Secretary Sessions, Proof Texting, and God’s Law

A pre-sermon sermon this morning—June 17, 2018. 

Before I read our next scripture and preach the sermon I prepared for this morning, I need to respond to some of the news we’ve been hearing over the last couple of days. I try not to get political from the pulpit, but I am a Christian leader, and when government or political leaders use the Bible—the Word of God—to excuse heinous behavior, I must speak up.

Speaking to law enforcement officers in Fort Wayne, IN, about the government’s new policy of taking children from parents seeking asylum at our border, Secretary of State Jeff Sessions said this:

“I would cite you to the Apostle Paul and his clear and wise command in Romans 13, to obey the laws of the government because God has ordained the government for his purposes.”

Well, he was right (sort of): part of Romans 13 does say to obey authorities. “Let every person be subject to the governing authorities,” says Romans 13:1; “for there is no authority except from God, and those authorities that exist have been instituted by God.”

Later in Romans 13, of course, we learn that we are to “owe no one anything, except to love one another, for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law.” Has fulfilled the law—lived it to its fullest. Because God’s law is love.

 

You know, you can find something in the Bible that will support just about any idea you’ve got. You want to prove that slavery is part of God’s plan? You can find it in the Bible. You want to prove that homosexuality is wrong? You can find it in the Bible. You want to prove that women are inferior to men, that children should be beaten, that it’s fine for men to rape women? Yeah, you can find all that in the Bible.

We call that “proof texting”—that seeking through the Bible for something that supports our own opinions. And that use of the Bible has very little integrity.

It’s far better when reading scripture to look at what it might have meant at that time, how it fits into the rest of the book it’s in, who it was addressed to, how the culture in which it was written would have influenced it.

And one of the best methods of understanding the Bible is to read it through what you might call an “overall truth”—like Jesus’ summation of the law: “Love God, and love your neighbor.” If on first read something seems to be saying that certain neighbors are to be ignored or harmed or forced out, well, you need to read it again through the lens of that overriding truth.

One of my New Testament professors in seminary, who spent a lot of time dealing with Paul’s epistles, said that she found it helpful to read his work through the lens of “in Christ there is no Jew nor Greek, no slave nor free, no male and female.” Anything in Paul’s letters that seemed to be saying that one group was inferior to another, then, had to be re-read in light of that larger truth.

 

The Romans 13 verse that Secretary Sessions cited has been used throughout the centuries whenever a government wanted people to go along with their policies without protest. By British loyalists during the Revolutionary period. By Confederate States trying to justify slavery. By Nazis planning to eliminate Jews and many more. One of the great confessions of our church, the Barmen Declaration, was written by German Christians in the 1930s to say, No. When the government is doing evil, Christians must not support the government.

And let us remember that Jesus himself was a rule breaker, condemned and crucified by religious and political leaders because he threatened their worldly power. And that, over and over again, the Bible comes down on the side of welcoming immigrants.

 

In Christ, all are equal: Jew and Greek, slave and free, male and female … white and black, rich and poor, Guatemalan asylum seeker and ICE agent.

Love God. Love your neighbor.

Listen: Are Your Ears Tingling?

January 14, 2018

1 Samuel 3:1-20

I have always loved the story of Samuel’s calling. As a child, it appealed to me because, hey, here was a kid who was called by God. (Though Samuel was almost certainly much older than the tyke in this picture–probably 12 or more). And the whole confusion in the middle of the night—that’s kind of funny, right?

(It’s actually funnier if you know the meaning of Samuel and Eli’s names. Remember that el is the Hebrew word for God. Sam-u-el means “God has heard,” and El-i means “My God.” Given that, here’s what we’ve got:

Then the Lord called “God has heard! God has heard!”
And God Has Heard said “Here I am!” and ran to My God and said, “You called me?”

The Hebrews loved puns and word play.)

I’ve also been struck by the line near the beginning of the passage that says, “The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.” It feels more contemporary than much of the Old Testament, where it seems like visions were popping up in people’s lives right and left, and God visited them in their homes and walking down the road. How many of us have wondered at various points in our lives why God doesn’t seem to talk to people as directly nowadays as God did in Biblical times. Right? But not in these early days of Samuel. “The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.”

Those first 10 verses, up until Samuel finally says to God, “Speak, for your servant is listening”—they’re kind of sweet. And meaningful for all of us in our lives: When God calls you, what’s the appropriate response? “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”

And then we come to the next 10 verses, starting with God saying to Samuel, “I am about to do something in Israel that will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle.”

I didn’t find anything in my research that explained “tingling ears,” but I’m assuming that it was a common turn of phrase at that time—sort of like “being green with envy” or the idea of “keeping an eye out.” It’s not hard to understand, though. Imagine the kind of news that would make your ears tingle (or your hair stand on end)—big news, life-changing news, surprising news. And this thing that God is about to do will make both ears tingle.

And what’s the news? God is removing Eli and all his family from their positions in the temple. Kicking them out. Forever.

I have told him that I am about to punish his house forever, for the iniquity that he knew, because his sons were blaspheming God, and he did not restrain them. … the iniquity of Eli’s house shall not be expiated by sacrifice or offering forever.

Blaspheming God—or in other translations, cursing God or “desecrating God’s name and God’s place.” They had been (among other things) stealing people’s sacrifices, meant for the glory of God.

Eli himself had not been blaspheming God, but he knew that his sons were doing it, and he didn’t stop them.

That’s the part that makes my ears tingle. Eli was a good man, a great mentor for Samuel, an honorable and upright priest. But people he was responsible for were doing horrible things, and he did nothing to stop them.

That’s a modern-day issue for a lot of us. We may be honorable and upright people in our private lives, but where is our responsibility when others are doing horrible things?

• When people express racist views at our dinner tables or on social media, what is our responsibility as Christians who say that in Christ there is no Jew nor Greek, no slave nor free … no white nor black nor brown?
• When we are aware of sexual harassment in our company or our club … or our church … what is our responsibility as Christians who say that each one of us is created in the image of God?
• When we learn that the U.S. is deporting people without due process—people who are then murdered within weeks of being “home”—what is our responsibility as Christians who have been taught to care for the foreigners in our midst?

Oh, it’s hard to stand up. We might make people mad. We might offend people, some of them people with power … some of them our friends. It could be dangerous for us. And we can’t really believe that the folks in authority could be doing anything all that bad.

Take it easy, we tell ourselves. It’ll work out in due time. All things in moderation.

 

All of this brings to mind for me, appropriately on this Martin Luther King weekend, a passage from King’s 1963 Letter from a Birmingham Jail. Here’s what Dr. King wrote:

I must make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season.” Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.”
― Martin Luther King Jr., Letter from the Birmingham Jail

This passage haunts me … and convicts me.

the white moderate, who is more devoted to ‘order’ than to justice

Hm. I like order—and I serve a church in which “order” is a byword—we Presbyterians like to do things “decently and in good order.” Do I prefer order in my own life to justice in others’ lives?

[the one] who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension
to a positive peace which is the presence of justice

Aiee. Like many of us, I don’t like tension, and I know there have been times when I’ve just let some injustice slide because I didn’t want to have to deal with the friction. How often do we confuse that “absence of tension” peace with the true peace that is the presence of justice?

[the one] who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season”

I know I’ve been guilty of thinking, “Oh, can’t they just wait a little longer?” Just wait a little longer for respect, for justice, for mercy. I remember an elderly member of a church that was struggling over the issue of gay ordination. “Can’t they just wait until we’re all dead?” she asked.

 

And God said: I am about to do something … that will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle.

In what ways, I wonder, does the contemporary Christian Church play the role of Eli? Good at worshiping and praying for peace—a fine, upstanding institution—but really anxious not to get involved in problems, especially problems that could be controversial.

And at what point does God say, “I will fulfill against the church all that I have spoken … for the iniquity that they knew and did not restrain”?

These are things I ponder. Things I worry about. Are we as the church living up to our calling in the world?

For true Christianity is not about people saying, “I believe.” It’s about people acting on that belief by loving their neighbors. It’s about people acting out the love of Christ by caring for little children, by feeding the hungry (as we do here at Good Shepherd) … by risking their own comfort, their own order and tranquility, as they speak up for the disenfranchised … as they call their legislators to protest cuts to children’s health services, Medicaid, Social Security … as they support efforts for justice and peace wherever they find them.

And true Christianity does not give in to fear, knowing that God’s perfect love is the most powerful force on earth—perfect love that drives out fear. When we are following God’s call on our lives, we need not fear, even as the culture around us does its best to make us afraid.

Maybe we’ve fallen asleep. Maybe, like young Samuel, we are not expecting to hear God’s voice in the middle of the night. And yet, and yet, God calls us. We wake in confusion, hearing the divine voice calling us in ways we never expected.

And we know what our response needs to be. Let’s say it together:

Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.

Alleluia. Amen.

Way to Go

October 8, 2017
Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9, 12-17      Philippians 3:4b-14

These last few weeks have been horrible when it comes to tragedies, haven’t they? Hurricane Harvey and the horrible flooding in Houston and surrounds. Ruinous mudslides in Sierra Leone. Hurricane Irma devastating several islands in the Caribbean as well as the Florida Keys. Hurricane Maria wiping out whole communities and entire infrastructures on Puerto Rico and other islands. Hurricane Nate hitting the Gulf Coast. And a mass shooting killing scores and wounding hundreds in Las Vegas.

Except that last one is different. There are good arguments that warming of the oceans and other climate changes caused by humans made those hurricanes and floods worse than they would have been otherwise, but they were essentially natural disasters. But the mass killing in Las Vegas? Definitely man-made.

The strange thing, though, is that much of our national response has been the same. Our thoughts and prayers have been with the people in Texas and Florida and Puerto Rico. And now our thoughts and prayers are with the people affected by the killer in Las Vegas.

It’s entirely appropriate that we Christians have offered up our prayers. It’s good that we pray. We lament; we say, “How long, O Lord?”

My concern is that God’s response is, “Indeed. How long?”

For this is a problem of evil.
Murder is evil. Mass shootings are evil. Yet as a country we act as if they are inevitable. And that, I think, is evil as well.

One of the things Presbyterians have believed since the days of John Calvin is that evil is in everyone. There are not good people and evil people; there are degrees of good and evil in everyone.

That’s why, we believe, God gave us the Law—to help us know the difference between good and evil.

The sixteenth century Reformers talked about three uses of the Law.

The first is to restrain the behavior of “wild and disobedient” people—that’s what’s happening when you’ve seen a car speeding and weaving through traffic, and a couple of miles later, it’s pulled over to the side in front of an officer of the law.

The second is to show people where they are sinful—sort of holding a mirror up so they can see how their behavior fails to hit the mark. Like a sermon on the sins of covetousness and greed, to a congregation that prides itself on owning the latest cars, wearing the most expensive clothes.

And the third use of the Law is to guide our behavior by showing us what it is the Lord wants us to do. This is what is happening when you go to church and are urged to contribute toward feeding your neighbors. In other words, this use of the Law guides us toward walking in the right paths. It shows us the “way to go.”

I chose Way to Go as a sermon title this morning partially because of our text from Philippians. “Way to go”—meaning, hey, you’ve done the right thing; you’re to be commended. In this letter Paul tells the Christians in Philippi that he had been great at following the “way to go” of first-century Judaism—he’d been the best!

The Jews had (and have) a term that literally means “way to go” in Hebrew: halakha. It means the path God wants us to follow, and for the Pharisees, that path was clearly defined by the Law.

But now, Paul writes, he’s learned a very different halakha, a different “way to go”—and the old one looks like “sewer trash.” This new way comes from recognizing that God’s love for him comes to him—free—through Jesus, not through his success at following all the rules. The goal of this new “way to go” is what he calls “the prize of God’s upward call in Christ Jesus.”

 

I wonder where our halakha—our way to go—comes from when it comes to gun violence. Does it come from a culture that says that, above all, people must be allowed to own as many guns as they want? Does our “way to go” on gun violence come from a belief that individuals must be allowed to run their lives as they choose?

Or does it come from our Christian faith … from a belief that the good of our community—our communion with each other—is more important than an individual’s wishes.

Is the goal of our gun violence halakha “the prize of God’s upward call in Christ Jesus”? Is it what God wants from us?

 

When we try to figure out what God wants from us, we turn to scripture. There we find Jesus’ summary of the Law:

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” (Matt 22:37-40)

When we look back at the 10 Commandments, we find that the first four tell us how to love the Lord (no other gods, no idols, no wrongful use of God’s name, keep the Sabbath). The last six commandments give us ways to love our neighbor. Those last six—honor your parents, don’t kill, don’t commit adultery, don’t steal, don’t lie about other people, don’t covet—they’re all about living in community. They may crimp the style of an individual, but they make living in community not only possible but good. Healthy. Fruitful.

That’s what the law does, at its best. It makes living in community good, and healthy, and fruitful.

That’s what, ideally, gun laws do in a society.

 

I am not anti-gun. They make me nervous, yes, but if you want to use a gun for target practice or hunting, go for it. Skiing also makes me nervous, but I’m not going to stand in the way of people doing it.

I’m not anti-gun, but I am anti-murder. And since I know that guns are the easiest method of killing people we have, I’m for controlling who has access to guns and what kinds of guns they have.

Some folks feel that they need a gun in order to protect themselves. Okay. But let’s not hide the statistics that show that for every one time a gun is used in self-defense, it is used eleven times for attempted and completed suicides, seven times in criminal assaults and homicides, and four times in unintentional shooting deaths or injuries. Victims of domestic violence are five times more likely to be killed by their abuser when there is a gun in the home.

We have a violence problem in this country, and guns make our violent ways more lethal. On an average day in the U.S., 31 Americans are murdered with guns, 55 kill themselves with guns, and 46 are shot or killed by accident. Every ten days in this country, there are nine mass shootings (defined as four or more people shot, other than shooter). We don’t even hear about them any more.

This is evil.

This is about the “rights” of an individual—the rights, fears, desires of that individual—over the rights of the community. The right to go to a concert without being mowed down, to go to Bible Study at church without being murdered, to send our children to school without fear that they will be killed. It’s about the rights of children to play on their front porch and not be shot from a car passing by. It’s about the right of families not to have to worry that their teenager has run out of hope and knows how to get the family gun down from its shelf, and use it.

 

So what do we do as Christians? What is our halakha?

In 2010, the Presbyterian Office of Public Witness published a paper called Gun Violence, Gospel Values: Mobiizing in Response to God’s Call. Here’s what it says about our halakha:

Presbyterians are called to be agents of change in the world, to be reconcilers because we ourselves have been reconciled. Therefore, we are calling upon the church, in the power of the Holy Spirit, to help build an effective spiritual and social awakening that says “No” to the prevalence of gun violence in this country.” (p. 4)

So what do we do?

First we pray. We pray for peace within the human heart … for courage to follow a different halakha … for God’s will to be done.

Second, if we own guns or know people who do, we work to make sure those guns are stored safely so they cannot be accessed by someone in the heat of anger, someone who has lost all hope … or children.

Third, we work for the passage of gun safety legislation and we support political candidates who have gun safety legislation as part of their platform. Even when it might be outside our comfort zone. Even when it might be politically risky. Because we are called to a different halakha—a way to go whose goal is “the prize of God’s upward call in Christ Jesus.”

And we remember the words of our Lord and Savior Christ Jesus:

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid. (John 14:27)

For whatever happens along our way, we belong to God.

Alleluia. Amen.

No Dog in this Fight

August 20, 2017
Matthew 15:10-28

Every time I read this story from Matthew—where Jesus calls the Canaanite woman a dog—I think of a moment in a Bible Study I was leading a few years ago. We read the passage and one of the women around the table exclaimed, “Wait! That’s in the Bible?”

Indeed it is. It doesn’t appear to be a feel-good passage. Jesus is supposed to be all-knowing, all-loving … perfect! That’s how the rest of the Bible portrays him, anyway. How can he call this woman such a nasty name?

What are we supposed to do with this story that makes Jesus look like, well, like people in our time who use that kind of language? You know the kinds of names I’m talking about—names that make other people “less than.”

Some of the commentaries I’ve read say that we shouldn’t be upset about Jesus calling this woman a dog—after all, that was part of the culture of the time.

I’m sorry, but I’m not buying that, any more than I can say, “Oh, those guys in Charlottesville last weekend, they didn’t mean anything bad by what they said—that’s just their culture.” Any more than I would say, “Oh, lots of people in the Baltimore area use that kind of language; it’s just normal for them.”

No. I don’t want to give Jesus a pass on this one.

Except. Except. Am I not supposed to be a follower of Jesus? Are we not supposed to model our lives after his? And why would Matthew have even included this story in his gospel if it truly painted Jesus in such a negative light?

 

Hm. Guess we need to look farther, deeper.

Let’s start by looking at the setting and the characters. This is right after Jesus and Peter went walking on top of the lake, which followed the feeding of the 5000, which followed the beheading of John the Baptist. It’s been a busy few days for all of them.

And then Jesus leads the disciples toward the district of Tyre and Sidon. Apparently there were a few Jewish villages in this area, but mostly it was a district full of outsiders, of foreigners. Gentiles. People who really didn’t matter, or who didn’t think the right way … people who weren’t “our kind of people.” The Israelites called them dogs.

Just as Jesus and the disciples get to the border area, a woman comes out from this Gentile area and starts shouting. Not only a Gentile but also an unruly woman.

She shouts: “Show me mercy, Son of David: my daughter is suffering terribly from demon possession!”

Jesus ignores her.

The disciples tell him to send her away.

 

Jesus does not send her away. What he does is to explain himself to her. He tells her that he wasn’t sent for her kind, but “only to the lost sheep, the people of Israel.” That certainly was what the disciples believed. All their scriptures said that the Messiah was coming for Israel. The covenant with the house of Israel was that Israel would be saved first, to in turn be a blessing to other nations.

The woman, however, is not satisfied with this answer. She persists. She does not continue to yell from afar but comes and kneels at Jesus’ feet. She’s not allowing herself to be driven off; she’s grounded here. “Lord, help me,” she says. She’s not an Israelite, but she identifies him as Lord.

Jesus does not send her away. Instead, he listens to her. He engages in conversation with her.

“It is not good,” he says, “to take the children’s bread and toss it to dogs.” In other words, it is not good to take that which is provided for the well-being of the children of Israel and give it to outsiders.

Ow. That’s harsh. We cringe at that one. And yet how often does that sentiment show up for us here and now? How often do we hear the world described in terms of scarcity: there’s only so much good stuff available—we can’t waste it by giving others access to it. This is the world view of the people who marched in Charlottesville last weekend: “You can’t replace us.” It’s our country, and we won’t be “replaced” as persons of worth, persons of influence, persons of power.

Ugh. We cringe.

But the conversation continues. The woman does not get angry and rail at Jesus; neither does she slink away. She’s here for her daughter’s salvation from demons, and she persists.

“Yes, Lord,” she replies, “but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall off their masters’ table.” Yes, I understand that you think I’m a dog, but surely there’s enough for me and mine.

Surely in this great country there is enough for all.

 

Then comes the part of the story that I think is the most important of all: Jesus hears her. He listens and he hears—really getting what she has to say—and he changes. his. position. “Great is your faith!” he says to her. “Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter is instantly healed.

This, this, is where we are called to emulate Jesus. He engaged in dialogue. He listened to the woman whose life and worldview seemed so utterly different from his, and he heard her. He allowed his mind to be changed, his position to be expanded. He went from seeing her as an inferior to acknowledging her as a child of God.

 

I still don’t like Jesus referring to this woman as a dog. But that’s not where he ended up, is it?

We’re all human—as Jesus was. (Fully God and fully human, remember?) We all have prejudices. We all have points of view that are reinforced by the people around us, the news we choose to watch, the newspapers we choose to read, the Facebook feeds we have constructed for ourselves. We all have difficulty hearing the points of view of people whose life experience has been different from ours.

But what this story has to teach us is that we are called to listen, to hear, and to allow our minds to be changed, our worldviews to be expanded. We are called, always, to move from positions that are all about us and those we see as “like us” to positions that are more inclusive, more about equality for all, more aware of the cultural biases that would have us discount others.

That’s what Jesus did here. That’s what we are called to do.

Our listening may be in actual conversations with people we’ve been taught to think of as other. It may be through reading books that challenge our thinking, through listening to podcasts that expand our world view, through watching movies that help us understand others’ experiences.

 

Here—and I’m going to come right out and say it—here is an area where we white people have the most to learn. We grew up in a country where whiteness was “normal.” Where we were taught the history of white people as the “real” history. Where our churches showed us pictures of a white Jesus, white disciples, white Mary and Joseph. (Did you ever think about that? Jesus probably never saw a white person in his life!)

And now the Colin Kaepernicks, the Black Lives Matter organizers, the Standing Rock Indians, the Muslim immigrants, the unruly women yelling because their children are sick and they have no access to health care … they’re standing at the borders of our lives, shouting “Hear us! Hear us!” Their behavior may offend us. Their life experiences have been different from ours. We may not understand where they’re coming from. It’s tempting to dismiss them as wrong, misguided … dogs, even. But for those of us who say we model our lives on Jesus’ life, we need to listen. To understand.

 

When I titled this sermon “No Dog in This Fight” (the expression meaning no stake in the situation), it seemed like a clever sort of pun. But as I struggled with the text and the sermon, I began to realize that this is not about not having a stake, about not particularly caring which way the fight goes. Because, as Christians, we do care. We have a stake in the fight against racism and every other “ism” because we believe that no one is “less than.”

So my understanding of the sermon’s title changed. There is no dog in this fight. In this situation—in our lives—no one is a dog. We are all human beings, all children of God.

And when we (all of us) find ourselves thinking of someone—anyone—as a dog, an inferior, then we need to go back and listen. Really listen. Until we hear. Until we understand. Until we love as God loves. Until there are no more dogs, and no more fights.

Thanks be to God.
Amen.

Hope, and Love

November 13, 2016
Isaiah 65:17-25      Luke 21:5-19

Well. It’s been quite a week. Some people are giddy with glee; others are in deep mourning. For some people, the results of the election seem like the kind of good news we see in our Isaiah text this morning, where God says:

I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight.

For other people, the results of the election seem more like the message from Luke, where Jesus says:

Nations and kingdoms will fight against each other. There will be great earthquakes and wide-scale food shortages and epidemics. There will also be terrifying sights and great signs in the sky.

 We’re seeing “Not My President” protests, some of them including violence. Violence is never okay.

I am concerned not so much with these protests, though, as I am with the many, many incidents of violence and threat against marginalized people. Swastikas painted on buildings … hijabs torn from Muslim women’s heads … African-Americans called vulgar names, with the comment, “It feels so good to be able to say that in public.” The gay Presbyterian pastor who found a note on his windshield that started with “So, father homo.” I can’t tell you what the rest of the note said because I refuse to use that language, but his marriage and his person were menaced.

And schools! Children painting the N-word on bathroom walls, children taunting their classmates that they will be sent back to Africa or Mexico or Iraq. Students threatening lynchings to come. Students at a women’s college mocked by young men shouting that now it’s okay to assault women again.

I know that many of us did not vote for President-elect Trump, and many of us did. I trust that the Trump supporters voted for him for reasons far more honorable than his tirades against gays, immigrants, Muslims, the disabled …. but the reality is that the rhetoric of his rallies and speeches have emboldened hate and bigotry amongst many Americans. Not all, by any means, but many.

The question before us now, though, has nothing to do with who we voted for. The same question is before all of us: What do we, as Christians, do about the discrimination, hatred, and general ugliness around us? How do we care for our brothers and sisters who are endangered and terrified?

How can we not just tell but show these frightened people that there is hope, that the worst will not happen, that we, we Christians, will be there for them?

That’s what the Bible calls us to do, of course.

The Old Testament is filled with reminders like the one in Deuteronomy 10:19: “You must … love immigrants because you were immigrants in Egypt.” All of us are immigrants or are descended from immigrants. We are called to love immigrants.

And then there are passages like this one from Paul’s letter to the Romans, explaining how Christians are to live:

Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor. … Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another. … Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.

Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God; for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.”

If your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink. … Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. (Romans 12:9-21, selected verses)

Overcome evil with good.

And then there’s the witness of one of the 20^th century’s most famous and most honored theologians, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who died in prison after opposing Hitler. “Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.”

Northminster Presbyterian Church has a vision statement—a motto, if you will. Because of the radical love of Jesus, we make a difference. Because of the radical love of Jesus, we make a difference for the good. We overcome evil with good. For the cause of love.

And we start, I believe, by deciding each day that today we will stand on the side of love.

At the very least, this means common courtesies. Opening doors for people, allowing cars to merge ahead of us. It means “paying it forward.” It means reaching out in friendship to people who may be feeling vulnerable and afraid.

We will stand on the side of love.

That may mean standing up for people who are being discriminated against or attacked. Here’s a story from this last Wednesday, from a woman named Sheri Wanderer.

Tonight driving home from work I stopped to get gas. There was a man, I’m guessing early 60s, pumping gas. He appeared to be Arabic. I pulled in just as two young (early to mid 20’s) white men approached him. They begin to verbally assault him—yelling that he was not welcome here, and that Trump will send him back to where he came from.

I pulled up close, got out of my car and went and stood beside him. At first I said nothing. I just stood next to him facing the two young men. My presence seemed to confuse them and as they hesitated I asked (hopefully not unkindly and hopefully without snark), “Why are you doing this?” One looked down and they both started to walk away. As they did one turned and spat at the man standing beside me. I stepped in front of him, getting spat on instead. … The spitter looked uncomfortable for a moment. Then the two young men left.

I spoke just briefly with the man who was targeted with such hatred. He is from Jordan and has lived in Michigan eight years. His children were born here. He was so grateful. I had done so little, yet for him I guess it meant a lot. I came home and cried. [Sheri Wanderer, Nov. 9, 2016, Facebook post]

This woman didn’t plan to stand up for someone being tormented when she stopped for gas … but she was ready.
I hope we all will be as ready, if and when we encounter such a scene, to stand on the side of love.

Perhaps we want to do something proactive now rather than waiting for a situation like that one to arise. I’ve heard of churches handing out sidewalk chalk and inviting members to write messages of support. What if we did this across the street on the sidewalk in front of the high school?

We will stand on the side of love.

Perhaps that means “buying a field.”

The Old Testament book of Jeremiah tells a story of the people being forced into exile. Imagine it: the conquering authorities have said, You’ve got a week to get things together, and then we’re marching you to Babylon. What do you take with you? How can you pull together enough money to live on in a strange land? What if you’re being separated from family? Panic! Chaos. Amidst all this, God tells Jeremiah to buy a field, which he does.

For thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel: Houses and fields and vineyards shall again be bought in this land. (Jer 32:15)

If you are afraid, if you feel that the country you thought you knew has been overtaken and sent into exile, take heart. Buy a field. Stand for hope. What group supports the country you want to see? Support them. Volunteer. Send money.

This might be a secular organization. It might be church organizations, like the PC(USA)’s Compassion, Peace and Justice ministry. It might be this church right here, as we prepare to start Celebrate Recovery in January and sometime in the new year to begin with a new pastor. Is this where hope rests for you? Buy a field.

We will stand on the side of love.

It may not be easy. It may get us into hot water with our neighbors, our relatives. We may risk money and security and social standing.

But isn’t that what Jesus said would happen, in the prophetic language of Luke 21?

There will also be terrifying sights and great signs in the sky. But before all this occurs, they will take you into custody and harass you because of your faith. They will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name. …

You will be betrayed by your parents, brothers and sisters, relatives, and friends. They will execute some of you. Everyone will hate you because of my name. Still, not a hair on your heads will be lost. By holding fast, you will gain your lives.                                  (Luke 21: 11b-12, 16-19, CEB)

This standing on the side of love thing may cost us. This following Jesus thing is risky.

And it’s worth everything.

That’s the promise: You will gain your lives. Lives, as Isaiah said:

where no more shall the sound of weeping be heard, or the cry of distress. Lives in which no infant will live just a few days, and all old people will live out their lifetimes. Lives where no one labors in vain or bears children for calamity.

Lives in which no American need live in fear.

Amen. And amen.

God’s Dream for Us

July 10, 2016

Luke 10:25-37

 

There’s a man lying on the side of the road, beaten and robbed.

There’s a man lying behind a convenience store, shot to death.
There’s a man slumped in his car, shot to death.
There are five police officers in Dallas, shot to death.

There is a man lying on the side of the road.

There’s a nation lying on the side of the road, beaten by the evidence of violence and racism in their midst and robbed of any sense of everything being okay.

 

Oh Lord, oh Lord. How long? Why?
Why doesn’t God swoop in and fix it? Why does God allow such horrible things to happen?

 

Those are questions that people of faith have asked for millennia. Why did God allow the Holocaust? Why was the baby born with horrible disabilities? Why did lightning strike and burn the house down?

These things are not part of God’s dream for us. God weeps when horrible things happen.

Why do they happen? Sometimes there is no reason—lightning strikes, a driver takes his eyes off the road for a split second—it’s an accident.

And sometimes there’s a theological answer: Sin. What Calvinist Reformers traditional called Total Depravity. Total depravity doesn’t mean that each one of us is depraved through and through. It means that depravity—also known as original sin—is woven throughout all of humanity. This understanding is essential to who we are as Presbyterians.

Sinfulness is part of each of us. It shows up in nasty gossiping and sly bullying and acting as though we’re the center of the universe—there are lots of individual sins. Beyond our individual sins, though, is the pervasiveness of what is called “Corporate Sin.” Sinfulness that is woven throughout the “corpus”—the body. Sin that is so much part of the culture we live in that for the most part we don’t even recognize it. It’s part of the cultural air we breathe.

Here’s an example: I love to buy inexpensive clothing. When someone admires something I’m wearing, I’m likely to tell them what a bargain it was. Where did I get my desire to spend as little as possible? Well, gee, isn’t it part of the culture? Don’t advertisers love to tell us what a deal we’ll get if we only spend our money with them?

And there’s nothing wrong with wanting to spend as little as possible … until I start exploring how it is that this garment costs less than the one in the store next door. Who made this garment? Hm. They probably weren’t paid a fair wage, or the garment would have cost a lot more. And what were their working conditions like? Might they be like millions of garment industry workers who are indentured to their jobs … not allowed to leave … slaves?

When I purchase cheap clothing, I am supporting an industry that takes advantage of people. That’s sinfulness. That’s participation in corporate sin.

And God weeps. There’s a whole group of garment workers lying on the side of the road, beaten and robbed of their ability to support their families and even of their freedom.

Or here’s another one that’s big in this country: shaming people who are overweight. Our cultural ideal, especially for women, is “thin and toned,” and anything else is just not okay. If our bodies don’t fit that cultural mandate, we are shamed. Oftentimes we have so inculcated the values of the culture that we shame ourselves.

And God weeps. There’s a whole group of heavier-than-the-ideal people lying on the side of the road, beaten and robbed of their dignity and self-worth.

For the most part we are unaware of the corporate sin we are participating in; doing so is not a choice we make. It’s the air we breathe.

 

In this country there are two kinds of corporate sin that have reared their ugly heads this week. The first is violence. This country was founded and developed in violence. Our stories—our TV shows and movies, our video games … even our football games—all violent. I am not accusing any of us of being excessively violent people, but we live in a culture that lifts up violence as the best way to solve problems. It may show up as bullying, mocking, shaming, taunting … or shoving, hitting, shooting—violence is part of the air we breathe.

Our understanding of God’s Word, though, tells us that violence is not okay.

The Old Testament says, “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.” That’s a limit, not a rule to follow. In other words, if someone hits you and knocks out your tooth, the most you can do to them is knock out one of their teeth. You are not supposed to knock out their tooth, but that’s the most you can do.

Jesus made that clear. And he took the whole idea of violence against others farther:

“You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment.” (Matthew 5:21-22a, CEB)

Martin Luther King also spoke about that idea:

Nonviolence means avoiding not only external physical violence but also internal violence of spirit. You not only refuse to shoot a man, but you refuse to hate him.

To follow Jesus is to avoid not only external physical violence but also internal violence of spirit. No yelling at our TVs or muttering at our car radios. No wishing our boss would get eaten by an alligator. No thinking, “I hate that political candidate!”

That’s a hard one, isn’t it? The corporate sin of violence.

And God weeps. There’s a man lying on the side of the road, beaten and robbed.

 

The second kind of corporate sin that we have seen glaring at us this week is racism. Evangelical leader Jim Wallis calls racism “America’s original sin.” And so it is. Even when we think we are not racist, it’s part of the air we breathe.

About 15 years ago, I was driving home pretty late at night. It was around 1:30 in the morning, in a deserted area, and when I got to a red light I looked left and right, saw no cars at all … and drove through the light. But I had missed one car: a police car. Sure enough, the officer pulled me over … and let me off with a warning. Whew!

As I drove away, though, I thought to myself, “If I were a 20-something black man, I’ll bet I wouldn’t have gotten away with just a warning.” I’d seen the statistics, you see, that showed that black drivers were far more likely to be pulled over than white drivers, far more likely to have their cars searched, far more likely to end up being charged.

I thought I was pretty hip when it came to this kind of white privilege. Until I told my story about realizing that as a middle-aged white woman I had an advantage, in a workshop my first year in seminary, and one of the African-American men in the group asked, “Did you say that to the police officer?”

Well, no! Of course not! I didn’t want to ask for trouble!

Ah. I was aware of my white privilege, but I wasn’t willing to let it go.

 

White privilege doesn’t mean that white people don’t also have problems or that we are given privileges that black people don’t receive. It doesn’t mean that all white people have it easy in life, or even easier than black people. It means that the system—the cultural system of assumptions and expectations, of fears and of corporate sin—the system is rigged in our favor. It means that we can ignore the whole issue of race most of the time. It means that we can assume that our reality is the reality for everyone else.

Black Lives Matter does not mean that only Black lives matter but that, in a nation that has consistently devalued Black lives, Black lives also matter … and that in times when Black people are hurting badly, we may need to pay more attention to them than to others for a bit.

 

And God weeps. There’s a whole pile of people lying on the side of the road, beaten by a racist culture. And there’s a whole ‘nother pile of people lying on the side of the road, robbed of the ease of a life that didn’t need to consider racism.

 

Who’s going to rescue all these folks on the side of the road? Where’s the Good Samaritan?

Sometimes that’s the call on our lives—to take the risk to help the person whom we’ve been taught to see as an enemy. Sometimes the Good Samaritan is the person or persons we least expect them to be, like the myriad group of people quickly working together Thursday night as shots rang out in Dallas, moving a baby stroller out of danger.

Sometimes, as Martin Luther King further said, “we must come to see that the whole Jericho road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life’s highway.” We need to repent of our participation in the corporate sins of violence and racism and work to change the culture—to transform that Jericho road.

Because when Jesus told this parable and made its hero a Samaritan—an outsider: heretical, dangerous, repugnant—when Jesus called the Samaritan “good,” he was asking his listeners to dream of a different kind of kingdom. As Amy Jill Levine writes, “He was inviting them to put aside the history they knew and the prejudices they nursed. He was asking them to leave room for divine and world-altering surprises.” He was asking them to leave their corporate sin behind and live into God’s dream for us all.

Called to live into God’s dream for us all. How do we do that?

We need to Grieve. It’s easier to be angry than to grieve, but we must give ourselves and others time and space to mourn. For ourselves, for the men who died this week of gun violence, for the families they left behind, for the anguish of their communities.

We need to Repent of our complicity in the corporate sin of violence and racism. Recognize it, grieve over it, and move on in a new direction.

We need to Learn more. To allow our perspectives to be widened, our assumptions challenged.

Maybe by listening, if that opportunity presents itself.

Maybe by reading. I would love to join with some others in reading one or more of the books that have been recommended to me about racism in America. …

• Jim Wallis. America’s Original Sin: Racism, White Privilege, and the Bridge to a New America
• Michelle Alexander. The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness
• Debby Irving. Waking Up White, and Finding Myself in the Story of Race
• Ta-Nehisi Coates. Between the World and Me

Or you can borrow this book from the church library: From Hope to Wholeness. Sermons and other liturgical pieces from pastors in Baltimore Presbytery.

And finally, recognize that people are stressed. Grieving. Afraid.

Reach out. Be kind. Smile. Ask them how they’re doing.

Love your neighbor.

That’s God’s dream for us.

 

Amen.

When I Heard the Voice of God

It wasn’t in the earthquake
or in the fire.

It wasn’t during worship at 10:00 on Sunday morning
when we all sang Holy Holy Holy
and the preacher pulled out her stained glass voice.

It wasn’t in Bible Study class or the Women’s Fellowship
or even in Small Group.

It came to me on a Sunday afternoon
as I listened to the news.
And there it was:

a still, small voice (KJV)
the sound of sheer silence (NRSV)
a sound. Thin. Quiet. (CEB)

It rang in my ears
and it clamored in my soul
and it had me on my feet and leaning forward.
Listening. Listening.

Dammit, love your neighbor.

That’s what I heard:

Love your neighbor, dammit.

For when you speak against … act against
… murder …
my lesbian child
my gay child
my bi-sexual child
my transsexual child
my Queer child …

You speak against
act against
murder
me.

I created them that way, you know,
the same way I created you as you are.
I can forgive you for being a jerk
(if you ask me to)
but theirs is not the sin.

Love your neighbor, dammit.

June 12, 2016, reflecting on the Orlando Pulse Nightclub massacre and 1 Kings 19:9-18