In this hospital worship message, Chaplain Rick (Rick Lee James) reflects on the gap between religious words and lived faith. He opens with Søren Kierkegaard’s tale of a clown warning a town about a burning circus, illustrating how sincere messengers can be dismissed as jokes. He then cites Jesus’ rebuke of Peter for cutting off Malchus’ ear, highlighting the futility of violent defense of faith. Using Bob Benson’s picnic story, he encourages listeners to bring even their meager “bologna sandwich” to God’s abundant feast, emphasizing that God values presence over performance. Throughout, Rick critiques performative religion, urges authentic compassion, listening, and sharing love, and concludes with the Prayer of Saint Francis and an invitation to sing “The Heart of Worship.” The sermon blends storytelling, biblical exegesis, personal ministry insight, and a call to embody the gospel through humility and service.
Chapters
As we begin, I just want to introduce myself again. I am Chaplain Rick. I'm one of several excellent chaplains here at the hospital. Others are probably more excellent than I am, but I'm just gonna say I feel like we have a great team here, and I'm so glad to be with you here today for this brief message, this time of worship. And I want to start with a story. I like stories. This is one by Søren Kierkegaard, who once told a story about a clown and and a fire. A traveling circus had set up near a small town. One day, the main tent caught fire. The manager sent the clown, already in full costume, into the village to get help. He ran into the square shouting, "Fire! Fire! The circus is burning down!" But the townspeople thought it was part of the act. They laughed. They applauded. They asked for encores. He pleaded, but the more he begged, the more they laughed. And why? Well, eventually the circus, it burnt down, and so did the village. Because the messenger, no matter how sincere, looked like a joke to the people who most needed to listen. Sometimes I wonder if that's what's happening when some people encounter Christians. And I guess I have to own it because I'm a Christian today. We speak words that matter: love and justice and grace and hope. But it feels like sometimes no one's listening. And I have wondered, could it be because we've said the right things but we haven't always lived them very well. As I think about it, I don't think I'm wrong in this, that Jesus never criticized anybody's religion or their faith, at least not that I'm aware of, but he did criticize the way people lived out their faith. Jesus was critical of people who use religion to avoid real transformation. He wasn't against religion, but he was against religion when people didn't allow it to transform their lives. He said, "Woe to you, you clean the outside of the cup and the dish, but inside are full of greed and self-indulgence." And it was not the rituals that bothered Jesus at all. It was the gap between the words and the heart. Very short distance from here to here, but sometimes it's a wide gap. And even here in the hospital, in a place of need and vulnerability, people long for more than just physical healing when they're here. I think people long for wholeness and for connection and for something sacred, which is why our chaplains are here to help facilitate that. And too often, I fear, it is we Christians who show up looking more like clowns than companions in this world. We proclaim grace with our mouth but too often act out of judgment. Do any of you remember the scene of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane in scripture when the soldiers come to arrest Jesus? Well, Peter, who is ever loyal, he draws his sword and he cuts off the ear of a man named Malchus. Peter thought he was protecting Jesus. He was ready to fight, ready to die for his faith. But Jesus rebukes Peter. He says, "No more of this." And then Jesus heals that man's ear. Can you imagine what that man thought in that moment? The conflicting emotions of a disciple that cuts off his ear and the master that heals it. I fear that too often we, like Peter, are busy going around cutting off people's ears and then wondering why they don't listen to what we have to say. It's kind of hard to listen when you have your ear cut off. We shake our heads at younger generations who are leaving the church, saying, well, they just don't care about the things of God. But maybe, just maybe, the Malkises of the world are not listening because they, they're unable. Maybe the ears have been cut off and the wound has been too severe. If what we call good news sounds like wrath and racism and rejection of people, it's not the gospel of Jesus. It's more the gospel of a church that has beclowned itself. The Gospel of Jesus calls us to healing, to reconciliation, to restoration. It welcomes. The author Bob Benson, who is one of my favorite storytellers, he tells this great story about a church picnic that he attended as a young man. He says this: Do you remember those old-fashioned Sunday school picnics? I do. It was back in the olden days before air conditioning. Kind of feels that way in here, actually. It's kind of warm today. They said, we'll meet at Sycamore Lodge at Shelby Park at 4:30 on Saturday. You bring supper and we'll furnish the iced tea, which also sounds pretty good right now. Well, I got home late, and when I went to pack a picnic, all I could find was a dried up piece of bologna, just enough mustard left to get it on my knuckles, and 2 slices of stale bread. So I made my sandwich, wrapped it in a brown paper bag, and I went to the picnic. I sat at the end of the table, I unwrapped my sandwich, and then I saw the family next to me open up a feast. Fried chicken, baked beans, potato salad, homemade rolls, sliced tomatoes, pickles, olives, celery, and 2 big chocolate pies. And it is getting close to lunch, by the way. Then they said, hey, why don't we put it all together? And I mumbled, oh no, I couldn't possibly, with one eye still on the chicken. And they insisted, come on, there's plenty. We like bologna. So I sat there eating like a king when I had shown up like a pauper. And it hit me that God has been saying that to me all 'Come along,' Bob says. 'Why don't you take what you have and who you are, and I'll take what I have and who I am. Let's put it all together.' And I realized that when I put my little with God's abundance, I'd stumbled onto the bargain of a lifetime. I don't have enough love or faith or wisdom, but he does, and he says, 'Let's share it.' Consecration, sacrifice, commitment— those were hard words until I saw them in the light of Sherry. And it's not that God needs my bologna sandwich. The fact is, I need his feast. And that is the good news today for us. Even when all we have got is a bologna sandwich, awkward prayers, small offerings, messy lives. God sees the treasure in each of us. And God doesn't really want your baloney sandwich. God wants you because God loves you dearly. And we need God's feast of love. God is not asking for our performance. God is looking for our presence. Not perfection, but participation. We reclaim our voice in the world not by shouting louder, but by listening better. Not by correcting everyone, but by connecting with compassion. And that's how people start to hear us again, I think. Not as clowns performing religious rituals, but as fellow travelers who are sharing bread. Because God's treasure, it's not the bologna sandwich that you have that's the treasure. The treasure is you, and I just want to remind you of that again. You are God's treasure. God wants you, and you need his feast. So what now? The invitation today is to simply bring what you have. Even if it's just a baloney sandwich. God is not looking for flashiness. God is looking for you. And drop your mask today. Let your faith be lived, not performed. Let Christ shine through your kindness. Let your religion meet your heart. Let it mean something. Let it go into the world and share this good news. And listen more than you speak. We are here to reflect God. And so often I have found in my work as a chaplain, and this was a surprise to me, that sometimes the greatest way for me to share the love of God is by closing my mouth and listening to another person. A world on fire doesn't need another clown shouting. Needs a companion who carries hope. We're going to sing a closing song in just a moment. It's called The Heart of Worship. But before we do, I just want to close with a word of prayer from Saint Francis today. It's a very famous prayer. You've probably heard it, and it's a good prayer for us today. It says, Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, Let me sow love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith. Where there is despair, hope. Where there is darkness, light. And where there is sadness, joy. O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand, to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen. Well, let's worship together with this closing song today.
