SEVENTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST
Prayer of the Day: Benevolent, merciful God: When we are empty, fill us. When we are weak in faith, strengthen us. When we are cold in love, warm us, that with fervor we may love our neighbors and serve them for the sake of your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.
“O Lord, how long shall I cry for help,
and you will not listen?
Or cry to you “Violence!”
and you will not save?
Why do you make me see wrongdoing
and look at trouble?
Destruction and violence are before me;
strife and contention arise.
So the law becomes slack,
and justice never prevails.
The wicked surround the righteous;
therefore judgment comes forth perverted.” Habakkuk 1:2-4.
These are words of lament directed at God. I must say, the prophet expresses succinctly the way I feel these days when I read the news. However, given my American protestant ever white, ever polite and ever sunny and bright upbringing, I find it difficult to fit these thoughts into a prayer. Since I was knee high to a duck I have been taught that God’s ways are not to be questioned, that “Man proposes, God disposes,” that “all things work together for good to those who love God and are called according to his purpose.” So rather than complain, we ought to accept cheerfully whatever life dishes out confident that the all knowing God behind it has our best interests at heart.
Israel’s faith in God is nothing like that. Habakkuk addresses a God who made covenant promises to Sarah and Abraham assuring them a nation, a land and a blessing to share with the world. He speaks to a God who made a covenant with Israel at Sinai, promising to be Israel’s God and that Israel would be God’s people. The Babylonian conquest of Judah, the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem and the exile of God’s people seems to the prophet a wholesale abandonment of those covenant promises. While God frequently calls out the people of Israel for their failures to uphold their covenant responsibilities throughout the Hebrew Scriptures, the people of Israel are frequently heard calling God to account as well and insisting that God uphold God’s end of the covenants. A Rabbi and teacher of mine once explained that Israel’s relationship with God is something like a tug of war. “God may be mad at us and we may be mad at God, but we’re still talking. We know that there is One on the other end of this rope we are tugging on.” That dialogical relationship generated the body of literature we know as scripture.
Lament is an integral part of the dialogical relationship between Israel and its God. To be clear, lament is more than just grousing and complaining. It is a dialect of prayer, language employed by faithful people who hold a clear vision of the world God intends and promises while at the same time see the world as it is in all of its pain, cruelty and injustice. Lament is a cry that strives to bridge the gaping chasm between what is and what should be. Without faith struggling to grasp the covenant promises there can be no lament, only anger, fear and bitter tears.
Americans, including those of us who identify as Christians, lack the language of lament.[1] We have been indoctrinated with an optimism that has become increasingly difficult to maintain these days. It is an optimism based on denial, a refusal to see the world as it is because that sight would be too painful to bear. Optimism was easier decades ago when we still believed that we were living in a uniquely civil society governed by the rule of law. Our fragile optimism held for as long as violent insurrections, masked goons “disappearing” people from the streets, armed troops supplanting civilian policing, corrupt judicial bodies and politically driven prosecutions were all things that took place in other countries. In the not too distant past, we could point to the first Black president and convince ourselves that racism was a relic of the past. But then came the election of Donald Trump and the killings of Travon Martin, George Floyd and Briana Taylor. We used to believe that propaganda was the tool of dictators ruling over backwards and uneducated people. Today the fictional Ministry of Truth in George Orwell’s 1984, whose job it was to re-write history to comport with the ideology of the regime, has been enacted by executive order in the United States of America. Our belief in an America moving progressively toward a more equitable, prosperous and just society has been dashed.
Destruction and violence are before me;
strife and contention arise.
So the law becomes slack,
and justice never prevails.
The wicked surround the righteous;
therefore judgment comes forth perverted.” Habakkuk 1:3-4.
The prophet Habakkuk receives a response to his lament. The Lord responds, “….there is still a vision for the appointed time; it speaks of the end and does not lie. If it seems to tarry, wait for it; it will surely come; it will not delay.” Habakkuk 2:3. Waiting is not something we Americans do particularly well. Patience is not a dominant gene in our DNA. We expect instant solutions to complex problems and fall for anyone who promises to deliver them. That is why we keep voting for leaders who make such promises and wind up kicking them off their pedestals in the next round of elections when they invariably disappoint us. We live in a world of fast food, fast internet and fast cars. We do not like being told that our problems are deep seated and require work, sacrifice and time to solve. Moreover, their resolution requires not merely a change in our circumstances, but a change in ourselves. Yet if the vision of which the Lord speaks is powerful enough, beautiful enough and compelling enough to be worth waiting for, it overcomes our impatience. Furthermore, it transforms our perceptions of the world around us and exposes sources of hope and potential that we might otherwise overlook in the darkness of our despair.
For disciples of Jesus, that vision is one in which God is “all in all.” I Corinthians 15:28. The vision is a commonwealth of peoples “from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and tongues.” Revelation 7:9. We look forward to the day when “the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them and be their God; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.” Revelation 21:3-4. What we Americans and moderns in general lack is imagination capable of grasping such a marvelous vision.
In his book, The Prophetic Imagination, Professor of Old Testament, Walter Brueggemann, describes what he calls the phenomenon of “static religion” in the context of the Hebrew Scriptural narrative. Static religion is religion in which God and God’s temple are a part of the royal/imperial landscape. The sovereignty of God becomes synonymous with the agenda of the state such that religion is fused with patriotism, righteousness with conventional morality and justice with the prevailing class and power hierarchies. Static religion serves to legitimate the status quo. To question the status quo is to question the sovereignty of God. For those who benefit from the status quo, static religion is a source of comfort and security. But it is also a conceptual prison in which the capacity for imagination languishes. When, as I believe to be the case for our nation today, the status quo no longer seems to work for a substantial number of people, static religion can provide no relief. It is designed not to generate visions of alternative possibilities for human existence, but rather to suppress any such notion. So instead of affording comfort and peace, static religion suffocates and oppresses.
The challenge, I believe, for American Christians is to reignite and reorientate our imagination. We need, like John of Patmos, both a clear eyed understanding of the power, cruelty and destructiveness of the present regime as well as the capacity to imagine with the eye of faith an alternative reality, a diverse, equitable and inclusive vision of a new humanity. In doing so, “We need to ask not whether it is realistic or practical or viable but whether it is imaginable.”[2] Imagination has preceded most human achievements once thought impractical or even impossible. The break through to the day of the Lord comes when “old men dream dreams” and “young men see visions.” Joel 2:28. I have witnessed in my own time how much seismic movement can be unleashed when a person of faith declares, “I have a dream.” The church does not need new strategies for “sustainability.” It needs to learn to dream again. The world does not need a static church more concerned with propping up the American empire than proclaiming and living the reign of God. It needs a church capable of articulating and demonstrating an alternative way of being human.
To return to where we began, it is quite impossible to imagine an alternative to what is without recognizing and acknowledging the full degree to which our world has been subjected to bondage under human tyranny, oppression and ecological rape. Most of our siblings on this planet have lived that reality. They know well the language of lament. By contrast, most of us mainline Christians in the United States see our world’s immense suffering only through the lens of news bites, video clips and photographs. Rather than weep and lament the cruelties and injustices inflicted upon our fellow human beings, we are all too apt simply to change the channel. We need for our hearts of stone to be replaced with hearts of flesh. Ezekiel 36:26.
Until the publication of our most recent hymnal in 2006, Lutheran hymns did not include songs of lament. While many of our hymns give expression to sorrow, grief and loss, they typically end on a high note. We are content to skirt the edges around the valley of shadow, but we do not travel into its depths, nor do we spend much time there. To do so would be morbid. Our preference is for music that is uplifting, hymns that send us out of the sanctuary door with a spring in our step and a joyful song in our hearts. There is a place for joyful hymnody, of course. Joy in the face of oppression can be an expression of resistance and hope. But I fear that for our American churches such hymns, without anything to counterbalance them, operate rather as a kind of lidocaine patch that numbs our pain without healing our wounds. They deliver an emotionally induced high that allows us to rise above the agony of our dying planet and the woes of the real world. The problem is that, once outside the sanctuary, the real world is still there. Inclusion of laments in our current hymnal is, I believe, a much needed corrective.
Here is a poem/hymn of Ralph F. Smith incorporated into Evangelical Lutheran Worship, the hymnal of the Evangelical Church in America.
How Long, O God?
“How long, O God?” the psalmist cries,
a cry we make our own,
for we are lost, alone, afraid,
and far away from home.
The evil lurks within, without,
it threatens to destroy
the fragile cords that make us one,
that bind our hearts in joy.
Your grace, O God, seems far away;
will healing ever come?
Our broken lives lie broken still;
will night give way to dawn?
How can we hope? How can we sing?
O God, set free our voice
to name the sorrows, name the pain,
that we might yet rejoice.
“How long, O God” the psalmist cries,
a cry we make our own.
Though we are lost, alone, afraid,
our God will lead us home.
Source: Evangelical Lutheran Worship,(c. 2006 Evangelical Lutheran Church in America) Hymn # 698; text byRalph F. Smith (1950-1994).
[1] Actually, America does have a language of lament, though it exists and thrives as a cultural undercurrent. The music genre known as “the blues” originated among African Americans in the Deep South of the United States around the 1860s. It incorporated spirituals, work songs, field hollers, shouts, chants and rhymed simple narrative ballads from the African-American culture. The blues is one of the many cultural contributions made by Americans who experience and understand America quite differently from most the rest of us. The current administration and its allies are making a concerted effort to erase this and other African American contributions to our national narrative in an effort to spare white people from getting their feelings hurt. See, e.g., Florida bill to shield people from feeling ‘discomfort’ over historic actions by their race, nationality or gender.
[2] Brueggemann, Walter, The Prophetic Imagination (Second Edition) (c. 2001, Fortress Press) p. 39.
