This is the Good News
Sermon Preached at Germantown Mennonite on July 29, 2018
Based on 2 Samuel 11: 1-15
The Bible is full of Good News. News of healing, liberation, justice, and a vision for a new way the world could be.
But there’s also a lot of bad news in the Bible. There are stories of people being hurt by the powerful, stories of enslavement, of sexual violence. Today’s story is a bad news story. It’s bad news for women, bad news for anyone in the service of the powerful.
This is a bad news story, but not an unusual one. We hear it in one form or another pretty regularly in the news. Powerful man, neglecting his duties, catches a glimpse of a woman and wants her, wants to own her and possess her. So, he sends for her and make it impossible for her to resist–he is, after all the most powerful person in the known world. And he finds a way not to directly kill this woman’s husband, but he put the husband in a position where he would surely die. So many aspects of this story sound familiar. Don’t they?
This is a story of bad news.
But there are places where this story is read and preached as good news. I recall hearing this story preached when I was a kid. And I wish I remembered it because it was a good teaching. I remember hearing this story as “Bathsheba was seducing and alluring King David, a man chosen by God to lead the people.” “Bathsheba wanted the King’s attention.” “Bathsheba was compliant with King David’s wishes because she knew she was part of God’s great scheme.”
I know I’m not the only one that heard that story interpreted like this. And I’m disgusted by this interpretation. Nowhere in the text does is say any of these things. Nowhere does it say that Bathsheba wanted attention, or asked for it. Nowhere does it say in the text that she was scheming, or trying to lure in the king. These are behaviors that have been put on the Bathsheba by the readers. And let’s be honest–they’ve been put on these text by powerful male theologians and preachers.
But, this is not what was happening in this story. Bathsheba was just taking a bath. Some biblical scholars have even made a case that she was “washing” on the roof–washing her hands, washing her clothes, washing her body–we don’t know. She was washing on her roof when all the men of the city–including the King–were supposed to be out fighting in a war. No one was supposed to see her because all the leaders, all the men, should have been out fighting in battle.
This is not a good news story.
In fact, it’s another story in a long line of stories of the leaders of Israel abusing their power, trying to possess and control women–to add them to a collection, a harem.
This is not a good news story, but it is not a surprising story. It’s one that’s played out in the news, in the courts, in our political drama. This is not a good news story. It’s just the news.
We have some indications that David’s behavior is not a surprise to the writer of the book Samuel. The author writes, “In the spring, the time that Kings go to war”. That is the most ho-him thing I’ve ever read. At the time that kings do what they do… It’s as if the author is preparing us for what we all expect–another abuse of power, another assault to the people who don’t even get to tell their own story.
To understand this comment about the king, we have to go back to earlier in the story and remember that the people wanted a king, but the prophets reminded them of what a bad idea it was, and how God wanted better for them. God could rule them instead–they didn’t need a king to lead them, a king that would surely be corrupted by power, wealth and their own selfish aims.
But they insisted. We want a king. And God got tired of fighting, and the prophets got tired of warning them of the eventual selfish narcissism of Kings, so God gave the people what they were sure they wanted.
So the people got their king, and the kings did what they do. They went to war.
And the people became accustomed to Kings taking who and what they wanted for their own pleasure and not thinking about anyone but themselves.
And this became so commonplace, and so bad, that even the author of the book of Samuel has fallen prey to the narcissism. He’s told the story of Bathsheba from the perspective of David. David saw, David wanted, David took. And sometimes, friends, we have fallen prey as readers, because we assume consent. We assume that Bathsheba would say yes, that she would be ok with this, that she would desire this.
But, in the story, we never hear a word from Bathsheba. But don’t be deceived, friends, we know she had something to say. We know she reacted, responded, had strong feeling about the whole experience. I can only assume that she wept when David took her, she wept when her husband was killed, she wept to be David’s favorite wife. Because it was not what she asked for. It was not was she desired.
We have read the scriptures to assume that because David did it, and David was God’s chosen one, that David was perfect, that David thought about his choices, cared about the people he led, desired only good things for them. We assume that David would mind boundaries, would care about Uriah at the very least, and would respect the bond between Bathsheba and Uriah.
But if this is caring about people, if this is leading people, there’s something very wrong here.
This is not good news.
This is abuse. What King David, the leader of God’s people, did to Bathsheba and Uriah was abuse.
Abusive behaviors take place when we fail to see the humanity in other people. This happened in the way that King David treated Bathsheba and her husband. And the abuse continues in the ways we tell the story, and in the ways we interpret the story, when we fail to see the humanity of Bathsheba, a woman with a voice, with feelings and with a complex inner life. The abuse continues when we do not put ourselves in her place, and witness for ourselves all the boundaries that have been transgressed.
The lack of humanity with which David treated Bathsheba, and the lack of humanity with which we have been told this story it is a symptom of a spiritual illness. It’s a narcissism that that insists on telling the story from the perspective of the powerful. It’s a narcissism that desires to be in David’s place, that wants to satisfy our own needs, rather that being present to the pain of others. This is the same narcissism that limits even the vision of the writers of the Hebrew scripture, who cannot manage–despite their gifted writing skills–to give this woman a voice.
The bad behavior of King David, and the flawed assumptions of the writers of theology are more than just troubling behaviors. The way some see this story as good news, rather than the bad news, bad behavior it is, gives us eyes that are untrained to see abuses in the church, in our families, in our communities, and in our political sphere.
Instead of seeing this as just bad behavior, can we see this as a deep need for humanity’s transformation in heart and mind. Instead of seeing this as part of God’s plan, can we see this as David’s deep spiritual illness, despite being labelled as “God’s chosen one.”
The only way we can address this sickness of heart and mind is to bring it to the light. We name David’s abuse of Bathsheba, and all the ways that this went against what God desires for humanity, and it continues with the ways that we have been trained to accept it, condone it, or ignore it in scripture.
We name and bring into the light the abuses of theologians like John Howard Yoder, famous Mennonite ethicist, who sexually abused countless female students and colleagues, all while framing it in a theological construct of “love.” We name the ways that his theological framework did damage to a generation of women in the Mennonite denomination who tried to speak out and who were silenced because John Howard Yoder was “God’s chosen”.
We name and bring into light the abuses of our politicians whose behaviors we’ve ignored because we’ve been enamored with their public persona.
And we even have to name and bring into light the ways that–yes, even in this church–patriarchy rears its head when some women are only asked to be in the kitchen and some men are only asked to be trustees.
The ways we fail to see the full breadth of humanity of each other does damage to our spirits. It is a spiritual illness. And God calls us back. God calls us not to the way of kings. God calls us back to God’s side, back to that place where we are fully seen and known, not as a thing to be possessed but as a person with a name, a voice, talents, opinions and agency. God calls us back to our full humanity, a place where we are treated with dignity, a place where our talents and gifts are understood and respected.
We were not born to be possessed, to be owned. We were not born to assert power over others. We were born to be seen and known by God and each other. We were created to be loved and to love each other in our full humanity.
This is the good news. This is the good news. AMEN.
Welcoming the Stranger, then and now
This piece was originally published here.
Germantown Mennonite church is the oldest Mennonite church in North America, founded in 1683 in Philadelphia. These early Mennonites did not come to seek safety from persecution, in contrast to the typical early Mennonite narrative in this country. They came to build business opportunities on the Native American trade route now known as Germantown Avenue. They used Lenape land and the Wissahickon River to build and power their paper and linen industries in a burgeoning colony.
These early entrepreneurs participating in William Penn’s religious experiment knew their experience in their German homeland was relatively peaceful, and their immigration experience was unusual; however, their Mennonite siblings in the German countryside were less fortunate. They were being persecuted economically and physically. So, when the Mennonite farmers from rural Germany began to arrive by the boatloads in Philadelphia, the Germantown Mennonites offered them hospitality before they headed out to the Native American lands we now know as Skippack, Franconia and Lancaster. Some of these families would winter with the Mennonites of Germantown, and at the first sign of spring, they would continue their journey toward a permanent home.
This was always a little disappointing to the Mennonites of Germantown. They would have loved for their farming friends to stay with them in Germantown and build their Philadelphia Mennonite community. But this is not what the Mennonite farmers had in mind. They wanted an opportunity to build their own community and farm new land in peace.
There was also the matter that the urban and rural Mennonites did not see eye to eye theologically. The Germantown Mennonites were not ones to wear plain clothes. In fact, some of the the urban Mennonites were downright garish in their dress. There are stories of one particular silk maker in the Germantown congregation that would wear a beautiful, colorful silk coat down the muddy street, an affront to rural Mennonite sensibilities.
So while Germantown’s hospitality was appreciated, it was not a place where the next wave of Mennonites wanted to make a home. They were not made for city living. They wanted their freedom and independence expressed in a quieter rural life.
In 21st century-Philadelphia, the Mennonites of Germantown continue to live in freedom and security, but a new wave of Mennonites have moved here from Indonesia and Latin America. They have come to this country seeking safety, like the waves of 17th century-Mennonites headed to quiet land to farm. This time they are staying, and making their homes in South Philadelphia.
I met Pastor Aldo Siahaan of Philadelphia Praise Center in 2010, when Indonesians and Latinexs were moving to this country in waves, because their lives were in danger back home. It was immediately clear to me that the story of Germantown and of this new Mennonite congregation were connected.
Siahaan leads a community of immigrants (documented and undocumentsed) from Indonesia who were escaping religious persecution, and he shared his worship space with a community of undocumented folks from Mexico and Central America who were escaping extreme violence and poverty. These new Mennonites are no less deserving of Germantown’s hospitality than that first wave settlers from Germany and Switzerland who were looking to worship, work, raise their family and be a part of a community in this new-to-them place.
At Pastor Siahaan’s urging, Germantown Mennonite Church joined New Sanctuary Movement, an immigrant-led organization working to make sure undocumented folks in Philadelphia are safe. The work with New Sanctuary Movement means that when a family is taken into sanctuary in a congregation, Germantown Mennonite Church shows up to welcome them and bless them.
In December, Carmela and her four children were taken into sanctuary in a North Philadelphia church, and people of faith from all over the city came to cheer for Carmela, to commit to pray for her and her family, and to bless her with our prayers and love. And when Carmela made the brave decision to allow her children to go to school – even though they faced deportation – we showed up with balloons, signs of support, prayers and songs to welcome those children back into some sort of normalcy.
Christian hospitality for immigrants now means that when Elias and Brady, teenage immigrants from Honduras, go to court to petition for asylum, Germantown Mennonite folks show up to offer prayer and presence. My Spanish is terrible, and Elias and Brady are still learning English, but they know who I am, and we greet each other at every court date with hugs and smiles. And when they come over for lunch, even though we have to communicate with a translator, we manage to find a shared language in our love of World Cup football.
Christian hospitality means that when we Mennonites of Philadelphia get together to plan our yearly joint Pentecost service, we work hard to make sure that immigrant voices and stories are shared and heard widely. Just because Germantown was the first Mennonite church in Philadelphia doesn’t mean we have a monopoly on Mennonite theology or identity. The newest wave of Mennonites in Philadelphia have so much to teach us about what it means to follow Jesus.
There are clear difference in what welcoming the stranger looks like now versus 300 years ago. Immigrants have many more hurdles, and face much more difficulty living and surviving in this rich nation. They know the persecution the early Mennonites faced. Like the early Mennonites, they know that if they stayed in their homeland they could be next to die. Why else would folks risk their lives and endure the indignities of the immigration system, if they could find safety in their country of origin? In the words of poet and immigrant Warson Shire, “No one leaves home, unless home is the mouth of a shark.”
While the first Mennonites to settle in Philadelphia weren’t seeking safety from persecution, we were connected to our 17th-century Anabaptist siblings, and knew that those who came after us were living in fear. We knew their persecution was ours too. In the 21st century, it’s no different. There is a sizable immigrant community in Philadelphia; our 21st-century response should be no different than it was 334 years ago. Their persecution is ours, and their liberation is ours too.
What looked like a riot…..
Sermon Preached on 5.20.18
Based on Acts 2:1-21
Sometimes people see what they want to see. Sometimes folks hear what they want to hear.
What is a peaceful protest to one person is a violent clash in the eyes of another.
What is an honest expression of fears and doubts to one person is a personal failing in the eyes of another.
One person’s good boundary setting is another person’s lack of compassion.
One person’s difficult decision can be seen by another as selfishness.
Cursing is an offense to some, but to others is the only way to get to the sharp, painful mess they are struggling to articulate.
It’s all in who is watching and listening, and what they are trained to see and hear.
Sometimes we just see what we want to see. Sometimes folks hear what they want to hear.
This week while the US embassy was opened in Jerusalem, thousands of Palestinians were continuing their month long “March of Return” at the border fence in Gaza. They were marching to protest the blockade that prevents supplies from coming in and out of Gaza, and to demand to return home. Conditions in Gaza are unlivable. Most water is contaminated, food is scarce and there is no work, and no way to support a family there. Reports began to come out saying that Palestinians in Gaza were dying in the clashes against military. But there were no clashes. There were protests on one side of a fence, while the military on the other side shot into the crowds inside Gaza–Killing at least 62, and injuring over one thousand.
Sometimes people just see what they want to see. What confirms their narrative, and their suspicion of others.
Our text today is the story from the inside of the Pentecost experience. The writer, Luke, was in the room where it happened. And he watched as the disciples gathered and prayed, and as the spirit descended on them like fire. He listened as those in the room as they began to speak in other languages, unable to control the words coming from their mouths. He bore witness to the disciples into the room speaking words to people that they had never met before from places they had never before visited, in languages they had never studied.
Luke testified to what he saw as someone close to the action, as someone that saw this pentecost day from the beginning, from fear in the upper room to a spark of the divine, to languages being spoken and people understanding.
What a chaotically joyful day that must have been.
The folks that could hear and understand were other folks that were oppressed by the Roman empire. All of those bizarre names of people groups listed in this passage were regions under Roman rule. So the spirit, which set the hearts and heads of the disciples on fire, was speaking to other communities under occupation.
I’m sure the Roman occupiers saw this chaotic display. And from their perspective, this gathering would most certainly be a threat. I’m sure that the Roman Newspapers would have reported this event as an uprising of occupied peoples from all over the empire, threatening to set the empire on fire. Or perhaps they would describe this as a terrorist group.
People see what they want to see. They hear what they want to hear.
And the spirit doesn’t care what it looks like. The spirit is not concerned with optics or perception. The spirit knows what she’s doing when she fills a space, when she rushes into the spaces where we pray, when she descends on the baptized with a call to go forth.
When Peter went out to the crowd he began to preach. Or more, specifically he began to quote the prophet Joel, saying:
In the last days it will be, God declares,
that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh,
and your children shall prophesy,
and the young shall see visions,
and the older shall dream dreams.
I will pour out my spirit on all people, regardless of status,
and they shall prophesy.
Peter was quoting scripture to explain what was happening in this chaos. He was the Public Relations officer for the early church. There was prophesy, visioning and dreaming. The spirit was being poured out onto the disciples, onto the old and young, giving them a vision for the future.
The children were sharing their visions of the future together, one without occupation and violence. The young were visioning God’s reign while the old were sharing the dreams they had held since childhood. And together, in a great cacophony of sound, the church was born. A mess of genders, races, cultures, unified by their shared experience of occupation under the Roman Empire, unified by their desire to follow Jesus, who taught them how to live eternal life, a life without fear.
These folks, filling the streets of Jerusalem with the sounds of many languages, were most certainly a threat to the empire. I’m sure neighbors ran for security, because there was an unlawful gathering, and people were BBQ where they shouldn’t. I’m sure some wondered if there were criminals in the crowd that were violating parole. Maybe others wondered about the documentation of all of these foreigners gathered in the streets. Maybe the crowds of displeased that gathered to watch this Pentecost spectacle screamed, “You are in the Roman empire, speak Greek!”
Now I like a well organized worship service as much as the next person. I feel safe in it. I feel in control. But the church did not begin in a controlled environment. And the church does not have life when we strangle it with our control, our order and our organization.
The church was born into a mess. It was born into a moment when every one of them in the street was seen as a threat to those in power. It was born into complete chaos and disarray. There in that mess the church was born in fire and wind. And here in the mess of life the church continues to be reborn, renewed, and transformed.
So let’s embrace the mess of life in the church, where the songs aren’t perfect, and the words aren’t always polished, where we sometimes arrive late with uncombed hair or mismatched socks. Let’s embrace this messy life, and seek out more mess, the kind that challenges our notions of what it means to follows Jesus, of what it means to be a peacemaker, of what it means to see the world from a position of power. Because there in that chaotic mess, the church is being reborn. And those birthing pains are real. The spirit groans and writhes and spins, and the church is born again.
People will see what they want to see. They will hear what they want to hear. But we will know that in the chaotic mess of fire and wind and languages, the spirit is alive. We know that. AMEN.
Lift High The Cross
Sermon based on Numbers 21:4-9 and John 3:14-21
This week, my friend’s cousin in Palestine was killed. Because we live in a 21st century world with instant access, I watched on social media as his shrouded body was lifted high in the air, and paraded down Prayer Road, while his mother wept and could not be consoled. I listened to the heartbroken crowd confidently cry out, “Allah Akbar”–God is the greatest. I wept with my friends, even from thousands of miles, as we watched his body lifted high for all to see.
I’ve never witnessed a funeral like this–one that comes so soon after the death, and becomes such a scene of community grief. But what moved me most profoundly, and also disturbed me, was that as the crowd lifted this dead teenager over their heads, they said over and over, “God is the greatest.”
It’s times like this–when a teenager is senselessly killed–that I reserve the right to NOT say, “God is the greatest.” When children are shot in their schools, on our streets, or by the military in occupied territory, I reserve the right to purse my lips, turn my head and refuse to say that God is the greatest. It is a phrase that is dissonant in my ears and heart when something so unnecessary and so outrageously violent happens.
This funeral procession is not unlike Moses lifting up the snake in the desert. In this strange story from the book of Numbers, God’s people are plagued by poisonous snakes, who are biting and killing the people at random. And the only way to survive the bites was to look at that snake that Moses is holding up. In order for the people to live, they had to look at the thing that was killing them.
This is the opposite of what we usually do. If something is hurting us, we run from it. We don’t look at it, we avoid it.
But this is what God told Moses and the people to do. Look At the thing that’s killing you. That will save you.
And just as Moses lifted up that snake in the desert, so must the Chosen One be lifted up. Just as Moses lifted up the thing that was killing the people, so must we look at the cross, that symbol of all that killed Jesus, and all that is killing us.
In our story from the gospel of John, Jesus met Nicodemus in the cover of darkness. Nicodemus was a Pharisee and religious leader, who couldn’t be seen with Jesus in the light. Nicodemus represented the religious establishment, the powerful and the privileged in Jewish society. And Nicodemus had all of that to lose in coming to Jesus.
But he saw something, heard something in Jesus that he found irresistible. He wanted to be part of the reign of God, but was struggling to understand it fully.
So Jesus said these words to Nicodemus in the darkness: Just as Moses lived up the snake in the desert, so must the Chosen One be lifted up. God loved this world so much that God sent their child–God made flesh–so that everyone that believes will live. God didn’t send this child to condemn the world, but so that the world would be saved. Whoever believes is not condemned, but whoever doesn’t believe is already condemned. Here’s the verdict: Light comes into the world, but the people love the darkness, because that’s where evil hides. Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear of being exposed. But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so all they have done comes plainly into view.
Jesus, who was talking to a proud and powerful Nicodemus in the darkness, was talking about a couple of things at once. First, he’s scolding Nicodemus for coming to him in the darkness. All Jesus did and taught was about coming out of the darkness and into the light. Second he’s revealing himself as God’s child, the light of the world. And finally, he’s calling Nicodemus, and all people, into the light, into the truth of the reign of God.
And, it seems, into order to do that, we have to look at Jesus raised high in the light. We have to look at Jesus on the cross. We have to look at all that killed Jesus in order for the truth to be revealed. And in the case of Nicodemus, he’s being asked to look at the thing that was killing Jesus, killing him, and killing all of us, and face it in the light.
I hate to break it to you, folks, but Christianity is not some sort of sanitized religion, or a feel good faith. This Jesus Christ we follow is calling Nicodemus, and us to look at the thing that killed Jesus, and to look at the thing that is killing us.
The thing that killed my friends’ cousin this week was a system of oppression that demanded obedience to military orders barked at him, and did not care that he was deaf and couldn’t hear the instructions. The thing that killed Jesus was a system that demanded blood, demanded a scapegoat so that people could feel safe. What killed Jesus was a religious and political system that demanded things be hidden.
And that’s what kills us too. Hidden things. Things we refuse to believe, things we are afraid to bring to light in this world.
Yesterday I attended the funeral of an old friend’s fiance. He was 57, and he died of a stroke while on a business trip. I didn’t know Steve–I was there to support my friend–but after hearing so many stories about him yesterday, I decided that I’d like him. He was a talented musician, a rabid sports fan, and he loved good theological conversations.
One friend shared Steve’s favorite toast to make when he and his friends would gather together. They’d get together to sing, laugh and make music, and after the second or third round of drinks, Steve would stand and make a toast–the same one he’d make every time they gathered. He’d lift his beer in tha air and say, “Onward, towards death.”
Steve’s friend said the thing that we often hear at funerals. “Steve wasn’t afraid to die.” Now, I don’t know how true that is, but I’m sure that however Steve felt about death, he was looking it straight in the eye. He was levelheaded enough to know that death is inescapable, and God asks us to look at what is scaring us, and what is killing us.
God doesn’t take away the snakes that bite us–I wish God would. God doesn’t take away the pain of this world, even though I wish God would. God doesn’t even take away death. But God says, look at the thing that kills your body and your spirit, and you will be healed.
In the same way Jesus said to Nicodemus, and to us (who are more like Nicodemus than we’d like to admit)–Just as the Moses lifted up the thing that was killing the people, just as the people lifted up the body of Mahmoud Al Jabari, just as Steve lifted his beer in the air and said, “Onward,towards death!”, so Jesus must be lifted up, so that we can see the things that are killing us, and see the truth of the world. Because that truth–brought into the light of day–will save us. That truth, brought into light, is healing us. And maybe as we who have our battle scars, see how far God has brought us, and experience our healing, we too can say, “God is the greatest.”
AMEN.
Let your anger guide you
Sermon based on John 2:13-22 and I C
orinthians 1:18-25
A few weeks ago, I attended a training on Non-Violent resistance put on by Christian Peacemaker Teams. We did several activities that involved us being put in uncomfortable situations–like pretending we were at a rally, or role playing bystander intervention.
All of those role plays are uncomfortable and thought provoking. The thing that really had me thinking was one particular exercise. We were given scenarios, and based on what we heard, we had to stand in a circle that had been divided into quadrants. Violent on one side of the circle, and nonviolent on the other. And on the other axis–effective or not effective.
Here was the scenario that was given to us: You are at a peaceful demonstration, and police arrive in riot gear–shields, helmets and face masks–and they throw tear gas into the crowd. The tear gas lands in front of you, and immediately begins to spray the noxious fumes everywhere. You think fast, and grab the tear gas and throw it back towards the police.
And then we were asked: Is this violent? Is this effective?
Most people in the room stood over on the violent, non-effective side. I stood on the nonviolent, effective side. It felt pretty lonely over there on that axis, I’ll admit. But I had my reasons. I put myself in that scenario, and was worried about the people around me being hurt by teargas when they had no protection from it. And I knew that the police had protection. So, while they would be mad that I threw it back in their direction. They would also be safe from its impact. And the protesters would be safe too. This move felt to me like the safest option.
There’s was a lot of great conversation generated here. And some people changed their minds, and others did not.
It had me thinking about this text we read today. This one where Jesus entered the temple, makes a whip out of cords, and drove the vendors and animals from the temple. He turned over the money changers table, and the money flew everywhere. This story confounds those that read the texts and try to see Jesus as non-violent. Because Jesus seemed angry and aggressive here. But Jesus calls us to peace. So how do we reconcile this?
This story is often called the “Cleansing of the temple” story. But I’m not sure if cleansing is the right word. I have the sense that Jesus is doing more than simply cleansing. I think Jesus wants to do away with the system altogether, he doesn’t just want to clean it up.
Here’s why: This story is happening in Jerusalem during the Passover, the biggest festival of the year where folks are required to come to the temple to make an offering.
Jesus came to Jerusalem expecting to see a celebration of the people’s liberation from slavery in Egypt, and instead he witnessed a scene where poor people were being exploited.
There were two points of exploitation in the temple that day, and both had become commonplace. First, the selling of ritually pure animals to poor people who could only buy the animals at the temple at outrageous prices. And, the money changers who changed money from international currency to local currencies so it could be used in the temple. Both vendors were corrupt.
The animal sellers sold animals of all sorts in the temple. If you were rich, you’d sacrifice a cow or ox, and if you were poor you’d sacrifice a dove or a pigeon. But the temple couldn’t take just any animal–the animals that were sacrificed had to be unblemished, and in order to ensure that, they had to be purchased at the gates of the temple, where the prices were higher than the countryside prices. And, as with any tax or pricing system, the costs tended to be felt more by the poor than the rich. If you wanted to purchase two doves, you paid two days wages just outside the temple. The doves had to be inspected just inside the temple, and if they were found to be blemished, you had to buy two more doves inside the temple for the equivalent of two months of pay.
The second place of exploitation was found with the money changers who were located just inside the temple court–they bought and sold money because temple taxes could not be paid with roman images on them (graven images). So roman money had to be exchanged for usable local currently.
While money changers were important, they were also corrupt, because they could inflate the exchange rate and exaggerate the fees. So for poor people, the money changers exchange rate was the equivalent of a day’s wages, this was before the person purchased an unblemished animal and had to buy them again at a higher rate because the temple inspector found a blemish.
When all was said and done, a one day stay in Jerusalem could cost $3,000-$4,000 in contemporary value. This was an outrageous expense for a poor family in occupied Palestine.
Jesus, coming from a poor family himself, understood that this system was designed to exploit people, especially poor people. So he made a whip out of what he found lying around, and he ran the money changers out of the temple. He turned over the tables, poured out the coins, and demanded that these folks “Stop making the realm of God into a realm of commerce.” Interestingly, Jesus doesn’t call for a systemic reform, but an end to this system altogether.
Jesus was calling for an end to this system that was oppressing people. And Jesus was bringing about an end–at least temporarily–to this system, by mixing up the blemished and unblemished animals as they ran out of the temple. He was bringing about an end to the money changers, at least temporarily, by having coins scatter all over the courtyard. He was bringing about and end to this oppressive system in the chaos by mixing up who had paid and hadn’t, and by demonstrating the chaos of the oppressive system on poor people’s lives.
Meanwhile–those in power were more concerned about HOW Jesus did something, than they were outraged by WHAT Jesus is exposing. We get more worked up about the anger of Jesus than we do about the system Jesus is calling out. We get more upset that tear gas is thrown at cops in riot gear than we do that cops in riot gear show up at a peaceful demonstration.
And I’m not talking about those people out there that do that–I’m talking about me. I’m talking about us. Mennonites spend a chunk of time deconstructing Jesus’ actions here. Because they scare us. His actions certainly scare me. It scares me that our peaceful Jesus appears angry. It scares me that in order for reign of God to come near, that the world must be turned upside down, property must be scattered, my life must be radically changed, and the system that we comfortably exist in must be chaotically overturned.
Perhaps we are more scared of Jesus’ anger here because it will upend our lives and the ways that so many prosper on the backs of poor.
But anger is a healthy emotion, a good emotion. Because it tells us that something isn’t right. It tells us there is danger. It tell us that we have to pay attention to what is underneath that feeling. Are we feeling protective and that’s why the anger is bubbling up? Are we fearful? Are we feeling deep love?
And what do we do with that emotion, with that anger? Because yes, anger can be toxic–anger can turn into violence, but can also turn into creativity, it can tell us to change our behavior, it can call us to deeper discipleship.
In Jesus’ case here, even in his outrage and anger about what he saw happening in God’s temple, he took time to let his anger guide him. He took time to fashion a whip out of cords. Jesus was resourceful. He was coming up with a plan. This was a well thought out demonstration. He knew what he was doing.
And we are so focused on his behavior, that we forget to look at the system he is criticizing. Where is Jesus’ anger taking us? Where is this outrageous display taking us? Some would argue that our anger and outrage makes us look foolish. How can we work towards the reign of God? It’s wishful thinking. It’s impossible. But I think our anger and outrage at injustice takes us to the cross. The cross is foolishness to those who don’t understand, but to those who have a better sense of what God is up to, this cross–this perceived foolishness–is saving our lives. This outrageous expose’ of injustice and unfair treatment of poor people would send Jesus to the cross, and it would save him and us in resurrection.
Don’t let your anger scare you. This anger could be the Holy Spirit at work–calling you deeper into discipleship. Let it take you to the cross. Let it take you to the place where injustice is exposed and all the hidden things are brought into light. Let your anger guide you to a world as it should be. Let your anger guide you to resurrection. AMEN.
Bow in the Sky
Sermon Preached on 2.18.18, the first Sunday of Lent
Lent has often been perceived as a time when we need to deprive ourselves. We talk about what we should give up, or let go of for a time. In fact, the season begins with indulging in that one (or three) last donuts before a somber, sugarless, coffee less, chocolate less season begins.
But this is the season not to give things up (although if that’s what you feel you need to do this season, go for it), it’s a season to dig deep, to recall God’s work and ways, as we move towards a hopeful Easter story.
But, as with everything in life, before we get to the good stuff–to Easter–we will need to talk about the hard things.
Today’s stories–of the ark and of Jesus’ baptism are stories of God’s presence. Both of these stories have a little something in common–both stories demonstrate God’s presence in signs from the sky.
For most people in ancient cultures, the movement of the stars and other celestial phenomena were viewed as “heavenly writing”. They were omens, placed in the sky by God, and these omens crypically communicated God’s plans to humanity. The rainbow, though not written in the stars, was also viewed as a sign placed in the heavens by God.
Our Genesis story is about God placing a sign in the sky, but not for us to interpret. This sign in the sky–this bow–is placed by God to remind God of the covenant they have made with humanity and all of the animals of the earth. This sign in the sky is placed there by God to remind God that they promised never to destroy the earth by flood again.
This bow in the sky is not actually a rainbow in Hebrew. This bow in the sky is a weapon–a bow used to hunt and kill–and God is hanging it up. God is hanging up God’s weapons and covenanting not to do violence to humanity again. This weapon is not pointed down at God’s creation to threaten the earth, but pointed towards the heavens.
It’s a reminder to God that God cannot force humanity to do what they do not wish to do, even if it’s for their own good. In many ways, God has made a developmental change in parenting tactics. This is the moment for God that many of us have in parenting–that moment where we realized that we cannot make our children do something. We can’t pick them up and move them. And corporal punishment doesn’t work. Instead, we must be in relationship with our children. And we know well that our children, even with the best council, don’t always do what we want them to do.They have to make their own mistakes and we walk with them through those lessons.
So God is realizing here that God’s tactics aren’t worth the damage it does to God’s people and God’s creation, and to the relationship God has with their people. So, God makes a covenant.
I won’t do this again humanity. I won’t destroy you, creation. We are in this together. We are bound together in this covenant. And this bow in the sky is a reminder of that.
This covenant doesn’t say that others will not hurt God’s people. It doesn’t say that humans won’t get themselves and creation into a big mess, as is demonstrated by ALL of human history. But God is promising here that God is not going to be the one to do the destroying. God will choose instead to walk with us.
In the Gospel of Mark, we read of Jesus’ baptism, where the spirit descends on Jesus in the shape of a dove. This is another sign in the sky–another unusual sign, because, like the rainbow, it’s not in the stars, but in the pure bright light of day.
And the sign Jesus is given is the spirit in the form of a dove. Now the dove also showed up in the story of Noah’s ark. It was a sign that life was beginning again. It was a sign that Noah’s family would soon find land, and could get off that boat and away from all those smelly procreating, high maintenance animals.
Like the bow in the sky, the dove is a reminder to Jesus of that covenant. God is promising not to destroy Jesus, but to be present with Jesus through all the difficulties that will come. And we know how this story ends. We know Jesus will face more trials than he even bargained for.
And God’s voice came from the sky to say, “You, Jesus, are my beloved, my own. On you my favor rests.” This sounds like a promise–a covenant–from God to Jesus. You are my own. Remember that promise I made to humanity and creation. I’m making it with you, Jesus. I will not destroy you. I am with you.
This week was ash Wednesday and valentines day–on the same day. Nothing says romance like ashes of mortality smeared on your forehead. This year I witnessed a mom giving ashes to her 3 month old son. This week, I saw the image of a grieving community member standing outside of that school in Lakewood, Florida after 17 people were killed, holding on to someone and weeping, with the sign of the cross smeared on her forehead in a mixture of ash and anointing oil. Remember humanity that you are dust, and to dust you will return. Remember humanity that you will die.
Death is a promise for all of us. It is one of the few things promised to us in this life. Death is promised, but God has also promised to hang up God’s bow. God has promised that death is not at God’s hand. And God is with us through our lives.
Death is a promise. And so is God’s presence.
In hanging up God’s bow, God has said to humanity, “What are YOU going to do about this? How will YOU live in this world as my people?”
This covenant is more than God promising not to kill us. It’s also God handing a measure of responsibility to humanity.
So here, in lent, we begin to see the signs. We see the bow in the sky–God hanging up their weapons against humanity–and we see that dove–a reminder of God’s promise after the great flood. God is with us in all the seasons of our lives. So, how then shall we live? AMEN.
Fly, Eagles, Fly
Sermon based on Isaiah 40:21-31. Preached on February 3, 2018 at Germantown Mennonite Church.
Those that wait upon the Lord will renew their strength, they will mount up with wings as eagles; they will run and not be weary, they will walk and not faint.
This has been an ongoing joke among those that pay attention to football and the lectionary texts of the week. This is clear proof to some that the Eagles are destined for a win today.
It’s not clear proof. It’s a funny coincidence, but not proof of anything.
We all have a bit of Eagles fever around here right now. Even for those of us–like me–who have little idea what’s happening on the field, we want our team to win. We would love to see Philadelphia finally get a win, wouldn’t we?
Philadelphia is a scrappy city, loyal to each other, and also quick to point out the faults and limitations of those that represent us. And this year, after never quite getting a super bowl win–with our skyscrapers, bridges, clothing, hair and nails painted a loyal kelly green–we are ready for a win. So ready.
Eagles fans aren’t the only ones who were ready for a win.
God’s people, who spent hundreds of years enslaved weren’t looking for a Super Bowl win, they wanted something much more. They wanted freedom. They wanted to return to their home, after being enslaved in Babylon for hundreds of years.
In Isaiah 40, the text we heard today, they had been waiting for God to speak for a long time. The last time God had spoken through the prophets was just before the Babylonian enslavement. We hear the last words of the prophets in Isaiah 39–Isaiah said to the king, “Hear the word of the Lord Almighty: The time will surely come when everything in your palace, and all that your predecessors have stored up until this day, will be carried off to Babylon. Nothing will be left, says the Lord. And some of your descendants, your own flesh and blood who will be born to you, will be taken away, and they will become eunuchs in the palace of the king of Babylon.”
And that was it from God speaking for a couple hundred years. So, for hundreds of years, the people heard nothing from God through the prophets. And then the people heard from the prophet again in Isaiah 40:
Be comforted my people. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, for your cries have been heard and your debt has been paid.
Why do you complain that God does not hear you, that God knows nothing about your life? Don’t you know that God is everlasting? That God understands more than you know? That God never grows tired?
God gives strength to those that are tired, and power to those who are weak. Even the young will get tired, but whoever waits on God will renew their strength, the will soar like eagles. They will run and not get tired; they will walk and not get faint.
These are words from God to people who are waiting for a long time. To people who were old and tired in spirit. God says that those who wait will find strength from God.
After waiting for God to speak for generations, God offers words of comfort to God’s displaced people–your strength will be renewed; your strength is being renewed.
At the last Eagles playoff game, I saw something I didn’t know happened at Eagles game. Maybe it only happened this one time–I’m not sure. But during the national anthem, where an enormous American flag covered the field, an eagle was released and flew across the stadium full of screaming fans. It didn’t flap its wings or work hard to get across the the field. It just glided over the field while the national anthem played. This majestic bird made no effort, expended no energy, to get to the other side.
In the same way, the text today implies that those that are waiting for God will find that their strength has been returned to them. They that wait on the Lord will renew their strength. They will glide and soar like an eagle.
The next lines says this: They will run and not be weary, they will walk and not faint. There’s no way to run and not be weary, and walk and not faint unless you’ve been walking and running a long time. Unless your body is conditioned to run and walk long distances, it’s difficult to do.
Waiting on the Lord then is not about sitting around simply waiting for an answer from God, but running, walking, training and practicing for the work ahead. Our waiting involves readying ourselves for the work.
They that wait on God will have their strength renewed, they will soar as eagles. They will run and not get tired, they will walk and not faint.
We talk a lot in this congregation about the world and the difficulties we see. And I know that the hard work we’re doing is practice for a time in the future when we will need to use our running and walking skills.
And there are also difficult times in our personal lives that feel like there have been hundred years of silence from God. There are people in this room who have been waiting a lifetime to hear from God. You are tired, weary, faint. And God says to you, and to God’s exiled people in Babylon. Don’t you know that I’m everlasting? Don’t you know that I never get tired? Don’t you know that I’m always listening?
You who have waited, and been running and walking for what feels like eternity, God is renewing you. I wish I could say that God is taking away our need to run. I wish I could say that those that wait upon the Lord will get a nice comfortable bed to rest on. But those who have waited for God will have the strength to continue. And that continuing sometimes feels like running a marathon or walking from one end of the universe to the other, but some days it will also feel like gliding on air, or like an endorphin rush from running or walking for so long. God is giving us strength and courage to go on.
I don’t know what this means for the Eagles today. I hope for the sake of everyone that dyed their hair green that it means a win. I hope for every Philadelphia fan that never seems to catch a break, that it means victory for us, and a joyful somewhat out of control parade through the streets of Philadelphia this week. I hope it means a win for the city that loves each other enough to defend this city’s honor against those TV announcers that think we are all a bunch of brutish, horse-punching super fans, that like to throw snowballs at Santa Claus.
But I do know that God promised to give God’s people strength for whatever came next. In the case of the Israelites, it was a long road home, and out of Babylon. For all of us, we know what God has brought us through, is bringing us through. For you who have waited for a word from God, here it is. Be comforted. God does not get tired. God does not have a limited understanding. For you who have been waiting a long time, God is giving you strength to continue your journey. God is continuing to give you strength so that this journey doesn’t feel like an endless marathon, but that in this journey there will be moments where you can glide and soar like an eagle. Go Eagles. AMEN.
The Power to Bring Down Evil
Sermon preached at Germantown Mennonite Church o 1/28/18
Based on Deuteronomy 18:15-20 and Mark 1:21-28
Every year, I meet with a group of Jewish Confirmation student. They are high schoolers that are learning more about their faith and other religious traditions after their Bar and Bat Mitzvahs. It’s always a lot of fun for me to meet with them, because they ask questions that no one ever asks me. They take nothing for granted about Christianity, like those of us steeped in it do.
One of the questions I had from this group of young people was about prophecy. I get questions from the Jewish kids about prophecy every year. And every year it throws me. Because I NEVER get questions about that in this church.
The Jewish students asked me this: Do you believe we still have prophets today? And how do you know they are prophets?
My response was quick. Yes, we still have prophets. And we know they are prophets by how quickly we try to kill them and their message.
I talked about Dr. Martin Luther King’s 1967 speech on the three evils of our society–militarism, capitalism, racism. Eight months after this controversial speech, Dr. King was murdered. He wasn’t just preaching about racism anymore. He was talking about our bottom line, and the things that move this country, being the root of evil.
They didn’t seem surprised by my answer. They had already asked some other Christian clergy who mentioned Dr. King as an example.
But they asked me again, “How do we know the prophets are actually prophets. What is it that they are saying that makes them so controversial?”
And I didn’t really have a satisfying answer for them right away.
This week the texts beg for this conversation to continue. How do we know who is a prophet and who is not.
Deuteronomy gives warning about being a false prophet. Later in the text it identifies the mark of a prophet is someone that brings people back to Torah, back to the word of God, back to the center, to the good news.
Our passage from the gospel of Mark looks at the announcement of Jesus as bringer of good news in the gospel. Jesus here doesn’t announce that he is the Messiah, but he enters the temple and begins teaching. And people were amazed because he had authority in his teaching. He clearly had studied and knew the scriptures well.
In Mark’s account, it’s an unclean, evil spirit inhabiting a person in the synagogue that spilled the beans. This unclean spirit knew that Jesus was the Messiah, and told everyone in the temple.
In other gospel accounts of this story, Jesus went to the temple, announced that he was the Messiah, God’s chosen one, and his was run out of town. People tried to kill him immediately.
But in this text, the unclean spirit recognized Jesus, and Jesus cast out the demon with power, and the people were amazed. They say, this Jesus is teaching us something new, and with such power and authority. They still don’t understand what it means that Jesus has just been outed as the Messiah.
Isn’t that the way. Evil recognizes the good news and tries to kill it long before others even understand what’s going on. And even when evil forces understand, everyone else is looking at Jesus like “Cool party trick! Do it again!”
The Jesus in Mark has the power to destroy evil by speaking the good news. While the bystanders are saying, “Jesus does magic tricks,” the demon is terrified. This demon knows they are done. Game over.
We followers of Jesus don’t always know prophets when they are right in front of us. But evil knows. And evil tries to shut it down.
Evil tries to deport based on arbitrary, moving lines of state and country. And the prophets call us back to the heart of the gospel, a gospel that welcomes the strangers among us, for we were once strangers too.
Evil keeps people bound up in systems that promote poverty, and the prophets call us to actively love our neighbors as ourselves.
Evil allows addictions to flourish, and accuses the addicted of lacking will power. And the prophets keep bringing us back to love.
Evil teaches bias and bigotry, that results in unequal treatment in our criminal justice system. And the prophets call us to the center, over and over and over again. Love. Love. Love.
While we’re simply amazed at Jesus power and authority, evil is trembling in fear. So pay attention to what we know is evil. That evil is showing up in the form of militarism, capitalism and racism.
Here’s something else you need to know about the gospel of Mark. He talks about evil spirits–a lot. Enough to make me feel very uncomfortable. Enough to make me have this inner conversation that sounds something like’’Well, it wasn’t REALLY demons. Maybe it was something else they couldn’t understand or describe, so it was called demon possession instead.”
The Jesus of Mark’s gospel knows that evil is real. Jesus has no trouble identifying and casting out evil. Jesus has no problem being powerful and public about his power in the gospel of Mark. And this seems to be the good news here. Evil, tremble in fear, Jesus is coming for you.
We can all agree that Evil is bad. Evil spirits are bad, even if we may not quite know what Jesus meant when he described them. And we can all agreed that casting out evil is good.
But the thing that is important to remember is that evil serves a purpose. It’s there to protect. It’s there to keep the current order in place. The evil spirits are here in Mark’s gospel, inhabiting bodies, so that the religious folks here know who is bad, and feel good about themselves while remaining only simply amazed by Jesus. They can be amazed, yet unmoved, by this party trick Jesus.
But the evil is more than just inhabiting this body. It has shown up in a religious center. Think about that for a moment. The first evil spirit in Mark is found in the temple, sees and knows Jesus, is terrified by him. Jesus sends this spirit out of the body of a person in the temple, and out of the temple itself. And in doing this, brings people back to the heart of the Torah–Love God, love others. Jesus eliminates the barriers between that person and God. There was no more evil to stop that person from relationship with God. There was no more evil to keep the “good people” from thinking better of themselves than they ought. There’s no more evil in that space for people to say, “Well at least I’m not that guy, who is full of evil.’
This is what makes Jesus so completely dangerous. This is what makes Jesus’ words, teachings, and his very life so much more than a cool party trick. When the demons are cast out, there’s no one to scapegoat. There’s no one to be better than. There’s just you, face to face with yourself, called deeper into God’s urgent reign, with no one standing between you and God.
The Jewish Confirmation students wanted to know how I knew what a prophet looked like. I should probably have brought them this story from Mark. Prophets look like those that call us back to the heart of the gospel. Prophets are those that break down the barriers between us and God. Prophets speak with the power given to them by God.
Of course, Jesus was a prophet and MUCH more. Jesus was also the Savior that the people had been waiting for. But at the time, only evil knew it. Soon, the whole people of God would know that. And they would try to kill him. Because that’s that we do. We kill the messenger and the message.
Pay attention to where evil is trembling, to what these evils in our world are preying on. They are attacking those things that they understand to be good. We have power and authority as followers of the powerful, authoritative Christ, to call out these evils as we see them, to name them for what they are, and to participate in the reign of God by casting them out. Let’s not simply be amazed by the authority of Jesus’ words and teachings, because there are no barriers between us and God. Let’s proclaim the good news–with power. In Christ, we have the power to bring down evil. We have the power. AMEN.
Repent
Sermon based on Jonah 3: 1-5, 10; Mark 1:14-20
Jonah was a stubborn guy. In order to avoid being the messenger to the people of Nineveh, he booked a cruise heading the opposite direction of the place where God called him. When a storm kicked up, and the cruise staff were convinced that there was someone on their three hour tour that was responsible for this storm, the entire boatload of people drew straws, and unsurprisingly, Jonah was discovered with the short straw. So he walked the plank, was eaten by a big fish. When the fish realized his personality tasted as badly as his aftershave, the big fish spit Jonah out at Nineveh. And reluctantly, Jonah agreed to send the message from God to the people he already wished would be wiped off the face of the planet.
So he took a day’s long walk into the middle of this bustling city, and there he delivered the news: In 40 days, Nineveh will be overthrown! He delivered this message with a biting tone, confident that God hated these people as much as Jonah did. He was so confident, he didn’t even tell the people what to do to get themselves right. He just declared that the overthrow was imminent.
And just like that, the people of Nineveh, and the animals of Nineveh repented. They immediately turned around, changed their ways. They declared a fast, they put on their best–most itchy–bag shaped dresses.
This was not what Jonah had in mind. He did not expect the people to repent, to turn around. And he certainly did not expect God to change God’s mind.
We have another story of immediate change, in the calling of the disciples found in the gospel of Mark. Now, Mark is a big fan of this word–immediately–and he uses it A LOT. He also is not one to embellish a story. He tells it plainly. Mark says that after John the baptizer was imprisoned, Jesus immediately began to preach the good news. The reign of God is near. Repent and believe the Good news. (reminds me of the words of Jonah. Another short message. Another call to turn and transform.) And then Jesus is in Galilee calling the disciples. He just walked up to them, said follow me, and IMMEDIATELY they dropped their nets and followed.
Mark doesn’t set the scene at all. Because it’s not about the scene. It’s about the pace. This is all happening very quickly. Because there is urgency here. The reign of God is near. Let’s go!
I hear a lot of folks quoting MLK (who actually quoted someone else) who said: The arc of the moral universe is long, and it bends towards justice. I hear a lot of us say things like, “Progress is slow.” “Be patient.” “We have to make compromises.” But here in these texts, we hear a lot of immediately. There are calls to turn, to repent, and the disciples and the people of Ninevah do repent–immediately. Jesus called the disciples to follow and they drop everything and leave their family, immediately. In fact, in most of the stories from Jesus, healing happens immediately. People turn, repent immediately.
The only people upset by the immediate repentance of the people of Nineveh was the self-righteous messenger himself–Jonah–who delivered the message, but really hoped these Ninevites would be annihilated by the anger and wrath of God. So the immediacy of the transformation of this whole city really twisted up the messenger of God.
Pastor Juan, my friend and fellow Philly Anabaptist Minister, told me a story last week that involved a lot of immediatelys. He and some of the folks from his congregation, Christ Centered Church in Fairhill, were in the basement of their newly renovated church, and they noticed that a lot of water was coming into their basement. And they were upset. They quickly realized it was coming from their neighbor’s house, and not from the street, so they went over to the neighbor’s house to see what was going on.
Now this is a neighbor that they have struggled to reach out to, but she’d rebuffed their overtures every time. So they were a little hesitant to bang on the door of a mom and her two daughters. Would they be angry or defensive?
But they did it anyway–their basement was flooding, after all. And when the neighbor answered the door, they saw the problem. There was water leaking from the ceiling, down the walls, and through the window sashes. This family was in big trouble. In the frigid temperatures of the latest cold snap, the family’s pipes had burst.
Alex and Ed immediately ran down into the basement and waded into knee deep water. They didn’t put on waders or wonder if there was electricity flowing through that water, they just went in, looking to turn off the water, and protect the house from further damage.
They learned that mom had been crying and praying to God for someone to save them. The family had been without heat for months. The waitlist for help from LIHEP and other bureaucracies was months long, and they couldn’t find support elsewhere for help. The pipes freezing was another expensive indignity after suffering in the cold.
Juan, Alex and Ed told their neighbor not to worry. They’d replace her broken heater. They’d fix up the house from the water damage. These guys made an immediate commitment to their neighbor–an immediate expensive, labor intensive commitment, without knowing where all the money was coming from–and they are transforming their neighbors’ lives as they are themselves experiencing the immediate transformation of repentance, of turning. As they turn their lives to God, to new life, to discipleship, just like in Nineveh did, their neighborhood and city are transformed too.
I’m thinking about how I’d respond to an immediately situation like the ones Juan and the folks at Christ Centered Church faced. And I have to admit, my first thought is, “Who else can help? What is the program available for a problem like this?” I don’t immediately turn towards the problem, I turn towards someone else to fix it.
That has been a sobering thought to me this week. My instinct, and maybe yours too, is NOT to immediately turn towards the difficulty of a stranger, it is to turn towards a government structure, or a program to help. My instinct is to turn towards bureaucracy and institutions to help.
I’ve been trained that way, social work being my first job out of college. I’ve been trained to look for a program to handle that, a system to refer someone to.
But the bureaucratization of services means that we believe we can wash our hands of problems right in front of us, problems that we can immediately turn towards with our resources and skills.
Bureaucracy has become our own protection from immediately turning towards the problems. Bureaucracy has become something that protects people of privilege from getting directly involved in people’s lives, from turning immediately towards our own salvation, and the salvation of others. Bureaucracy is one of many ways that we are buffered from true repentance and change.
These systems are designed to give just a little bit of help, but ultimately keep folks in terrible poverty. They are not designed for immediate, transformative aid. They are not designed to repent of the structures that have kept some poor, and others rich. They are not systems that are saving and turning towards life.
Bureaucracy is not bad. The systems and institutions that have been created in this country protect millions of people with health care, housing, job support, education, etc.. But bureaucracy can also become the crutch people of privilege lean on to protect ourselves and our wealth. We don’t have to turn immediately because someone else is taking care of it.
But friends, we find ourselves in a position where others are not taking care of things. We find ourselves understanding these systems and bureaucracies we’d come to have faith in were never really taking care of things to begin with.
We live in brokenness. And God is calling us to repent. To turn. To follow. To seek after wholeness and shalom. Immediately.
Can we let that message sink in, through all of the protections we have–through the good health insurance policies some of us have, through the nest eggs we’ve created, the 401Ks we’ve been working on, the home equity, the family systems and structures we are born into, the safety we enjoy. Can we let that need for repentance seep through all of that institutional protection that we enjoy, and take hold of our hearts?
Friends, the reign of God is at hand. The reign of God is calling us to repentance. Immediate repentance.
Sulha
Sermon based on Matthew 18:15-20
About ten years ago, Charlie and I ended up in a feud with our next door neighbor. Earl was a gruff guy, and not very friendly. He also didn’t keep his house up, and it made our newly renovated home look kind of bad. There were a lot of things that needed to be repaired, and he had the skills and time to do it, but he had not interest in it.
One day, my sister in law was preparing to move out, so we blocked a few open spaces in front of the house with chairs while we waited for the moving truck. Earl came home, saw the chairs, and parked directly between them, commenting loudly about it to himself, and suggesting that we engage him bodily.
We were furious, and so was he. And we didn’t understand why he made this aggressive move.
The day did not end well between our families. Words were said. Harsh words. The next morning, I woke up to the sounds of Earl telling all the neighbors what terrible people we were. He threatened to burn his house down, so that ours would burn with it.
I was really scared.
So, I took a deep breath and went outside to talk to Earl, with my neighbors as witnesses. Not because i was following the principles of Matthew 18 here, but because I knew I was right and I could explain it and defuse the situation. And sitting in the house he was threatening to burn down didn’t seem like a great idea to me.
Turns out, we’d been making him mad for months. MONTHS.
There were four cars from our house that were parked on the street–we had a lot of people living with us at the time–but apparently there was a street agreement that if you had more than one car, you were supposed to park it on the side street. It’s actually a great idea, but no one told us.
He was also mad that the people that renovated our home did not hire black owned contractors. Now, we didn’t renovate the house–but he thought we had–and he was mad at us for that.
When we realized that we both had been misunderstood, a wave of relief rolled over us. This relief turned into a pretty good neighbor relationship. He never improved his house as we hoped he would, but he was good to my kids–bringing them books, and encouraging the training wheels to come off when Charlie and I couldn’t. And he fixed our heater a time or two. And, in turn, we’d bring him a cold six pack now and then and pay him a union wage when he fixed our heater.
I think often about those misunderstandings that brewed because we didn’t talk to each other, because we didn’t exchange simple neighborly information, or ask the right questions of each other. Who knows would could have happened if that misunderstanding continued.
In our gospel lesson today, Jesus offers practical advice to the church. If you have trouble with your fellow Christian, go to them and talk it out. Seems so simple, doesn’t it? But I can probably count on one hand the number of times someone has come to me to tell me they were having trouble with me. And on the other hand I can count even fewer times that I’ve gone to someone with a grievance. It’s much easier to complain to our friends that agree with us, than it is to go to the one who we feel has offended us.
But it’s hard to take that step. It’s hard to go to our friend or community member and say that we’ve been hurt, or that we are concerned about something that we see happening. It is a risk to say a hard thing. We risk getting hurt if we say something and are rebuffed. We risk being totally wrong about what we’re seeing and experiencing.
It’s normal to worry about the risk of saying something, but it seems that there is a much greater risk in not saying something. A small conflict can grow and evolve into resentment, anger, taking sides, or threats to burn down your neighbor’s house.
It seems to me that not saying something is more of a risk in the long run, than taking the risk to speak up. There’s too much potential left for misunderstanding and it can tear a community apart.
This is the other thing I know about talking to your sibling in Christ about something that bothers you: No matter how hard it is to go to someone, it is a sign of investment in your faith community to have those difficult conversations. To put it another way–putting yourself out there is a sign that you love and care about this body, this community of faith and the people in it.
A little part of me loves hearing about conflict brewing. It means that there is opportunity for deeper relationship, for deeper understanding. Not just between two people, or a few people, but for the whole group. Because when a conflict is between two people, it’s ultimately between two groups, two tribes of people.
There’s an old Middle Eastern tradition of conflict resolution called Sulha. In Hebrew, sulha means “table”, and in Arabic, it means to mend. This tradition was born at a time before there were laws, and criminal justice systems–when tribes settled disputes between other tribes. Sulha came into being before Islam, and while Muslim communities use it, it is also rooted in the other Abrahamic traditions–understanding that if you have a dispute, you must go to your neighbor.
Sulha is rooted in tribe, it is rooted in loyalty. In Sulha, disputing families are brought together by their muhktars, their tribal elders, to talk about the conflict. We’re not talking about small families either. In these communities, families can be 40, 50, 60 people large. So two families gather, and the dispute is named by the tribal elders. The victim and offender do not speak, but the tribal elders describe the dispute.
And then they share a meal.
At a certain point after the meal has been shared, when the time feels right, the offender’s family offers restitution. Maybe the family’s oldest son will do community service, or offer financial restitution. Or maybe a goat will be offered. And in return, as a show of good faith, the victim’s family will offer something too. Both families, both tribes put something on the table, and both tribes become bound to each other. In being bound, they leave their grievances, and work together as reconciled tribes.
Sulha is as old as Jesus’ last meal shared with his disciples. It’s as old as the table spread in the presence of the Psalmist’s enemies. It is the practice of going to your neighbor to air grievances, and coming back with an elder or two, and finally the whole tribe if necessary.
This ancient practice is a practice to bring people together, acknowledging the grievance and leaving it on the table after eating together. It’s not easy. It may feel a little risky. But, I believe that tribe, or community, or church is worth the risk. If we weren’t willing to risk a bit of ourselves for it, what is even the point of being part of it?
This morning we gather in this room. We praise, we confess, we bless, and when the time is right, we eat together. And here, we lay our grievances, and affirm our tribe, our kinship, our bond of faith. Because what is bound on earth is bound in heaven.
We were created by God to love each other and be in relationship together. We often describe this as easy work–just love each other–but in reality, loving our tribe, our church, our community, isn’t always easy. It involves being hurt, and risking hurting others. It is difficult conversations over the table, hearing another person’s perspective, disagreeing, trying to find a new way. Sometimes it involves periods of silence, anger, and space.
But this is what church has been created for. Not just the happy times, not just the times of agreement. Church is created for the disagreements. Because in those difficult spaces are opportunities for deeper relationships, and a better understanding of who we are, and who we are called to be.
AMEN.