"Hope in Troubled Times"

Luke 18:9-14

In late October, a lot of people are celebrating Halloween.  But in the church, many Christians are more focused on Reformation Day. 

Five hundred and two years ago, on October 31, 1517, Martin Luther, an Augustinian monk and theology professor in the university town of Wittenberg, published his Ninety-Five Theses by nailing them to the door of the Castle Church.  In those days, the church door served as kind of a community bulletin board. 

The 95 Theses were in the form of an invitation to debate about traditional church doctrine and practice, that, in Luther’s mind, needed to be re-examined and reformed.  Luther was advocating for reform within the Roman Catholic church, but before it was over Luther would be excommunicated from the church and branded an outlaw by the Holy Roman Emperor.

As John Buchanan describes it, “violence ensued, wars were fought, martyrs on both sides were tortured and executed.  Luther’s followers and their churches were called ‘Lutherans’ in derision, but during the next century large portions of northern Germany, France, the Netherlands, Hungary, all the way to the Italian Alps and the Scottish Highlands, separated from Rome and organized themselves into Reformed churches.”[1]

            Five hundred plus years later, as we commemorate Luther and the Ninety-Five Theses, it’s a good time to remember that the Protestant Reformation was a development that took place slowly, over time, and that it was and is an ongoing process. 

            As a former representative of the World Alliance of Reformed Churches has written, “Luther and Calvin did not just fall from Heaven. Other people had worked the same field, and people at that time were aware of earlier reformers.” By earlier reformers, he was referring to Waldensians, Hussites, the Czech Brethren, and others.”

            So, with this in mind, I think it’s a good thing to observe “Reformation Sunday” in late October, but to focus on what Jean Calvin called “the many resurrections of the church,” which include the earlier reformers, and Luther and Calvin and Knox, and other examples of the Spirit’s reforming, rejuvenating work in the church throughout history and to our present time.

            The gospel lesson we heard today is a brief and straightforward parable Jesus told his disciples. Earlier in the 18^th chapter of Luke, Jesus had told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. In this parable, a widow kept going to an un-just judge “who neither feared God nor had respect for people.” Eventually, because the widow persisted and kept coming back to the unjust judge, he said, “Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.”[2]

            Jesus said to his disciples, “Listen to what the unjust judge says. And will not God grant justice to God’s chosen ones who cry out day and night? Will God delay long in helping them?  I tell you, God will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”

            That’s the context for the parable we heard today, which Jesus told to “some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and who regarded others with contempt.”

            “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, “God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.”

            But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”

            Jesus said, “I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”

"Nobody is more dangerous than he who imagines himself pure in heart,” wrote James Baldwin, “for his purity, by definition, is unassailable.”  

Such people clothe themselves in religion while creating hell for others. They see everything but their truest selves. They hide their vulnerabilities and practice spiritual dishonesty about their own shortcomings.

Jesus is addressing a crowd of people who “trust in themselves,” but who really can’t see themselves. They can point to the flaws in others and avoid seeing their own shortcomings and sins.

This parable gives us a window into this particular Pharisee’s mentality, through the words of his prayer. He embraces the insider-outsider politics of institutional religion. His public prayer creates a firewall between him and those who are “other.”

When Luke says Jesus’ listeners “regarded others with contempt,” the Greek word for contempt suggests treating other people as nothing.  This kind of spirituality lets people pursue their idea of holiness and morality, while they treat those they see as “other” as sinful or unworthy or without value.

As the Rev. Willie Francois III writes, this culture of false perfection betrays the truth of the gospel: “that God loves us with our scars of disobedience, markers of mistakes, and wounds of worry. Such a culture creates myriad communities of throwaways, of people perceived as disposable.

Even churches consecrate categories by which they effectively label people disposable. When we fail to see ourselves as we are, we tragically fix our eyes on others—and we live with spiritual blinders on. This derails our journey to wholeness and transformation.”[3]

            The Pharisee in the parable isn’t guilty of any of the specific things he names—but there are many other sins he wasn’t willing to name. The tax collector avoids narrating a long list of his own virtues or sins to God, but he names his condition:  he confesses that he’s a sinner, and he pleads for mercy.

We live in a tumultuous time—a time of great change and polarization and anxiety— in the world and in the church. But it isn’t the first time. 

 The Scottish reformer John Knox felt compelled to leave the British Isles after the Roman Catholic Mary Tudor rose to the English throne in 1553.  Eventually he joined a fellowship of religious refugees from across Europe who had thronged to Geneva, Switzerland.

            Geneva’s most famous resident, the French lawyer and humanist John Calvin, was himself a Geneva immigrant.  Calvin helped create an atmosphere in Geneva that was welcoming to outsiders. They established a hospital for refugees, as well as an academy for their education. Knox ministered to a congregation of English-speaking refugees.

            John Knox marveled at his time in Geneva, calling it ‘the most perfect school of Christ that ever was in the earth since the days of the apostles.’”

            Calvin’s emphasis on placing full trust in God, as opposed to any earthly ruler, aimed to infuse life in Geneva with gratitude and faith   and to ease the anxieties of a people living in an age of plague, war, and dislocation.  For Calvin and for Knox, growing in trust of God and love for God enlarged a community’s ability to respond to God’s call to love and service-- no matter where its residents came from.

Five hundred years after the Protestant Reformation, we’re living in a difficult and challenging time to be the church. 

            We need to re-learn how to love and recognize the image of God in one another.  We need to learn how to live more and more fully as beloved children of God… and become more and more fully the Beloved Community. 

And nations, like individuals and the church, struggle to look in the moral mirror.  At the Democratic National Convention, Michelle Obama said, “I wake up every morning in a house that was built by slaves.” That’s a historical fact about the White House and our national capitol building—one that’s often relegated to a footnote or simply omitted. Yet many found the statement to be controversial. The institution of slavery funded the greatness of America—and more than 150 years after the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation, the American check still bounces.

Long ago, biblical prophets like Jeremiah expressed the national need for repentance. The nation needs mercy. For over 400 years, black people have been dehumanized in America—from the trafficking of African persons from their native lands through years of slavery, Jim Crow, Black Codes and predatory sharecropping, unchecked lynching, red-lining and residential segregation, mass incarceration, under-education, mass criminalization, and police violence.  

The church also needs mercy for the ways it supported the institution of slavery and structural racism and poverty or failed to resist them…for the Doctrine of Discovery which the ways it gave permission, even encouraged colonialization and the genocide of indigenous peoples.

Reverend Francois challenges all Americans when he says, “To change—to be redeemed—America has to actually look at itself. We have to stand squarely in front of the moral mirror, beat our chests, name our sins, and be justified.

On Reformation Sunday, we are reminded that we are justified by God’s grace, through faith.

The question of the day is:  how shall we live, in response to God’s gracious gift?  That’s where sanctification comes in. “Sanctification” is a theological word for how we grow in the Christian life, as we are taught and led further into the truth and empowered by the Holy Spirit.

            Sanctification is a life-long process, as we are gradually freed from our fears and doubts and brokenness-- to love and serve God and our neighbors as Christ does. As we grow in Christian faith, we open ourselves to be surprised and transformed by God’s word.  

            One sign of growing in the Christian life is maturing in love for and solidarity with all of God’s children-- especially with those who are poor and marginalized and those who are different…those we see as “other.”

The early Protestants believed that they were not only creating a new church-- but they were creating a new world, one that would resemble more fully God’s desire for humanity.   The original Protestant impulse was to resist powers of worldly dominion and domination, in favor of the power of God’s spirit to transform human hearts and society.  They felt a deep discomfort and discontent with the status quo.   They knew things were not right, and they set out to change the world.   

Today, we live in troubling times—a time of great change and anxiety, in the church and in the world. In 2019, the world groans under flame of wildfires and floods caused by global warming, as families are left shattered by sprays of bullets and the devastation of war, in this time of broken human relationships and extreme political partisanship and structural racism and poverty and corruption in governments. Things are not right.  But I believe God is working to do new things in our time.

I believe we are living in a prophetic time—a time of new reformation.   I believe that God is working to create a new church, in and through us.  I believe that God wants to use us as instruments of justice and reconciliation in our communities… in our nation… and in the world.

I give thanks that “we’ve come this far by faith”—that we’ve been hearing a new word from God over the past few decades about human sexuality and some of the other things that have consumed so much of our energy and focus in the church.  I give thanks that this seems to be freeing the church to focus on structural racism and poverty and other forms of injustice.  I give thanks that we have been gifted with strong and faithful and diverse leaders in our national Presbyterian church and the ecumenical and interfaith communities who are leading us to act more faithfully and more boldly. 

            I give thanks for the prophetic witness of Bishop William Barber and the Rev. Dr. Liz Theoharis and other leaders of the Poor People’s Campaign around the country as they work to bring about justice for all.  I give thanks for Rabbi Alana Alpert and the Detroit Jews for Justice and their work for water justice in Detroit and their work with the Poor People’s Campaign.  I think that part of this new time of re-formation is how we’re learning to work together as ecumenical and interfaith community.

            Two weeks ago, we gathered in this sanctuary to celebrate 100 years of mission and ministry at St. John’s.  The Rev. Dr. J. Herbert Nelson reminded us of the way things are changing in the Brief church and in our society and said we are living in a prophetic time.  The mission field is here around us, and we have work to do.

            This week, especially, we have mourned the passing and given thanks for a prophet of our times, the very Honorable Congressman Elijah Cummings, and we have been inspired by the witness of this man of faith and humility…integrity and courage and compassion.  

I was moved to hear that Congressman Cummings quoted a poem by Benjamin Mays during his very first speech on the U.S. House of Representatives floor on April 25, 1996 while noting that he recited that poem up to 20 times a day:

“I have only just a minute. Only 60 seconds in it.
 Forced upon me, can’t refuse it. Didn’t seek it, didn’t choose it.
But it’s up to me to use it. I must suffer if I lose it.
Give account if I abuse it.
Just a tiny minute, but eternity is in it.”

Elijah Cummings was living with a serious, life-threatening illness. But he was passionate about working for justice. He lived with a sense of urgency, conscious about being effective with every minute he was given.  His life can inspire and challenge us.

We are living in a time of new reformation. God is working to create a new church and a new world, and wants to use us as instruments of justice and reconciliation in the world.

So—on this Reformation Sunday and in the coming days, as we look around at the world and see things that are not right, let us be praying that we may respond to the challenges of our time with courage and hope.

   In the words of our Presbyterian “Brief Statement of Faith:” “In a broken and fearful world, the Spirit gives us courage to pray without ceasing, to witness among all peoples to Christ as Lord and Savior, to unmask idolatries in Church and culture, to hear the voices of peoples long silenced, and to work with others for justice, freedom, and peace.”[4]

Thanks be to God!

Rev. Fran Hayes, Guest Preacher

St. John Presbyterian Church

Detroit, Michigan

October 27, 2019

---

[1] John M. Buchanan, “Values Worth Fighting For,” at his blog Hold to the Good. https://jmbpastor.wordpress.com/2017/10/16/values-worth-fighting-for/

[2] Luke 18:1-5

[3] Willie Dwayne Francois III, at https://www.christiancentury.org/article/2016-09/october-23-30th-sunday-ordinary-time

[4] “A Brief Statement of Faith,” 1990. Book of Confessions of the Presbyterian Church (USA).

"An Extravagant Love." A Sermon on John 12:1-8 from Littlefield Presbyterian Church on the 5th Sunday in Lent.

"An Extravagant Love"

John 12:1-8

         In the previous chapter of John’s gospel, Lazarus was very ill, and his sisters Mary and Martha had sent a message to Jesus.  Though Jesus loved Martha and Mary and Lazarus, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was, before he headed to Bethany.  When he got there, Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days, and the mourners were there to console Mary and Martha. 

         Jesus went to the tomb and said, “Take away the stone.”  Martha—always a practical woman—said to him, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.”  But they took away the stone that closed the tomb, and Jesus prayed and then called, “Lazarus, come out!” 

         Imagine the scene, as Lazarus came out of the tomb, his hands and feet bound with strips of grave cloths, and his face wrapped in a cloth.  Jesus told the people, “Unbind him, and let him go.”

            So, that’s the context. Now, six days before the Passover, Jesus comes to Bethany, to the home of Lazarus.  Once again, the house is filled with family and friends, and the table is covered with food.  Martha is hard at work serving.  Lazarus is reclining with Jesus-- Lazarus who was in the tomb until Jesus called him out.          

         Mary slips away and comes back, holding a clay jar in her hands.  Without a word she kneels at Jesus' feet and breaks it open, and the sharp smell of nard fills the room.  She does a series of remarkable things: 

         In a room full of men, Mary loosens her hair-- which is something a respectable woman never did in that culture.  She pours balm on Jesus' feet, which also is not done.   Then she touches him-- a single woman caressing the feet of a rabbi.   Also, not done, not even among friends.  Then she wipes the salve off again-- with her hair.  It is totally inexplicable-- the bizarre end to an all-around bizarre act.       

         Judas is quick to point out how extravagant Mary’s action is.  "Why wasn't this ointment sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?"  That's what Judas wants to know.  A day laborer and his family could live on that much money for a year, and here she has poured it all out on your feet!"

         But Jesus doesn’t see it that way.  "Leave her alone,” Jesus says, brushing all objections aside.  "She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial.  You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me."

         Now, that is about as odd a thing to say as anything Mary did.  Jesus, who was always concerned about the needs of the poor and marginalized and putting their needs ahead of his own, suddenly pulling rank.  Leave her alone.  You will have the poor to look after until the end of time.  Just this once, let her look after me, because my time is running out.

            The poor you always have with you. These words of Jesus have often been interpreted to mean that Jesus believed poverty is inevitable. As the Rev. Dr. Liz Theoharis suggested in the book we read for our Lenten study last year, some people see poverty as an individual issue. Some believe that poverty is a matter of individual sin or moral failure—that people are poor because they don’t work hard enough…or have made bad choices.[1]

            In her book, Liz seeks to show that--far from giving Christian reason to ignore calls for economic justice, the passage we heard today actually makes “one of the strongest statements of the biblical mandate to end poverty.”[1] She says the passage has been twisted out of context to justify the belief that poverty as inevitable. 

            “The poor you always have with you, but you will not always have me.”  Some people would argue from this that we should attend to spiritual needs over, or instead of, tangible human needs. “Just a closer walk thee,” instead of a march on Washington. Thoughts and prayers, rather than votes and legislation. Individual acts of kindness, but keep the church out of the realm of policy-making and community activism. But there are problems with this interpretation.  

            As biblical scholar Lindsey Trozzo writes, we can’t separate Jesus from the poor.  Jesus brought good news in tangible ways to those who were oppressed and vulnerable, and in his actions and teaching he challenged the oppressive political system of his day.[2]

            “The poor you will always have with you.” Dr. Trozzo suggests that we may be reading this wrong. In the Greek, the present indicative form of a word, which states something, such as “you always have the poor with you,” is similar to the present imperative form of the word, which commands you to do something. So, another way to translate this passage would be as a command: “Keep the poor among you always.”

            Going back to the story:  Jesus and the disciples and some close friends are eating dinner, when Mary brings in a pound of expensive perfume and pours the perfume on Jesus’ feet. This is an anointing scene. In ancient Palestine, there were two events that would call for an anointing: a coronation and a burial. Jesus is about to die. He is going away, but the poor are always with you. Keep the poor among you always.            

            So, could it be, as Trozzo suggests, that this passage that has been used to justify disregard for the poor is actually a direct command to always have Jesus’ mission for and among the poor at the center of our mission?

            Jesus’ words about the poor echo Deuteronomy 15:11: “There will never cease to be some in need on the earth. Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth…. I therefore command you, ‘Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.’” The 15^th chapter of Deuteronomy outlines the practice of a Sabbatical year in Israel’s tradition. Every seventh year, the people were instructed to forgive all debts. They were also instructed to give generously to the poor in other years.

Also, every 50^th year, they were to have a year of Jubilee, which called for even greater generosity and debt forgiveness, and release for those who were enslaved. The context reminds us that Jesus’ teachings about the poor is a charge to live according to a different value system, and to work toward systematic change that would include all persons in a community of justice and abundance. We live in the tension between the reality that poverty is part of the way our world works today—and the hope of God’s beloved community, where no one suffers from poverty.  

         While Mary’s behavior may have seemed strange to those who were gathered in the house that night, it was no stranger than that of the prophets who went before her.  Ezekiel, who ate the scroll of the Lord as a sign that he carried the word of God around inside of him.  Jeremiah, who smashed the clay jar to show God's judgment on Judah and Jerusalem.  Isaiah, who walked around Jerusalem naked and barefoot as an oracle against the nations.            

         Prophets do these things.  They act out the truth that no one else can see.  Those who stand around watching either write them off as crazy...  or fall silent before the disturbing news they bring from God.

         When Mary stood before Jesus with that pound of pure nard, it probably could have gone either way.  She could have anointed his head and everyone there could have proclaimed him a king.  But she didn't do that.  When she moved toward him, she dropped to her knees and poured the salve on his feet, anointing him for his death. 

         This was the action of a faithful disciple.  Jesus received from Mary what he would soon offer to his disciples, wiping his feet with her hair, as Jesus will wipe his disciples’ feet with a towel. 

         Mary anointed Jesus’ feet with ointment so precious that its sale might have fed a poor family for a year.   Mary’s act was an extravagant act of love, a model of faithful discipleship—in contrast to Judas’s unfaithful response.  In the story, Judas represents the voice of reason and practicality.

         I think this story invites us to identify not just with Mary or Judas. In the figure of Mary, Christian discipleship is an act of adoration and gratitude to the One who is holy.  In her silent, prophetic act, she draws our attention not to herself--but to Jesus.

The good news is the grace of Jesus Christ includes them both, both the faithful and the unfaithful.  Both are included within the bright, transforming light the cross casts in a dark world.

         How do we respond to Jesus’ self-emptying, extravagant love?  With a calculating, practical, careful way of life, like Judas? Or does Christ call us to live lives of extravagant love?    

         The heroes in the scriptures are at their best when they live out their faith abundantly, extravagantly.  Noah building an ark when there isn’t a cloud in the sky.   Abraham and Sarah packing up everything they owned and heading for God only knows where.  Joseph marrying a woman who is pregnant with a child who is not his.  Peter and John announcing to those who imprisoned them, “We cannot but speak of what we have seen and heard.”   As Paul said, “We are fools for Christ’s sake.”

         Over history there have been other fools for Christ:  Saint Francis, giving up his material wealth, living among the poor.  Dietrich Bonhoeffer returning to Germany and witnessing to his faith, eventually dying for it, rather than staying safely in New York. Desmond Tutu, challenging the powers that be, when he knew it could cost him.   Fools for Christ do not live a careful, calculating life-- but an abundant, extravagantly loving life.

         Mary’s love was uncalculating.  She was too caught up in her love and gratitude for Jesus to be concerned with her own scandalous behavior and extravagance. 

         Jesus said, I came that they might have life—life abundant.  We are called to a life of extravagant faithfulness. If we follow Christ, we will not calculate what is easiest or what will look best.  If we follow Christ, we will not be stingy or calculating.

         Mary showed us that she was beginning to understand that we don't need to hold back, out of fear.  Whatever we need, there will be enough to go around, for there is nothing frugal about the love of God, or about the lives of those who are devoted to him.

         Where God is concerned, there is always more-- more than we can either ask or imagine-- gifts from our gracious, extravagant Lord."

            Thanks be to God!

Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor

Littlefield Presbyterian Church

Dearborn, Michigan

April 7, 2019

---

[1] Liz Theoharis, Always with Us? What Jesus Really Said About the Poor. William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2017.  

[2] Lindsey Trozzo, “Commentary on John 12:1-8 at Working Preacher.     http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3993

"What Makes Jesus Weep?" A Sermon from Littlefield Presbyteria Church on Luke 13:31-35

Mosaic on altar in Dominus Flevit chapel on Mount of Olives in Jerusalem. "How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!"   

"What Makes Jesus Weep?"

Luke 13:31-35

The first time I visited the Holy Land in 2006, I felt very moved by the sight of the Dominus Flevit chapel every time we drove near it on the bus. So, I made sure that, when I led a small group on a pilgrimage in 2009, we took the time to walk down the Mount of Olives and visit Dominus Flevit. The chapel was built near the spot traditionally said to be where Jesus wept over Jerusalem. The church’s name, in Latin, means “the Lord wept.”  The shape of the church is in the form of a tear drop.

            The church features a beautiful picture window that faces west, overlooking Jerusalem, in the direction Jesus was looking as he wept over the city.[1]

         Below the window, on the front of the altar, is a picture of what never happened in that city.  It is a mosaic medallion of a white hen with a golden halo around her head, which reminds us that Jesus compared himself to a chicken.  The mother hen’s wings are spread wide to shelter the pale yellow chicks that crowd around her feet. The hen looks ready to protect her beloved chicks.

        The medallion is rimmed with red words in Latin.  Translated into English it reads, "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!"   The last phrase is set outside the circle, in a pool of red underneath the chicks’ feet: “You were not willing.”

            How often have I desired. As John Wurster wrote in his recent blog post, this phrase points us to something significant about who Jesus is. Jesus yearns to gather us to himself, to shelter us, to be in relationship with us. How often have I desired to gather you, and you were not willing?  Too often, we hide. We resist. We follow our own way, try to live by our own version of the truth. And yet God keeps longs to be in relationship with us and keeps seeking us out.[2]

            It’s a very vulnerable stance when there are foxes or other predators around and you're the mother hen. When told that Herod wants to kill him, Jesus replies, "Go and tell that fox for me, 'Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.'"   

Jesus is in very clear and present danger as he faces Jerusalem.  He knows this. The prophet’s job is to speak truth to power, tell hard truths that people don’t want to hear. We know the prophet is right when the point to a sin that entangles us—when they name those fragilities we most fear.

As Eric Baretto says, if we know how and where to look, we find prophets today in all kinds of places. “Prophets don’t predict what is next. They look at the world as it is and, through their God-suffused imagination, see it transformed. What if violence and death were not the order of the day? What if compassion, not selfishness, reigned in our midst? What if we could all see ourselves and our neighbors as God sees us?

Baretto continues: “The prophet plants herself in the present, in all its blessedness and mire, and says God is present here. She declares a new world, and in this bold, courageous declaration, God acts. In the very act of speaking a God-inspired word of consolation and hope, prophecy comes to life in our midst—as we lift our hands to serve our neighbor and move our feet to go to the most desolate places and discover there that God and God’s servants are very much alive, very much present. We find that such places are not so desolate after all.”[3]

Jesus is headed to Jerusalem and certain death. He uses the image of a mother hen who shields her chicks with her own body—and her very life, to express the wondrous love of God.  

         "I must be on my way,” Jesus said. Must.  Jesus uses that word over and over to indicate the divine necessity to which he must be obedient.   Jesus had already announced to his disciples, “The Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, chief priests, and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised."[4]  This is what Jesus is about-- delivering God's grace because it is his divine calling.   It is what he must do.  

            Jesus went to Jerusalem to gather that city and the whole world under the protective wings of God’s grace.  Isn’t this a wonderful guiding image for the church’s ministry?  When we see the protective mother hen as an image of strength and God’s protecting grace in Jesus Christ, it can be the pattern for our life together as the church. Acting as a caring hen, the church needs to seek out God’s children everywhere to bring them under the protective wing of God’s grace.

That’s a tall order. Where in the world do we start? 

         I think we start by looking around our world and asking ourselves, “What makes Jesus weep?”    

            I see things that I believe surely make Jesus weep: the violation of basic human rights of so many of God’s beloved children… people in one of the richest nations of the world who lack adequate shelter or don’t know where their next meal will come from… so many of God’s beloved children being killed by gun violence… systemic racism and poverty…Islamaphobia…ethnic cleansing in the land we call “Holy”… God’s good creation being ravaged so carelessly… warfare… children in Yemen dying of hunger…children around the world dying of malaria and AIDS… families separated at our nation’s borders. The list could go on and on.

            When people asked Jesus what the most important commandment was, he very clearly said it is to love God completely and to love one another as ourselves. In his hometown synagogue in Nazareth, he declared that the spirit had anointed him to proclaim good news to the poor, to proclaim liberty to the captives, to free those who are oppressed. In word and deed, Jesus called his followers live as God’s beloved and loving people, to see all of God’s children as beloved, and to work with others for justice, freedom, and peace.

            So, I believe that the hatred and injustice we see around us in the world, the neglect and outright contempt for the poor, the idolatries in Church and culture, the fearfulness and violence surely make Jesus weep.

            This past Friday we woke up to hear that at least 49 Muslims whomassa were gathered for Friday prayers in Christchurch, New Zealand, in a brutal act of terrorism. (The death count now is at least 50.)  A gunman mercilessly shot hundreds of rounds of ammunition with a weapon that was scrawled with neo-Nazi symbols and the names of white right-wing extremists who had killed others because of their ethnicity or faith. A manifesto released online laid his motivations out to bare: to kill Muslim immigrants. He cited white nationalist extremists in the United States and France and elsewhere as his inspiration.

            When we look around and consider all the things we think make Jesus weep, it can be overwhelming. It may seem impossible. But because we can’t do everything is not a reason to do nothing. We are called to do what we can.

As a congregation and in our personal lives, we need to look for the things in our world that make Jesus weep. And then—because we can’t do everything—we need to focus on where the world’s pain and need meet our deepest passions and our gifts and what we have to offer in service. We need to do what we can do.          

            I think we can learn a lot from history, from prophets and activists who saw something that was wrong and did what they could. In his book Bury the Chains, Adam Hochschild tells the story of a mass movement in Britain swayed first public opinion, and finally Parliament, to abolish the slave trade and later slavery itself within the British Empire.[5]  I  think that any of you who have a passion for peace and justice and interfaith could learn from them and would enjoy the book.

I’m sure it seemed like a hopeless cause to a lot of folk. But activists formed a broad coalition, energized by Quakers and evangelical Christians, but reaching across the political and social spectrum, including people of prophetic faith and shrewd politicians, progressives and conservatives, elites and outsiders.

            William Wilberforce introduced his first anti-slavery motion into Parliament in 1788.   It was defeated, and would be defeated nine more times until it passed in 1807.  They kept working until slavery was abolished altogether, in 1833.

         In the United States, Christians were an important part of the Underground Railroad. In his book, Bound for Canaan,[6] Fergus Bordewich tells how ordinary people, black and white, slave and free, joined together to do what they believed was right, in a movement of civil disobedience that challenged prevailing social mores and local and federal law.  Bordewich estimates that the network of men and women who harbored or conducted fugitive slaves, plus those who assisted with food, clothing, and legal assistance, numbered more than 10,000, and that they carried an estimated 100,000 fugitives to the far northern states and Canada.   

            I believe our Christian faith calls us to a truly prophetic faith--- a holistic faith that is united with the struggle for peace and justice.  

            This faith informs my thinking when I ask, “What makes Jesus weep today?”

            I see Jesus weeping over our cities… over our world… over the way humankind has acted…  weeping over how we have failed to be the loving, generous, joyful people we were created to be…  weeping over the violence and oppression in our world.   I hear God lamenting over our unfaithfulness.  God grieves for us… and longs to protect us. 

            Jesus’ lament over Jerusalem follows a collection of parables that call for repentance.  I believe that Jesus’ lament over the city of Jerusalem is less a final judgment on the city and more a call to repentance.   It calls us to listen for God’s word for us today, and to respond faithfully.

Here at Littlefield, we’ve been working for several decades at practicing hospitality that welcomes people who are different into our building for English as a Second Language classes and preschool programs and interfaith programs and interfaith worship services. Some of you have attended interfaith events at local mosques and enjoyed the warm hospitality there. These are some of the ways we build bridges of understanding and nurture relationships. It’s hard to hate somebody or to be afraid of them when you’ve shared meals together and prayed together for healing and peace.

Some of you are growing in your willingness to be uncomfortable in your own spaces, even in your own families, and risk speaking up when someone says something Islamophobic or anti-Semitic or racist.  Those of us who live in Dearborn have neighbors and friends who are Muslim. I know that some of you have had relatives or acquaintances say something that shows their lack of experience or understanding, like “What’s it like to live under Sharia law?”

Now, to those of us who live in Dearborn, that’s a ludicrous question. But we have people in our lives who live elsewhere, and some of them seem to get their information from propaganda industries that promote fear and hatred.

It may seem like a small thing when you respond to their questions or remarks by saying, “I wouldn’t know. We don’t live under Sharia law in Dearborn.” Or, “I have wonderful neighbors who bring me food and help me shovel my snow,” or whatever. It may be a small thing, but it makes a difference.

There is so much misinformation and fear-mongering and hateful stuff circulating in social media. So, though it may seem like a small thing, we can commit ourselves to actively using social media for good, by sharing posts that promote respect and compassion and understanding.

Another thing we can do is to show up. As many of you know, I make it a priority to show up in the community when there’s a crisis or something that calls for a faithful, neighborly response. When the travel ban went into effect, some of you were there to represent, holding your signs that quoted scripture passages that command us to treat immigrants with hospitality and justice, and reminded us that we are commanded to love one another as ourselves, and some signs that proclaimed, “We love our Muslim neighbors.”

I’ve lost count of the number of candlelight vigils and interfaith services I’ve attended in the past few years. There have been too many terrible mass shootings. I’ve lost count.

So, Friday, when I heard about the massacre in the mosques in New Zealand, I decided it was important that I reach out in solidarity. I attended Friday prayers at one of our local mosques. And then I attended the vigil at the Islamic Center of America and was asked to offer a prayer.  Since Friday, I’ve gotten multiple emails and Facebook messages and phone calls from Muslim friends, thanking me for showing up, and telling me how much my friendship means to their communities.

It seems like a small thing, but it means more than you can imagine to people who are grieving and afraid. Just as we show up for funerals in our community, it offers comfort and shows we care when we show up when our friends and neighbors are in need. It isn’t something that only pastors can do.

It’s something any of you could do, maybe by going out two-by-two, to reach out in friendship and solidarity, to embody God’s love for all God’s beloved people by showing up.

We follow Jesus the Christ, who proclaimed the reign of God…and broke the power of sin and evil…and calls us to follow him on the way of self-giving love.  This same Jesus claims us as his own and promises to be with us always…and gives us the power of the Holy Spirit to lead us further into God’s truth and freedom, and to work with others for justice, freedom and peace.”

Amen.  So be it!

Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor

Littlefield Presbyterian Church

Dearborn, Michigan

March 17, 2019

---

[1] Luke 19:41-44

[2] John Wurster, “Looking Into the Lectionary, 2^nd Sunday in Lent,” at Presbyterian Outlook blog.

https://pres-outlook.org/2019/03/2nd-sunday-in-lent-march-17-2019/

[3] Eric Baretto, “You Don’t Want to Be a Prophet (Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11), at Huffington Post.  https://www.huffingtonpost.com/rev-dr-eric-d-barreto/you-dont-want-to-be-a-prophet_b_6295910.html

[4] Luke 9:22

[5] Adam Hochschild, Bury the Chains: Prophets and Rebels in the Fight to Free an Empire’s Slaves. Mariner Books, 2006.

[6] Fergus M. Bordewich, Bound for Canaan: The Epic Story of the Underground Railroad, America’s First Civil Rights Movement. Amistad, 2005.