The House Is Not Whole

Jun 28th - The House Is Not Whole, with Rev. Dr. Steven Koski. A Spacious Christianity, First Presbyterian Church of Bend, Oregon. Scripture: Luke 15.1–7, 11–32.

Ever felt like there’s no place you fully belong, especially if church has been a source of hurt or exclusion? This Sunday we’re talking about a God who keeps the door open, counts every life as precious, and refuses to give up on the ones the world pushes aside, including our LGBTQ+ neighbors, kids, and friends.

Join us in person or online this Sunday. Come as you are. You are welcome here.

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At First Presbyterian, you will meet people at many different places theologically and spiritually. And we love it that way. We want to be a place where our diversity brings us together and where conversation takes us all deeper in our understanding of God.

We call this kind of faith “Spacious Christianity.” We don’t ask anyone to sign creeds or statements of belief. The life of faith is about a way of being in the world and a faith that shows itself in love.

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Keywords:

Hospitality, inclusion, belonging, LGBTQ+, church exclusion, Pride month, love wins, parable, shepherd, community, acceptance, radical welcome, God’s image, Jack’s story, fear and judgment., presbyterian, church, online worship, bend, oregon

Featuring:

Rev. Dr. Steven Koski, Rev. Sharon Edwards, Becca Ellis, Brave of Heart, Guests

Transcript

Steven: 0:00

There once was a woman with a big rambling house, more rooms than she could ever fill alone, a port swing that creaked in a particular key, a lawn that never seemed too small for one more car in the driveway. She was generous the way some people are simply built generous, not strategic about it. Just open the coffee pot was always on, the screen door slapped shut 100 times a day, and she never once complained about the noise. Senators and writers stopped by on their travels, and strangers just passing through who'd heard this was a house where you didn't need an invitation. People down on their luck camped on our lawn. Those who hadn't bathed in weeks were given an opportunity to to wash and and be fed at a table that always seemed to have one more chair than it should. Those judged unwelcome and unacceptable everywhere else found here that the door simply opened to her. They were all family. One day she was called away on a journey, and she asked some trusted friends to house it while she was gone. Now it didn't take long. The draft from the door is terrible, one said, and.. and shut it. Have you smelled some of the people here, said another. Did you see those two women holding hands in the garden? said a third. So they made rules: identification required, agreement signed, no bare feet, no strange language, no uncomfortable opinions over dinner. No one too different. One by one, the locks clicked, the curtains closed, and the flood of guests slowed to a trickle. The friends congratulated themselves on how clean and orderly the house had become. Then the woman came home, arms full of gifts, and found the door locked. Where are all my gifts? she asked. Well, they didn't fit in, a friend said through the glass. They made us uncomfortable. We sent them away, sent them away. They were my guests. This is my house. You are not the owners, you are the house sitters the friend only shook her head and pulled the curtain closed again, so the woman sat down on the porch swing, her gift still in her arms, and waited, humming to herself. Father Greg Boyle says it plainly, Jesus lived, breathed, embodied boundary bashing hospitality. We are house sitting for God when we do the same. That's the image I want you to hold today. God's house sitters called to keep the door open, the coffee on, the welcome radical, especially toward the weary travelers who keep getting told they don't belong. you know, here's what we tend to miss about a parable that Jesus told in Luke 15. Luke 15 begins this way. Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus, and the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling about who Jesus welcomed to his table. It is then, and only then, in that context that Jesus tells this story. Suppose one of you has 100 sheep and loses one of them, doesn't he leave the 99 in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it, and when he finds it, he, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, "Rejoice with me, I have found my lost sheep. Now, I suspect most of us were taught to hear this story that Jesus told, this parable about the one you know God loves you enough to come looking for you. You know that's true, but look again at who Jesus is actually talking to. He's telling this story to the people who are complaining about who he was living through the door and welcoming to his table, the primary primary audience of this parable is the 99 I mean, how did the shepherd even know that one was missing? He counted every life precious enough to count, and he searched, because he knew something the 99 had forgotten, they would never be whole without the one we are not whole as a community, when someone feels it's safer to hide than to be seen. We're not whole as a community until it's safe for everyone to live openly and honestly as their actual selves. Now, back on that porch, the swing kept creaking that same particular key long after dark. Inside, the friends started to argue with each other. She's still out there, one said. Another said, maybe we should let her in. It's, it's her house after all. A third quieter said, you know, I'm starting to wonder if we're the ones who don't belong. One by one, the locks clicked open. The friends stepped out onto the porch where the woman sat. We're leaving, one of them said. You can have your house back. The woman just laughed, patted the seat beside her. Stay, my foolish beloved friends. You are always welcome here. You belong, because I invited you before I say what I feel like I need to say next, if you are LGBTQ plus, or if you love someone who is, or if you're carrying something heavy that you haven't named out loud, I just want you to know that you're not alone. This week is the anniversary of Jack's death. He was 16 years old. Jack was passionate, creative, funny, kind, and Jack died by suicide, rejected by his own family, rejected by his own church because of his sexuality. So I want to say now what I never got to tell Jack, I want to say this to him and to everyone who needs to hear it, just as much as he did, you are fearfully and wonderfully made. Your sexuality is not a flaw to be corrected. It's part of how God made you, and it's good. You are loved beyond your comprehension, and no amount of fear, judgment, or weaponize scripture can change that you are not less than you are not only good enough, you are God enough, because you bear the very image of God's own goodness. I grieve and apologize for the ways the church has rejected and excluded you. None of that reflects the expansive love of God revealed in Jesus, the love that includes a firm. Terms delights in you. This affirmation reflects not your need to hear it, but my need to say it. My story isn't complete, isn't whole without your story, the house, the house isn't whole without you, a 16 year old knowing that he's loved exactly as God made him is not a small thing, it's a matter of life and death. Maybe you need to hear that today, or maybe you're the one who needs to say it to a grandchild, to a child, to the neighbor you've been meaning to call someone is waiting for you to say it out loud and mean it. It's Pride month. Pride matters because someone tonight still believes they're better off dead than being fully authentically who they are, because others, including the church, have made them feel that way. The shepherd counted 100 and found 99 he didn't say well, close enough. He left, he searched, he wouldn't rest until everyone was home. That's the story Jesus told to the people who were doing the excluding, not to shame them, but to invite them to say to them, the flock you think is whole isn't the one you've been locking out is the one the shepherd is already searching for. You are not whole until everyone belongs. Love wins. Love always wins, and if love isn't winning yet in some corner of this world, in some family, in some teenager's bedroom tonight, it only means the story isn't over, and we are the storytellers now, we are the ones who get to say everyone is seen, everyone is countered, every life matters. Jack's life mattered, yours does too. So, friends, open the door, put the coffee on. The house was never ours to keep tidy. It belongs to the one who is still out searching the open country, still saying to every one of us, friends and foreigners alike, you belong here. I invited you, and you know what? If we keep that door open, if we make room, celebrate, dare to welcome the ones we were taught to lock out, we just might find that we are the ones who are found, may it be so.