Sermon for April 13, 2019

The Beatitudes and the Politics of Peacemaking

 “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

Matthew 5:9-12 (NRSV)

How do you feel about the passing of the peace during worship? We do it here sometimes – it’s that point in the service where I ask you to share signs of peace with your neighbor, and then we all square dance around the sanctuary saying, “Peace be with you.” Some people make the rounds. Others shake a hand or two, get a little uncomfortable and quickly sit down. I’ve known people for whom it’s an unconscionable disruption. For those of you who like to come here, have some quiet space, and frankly, not have to talk to others, the passing of the peace can drive you crazy, what with all the people leaping over pews, joking and laughing, talking to each other, and sharing germs, when we need to be sitting in our places.

On my grumpy days, I’m probably one of those people. But I admit, sometimes we need to pass the peace. It really doesn’t hurt anybody. Passing signs of peace is a symbolic reminder of who we are and what we are about. We are a just peace church with a just peace covenant, after all. One might think that making peace would start here, among us.

Being a peacemaker can be highly dangerous. It can also be quite costly. When Jesus said, “Blessed are the peacemakers,” he was referring to persons who are ready to work for an end to hostility. Sometimes, this verse is misread, however, so that the term “peace lover” is read in the place of “peace maker.” The world is filled with peace lovers, but there is a severe shortage of peace makers.

Sometimes, too, we get peace makers confused with peace talkers. But just talking about it will not accomplish anything. The world needs “peacemakers.” The real work of making peace, of speaking for those who have no voice, of seeking to effect real reconciliation between families or governments, comes at a tremendous price.

On Palm Sunday, I like to think about the cost of peacemaking. On Palm Sunday, peacemaking begins with a parade entering the city of Jerusalem, the City of Peace. People cheer as the Ruler rides into the City majestically from the West. Who is leading this parade? None other than Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, riding in an impressive and lavish procession designed to astonish people with a visual display of imperial power: cavalry on horses, foot soldiers, leather armor, helmets, weapons, banners, golden eagles mounted on poles, sun glinting on metal and gold.

Another parade begins at the same time as Pilate’s. From the other side of Jerusalem, the City of Peace, from the East, Jesus rides a borrowed donkey to the city gate from the Mount of Olives. Jesus produces a fringe festival to Pilate’s pomp; a counter-demonstration. Jesus and his parade goers might be able to hear the procession in the West; the sounds of marching feet, beating of drums, creaking of leather and cracking whips, which drown out all other sound from the markets and streets. From the East, if we draw close enough, we might hear a small band of marginalized citizens singing, “Hosanna! Save Us! Blessed is the one who comes!” as they throw palms on the road and Jesus rides into town. It’s a procession staged as satire.

All parades use symbols. The Silver Spring Thanksgiving Parade has every civic organization in the county marching down the street, complete with flags, scouts and soccer teams, dance troupes, armored police enforcement trucks, and street venders overcharging for balloons. When I lived in Western New York, the parades were all fire trucks and farm equipment … and street venders overcharging for balloons — perfect for a small agriculturally-based village. Pilate’s parade has banners, armor, weapons, and gold eagles mounted on standards (no balloons) — perfect symbolism for the power, authority, and wealth of the Roman Empire. He rides to make sure that no trouble breaks out on this holiday when religious pilgrims swell the city to remember the story of their liberation from another empire in Egypt. He rides to remind rioters and revolutionaries that they dare not challenge or defy the power of Rome.

In the East, a few people stop, point, and ask, “Who is that?” And someone says, “It’s Jesus, whom they call a prophet. He comes from up north in Nazareth in the region of Galilee.” They shake some palm branches and throw them on the ground as Jesus rides to suffer at the hands of the worst that Rome represents.

If you were there on the streets of Jerusalem, which parade would you be drawn to?

Pilate’s parade is not mentioned in any of the scriptures, but his spectacle likely forms the background of Jesus’ Palm Sunday parade. Jesus’ parade makes more sense when we know that Pilate had another parade going at the same time. Pilate’s parade has huge appeal. It’s noisy. It’s big. It stands for all the things that citizens value in society. It has power and strength, authority and riches. It’s a brawny and dominant symbol of the Empire’s potency. Pilate’s parade offers control. Leadership. Security. It leaves us with our mouths gaping wide. Jesus’ parade is clearly a caricature of Pilate’s parade. Jesus’ parade is laughable. It’s ridiculous. I mean … a grand leader decked in gold on horseback versus a peasant riding a borrowed donkey? Jesus’ parade wants to make us wake up, to pay attention, to laugh at the Empire’s overreach, to think about who really oversees the land of Israel and the nations of the world.

Much in my life draws me to Pilate’s parade. Big and powerful things have allure. I want to be around people who can make me feel influential. Many of us are drawn to that which makes us feel important and admired in the hopes that it might rub off on us. But something keeps calling me back to Jesus’ parade. The past couple of weeks I have been puzzling over what it is. Why do I feel so anxious when Pilate’s parade goes by? Pilate’s parade may attract us. It may inspire feelings of importance and status. But there’s a cost. We must give up something to be in Pilate’s parade.

There was a parade in Silver Spring this week. Right down Colesville Road. Here’s what happened: those in authority over the police in Montgomery County wrote a memo letting themselves off the hook for shooting and killing Robert White last June. Mr. White was an unarmed Black man, probably suffering the anxiety of a mental health crisis. He became a suspect because he was wearing a ripped jacket, had his hands in his pockets, and was trying to get away from an officer who was profiling him. Instead of de-escalating the conflict, the officer did the opposite. His aggressiveness inflamed Mr. White. It put him on the attack. That’s what got him killed. Well … that, and a system that allows police to shoot unarmed Black men and women with little, if any, legal consequence. An internal affairs investigation said the officer was justified in the use of deadly force against Robert White. We held a rally here at CCC last Sunday. Community members, and public officials, and people of faith came here to pray, to ask for answers, and to call our leaders to greater transparency and accountability. One word that keeps getting kicked around is the term “justified.” The police say the killing was justified. The community wants more justification, because the police memo doesn’t really give a convincing reason. That word, justified, is interesting. Delegate Wilkins of the MD State Assembly was here, and she talked about how she learned in church that the word justified means, “just as if it never happened.” That’s the effect of the police memo. It erases their responsibility. They want us to believe that certain things didn’t happen. Just forget about it. Let’s move on.

It’s the message of Pontius Pilate’s Parade all over again. Pilate wants our strength, but only if we give up our need. Pilate wants our obedient devotion, but only if we give up our longing to understand our doubts. Pilate wants fear and admiration, but only if we are willing to sacrifice our self-determination. Pilate’s parade offers us status, but we have to be willing to march in time with Pilate’s relentless, marching beat to earn it. We must become who Pilate wants us to be.

Think again about the word “justification.” I think about the word justification as a right relationship. It has to do with peacemaking. It means we are at peace in our relationships with each other, and with God. Well, some in our community are not at peace about the killing of Robert White. People are angry. You know what they did? After the press conference, some people formed a parade. They marched from this church to Mr. White’s neighborhood. They blocked Colesville Road and walked down to Three Oaks, chanting, drumming, marching, and offering a symbolic public display of what it means to resist when powerful people want us to forget and move on. This was a Jesus parade. A Palm Sunday parade. Palm Sunday parades invite us to find freedom by doing some of the most counter-intuitive actions, like:

… giving up the self-superiority that fools us into thinking we are better than others,

… giving up fear-driven control tactics that make us grasp for counterfeit security,

… giving up the expectation that God promises prosperity,

… giving up on hopelessness that keeps us entombed in life’s shadows,

… giving up on acclaim that tempts us to lulls us into pretentious pomposity.

We are helping host another parade of sorts on April 29. We are mobilizing the community to show up at the check in for Coach Fofo in Baltimore as he checks into his ICE appointment and risks detainment and deportation. Our rally will be a chance to stand with a pillar and leader of our community, and to stand against the despicable family separation policies that the presidential administration is now doubling down on. I’ve mentioned Fofo in the past and written emails about it. To learn more of the back-story, check out our posts on our Webpage or on Facebook. There will be more to come. If you want to help organize our turnout, please come tomorrow night at 7 for deportation accompaniment training. Even if you can’t come on April 29, we need help to turn out a mass demonstration on short notice.

Rallies, demonstrations, marches … these parades … they are Jesus parades. They invite us to hold all parts of our life together. The bliss and the sorrow. The promise and the pain. Like Jesus, we join in a pageant that proclaims a power that comes from following God, not pomp and privilege.

Can we do it? Can we ride with Jesus to the Temple where he will topple the money changers’ tables? Can we ride with him to ICE offices where voices of faith will join in the public square to demand compassionate justice? Can we follow the steps of Jesus who leads to examine and confront corruption, consumption, and consumerism? Can we give up some comfort so that we can get back to our true humanity?

Here is Jesus, riding to on Good Friday and the cross. In a world that avoids suffering and denies death, here is Jesus riding on to embrace life’s pain. Can we give up and our fears and ourselves to face pain and suffering?

There were two processions on Palm Sunday. And the people had to decide in which one they would participate. It’s a decision we all must make. Which world order will we help to bring forth: The domination of empire that uses violence and coercion, or the steps of the Peacemaker who leads us to wholeness? Those who take advantage of others to maintain control and order, or the One who heals and blesses those who are forgotten? Economic and political systems that benefit a few at the cost of the masses, or a non-coercive, non-hierarchical public square where all each person is responsible for shaping the common good? Can we help bring forth a world that embraces each life, that values the power of community in relationship, that trusts in the authority of love and the possibility of peace— the one where we can be truly free. Which procession will we participate in?

Sermon for April 7, 2019

The Politics of Purity

Blessed are the pure in heart . Matthew 5:8

Whoever, therefore, eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be answerable for the body and blood of the Lord. Examine yourselves, and only then eat of the bread and drink of the cup. For all who eat and drink without discerning the body, eat and drink judgment against themselves. 1 Corinthians 11:27-29, NRSV

I can imagine there are some people in our church for whom taking communion was shrouded in fear. If you took communion, and your soul was not in a state of grace, look out! For while, I went to a church where the minister put a lot of emphasis on being worthy to take the Lord’s Supper. “Had I thoroughly repented of my sins? Was I even worthy to take communion?” I received the message loud and clear from my church: unrepentant sinners were not welcome at the table of the Lord. Only those who were “right with Jesus” were invited. The text I just read from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians was quoted as proof. It was never clear, however, how I could know for certain that I was “right with Jesus” or what makes a person worthy. Moral purity, which I believed was the requirement for being worthy, was an ever-receding horizon that I never felt I could reach.

Paul writes to a Christian community torn apart by various factions. Some members of the church in Corinth consider themselves superior to others. They are wiser, more spiritually gifted, more socially acceptable, and they have more money.  They look down on others whom they see as less. They take all the good pews at church. At the church potluck suppers, they go first in line and take all the best food. They grab all the homemade fried chicken for themselves (which was probably lovingly prepared by one of the people thought of as less wise, less spiritual and less acceptable). Those who are poorer get stuck at the end of the line and eat whatever is always left over at potluck dinners – probably the ancient equivalent of greasy green bean casserole cooked in that gray sludge.

At their potlucks, the Corinthian church also serves communion. But their meal reinforces social hierarchies that divide the community against itself. While some to revel in excess, others get nothing. The rich confuse their economic power with moral superiority. The rich exercise their privilege and humiliate the poor in the process. Paul says that the vulnerability of the poor church members -- their weakness, illness, and death -- serves as a judgment against the rich for their failure to “discern the body of Christ.”

It’s an odd phrase to me, “discerning the Body of Christ.” Let’s think about it for a minute.

There are all types of people who have been excluded from communion -- those who have been historically branded as sinners. In our church, we believe something different. All are welcome. All are invited. Period. Discerning the body is about becoming vulnerable enough to unite with those who’ve been excluded from communion by other traditions. As far as I’m concerned, we are worthy to receive communion when we refuse to participate in faith-based exclusion – we don’t make one person’s participation dependent upon another person’s condemnation. Our union with God is not based on the moral superiority of a powerful few, but with how we receive God’s gifts and experience Jesus in the most improbable people.

How do we know if we are doing it right? Paul has another interesting phrase. He tells the Corinthian Church to examine themselves.  The word “examine” comes from a Greek word “dokimos,” related to our English word “decent”. To understand what Paul is saying, we must understand how money worked in Paul’s day. In the ancient world there was no banking system as we know it today, and no paper money. All money was made from melted precious metal, which was poured into molds and allowed to cool. When the coins cooled, money makers shaved off the uneven edges to make them smooth. Some money makers went too far and practiced something called clipping -- shaving off an extra portion of the precious metal coin for profit. Over time, the precious metal shavings could be saved up and melted into bullion or used to make new coins. Some money changers had integrity. They refused to accept underweight money. They put only genuine, full weighted money into circulation. Such men were called dokimos or "approved".

Paul uses a form of that same word when he talks about eating at the communion table. Be dokimos, and only then eat of the bread and drink of the cup. We must be dokimos, decent, checking and double-checking our integrity, asking, “Is our celebration trustworthy, excellent, and pleasing?” If we are not dokimos, if we are not circulating with integrity, then we eat and drink judgment on ourselves.

Our criteria for judgment can be so superficial and trivial – we accept people similar to ourselves and we find it easy to write-off people who are different. God is not like that. God doesn’t want us to be like that. Our communion table symbolizes our belief in a God who accepts all people. We are not about ritual observance or adhering to some religious authority’s definition of purity. Sharing a meal together is about paying attention to the least of those among us. It is a reminder that I don’t get credit for being a pious if I leave someone else behind.

We eat and drink judgment on ourselves if anyone is ever excluded by the so-called morally superior members among us.

We eat and drink judgment on ourselves when we reserve the best for ourselves and don’t share with others.

We eat and drink judgment on ourselves when the pursuit of false purity suckers us into thinking that we get to tell God who is in and who is out, or who is first and who is last.

When it comes right down to it, our open communion table is about freedom and action. The same is true of our political process. What might it mean for us to “discern the body” when it comes to political action? What if civic engagement had to do more with how we share and receive the gifts of others and less of being managed by the superiority of a powerful few? Imagine if our politics were more like our open communion table – a civic life that highlights freedom and action. It’s hard to conceive, because it seems as if our politics are about exclusion and alienation. We experience people in power negating the “other”. We witness political elites barring access to public space, preventing equal voting rights, and limiting open interaction between the public through divisive discourse. Political party machineries have replaced equality with hierarchy, hoping to mute the public voice and deny broad public action.

Think about our communion table again. Years ago, CCC used to serve communion to people sitting in the pews. Deacons would come with trays of bread and juice and serve worshipers at their seats. I’m not sure when it changed, but we now ask people to come forward to receive communion. Our open table means you need to make a choice to participate – to act. We ask you to put feet on your faith, as much as you are able. We will never deny your agency. We respect your capacity to act. And if you cannot come forward, we will then come to you so that if you can’t come to the Table, the Table will come to you. The same should be true in our politics. In order to have freedom and action in our public spaces, a person needs to be acknowledged as an equal. The diversity of appearances, viewpoints, cultures, and needs must be honored. There must be free and open access for all. And when people are unable to participate, it’s on our institutions to make a way for them, not to block or exclude their action.

Imagine our communion table and our politics like a concert. Individuals join to make music. In both cases, your every action, your every note, counts. All strings and horns, all voices and tones work together towards a total final work, but all separate instruments are needed in order to create a final composition. In other words, it takes the many, not the few, to work in concert. Something else happens in a great concert. Have you ever played in an ensemble where you feel like something has taken over the group? Or as a spectator, a concert has left you in awe, like you were part of something larger than yourself? Individuals make music, and the music joins the participants. Think of it like a Jazz concert where the single player can start new theme, play a new song, or create a new idea. The other players are pliable enough to accept the change. They don’t demand that the player with the new theme stop playing and sit in the corner. No, they anticipating changes in tone and direction. They riff on the new idea. It means there might not always be consensus, but there is always cohesion.

We value the reality that everyone belongs. All are welcome. No matter who you are or where you come from, you are welcome here. That’s what gives our Communion Table legitimacy, and it should be what gives our public table legitimacy. Inclusion gives our Table integrity, and it should be what gives our public table integrity.

Our public table is honest when people of all races, cultures, ages, abilities, sexual orientations, gender identities; and people of all spiritual, emotional wellbeing find welcome here.

Our public table is trustworthy when those who have been excluded by other know that divisions can be overcome, and all have a home here.

Our public table is pleasing when the last come first, and the first serve the last.

Our welcome is extravagant when we our public space is marked by justice, peace, and mutual, self-giving love, especially when we don’t always agree.

Sources:

https://www.rci.rutgers. edu/~lcrew/dojustice/j337.html

http://www.firstcongoappleton .org/blogs/notes/2014/01/30/open-communionopen-church/

http://www.ucc. org/beliefs

http://www.ucc.  org/worship_communion

https://medium. com/quote-of-the-week/plurality-c2e99e268c9f

http://www. iwm.at/publications/5-junior-visiting-fellows-conferences/vol-xxix/andrea-thuma-2/