FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Jeremiah 20:7-13

Psalm 69:7-18

Romans 6:1b-11

Matthew 10:24-39

Prayer of the Day: Teach us, good Lord God, to serve you as you deserve, to give and not to count the cost, to fight and not to heed the wounds, to toil and not to seek for rest, to labor and not to ask for reward, except that of knowing that we do your will, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather, fear the one who can destroy both soul and body in hell.” Matthew 10:28.

“Pastor, do you believe in hell?” That is a question I frequently get on Sundays when texts like this come up. My stock response is, “Why don’t you tell me what you think hell is and I will tell you whether I believe in it or not.” That usually gets the conversation going in a way that allows me to deconstruct a lot of harmful misconceptions and invite the entertainment of new perspectives. But sooner or later, I am pressed to respond to the question: What is hell and do I believe in it?

The short answer to the first part of the question is that I don’t know what hell is. The Bible speaks of it only in parabolic, apocalyptic and poetic terms from which I don’t think we can draw any concrete metaphysical conclusions. The Greek word used in the New Testament is “Geheneh,” which is the name of the place where garbage was burned outside the city, suggesting to me that it is figurative rather than literal. I therefore do not believe the scriptural references to hell, even the lurid images of the “lake of fire” in the Book of Revelation, support belief in a subterranean realm where damned souls are imprisoned for torment throughout all eternity. One of the most ancient creedal assertions found throughout the Hebrew Scriptures is that God is “merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.” Even when God punishes, God does so with the ultimate aim of healing and reconciliation. Eternal punishment is simply not consistent with God’s character as so revealed.

Most of what can be gleaned about hell comes from the book of Revelation which employes apocalyptic imagery. I think so many people get Revelation entirely wrong because they give only a cursory glance to chapters 1-3, the letters to the seven churches of Asia Minor. These are small, vulnerable and demoralized communities living under the shadow of a hostile empire facing social ostracism, political infighting and struggles with heretical influences. One gathers from the tone and content of these letters that these churches are on the verge of giving up. No doubt they were beginning to wonder, what’s the point? The apostle is using the fantastic imagery throughout the rest of the book to make the point that his churches are precious in God’s sight, that their struggling communities represent God’s presence in the world and that the struggles they face are of cosmic significance. It is the lamb, the lamb who was slain no less, that is destined to triumph over the fearful and beastly powers of empire. The intent was clearly not to establish a timetable for the world’s demise, but a poetic vision of its redemption. The “lake of fire” was prepared for the demonic forces animating the Roman empire, not for human beings.

The biggest problem with hell is the obsession people seem to have with who is going there and who isn’t. I am not sure anyone is going to hell. The prophet Ezekiel tells us that God takes no pleasure in the death of anyone. Ezekiel 18:32. Saint Peter tells us that it is not God’s will that any perish. II Peter 3:9. John’s gospel tells us that God so loved the world (not Christians, not the church, not good people) that God sent the only beloved Son. John 3:16. That suggests to me that salvation is much bigger than the church. It is not God’s intent to save as many souls as possible from a sinking ship. God means to save the ship and everyone on it. Whatever and whoever God is able to work into the mosaic of the new heaven and the new earth, God will save to that end.

That being said, the passage must mean something. Jesus’ words are clearly intended, at least in part, as a dire warning. There is much that is irreconcilable with God’s reign and cannot be woven into the fabric of a new creation. Hatred, bigotry, cruelty, arrogance, lust for power and wealth come to mind. These things are therefore consigned to the garbage dump for burning. If we are all honest with ourselves, these moral faults infect us all to some degree. Thus, on that day when all that is “covered” is “uncovered” and all secrets are made known (Matthew 10:26), there will be some hell to pay for all of us. I quote again a passage from Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s monumental work, The Brothers Karamazov. The scene is the death bed of the sainted Father Zossima, elder of the local monastery from which he addresses the monks under his leadership for the last time.

“Fathers and teachers, I ponder, ‘What is hell?’ I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love. Once in infinite existence, immeasurable in time and space, a spiritual creature was given on his coming to earth, the power of saying, ‘I am and I love.’ Once, only once, there was given him a moment of active living love and for that was earthly life given him, and with it times and seasons. And that happy creature rejected the priceless gift, prized it and loved it not, scorned it and remained callous. Such a one, having left the earth, sees Abraham’s bosom and talks with Abraham as we are told in the parable of the rich man and Lazarus, and beholds heaven and can go up to the Lord. But that is just his torment, to rise up to the Lord without ever having loved, to be brought close to those who have loved when he has despised their love. For he sees clearly and says to himself, ‘Now I have understanding and though I now thirst to love, there will be nothing great, no sacrifice in my love, for my earthly life is over, and Abraham will not come even with a drop of living water (that is the gift of earthly, active life) to cool the fiery thirst of spiritual love which burns in me now, though I despised it on earth; there is no more life for me and will be no more time! Even though I would gladly give my life for others, it can never be, for that life is passed which can be sacrificed for love, and now there is a gulf fixed between that life and this existence.’”[1]

I cannot imagine that on the day of judgment when our lives are measured against the rich and numerous opportunities we have had to love deeply this good green earth, the many people whose lives have intersected with our own and the One from whom these opportunities come, we will not lament the time we have wasted on envy, bitterness and chasing after trivialities we thought would bring us happiness. Saint Paul alludes to something like this in his First Letter to the church in Corinth:

“According to the grace of God given to me, like a wise master builder I laid a foundation, and someone else is building on it. Let each builder choose with care how to build on it.For no one can lay any foundation other than the one that has been laid; that foundation is Jesus Christ.Now if anyone builds on the foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw—the work of each builder will become visible, for the daywill disclose it, because it will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test what sort of work each has done.If the work that someone has built on the foundation survives, the builder will receive a wage. If the work is burned up, the builder will suffer loss; the builder will be saved, but only as through fire.” I Corinthians 3:10-15.  

Is it possible for a person to become so thoroughly distorted, so completely depraved that the image of God is entirely erased and the Creator must say, “I never knew you. Depart from me”? Since Jesus floats this possibility, it would be foolish to ignore it. Nonetheless, that is not a call I believe any of us can make. From the disciple’s perspective, it is assumed that all persons, however cruel and depraved they might appear to us, nevertheless bear the image of God and must be treated with love and compassion. When Jesus was asked whether many or few would be saved, he refused to answer. Instead, he told the inquirers to focus on their own walk on the narrow path rather than speculate on the destiny of others. Luke 13:23-24.   

Finally, I am not sure what eternal punishment looks like-assuming anyone arrives there. I don’t think God gets any jollies from torturing people who call upon God by a different name, do not believe in God or do not have their doctrine quite right. If any are lost, it will be because they have become so thoroughly depraved that nothing of God’s image is recognizable or reconcilable with the kingdom of heaven. So what happens to those who become so thoroughly depraved that they cannot live peacefully under the gentle reign of God? Perhaps Father Zossima is right. The lost will finally be allowed into the kingdom in spite of themselves. That might be worse than any eternal flame. Can you imagine Donald Trump living in a world that no longer pays him any attention? Can you imagine Hitler living in a community that no longer remembers or cares about the Third Reich? What could be worse than realizing that you have thrown your life away on all the things that don’t matter and that everything you thought was important, all the accomplishments in which you took such pride and all the causes you gave your life to are worthless trinkets rusting in the dustbin of a world now past and that it is too late to change it?

The observations made by Father Zossima, speculative as  they might be, are nonetheless in keeping with the gospel message, namely, that the Good News of Jesus is not merely life after death, but life now into which God’s reign is breaking. Eternal life is not eternal merely by virtue of its duration, but chiefly because of its quality. “Faith, hope and love, these three remain, but the greatest of these is love,” says St. Paul. I Corinthians 13:13. All who live in love are living a life that transcends death. To live for less is to waste one’s life on that which is only fit for burning in the dump.

To conclude where I began, I don’t know what hell is. I am convinced, however, that whatever it is, hell is of our own making and not the work of a merciful and compassionate Creator. Here is a poem by Carl Sanburg illustrating the point.

Our Hells

Source: Poetry (October, 1932). Carl Sandburg (1878 – July 22, 1967) was a Swedish-American poet, biographer, journalist and editor. He won three Pulitzer Prizes, two for his poetry and one for a biography of Abraham Lincoln. Sandburg is widely regarded as a major figure in contemporary literature. At the age of thirteen Sandburg left school and began driving a milk wagon. Throughout his early years, he worked as a porter at the Union Hotel barbershop in Galesburg, Illinois, a bricklayer, a farm laborer in Kansas, a hotel servant in Denver, Colorado and a coal-heaver in Omaha. Sandburg began his writing career as a journalist for the Chicago Daily News. Later he wrote poetry, history, biographies, novels, children’s literature and film reviews. He also collected and edited books of ballads and folklore. He spent most of his life in Illinois, Wisconsin, and Michigan before moving to North Carolina. You can find out more about Carl Sandburg and sample more of his poetry at the Poetry Foundation Website.

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[1]  Dostoyevsky, Fyodor, The Brothers Karamazov (Trans. by Constance Garnett, c. 1950 by Random House, Inc., New York, NY) p. 387.

It has become increasingly clear to me that I will not be able to post an article for this week. I therefore am reposting an article I wrote on the same texts six years ago that I hope will still resonate currently. I also recommend the fine articles written by Danny Zacharias, Diana Abernethy, Joel LeMon and Stephen Chester at Working Preacher.

SECOND SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Exodus 19:2-8
Psalm 100
Romans 5:1-8
Matthew 9:35; 10:1-23

Prayer of the Day: God of compassion, you have opened the way for us and brought us to yourself. Pour your love into our hearts, that, overflowing with joy, we may freely share the blessings of your realm and faithfully proclaim the good news of your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8.

Brian was a young exchange student from England majoring in engineering. But in the middle of his sophomore year, he began experiencing chronic pain and fatigue. After undergoing numerous tests, Brian was diagnosed with a rare autoimmune disease that had ravaged his kidneys. Though the disease was brought under control with medication, Brian’s kidneys were beyond healing. The young man was placed on dialysis. At this point, one of his teachers, a young professor in her third year of teaching, underwent testing to find out whether she might be a potential organ donor for her student. When the results confirmed that she was indeed a match, she volunteered to donate one of her kidneys to Brian. The resulting transplant was a success and Brian returned to leading a full and active life. This story is true, though the names have been changed in the interest of protecting the privacy of those involved.

One can’t help but be inspired by the young professor’s generosity. But how inspiring would it be if, instead of a promising young engineering student, Brian had been a high school drop out with a long history of addiction. What if his kidneys had been done in by years of drug and alcohol abuse rather than an autoimmune disease? Would such a generous and costly sacrifice move us to the same admiration? Our would we wonder about the sanity of the donor? Certainly, there must be other matches far more deserving.

Yet, as Clint Eastwood’s character, Bill Munny says, “Deserves got nothing to do with it.”[1] Those of you who have seen the movie, Unforgiven know that Munny, being a cold blooded killer, means simply that what happens to us is not tied to whatever we think we are entitled. The universe deals out famine, epidemics, hurricanes and personal tragedy without a thought to what anyone deserves. Experience bears that out every day. Children are killed by drunk drivers, innocent civilians are killed in military conflicts of which they want no part and the cat throws up all over the carpet just as the guests arrive. Saint Paul, however, applies this concept inversely to God’s love for creation and the people God calls to make known that redemptive love. The world might appear to be hopelessly caught in a spiral of spiritual, economic, environmental and political destruction. The church might seem a far cry from the Body of Christ Paul insists that it is. Neither the world nor the church seems worth God’s investing so much of God’s self. But this world is the one for which God sent God’s Son and the church is the people called and chosen to make that wonderful gift known. “Deserves got nothing to do with it.”

The same principle seems to be at work in Jesus’ selection of disciples. This is a motley group consisting of a terrorist dedicated to ending by whatever means Roman occupation of the Promised Land, a tax collector enriched by collaborating with Rome and some fishermen who were just trying to make a living and stay out of the way. As we discover throughout the gospel, these are people of “little faith,” people slow to comprehend Jesus’ parables, people obsessed with being “great” in the kingdom of heaven and quick to abandon their Lord when their support is needed most. There were probably many others as or more deserving of inclusion among “the twelve.” But “deserves got nothing to do with it.”

I know something of undeserved grace. I was about as unpromising a student in high school as the twelve were unpromising prospects for discipleship. My grades hovered at and sometimes dipped below “C” level. My only interest in college was avoiding the draft in the event the Vietnam war dragged on past my eighteenth birthday. So I sluffed my way through Ms. Boyers’ “bonehead English” class during my freshman year, fully expecting to be placed in the sophomore equivalent the following year. Much to my surprise, however, I discovered upon my return to school in the fall that I had been placed in honors humanities. This had to be a mistake, I reasoned. Ms. Boyer informed me that it was no mistake. “Peter,” she said, “you are lazy, your spelling is awful and your penmanship stinks. But you have a brain. You can be much better than you are. So I saw to it that you got placed in honors. Now, don’t embarrass me.”

I don’t know exactly what Ms. Boyer saw in me. But her decision to place me in honors humanities was literally life changing. In that class I discovered a passion for learning that put me on a trajectory leading into two rewarding careers. There were, no doubt, plenty of students (probably most of my class) that showed more potential and were more deserving of that spot in honors humanities than me. But as it turned out, “deserves got nothing to do with it.”

We don’t get what we deserve in life. That is common complaint, but it shouldn’t be. As the anonymous poet says, “There ain’t no one should have the nerve/ To say they ought to get what they deserve.”

Justice

He shuffled in out of the rain and sleet
leaving in his wake puddles of dirty
water on the floor from the melting slush
on his booted feet.
Behind the counter the haggard waitress
turned her back against the freezing wind
That came uninvited through the door he’d left ajar.

She muttered “Jesus!
Why can’t you shut the door?
Don’t you know it’s cold as hell?
It costs enough to heat this joint,
Without having to heat
the whole damn city as well.”

The harsh rebuke was lost on him.
He took his seat at the counter,
fumbled with the menu
half speaking, half singing
the words to a vaguely familiar hymn.

“Mary’s favorite,” he said,
turning toward the waitress on his stool.
She, for her part, kept her gaze on the grill.
She had no time to pass with this garrulous old fool.
“Loved that old song,” he declared in a husky voice
so loud and so intrusive was his talk,
That patrons in the booths along the wall
Stopped their hushed chatter and looked up.

“Keep it down, will you?” she snapped.
“You don’t have to broadcast to the whole damn world you know.”
“Sorry,” he replied, in no quieter tone.
“I’m so confounded deaf these days I can’t hear myself.”
“Well I can hear you fine.
And so can everyone in the room.”

“Now my Mary,” he began…
But to begin is as far as he got.
“Look, Chuck, I’m busy.
I got customers, tables and food.
I don’t have time to chew the fat.
Don’t mean to be rude.”

He stammered something about having to go,
Got up from his stool,
Put on his hat
And trudged back out into the snow.
The waitress stared straight ahead
The deep purple neon sign
Reflected off her glossy black hair,
Illuminated the crusty makeup on her pale face
And gave a surreal glow to her chalky, white skin.

“Kind of rough on the old coot, weren’t ya?”
An old fat man with an unlit cigar in his mouth
Sauntered out of the back room.
He sat himself down a shabby chair
Behind the counter.
A resentful silence was all the answer he got.
“Seems to me,” he went on, “the guy is just lonely.
Let him talk a minute or two
and he’ll move on, like as not.”

“He ain’t the only one that’s lonely,”
The waitress replied.
“And he treated ‘his Mary’ like a dog
Right up to the day she died.
Now, of course, he misses her.
Says he wants her back.
I bet the hell he does.
But it’s too damn late now, Mack.
He’s a lonely ‘cause he’s a bastard
And he’s been one all his life.
He didn’t deserve Mary
And there’s no woman so bad
As deserved to be his wife.”

“That may well be,” the fat man said.
But let the good Lord sort that out once we’re all dead.
Fact is, there ain’t no one should have the nerve
To say they ought to get what they deserve.”

Source: Anonymous.

[1] Unforgiven, 1992, Fill written by David Webb Peoples and produced by Clint Eastwood.

SECOND SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Hosea 5:15—6:6

Psalm 50:7-15

Romans 4:13-25

Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26

Prayer of the Day: O God, you are the source of life and the ground of our being. By the power of your Spirit bring healing to this wounded world, and raise us to the new life of your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“Therefore I have hewn them by the prophets;
    I have killed them by the words of my mouth,
    and my judgment goes forth as the light.
For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice,
    the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.” Hosea 6:5-6.

This text is yet another reminder that the power behind God’s judgement, God’s wrath and God’s punishment is God’s Word. The violence implied in the words “killed” and “hewn” pertains not to weapons of war designed to destroy human flesh, but to preaching, parables and poetic utterances crafted to break hearts, change minds and restore relationships. As the writer of the Letter to the Hebrews tells us, “the word of God is living and active and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” Hebrews 4:12.

The point is further illustrated in Saint Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians in which Paul urges his readers to “take up the whole armor of God.” Ephesians 6:13. For a people living under Roman occupation, the sight of soldiers armed with swords, shields and helmets was a common one and a reminder of Rome’s military supremacy. Seeing Rome’s well suited troops on their streets sent a clear message to everyone that they lived at the base of a hierarchical pyramid of power on which the emperor stood at the apex. Paul stands that pyramid on its head, reminding the church at Ephesus that their enemies are not “blood and flesh,” “but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.” Ephesians 6:12. Against such powers, weapons of steel are useless. Thus, Paul tells his readers to arm themselves with the breastplate of righteousness, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit “which is the Word of God.” Ephesians 6:14-17.

Speech is integral to our humanity. We claim that we have been created in God’s image and there has been no little debate over exactly what that means. In the Bible’s opening words, in the first chapter of Genesis, the first thing we learn about God is that God speaks. Perhaps that is what makes us human creatures uniquely Godlike. We have the power of endowing sounds and syllables with meanings, making our thoughts, feelings, ideas and opinions known to one another. With these building blocks called words, we erect poems, songs, stories, novels, speeches and sermons. Words are complex vectors of meaning capable of evoking imaginative worlds and bringing into focus the depth and complexity of the “real” one. Karl Marx is credited with saying, “give me twenty-six soldiers and I will conquer the world,” by which he meant the letters of the alphabet.

That brings me to the flip side of speech. Words are capable of incredible evil and destructiveness. Words can be used to insult, demean and intimidate. They are used to lie, construct hateful ideologies, reinforce racial prejudices, propagate dangerous misinformation and incite violence. Cruel and oppressive regimes have employed propaganda to whip up support for their reigns of terror. Words can be employed to label and scapegoat the most vulnerable among us. In our own United States, the words of the Bible are routinely stripped of their context and misappropriated by preachers of hate and corrupt politicians to justify their oppressive, unjust and frequently racist policies. Just as words can bring life and hope, they can ruin life and extinguish hope.

It is fashionable these days to rag on social media and AI for degrading our vocabularies, cheapening our dialogue and poisoning our civil discourse. Clearly, they have contributed to all these worrisome trends. The same, however, can be said for the invention of the printing press, the growth of radio and its subsequent displacement by television. Whenever you give a bigger voice to more people, you run the risk that the gift of language and speech might be abused. Our problem with hate speech, misinformation and abusive online conduct is not a technical one. It is a malady of the human heart. We are a people with a decreasing vocabulary, shrinking imagination and growing lack of linguistic competence.

The collapse of language is nowhere better illustrated than by our own government which tells us repeatedly that there is a ceasefire between the United States and Iran even though we are shooting missiles and drones at each other. Our secretary of defense insists that the massive bombing campaign against Iran was not a war. The president tells us the mob that stormed our capital on January 6, 2021 are patriots. It is as though language has been thoroughly drained of meaning. This is all reminiscent of Alice’s encounter with Humpty Dumpty:

“When I use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said in a rather scornful tone, “it means just what I choose it to mean-neither more nor less.”

          “The question is,” said Alice, “whether you can make words mean so many different things.”

          “The question is,” said Humpty Dumpty, “which is to be master-that’s all.

Alice Through the Looking Glass, (Lewis Carroll).

Accordingly, terms like “war,” “ceasefire” and “patriot” mean whatever the loudest and most powerful voice says they mean. Words are no longer vessels of meaning. To the contrary, they are bereft of meaning, so much so that antonyms become synonyms. We are living into George Orwell’s dystopia where the government’s slogan is:

“War is Peace,” “Freedom is Slavery” and “Ignorance is Strength.” 1984,(George Orwell).  

It is hardly surprising, then, that our government is unable to function. How is it possible to formulate policy, draft legislation, enforce or interpret law where words have no meaning and language is little more than noise? How can nations resolve conflicts, make and honor treaties or collaborate in addressing global problems if their agreements consist of words without meaning? Is it surprising that our online discourse so often amounts to little more than an exchange of insults and competing memes? Moreover, it should not surprise us that our violent rhetoric often evolves into violent acts. When language no longer works, what is left other than to silence your opponents by lethal means?  

As disciples of Jesus, the Word made flesh, we have a keen interest in redeeming words and restoring language. The healing of language needs to begin with us. We need a renewed respect for words.[1] We need a deeper appreciation and understanding of the meanings they carry, how they are heard differently by different audiences who have learned them in very different contexts. We who preach need to work harder at developing our vocabulary so that we avoid religious jargon, partisan clichés and worn out rhetoric. We need to develop our linguistic skills so that we can speak clearly, directly and imaginatively. We need to practice constructing sentences where words are well placed so that their intended meaning is clear and well expressed. We need to work harder at crafting paragraphs that serve as building blocks for the construction of the “big idea” that our congregations need to hear. Beyond that, we need to be mindful of our use of words on social media, at public gatherings where we have the opportunity to speak to important issues and even in casual conversation. Preserving and improving our language is not simply a matter of good manners and social etiquette. It is a matter of preserving our very humanity.

Here is an anonymous poem that addresses the importance of words and speech.

Watch your thoughts; they become words.
Watch your words; they become actions.
Watch your actions; they become habits.
Watch your habits; they become character.

Watch your character; it becomes your destiny.

Source: Anonymous

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[1] In this regard, I have noted a recent trend among some preachers to employ the “F” word in their preaching. I am not sure what the rationale for that is. The word has become so ubiquitous in our culture that it has lost its shock value even in church. If the preacher’s objective is to show the congregation that they are “real” or “earthy” and so enhance their credibility, well, good luck with that. My objection to the use of the “F” word generally has nothing to do with its meaning, but with its total lack thereof. When you say to me, “F” you, all I can surmise is that you are angry but that you lack the vocabulary, conceptual tools and emotional maturity to understand or explain why you are angry or what your anger has to do with me. Either that or you are just too lazy to bother with all that. Thus, the “F” word is nothing more than the inarticulate grunt of a person unable or unwilling to employ intelligible speech.   

PENTECOST SUNDAY

Acts 2:1-21 or Numbers 11:24-30

Psalm 104:24-34, 35

1 Corinthians 12:3b-13 or Acts 2:1-21

John 20:19-23 or

John 7:37-39

Prayer of the Day: O God, on this day you open the hearts of your faithful people by sending into us your Holy Spirit. Direct us by the light of that Spirit, that we may have a right judgment in all things and rejoice at all times in your peace, through Jesus Christ, your Son and our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.’ When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.’” John 20:21-22.

Here on the Outer Cape we have learned to take the weather forecasts with a grain of salt. Maybe that is because the forecasters focus exclusively on population centers on the mainland, like Boston. The Cape and Islands are often an afterthought. What happens weatherwise on the mainland is often quite different from what takes place on Cape Cod. Furthermore, what is happening down in Sandwich or up in Provincetown might be entirely different from what we experience in Wellfleet. This spit of land between the bay and the open ocean is subject to sudden and unpredictable bouts of wind, fog, rain or snow depending upon the capricious mood of the Atlantic. We have even had a couple of tornados during the years I have resided on the Cape.   

One thing you can definitely say about the Holy Spirit: she is as wild and unpredictable as the weather on the Outer Cape. Jesus said as much himself. “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”[1] John 3:8. In the Book of Acts, the church is forever scrambling to catch up with the Spirit whose power leads and sometimes drags the church kicking and screaming into an ever more diverse, inclusive community of equity, mutuality reflective of God’s intent for the whole human family. While the church is a creature of the Holy Spirit, it is not her custodian.

Lutheran theology has always emphasized the centrality of Word and Sacrament as vehicles for the outpouring of the Spirit upon believers. This is all well and good if understood to mean that the Spirit can be relied upon to be present in a redemptive way for all who receive the sacrament of Holy Baptism and partake of the Lord’s Supper. It is a mistake, however, to assume that the activity of the Holy Spirit is constrained by the church’s ministry of Word and Sacrament. In the Bible, the Spirit is frequently found to be active outside the church and its institutions. Prior to Peter’s determination to baptize the household of Cornelius, the Spirit was poured out on that household. Acts 10:44-48. When the disciples reported to Jesus that they had silenced a man outside their company who was casting out demons in Jesus’ name, he rebuked them. Mark 9:38-41. So, too, Moses had to reign in his assistant Joshua who was intent on keeping God’s Spirit safely penned within the confines of proper ecclesiastical channels.  Numbers 11:26-30. Thus, while the Spirit can be relied upon to be present where the Word is preached and the Eucharist is celebrated, she will not be confined there.

How does one recognize the presence of the Holy Spirit? While I do not have a hard and fast answer to that question, I believe there are three human traits characterizing people and communities inspired by the Spirit. These are, in no particular order of importance, curiosity, imagination and courage. While there may be no proof of the existence of a creator as such, it seems to me curiosity constitutes pretty good evidence. It has been said that God is nothing but the answer to humanity’s unanswered questions. But the question hiding behind that assertion is what interests me. Why do we have questions that need to be answered? What makes us so damned curious? Why do we wonder what creeps along the ocean depths? Why do we wonder and spend good money trying to find out whether we, as sentient beings, are alone in the universe? Why are we obsessed with figuring out the origins of the cosmos? Why do we want to go to Mars?

I believe that curiosity is a driving force in human development, just as boredom and disinterest are dehumanizing. I believe the Spirit of God is the engine driving human curiosity and the power that drives the church toward becoming the Body of Christ in all of its manifest meaning and beauty. Philip appealed to the skeptical Nathaniel’s curiosity to bring him to Jesus. In Matthew’s gospel, it was curiosity that brought the women to the tomb of Jesus and the revelation of his Resurrection.[2] Curiosity brought together the pagan congregation that heard Paul expound the good news of Jesus Christ at the Areopagus. Curiosity has brought a lot of folks to the churches I served. A thriving Christian community requires a healthy dose of curiosity. It should forever be asking what the Cross and Resurrection of Jesus mean for its presence and work in its community. A healthy church is always bringing thoughtful questions to the scriptures, challenging the assumed interpretations and looking for connections between faith and the world of science, the arts and political life. Sadly, the scriptures, creeds and confessions have too often been misused to shut down questioning and extinguish curiosity. Religion without curiosity becomes stale, boring and oppressive.

That leads me to the second characteristic of inspiration, namely, imagination. By my estimate, about one third of the Hebrew Scriptures consist of poetry, narrative fiction or graphic imagery. Jesus did most of his teaching through parabolic speech. Saint Paul’s letters are rich in metaphor, simile and analogy. The frequently misunderstood Book of Revelation is rich in poetic language and graphic images designed to stimulate the imagination and challenge the beleaguered churches of Asia Minor to recognize the cosmic significance of their struggle to live faithfully under the oppressive reign of empire.

Albert Einstein famously asserted that “imagination is more important than knowledge.” Knowledge, to be sure, is important. It provides a foundation of facts and data. But knowledge is limited to what is already known. By contrast, imagination is boundless. Imagination enables one to look beyond what is and contemplate what might be. As noted by Hebrew Scripture scholar Walter Brueggemann, “The task of prophetic ministry is to nurture, nourish and evoke a consciousness and perception alternative to the consciousness and perception of the dominant culture around us.”[3] Healthy faith communities and individuals do not accept the status quo as a given. It does not resign itself to the inevitability of hunger, economic inequality, famine and war. It is sustained by the vision of a renewed earth on which the nations live in peace and all people live sustainably under the gentle reign of God. Though that vision may seem impossibly far away, we catch glimpses of it even now within communities seeking to live, however imperfectly, in the way of Jesus. The Holy Spirit inspires disciples of Jesus to pattern their lives not on the ways of the existing order, but on a bold vision of the future that only imagination can embrace.  

Finally, there is courage. Courage is not the mere absence of fear. Courage is grounded in the conviction that the future God promises us is more real than what we cynically characterize as “the real world.” Professor of Christian ethics, Stanley Hauerwas once said that the life lived by disciples of Jesus makes no sense apart from the conviction that God raised Jesus from death. The teachings of the Sermon on the Mount are ill suited for life in the environments of business and politics. As one participant in a Bible Study I once led on the Sermon told me, “Pastor, if I conducted business that way in my firm, I’d be crucified.” I don’t believe he knew how prophetic he was being. The Sermon on the Mount is not to be understood as some humanly unachievable ideal. To the contrary, it is the template for the life Jesus actually did live and as a result of which he was crucified. For the disciple, the reign of God is that priceless pearl, that treasure buried in the field for which no sacrifice is too great. It is love for that gentle reign that inspired the words of Martin Luther’s celebrated hymn,

Were they to take our house,

Goods, fame, child, or spouse,

Though life be wrenched away,

They cannot win the day.

The kingdom’s ours forever.[4]

In sum, the Holy Spirit is that wild, unpredictable wind that blows where she wills. Wherever her breath falls, it evokes burning curiosity, ignites the imagination and inspires courageous acts of witness, advocacy, justice, mercy and peacemaking. This is the gift of Pentecost.

Here is a poem by Mary Oliver who speaks of a “wider world” than the “orderly house of reasons and proofs.” Such is the expanded vision I believe is evoked by curiosity, imagination and courage-the signature marks of the Holy Spirit.

The World I Live In

Source: Devotions, (c. 2017 by N.W. Orchard, L.L.C.) p. 3. Mary Oliver (1935-2019) was born in Maple Heights, Ohio. She was deeply influenced by poet, Edna St. Vincent Millay. Her work received early critical attention with the 1983 publication of a collection of poems entitled American Primitive. She is a recipient of both the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry and the National Book Award. She spent the latter years of her life in Provincetown on Cape Cod, MA before moving to Florida where she died. Many of her poems reflect the unique features, vegetation and wildlife of the Cape. You can read more about Mary Oliver and sample some of her other poems at the Poetry Foundation Website.  

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[1] It should be noted that the Greek word Jesus uses for “wind,” (pneuma) is the one he uses in the next sentence for “spirit.”

[2] In both Mark and Luke, the women came to the tomb to anoint Jesus’ body, no doubt convinced that he was dead. But in Matthew’s gospel, the tomb was sealed and guarded. Thus, the women could have had no such purpose as Jesus’ body would have been well out of their reach.

[3] Brueggemann, Walter, The Prophetic Imagination, Second Edition, (c. 2001 by Augsburg Fortress) p. 3.

[4] “A Mighty Fortress is Our God,” Evangelical Lutheran Worship, (c. 2006 by Evangelical Lutheran Church in America; pub. by Augsburg Fortress) Hymn #504.

SEVENTH SUNDAY OF EASTER

Acts 1:6-14

Psalm 68:1-10; 32-35

1 Peter 4:12-14; 5:6-11

John 17:1-11

Prayer of the Day: O God of glory, your Son Jesus Christ suffered for us and ascended to your right hand. Unite us with Christ and each other in suffering and in joy, that all the world may be drawn into your bountiful presence, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect [my disciples] in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.” John 17:11.

“In the world, but not of it.” It would be a gross misreading of this text to assume that when Jesus says he is praying for his disciples, not the world at large, that he regards the world a lost cause and can only hope that his disciples will manage to survive until he takes them to himself. To understand Jesus’ prayer properly, we need to hear it in the context of John’s gospel as a whole. Recall that in the first chapter of the gospel John the Baptist identifies Jesus as “the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.” John 1:29. In the third chapter, the evangelist declares that “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son” and that “God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world but in order that the world might be saved through him.” John 3:16-17. When Judas asked Jesus why he was revealing himself to the disciples rather than to the world, he responded, “Those who love me will keep my word, and my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them.” John 14:23. Jesus prayer that his disciples will be one even as he and his Father are one, is made with the Easter morning great commission in mind: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” John 20:21. The disciples are sent out clothed with the Holy Spirit to continue Jesus’ mission of flooding the world with God’s redemptive love.

What, then, does it look like to be distinct from the world as a disciple of Jesus, yet inseparable from it? How can one be against the world and yet for the world? The analogy I would suggest is that of an “intervention.” The working definition I will use for the term comes from the website for Scienceinsights:

“An intervention is any deliberate action taken to change the course of a situation, whether that’s a health condition, a behavioral crisis, a learning difficulty, or an addiction. The word shows up across medicine, psychology, education, and substance abuse treatment, but the core idea is always the same: stepping in with a plan to improve an outcome that won’t improve on its own.”

The specific context I have in mind is that of intervention to address addiction. The process typically involves members of the person’s social network gathering together and directly describing the specific harm that the individual’s addictive behavior has caused. Each participant shares personal examples and states what actions they will take if the person refuses treatment. Though confrontational by design, the tone is meant to come from love and deep concern rather than anger.

We can view the cross as, among other things, God’s cosmic intervention. That the world would not only reject but cruelly execute the one in whom God’s very self is revealed makes crystal clear how far off the rails it has gone and the self destructive direction in which it is headed. Yet, at the same time, the cross reveals the depth of God’s love for it and the length to which God is willing to go in order to alter its ruinous path. The Resurrection emphasizes God’s unwillingness to throw in the towel even in the face of the world’s rejection.

Intervention is confrontational. Evil, especially in the form of systemic injustice and oppression needs to be addressed with clarity and frankness. In the American context, that means speaking the truth about America as it is experienced by those within our borders living on the margins. That includes, undocumented persons living the shadows, the homeless living in the streets, gay, lesbian and transgender youth forced to live a lie to avoid family rejection, religious condemnation and governmental oppression. It includes prisoners incarcerated in corporately owned and operated facilities. Intervention means standing up to governmental efforts to erase from libraries, schools and public parks and monuments the stories of indigenous peoples murdered and driven from their homes, enslaved persons deprived of freedom and human dignity and the brutality experienced by child laborers, all in an effort to present a sanitized version of American history for public patriotic consumption. Such interventional ministry is not inconsistent with love for one’s country anymore than intervention in a loved one’s addictive behavior is contrary to genuine affection and concern.

Intervention might well meet with resistance. It is natural for people confronted with the consequences of their addictive behavior to become angry and defensive. It is natural for them to feel, initially at least, that they are being attacked and bullied. That is why persons involved with an intervention must be prepared to remain patient, avoid responding reflexively to insults and accusations and stick to the objective, namely, helping the persons subject to the intervention understand both their need and the willingness of the interveners to assist. Jesus warns his disciples that they can expect the world’s hostility to their ministry. “If the world hates you, be aware that it hated me before it hated you.” The disciples have no reason to expect any better treatment than Jesus himself received from the world.  But as Jesus refused to give up on the world, so his disciples must continue in doing the works that Jesus did and in speaking not condemnation, but redemption for the world.

Finally, intervention may not work. For any number of reasons, a person might finally reject life saving assistance offered by loved ones. Interveners need to understand that, while they can offer support, assistance and care, they cannot “fix” a broken person. Ingrained habits, outlooks on life and ways of coping with stress are difficult to shake and seldom yield in the course of a single encounter. For that reason, it is important to anticipate failure and be prepared to persevere in speaking the truth in love, neither condemning the affected individual nor further enabling their self destructive conduct. The gospel of Jesus Christ is good news. But sometimes the good news must be experienced as bad news before it can be heard and understood as good.

In the same way, disciples of Jesus are not called to redeem the world. That is God’s role. They are called rather to bear witness before the world to God’s redemptive work by carrying on the works of Jesus in their lives together. God knows this world needs an intervention. This is a world careening toward the carnage of increasingly wide ranging and lethal war, economic disparity and ecological ruin. This is a world in which nations and national leaders exercise godlike power reducing to rubble whole communities. It is a world where governments incarcerate, abuse and deport refugees fleeing violence and starvation. Ours is a world where people and communities identifying as Christian espouse racist, misogynist, homophobic hate and nationalism. Nevertheless, it is the world God loved enough to send the beloved Son. Disciples of Jesus are to be an alternative community demonstrating a different way of being human. The church at its best is a disruptive presence, calling into question the values of a world drunk on power, addicted to unsustainable consumption and teetering on the brink of destruction through its own violence.

This uncomfortable work of intervention requires families to confront members caught up in the tangled swamp of lies emanating from crackpot Christianity, junk science and bizarre conspiracy nonsense. It requires pastors and bishops to preach Christ crucified in America’s detention centers, in the rubble left by American bombs and in the hungry, homeless and sick living in the shadow of obscene degrees of wealth. It requires those of us who have known only privilege, comfort and prosperity as Americans to open the eyes of our hearts to see the ones who daily pay the price for our relative wellbeing and work to dismantle the systemic injustice responsible for such disparity. This is work that is uncomfortable and dangerous. It can get you killed. But the God who loved this world enough to intervene asks nothing less of us.

Here is a poem by Sonia Sanchez that I believe expresses something of what it is like to be a living intervention in, against yet for the world.

Morning Song and Evening Walk

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

Source: Shake Loose My Skin: New and Selected Poems (Beacon Press, 1999). Sonia Sanchez (born Wilsonia Benita Driver in 1934) is an American poet, writer and professor. She is a leading figure in the Black Arts Movement. Sanchez has written several books of poetry. She has also authored short stories, critical essays, plays and children’s books. She received Pew Fellowship in the Arts in 1993. In 2001 she was awarded the Robert Frost Medal for her contributions to American poetry. You can read more about Sonia Sanchez and sample more of her poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.

SIXTH SUNDAY OF EASTER

Acts 17:22-31

Psalm 66:8-20

1 Peter 3:13-22

John 14:15-21

Prayer of the Day: Almighty and ever-living God, you hold together all things in heaven and on earth. In your great mercy receive the prayers of all your children, and give to all the world the Spirit of your truth and peace, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me, and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.” John 14:21.

It is well known that some 80% of white evangelicals voted for Donald Trump in 2016 and 2024. It is also clear that evangelical leaders such as Rev. Franklin Graham, Rev. Douglas Willson, Ralph Reed openly and forcefully endorse the president and his agenda which, in turn, has come to shape the preaching, teaching and ministry of numerous evangelical churches. The fact remains, however, that 20% of white evangelicals did not vote for Donald Trump and that many of these believers are deeply troubled by the infiltration of his political priorities into the life of their congregations. Recently, the Christian Century has pondered the possibility that these evangelical refugees might find a home in the churches of mainline Christianity. Michelle Van Loon, a former evangelical, addresses this question in her article, “Four things mainline churches should know about ex-evangelicals.”[1]

Van Loon notes that 3% percent of Americans who have changed their religious affiliation in the last year now identify as mainline or nonevangelical Protestants. That is hardly a mass movement, but it is not insignificant either. Still, I am doubtful that defections from white evangelicalism represents for mainline churches like my own a “field white for harvest.” Like Van Loon, I was “a child of the Jesus movement that swept the country in the late 1960s and early ’70s.” Though I never parted company with my Lutheran tradition, I worshiped with “Jesus People” communities and attended meetings of Intervarsity and Campus Crusade for Christ. I was drawn to evangelicalism by its focus on a deep and personal relationship with Jesus, though again, like Van Loon, I could never point to a particular moment in my life where I “committed my life to Jesus.” Unfortunately, what I found lacking in my Lutheran church community back in my Jesus People days continues to be lacking.[2]

Complaints against evangelical megachurches made by their defectors can be made as readily against our mainline churches, e.g., too much emphasis on programming, politics and fund raising. Too little emphasis on cultivating personal faith and discipleship. As I have said elsewhere, what drew me toward evangelicalism in the first place is what finally led me away from it, namely, Jesus. I became convinced that following Jesus involved more than personal salvation for my own soul and renewal of my individual life-as important as these things clearly are. The Jesus I came to know from the preaching of Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Rev. James Cone; the writings of Gustavo Gutierez, Walter Bruggerman, John Douglas Hall and Stanley Hauerwas was ultimately too big for my evangelical faith. Nevertheless, I continue to count myself an evangelical in this sense, namely, that devotion to Jesus of Nazareth is the core of my faith and life. I believe that to be the core also for many who are parting company with their evangelical communities having their faith still intact.

Sadly, I cannot say with certainty that these refugees will recognize Jesus in the typical Lutheran congregation as the glue holding it together.[3] Van Loon points out that “Mainline denominations seem more focused on simply loving their neighbors, no strings attached. If there is a downside to this approach, it is that some mainliners go silent regarding why they’re serving others…” Does that really make any difference? I think it does. The love of which Jesus speaks is not the sort limited to national identity, tribal affiliation or congregational membership. According to our gospel lesson, love means keeping Jesus’ commandments, the principal ones being to love God with all one’s heart and to love one’s neighbor as oneself. And lest there be any mistake about it, the parable of the Good Samaritan makes clear that love for one’s neighbor knows no limit.

Furthermore, for Jesus love is not a strategy for some higher goal. It does not matter whether love for creation expressed in picking trash up on the beach makes a dent in the massive dumping to which our oceans are subject. It does not matter whether public witness for justice and peace move the needle of political machinery to that end. It does not matter whether the enemies we are called to love are moved by our love to change their hateful and aggressive ways. “What’s the use?” is not an excuse. Indeed, disciples of Jesus are called to practice the dictates of the Sermon on the Mount even when they seem to undermine what we believe to be worthy goals. For that reason, a community held together by nothing more than common objectives, however noble they might be, is not enough.

Though the co-option of evangelical leaders and many evangelical churches by the hateful ideologies of Christian nationalism is disheartening, evangelicalism is not altogether a lost cause. There are notable examples of evangelicals seeking to recover the centrality of Jesus for Christian faith. Rev. John Mark Comer has won a substantial following by challenging young people to disengage from the destructiveness of electronic and social media in order to focus on discipleship. Comer’s ministry and teaching is outlined in a recent article by Nancy Walecki in the Atlantic.[4] Comer looks to the life of Jesus as a countercultural way of regaining our humanity and maintaining our spiritual health in this digitalized twenty-first century. Inspired by the monastic order of Saint Benedict, Comer urges his audience to incorporate nine practices of Jesus into their lives. They consist of the following: daily reading of scripture, service to the larger community; keeping the sabbath by practicing solitude; prayer, fasting-which includes abstinence from digital devices, corporate worship, witness and generosity.

Comer’s critics characterize his writings and preaching as little more than self help mantras cloaked in biblical wrapping. While there are obviously parallels to be drawn with self help literature, Comer insists that the practices he encourages are rooted in those of historic Christianity. They are not intended to produce personal happiness, fulfillment or contentment. Rather, they are instruments through which the Holy Spirit forms one’s character into the image of Christ. By imitating Jesus, one becomes more like Jesus. That same sentiment has been central to Christian spirituality from the beginning,

Another example of Jesus centered spirituality is found in the “He Gets Us” movement “that invites all people to consider Jesus and why he matters.” Its mission consists of calling people to “show up in unexpected places and share a story about Jesus in a way that sparks curiosity and invites conversation.” The campaign ran several striking ads throughout the Superbowl this year. According to its website,

“He Gets Us is led by Come Near, a group of people moved to raise the public conversation about Jesus. The He Gets Us campaign is not affiliated with any single individual, political position, or faith denomination. Our creators, partners, and supporters represent a variety of faith journeys, lived experiences, and perspectives, all of which contribute to the work we have produced to date. We all share one common goal: to invite people to rethink their perception of Jesus and what he could mean for us today.”   

This evangelical approach represents a refreshing change from the all too common practice of telling people who Jesus is, why they need him and what will happen to them if they refuse to accept him as presented. It reflects rather the very biblical approach to evangelism expressed by Saint Philip who, in response to the skepticism concerning Jesus expressed by his friend Nathaniel, replied simply “come and see.” Isn’t that the only thing we really need to do?

The contribution made by evangelicalism to the life of the church is its emphasis on faith that is relational. At its best, the movement and the churches it has spawned remind us that discipleship is not about acceptance of dogma, but about trusting and following a person, namely, Jesus. Evangelicals remind us that the best and perhaps only evidence for the truth of the Resurrection is the fact that Jesus continues to draw people to himself from all quarters. We should be encouraged to discover that their ministries are reaching people outside the church, people who have left the church and people who have no interest in the church, drawing them into conversation about Jesus. I hope and pray that the same interest will awaken within my own and other mainline churchs where Jesus has too often been marginalized.  

Here is a poem by Countee Cullen about Simon Cyrene, the man who the gospels tell us was compelled to carry the cross of Jesus. The poem asks us to consider the source of that compulsion and speaks of the kind of faith that evangelicalism, at its best, seeks to recapture.

Simon the Cyrenian Speaks

Source: My Soul’s High Song: The Collected Writings of Countee Cullen, (edit. Gerald Early; c. 1990 by New York: Doubleday). Countee Cullen (1903-1986) was an American poet, novelist, children’s writer, and playwright, particularly well known during the Harlem Renaissance. It is known that he was born on May 30, 1903 to Elizabeth Thomas Lucas. Due to a lack of records from his childhood, however, his birthplace is unknown. At the age of fifteen, he was adopted by Reverend Frederick A. Cullen, pastor of Salem Methodist Episcopal Church, Harlem’s largest such congregation. Taking the name of his adoptive father, Cullen entered the DeWitt Clinton High School, then located in Hell’s Kitchen. There he excelled academically and started writing poetry. After graduating from high school, he attended New York University (NYU).  Cullen graduated from NYU in 1925 and then attended Harvard to pursue a masters in English. While there he published his first collection of poems.

The cultural movement known as the Harlem Renaissance marked a creative explosion of literature, art and music contributed by African-American writers, artists and musicians. Cullen was at the epicenter of this new-found surge in literature. By 1929 he had published four volumes of poetry. In addition to his own writing, Cullen promoted the work of other black writers to national publishers. From 1934 until the end of his life, he taught English, French and creative writing at Frederick Douglass Junior High School in New York City. You can read more about Countee Cullen and sample more of his poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.

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[1] Van Loon, Michelle, “Four things mainline churches should know about ex-evangelicals,” Christian Century, (March 2026, Volume 143, Issue #3)

[2]  I have shared my own sojourn with evangelicalism in my article, Cosmic Christ and Confessions of a Former Evangelical.  

[3] I have shared previously an incident occurring toward the end of my ministry that illustrates the point. I attended a workshop sponsored by my church focusing on ways toward spiritual renewal for our congregations. For an hour and a half we engaged in exercises designed to stimulate conversation, discussion and strategizing for church growth. Toward the end of the meeting, one of the facilitators asked if we had any questions or comments about this proposed program. I raised my hand and asked the facilitator whether she was aware that not once during the entire process did the name of Jesus come up and whether that was inadvertent or intentional. (I thought about adding that I was not sure which answer would be the more disturbing). She did not have much of an answer. Another facilitator finally spoke up and said in a decidedly irritated tone, “I don’t think it is necessary to invoke the Trinity after every single paragraph.” (For the record, I do not recall any references to God the Father or the Holy Spirit either.)

[4] Walecki, Nancy, “Can Turning Off Your Computer Bring You Closer to God?” Atlantic, (May 2026).

THIRD SUNDAY OF EASTER

Acts 2:14a, 36-41

Psalm 116:1-4, 12-19

1 Peter 1:17-23

Luke 24:13-35

Prayer of the Day: O God, your Son makes himself known to all his disciples in the breaking of bread. Open the eyes of our faith, that we may see him in his redeeming work, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

 “To the exiles of the dispersion in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia, who have been chosen and destined by God the Father and sanctified by the Spirit to be obedient to Jesus Christ and to be sprinkled with his blood” I Peter 1:1-2.

The New Testament writers frequently employ the narratives of “exile,” nomadic existence and marginalization in the life of Israel as metaphors for the church’s life in the time between Jesus’ resurrection and his return to reign over a renewed creation. The role call of saints in the Letter to the Hebrews comes to mind. See Hebrews 11. The author says concerning the heroes of the Hebrew Scriptures that they “suffered mocking and flogging and even chains and imprisonment. They were stoned to death; they were sawn in two; they were killed by the sword; they went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, persecuted, tormented—of whom the world was not worthy. They wandered in deserts and mountains and in caves and holes in the ground.” Hebrews 11:36-38. Jesus warns his disciples in John’s gospel that “[b]ecause you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore the world hates you.” John 15:19. Paul reminds the church at Phillipi that “our citizenshipis in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.” Philippians 3:20.

Nevertheless, though not being “of” the world, disciples of Jesus are very much “in” the world and have been for the last two millennia. Consequently, the church is confronted in every generation with the same question: what does it mean for us to live in the world as “resident aliens”? How do we live and engage with the dominant culture? What is our duty with regard to the governments under which we live? What principles guide our commercial dealings with the rest of the world?

Pastor and theologian, H. Richard Niebuhr addressed this issue in his seminal book, Christ and Culture, Niebuhr, H. Richard (c. 1975 by Harper & Row). Niebuhr identifies three ways in which theologians and church communities have approached the relationship between the Body of Christ and the world. 1) discipleship as life in opposition to culture (Christ against culture);

2) discipleship lived in agreement with culture (Christ of culture; and 3) a combination that incorporates insights from both of these two views (Christ above culture). The first of these takes the view that loyalty to Christ and the church entails a rejection of culture and society. The second views Jesus as the fulfiller of society’s hopes and aspirations. He is the supreme teacher directing human culture to the attainment of wisdom, morality, and peace. In the third and more nuanced view, Christian discipleship is lived in dialogue with the world, sometimes working in and through societal structures seeing their improvement, sometimes challenging those structures and even calling for their abolition or replacement and sometimes seeking to convert them such that they serve the aims of God’s promised reign.

It should be noted that Niebuhr recognizes the artificialities of his categories. Monastic communities, though living in ways quite contrary to the ways of the rest of the world, have provided numerous services and contributions to society. So, too, many communities believing in the perfection of humanity through culture did so by forming utopian societies they hoped would inspire the rest of the world to emulate. There is, of course, no clear lines of demarcation between the third category and the prior two. Moreover, Niebuhr recognizes a degree of legitimacy in all these approaches and advises his readers against adopting any single view to the exclusion of all others. He warns us that no one single approach constitutes “the answer” for all times and places.

I think the same diversity exists within the New Testament. Both the epistles of Peter and Paul urge Christians to pray for “those in authority.” Though these authorities had names like Nero and Caligula, they were nonetheless instruments God employed to maintain a degree of order in the world, however imperfect and corrupt it might be. In the Book of Acts, Paul appeals to the justice of Rome to adjudicate the claims made against him by the religious leaders in Jerusalem. On the other hand, in the Book of Revelation Saint John of Patmos portrays the Roman empire as a “beast,” and instrument employed by the devil to oppress the saints and operate as the “destroyer of the earth.” So far from praying for the emperor, John prays for and rejoices in the empires’ downfall. He sees underneath its wealth, prosperity and power the ugly specters of slavery, oppression and violence. Following Jesus demands nothing short of faithful witness to God’s reign of justice, reconciliation and peace over against the tyranny of Rome.

Like H. Richard Niebuhr, I do not believe we are compelled to decide between Paul and John of Patmos. The circumstances of the church in Greece and Syria were different from those experienced by the churches of Asia Minor in John’s time. In both cases, however, the church was a marginal presence. Paul’s congregations lived uneasily under the shadow of an empire that was always potentially hostile to them, but largely indifferent. John’s churches experienced the full force of Rome’s cruelty and oppression. Saint Paul faced an empire to which he could appeal on grounds of a shared belief in justice and due process. Saint John dealt with an empire posing an existential threat not only to the church, but to humanity in general. For Paul, Rome was an instrument, however flawed, of justice and good order. For John, it was a ravenous beast. We can therefore say that both apostles preached faithfully to their churches within their unique respective contexts.

Both Paul and John of Patmos understood their churches to be “exiles,” a community of sojourners whose ultimate loyalty belonged to a kingdom that remains hidden. Still, they lived within the borders and under the jurisdiction of cities, towns and localities that were all finally subject to Rome. The communities in which they lived rightly expected the believers to participate in the common life, bear their share of the burden pursuing the common good and respect the cultural behavioral standards of law, courtesy and civility. The church was never intended to be a world unto itself. Nevertheless, at the end of the day the disciples were given to understand that they had but one Lord and their ultimate allegiance belonged solely to the reign of God he proclaimed. No decree of any nation or ruler is above Jesus’ command to love God with all the heart with all the soul, with all the mind and with all the strength and to love one’s neighbor as oneself. Thus, when the demands of the empire diverged from the commands of Jesus, the disciples were required to “obey God rather than any human authority.” Acts 5:29.  

Jesus’ resurrection represents the repudiation of imperial overreach. Rome exercised its law to convict Jesus and its godlike power to execute Jesus. God reversed Rome’s verdict. That ruling liberates disciples of Jesus to live in and serve the world God made and aims to redeem while remaining free from the overreaching delusions of godhood held by the principalities and powers that would enslave it. It is, as Martin Luther once said, “to be a perfectly free lord of all” while at the same time being “a perfectly dutiful servant of all.”  

To be an exile is to live with the pain of absence while knowing the joy of an anticipated homecoming. It is to be at home away from home.

Here is a poem by Emma Lazarus about exiles being fully and freely themselves in a foreign land.

In Exile

“Since that day till now our life is one unbroken paradise. We live a true brotherly life. Every evening after supper we take a seat under the mighty oak and sing our songs.”Extract from a letter of a Russian refugee in Texas.

Source: Emma Lazarus: Selected Poems and Other Writings (2002). Emma Lazarus (1849-1887) is most famous for the words inscribed on the Statute of Liberty from her poem, The New Colossus:

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Lazarus was one of the first successful and publicly recognized Jewish American authors. She was born in New York City to a wealthy family. She began writing and translating poetry as a teenager and was publishing translations of German poems by the 1860s. Lazarus was moved by the fierce persecution of her people in Russia, a frequent topic of her writings, as well as their struggles to assimilate into American culture. You can sample more of Emma Lazarus’ poetry and read more about her at the Poetry Foundation website.

SECOND SUNDAY OF EASTER

Acts 2:14, 22-32

Psalm 16

1 Peter 1:3-9

John 20:19-31

Prayer of the Day: Almighty and eternal God, the strength of those who believe and the hope of those who doubt, may we, who have not seen, have faith in you and receive the fullness of Christ’s blessing, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.’” John 20:21.

“A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’” John 20:26.

Eight days after the disciples had been empowered with the Holy Spirit and commissioned to go out and declare the good of Jesus’ resurrection and God’s limitless love and forgiveness for the world, we find them still hiding behind locked doors. If Jesus didn’t actually say it to the disciples, I can’t help wondering whether he was thinking, “And what part of the word ‘send’ do you people not understand?” It does not get any better after this. Rather than following Jesus’ command, given now for the second time, to go out into the world with the good news, the disciples retreat to Galilee and return to their old lives and their previous occupation, namely, fishing. Once again, the risen Christ must confront them and lead them away from their boats and their nets out into the mission for which they were called.

The church has always resisted the notion that it is “sent,” that it is a nomadic people rather than a settled community, a movement into the future rather than an institution devoted to preserving the past, a living organism rather than a static organization. It is telling, I think, that we frequently refer to our places of worship as “sanctuaries,” safe places in which we can seek refuge from the world. It is as though, like the disciples, we celebrate Jesus’ resurrection, his victory over death and the defeat of the forces of evil in the cross from behind doors bolted fast against the world that so desperately needs to hear this good news. I have to wonder whether the risen Christ might also be saying to us on this first Sunday after Easter, “So, friends, what are you all still doing here?”

There are some hopeful signs on the horizon suggesting that the church might finally be getting the message. Recently the board of directors for Luther Seminary, the school from which I received my M.Div., voted unanimously to divest from its current physical campus in Saint Paul in order to shift to a more nimble model of theological education and pastoral formation. To that end, the seminary is seeking a new facility in the Twin Cities area that meets the needs of its educational mission while enabling it to continue on for the foreseeable future in both a faithful and sustainable manner. It should be pointed out that this was not a move of desperation born of financial crisis. The seminary is currently well endowed. The decision to move out of its current facility was based on the recognition that the world to which we are called to minister presents challenges the seminary is unable to meet effectively through its current campus setting.  

I must admit that I was initially saddened by this news. The Luther Seminary campus in St. Paul has served my church for over one hundred and twenty years. I remember the first time I set eyes on Bochman Hall’s majestic Corinthian pillars from the end of its walkway marked with a stone Celtic cross. (Pictured above). Every time I passed through the doors of the massive library in Gullixon Hall, I was overcome with a sense of awe. Here in this one place were housed the products of great minds, souls and examples of sainthood. The musty scent of ancient volumes from the stacks stretching over six stories was a constant reminder that my little life, a mere nanosecond in the communion of saints, gains a holy significance through my incorporation into that great community embracing the whole planet and extending throughout all time and space. It saddens me to think that Luther Seminary’s ancient lecture halls where so much profound teaching, so many lively discussions and such deep learning took place will soon be silent and empty.

That said, I think the board of directors made the right call. As those who follow me know, I have expressed many times my concerns about the future of seminary education such as its prohibitive cost, the shape of its curriculum and the threat to genuine community posed by resort to virtual teaching. I do not have ready answers to these concerns, but I am convinced that locking ourselves into the comfortable places and patterns of the past is not the solution to any of these challenges. We need to raise up a generation of pastoral leaders that is diverse, theologically educated and spiritually well formed. Moreover, we need to do that without burdening our graduates with crushing educational debt. In order to meet that challenge, Luther Seminary must step outside the safety, security and comfort of its historic campus, its educational traditions and its established spiritual practices.

We should not be too hard on the disciples. The dangers they feared were very real. The same imperial powers that crucified Jesus were still at work in the world. The leaders who arrested Jesus and turned him over to Pilate for execution surely would not hesitate to do the same to any one of his disciples. Keeping out of sight and behind locked doors was not unreasonable. On the contrary, it was probably the safest course of action. But Jesus does not call upon his disciples to play it safe. They are sent, as was Jesus, to announce the gentle, just and peaceful reign of God to a hostile world. Where Jesus is, on the margins, identifying with the victims of empire and, not merely speaking but “being” truth to power, there his disciples must be also. John 12:26.

So let us not be seduced by the siren song of “againism,” whether it be the call to make America great “again” or to make the church great “again.” Let us not be deceived into believing that there was once a “golden age” somewhere in the past and that getting back to that “old time religion,” returning to “traditional values” or going back to our “Lutheran confessional roots” is going to redeem us. Today is the day the Lord has made. Psalm 118:24. It is not for us to turn up our nose at it and pine for some other bygone day. Unbelief fears the future and lives today fixated on the rearview mirror. Faith rejoices in today and looks hopefully and imaginatively toward the future.   

John’s gospel ends with the disciples finally venturing out from behind locked doors, leaving their fish nets and boats behind and following Jesus into the new life he promised. It begs for a sequel, and I believe one is written in the witness of each generation of believers. See John 21:24-25. In every generation, there is the choice to write a new chapter or vainly attempt to relive the prior one. I believe Jesus is calling us to step out of our sanctuaries, stop clinging for dear life to our institutions and leave behind the ivy covered palaces of learning belonging to a world that no longer exists. Where will that bring us and what will we find there? “Never mind,” says Jesus. “Follow me.” John 21:20-23.  

Here is the poem by Walt Whitman constituting a clarion call to step outside and onto the open road. I believe we hear an echo of Jesus’ beckoning call in the final stanza,

“[I] give you my hand!

I give you my love more precious than money,

I give you myself before preaching or law;

Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?

Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?”

Song of the Open Road
1
Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.

The earth, that is sufficient,
I do not want the constellations any nearer,
I know they are very well where they are,
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.

(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,
I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,
I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.)

2
You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all that is here,
I believe that much unseen is also here.

Here the profound lesson of reception, nor preference nor denial,
The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas’d, the illiterate person, are not denied;
The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar’s tramp, the drunkard’s stagger, the laughing party of mechanics,
The escaped youth, the rich person’s carriage, the fop, the eloping couple,

The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the town, the return back from the town,
They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted,
None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me.

3
You air that serves me with breath to speak!
You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape!
You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers!
You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides!
I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear to me.

You flagg’d walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges!
You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined sides! you distant ships!

You rows of houses! you window-pierc’d façades! you roofs!
You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards!
You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much!
You doors and ascending steps! you arches!
You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings!
From all that has touch’d you I believe you have imparted to yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me,
From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me.

4
The earth expanding right hand and left hand,
The picture alive, every part in its best light,
The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted,
The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of the road.

O highway I travel, do you say to me Do not leave me?
Do you say Venture not—if you leave me you are lost?
Do you say I am already prepared, I am well-beaten and undenied, adhere to me?

O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you,
You express me better than I can express myself,
You shall be more to me than my poem.

I think heroic deeds were all conceiv’d in the open air, and all free poems also,
I think I could stop here myself and do miracles,
I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me,
I think whoever I see must be happy.

5
From this hour I ordain myself loos’d of limits and imaginary lines,
Going where I list, my own master total and absolute,
Listening to others, considering well what they say,
Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,
Gently,but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.
I inhale great draughts of space,
The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.

I am larger, better than I thought,
I did not know I held so much goodness.

All seems beautiful to me,
I can repeat over to men and women You have done such good to me I would do the same to you,
I will recruit for myself and you as I go,
I will scatter myself among men and women as I go,
I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them,
Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me,
Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me.

6
Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear it would not amaze me,
Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear’d it would not astonish me.

Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons,
It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth.

Here a great personal deed has room,
(Such a deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men,
Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law and mocks all authority and all argument against it.)

Here is the test of wisdom,
Wisdom is not finally tested in schools,
Wisdom cannot be pass’d from one having it to another not having it,
Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof,
Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content,
Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the excellence of things;
Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes it out of the soul.

Now I re-examine philosophies and religions,
They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing currents.

Here is realization,
Here is a man tallied—he realizes here what he has in him,
The past, the future, majesty, love—if they are vacant of you, you are vacant of them.

Only the kernel of every object nourishes;
Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me?
Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me?

Here is adhesiveness, it is not previously fashion’d, it is apropos;
Do you know what it is as you pass to be loved by strangers?
Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls?

7
Here is the efflux of the soul,
The efflux of the soul comes from within through embower’d gates, ever provoking questions,
These yearnings why are they? these thoughts in the darkness why are they?
Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood?
Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?
Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?
(I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees and always drop fruit as I pass;)
What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers?
What with some driver as I ride on the seat by his side?
What with some fisherman drawing his seine by the shore as I walk by and pause?
What gives me to be free to a woman’s and man’s good-will? what gives them to be free to mine?

8
The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness,
I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times,
Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged.

Here rises the fluid and attaching character,
The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness of man and woman,
(The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every day out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet continually out of itself.)

Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the love of young and old,
From it falls distill’d the charm that mocks beauty and attainments,
Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact.

9
Allons! whoever you are come travel with me!
Traveling with me you find what never tires.

The earth never tires,
The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first,
Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop’d,
I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.

Allons! we must not stop here,
However sweet these laid-up stores, however convenient this dwelling we cannot remain here,
However shelter’d this port and however calm these waters we must not anchor here,
However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us we are permitted to receive it but a little while.

10
Allons! the inducements shall be greater,
We will sail pathless and wild seas,
We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper speeds by under full sail.

Allons! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements,
Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity;
Allons! from all formules!
From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests.

The stale cadaver blocks up the passage—the burial waits no longer.

Allons! yet take warning!
He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, endurance,
None may come to the trial till he or she bring courage and health,
Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself,
Only those may come who come in sweet and determin’d bodies,
No diseas’d person, no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted here.

(I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes,
We convince by our presence.)

11
Listen! I will be honest with you,
I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes,
These are the days that must happen to you:
You shall not heap up what is call’d riches,
You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve,
You but arrive at the city to which you were destin’d, you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction before you are call’d by an irresistible call to depart,
You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those who remain behind you,
What beckonings of love you receive you shall only answer with passionate kisses of parting,
You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach’d hands toward you.

12
Allons! after the great Companions, and to belong to them!
They too are on the road—they are the swift and majestic men—they are the greatest women,
Enjoyers of calms of seas and storms of seas,
Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land,
Habituès of many distant countries, habituès of far-distant dwellings,
Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers,
Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore,
Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of children, bearers of children,
Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers-down of coffins,
Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years, the curious years each emerging from that which preceded it,
Journeyers as with companions, namely their own diverse phases,
Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days,
Journeyers gayly with their own youth, journeyers with their bearded and well-grain’d manhood,
Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass’d, content,
Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood,
Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe,
Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.

13
Allons! to that which is endless as it was beginningless,
To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights,
To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights they tend to,
Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys,
To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it,
To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it,
To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you, however long but it stretches and waits for you,
To see no being, not God’s or any, but you also go thither,
To see no possession but you may possess it, enjoying all without labor or purchase, abstracting the feast yet not abstracting one particle of it,
To take the best of the farmer’s farm and the rich man’s elegant villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple, and the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens,
To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through,
To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go,
To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them, to gather the love out of their hearts,
To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them behind you,
To know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for traveling souls.

All parts away for the progress of souls,
All religion, all solid things, arts, governments—all that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners before the procession of souls along the grand roads of the universe.

Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance.

Forever alive, forever forward,
Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied,
Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men,
They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where they go,
But I know that they go toward the best—toward something great.

Whoever you are, come forth! or man or woman come forth!
You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you.

Out of the dark confinement! out from behind the screen!
It is useless to protest, I know all and expose it.

Behold through you as bad as the rest,
Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people,
Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash’d and trimm’d faces,
Behold a secret silent loathing and despair.

No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession,
Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes,
Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and bland in the parlors,
In the cars of railroads, in steamboats, in the public assembly,
Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bedroom, everywhere,
Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones,
Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial flowers,
Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself,
Speaking of any thing else but never of itself.

14
Allons! through struggles and wars!
The goal that was named cannot be countermanded.

Have the past struggles succeeded?
What has succeeded? yourself? your nation? Nature?
Now understand me well—it is provided in the essence of things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary.

My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion,
He going with me must go well arm’d,
He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, desertions.

15
Allons! the road is before us!
It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well—be not detain’d!

Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen’d!
Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn’d!
Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law.

Camerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love more precious than money,
I give you myself before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

Source: Complete Poetry and Selected Prose by Walt Whitman, (c. 1959 by Miller, James E., Jr., pub. by Houghton Mifflin Company). No poet captures the essence of what is genuinely American quite as comprehensively as Walt Whitman. Born 1819 in Huntington, Long Island, Whitman worked alternately as a journalist, government clerk and as a volunteer nurse during the American Civil War. He traveled widely throughout the United States giving expression to his zeal for democracy, nature, love and friendship. Though admired by such contemporaries as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Dante Gabriel Rossetti and Algernon Charles Swinburne, it was not until after his death in 1892 that he received wide acclaim in the United States. You can read more about Walt Whitman and sample more of his poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.