After several weeks, almost two months, of working through the Apostle's Creed, we have finally arrived at that small section that has to do with us. Up until this point, the Creed has focused on God—the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit. This is as it should be, because it is only after we have understood who God is—as our Father, as Jesus the Christ, and the Holy Spirit—that we can have any hope of understanding who we are.

And who are we? In the words of the Creed, we are “the holy, catholic church.”

But what, then, is the church? I have three answers to this question. First, the church is a body. You've probably heard this. Second, the church is a boat. You may have heard this before. Finally, the church is an old Scottish woman. You probably haven't heard that one before. Let's start with the Scottish woman.

Arthur's Seat
When I was living in France, several years ago, I visited Scotland for a week. One of the stops I made was Edinburgh. Now, in the middle of Edinburgh, which is a very large, modern city, there is a huge mound—almost a mountain—called Arthur's Seat. As I was walking through the city, looking for a hostel to stay in for the night, I saw this big hill, and I thought to myself, “I'm gonna climb that.” I had several hours before dark, and you know how it is—when you see something like that, you just have to climb it.

Now, I had my big backpack with me, which was really heavy, and so as I started up Arthur's Seat, the going was slow. And, as is the case with most mountains, the higher I climbed, the steeper it got. So I was getting tired, and sweaty. And then...wouldn't you know it, in wonderful Scottish fashion, it started to rain. But it wasn't a torrential rain. You know? It wasn't the type of rain that made me think that I really needed to go and get under some shelter. It was a steady, soaking kind of rain. And it didn't take long—I was totally soaked in a matter of a few minutes. And, to make matters worse, now the dirt was no longer dirt—it was oozy mud. So now, I'm tired, I'm wet, and I'm slipping and sliding all over. I've got mud on my legs and hands and I'm sure my butt, too. But, I was at the point where I couldn't just quit. I had to keep going. And finally, after another half-hour of struggling up the slope, I was almost to the top. But there, just about 20 feet from my goal, I reached an obstacle I simply could not overcome. You see, Arthur's Seat has a very tall and steep cap-rock. And there was just no way that I could climb the last 20 feet—straight vertical—with my backpack, in the rain. And so, I just stood there, looking up at the top. Panting. Ready to give up and climb back down.

Then—all of a sudden—I heard something. It was a voice. Or, at least, it sounded kind of like a voice. It was coming from above.

This is what it sounded like: “Ach, ye!” (pause) “Ach, ye!”
The voice was that of an old Scottish woman. She was yelling down to me from the top of the mountain. How did she get up there? All I could think was that these Scottish women must be the toughest ladies in the world!

But she was trying to tell me...around...on the other side of the mountain...there were stairs. Stairs that went all the way up to the top of Arthur's Seat.

Now, back to talking about the church...

I think that the church is something like that Scottish woman on the top of Arthur's Seat. What I mean by this is that we, as the church, are calling out to those climbing up the mountain. We know that no matter how hard they climb, there is an unclimbable gap. But we also know that God has bridged this gap for us—there are stairs on the other side! Our job is not to build the stairs, or to lead people up the stairs. Our job is simply to say, “Hey! There are stairs!” Or, in the language of the Gospel, “God has done this amazing thing for us. Even though we are sinners, Jesus Christ died so that we can live with Him!”

And then, once we're on the top of this mountain, the church, we sit together, having tea and crumpets—or maybe grapejuice and bread.

Now, there are a lot of problems with my metaphor, I know. So, let me tell you another, better story.

Jesus is on the Boat
There is a story in the Bible. One evening, after preaching to a large crowd of people, Jesus looked over the water of the lake. Something was calling Jesus across the water. And so, being Jesus, he turned to his disciples, several of whom were fishermen and had a boat, and said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.”

The disciples followed their Teacher's instructions, loaded the boat, and set off for the opposite side of the great lake.

Jesus was tired from the long day of preaching, and the gentle rocking from the waves quickly put him to sleep. Yes—even Jesus got tired and needed rest. As an aside, this is a message we all need to take to heart. Especially me. It's sometimes important to rest and let the others navigate the boat.

Soon, though, a terrible storm blew in. The waves that had once rocked our Savior to sleep were now bashing against the side of the boat, threatening to tip it over. Water rushed over the deck, filling the hull with water. It was a desperate situation. Even though the disciples were fishermen, and knew their trade of sailing—or perhaps it was exactly because of their knowledge of sailing—they feared that they were about to face death. The lake was far too large to swim, especially in the midst of such a terrible storm, and the boat could not last much longer.

In all their fear, they did what we all would do. They looked for their Teacher. They looked for Jesus. Tripping and falling across the deck, drenched with water, wide-eyed with fear, they finally found Jesus—there he was—asleep. Sound asleep.

And in their fear, the fact that Jesus was asleep seemed ridiculous, even callous to the poor disciples. “Do you not care if we die?” they asked him. “The boat is about to sink, and you are sleeping! We're going to die!”

It was not the storm that woke Jesus. It was the cries of fear and despair from the disciples that roused him. Calmly he arose, said to thee sea “Be still,” and the storm left. The waves that were once threatening to over turn the boat were now eerily calm. There was not a breath of wind.

“Why are you afraid?” Jesus asked the amazed men on the boat. “Why are you afraid? Have you no faith? Don't you trust me?”

And the disciples just looked at each other. “Who is this guy?” is all they could ask each other. “How did he do that?”

The fact is, we're a lot like the disciples on the boat. I know that during the storm they had to be thinking to themselves, Why did Jesus send us out sailing in the middle of this lake. We have our own comfortable fishing places, close to the shore. We're just like that in the church. We have our own comfortable fishing places—places close to the shore. We feel comfortable coming to church on Sunday, listening to fantastic music, hearing a sermon, hanging out with friends, worshiping together—yeah, we are worshiping together. I'm not saying that what we're doing is not worship. But being the Church is not just worshiping together.

Think about it...a boat is not fulfilling it's purpose as a boat if it is always stuck in the harbor. A boat is meant to sail—it is a means of transportation—for a boat to display all its qualities of “boatness” it has to be sailing somewhere.

The church is the same way. If we are constantly stuck in our harbor, happily worshiping together but never going anywhere, then we are not being the church. We are not demonstrating the qualities of “churchness”. We are not a church, then—we're a club. And the last thing Jesus needs us to be is an exclusive club where only certain people are welcome, and where all we do is celebrate our own good fortune while enjoying a game of pool or ping pong.

But now we have another question about being the Church. If as the Church we are meant to be sent out—to be on the move, where is it that we are going?
The Demon Possessed Man
To answer this question, let me finish the story. You see, after Jesus calmed the storm, the boat made it across the lake to the other side. And there, as Jesus got off the boat, a man (if you could call it a man) ran up to him. The man was dressed in rags. He had scars on his wrists and his ankles from being locked in chains. He looked mad, and crazy—his eyes rolling around, never ceasing their movements. His hair was matted with dirt and mud.

The Bible tells us that this man had an unclean spirit. In fact, he had hundreds of unclean spirits. And he lived among tombs. In other words, for all intents and purposes, this man was dead. He was not able to be a part of society, so he lived with the dead. These unclean spirits had effectively made this man dead.

And that's why we should be so surprised at what happens in the story. The man does not run up to Jesus and attack him. The man does not yell insane gibberish at Jesus. No—this man, this dead man, this man filled with evil spirits—he runs down and begins worshiping Jesus. And more than that, this man recognizes Jesus for who he really is, the Son of the Most High God. This is astonishing to me. Remember, even after Jesus calmed the storm and saved the disciples lives, they did not recognize him for who he was. They just wondered to themselves—what kind of a man can calm a storm? No—it took a demon possessed man to recognize Jesus.

This, to me, is an indictment not only on the disciples, but on the Church, as well. It just goes to show that so often we, who consider ourselves closer to Jesus—we have no idea who he is. It is those on the outside of our church walls—they are the ones who recognize Jesus. They are the ones who feel clearly the evil in their hearts—this evil and brokenness that is in all our hearts. They are the ones who recognize Jesus because they recognize their need for healing.

And here we are, the Church. We consider ourselves so close to Jesus, we see him calm the storms in our lives, and yet, we walk alongside him as if he was just another guy. As if he was not the very reason and purpose of our being. As if in him was not found the healing of all our pain and brokenness. This is what happens when we stop turning our gaze out—because it is there, in the face of the crazy demoniac that we are confronted with the truth of who Jesus is—not just for him, but for us too—this amazing truth. Jesus. You are the Son of the Most High God.

The Church is the Body of Christ
We are running out of time, so I want to keep this brief. The last metaphor for the Church I wanted to give you is that the Church is the body of Christ. And hopefully, you can already see what this means for us. If we are Christ's body, it means that we are meant to walk as Christ walked. To encounter the world in the way that Jesus encountered the world. Here, in this story we see how Jesus walked. Jesus walked away from his comfortable home in Galilee. He got on a boat, crossed a storm-swept lake—and he did it so that he could meet with this man who was dead. And to this man he gave life.

Now, to be Christ's body does not mean that we give life to the dead. That work is done. That the Church lives as Christ's body is the evidence of that fact. But as Christ's body we are called to cross our own lakes. We are called to have faith in the midst of the storm—faith in the fact that if Jesus calls us to cross the lake, He is in the boat with us. And, let's face it—if Jesus is in the boat, it is not going to sink!

And we do all of this with the goal of meeting the man, or the woman, or the child—who is still living in the tombs—to tell them the good news, the amazing news, that we no longer need to live as if dead, for we have been raised with Christ Jesus and we all share in his abundant life.

That is the good news. That is the Gospel. And that is what the Church is.

We are Christ's body—bearing witness in our very being of what God had done.

We are a boat—crossing boundaries of comfort at the call of our Lord.

We are an old Scottish woman—yelling boldly to all who struggle with their burdens, the stairs have been built. And, indeed, it is not we who need to ascend the mountain any more, for God, in His amazing grace, chose instead to descend those stairs in the shape of a cross, that he might be with us.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. One and all, I ordain you and commission you—be the Church! Be the Scottish woman. Be the boat. Be the Body of Christ. Amen.