THIRTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Deuteronomy 30:15-20

Psalm 1

Philemon 1-21

Luke 14:25-33

Prayer of the Day: Direct us, O Lord God, in all our doings with your continual help, that in all our works, begun, continued, and ended in you, we may glorify your holy name; and finally, by your mercy, bring us to everlasting life, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.” Luke 14:27.

Let’s face it. This saying is cliché. Bearing one’s cross has become a tame metaphor denoting whatever unpleasant circumstance one must endure for the sake of some greater good or simply because there is no getting around it. That is why those of us preaching this text need to remind our hearers that it is Jesus speaking here. For him, the cross was no metaphor. It was a particularly slow, cruel, painful and humiliating means of execution. As articulately expressed by the late Howard Yoder, “The cross of Calvary was not a difficult family situation, not a frustration of visions of personal fulfillment, a crushing debt or a nagging in-law; it was the political, legally to be expected result of a moral clash with the powers ruling his society.”[1] The way Jesus lived led to the way he died. Disciples of Jesus who strive to live in his way have no reason to expect any different result.

This is a message quite different from the one proclaimed by most mainline churches these days looking to increase their membership. Open any publication to the religious ad page and you will find churches falling all over each other with promises of good fellowship, wonderful activities, great music, fine preaching, free coffee and pastries, youth programs, young adult programs, activities and outings for the elderly. You could easily get the impression from these ads that the church is a service organization existing for the benefit of its members rather than a community dedicated to living the way of Jesus in a culture hostile to him and the reign of God he proclaims. Lured in by the promise of these benefits, it should hardly surprise us that these prospects balk when we start speaking about tithing, service and sacrificing all for the sake of God’s reign. How can you blame them? They have been subjected to a classic “bait and switch.” They were promised fun and games only to find out they have been signed up for martyrdom.

The problem with treating the church as a consumer product is that, well, it draws consumers. Consumers consume. They come, they drink the coffee, eat the donuts and move on to the next entertainment. You cannot expect them to remain after they have used up all your benefits, much less offer their time, talents and treasure to sustain your ministry. That is why Jesus was not interested in attracting consumers. He was interested in calling people into the new reality of God’s inbreaking kingdom. Jesus was not interested in increasing the size of his following. He was interested in making disciples. Moreover, while Jesus never turned away anyone in need of healing, forgiveness and mercy, he was quite selective when it came to choosing his disciples. He was not afraid to tell would be followers that they were not yet ready for discipleship. Jesus did not hide the costs or sugarcoat the risks involved with following him. He did not have to do that. Jesus understood that when one is drawn into the reign of God, when one catches a glimpse of the new life it offers, no price is too high, no danger too formidable and no sacrifice too dear.

The gospel is good news, so good that it does not need to be hidden under a slew of promised benefits. It is not some foul medicine that requires a “spoon full of sugar” to get it down. Still, Jesus’ language here is difficult to digest. “…none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.” “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.” But perhaps these words tell us precisely what we need to hear. Consumerism is not only a problem for the culture of the church. It constitutes our American lifestyle driven by an economy that generates profits by stoking our insatiable appetite for “more.” The earth, by capitalist logic, is reduced to a mere ball of limited resources to be exploited in producing ever more products to satisfy an endless hunger for greater prosperity benefiting the few at the expense of the many. It is based on an ideology of scarcity, designed to convince us that the world is a shrinking pie. There is not enough for everybody. So you had better grab your piece now before it is all gone. The greed, fear, anxiety and cynicism generated by our consumerist existence breeds an addiction to accumulation of stuff we don’t need, distorts our closest relationships with envy, distrust and resentment and infects every aspect of our lives with unease and dissatisfaction. We must come to hate this life distorted by consumerism, the way in which it has twisted and deformed our relationships and the anxiety it generates as we yearn for all the things we cannot obtain and fret over losing what we have.

I think Augustine, Bishop of Hippo and one of the greatest teachers of the church, can help us here. He observes that, odd as it may seem, sin is driven by the same engine as righteousness, namely, love. The problem is that human love is fundamentally disordered. Created to love God and, through that pure love, to love the neighbor and enjoy the world God made, human love is easily directed toward lesser things, things which often are good in themselves, but lethal when they are allowed to become the object of love which ought to be directed first and foremost toward God alone. Disordered love is hurtful, dangerous and destructive. Some of the cruelest acts committed by parents against their children are accompanied by the words, “I am doing this because I love you.” Some of the most atrocious acts of barbarism have been done in the name of patriotism, love of country and defense of freedom. Acts done in the name of God can be especially ruthless when faith is directed at a deity other than the God who is love. Love of country, love of family and enjoyment of the fruit of one’s labors, all appropriate “loves,” can morph into nationalism, domestic abuse and avarice when they are allowed to become dominant. That is the sort of consumptive love from which Jesus would liberate us. It is the sort of distorted love we need to learn to hate.  

Though there is much to be said for a disciplined focus on the lectionary texts, I believe this is one instance in which it may be necessary to reach beyond the appointed readings to preach faithfully the good news we call gospel. The communal practices of the early believers in the Book of Acts provide a striking contrast to the way of consumerism:

“All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people.” Acts 2:44-47.

“Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common. With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all. There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need.” Acts 4:32-35.

Also instructive are the books of Leviticus and Deuteronomy, both of which outline an economy designed to serve all people rather than to exploit the many for the benefit of the few. In a world dominated by politically oppressive and economically consumptive empires and petty kingdoms, Israel was to be a “light,” a flashing neon sign telling the rest of the world that “it doesn’t have to be this way.” The whole point of the church is to be a community displaying a different way to be human, an alternative way of life to the unsustainable dead end of consumerism. Jesus challenges us to re-evaluate and change radically our relationship to the One we claim to worship, our relationships to one another and our relationship to the things we claim to possess. To a world hell bent on consuming itself, the church is the community tasked with shouting out, “Hey folks! It doesn’t have to be this way.”

Here are two related poems by Wendell Berry articulating the frightening end to which a consumer culture leads us while reminding us that we have not yet arrived at that terrible end. It is a blend of foreboding and fragile hope that should resonate with all who long for God’s alternative reign of justice and peace.

XX & XXI from Sabbath Poems

XX

Even while I dreamed I prayed that what I saw was only fear and no foretelling,
for I saw the last known landscape destroyed for the sake

of the objective, the soil bludgeoned, the rock blasted.
Those who had wanted to go home would never get there now.

I visited the offices where for the sake of the objective the planners planned
at blank desks set in rows. I visited the loud factories
where the machines were made that would drive ever forward
toward the objective. I saw the forest reduced to stumps and gullies; I saw
the poisoned river, the mountain cast into the valley;
I came to the city that nobody recognized because it looked like every other city.
I saw the passages worn by the unnumbered
footfalls of those whose eyes were fixed upon the objective.

Their passing had obliterated the graves and the monuments
of those who had died in pursuit of the objective
and who had long ago forever been forgotten, according
to the inevitable rule that those who have forgotten forget
that they have forgotten. Men, women, and children now pursued the objective
as if nobody ever had pursued it before.

The races and the sexes now intermingled perfectly in pursuit of the objective.
the once-enslaved, the once-oppressed were now free
to sell themselves to the highest bidder
and to enter the best paying prisons
in pursuit of the objective, which was the destruction of all enemies,
which was the destruction of all obstacles, which was the destruction of all objects,
which was to clear the way to victory, which was to clear the way to promotion, to salvation, to progress,
to the completed sale, to the signature
on the contract, which was to clear the way
to self-realization, to self-creation, from which nobody who ever wanted to go home
would ever get there now, for every remembered place
had been displaced; the signposts had been bent to the ground and covered over.

Every place had been displaced, every love
unloved, every vow unsworn, every word unmeant
to make way for the passage of the crowd
of the individuated, the autonomous, the self-actuated, the homeless
with their many eyes opened toward the objective
which they did not yet perceive in the far distance,
having never known where they were going,
having never known where they came from.

XXI

I was wakened from my dream of the ruined world by the

          sound

of rain falling slowly onto the dry earth of my place in time.

On the parched garden, the cracked-open pastures,

the dusty grape leaves, the brittled grass, the drooping

          foliage of the woods,

fell still the quiet rain.

Source: The Peace of Wild Things, Wendell Berry (c. 1964 by Wendell Berry; pub. by Penguin Books). Wendell Berry (b. 1934) is a poet, novelist, farmer and environmental activist. He is an elected member of the Fellowship of Southern Writers, a recipient of The National Humanities Medal and the Jefferson Lecturer for 2012. He is also a 2013 Fellow of The American Academy of Arts and Sciences. Berry was named the recipient of the 2013 Richard C. Holbrooke Distinguished Achievement Award. On January 28, 2015, he became the first living writer to be inducted into the Kentucky Writers Hall of Fame. You can read more about Wendell Berry and sample more of his works at the Poetry Foundation website.

[1] The Politics of Jesus, Howard, John Howard, (c. 1972 by William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company) I am mindful that there are some who might find objectionable my citation to the work of John Howard Yoder given his history of predatory conduct. I addressed this issue in my post entitled The Perils of Eradicating Evil. While I do not wish to dismiss or minimize the harm Yoder has inflicted, neither do I feel comfortable expressing his views, even with some slight changes in verbiage, as though they were my own. As despicable as Yoder’s behavior surely was, it cannot justify my plagiarizing his work.

TWELFTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Proverbs 25:6-7

Psalm 112

Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16

Luke 14:1, 7-14

Prayer of the Day: O God, you resist those who are proud and give grace to those who are humble. Give us the humility of your Son, that we may embody the generosity of Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“For here we have no lasting city, but we are looking for the city that is to come.” Hebrews 13:14.

As those who follow me regularly know, I practiced law in New Jersey for eighteen years of my professional life. My practice consisted primarily of civil litigation. A lawsuit is a slow, cumbersome and expensive way to resolve disputes, That is why the vast majority litigants settle their claims rather than face the uncertainty and incur the expense of a jury trial. Still, there are risks on both sides of the equation. Settlement before trial risks leaving money on the table, while trying the case can result in no recovery at all. A case might appear strong and promise a big money judgment. But good attorneys know that they don’t know what they don’t know. That is why before an attorney tries a case or recommends settlement, the attorney assesses the value of the case, the strengths and weaknesses of the evidence on both sides. To facilitate this process, the rules of court have established procedures for what is called “discovery.” Attorneys on both sides of the case are permitted, within limits, to demand documents and examine the parties and their witnesses under oath prior to trial.

This might all sound straightforward. But it is not. Take document demands, for example. Documents may contain a wealth of information, but not all of it is subject to disclosure. A document may contain relevant information that is discoverable, but also information about a party or witness that is personal, private and unrelated to the case. Or the document might contain references to communications between the parties and their attorneys. As such, they would be exempt from the requirement from disclosure by the “attorney client privilege.” Thus, when attorneys produce documents to the opposing side, they take care to redact (black out) those portions of the document they believe constitute protected information. Naturally, attorneys interpret these legal protections as broadly as possible to avoid disclosing as much information as possible, particularly if they regard that information as harmful to their case. This, in turn, results in numerous applications to the court which must review the documents to ensure that the information redacted is, in fact, legally protected. Thus, every attorney knows that when documents are produced, the juiciest pieces of information are the ones that have been blacked out.

The above passage from the Letter to the Hebrews has, for reasons known only to God and the creators of the lectionary, been redacted from our reading today. Quite predictably, it is both juicy and relevant. The author admonishes his hearers “Do not be carried away by all kinds of strange teachings…” Hebrews 13:9. Understand that the writer is addressing a catastrophic horror experienced by disciples of Jesus along with all Jews generally, namely, the sack of Jerusalem and the destruction of the Temple in 70 C.E. Central to much of First Century Judaism, the temple appears to have been highly significant to early disciples of Jesus who also identified as Jews. Luke’s gospel begins and ends in the Temple. According to the Book of Acts, the temple was one of the earliest places of worship for the disciples. The temple’s destruction, frequently thought to be a sign the end times, was deemed the harbinger God’s reign. All four gospels discourage this expectation, which leads one to believe that it must have been present among early believers.

The believers addressed in the Letter to the Hebrews appear to have come unmoored, not knowing quite where they are geographically, historically or religiously. The temple and holy city had been destroyed, but the reign of God did not come. The disciple’s connection to the larger Jewish community was fraying.[1] Persecution, though not yet at the point of requiring martyrdom, was afflicting the community. Under these circumstances, communities are vulnerable to “all kinds of strange teachings,” baseless rumors and wild conspiracy theories that promise to make sense out of their fears, give them certainty and help them find direction. The QAnon phenomenon is a good contemporary example of what can happen when people are disoriented by a world that is unsettled, uncertain and changing just too damned fast. The temptation is strong to grab at any explanation that makes sense out of a senseless world, no matter how lacking in sense that explanation is.   

The author of the anonymous letter to the Hebrews acknowledges these realities of disappointed hope, uncertainty and persecution, but goes on to point out that they are not anomalies. To the contrary, rootlessness, exile, alien status and even the life of the fugitive are the very nature of discipleship. After delivering a stirring roll call of heroes of faith from the Hebrew Scriptures who faced the very dangers the community is now experiencing, the author points out that “these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them. They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of the land that they had left behind, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better homeland, that is, a heavenly one.”  Hebrews 11:13-16.

This message is critical for a church dwelling in a world that is increasingly nationalistic, tribalistic and divided along the fault lines of politics, religion and morality. These words from the book of Hebrews are critical and liberating for a church that, for most of the two millennia of its existence, has served as the moral and religious organ of one state or another. The extent to which the church has become symbiotically related to the state is nowhere better illustrated than in eastern Europe where Russian Orthodox Christians and Ukrainian Orthodox Christians are killing each other. The same nationalistic heresy is found in our American churches, most of which still sport the American flag in their sanctuaries and bless their nation’s wars on civic occasions. Clearly, however, in circumstances under which Christians answer the call to kill human beings made in God’s image in the name of nation, ideology, family honor or some other high cause, they are rejecting the reign of God and the City which alone is home to God’s pilgrim people and whose witness is to the one, holy, catholic and apostolic church transcending all humanly created artificial distinctions within the human family. To be a disciple of Jesus is to be first, foremost and always a citizen of the City of God. We reside elsewhere only as resident aliens.   

 The great theologian, preacher and teacher, Karl Barth addressed this ailment in 1914 at the outbreak of the First World War:

“In the political sphere the Church will always and in all circumstances be interested primarily in human beings and not in some abstract cause or other, whether it be anonymous capital or the state as such (the functioning of its departments!) or the honor of the nation or the progress of civilization or culture or the idea, however conceived, of the historical development of the human race.” Karl Barth, Community, State and Church.

Here is a Black spiritual, the authorship of which is unknown. Suffice to say that it was produced within a community that understands better than most American Christians what it means to be a resident alien in a land that his both hostile to God’s reign and to God’s people.

Poor Wayfaring Stranger

I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger,
I’m trav’ling through this world below;
There is no sickness, toil, nor danger,
In that bright world to which I go.
I’m going there to see my father,
I’m going there no more to roam;
I’m just a going over Jordan,
I’m just a going over home.

I know dark clouds will gather o’er me,
I know my pathway’s rough and steep;
But golden fields lie out before me,
Where weary eyes no more shall weep.
I’m going there to see my mother,
She said she’d meet me when I come;
I’m just a going over Jordan,
I’m just a going over home.

I want to sing salvations story,
In concert with the blood-washed band;
I want to wear a crown of glory,
When I get home to that good land.
I’m going there to see my brothers,
They passed before me one by one;
I’m just a going over Jordan,
I’m just a going over home.

I’ll soon be free from every trial,
This form will rest beneath the sod;
I’ll drop the cross of self-denial,
And enter in my home with God.
I’m going there to see my Saviour,
Who shed for me His precious blood;
I’m just a going over Jordan,
I’m just a going over home.

Source: American Religious Poems, Edited by Harold Bloom and Jesse Zuba (c. 2006 by Literary Classics of the United States). The origins of this song/poem are unclear. It may have multiple religious and cultural influences. The use of coded language common in Negro spirituals points to African American origins. The “crossing the River Jordan” may refer to crossing the Ohio River on the journey north to freedom. The “way” that is “rough and steep” could easily refer to the arduous and dangerous journey through the southern slave states and the “beauteous fields” that “lie just before” to the promise of a life of liberty in Canada or the northern states. In 1905 Black composer Samuel Coleridge-Taylor included the poem under the title “Pilgrim’s Song” in a set of piano arrangements based on melodies from African American hymnody. Over the last century it has found its way into a number of mainline hymnals but not, alas, into our Lutheran books of worship.

[1] It is perhaps a desire to remain rooted in the Jewish community that made some members of the church addressed in Hebrews overly concerned with “regulations about food.” Hebrews 13:9.

TENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Jeremiah 23:23-29

Psalm 82

Hebrews 11:29—12:2

Luke 12:49-56

Prayer of the Day: O God, judge eternal, you love justice and hate oppression, and you call us to share your zeal for truth. Give us courage to take our stand with all victims of bloodshed and greed, and, following your servants and prophets, to look to the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!” Luke 12:51.

I recently heard a speaker at a Christian gathering say, “I am glad this country is polarized. I wish it were more polarized.” That remark sent some shock waves through the audience. I don’t doubt Jesus’ remarks had much the same effect. We usually view polarization, division and dissension as harmful and destructive. Many times, they are. I have lived through family rifts, church conflicts and political upheavals that disrupted the efforts of communities to pursue the common good, led churches to disband, ended friendships and alienated family members from one another. There is no question that polarization is destructive and contrary to God’s mission of reconciling the world to God’s self.

That said, there is something worse than polarization and conflict. Far worse than open conflict is a false peace offered by prophets, preachers and demagogues who “treat[] the wound of [God’s] people carelessly, saying, ‘peace, peace,’ when there is no peace.” Jeremiah 6:14. Far worse it is to remain silent in the face of comforting lies, cruelty and injustice, all for the sake of avoiding conflict, than to speak a hard truth rupturing the façade of a false peace that hides, shelters and perpetuates evil. Our wounded world cannot be healed with soothing words assuring it that all is well, no repentance is required and the status quo is the way things are and should always be. Such peace is no peace at all. It is poles apart from the peace God wills for our planet.

In order for the peace of God to reign, peace that follows justice, repentance and reconciliation in just that order, the false peace resting on the appeasement of evil, toleration of injustice and blindness to the suffering and persecution of our neighbors must be shattered. I suggest that the job of a disciple of Jesus in days such as these is to be a disturber of the peace. There can be no peaceful coexistence with a government that uses its military against peaceful protesters, sends masked goons to snatch honest and hardworking people from their homes, schools and places of work, divides families, propagates racist propaganda, ruthlessly persecutes transgender families and their children and denies medical care and treatment to the most vulnerable among us. These are not the ways of a righteous nation. They are the ways of an evil empire, the likes of which Jesus condemns in his parable of the last judgment and John of Patmos foretells destruction in the book of Revelation. There is no middle ground between equality and racism, rapists and their victims, truth and “alternative facts,” otherwise known as “lies.” There is no middle ground between the peace of God’s reign over a new creation and the fragile peace of despots and cowardly subjects desperately holding together the crumbling remnants of the old. Standing with Jesus sometimes means standing against your country, standing against members of your church or even standing against your own family.

I have previously related the story of Clarence Jordan and his part in founding Koinonia Farm. I think that story bears repeating here. Recall that Koinonia Farm was an intentional Christian community established in the State of Georgia back in 1942. It continues as a vital witness to the gospel to this day. Clarence Jordan intended for Koinonia to be a “demonstration plot for the Kingdom of God.”  For him, this meant a community of believers sharing life and following the example of the first Christian communities as described in the Acts of the Apostles. In order to bear witness to the church as a family in which there is no Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female, Koinonia was constituted from its inception as a place where African Americans lived side by side with their white sisters and brothers. Not surprisingly, Koinonia Farm was a frequent target of Klan hostility and government initiated opposition in the deeply segregated south. In his book, Unleashing the Scripture, Duke University professor of religion and ethics Stanley Haueraus relates a pivotal incident in the story about Koinonia.

Shortly after Koinonia was founded, Georgia’s state attorney general made several attempts to outlaw the community, confiscate its property and evict the residents. Clarence Jordan sought the help of his brother Robert Jordan, a prominent lawyer with political aspirations. Clarence asked Robert to take on the defense of Koinonia Farm. According to a passage from a book written by James McClendon, the following exchange took place:

“Clarence, I can’t [represent you]. You know my political aspirations. Why, if I represented you, I might lose my job, my house, everything I’ve got.”

“We might lose everything too, Bob,” [Clarence replied.]

“It’s different for you.”

“Why is it different? I remember, it seems to me, that you and I joined the church the same Sunday, as boys. I expect when we came forward the preacher asked me about the same question he did you. He asked me, ‘Do you accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior.’ And I said, ‘Yes.’ What did you say?”

“I follow Jesus, Clarence, up to a point.”

“Could that point by any chance be—the cross?”

“That’s right, [Clarence]. I follow him to the cross, but not on the cross. I’m not getting myself crucified.”

“Then, [Robert,] I don’t believe you’re a disciple. You’re an admirer of Jesus, but not a disciple. I think you ought to go back to the church you belong to, and tell them you’re an admirer and not a disciple.”

“Well now, [Robert replied,] if everyone who felt like I do did that, we wouldn’t have a church, would we?”

“The question is” Clarence said, ‘Do you have a church?’”

My own Lutheran tradition is big on giving government the benefit of the doubt. Citing (mis-citing) Saint Paul in his letter to the Romans, we have often drawn the wrong conclusion that whatever government exists has been established by God, serves as God’s minister of justice and should therefore receive the same degree of obedience as given to God.[1] Even unjust, ineffective or foolish laws must be obeyed-unless they forbid preaching of the gospel. Then and only then do we “obey God rather than human authority.” That is true, so long as we understand that proclaiming the gospel is not a matter of mere preaching, but of practicing the way of Jesus as he lived the precepts of the Sermon on the Mount which ultimately led to his execution under government authority. Showing mercy, granting protection and offering care to our neighbors who are transgender, undocumented or the victims of federal, state or local censorship requires breaking some humanly instituted laws. Discipleship requires no less, even if it splits churches, alienates long time members, divides families and triggers legal prosecution. A church divided over the gospel is far preferable to a church united under anything less.

These times call for preachers unafraid to unleash the sword of division on behalf of our most vulnerable neighbors in whom we cannot help but recognize the face of Jesus. Matthew 25:37-41. I have said it before and I will say it again: If you, as a preacher, are unable or unwilling to do this work, then for the sake of the church, for the sake of the world and for your own sake, step out of the pulpit and make way for someone who will.

Here is a poem by Denise Levertov that shatters the false and fragile peace of silence and complicity.

Goodbye to Tolerance

Source: Breathing the Water (New Directions Publishing Corporation, 1987). Denise Levertov (1923–1997) never received a formal education. Nevertheless, she created a highly regarded body of poetry that earned her recognition as one of America’s most respected poets. Her father, Paul Philip Levertov, was a Russian Jew who converted to Christianity and subsequently moved to England where he became an Anglican minister.  Levertov grew up in a household surrounded by books and people talking about them in many languages. During World War II, Levertov pursued nurse’s training and spent three years as a civilian nurse at several hospitals in London. Levertov came to the United States in 1948, after marrying American writer Mitchell Goodman. During the 1960s Levertov became a staunch critic of the Vietnam war, a topic addressed in many of her poems of that era. Levertov died of lymphoma at the age of seventy-four. You can read more about Denise Levertov and sample more of her poetry at the Poetry Foundation Website.

[1] The reference is to Romans 13:1. Paul says no more than what Jeremiah and Isaiah said concerning Assyria and Babylon, namely, that they were being used by God as instruments of God’s judgment. Consequently, resistance to them would be futile. It is a long and speculative leap from there to conclude that Israel should support these nations in their military campaigns of conquest or that Christians should support the exploitive policies of the Roman Empire. Thus, while disciples of Jesus should pay their taxes, recycle their refuse and follow the rules of the road when operating an automobile, it does not follow that they should acquiesce, much less participate in governmental acts of oppression.

NINTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Genesis 15:1-6

Psalm 33:12-22

Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16

Luke 12:32-40

Prayer of the Day: Almighty God, you sent your Holy Spirit to be the life and light of your church. Open our hearts to the riches of your grace, that we may be ready to receive you wherever you appear, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Luke 12:32-34.

The reign of God is a gift. According to the scriptural witness, there is much in the world that is hostile to God’s good and gracious will for it. Human creatures, though created in God’s image, have had their hearts and minds infected hateful ideologies, violent politics and self destructive behavior. Many unspeakable horrors take place on this planet that God does not will, does not cause and does not passively allow to take place. These forces of evil will have their say, but theirs will not be the last word. God’s reign of diversity, equity and inclusion of people of every nation, tribe and tongue is the future toward which all creation is moving. And there isn’t a damn thing anybody can do about it.

The reign of God comes in God’s way, by God’s chosen means and in God’s own time. It is not God’s will “that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance.” II Peter 3:9. God’s strength is God’s patience. Our weakness is our impatience. Waiting for all to be drawn into the orbit of God’s love and woven into the fabric of God’s new creation is nearly impossible for a people raised on fast food, fast internet, fast cars and speed dating. For an impatient, fast moving “let’s get this done” kind of people, a God who raptures to heaven those of us who are ready and leaves the rest of the world to burn might sound appealing. But ours is not a God interested in saving a few souls from a sinking ship. God is intent on saving the ship. And because God has all eternity to work with, God will take whatever time is necessary to win every heart, reconcile every enemy, heal each of creation’s many wounds. It will take as long as it takes. And there isn’t a damn thing anybody can do about it.

Because the reign of God is a gift that God gives to us on God’s own terms, we are not responsible for implementing it. That is the liberating word Jesus delivers to his disciples. No need to be afraid. The kingdom is already yours. There is nothing you need to do or can do to obtain it. No one can stop it from coming. That, however, does not mean that Jesus’ disciples are to be idle. Though the reign of God is God’s future, God’s future is God’s present and God’s presence for the disciples. They are invited to live in God’s future now because, for them, the reign of God has already begun. They are free, therefore, to sell their possessions and give them for alms-a move that appears reckless and foolish to those outside of God’s reign. But as Jesus pointed out in last Sunday’s gospel narrating the parable of the “rich fool,” the pursuit of security in wealth and the power it brings is a fool’s game. The smart money is on Jesus. The only sure way to build wealth is to invest in God’s reign by building relationships with the outcast, the poor and the persecuted who are the objects of God’s passionate concern. Mercy, compassion, justice and reconciliation are the stuff out of which the new creation is made. Everything else is consigned to the trash heap.

So Jesus warns his disciples to be dressed, lit up and ready to receive the reign of God whenever it might show up. This is essential because, however distant the consummation of God’s reign might be, there is no telling when and where beams of light from its distant dawning might break into our present. There is no telling when, where and under what conditions we might have the opportunity to offer life altering assistance to a neighbor in need. There is no predicting what we might learn if only we can bridle our tongues long enough to listen. There is no telling when we might be called upon to speak truth to power or put ourselves between our vulnerable neighbors and the jaws of an oppressive regime. Jesus assures us that he walks with us in our daily lives, eager to break into our day with opportunities to live the coming reign of God in the here and now. Do not be afraid, little flock. God will give you the kingdom. Just see to it that you are watching and ready for it!

Here is a poem by Rakiya Foreman about the interplay between the transitory nature of each day and the persistence of dawn throughout its passing and at its demise as a lingering promise of the new day beyond the horizon. This persistent whisper of dawn is perhaps not unlike the reign of God which, though ever in front of us, is nonetheless ever present with us.

Whispers of Dawn

In the cradle of dawn, where shadows fade,

Whispers of light through the branches wade,

Soft as a sigh on the morning breeze,

A songbird awakens among the trees. 

Silver dewdrops on petals gleam, 

Caught on the web of a waking dream,

The earth, a canvas, dawn its brush, 

Painting the world in a tender hush.

Hues of amber, gold, and rose, 

Embrace the sky as the new day grows, 

Mountains stretch in a languid yawn, 

Welcoming the birth of dawn. 

Rivers murmur a quiet tune, 

Reflecting the light of the crescent moon,

As it bids farewell to night, 

Making way for the sun’s first light.

In the stillness, hearts find peace, 

Moments of grace in the morning’s crease,

Nature’s chorus, a symphony, 

Echoes through the land, wild and free. 

Footsteps tread on paths anew,

As dreams of night give way to dew,

Eyes wide open to the light, 

Embracing the world in morning’s sight.

A child’s laughter, pure and clear, 

Breaks the silence, brings us near,

To the simple joys of day,

As dawn gently leads the way.

The world awakes, yet holds its breath,

In the sacred stillness of morning’s death,

As the sun climbs higher, bold and bright,

We bask in the warmth of its ancient light. 

Whispers of dawn, so soft, so true,

A promise of hope in the sky’s deep blue,

Each day a gift, each dawn a chance,

To join the world in nature’s dance. 

Through the day, we carry on,

With memories of the quiet dawn,

A reminder in the hectic day,

Of morning’s soft and gentle sway.

In the cradle of dusk, shadows blend, 

Another day comes to an end,

Yet whispers of dawn linger still,

A promise of light beyond the hill.

c. 2024 by Rakiya Foreman. Rakiya Foreman grew up in a rural area where she spent much of her time outdoors. Today she lives in the big city where she enjoys writing poetry. This poem is her attempt to capture and share the awe and hope she feels each time she witnesses dawn breaking.

SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Genesis 18:1-10

Psalm 15

Colossians 1:15-28

Luke 10:38-42

Prayer of the Day: Eternal God, you draw near to us in Christ, and you make yourself our guest. Amid the cares of our lives, make us attentive to your presence, that we may treasure your word above all else, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“[Christ] himself is before all things, and in [Christ] all things hold together.” Colossians 1:17.

This claim sounds preposterous these days when it appears so much of our world is falling apart. International treaties and trade agreements that ensured a measure of peace and stability for eight decades are fast unraveling. Wildfires, hurricanes and tornados are becoming increasingly frequent and destructive as the earth’s temperature rises. Fragile ecosystems across the globe and the habitats that support them are at risk. As war ravages South Sudan, Gaza and Ukraine, millions are facing displacement, homelessness and starvation. Even to those of us who have lived our lives in the bubble of privilege cannot help but wonder whether the world order that has been so good to us is about to fall on our heads. In short, it does not appear that anyone is holding things together.

On the other hand, none of this is new to the people of God who have known enslavement, displacement, exile and the dissolution of “civilization as we know it” more than once. Our spiritual ancestors have witnessed the dissolution of the Babylonian, Assyrian, Persian, Macedonian and Roman Empires, along with the carnage following in their wake. Each empire, including the one called the United States of America, is, to quote Shakespeare, “but a walking shadow, a poor player,/ that struts and frets his hour upon the stage,/and then is heard no more.” Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5. Nevertheless, as the Prophet Isaiah reminds us, “[t]he grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever.” Isaiah 40:8. Christ, the Incarnate and eternal Word, suffers patiently and faithfully with God’s wounded creation, striving to heal its wounds, mend its fractures and bring it to its appointed end where all things are made new, all tears are wiped away, mourning and pain will end and even death will be no more. Revelation 21:1-8.

Saint Paul tells us that we are saved “in hope.” That is to say, we order our lives according to a future we do not see and almost certainly will not come to fruition in our lifetimes. To be clear, this hope is not synonymous with mere optimism, a glib belief that “everything will work out in the end.” It did not happen that way for Jesus and Jesus warns his disciples that they can expect nothing other than the cross he bore. Our hope is grounded in the conviction that God raised Jesus from death and, in so doing, delivered a decisive “yes” to the life he lived. To hope is to live in the way of Jesus, even when it does not seem practical, even when it seems not to make a difference, even when it appears to be counterproductive. To hope is to live in the way that is eternal, the way that life is lived is under God’s just and gentle reign yet to be revealed. The church is not the reign of God, but it witnesses to God’s reign by its communal life, its witness to Jesus’ obedient life, faithful death and glorious resurrection and its solidarity with those regarded as “the least” in the human community. To borrow a phrase from Professor Stanley Hauerwas, the church is the community whose life is incomprehensible apart form the belief that God raised Jesus from death.

This week I attended the annual gathering for the Ekklesia Project, the theme of which was “Hope Does Not Disappoint: Wrestling with God in a Groaning Creation.”? Together, we sought to listen carefully to voices and experiences that have too long been absent from the church’s construction of hope. To that end, we heard speakers from Latin American, Indigenous and African Christian traditions articulating the meaning of faith, hope and discipleship in their contexts. What became painfully clear to us is the fact that the Christianity imposed on these groups in the course of colonial domination has inflicted untold suffering. Miraculously, though, the good news of Jesus nevertheless broke through giving birth to new and vibrant expressions of faith grounded in the cultural wisdom and understanding of these very aggrieved communities. We were forced to consider what it might mean to receive the wisdom of these saints in confronting our difficult days of dissolution.

I was particularly struck with a remark made by Professor Michael Budde:¹ “One thing I am not hoping for is a return to normal, because normal is how we got here.” Those who lament the decline in influence by the United Nations would do well to scrutinize its structure which allocates its real power to the Security Council made up of the richest and most powerful nations. The rest of the nations making up the General Assembly, by contrast, lack all power to effectuate whatever resolutions they might pass. At the lowest wrung of hell are refugees, those who have been forced to flee their homes, the people without a country and therefore without any rights other than toothless UN resolutions. The Jews learned the hard way that, when you are not a citizen of a nation state, the world will not lift a finger to prevent your extermination. It is one of history’s cruel ironies that Israel, the nation founded by a people subject to centuries of persecution culminating in the Holocaust, is carrying out what is currently the most sweeping act of war and ethnic cleansing against another nationless people. Normal, the current world order whose dissolution we lament, has not afforded justice, equality or even the ability to survive for millions of this planet’s people. It has instead maintained the systems and power arrangements that keep so much of the world in misery. Preserving and restoring that world order will only perpetuate the gross inequities that have plagued peoples all over the globe for centuries. Only those of us whose privilege has allowed us to benefit from it have reason to regret its demise.

For churches like my own that have evolved from state churches and taken root in the United States where, separation of church and state notwithstanding, the church has played a powerful role in our national politic, the demise of the United States as we know it is a bitter pill to swallow. American Christianity, whether under the guise of progressive social gospel or in the form of rightwing crusades to make America great again, has typically been focused on saving America. Right and left agree on the goal, they only differ with respect to the means and the shape of the end. Though nominally Christian, the dominant religion of America is still America. Our hope is shaped more by the American dream than the reign of God. It is because we are looking to America rather than Christ to hold all things together, we experience despair, inertia and loss of hope.

I believe that one of Jesus’ parables, soon to be our gospel lesson, can help us out. This is the difficult and, I believe, sadly misunderstood parable of the “Dishonest Steward” found in Luke 16:1-9. The title is a little deceptive. Truth be told, we don’t know whether the steward was dishonest. We only know that “charges were brought” to his boss that he was mismanaging the goods for which he was responsible. He might have been merely incompetent or the charges brought against him might have been false. His boss seems to have no interest in investigating the matter or hearing the steward’s side of the story. He summarily dismisses the steward who now finds himself without a job and few prospects of finding comparable employment. The steward learns the hard way that corporate doesn’t care. It is now clear to him that he was little more than a tool for his boss that could be disposed of when no longer useful. His colleagues, who he might have mistaken for friends, were ready to throw him under the bus to advance their own interests. The world of wealth, power and influence that once lifted him up over the people whose debts he was responsible for collecting has ruthlessly cast him away like a used tissue. There never was any loyalty, friendship or fairness in that world. The steward was a fool to think otherwise.   

But that is not the end of the story. The steward does not waste time lamenting his fall, wallowing in self pity or trying to beg and plead his way back into favor with his former employer. He recognizes that he is now among those his employer used his services to exploit. His fate is tied up with theirs. His hope lies in solidarity with them. So the steward uses the time he has left in his job to build bridges and form supportive relationships with the debtors he was commissioned to extract payment. He reduces their debt payments-possibly by foregoing the collection fee to which he was entitled, thereby easing their economic burden. This will ensure that they, in turn, will take him in and assist him with his needs. While that might sound a bit calculating, I believe we can recognize here a reorientation of hope. Hope lies in solidarity with the exploited, not the exploiter. Hope lies in aligning oneself with the lowly, the poor and the hungry rather than with the proud who are to be scattered in the imagination of their hearts or the mighty who are destined to be brought down from their thrones. See Luke 1:46-55.

The American church has seen decline and contraction for as long as I have been alive. Our power, influence and prestige in American society have decreased accordingly. It is becoming clear that America no longer needs the church and perhaps never did. What is less clear is whether the American church can free itself from its need for America. Can we recognize a better hope than the salvation of America? Can we imagine a better future than return to normalcy-whatever that might mean to us?  Can we see a future beyond the collapse of the world order we have looked to so long for safety, security and prosperity? Do we have the courage to defy our wealthy patrons, let go the vestiges of privilege remaining to us and risk whatever consequences might flow from standing with the victims if ICE violence, racial hate, homophobic persecution and sexist discrimination? Can we posture ourselves in such a way that we can pray Mary’s Magnificat with joy and conviction? Therein lies a better hope than the American dream. Therein lies the life that is eternal and holds all things together until the day when all things are made new.

Here is a poem by Pamala Sneed recognizing hope in the resilience of South African Blacks struggling against apartheid that points us toward the better hope I believe is represented in the promise of God’s gentle reign of justice and peace.

Robben Island

The only antidote I may have to Trump’s election

is in a small ferry to Robben Island

one that shuttles you to the former prison

where those who fought against apartheid were held

The only answers may be in one wool blanket

a basin

toilet

cell

and the tiny windows of  Robben Island

in the discarded artillery

the rock and the limestone yard

where many were blinded

driven mad

Now the survivors former prisoners

give tours

their faces carved like tree roots exposed

The only answers may be in the surrounding peaks of Table Mountain

its Twelve Apostles

all now standing as testament to what

through years of struggles

can be defeated

overcome

Source: Poetry (June 2025) Pamela Sneed is a New York City-based poet, performer, visual artist, and educator. She earned her BA from Eugene Lang College and MFA from Long Island University. She has taught solo performance and writing for solo performance at Sarah Lawrence College and was the 2017 visiting critic at Yale and at Columbia University. Sneed currently teaches online for the low-residency MFA program at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and is a visiting artist in the summer MFA program. Sneed is also an adjunct assistant professor at the Columbia University School of the Arts. She won a 2023 Creative Capital award in literature as well as a 2024 NYSCA grant in poetry. Her visual work has appeared in group shows at the Ford Foundation, Company Gallery, and more. You can read more about Pamala Sneed and sample more of her poetry at the Poetry Foundation and Cornell AAP websites.

¹ Michael Budde is a co-founder and first coordinator of the Ekklesia Project; he is Professor of Catholic Studies and Political Science at DePaul University in Chicago, where he also serves as a Senior Research Professor in the Center for World Catholicism and Intercultural Theology (CWCIT).

FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Isaiah 66:10-14

Psalm 66:1-9

Galatians 6:1-16

Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

Prayer of the Day: O God, the Father of our Lord Jesus, you are the city that shelters us, the mother who comforts us. With your Spirit accompany us on our life’s journey, that we may spread your peace in all the world, through your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’ But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, ‘Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.’” Luke 10:8-11.

In Sunday’s gospel lesson Jesus sends his disciples out for just two tasks: heal the sick and announce that “the kingdom of God has come near.” Understand that the reign of God is not some Nirvana like state of mind. It is not an otherworldly realm accessed only in the “sweet by and by.” The reign of God is bound up in our human physicality. Healing of body and mind are integral to its advent and signs of its presence.

Jesus’ singular focus on healing the sick in Luke’s gospel comes a time when the United States Congress is considering the president’s “big, beautiful bill” that will likely eliminate $700 billion from Medicaid. That, in turn, will result in 10.9 million people losing their health insurance coverage over the next 10 years, according to the Congressional Budget Office.[1] Meanwhile, Health Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. has gutted the existing U.S. CDC Vaccine Advisory panel, replacing existing experts with what can fairly be called anti-vaxxers and conspiracists who are already at work limiting the availability of certain vaccines based on junk science and long debunked theories. These measures, the toxic consequences of which are sure to fall upon the poorest, sickest, youngest and most vulnerable among us, amount to a hostile rejection of God’s just and gentle reign.

None of this should be surprising. Jesus warned his disciples that there would be opposition to their mission. Some towns would refuse to offer the disciples hospitality, reject their message and perhaps even run them out of town. Still, the message for these hostile villages is the same as for those who welcome, show hospitality and listen to the disciples: the reign of God has drawn near. That is the gospel, the good news that sustains us in times like these. God hears our prayers that God’s kingdom come. The reign of God is everywhere at the margins of our worst nightmares, pressing against our resistance, prying at the cracks in our unbelief, cynicism and despair. Jesus and his disciples might be driven out of town, but the reign of God they announce has drawn near and will remain.[2]

I have witnessed God’s reign breaking through. It happened for me at the Byzantine monastery Hosios Loukos in Greece where I had the opportunity to view some incredible iconic wall murals depicting scenes from the gospels. It is one thing to see these marvelous depictions in books or museum walls. It is quite another to see these century old paintings in the sanctuaries where they reside and where they still inspire and sustain worshiping communities. Particularly striking for me was a depiction of the Resurrection in which the resurrected Christ can be seen taking the hands of Adam and Eve and, by extension, the whole human race, raising them from death into life. It was as though I were looking through a portal into that awesome mystery surpassing all understanding. There were other depictions from the gospels, including Jesus’ baptism, the Transfiguration, Jesus’ washing the feet of his disciples and, of course, the cross. Each of these icons afforded a different view into that marvelous gospel narrative. The reign of God was all around me.

I have heard testimony to the reign of God from the many people I have sat beside as death approached. One fellow told me through tears that he had just been holding his wife who passed three decades before. A woman I visited in a nursing home during the last years of her life told me on each visit of the persons, now dead, with whom she had been having the most delightful conversation. My mother told us days before she died about how her mother stopped by to say that they would be together again soon. At the door of death, time is bent into eternity. Past, present and future are one in God’s eternal now. Let me be clear. I am sure there are probably scientific, medical, neurological explanations for these episodes. But that does not preclude their also being signs of God’s reign appearing at what is for all of us the final frontier. What do we mean when we confess in our creeds that Jesus “descended to the dead” other than that he meets us even there with the promise of abundant life?

I have heard testimony about the reign of God and the power of God’s reconciling love breaking through the walls of hatred and division we build and so stubbornly try to maintain. Nowhere are those walls more evident than at the ugly, barbed wired and highly militarized border between our country and Mexico. Yet it is precisely here that the most potent witness to God’s reign is made between believers on both sides of the border offering hospitality, life sustaining aid and advocacy. The most powerful sign of God’s reign is manifest in celebration of the Eucharist across the border. There the reconciling power of God’s love literally stretches across one of our most shameful monuments to hatred, bigotry and fear to unite people who are one in Christ. The cross of Jesus takes shape as Christ is skewered on the walls of division even as the Body and Blood of Christ transcend those walls, building up the human tidal wave that will finally bring them down. The future does not belong to cowardly little men hiding behind big money, big guns and big walls. The future belongs to the God who unites the human family. In spite of the present darkness, know this: the Kingdom of God is near.  

Here is a poem by Nikita Gill about the power of redemption in the midst of brokenness. One might see in this the way in which God’s reign breaks into the wreckage of our corporate and personal lives.

From Everything Broken

Source: Where Hope Comes From, Gill, Nikita (c. 2021 by Nikita Gill, pub. by Hatchette Books, New York, NY). Nikita Gill is an Irish-Indian poet, playwright, writer and illustrator based in southern England. She has written and curated eight volumes of poetry. Born in Belfast to Indian parents, Gill has Irish citizenship and Overseas Citizenship in India. Gill’s work was first published when she was only twelve years old. Her poems offer reflections on love and feminist re-tellings of fairy tales and Greek myths. She has been inspired and influenced by the work of Sylvia Plath, Maya Angelou and Robert Frost. You can read more about Nikita Gill and sample more of her poetry at her Instagram site.

[1] It should be noted, however, that the legislation has not been finalized and that this and other provisions of the bill might yet be amended or dropped altogether from the bill.

[2] Once again, in the interest of not offending our progressive protestant white and ever-polite enlightened sensibilities, the lectionary folks have sought to domesticate Jesus by omitting his more ill-liberal pronouncements. In verses 12-16, Jesus lets us know in no uncertain terms that there will be unpleasant consequences for resisting the reign of God. Sometimes the reign of God must be experienced as bad news before it can be understood as good. For all who are bent on preserving the status quo, the encroachment of God’s reign will be seen as a threat that must be resisted at all costs-and the costs might be substantial. That revolutionary reality is hard to hear for those of us so-called progressives who insist that change comes through slow, but steady and irreversible evolutionary steps that modify the status quo without abolishing it. But the reign of God is not about building a kinder, gentler empire. It is all about a new creation. 

THIRD SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

1 Kings 19:15-16, 19-21

Psalm 16

Galatians 5:1, 13-25

Luke 9:51-62

Prayer of the Day: Sovereign God, ruler of all hearts, you call us to obey you, and you favor us with true freedom. Keep us faithful to the ways of your Son, that, leaving behind all that hinders us, we may steadfastly follow your paths, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

 “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?”Luke 9:54.

As I write these lines, talking heads on the airwaves are reporting on and discussing the United States’ bombing of several sites in Iran thought to be connected with uranium enrichment for use in developing nuclear weapons. Once again, our nation has acted on its sacred creed of violence. The only way to stop a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun. When push comes to shove, military force or the threat of military force is the only way to peace and security. No matter how many times this sacred creed has failed us, no matter how much blood has been spilt on wars that have not made the world one whit safer or more secure, we keep coming back to this core belief. When enemies will not be convinced, the command is given to call fire down from heaven to consume them.    

This coming Sunday every preacher in the United States will be faced with this gospel over against our government’s decision to take us into war. How do we handle it? While I think Jesus’ words here are as clear as crystal, the church’s witness to them in word and deed has been mixed to nonexistent. It is telling that the cry for divine retribution against the Samaritans comes from the lips of Jesus’ disciples-who ought to know better. Sadly, generations of Christians for centuries to follow continued in this tradition, executing heretics, persecuting the Jews and sanctifying wars of the nations in which they resided. Nowhere is the confusion between faithfulness to Jesus and loyalty to country greater than in the United States, where in most sanctuaries the American flag stands in the sacristy along with its evil twin, the red, white and blue so called “Christian Flag.”

Witnessing to peace is never easy, but it is particularly challenging during times of war. I was serving my first parish when, in 1986 under orders from President Ronald Reagan, the United States carried out air strikes against Libya. Forty Libyans were killed. I prayed for peace, reconciliation and for the families of the Libyans who died in the attack. Following the service I was accosted by an angry parishioner who fairly shouted, “How dare you! How dare you pray for our national enemies who are shooting at our service people! How dare you disrespect these heroes.” Though I pointed out that the families of those killed were not our enemies and that, in any case, Jesus commands us to pray for our enemies, she was insistent that “those verses don’t apply when we are at war!”

Fast forward to the Sunday after September 11, 2001. On the way to church I noticed a van parked next to my favorite bagel shop. On one side was spray painted, “God bless America.” But as I drove by I could see in my rear view mirror another message on the opposite side of the van: “God damn Afghanistan! You are all going to die.” In my sermon that Sunday I related what I had seen and pointed out that the biggest threat to our country was not terrorism. The greatest threat we faced was being drawn into the vortex of retribution and becoming the mirror image of all we claim to hate. As I had done fifteen years before, I prayed for peace and reconciliation.  I was taken aside by two of the elders and charged with being soft on terrorism and denigrating our service people. “For God’s sake pastor! Over a thousand innocent people killed and hundreds of our young soldiers soon to face combat, but you are worried about the terrorists that killed them? I wonder if you would feel that way if members of your own family had been in the twin towers.” I got similar feedback preaching peace during both Gulf wars. Preaching peace in time of war puts us at odds with our country’s belief that our wars are holy, that those who fight them are always only on the side of justice and that the blood shed in these conflicts somehow brings about our national salvation. When you preach peace, you are attacking deeply held beliefs that are part of our national DNA.

I want to be clear that, as the son of a World War II veteran and a colleague of people who have served in conflicts from Korea to Afghanistan, I understand the sacrifices soldiers make and the trauma they suffer. I know only too well the pain of family members who have lost sons and daughters fighting America’s wars. I understand how hurtful it can be to hear that the war in which your loved one perished was not holy. I fully understand how painful it can be to hear that the war in which you lost your mobility or mental health was not the noble and glorious conflict you thought it was. While I am unequivocally opposed to war, I love and respect the soldiers who fought in them seeking the same justice and peace for which I long. It concerns me that preaching peace might offend and alienate them. But I am far more concerned about the people in my grandchildren’s generation who will be called upon to fight the next war, which is sure to come unless we finally begin to understand war as the ugly, murderous abomination it truly is and not as the glorious struggle our national mythology tries to make it.

In Sunday’s gospel, Jesus rebukes his disciples for wanting to nuke the Samaritan villagers who would not receive him. That should serve as a warning to all subsequent disciples of Jesus against violent retaliation. All four gospels testify to Jesus’ refusal to allow his disciples to employ the sword to prevent his arrest and execution. That leads invariably to the question: if we are not permitted to take up the sword in defense of the Incarnate Son of God against death by torture, when is taking up the sword ever justified? When are we human beings ever justified in determining which lives are worth preserving and which are expendable? What political, religious or military objective outweighs the infinite value of a person created in God’s image? As I cannot answer any of these questions, I am left with the conviction that, as a disciple of Jesus, violent and coercive force cannot be an arrow in my quiver.

“But what about…”  Yes, I know that preaching peace triggers a whole slew of objections to the effect that “doing nothing” is as blameworthy as taking less than ethically pure action. That is why I emphasize that pacifism is not passivism. Non-violence is not inaction. Jesus was hardly passive when confronting injustice and oppression. Like those who have perished in combat, Jesus gave up his own life for those of his people. His weapons, however, consisted in his proclamation of good news to the poor, his examples of empathy and compassion and his acts of justice and mercy. Jesus’ strength consists in his power to resist evil without being seduced by it. He confronted violent oppression without being drawn into the vortex of retributive violence. Jesus would not allow his enemies’ hatred and cruelty to replicate themselves in his own soul. That is the very same struggle to which he calls us in these days of increasing violence. It is very literally a struggle between life and death.

These days, I am not doing much preaching, so I write to encourage those of you who are. Across the street and across the world violent rhetoric, violent threats and violent acts are spiraling and drawing the world into the dark night of endless retribution. Bunker busting bombs might destroy weapons of mass destruction, but they cannot extinguish the hatred inspiring people to build them. Only mercy, empathy and compassion can do that. Peace, it must be understood, is not a distant or abstract ideal. It is the only alternative to our mutual destruction. If now is not the time to preach peace, when? If not us, then who?

Here is a poem by Siegfried Sassoon whose verse ruthlessly strips away all of the patriotic jingoism glorifying war and reveals the cruel, dehumanizing and brutal nature of combat.

Counter Attack

Source: This poem is in the public domain. Siegfried Sassoon (1886 –1967) was an English poet and novelist. He became widely known as a result of a protest made against the First World War in 1917. As a young man, Sassoon’s greatest ambition was to be a millionaire and a poet. He joined the army at the outbreak of the First World War, rose to the rank of lieutenant and fought with the infantry in France. Sassoon was shocked by his experiences fighting on the western front where he developed a deep hatred for war in general and the world war in particular. Though awarded the Military Cross for outstanding bravery, he did not see this as a great honor. When he was sent home for treatment of a wound and recovery, he decided not to return to his regiment. He wrote a letter to his commanding officer, explaining that he was not coming back because he wanted to protest about the war. He explained that he believed politicians were prolonging the war instead of using chances to make peace with Germany.

Though a soldier would ordinarily earn a court martial under these circumstances, given Sassoon’s impressive combat record, he was given the opportunity to renounce his views and rejoin his regiment. Sassoon refused, but his friend, fellow poet Robert Graves, was able to convince his senior officers that Sassoon was depressed and too ill to fight. He was thereafter sent to a hospital in Edinburgh, that specialized in treating soldiers suffering from what was then called “shell shock.” Sassoon eventually returned to active service, but was again wounded, this time so seriously that he could not be returned to duty. During the war, Sassoon’s poetry had become very successful. He went on to write several very successful novels as well. You can read more about Siegfried Sassoon and sample more of his poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.

HOLY TRINITY SUNDAY

Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31

Psalm 8

Romans 5:1-5

John 16:12-15

Prayer of the Day: Almighty Creator and ever-living God: we worship your glory, eternal Three-in-One, and we praise your power, majestic One-in-Three. Keep us steadfast in this faith, defend us in all adversity, and bring us at last into your presence, where you live in endless joy and love, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth, for he will not speak on his own but will speak whatever he hears, and he will declare to you the things that are to come. He will glorify me because he will take what is mine and declare it to you. All that the Father has is mine. For this reason I said that he will take what is mine and declare it to you.” John 16:12-15

The scriptures do not contain the terms “trinity” or “triune.” The ecumenical creeds are the church’s best effort to articulate what, in the final analysis, is beyond the capability of human language to express. No better illustration of this point can be found than in the creeds themselves. For example, the assertion that the Son is “eternally begotten of the Father” defies everything we know about conception and parenthood. To beget is a temporal act that results in the birth of a person, another temporal event. Moreover, begetting is an act involving sexual intercourse between two persons. The idea of the Father timelessly begetting the Son without a consort shatters our notions of time, sexuality and gender. That is because time, sexuality, gender are all aspects of human existence. They have no place within the Godhead. Nevertheless, human language, as inadequate as it may be, is the only tool we have with which to speak about God and our only frame of reference for doing so is our human experience. Thus, we end up speaking the unspeakable in words too small for such an undertaking. Bottom line, God is God and we humans are not God.

But then comes the second article of the creeds-Jesus. Jesus is a human person born in a certain time and place. Though he is God’s “eternally begotten” Son, he is also the son of Mary. His conception by operation of the Holy Spirit is, though shrouded in mystery and related to us by the evangelists through the mediation of angelic visits and dreams, nonetheless a fully human occurrence anchored in time. According to the second article, God is “incarnate.” God, at a certain point in human history, became human and remains so. The Miracle of the Incarnation was not a clever disguise. Neither was it a temporary state of affairs. God became flesh. God remains flesh. God will forever abide in human flesh, so much so that when Philip pleads with Jesus to “show us the Father,” Jesus replies that, in seeing him, Philip has seen the Father. To say, as we do, that Jesus is at the right hand of the Father is to say that Jesus is how God remains fully present to creation. Jesus is all the God there is.

And then there is the Holy Spirit, the one who takes the fullness of God revealed in Jesus and declares it to Jesus’ disciples. Jesus has much to teach us-too much for any one human lifetime. That is why Jesus continues to guide, teach and inspire his church through the presence of the Spirit in its midst. That is why Saint Paul can declare to the church in Corinth that it is the Body of Christ. This is no mere metaphor for Paul. The church is Christ Jesus inviting the world to be reconciled to its Creator and to the divided factions within itself.

God is not through speaking. We dare not place periods where God intends only a comma. The creeds do not represent the last word on everything to be said about God. They represent rather the limit of the church’s efforts to gaze into a mystery that is finally beyond human ability to comprehend in full. Better, it is the precipice on which one stands to get the best view possible of what exceeds every human field of vision. The creeds take us as far as human language can go into the mystery of God’s self. Indeed, as we have seen, they take us to the point where human language begins to falter. Nevertheless, paradoxically, the Spirit calls us to go further, to keep gazing into the mystery, to seek Jesus in the here and now, to push against the boundaries of our understanding.

As much as I appreciate my theological education, I must say that too much of what I learned was mediated through prose and framed in logical argument with little in the way of the lyrical playfulness expressed in the words of the prophets, in the psalms and in Jesus’ parables. As those who follow me regularly know, I am an Augustinian Christian. That is not to say that I agree with everything the Bishop of Hippo ever wrote or concur in all the conclusions he reached in his many writings. What I do mean is that Augustine has given me many powerful conceptual tools for reflecting on the scriptures and the creeds. His writings have informed my thinking and shaped my preaching, teaching and pastoral ministry. More than anything else for which I appreciate this great teacher is his approach to theology. Augustine’s writing is interspersed with prayer and a profound sense of God’s presence. Theology, teaching and preaching are all for Augustine a form of prayer. It is as though he is questioning, probing and praising God as much as he is speaking to his hearers. His sermons, commentaries and treatises represent a process of thought rather than an orderly summarization of completed ideas.

Our gospel lesson for this Trinity Sunday was pivotal for Augustine’s reflections on the Trinity, wherein he speaks of God’s Triune self as love. Of course, love always seeks an object beyond itself. If it did not, it would not be love. Thus, God’s essence is the mutual love between the Father and the Son mediated by the Holy Spirit. Following directly from this understanding is the doctrine of Creatio ex nihilo, namely, that God created the universe out of nothing. The assertion is not a metaphysical claim about the universe’s origin, more properly the inquiry of astronomy and astrophysics. It is really a statement about the perfection of God’s being and God’s total freedom. God has no need to create and did not create the universe out of boredom or loneliness. God has eternally known love and the joys of communion within the Godhead. Creation adds nothing to God.

Yet, in another sense, creation was necessary. Love is always expanding, always seeking new objects, always transcending every limit. Thus, as one of our finest hymns asserts, “The universe of space and time did not arise by chance, but as the Three, in love and hope, made room within their dance.”[1] When God said “Let there be,” God was making space for another, for something or someone not God. That is what love always does. It makes room in the heart for another. It generously gives another space to be who and what they are without compulsion, coercion or threats. So perhaps, rather than asserting that God made the universe out of nothing, we should say that God made the universe out of love.

These days, I tend to recite the creeds more lyrically and poetically than assertively. To be sure, the creeds make some definite assertions about who God is-and thereby negate some other assertions that might be made about God. Nevertheless, the creeds do not give us the kind of airtight metaphysical definition that a lot of believers crave. God will not be boxed, not within the scriptures, the creeds or any system of doctrine. Yet these testimonies, assertions and explanations of belief can stimulate our hearts and minds to seek deeper understandings of what is finally beyond human understanding, at least on this side of the grave. The creeds are better read, I believe, as the lyrical narration of God’s story. The story of the One who created us out of love, redeemed us out of love and out of love forms us into the kind of people capable of living joyfully, thankfully and obediently under God’s just and gentle reign.        

Here is a rendering of the well known Prayer of St. Patrick that I have previously shared in connection with Trinity Sunday. I do so again without apologies because I believe it reflects the kind of poetic, lyrical and worshipful expression of Trinitarian Faith expressed in our gospel lesson and in the creeds.

The Prayer of St. Patrick

Source: Though attributed to the legendary Irish Saint Patrick, no one knows the precise origin of this beautiful expression of faith which appears in many abbreviated forms and has inspired numerous hymns, including “I Bind unto Myself Today,” by Cecil Frances Alexander in Evangelical Lutheran Worship, (c. 2006 by Evangelical Lutheran Church in America; pub. by Augsburg Fortress Press) Hymn # 450.  

[1] “Come Join the Dance of Trinity,” by Richard Leach, Evangelical Lutheran Worship, # 412.