A couple
weeks ago there was a news story about two pastors who called for a public
stoning of gays in response to the gay wedding at the Rose Bowl parade. Now, I
doubt they expected anyone to take them seriously, but the hate and vitriol
behind such a joke is clearly evident.
A couple
years ago there was a pastor who was proposing putting gays and lesbians in
concentration camps, and was certainly a lot less tongue in cheek than the rose
bowl parade pastors.
And so when
it came time to preach during the prayer for Christian unity, my knee-jerk
reactionary response was, “how do I pray for unity with people who want me
dead?”
But here’s
the thing that’s easy to forget. Knee jerk reactionary responses are the raison
d'etre of the spread of these stories. They manipulate you in to waiting
through advertising on You Tube to see if this is really what these guys said,
or waiting through a radio commercial to hear more. And advertisers couldn’t
care less if you agree or disagree so long as they’ve got your attention.
Of course
there is a division in among Christians concerning sexual orientation, and some
of it seems insurmountable. And it’s hard to be patient about such things when Christians
are still arguing over whether or not women are inferior to men (which is a
whole other sermon, believe me.) And frustration can easily be fanned into rage
by the inflammatory language of the attention grabbers. But there are the
stories you don’t hear on the news. The stories of people who find out someone
they know and care about is gay or lesbian, and they have to rethink their
position on the argument.
And for the
people who call for public stonings, I want to remind them of what did Jesus said
to the people who brought before him someone they could legitimately stone to
death. “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” But doing this reminds
me of my own sin, my own alienation from God and creation. And it humbles me.
A definition
of humility I really like is “to remain teachable.” I so want to be right. I so
want to have control. And admitting I don’t have all the answers can sometimes
take more away than just my reactionary anger; it can make me question whether
I have any of the answers. It can leave me questioning my call, it can undermine my
understanding of my faith.
But how well
do we really understand our faith?
There’s a
human need to make sense of faith. Christianity was given to me in my youth as
a package all wrapped up and tied in a ribbon. I was told that it all made
sense. But I wasn’t allowed to unwrap the package or even tie the bow
differently. And it didn’t make sense the way it was all wrapped up, and I
struggled with it for years.
Then I came
across a quote attributed to an early Christian apologist, “I believe it
because it doesn’t make sense!” And that perspective was so freeing. All the
crazy claims of Christianity are stumbling blocks to the Jews and foolishness
to the gentiles, and that’s what makes it so compelling!
It is in
letting go of the illusion of control, of being able to figure this all out,
that freedom comes. No human can know the mind of God. Or as John puts it, “No
one has ever seen God.” Except Jesus alone, who in faith we claim has revealed
God. “And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory,
the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.”
And how do
we understand this, how do we account for this? Well, there have been centuries
upon centuries of debate about it. While for many the issue has been settled,
it doesn’t really make any more sense. It’s still a crazy claim. It’s just the
commonality of the claim, the fact that we’re used to it, that gives us the
false security of sense, or understanding that we want and in some ways
legitimately need.
Those of us
who are sacramental in our faith eat bread and drink wine in a ritual setting,
trusting that somehow, in some way we can never know or understand there will be
body and blood; we will be in some way physically intimate with Jesus Christ.
And the mind
can reject such an idea, which is why I encourage us to pay attention to the
sensuality of it, to approach the altar with reverence beyond what it makes any sense
to do, to surrender ourselves to the moment.
We are told
in our first reading to say, “So now I bring the first of the fruit of the
ground that you, O Lord, have given me.” We are told to set it down before the
Lord our God and bow down before the Lord our God. If we can
approach God acting as if our very life depended on God, as if all we have is a
gift from God, then that truth can work its way into us in a much deeper way than mere
speculation.
Turning to
the words of Paul, I’d like to point out what he says about understanding. “And
this is my prayer, that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and
full insight to help you to determine what is best, so that on the day of
Christ you may be pure and blameless, having produced the harvest of
righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ for the glory and praise of God.”
That our LOVE may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight.
And is this
not a prayer we can pray for all Christianity? Can we, as we question where we
are right and where we are wrong, not ask that question in anger but in love?
Can we remember that the early church welcomed Paul, who persecuted them?
Think of
this: when Paul went to the council to plead for the inclusion of gentiles;
ones who wouldn’t or couldn’t follow all the tenants of Judaism; who none the
less had faith and the gifts of the spirit. He was facing people that knew
Jesus before the resurrection, which he did not. But the real kicker? These
were people he had been out to kill! Who’s brothers he sentenced to death.
He pleaded
for those he loved, despite all the obstacles, all the opposition. And here it would be tempting to
say he won his case. More accurately, the council recognized the grace of God
in the conversion of the gentiles. Just as we are dependent on God for our
lives and all that we have, so it is God, ultimately, that reconciles, not us.
And tonight
you are worshiping in the oratory of the Order of Jesus Christ reconciler; an
ecumenical order. How can we not participate in the week of prayer for
Christian Unity? It takes a great many people from many different
denominations, different understanding of faith to put together this week of
prayer. Our rule calls us to be faithful to God's creative action and one’s own
individual call. Unity does not mean we should stop arguing. But let us not argue
as in “both sides think they’re right.” Let us instead champion those who we
love and we know are loved by God.
We are an
order that humbly seeks reconciliation between church and world, between
divided Christians, between Christian and the church, recognizing that we also
are the estranged who are reconciled only through the blood of the Cross. Knowing
that we are only participating in God’s work; trusting that God desires
reconciliation with all creation. This desire has been revealed to us in the
Word made flesh.
Readings:
Deuteronomy 26:1-11
Philippians 1:3-11
John 1:1-18
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