thediscerninglife

In his email to the parish on Wednesday, Rev. Stephen shared the struggle so many clergy are feeling this morning.  It is right and appropriate that we are non-partisan so that we can effectively speak to and for all our parishioners, not simply those who share our views.  At the same time, I am sure you don’t have to look very hard or very long at my face to see my distress. But I’m not going to talk about that  – not now and certainly not here.  As I stand on the cusp of ordination to the priesthood, I am well-aware that being a priest or deacon means being set apart in a particular way to allow oneself to be used by God for God’s purposes.  And one of those purposes is preaching the Gospel no matter how scary or nerve-wracking it is – no matter how much I wish chance had not fallen upon me to be the preacher today.  And preaching the Gospel, the “good news” of Jesus Christ, is exactly what I intend to do this morning.

As we reach the end of the liturgical year, we always hear from these strange and scary Gospel readings about struggle, conflict, and the end times. This type of literature is called “apocalyptic” and believe it or not, it is actually meant to be hopeful and consoling to the listener or reader.  But here’s the catch: you have to be an oppressed person to really appreciate it.  The people of Jesus’ time would find the violent death of the existing order consoling because they were suffering under the yoke of Rome. Israelites found our first lesson from Isaiah comforting because they were suffering through the catastrophe of the Babylonian Exile, and longed to return to their native land.  The creation of a new heaven and new earth, the eventual return to God’s holy mountain where all would be well – these were great consolations to an oppressed people.  Many of us who live in the first world misinterpret these readings as a literal account of the end times, or see them through the lens of our own self-justification as “one of the good guys.”  But apocalyptic literature viewed through a lens wiped clean by Jesus Christ means so much more than this.

There are two things we can take away from our readings this morning, and they both speak to the very essence of our faith.  The first is what Christian theologians call “The Paschal Mystery,” which is the dying and rising of Jesus Christ.  Jesus’ death was ugly – it was violent, and it destroyed the hopes of all of his followers.  But the brutality, the blood, and the degradation, gave rise to a new and glorious beginning.  Death of any kind is never easy and it takes many forms in our lives beyond literal death.  As we go through life we experience many deaths:  the death of loved ones; the death of our youth; the death of our health and vigor; the death of our dreams and illusions; the death of our children leaving us to live independent adult lives; the death of feeling useful and effective; the death of relationships.  These are hard moments and sometimes they are full-blown crises. I was talking to a friend a few days ago about our growing awareness that our mind-set, our cultural viewpoint, is waning in the dominant culture. It bothers me and makes me sad because it forces me to realize that I am aging and that the day is rapidly approaching when many will see me as passé, an old woman who has nothing to say worth listening to.

These moments also affect us as a people, as a nation.  Much has been said about this presidential election being a clash of two world-views; a story of two Americas.  Behind the anger, and behind the bitterness there is a lot of pain and a lot of fear on both sides.  Because change is a death and death is never easy. And death on a societal level is orders of magnitude more difficult. But our Christian faith teaches us that death is not the end and that God can work even through the worst of human behavior to bring about something good, to bring us closer to that beautiful vision of all of us gathered on God’s holy mountain. Jesus reassures his followers, which includes us today, that we will not perish forever. God’s power is the power of love, and Christ’s death and resurrection is the definitive illustration of love’s power to transform us. But transformation cannot take place without an ending, without a death of some kind. We cannot let our fear of endings and its partner, hatred, gain the upper hand.

The second take-away is related to the first.  The ultimate triumph of the power of God’s love is the full realization of the Reign of God, or as Rev. Will preached during the summer, the full realization of God’s Dream for humanity.  It’s worth noting that the term “Kingdom of God” or “Reign of God” has definite political implications.  The Mediterranean world lived under the reign of Caesar, and Jesus’s co-opting of that phrase was a subversive political jab at the status quo that no one listening would have missed.  The Reign of God stands in sharp contrast to the reign of Caesar, and therefore stands over and against the status quo.  God’s Dream can be summed up in the new command Jesus gave us at the Last Supper: “Love one another as I have loved you.”  Now loving one another is not just about warm fuzzies or wishing one another well, it is about action, just as Jesus’ ministry was about actions as well as words.  It’s about caring for one another, advocating for the poor, the marginalized, the oppressed, the least and the lost. It’s about addressing societal structures that perpetrate the evil of making people “other,” of thinking that others are “less than” and not worth our notice or compassion.  This is not politics, my sisters and brothers, this is the Gospel. This is what Jesus lived and died for.

Unfortunately, Christianity pretty much accommodated itself to the status quo early in its history.  And I believe it’s why Christianity is so uninspiring to so many today, especially our young people.  But if the current political crisis – not just in our country,  but across Europe – causes Christians to reassess who we are and what we believe our mission to be, to take seriously Jesus ministry of radical inclusion, and to come anew to the realization that Christianity, at its heart, is a countercultural movement, then THAT, in my opinion, is a crisis worth having.  THAT is a death worth suffering so that we can rise anew. Jesus’ message is clear: we cannot make our peace with oppression of any kind.

But the key is love. We cannot do this work in self-righteousness, but in humility, for we are all sinners. We cannot despise those who disagree with us, because love demands we include them too. God knows, I fell down at least once this week on both counts in an unfortunate Facebook exchange in the early hours of Wednesday morning. We are all God’s children, all of us loved unconditionally by God. As Christians, we are all, each and every one of us, members of the Body of Christ through baptism.  We reaffirm that bond every Sunday when we come to the table. We are one, because we eat of the one Bread and drink of the one Cup.  When I experience the privilege of distributing communion, I do not see age, or race, or gender, or political affiliation.  For in those moments I am transformed from my pettiness and my agendas, just as we all are transformed.  What I see in your outstretched hands is the need for solace, a hunger for love, a longing for a closer relationship with God and one another, and a desire for transformation. Everyone in the human family has those needs and desires, and that can be a source of unity, if we let it – if we allow ourselves to be used by God, in all our frailties, for God’s purpose.

So how do we greet the days to come? Jesus is our perfect model here. He hated no one, not even his murderers, yet, he was not silent and would not be stopped in his mission. Of course, none of this is easy.  As our Gospel today tells us, to walk the way of Jesus is to be misunderstood, at best. But like all apocalyptic writing, today’s Gospel also brings consolation: the final verse reads “By your endurance, you will gain your souls.”

I’d like to close with something I posted on Facebook later on Wednesday after I had a chance to reflect and pray:

“What sustains me, and what I hope will sustain all of us who are members of the Jesus movement, is that God’s love is real, the Kingdom of God Jesus preached and lived is real, and his new command, “Love one another as I have loved you,” is a real source of guidance and strength. Let us go forth, with the help of God’s grace, to live into the promise and reality of the Kingdom.”