It’s Not About Being Nice
[The gospel reading is sung using a recorded version from
the group “Sweet Honey and the Rock.” There is a large wooden cross in the
pulpit. I move it to one side.]
Oh how I wish our readings today were just about being
nice, but this cross keeps complicating things [move cross again]. I wish we
were given some simple advice about how to be decent, ethical people without
worrying about anything apart from our own individual pursuit of happiness –
but this cross just keeps getting in the way [move cross].
Sometimes the cross can be like that. Sometimes the cross
– if I even see it – can feel like an imposition. But when I look at it, when I
really look at it, the cross becomes something more. I mean, for one, I’m not
hanging on it, so that’s good. In fact, no one is, and that’s even better.
Thinking about it that way, the cross is a symbol of hope.
It’s a reminder that God’s love is stronger than death, and that’s something
that we all need to keep in mind these days. It sounds trite. It sounds
oversimplified. God’s love is stronger than death. Love is not what we
typically associate with strength – passion, maybe, but not love. We think of
love as tender and needing to be protected. We think of power as the ability to
force our will upon someone else.
Yet our scriptures tell us something else. Paul tells the
church in Corinth that it is the foolishness of the cross – the very idea that
love is stronger than brute force – that is the bedrock of our faith. Maybe the
cross doesn’t seem foolish to you, but have you ever talked about it to a
non-believer? It’s really just received as mythology to someone who does not
believe. In fact we all have points where we must reconcile the story of faith
with our own understanding of the world.
The beautiful thing is that we all have pieces of this
amazing puzzle – this amazing puzzle that even includes your story and mine.
Like some giant multidimensional Escher painting (like the hands that draw each
other) we are offering salvation – the very same ridiculous and wonderful love
that we have been given!
And through our improbable, impractical faith we become a
part of the foolish things that God is doing in our midst. Now, although I
would like to tell you that the best example of the foolishness of God is a
giraffe (seriously, watch them run), a more immediate example is our Session
(yes, that includes me). I say that because of the serious discussion we had
yesterday about our recent escapade as a hard freeze shelter.
We talked about the fact that our recent actions have
caused a shift in our relationship with those in the community who are without
homes. Many of them now see us as a friendly church. Some have come by looking
for resources, and some have worshiped with us. Some have come by looking for
shelter during times that we cannot offer it.
I want you to know that your Session, as elected spiritual
leaders in our congregation, talked seriously about the risks that come with
reaching out and agreed that risk is an essential part of faith. So here are
some things that they want you to know.
1) Homeless people are people who
live in our community, just like you and me. Although they may have many needs,
the first need is to be recognized as a child of God.
2) If someone comes in while food is
being prepared, there is nothing wrong with sharing what we have.
3) The Monday class maintains
emergency food bags that can be given out from the church office.
4) It’s always a good idea to secure
your belongings, no matter where you go.
5) We maintain our policy that our
church staff does not give money directly, as we want people to be encouraged
to go to places that can help them succeed – such as the Stella Maris Center.
6) During the rest of the year, while
Catholic Charities is remodeling, we will make our fellowship hall available if
the weather is below 32 or if it is raining and below 40, assuming that we do
not have a PDA volunteer group here and we have the support of the Sheriff’s
office.
My hope is that we can be very clear in our language and
our conversations about what we are able to offer and what we are not able to
offer – not just to those without homes, but also to one another and to the
world.
Because this cross goes with us, this cross stands before
us. It remains a symbol of hope, just as it forces us into relationships that
twist and flip our understanding of the world again and again and again. When
we hear the cries of those with opposing views, this cross can make us feel
like we are standing in the court room with Micah – being accused for things we
cannot atone for.
Somehow I’m reminded of a man named Reggie that I worked
with in a restaurant years ago. I was a waiter; he was a cook. In this particular
restaurant, there was some friction between cooks and waiters. Reggie was a
tall, imposing, and attractive dark skinned man. He was a Muslim in the
tradition of Louis Farrakahn. This was around the time of the public beating of
Rodney King, and Rodney was complaining about something when I came to the
window to get some plates. In my naive way I said, “Come on Reggie, why can’t
we all just get along?”
Well, he looked over at me, leaned over a bit and said,
“Because we never did.” I just nodded and took my nachos, and went about my
business. A few nights later I noticed he was waiting for a ride and so I
offered to take him home. He accepted, but he said, “When we talk of God, let’s
just say ‘God Most High’ instead of ‘Allah’ or ‘Jesus’.” I accepted, and we had
some really good discussions about the way we each live in the presence of God
Most High.
I wish I could tell you that this experience erased all of
his biases and all of mine. I wish I could tell you that we each have set about
to fix the problem of racism or religious extremism in our own ways. Maybe we
have to some extent. I’ve often thought that our actions are all like rocks in
a pond that ripple out into the world.
The thing about those ripples, though, is that they aren’t
just made of energy that moves out. Some of it comes back in to the center
before meeting and moving out again. I think that’s part of what calls us
together as the church.
This cross, this ridiculous claim that in our
vulnerability we are stronger than anything the world can throw at us, calls us
together and sends us out. It helps us see our responsibility in the world as
agents of justice and righteousness and humility.
And when we talk about justice from a Biblical perspective
we are not talking about crime and punishment. We are talking about a reward
that fits our behavior, and we are talking about taking care of the vulnerable.
And when we talk about righteousness we are not talking
about being able to prove that we are correct; we are talking about being in a
right relationship with God as expressed through our relationship with our
neighbor.
And when we talk about humility we are not talking about
the kind where we pretend that we don’t believe that we are worth anything. We
are talking about a deep and abiding recognition that God is the ground of all
being, the one whose name is “I am,” and the one who chose not only the
foolishness of the cross but also the foolishness that is me and that is you to
express love and grace and mercy.
So, when we watch the news, when we go on line, when we
post on social media, the lens we must look through is not one of self
preservation but of vulnerability. The hope that we have is not based in the
security that we can muster, but in the grace and mercy that we can reflect.
That doesn’t make sense, and it never has. But the cross
isn’t about “making sense” of things. The cross is only and ever a recognition
of the power of God to make all things new – even here, even now, whether you
want it or not. And to God be the glory for that. Amen.