How
do we stand up to intimidating powers in our lives?
Today’s
readings name an experience that is all too common in today’s world.
Goliath
breathing intimidation and insult on the battlefield.
The
storm that overtakes, divides, and dispirits Jesus’s disciples
while
they are sailing through the sea of Galilee
reminds
us of all the times we find ourselves
caught
in the overwhelming storms of life.
How
do we deal with the intimidating pressures,
the
overwhelming forces that invade our lives?
I
think we see in these readings two kinds of response.
There’s
the response of fear.
And
there’s the response of what Paul calls in Galatians 5:6 faith working through
love.
Fear
or faith.
When
the disciples are caught in the middle of the storm on their way across the sea
of Galilee,
They
were without the company of their beloved teacher.
And
two things happened
And
they became consumed with fear
And
they began to turn against one another.
We
might imagine them yelling at one another, criticizing the efforts of each
other to stabilize the boat,
While
others still remained silent, intimidated by the fighting around them.
Each
one was trying to help and keep the boat from being consumed by the storm,
But
the stress and fear that was occasioned seemed to bring out the worst
And
to cause them to panic and turn their fear into in-fighting.
And
so when they bring Jesus into the situation,
They
wake him up with all of this stress built up
and
trying to hold back from yelling,
they
say in disbelief: “Teacher, don't you care that we are about to die?”
Jesus
doesn’t respond to that question. It’s
the wrong question.
It
came from a place of fear and from a context of divisive critical scapegoating
that
had been going on in the boat.
Jesus
instead responds to the waves and wind, saying “Peace, be still.”
And
they became calm.
And
he turns to the disciples and wonders about their lack of faith.
And
it makes us wonder what kind of faith Jesus wanted for the disciples.
He
speaks elsewhere of faith that can move mountains.
And
so here in Jesus we see a faith that can calm the storm.
But
was Jesus expecting the disciples to calm the storm?
Faith
doesn’t need to be of the kind capable of geological intervention
in
order to be capable of overcoming our fears
Faith,
however small, can overcome fear
Because
faith in a very simple way
Is
looking to God’s strength and trusting in God’s power over all of the powers in
our lives.
Faith
is that starting point which enables us to go forth and be courageous in love.
Faith
names the powers at work around us, looks them in the eye,
and
refuses to allow them to intimidate, or dispirit.
How
do we deal with intimidating forces in our lives?
I
have struggled with how to respond to the growing unrest in our country
over
issues of racism and police brutality.
I
have felt intimidated by the storm and while inside I have felt angry and
grieved on behalf of my African American sisters and brothers, outwardly and
vocally, I’ve remained on the sidelines.
But
I think my silence on these matters has been irresponsible.
Worried
how my words could be made to say what I am not intending to say,
I’ve
chosen to avoid saying anything.
But
the risk of being misunderstood is a necessary one
If
I am to step out in faith and be honest to what I believe and see as true.
And
so I feel responsible to speak my heart.
We
are part of a nation that is founded on the principle that all people are
created equal
and
yet even as that was being written in the Declaration of Independence,
thousands
of people were still in chains and would be for four score and seven years
more.
And
I consider my faith to be a more primary identity for me than my nation.
And
my faith has an even more radical thing to say than Jefferson’s phrase.
Jesus
said in the sermon on the mount, Matthew 5:43-45:
“You
have heard that it was said, ‘Love your friends, hate your enemies.’ But now I
tell you: love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you
may become the children of your Father in heaven. For he makes his sun to shine
on bad and good people alike, and gives rain to those who do good and to those
who do evil.”
According
to my identity as an American I am to believe in the equality of every person.
According
to my identity as a Christian I have a responsibility to treat everyone equally
–
regardless
of who they are or what they’ve done to me.
And
not equally in indifference,
But
equally in love.
To
walk the extra mile.
And
so I want to live into this.
I
need a lot of grace to live this out,
But
I believe that while Jesus’s way may be hard,
I
have found that it is the only thing that can save me from myself,
Jesus
wakes me up again and again from my own complacency
And
helps me to confront my own fear or anger, hatred or selfishness.
To
discover on the other side the joy of being liberated to love more fully.
My
normal way of operating for myself has been challenged ever since I became a
follower of Christ,
I
hear Christ tell the story of the Good Samaritan.
How
two people who were highly religious and sophisticated
How
they passed right on by their beat-up neighbor on the Jericho road
And
the Samaritan, who was likely despised by the one who was beat-up because of a
long history of racism – not only stopped to notice,
Not
only breathed deep the reality of the suffering before him.
Not
only approached and attended to his neighbor in need on the side of the road,
But
offered him a ride and paid his hospital bills.
This
is the radical love that Jesus longs for his disciples and for us to hear and
take in.
This
is the love that opens us up, and heals us from the inertia of indifference.
We
see the suffering, and we have a choice.
We
can deny or ignore the suffering, and remain silent
Or we
can turn the stress of the suffering and the media storm that follows into a
blame-game,
And
allow it to turn us against each other with cheap shots and straw man
arguments.
Or
we can behold our suffering sisters and brothers, and listen, listen, listen,
and
seek in whatever way we can to be responsible and responsive to their
suffering,
to
come alongside as a helper, to give voice to the voiceless and confront the
bullies.
I
have too often responded to the ongoing racism in this country with
irresponsible silence.
When
a young white man born in 1994,
Came
in to Emanuel Church in Charleston, SC on Wednesday,
there
was a Bible study going on.
So
he was invited by the pastor to join them.
He
did join them and sat with them during the Bible study for an hour.
And
when the Bible study ended he began to open fire on the group.
And
when a young man pleaded with him to stop, the shooter said in response:
"'No,
you've raped our women, and you are taking over the country ... I have to do
what I have to do.' And he shot the young man."[1]
These
are words of fear and hate.
And
they’ve been said to justify white violence against African Americans for
hundreds of years.
This
shooter did not make these claims up.
He
learned them others who also believed them.
And
it broke my heart when I read how his roommates would hear him saying things
like this,
And
they shrugged it off, thought he was joking, not being serious.
Fear
and hate took the form of racist thoughts and intentions,
And
those closest to him never challenged his claims.
And
nine beloved human lives were killed in church.
In
fact in a very real way we can and should call this young man a homegrown American
terrorist.
He
meant to instill fear and to intimidate a whole group of people by symbolic
violence against some.
There’s
a history to these kind of terrorist acts against the African American
community –
and
the African American church in particular.
…
Many
of you remember how in September of 1963, four young girls were killed
by
a bomb that exploded while they were in Sunday school.
This
memory has resurfaced across the country after Wednesday’s attack.
Rev.
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. gave the eulogy for those girls.
And
in one very memorable passage he says:
“[The victims] say to each of us, black and
white alike,
that
we must substitute courage for caution.
They
say to us that we must be concerned
not
merely about who murdered them,
but
about the system, the way of life, the philosophy which produced the
murderers.”
“We
must substitute courage for caution.”
I’ve
been someone who has used too much caution in responding to racism.
I’ve
felt the sting of reading King’s letter from the Birmingham jail where he
writes:
“I
must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with
the white moderate.
I
have almost reached the regrettable conclusion
that
the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom
is
not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white
moderate,
who
is more devoted to “order” than to justice;
who
prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension
to
a positive peace which is the presence of justice;
who
constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek,
but
I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”;
who
paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom.”
I
have too often lived with caution over courage, in not just this issue.
And
I can no longer afford to be that way.
My
African American brothers and sisters suffer from being afraid for their own
and their loved ones lives.
My
fellow ministers in the African American community, and fellow seminary
students
are
teaching me that my experience of America has been a very privileged one.
While
others have lived under a constant shadow of fear and intimidation.
And
I am learning how I might move from caution to courage,
And
speak to the Goliath of ongoing racist prejudice, fear and hate –
Speak
to and not ignore, and say with David:
"You
come to me with intimidation and silencing,
You
come to me with peer pressure,
With
misinformation and misrepresentation,
With
minimizing of the suffering of people,
You
come to me telling lies about inferiority of some and superiority of others –
vicious
lies of racism;
but
I, I, come to you in the name of the LORD.”
I
come to you, Goliath, in the name of Christ who identified himself with the
least of society,
And
who on the boat in faith stood up and confronted the storm and proclaimed God’s
peace.
Not
a peace of ignoring or denial, but a peace of confrontation,
the
kind of peace that seeks to bring to the light the truth of things in order for
real reconciliation to happen.
And
this is ultimately what moving from caution to courage looks like.
It’s
the unwillingness to privilege a false unity over the honesty and justice
that
makes for real and lasting human community.
It’s
not letting bullies intimidate – but coming together in faith,
Taking
up the oars and manning the sails together
and
sailing through the storm
It
requires that we take responsibility for the silence that has been our
convenience.
And
not simply start opening our mouths and shooting off platitudes,
But
listen deeply and actively to those who have suffered while we have been at
peace,
And
listen to the helpers - those at work building more just communities,
educating
about history and how we can best help our neighbors and build together a
better country.
And
use our voice for the good of those who are not heard.
From
caution to courage means that we listen and involve ourselves where there is
unjust suffering here in our midst, in rural New Hampshire, knowing that
“injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”
Let
us not dismiss the claims of racism but seek to raise awareness for ourselves.
And
if someone makes a racist joke. Tell
them to just stop.
Think
of the shooter’s roommate and his failure of nerve.
There
is no place for that – it is as if they are coughing an airborne disease into
your midst.
There
is no room for fear and hatred –
Rather
let us confront it like the Goliath it is,
knowing
that Christ is on the side of peace and justice
And
the humanizing efforts of Samaritans everywhere.
And
may we remember the example of bold and courageous love
Which
speaks up for those who have no voice,
Which
refuses to ignore the one who is suffering in our midst, on the road,
Which
seeks to understand the causes and not just the symptoms of racism and hatred,
And
may we be inspired by the faith of Christ to follow in the way not just of
equality, but of love.
We
can do this by learning more, educating ourselves –
and
by questioning the media, refusing to allow them to instill more fear and more
hatred –
And
to allow experience of our suffering neighbors,
and
the love of Christ, and good work with and for our neighbors teach us what it
means to love all equally.
We
have an opportunity to respond to our African American sisters and brothers in
good faith.
In
what ways we have in our lives, may we move from caution to courage
And
know that God is with us as we confront the storm.
And
we don’t have to do it alone.
I
plan to make opportunities to gather here in prayer and conversation
when
things like this happen.
I
want to invite you this Wednesday evening at 7:30 to join me here for prayer
for Charleston and for our community, and the intimidating forces we face. I hope you can come.
So
that together we can be David in the face of Goliath,
So
that together we can confront the intimidating realities
with
a resounding response of faith working through love.
May
we trust God together and work together with eyes-wide-open love.
Amen.
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