Notorious

This week’s readings can be found here, we are using track 2. 

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This week, news broke, that in an Immigration and Customs Enforcement Facility, detainees were sterilized without informed consent. While these allegations have yet to be proven, I’m finding them easy to believe. Given our countries history of abuses aimed at black and brown bodies, given the history of eugenics and forced sterilization, given the separation of children from their families, given…it seems almost a given that this, yet another abuse, must be true. 

 

And, I am exhausted, I am exhausted by this, yet another reminder, that evil is at work in the world. I am exhausted at the reality that, right now, it seems like no effort is enough. No effort seems enough in the face of the evil that divides, that dehumanizes, that exploits, and that corrupts and destroys the creatures of God. No effort seems enough. We are but small individuals in the face of juggernauts of power. What could any of us possibly do to turn the tide? To turn the tide, to bend the arc, to transform the world.

 

And, then, more news. The death of Supreme Court Justice, Ruth Bader Ginsburg. A slight figure holding fast, a reminder that one voice can be enough. Enough to serve, enough to love, enough to change. She held fast until the end and even her opponents respected her steadfast adherence to the law as a means for justice for all of God’s people. More then exhausted, mourning. Mourning the loss of a woman who secured the hopes of so many, a woman who exemplified a life of faithful service. 

 

She turned, she bent, she transformed, and in doing so, she gave many hope.

 

I wondered if I could speak to the hope she gave without being accused of being partisan or political. I debated the merits of speaking to the news, this news. But, I want to honor the fact that many in our community are in mourning. I want to honor the fact that many in our community are scared. And, when people mourn, and when people are scared, they are to be met with love. Love, regardless. Knowing this, I beg your compassion, not for me, but for your friends. Your friends and fellow parishioners who may be afraid, scared, and who may even be wondering if our democracy can survive the death of a slight, Jewish, justice, who held fast until the end. 

 

So, given the news, given the pain, given the fear, given our faith…

 

I’m going to talk about politics. I’m going to talk about politics because we live in a world where politics dictate who has food and who does not, who goes to prison and who does not, who has a home and who does not, who lives and who does not.  And, given our scripture, it is undeniably a Christian imperative to engage with politics wherever those politics intersect with the lives of the poor, the hungry, the homeless, the children, the aged, and the prisoner. Matthew 25, Micah 6:9, Mark 12:31, Isaiah 1:17, Psalm 82:3, Luke 1:46-55…I can go on, and on, and on.  

 

And, then of course there is our tradition—our baptismal covenant clearly lays out that the pursuit of a Christian life manifests itself in our pursuit of justice, peace, and dignity for every human being. Our baptismal rite which asks us to renounce the evil powers that corrupt and destroy the creatures of God. So, given our scripture, our traditions, the world we are in and our system of governance, and the way in which we utilize political structures—it would seem that Christians cannot avoid politics any more then we can avoid the truth of God’s love for ALL. 

 

Now, that said, I’m going to be clear that Christian political life must be separated from partisan politics.  And I will never endorse or denigrate any particular party or politician from the pulpit. What I will do, is remind us, again and again and again, of our calling to love our neighbor as Christ loves us and to live in such a way that we perpetuate that love and assist in the in-breaking of a new creation. What I will do, is turn to the scriptures, to set our own lives and the challenges before us within the context of God’s salvation history.

 

Let’s begin with Jonah and the crisis facing immigrants and refugees in our communities. 

 

Jonah, of swallowed by the whale fame, has long served as a cautionary tale about what happens when we attempt to refuse our calling…but, when we look beyond the fantastical elements of whale vomit, the story of Jonah offers us an opportunity to see how easy it is to forget who we are, where we’ve come from, our common humanity, and God’s love for all. 

 

For context, Jonah was an early Israelite.

 

The early Israelites shared their ancestry with the Ninevites.

 

But, they had forgotten, Jonah had forgotten. That these people whom he thought so deserving of God’s wrath—were his people too. They were people who shared in the common origins of his own community. They were people, living, dreaming, hoping, doing just as his people lived and dreamed and hoped and did.

 

Does this not seem a familiar story here in the United States, where so many seem to have forgotten that their ancestors were refugees and immigrants too? That those they denigrate, share the story of the ancestors they venerate?

 

Jonah had forgotten. We have forgotten. That we are all, in fact, God’s own. 

 

God’s own sinners, God’s own forgiven, God’s own. And, even when we forget, God remembers. 

 

Jonah forgot, that they were him and he was they, and in condemning them, he condemns himself. In this, the story of Jonah isn’t about Nineveh, it’s about Jonah’s own need for transformation. It is about Jonah’s redemption as he faces the truth of God’s love for the people Jonah would abandon. The story can also be read as a story about who we are now, the nationalism and America first sentiment that pervades our politics, the needs of immigrants and refugees, and the need for the sharing of resources across borders for the benefit of all of God’s beloved children.

 

Maybe we’re Jonah. Maybe we’re Ninevites. But, regardless, this is our story and Jonah’s transformation is an invitation to our own.

 

The repentance of one redeems the many. The repentance of one, for the redemption of the world. 

 

Woah. I’m suddenly overwhelmed by this. By this truth that it starts with one. Noah. Jonah. Mary. Jesus. One person. One person is enough. Is more then enough. 

 

David beat Goliath. Noah built the ark. Mary said, “yes”. Jesus changed everything. 

 

And, I am strengthened by their witness. I am strengthened by the truth of who we can be. I am strengthened by who we can be when we recognize that we can be enough—enough to change the world. It won’t happen all at once, it may not be evident in our lifetime, but change will happen.

 

We can turn, we can bend, we can transform—because, with God’s help, the slight and unimposing can face down giants and change the world. Lincoln, Martin, Ruth, Malala, Henrietta, Sojourner, Katherine, Florence, Greta…the list goes on and on and on. And, as I consider the names of those who’ve risen to the occasion, I find my own offering pales in comparison. How often I think, my effort is not enough, that what I have is not enough. Anxious and overwhelmed…

 

Which is where I find comfort in the Gospel we have heard proclaimed today.  

 

The Gospel with it’s good news of God’s grace—a grace that recognizes even our poorest effort, even our last ditch, show up at the last-minute effort, is enough. A grace that takes our imperfect effort, if we’re willing to offer it, to do great things. It doesn’t matter if we show up late, what matters is that we show up at all. Late is better then never, so accept God’s invitation, and show up!

 

I find myself smiling as I re-read this last bit. Because, there is still time to show up and the last minute, last ditch effort, was enough. It worked out in the end. It worked out in the end. It will work out in the end.

 

Because Jonah’s transformation is our own. 

 

Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Per your request, sermon texts!

One of our care connectors at St. Clement’s reported that some of her contacts in the congregation would like to have access to sermon texts in addition to the sermon videos we have posted on youtube. So, beginning with the first Sunday of our program year (Sept 13th, 2020) I’m going to be resuming this practice. The first sermon of this program year centers on forgiveness. The following texts are those assigned for proper 19A: Genesis 50:15-21; Psalm 103:8-13; Romans 14:1-12; Matthew 18:21-25. I highly suggest reading these passages before reading the sermon. 

On Forgiveness

There are so many pressing events in this world, crowding in on my being. I feel as if, no words I can say can ever adequately convey my deep concern, fear, and hope regarding the state of our planet, our people, and our communities. 

 

What to say? How to say it? It stymied me and mid-day on Saturday, while chatting with Seth Baker, a member of our community, I mentioned that I was struggling with a sermon on forgiveness. Seth, ever quick with a come back, quipped

 

“Wait, isn’t forgiveness a really important thing in Christianity?!” 

 

Just as quick, I retorted, “I know, right? Who’d have thought! That’s actually my whole sermon for tomorrow…Forgiveness is really important.”

 

The end.

 

Hah! If only it were that easy. 

 

If only, it were as simple as saying, the rote formula “forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us”

 

But, it’s not simple. It’s not easy. It is in fact, one of the most challenging pieces of life’s work that any of us will ever undertake.

And, in these difficult yet defiantly hopeful times, the theological concept writ large, becomes a means by which we can apply our faith to every single issue that confronts us. 

 

So, this is a sermon about forgiveness. But, it is also a sermon about EVERYTHING.

 

Since Cain slew Abel, the human story has, all too often, been one in which perceived threats to honor are met with physical, emotional, and even spiritual violence. This has led to cycles of violence whose only victors have been the powers of evil that seek to divide us as each emotional, spiritual, and physical offense is met with an ever exponential, increasingly violent, response. These cycles of violence have plagued humanity and the earliest forms of governance that we know of sought to manage vengeance in order to keep interpersonal strife from becoming exponential threat. 

 

Many of us have heard the saying, “an eye for an eye” used as colloquial shorthand for the concept of retributive justice—a form of human justice in which the consequence of an offense is to have that same offense visited upon the original instigator of the act. My eye for yours. My limb for yours. My life for yours. And, many of us have found this notion abhorrent—gauging out someone’s eye because they gauged out someone else’s? First of all, how barbaric. Second of all, how gross! 

 

But, in the time in which this form of retributive justice was established, it would have been understood to be a progressive and liberal move—a progressive and liberal move in a world where a seemingly small offense could lead to intertribal warfare. Hammurabi the Babylonian prince whose reign oversaw the recording of a system of retributive justice, created a stable and long lasting regime throughout Babylonia in the 1700s because of his creation and perpetuation of a system that limited retribution. We still live in a society that allows and even extols retributive justice as a means to break cycles of violence—the death penalty is a form of retributive justice that comes straight from that stone stele upon which Hammurabi’s scribes chiseled his edicts. 

 

But, retribution has no interest in restoration or reconciliation and, in this, retributive justice is inconsistent with Christian life. Building on the teachings of Jesus such as those we heard in the Gospel today, and the scriptural tradition of their Hebrew forebears, the earliest Christians understood justice as “a power that heals, restores, and reconciles rather than hurts, punishes, and kills,” (“The Mission of God, Restorative Justice, and the Death Penalty” Kerri Pickel, page 5). From the Christian perspective, God’s justice is a“dynamic, active power that breaks into situations of oppression and evil in order to bring liberation and restore freedom. Its basic concern is not to treat each person as each deserves but to do all that is necessary to make things right.” (Pickel, https://static1.squarespace.com/static/57e96bea725e2558ab336c4a/t/5ebdc1db28551d04fdfadfdc/1589494235485/Pickel+%282019%29+Missional+Theology.pdf)

 

Reconciliation not retribution. Restoration not retaliation.

 

God’s dream for us is not the captivity of our sin. God’s dream for us is our liberation from captivity and our restoration to each other through the gift of grace and the action of forgiveness.

 

Our human story of revenge is met with God’s story of yielding power. 

 

God said, “never again will I destroy all living creatures”.

 

Joseph said to them, “have no fear, I myself will provide for you and your little ones”

 

Jesus said, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do”

 

In the upside down economy of Christ, the powerful are not those who exact vengeance, the powerful, are those who yield their power to punish and extend the power to forgive. 

 

Vengeance, in this economy, is an act of weakness.

 

For, only the truly powerful, can forgive.

 

The relinquishment of power is an act of power.

 

Can you sense what this change in perspective can do for us? Can you feel the hope that rises up in response to God’s unceasing mercy?

 

Imagine. Imagine what this current election cycle would look like if this was the kind of power we lauded in our world. Imagine, the humility, the compassion, the self knowledge and awareness that it would take to see true power as the relinquishment of the power to destroy, judge, or condemn. Imagine, what it would mean to vote for the Christian hope that death is not the end of our story. 

 

We serve a God, who is full of compassion and mercy, slow to anger and of great kindness—and in our personal, civic, and communal life, ought we not strive to be like God?

 

We’re going to shift a bit here, from the big to the small—from the structural and systemic to the interpersonal and discrete. 

 

And, we’re going to do so because the Christian value of forgiveness has been perverted by those who have used our faith’s emphasis upon forgiveness as a means of leveraging their own power to commit abuses. There are those who claim to share our faith who use the passage we heard from the Gospel today as justification for why the abused must stay in relationship with their abuser. But, this kind of interpretation is a perversion of Christ’s teaching, because it is an interpretation that deals in death and captivity. It is an interpretation that denies the law of love and the nature of God—it is, in fact, heresy. 

 

What then to make of the Gospel appointed for today? The Gospel which extols a kind of limitless forgiveness and illustrates its import with the torture of the merciless slave.

 

Girardian theologian, Andrew Marr, writes that “living without forgiveness, which is tantamount to living by vengeance, is torture. It isn’t God who is unforgiving; it is the servant. Clinging to vengeance in the face of God’s forgiveness tortures us with our [own desire for] vengeance for as long as we are imprisoned by it (Marr, Moving and Resting in God’s Desire, 119)

 

The torture undergone by the unforgiving is a product of the self and not the judgement of God. God is merciful, and the merciless can create their own hell just by rejecting the mercy of the God of love. I know this full well, for have I not lain sleepless in rage or anxiety, because the one who has caused me harm still holds me in their power? Not through their presence, but through the burden I persist in carrying in my soul. 

 

In this I have come to understand that forgiveness can mean releasing the one who has done us harm from having power over our body, our mind, or our spirit. It can mean walking away and shaking the dust from our shoes. God would never ask us to sacrifice ourselves in body, mind, or spirit, for the sake of those whose desire is destruction. 

 

Imagine, if we set ourselves free through forgiveness? Imagine if we were to seek a better way, through forgiveness? Imagine, if we relinquished our power for the sake of a higher power?