NOTE: For the Sundays of the season of Epiphany - the next five weeks - my worship notes will be using the ideas in Walter Brueggemann's excellent book, Reality-Grief-Hope: Three Urgent Prophetic Tasks. Here is the first of five.
Introduction
Today is the Feast Day of Christ’s
Baptism: it is a time to remember our own
vows of
commitment to the way of Jesus, a time to carefully consider how those
vows make a difference in a broken and wounded world, and a time to learn again
a lesson that regularly eludes all people of faith no matter what
faith tradition they proclaim. Namely, that faith is simultaneously personal
and political – subjective in all its mystical richness, privately
powerful in prayer and inward renewal – but also always objective in
both form and content. For faith is the Word
made Flesh. The inward journey embodied and revealed within reality. The core of our deepest truths and values
personified so that we become Jesus for another in our daily life.
St. Teresa of Avila, the 14th
century Spanish mystic, wasn’t kidding when she told us: Christ has no body now but yours.
No hands, no feet on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes through which he looks
compassion on this world. Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good.
Yours are the hands through which he blesses all the world. Yours are the
hands, yours are the feet, yours are the eyes, you are his body. For Christ has
no body now on earth but yours.
So for the next five weeks I will be
conducting a refresher course of sorts – for myself and our whole community –
on what the outrageous, objective poems first articulated by the Hebrew
prophets might mean for 21st century people of faith. Using the
wisdom of Walter Brueggemann, our tradition’s wisest, most insightful scholar
of the Hebrew Scriptures as a guide, I will attempt to express what the
prophetic task might mean for our contemporary realm. Brueggemann is, of
course, unambiguous:
In our
time as in ancient Jerusalem, the prophetic task is to counter the governing
ideology of exceptionalism whether American or Hebraic. That prophetic task,
you see, is to expose the distorted view of societal reality sustained by lies
that breeds unrealistic notions of entitlement, privilege and superiority (over
others.) And, at the same time, advocate for and enact alternatives… that show
how o a dismissal of God and disregard of our neighbor always leads to
disaster.
“The prophetic church,” the good
professor concludes, “bears witness to the irreducible reality of God
and the irreducibility of the neighbor as the reference points for a viable
life in the world that even our exceptionalism cannot nullify.” To put it more simply: people of faith make themselves search for the
face of God in our neighbors trusting that the One who was born in an anonymous
stable is waiting to be born again in our time, too.
Insights
Now let me be wildly candid
about something before I really get going:
much of what I am about to share with you over these next five
weeks – and everything that Brother Brueggemann posits in his book
(which I encourage you to get and read along with me) – is predicated upon
knowing at least the broad contours of the story of Israel. And that already puts me on shaky ground because
in 21st century American Christianity not only are we at vastly
different places in our recollection of the Biblical story, but we often
have a complicated and competing constellation of ways to interpret these
formerly shared stories.
Even within our relatively small
congregation, on any given Sunday, there will be fundamentalists and humanists
listening to what is said in worship; there will be Unitarians and
Trinitarians, Buddhists, Taoists, a few New Agers as well as traditional
Calvinists, Lutherans, cradle Congregationalists, former Roman Catholics and
Methodists plus a few good souls who aren’t really sure if any of this
is true but they like the music. Or the Sanctuary. Or the people. So please know at the outset that
this is a daunting task
It reminds me of
the old story of the grey haired preacher interviewing a recent seminary grad
for her first full time position as settled pastor. The Search Committee had
done due diligence checking references and had finally invited the young woman
for a closing interview. And as was his style, the old preacher asked, “So do
you know the Bible pretty well?” "Yes, sir, pretty good," she
replied. To which the chair asked, "And which part do you know best?"
The candidate responded, "I know the
New Testament best." "And which part of the New Testament do you know
best," was the next question so the young minister said, "Several
parts." "Well, can you tell us the story of the Prodigal Son"
the retiring pastor proposed. "Fine" was her reply...
Once
upon a time there was a man of the Pharisees named
Nicodemus, who went down to Jericho by night and he fell upon stony ground and
the thorns choked him half to death. The
next morning Solomon and his wife, Gomorrah, came by and carried him down to
the ark for Moses to take care of. But, as he was going through the Eastern
Gate into the Ark, he caught his hair in a limb and he hung there forty days
and forty nights and he afterwards did die of hunger. And, the ravens came and fed him. Well, the next day, the three wise men came and
carried him down to the boat dock and he caught a ship to Ninevah. And when he
got there he found Delilah sitting on the wall and shouted, "Chunk her
down, boys, chunk her down." And, they said, "How many times shall we
chunk her down, till seven times seven?" And he said, "Nay, but
seventy times seven." So they chucked her down four hundred and ninety
times. And, she burst asunder in their midst. So they picked
up twelve baskets of leftovers and asked: in the resurrection whose wife shall
she be?" For a
moment there was a stunned silence after she finished until the chair of the
Search Committee said with astonishment: "I don’t know about you, sisters
and brothers, but I think we ought to ask the church to call her as our new
minister. She may be awfully
young, but she sure does know her Bible."
And
with that caveat, let me offer three essential historical facts about
the prophetic project in Israel and then close with two interpretive insights
related to our national politics and life together as a small 21st
century congregation in New England. In the opening Scriptures, three competing
understandings of God’s call to Israel to live in covenant with the Lord were
expressed.
The
first reading, from Genesis 12, tells the story of Israel’s patriarch Abraham
and is clear that God’s covenant – that is, God’s promise of both land and
blessing – will be upon the lineage and seed of Abraham for all time. It is an eternal covenant and specifically
applies to those who come from Abraham’s family, or, to use Brueggemann’s term:
it is a covenant of the flesh. The
second story, from Exodus 19, speaks of God’s covenant with Moses and those who
fled oppression in Egypt. It is neither family specific nor eternal, but
conditional. And the condition is that those who have been blessed with freedom
and the land will commit to a life shaped by Torah. Brueggemann speaks of this
as an adherence covenant that requires the practice of love of God and love of neighbor
as a response to grace.
Do
you hear the differences here? One is eternal, one is beyond the constraints
of time; one is racial and family specific, the other is relational and available
to all. One emphasizes exceptionality; the other is all about gratitude for
God’s gift. And there is a third approach, Psalm 78, which links God’s covenant
to King David and the city of Jerusalem:
this suggests that all who follow the ways of the monarch are the true
heirs of both Abraham’s blessings and the Law given to Moses.
Now
the reason why this is important – both to our appreciation of the message of
the ancient Hebrew prophets then, as well as their wisdom for us today – is
this: each of these covenants offers us different relationships to God and to
one another, and each has social, political and spiritual consequences. In the develop-ment of ancient Israel as a
nation, for example, those who affirmed the Mosaic Covenant handed down on Mt.
Sinai emphasized living into compassion and justice as an expression of
gratitude to God for the gift of freedom and land.
Think
of the 10 Commandments – they are all about loving God and loving
neighbor – so much so that in Deuteronomy, Torah begins with the words: I am the Lord thy God, which brought thee out of
the land of Egypt, from the house of bondage. Thou shalt have no other gods
before me… and goes
on to speak of Sabbath keeping like this: remember that thou wast a servant in the
land of Egypt, and that the Lord thy
God brought thee out through a mighty hand and by a stretched out arm:
therefore the Lord thy God commanded thee to keep the Sabbath
day holy. Covenant
living – being faithful – in this tradition was about right relationships
between God’s people and their neighbors as gratitude.
Those
who embraced the Abrahamic Covenant – those who understood them-selves to be born
of an eternal promise to a specific family – were not always so... neighborly. They laid claim to a timeless promise that
was race specific – part of the challenge even today in the Palestinian/Jewish
conflict. And by the age of King David – roughly 1000 BCE – when Jerusalem had
become the center of power, politics, wealth and religion – an ancient
Washington, DC mixed with NYC and Los Angeles – the elite made sure only the
hybrid Davidic Covenant was taught and celebrated in the Temple. Over
and over again, the emphasis coming from David in what we call the “Songs of
Zion” tells us that all is well in both the Temple and God’s Creation but only so
long as David and his followers are on the throne. Psalm 46 is explicit:
I will tell of the decrees of the Lord: God said to David, you are my son; today I
have begotten you. Ask of me, and I will make the nations your heritage and the
ends of the earth your possession… O kings, be wise, be warned, O rulers of the
earth: serve the Lord and his king… lest God’s wrath be kindled.
I
can’t help but think of Lord Acton’s adage that power tends to corrupt and absolute
power corrupts absolutely. Even the word of the Lord in Scripture, you see, was
used to reinforce political and theological alliances. And while all of these
readings have a personal and subjective role to play in our inward, private
lives of faith, they also have public and political implications that we must
wrestle with from time to time, too – because not all the stories in the Bible
are equal. Without
interpretation, some can become oppressive and dangerous. So, that’s the first
historical fact: there are competing
covenants and factions in the story of ancient Israel and knowing this can help
us evaluate the competing factions in our own American religion and politics
today.
The
second fact is that these competing factions clashed profoundly
especially after the national disaster we know of as the fall of the Jerusalem Temple
in 587 BCE. This took place after
Israel’s kings played power politics and lost to Babylon. For years the walled city of Jerusalem was
under siege– and its citizens slowly starved – until the walls were breached,
the Temple destroyed and the best and the brightest taken in chains to Babylon
where they lived for three generations.
Do
you remember how you felt after the terrorist attacks of September 11th? I was in shock. I was furious and afraid – totally unglued
and uncertain of what end was up – and I wept and wanted revenge. I felt
powerless and patriotic at the same time. And I wanted America to do something
bold to hurt our enemies and avenge our innocent dead. Brueggemann
suggests that the way many of us felt and reacted after this attack is neither
new nor unique. He writes that many in
ancient Israel felt the same way because – and this is crucial – Israel, like
America, has always thought of themselves as special God’s chosen. We and they
are a city on a hill, doing the work and will of the Lord in the wider world.
Exceptionalism
– the belief that we alone are uniquely God’s people – blinded us to the
reality just below the surface of the September 11th terrorist
attack. It blinded the elite of ancient
Israel, too. Because in truth, we are all just like everyone else: no better,
no worse and certainly no more chosen despite what our history teaches. Or so
many hymns proclaim, to say nothing of our national holidays. To believe that
we are uniquely precious unto the Lord is fundamentally untrue and destructive.
And when ancient Israel’s sacred Temple was defiled and obliterated, the people
were shocked and speechless, unable to comprehend how this could happen. They
were so cut off from reality that they didn’t even know how to grieve.
Do
you know the Psalm “By the Waters of Babylon?” There we sat and wept when we remembered
Zion – when we remembered the Temple on Mt. Zion in flames in Jerusalem – they
were in total shock. I know that feeling – you probably do too – from the time
we watched the Twin Towers collapse in flames. I went to Ground Zero less than
a month after the attack with my daughters and stood there and wept… and wept…
and wept. That was all I could do. I still weep in stunned horror every time I
visit that place.
And
it connects me to the second truth for today: when ancient Jerusalem was
sacked, those who lived out of the Abrahamic or Davidic covenant were undone
emotionally, theologically and socially.
They hadn’t accepted reality so they found themselves confounded and
devastated when their lives became no different than those of any other
suffering mass of human flesh.
Now
here’s the third historical fact: there
had always been an alternative vision of what being God’s chosen meant
within ancient Israel – and it came as the prophets raised up the Sinai
Covenant as the true way of the Lord over and again. If you read the poetry of the prophets, it
proclaims one truth: Love of God means sharing compassion and doing justice
with your neighbors in gratitude for God’s grace. THIS law is the way God’s
world works: the love you take is equal
to the love you make. And if you upset
this law of creation, there will be consequences. The prophet Micah is
unequivocal – and this is the prophet who gave shape and form to our mission
statement: What does the Lord require but TO DO JUSTICE, TO LOVE
MERCY AND TO WALK WITH HUMILITY WITH OUR GOD.
While
the priests and politicians were trying to understand why the chosen people had
been blown to hell and back in a hand basket, the prophets were saying: we warned you, we told you, why are you surprised?
The way of God is gratitude, humility, neighborliness and compassion. Essentially,
the prophets grasped that being the chosen and beloved of God is NOT about
race, birth, political stature or family pedigree, but… love. In obedience and Torah we thank God and
embody shalom.
And
that is exactly what Jesus taught his disciples. Like the prophets he told us that the whole
of Torah is: Love one another, sisters and
brothers, as I love you. And just so that there would be no ambiguity,
he put a towel around his neck, knelt to wash the feel of his disciples and
said: Do THIS in remembrance of me.
Are
you still with me? I know that’s a lot of Biblical interpretation
to take in at one sitting, but it is so important – especially at this moment
in our life together as Americans and members of First Church. You see, the fear mongering, cruelty and xenophobia
of so many of our politicians is related to the lie that we are the chosen or
the exception by birth. Not true – for the United States, for Israel, for Saudi
Arabia, Canada, Russia or anywhere. And
yet we’ve heard it for so long that we want to believe – and keep on believing
– that we are God’s uniquely holy people. We want it so badly that some among
us are we’re willing to kill others and spend away our future to preserve this
illusion.
Listen
to Ted Cruz – he’s clear that everyone is out to get us. Columnist David Brooks
writes in the NY Times that his belligerence is bullying a reasonable man like
Marco Rubio into inauthentic positions that are dangerous to everyone. And I
won’t even comment today on the wicked hyperbole of the Donald.
Now
please: don’t mishear me! I am NOT
saying that Americans aren’t loved by the Lord. We are – and I love the unique
blessings and beauty of our land, our people and our system. But we are no
better than any other people, faith, politics or heritage. What’s more, our
obsession with maintaining our exceptionalism is making some of our politicians
crazy: they hate having a Black man in
the White House. They hate sharing God’s green, but all too quickly becoming
brown, good earth with the rest of our neighbors in creation as the recent
Paris Climate Summit revealed. They hate sharing information about genetically
altered foods with us because, after all, they really know better than we do
what leads to health, well-being and prosperity. And they hate the idea that
ALL of God’s children should have access to quality health care – or safe
schools – or equal pay for equal work.
But
do they ever love to point out all our so-called enemies whom they are
certain are NOT on the side of the Lord: like Central American children flooding across
our borders to escape drug-related gang wars; or Syrian refugees fleeing
cluster bombs and chemical attacks; or anyone who insists that we must affirm
that Black Lives Matter. Rather than finding common ground in pursuit of the
common good, these politicians and religious leaders gin up the lies. And that
not only encourages white domestic terrorists like the young man who opened
fire on a Bible study in a Black South Carolina church but gives demagogues
like the Donald permission to gasoline
on the fire of our fears and hateful emotions at rally after rally after rally. People of God, these are trying times, but we
have been given the gift of the Biblical prophets who have something to tell us
about how best to proceed rather than shake our heads in despair.
Conclusion
And
one of the only reasons I continue to come to church these days rather than
drift off quietly into the sunset to jazz with my friends and entertain my
beloved grandson Louie is that the way of the prophets and the way of the Lord matters.
They can help us find the light in the darkness so that we save lives and
bring glory to God. They can point us towards a way of being the church that
binds us together in love. And they can instruct our hearts and minds to the consequences
of what remaining silent in the face of the mounting violence, fear and chaos
means .
You
see, the ancient prophets have a handle on something indispensable for us a
congregation. Grieving – not as others
do who have no hope, as St. Paul told us, but grieving like the prophets. Grief
puts us in touch with reality. It opens us to God’s broken heart and compels us
to go beyond our safety zones. Over the next two weeks I’ll share more with you
about how prophetic grief works and why it is imperative for the renewal of
First Church as well as American politics.
But
for now: can anybody tell me what this
is? It’s a turban that we’ve started to use again
in our inter-generational Epiphany Pageant. For the first seven years I was
here – and I just for the record I just completed my 9th Christmas –
I’d heard about these costumes and the old way of doing pageants during the
glory days of First Church – but I never saw them. I was never even told where they were hidden
or stored.
Like
so much of our past, they were locked away behind strong doors so that they
wouldn’t be stolen. Or used. Or, I submit to you, used in a way that was
different from our glory days. In the
glory days, we were a church of power and prestige – and the pageant was
serious business – performed and orchestrated by adults in costumes modeled
after those on display in Manhattan. But
when the world changed and Pittsfield was rattled by job loss and economic
depression; when heartbreak, tragedy and disappointment took up residence
within this faith community, these costumes were locked away. Not necessarily on purpose and certainly not
for the reasons I’ve just mentioned. But I don’t think they would ever have
seen the light of day again because they were symbols that evoked so much
sorrow and loss.
Now
somehow last year, while searching for something else, we stumbled upon the
closet where these ancient costumes were stored; and as we pulled them out, the
delight and awe they elicited from our children made it clear to me that these
turbans HAD to be taken out of mothballs and worn again. Like so much that is
locked away but not grieved with prophetic intent, these old treasures held a
clue to our emerging renewal if we were bold enough to use them. It wouldn’t be like the old pageant – that
had its own life and its own purpose – and these were new times. But the old
resources still had value, albeit in a much more humble way and on a much
smaller scale – just like First Church in the 21st century.
So
we rounded up as many youth and children as were available – and recruited some
angels
and shepherds from the adults who gathered for worship , too– and
stumbled into a way of being church that holds incredible promise for us at
this moment in time. It was a pageant that was a little ragged around the edges
– just like us. And
it was amusing in ways that were often unintended – God’s grace is full of
surprises, don’t you think? And it was
no longer a spectacle, but rather a simple act of shared ministry that had its
own life, its own integrity and a tender sense of hope. I have come to believe
that this new pageant in all its quirky glory has something to teach us about
God’s new calling for our church.
It
symbolically mixes the old with the new, grief with joy, and leads us into a
way of being that is humble, sacred and small. That’s what I see Jesus offering
to us at his baptism: he accepted God’s
call to humility when he gave himself over to John’s hands in the Jordan. Jesus
identified himself as part of a new world – not the elite, not the exceptional,
but the world of all who are hurting, afraid and grieving. After all, he was in
the muddy river NOT the Temple in Jerusalem, right?
In
this he became the embodiment of sacred solidarity. And that is the
journey I sense we are being called into as a new First Church: a
community of humility, solidarity and compassion. These acts give us eyes to
see the Lord in our neighbors. And like
Jesus coming up from the waters of humility, as we do this the promise is that
we too shall hear a voice from above saying:
YOU – and you and you and you – YOU are my beloved with whom I am
well-pleased. Go and do THIS in remembrance of me.
No comments:
Post a Comment