Acts 17: 1-15
Psalm 66:1-11
1 Peter 2:1-10
John 14:1-14

‘Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me.  In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?  And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.

And you know the way to the place where I am going.’ Thomas said to him, ‘Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?’  Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.  If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.’ Philip said to him, ‘Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.’  Jesus said to him, ‘Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, “Show us the Father”?   Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works.  Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves.

Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father.  I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son.   If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We don’t have cable TV at my house (I know—we’re not cool), and a few weeks ago our power went out. When it came back on, an interesting thing happened to the TV in our bedroom. I had programmed it to pick up only the stations we want to see, but now it decided to pick up all the stations. So, suddenly when I would go channel surfing, there (among others) were three religious channels, none of which I want to watch. But it was interesting to drop in on these views of Christianity that are so different from my own, so I left them there for a while.

One evening last week, I flipped through the channels, and on one of those religious channels was a sight that made me stop. I kind of couldn’t believe it. There was this pasty, sweating, overweight, white guy, probably in his early sixties, wearing an ill-fitting set of military fatigues (complete with combat boots) pacing back and forth and hollering. Behind him was an American flag. In front of him were sandbags making a little wall about two feet high.

All of this looked so silly to me that I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Then I heard what he was saying (or rather hollering), and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to laugh. I don’t recall his exact words, but the gist of his message was that he was tired of having to deal with people of other faiths. "America shouldn’t have to put up with this," he was saying from behind his sandbags. "I’m tired of this. And this ‘Nation of Islam’ — I’m tired of having to deal with them. They don’t believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and no one comes to the Father except through him, so why do we have to deal with these unbelievers? I am tired of it."

It seemed pretty clear that this preacher’s view was first, that all "real" Americans are also "real" Christians, and, second, that "real" Christians can just dismiss anyone who is not Christian because all non-Christians are eternally damned anyway. His congregation, whipped up by his cadence and apparently inspired by the military setting, clapped and clapped and cheered and cheered.

This business of whether only Christians can go to heaven has been a divisive one for a long time. I once had lunch with a friend who was thinking about getting involved with the church. He wanted me to know, however, that he disagreed with some of the church’s teachings. "Like what?" I asked. I wasn’t surprised at the answer (I’ve heard it many times), "Like," he said, "the belief that only Christians can go to heaven." This is the so-called "Problem of the Good Buddhist," and I’ve heard it working as a stumbling block many times.

It seems to me that our readings this morning provide us with plenty to think about on that issue. Our gospel reading includes the one liner that those who want to prove that only Christians go to heaven joyfully pluck out to put on tee shirts: John 14:6: "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."

Well, it turns out that there are differing interpretations of that passage, but the Episcopal Church has no official teaching that only Christians can go to heaven. So if I were smart and wanted to stay out of trouble, I would just shut up about that. But you should know me better than that by now. Besides, I haven’t riled Y’all up good in a while (and maybe I have some sort of death wish), and, seriously, it is a stumbling block for many people, so I think it’s important that we talk about it.

So I’m going to tell you where I stand on this issue. (When I preach on an issue like this, I think I’d be a yellow-bellied coward if I didn’t have the guts to tell you my position.) But I’m also going to invite you to disagree with me if you feel differently. And then, most importantly, I’m going to tell you why I think that as a community we have bigger fish to fry than to allow ourselves be divided and distracted by this issue.

So, here’s my view. When people put John 14:6 on tee shirts, what they don’t put is this: When Jesus says, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life" he is at the Last Supper, and he knows that this is his last chance to share his vision. Like any good leader, Jesus is trying to ensure that the disciples carry on after he is gone.

Now, in John’s gospel, Jesus often speaks not as the historical Jesus bound in time, but as God, God-Active-in-the-World. So to my way of understanding, what he is saying is this: "After I’m gone, if you want to know God, I, God-Active-in-the-World, am the way–travel the path I have traveled; I, God-Active-in-the-World, am the truth–tell the truth I have told; I, God-Active-in-the-World, am the life–live the life I have lived. That is how you will come to the Father."

The violent and condemning things we Christians have said and done to those of other faiths, often citing this very passage, has not seemed to me to reflect the path Jesus traveled, the truth Jesus told, or the life Jesus lived.

Furthermore, it doesn’t seem to fit with my experience of God (as one so profoundly loving and forgiving) to assume that God summarily excludes all non-Christians, about five sixths of the human race. My experience is that many people who don’t claim Jesus have awfully good reasons for not doing so. The vast majority have either never heard of Jesus or know as much about Christianity as most of us know about the religion practiced in a village in China. And many people have heard of Christianity, but they’ve never been exposed to the Christianity that is based on the Good News of God’s expansive and graceful love. All they’ve gotten is rather grim news of legalism and condemnation which is wrapped up like a Christmas present but which they recognize as coal and switches. Many of these folks have been told by preachers that they are going to hell for a variety of reasons, including how God made them.

Other non-Christians have studied history and watched the evening news and learned some pretty awful things about how people calling themselves "Christians" have behaved through the centuries, and today. Or maybe they were molested by a priest or a minister. Maybe for any one of a thousand pretty good reasons, they simply can’t believe preachers like me who tell them that the real faith is really, really very different from all that.

So, I guess the bottom line is that I just can’t believe that the God I know would say that all of those five billion people who have never heard of Jesus, or who might have rejected a counterfeit Jesus, are necessarily separated from God (which is the traditional definition of hell). I’d like us to keep open the possibility that God just might be able to be active in the world in other ways, through other means.

I believe that God can have profound, saving relationships with even non-Christians who follow the path, the way, that God-Active-in-the-World has guided them on, who tell the truth that God-Active-in-the-World has told them, who live the life that God-Active-in-the-World has shown them.

Now, that’s going to really upset that guy behind the sandbags, and it might upset some of you. And you’re welcome to disagree with me and talk to me about it. But I don’t think we should get upset with one another if we disagree. I know emotions can run high on this issue, but to tell you the truth, I often wonder what’s going on with that? Why are Christians willing to condemn each other over this? Why do so many Christians get so upset at the suggestion that maybe God can have a loving relationship with non-Christians? Does that threaten their relationship with God? I don’t see how. So what is it about a claim to exclusivity that is so dear to so many and makes passions run so hot on this issue?

I’m going to discuss three concerns I think people have when they think about us giving up our claim to exclusivity. The first is, I think, the most emotional. It involves the application of the social and economic principles of exclusivity and scarcity to the faith. Let me explain. Socially, things are often more valuable if they are exclusive. Whether it should be that way or not, that’s the way it is. People pay big bucks to be in exclusive country clubs, and a lot of what they’re paying for is the exclusivity and the prestige that comes with it. We’ve all heard of invitations that mean the someone is on the "A list." That invitation is valuable because the "A list" is exclusive.

Economically, the principle of scarcity is why we pay more for diamonds than sand; diamonds are scarce. This is why we pay more for gold than granite.

I think some Christians apply these principles to the faith. They don’t ever say that’s what they’re doing, but I think they do. It goes something like this: "For God’s love to be valuable, it has to be scarce, exclusive. There have to be those whom God does not love, or I won’t be special." I want to say this clearly, and it’s not the kind of thing I say often. The application of the principles of exclusivity and scarcity to God’s love is demonic. And, for some folks, I think it explains much of the emotion over this issue.

So, let’s get back to our questions and the other fears people have about this issue. Do we have to pin our faith in Christ to a claim that if you don’t believe in Jesus, you are, by definition, excluded? Does the possibility that God could reach other people other ways make our claim to the truth of our way any less valid?

I don’t think so. But I think losing the claim to exclusivity can make people fear that, if God loves the Good Buddhist, we can’t critique other religions, and we can’t tell members of other religions about Christ. I don’t think either concern is a problem.

First, I’m not saying that any claim to a faithful life is as good as any other, or that we should lose the ability to make Christian claims to truth, to be able to critique other religions, simply because we do not claim exclusivity. I’m saying that some non-Christians are responding to God’s continuing presence and activity in the world, which we call the Holy Spirit. That’s a very high standard. As Christians we believe that in the face of Jesus we see the face of God. So if another faith (or the practice of it) bears an image of God that does not reflect the image of Christ (and we’ve seen a lot of that lately), I have no problem with stating that they have got it wrong. (Of course, before I get too high on my horse, I have to remember how often we have gotten it wrong.)

But just as I am hesitant to split hairs about which of my Christian sisters and brothers is "really" following Christ (aren’t you glad?), I’m also hesitant to make fine distinctions about which non-Christians who strive to live lives of peace and devotion and caring and service and prayer are not in a saving relationship with God.

The second thing I’d like you to note is that believing that God may save non-Christians does not mean that I can’t be an evangelist, a bearer of the Good News of God’s love in Christ. I still believe that the story of God being with us as one of us, of Jesus’ life and death and resurrection, is the most powerful, important story in history and is the clearest revelation of God’s character. And so I have no problem with (in fact, I can’t help) wanting to share that story and what it means in my life with anyone and everyone. But I will want to do so with respect for their experience of God.

So, believing that our claim does not have to be exclusive does not change my faith, my ability to claim the truth Christianity reveals about God, or my ability to be an evangelist. You are welcome to disagree with me about what John 14:6 means, but whether I’m right or wrong, please note that my life as a Christian is utterly unaffected.

That’s why I don’t think that as a community, we should go to the mat arguing over who is right about this. If it doesn’t change the essentials about how we practice our faith, why can’t we leave it to God? You know, I commandeer so many of God’s decisions already; why can’t we leave this one to God and get on with our lives of faith?

I think that’s what we really ought to be focusing on — getting on with our lives of faith. If we want more to proclaim the truth of Christianity and if we want people to become Christians, maybe we should quit debating whether those non-Christians are going to hell and work on becoming better Christians ourselves. That, I think, is the way to real evangelism.

And just in case you don’t think we have enough to do in that regard, listen to the words from the First Letter of Peter:

Rid yourselves of all malice, and all guile, insincerity, envy, and all slander. Like newborn infants, long for the pure, spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow into salvation — if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is good. Come to him, a living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.

I don’t know about you, but when I hear those words, I think it’s probably okay for us to leave the problem of the "Good Buddhist" to God. It seems to me that when we hear these words and when we think about how well we follow the path God has traveled, tell the truth God has told, and live the life God has shown us, we’ve got plenty to keep us busy.

The Rev. James H. Pritchett, Jr. St. John’s Episcopal Church, College Park, GA

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