Can institutions be virtuous? It was the question

that launched a robust discussion among members

of our staff leadership team a few weeks ago. Can

institutions be virtuous? As a result of that discussion,

it’s a question I’ve been pondering ever since.

It is, I think, not unfair to say that we live in an age

of anti-institutionalism. And, in many cases, for good

reason. Once-venerated establishments built to serve

the common good have too often been co-opted,

exposed, worn down by decades of justified criticism.

Meanwhile, an expanding emphasis on individualism

has eroded our appreciation for what institutions

should do. That is, shape and mold our personal and

communal character. Many of us have a negative,

visceral reaction to such shaping. Don’t tell me what

to do! But what if this is what we need?

Can institutions be virtuous? In the words of a

colleague, I sure hope so. Because here’s the truth:

we will be shaped by something. The choice is not

whether but what will form our character. What kinds

of messages and messengers will we allow to have

that influence on our lives, the lives of our children

and families, the spaces and stories and communities

we share?

This Lent at Second Church, we’re going to engage

intentionally the virtues that shape character.

Let’s start here: becoming a follower of Jesus is not

a singular event or an isolated decision. Disciples

are formed by regular practices of spiritual discipline

in community. Or, to paraphrase Aristotle’s great

insight: we are what we repeatedly do.

I am trying to be a runner. I say “trying” because it’s

the most accurate description of an ongoing and often

uneven process. Last summer, as my fortieth birthday

approached, I became increasingly aware of a

physical and spiritual need to reengage the discipline

of running. And so, I set a goal to run a half marathon

in Zionsville in November. It seemed preposterous

given the shape I was in at the time. But I needed

to name it. I needed to set the intention, to mark the

calendar. That was six months ago this week. The half

marathon goal was met. I set another one. But here

is a discovery that has been most humbling for me in

the process: running has not become easier in those

months. I think I always imagined that a day would

come when lacing up my shoes or hopping on the

treadmill would be pure unmitigated joy. That has not

happened, at least not for me. I am still trying. The

decision is daily. It’s a discipline.

Virtues chart a similar course. That is, our character

is formed through determination, repetition,

and accountability. Character is shaped by the

communities to which we choose to belong—the

ones we allow to hold us accountable and speak

hard truth to us (more on that next week). Our habits

form us. We are what we repeatedly do, especially

what we repeatedly do together. And so, in this

season of holy preparation, we take up the virtues

that make life meaningful.

I want to start on the playground of an elementary

school, an uncompromising training field for the

brutal realities of life in community. The place where

friendships and alliances take shape and then break

apart in a matter of minutes. Where peer pressure

and groupthink can lead to bullying and isolation.

The place where physical prowess is rewarded and

weakness is not tolerated. These dramatic dynamics

were on my mind last fall when our family showed

up with our boys for the annual back-to-school night

at Clay Center Elementary School. It was one of

those impossibly gorgeous late summer evenings,

and after exploring their classrooms and meeting

their teachers, Sam and Ben wanted to play on the

playground behind the school. Ben was on the verge

of day one of kindergarten, and I was on the verge

of tears at any moment. The boys ran ahead, and I

tried to inconspicuously watch over them. OK, maybe

I was hovering. But good thing, because a moment

later, Ben called to me, “Dad!”

I took off. Don’t worry son, I’m coming to protect you

from them! No need. What Ben wanted me to see

was a collection of painted rocks. The rocks were

mostly decorated in bold and bright colors, but there

in the center was one with a simple message that

brought those tears I’d been trying to hold back.

The rock was painted purple and, in carefully drawn

small black letters, read: “Kind is the New Cool.” I

took a picture and have had it as the background

on my devices ever since. Kind is the new cool. A

hope. A promise. The word of the Lord written on a

playground rock.

The words we read in scripture were shaped by their

setting, and our understanding of them is shaped

by ours. We live in a moment defined by a decency

deficit disorder. We are suffering from a lack of basic

kindness in our public and even private discourse—a

concern for the wellbeing of others and a tenderness

in our interpersonal interactions. I have shared my

conviction from this pulpit before that the decline

in embodied encounters has exacerbated this

reality. Indeed, we need more playgrounds because

communication mediated through screens has the

effect of separating us from the impact of our words

and our actions. Echo chambers of likemindedness

drive us more deeply into self-righteous judgment

and more distant from other points of view.

The letter to the Colossians was written to an early

Christian community struggling to maintain a unique

identity in a hostile context. The expectation set forth

for disciples of Jesus is this: Be strange. Be different.

Live in ways that confound and confuse those captive

to a culture of contempt. In other words, be kind

when it’s the last thing anyone would expect.

We begin this series with kindness because the virtue

is often poorly understood and cheapened by misuse.

My teacher Stanley Hauerwas writes, “The great

enemy of kindness…is sentimentality…Sentimentality

mocks kindness by confusing grand public displays

of concern with genuine, heartfelt tenderness.” He

is on to something. The sentimentality that often

parades as kindness serves to undermine the virtue’s

power. Kindness is not weak. Indeed, it often displays

the kind of strength that can take our breath away.

Taylor Mali is an English teacher, a writer, and a poet.

His poem, “What Teachers Make” is a moving answer

to the question posed by the title. What do teachers

make anyway? Mali writes:

“I make parents tremble in fear when I call home at

suppertime:

Hi. This is Mr. Mali. I hope I haven’t called at a bad time,

I just wanted to talk to you about something your son

said today.

To the biggest bully in the grade, he said,

‘Leave that kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don’t you?

It’s no big deal.’

And it was the noblest act of courage I have ever seen.”

Listen to this: Kindness is not fragile; it is not to be

confused with vapid niceness or preening politeness.

Kindness looks like courage in a world where

meanness is the model. Be strange. Be different.

We begin this series with kindness because

kindness is the character of God. In Jesus Christ,

we are given a permanent picture of God’s heart.

And in Jesus, we see the power of kindness. Jesus,

who became our kind in order to redeem humanity,

models the way of kindness. Jesus was not cruel,

but neither was he sentimental. The kindness he

lived was displayed in words and acts of deliberate

welcome, radical inclusion, unconditional grace, and

unmerited compassion. His life provides the pattern

for our life together.

I spend a lot of my time thinking about how the

Church is perceived by those beyond these walls.

Many have left us behind because of experiences

of judgment and cruelty in a place that should

be defined by the kindness of God. Some see

communities of faith as relics of an era long past.

Some distrust institutions beset by hypocrisy whose

loudest voices spew hatred rather than love.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. We don’t have to

live this way in the Church. The Apostle Paul spoke

of kindness as a fruit of the Spirit. Fruit grown with

intention and discipline. We are what we repeatedly

do. Practices of kindness will make us kind. What if

our church grew kindness? What if we were a place

where lives—all lives—were shaped by a genuine

tenderness intentionally enacted? What if everyone

knew that this was one institution where kindness

was the default setting no matter the challenges

faced or the differences discovered? What if together

we said, “We will not be cruel. We will not give in to

weak sentimentality. We will look to the cross, where

the courageous kindness of God shatters the callous

cruelty of human judgment. We will practice kindness

and so become like the One we seek to follow.

It was the Presbyterian saint Mr. Rogers who said,

“There are three ways to ultimate success. The first

is to be kind. The second is to be kind. The third is to

be kind.”

Let us be kind as the world watches in wonder.