuum during Judah’s years of exile felt threatened by the return of God’s people. If you read the earlier chapters of Nehemiah, you find that the voices of those mentioned in today’s text were often raised in opposition to Nehemiah’s work. Sanballat, Tobiah, and Geshem. Who were they?
Sanballat was governor of Samaria; the Samaritans were those remnants of the old northern kingdom of Israel, long since destroyed by the Assyrians. They were those who had made their peace with enslavement; they got by with compromise. Sanballat represented those who stand for nothing and therefore fall for anything.
Tobiah, whose name means, “God is good” in Hebrew, was a collaborator. He found it to his best interests to work with the enemies of his own people. Like the Norwegian Quisling in World War II or like the occasional American who joins Al Qaeda, Tobiah was a collaborator who went wherever his pockets could be lined.
And then Geshem. Geshem was the governor of a North African province populated by the Arab people. His influence extended from the Transjordan all the way down into Egypt and westward. He had a great deal of power at stake and wanted no interference from these upstart Jews.
Sanballat, Tobiah, and Geshem – all these voices are heard throughout the book of Nehemiah, clamoring and scheming to stop the work on the city. And so now, in a last-ditch effort to protect themselves, this unholy trinity approach Nehemiah and make him an offer they think he cannot refuse. Seeing that the work is almost done, Sanballat, Tobiah, and Geshem ask Nehemiah to come down, let’s go over to the village of Ono, and let’s talk. Maybe we can work something out. Come on, Nehemiah, nothing wrong with a little parley, is there?
Nehemiah’s reply is classic. And I must suggest that it refers to a whole lot more than wall-building. It is about much more than bricklaying. Nehemiah, sensing what they are really about, declares, “I am doing a great work and I cannot come down. Why should the work stop while I leave it to come down to you?”
Why should the work stop? Why, indeed, if you are doing Kingdom work, should you stop it for any reason? For political correctness? For spiritual laziness? No, if you are doing Kingdom work, it should not stop. It must not stop.
I
If you are doing Kingdom work, there will always be those who will be threatened by your progress, and will want to stop you before the work is completed. If you are about the Lord’s work, there will always be Sanballats who think you are too radical in your beliefs. There will always be Tobiahs who want to put a price tag on everything. And there will always be Geshems who are not prepared to give up their power. If you are doing Kingdom work, there will always be those who will be threatened by your progress, and will want you to stop before the work is completed.
The church I served as pastor became officially a multiracial church on April 17, 1964. I know that date well, because in 1989 someone suggested that we were coming up on the 25th anniversary of the day when the church’s first African-American member joined. I looked into the church records and found that Robert Faulkner had joined Takoma Park as its first black member on April 17, 1964. That date stuck in my mind, because that is also the birth date of my son Bryan. That was a date on which two things happened that would shape my life profoundly. (By the way, if you are a car buff, you might know that that is also the date on which Ford Motor Company introduced the Mustang. But I never got one of those to shape my life!)
So during that 25th anniversary celebration I heard the stories about how Takoma Park crossed the racial barrier, during the days when Dr. King was labeling Sunday morning the most segregated hour in American life. I learned that Bill Scurlock, the pastor in 1964, had been confronted by several members who urged him to get off the dime and invite this man who had attended the church for months to come on and join. Bill had been worried about white backlash, but here were white members urging him to do the right thing. He invited Bob, Bob joined, the church bells rang, and yes, a couple dozen members walked out, vowing that they would never return. It must have seemed to them that the walls had been breached. Their power was threatened. Their control was compromised.
Bill Scurlock soon left Takoma Park to start a new church in Virginia. During the tenure of the next pastor, Paul Gillespie, scores of new members came. Black people and white people alike lined up every Sunday morning to join a church that was on the cutting edge. There was a strong sense that the Kingdom was being built, chains were being broken, prejudice was being overcome, racism was dying. And many wanted to be a part of that. Race was a hot topic, and serious Christians wanted to be where the action was. The action in the 1960’s and 70’s was at the corner of Piney Branch Road and Aspen Street in northwest Washington.
But then it seemed as though the battle was over. It seemed as though the victory had been won. Nobody defended racism anymore. Nobody argued for exclusive churches any longer. Dealing with prejudice was no longer the issue of the day. And so the next pastor found a kind of quiet resistance to the empowering of black members; he discovered that it was all right to be multiracial as long as you-know-who stayed in their place. It was as though they were saying to Pastor Clinton Helton, “Let’s stop the work; come on down.” You’ve done enough. Stop right here. Sad to say, that blew up in his face, and he had to leave.
I will spare you the story of my twenty years there, except to say that I too heard little cries and grumbles about going too far, keeping things as they had been, move slowly, please, move slowly. I too heard the occasional plea that the work should stop, that we had had enough talk about race, enough emphasis on prejudice, enough focus on this issue. Some would say, “Let’s just forget about this race thing and get back to preaching the Gospel. Let’s get past this issue and just teach Christ.” My answer was then and is now that God has given us the ministry of reconciliation, and that reconciliation means not only that we urge the lost to receive salvation, but also that we urge the redeemed to embrace one another. That IS preaching the Gospel, that IS teaching Christ.
But I learned afresh that there will always be some who will want to stop before Kingdom work is completed. It’s about power, it’s about prestige, and it’s even about prejudice, that silent prejudice that no one talks about but is nonetheless real. There will always be some who will want the church of Jesus Christ to stop short of the goal of going into all the world to preach the Gospel to every creature, some whose definition of “all” is “people like me” and whose description of “every” is “everyone I am comfortable with.”
But today,I am persuaded that we need to hear the response that Nehemiah gave when challenged, “I am doing a great work and I cannot come down. Why should the work stop while I leave it to come down to you?”
II
What is this work that must not stop? What indeed is the work of the church that is so crucial that no power plays, no money worries, no prejudices must be allowed to interfere? What is this great work, for us, today, in Gaithersburg? Let me suggest only a few things; there are many others.
A
You have been doing a great work in reaching a diverse audience. You have done well in embracing Africans and Asians, people of a variety of cultures, and blending them into what was once a “plain vanilla” culture.
The temptation now is to be satisfied with that. The temptation now is to look around and see a few faces that are not the norm, and relax. But until we have reached into every corner of this community; until we have attempted to touch every life, every culture and every circumstance, the work we are called to do has not been done.
I found out, in the church I served as pastor, that there were two huge barriers to our growth. On the one hand, some of our members hesitated to invite others to worship because they weren’t sure their friends would listen to a white pastor. And on the other hand, some weren’t sure their friends would sit next to black people! What a mess we are when we let the values of this world drive what we do! Don’t you just hear Sanballat and Tobiah and Geshem yelling out, “Come down, let’s not go any further?”
Oh, brothers and sisters, be grateful that our church is diverse. But why should that work stop? It should not. It must not. We are called to reach all people with the Gospel.
B
You have been doing a great work in sharing your resources to help the needy and the distressed. You have done well in providing help through community organizations and through the deacons’ fund. You have touched those who hurt.
The temptation now is to become judgmental. The temptation now is to argue that we cannot do more because we have too many needs right here in our own program. The temptation now is to turn inward rather than to stay outward. Until we have decided that every person, in every circumstance, near this place, is of concern to us, we have not finished our work.
A number of years ago I attended a conference at which a representative of a religious group in Chicago stated that they had vowed, under God, to minister to every human need they could find within one square mile around their meeting place. I can assure you that one square mile of Chicago contains a lot of people. That was a huge task. I do not know whether they achieved it. But think of the audacity, the boldness in it – to attend to every human need in the place where we are planted. Why should that work stop? It should not. It must not.
C
You have been doing a great work in providing for the children and youth within your reach. You serve scores of children in the Mothers’ Day Out ministry. You house these Boy Scouts and all the character-building that involves. You gather young people for Bible study and choirs and Journey groups and mission trips and much, much more. Praise God for all of that! You have a strong program for children and youth.
But what about the children from homes where there is only one parent, and she cannot afford to pay for expensive events? What about the teenagers in our high schools, dealing with drugs and sexual acting out and a host of destructive behaviors, teenagers who never even hear the name of Christ unless it is as a curse? What about immigrant children, struggling to live between two competing cultures? It is not nearly as easy to be a child in multi-layered Montgomery County now as it was for me in my monochromatic neighborhood in Louisville, Kentucky, some sixty years ago, where diversity meant you were either Baptist or Catholic or Jewish. Somebody needs to pay attention, for we are not finished with our work for young people.
A friend of mine was the pastor of a church in another city; they were having all sorts of problems with vandalism. The church had, years before, constructed a gymnasium, but when the neighborhood began to change, the trustees drew tighter and tighter controls on that gym. Windows were broken, locks were destroyed, graffiti appeared on the walls. The trustees then wrote tighter rules, the restrictions became more rigid, but the vandalism increased. In fact, it got so bad that the insurance company cancelled the church’s liability policy. What to do now? One member came up with a radical solution: take off the locks that are broken anyway. Open up the gym and tell the neighborhood kids to come in and play any time of the day or night. Open the place up for the youth of the neighborhood. Guess what happened? They tried it. The vandalism stopped cold, and slowly but surely young men in baggy pants and dreadlocks began to show up in the pews on Sunday mornings.
The church that cares will not stop with nourishing its own youth group; the church that will not stop its work will find ways to get into the youth culture, to get into the places where kids hang out, and there to love them into Christ. And yes, I know that when that happens, some child will do something we don’t like, and we’ll want to send him home and tell him not to come back. But my friends, how will young people hear the good news if we dismiss them and put them down? You are doing a great work with children and with youth; why should that work stop? It should not. It must not.
III
There is so much about this church to be commended. There is a warmth of fellowship here that exceeds many churches I know about. You have been doing a great work in education that honors the Bible. You present the best in worship and music. You train members for ministry in the world. You have been doing well offering everyone a chance to learn, an opportunity to pray, and a place to serve. As I read the cards you wrote a few weeks ago about your dreams for this church, I was struck by how many of you wanted to be more and do more and give more of yourselves through this church. I praise God for every evidence that we are coming alive and that we want to finish the work that God has given us.
It is abundantly clear that the work of this church is not yet done. It is manifest that although you have raised walls and constructed a facility, the work of the church is not yet finished. Reaching people without regard to race or social circumstance; ministering to the broken and the broken-hearted; engaging children and youth in something positive – all of these things you have done, all of them we can do, we will do – if …
If we look to Christ. If we see in Jesus Christ the model for ministry. When our courage fails us because Sanballat wants us to compromise; when our commitment wanes because Tobiah thinks it will cost too much; when our energies flag because Geshem looks too powerful – then see Jesus Christ. Christ, who crossed all barriers with the Gospel; Christ, who loved to the uttermost; Christ, who on the hill of Calvary, when they jeered Him, saying, “If you be the Son of God, come down and save yourself” – this Christ stayed the course until He could say, “It is finished.”
“I am doing a great work and I cannot come down. Why should the work stop while I leave it to come down to you?” And as Nehemiah ends this episode with his prayer, “But now, O God, strengthen my hands,” look at the hands of Jesus Christ, torn and bleeding for us. Look at the hands of Jesus, pierced and worn, for all of us. Nehemiah built the wall of Jerusalem; but now look to that green hill far away, without that city wall, where this dear Lord was crucified, who died to save us all.” So that by “all” we can truly mean all, without exception. We cannot come down. We are doing a great work here. Why should the work stop? It cannot. It must not. And by the power of Him who breaks the chains of resistance and strengthens our hands, it will not.
