Scripture Reading: Isaiah 64:1-9, Mark 13:24-37
Pastor's Note: I was very encouraged by the conversations that emerged from this sermon. I have endeavored to extensively note and source my assertions in this sermon regarding the events in Ferguson, MO. For those interested in learning more about the racial issues in our nation that we whites are so often oblivious to, I would recommend clicking those links.
This has been a tough week. A hard week.
Luther talks about God’s law as an “unblemished mirror.” Its reflection reveals our true selves without the distortion of ego and self-delusion. This week has been an unblemished mirror for both me personally and for us as a nation. It’s not a pretty picture.
Sarah finally talked me into watching Fireproof with her on Tuesday night. Some of you may be familiar with that movie. It’s a story about a marriage in trouble and it’s meant to be used as a tool by couples to improve their relationship. I’ve been avoiding it because I have some real issues with its star. Kirk Cameron is, well, one of my least favorite people in the world, up there with Pat Robertson and Richard Dawkins. But regardless, we did watch it and it showed me that while my marriage to Sarah may not be even close to as bad as the one presented in the film, there’s a lot I could do differently. A lot I could do better to be a good husband to the wife I love.
That’s not an easy truth for a husband to admit.
And then there’s Black Friday. All the talk this year was about how Black Friday is now beginning on Thursday. That retail workers are being forced to work on Thanksgiving. That stores and businesses are being forced to open on a holiday that many families regard as sacred. I wonder what that says about us as a society. The relentless encroachment of Christmas is truly swallowing up every other holiday near it, all because businesses are desperate to make more and more and more money. The irony of losing our national day of giving thanks for all that we have to the unyielding demand that we obtain more is pretty vulgar quite honestly.
Not an easy truth for us to admit.
And then there’s Ferguson. I don’t know what to think about all that. I know that the grand jury was presented the evidence and they have concluded that the shooting of Michael Brown back in August was not a criminal act. But I also know that we as a nation have not been honest with ourselves about our shameful legacy of racism and discrimination. I know that black men die by homicide more than just about any other cause, whether by cops or each other. I know that our prisons are filled to overflowing with people of color because judges and juries are statistically proven to be more lenient to whites for the same crimes. I know that black people are predominantly poor, hungry, and unemployed and not by choice, despite the lies we tell ourselves to make us feel better. Their anger is real and while they may not always act on it in very productive or helpful ways, it is, I believe, quite justified.
Not an easy truth for us white folks to confront.
The Biblical tradition of prophecy is not prognostication. It is not fortune telling or predictive of the future. It is TRUTH TELLING and then as now it is to reveal the truths we do not want to admit about ourselves. We all live with this self-delusion that our lives are pretty darn good. And in many ways, they are. But how did they get that way? We’d like to believe it is by virtue, but is that really true? Or did we get ahead by privilege, luck, or by cheating? Are we overlooking something about ourselves, our environment, and our whole reality because it’s convenient and not overlooking it tells us truths we rather not face? Are we blindly and deliberately ignoring the festering cancer of sin in ourselves and in society?
Absolutely we are. Until it explodes in our face like it has this week.
We need, all of us, a genuine Come-to-Jesus moment. And when Isaiah calls out for God to “tear open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains would quake at (his) presence— as when fire kindles brushwood and the fire causes water to boil— to make (his) name known to (his) adversaries, so that the nations might tremble at (his) presence,” that is precisely what he is asking for. He is asking God to quite literally come down and scare the hell out of us, because there is far too much hell in each one of us and we inflict it on those around us whether we care to admit it or not.
I said in my newsletter article about Christmas is not the nicey-nice holiday that we like to make it out to be. It is God’s answer to evil, God’s declaration of war on sin. Part of that process is for us to recognize that there is evil within us, that we are truly sinners. That we have failed as individuals and as a society to be the people God has called us to be. The hungry continue to go without bread. Too many of our honored veterans still sleep under bridges in the cold. We still do far too many things to wound and reject people because their skin color is different from our own. We consume voraciously the resources of our world in a desperate race to have the most toys when we die. WE do these things. WE are guilty.
Every one of us guilty. You. Me. If we haven’t done these things directly, then we have benefited from those who have. Our inaction and apathy in the face of these evils is just as damming.
Jesus calls us in our Gospel lesson to “keep awake.” To be awake is to be aware and to be aware is to be honest. When the moment comes when we must stand before God and give account of our lives, we will not be able to justify ourselves. There will be no excuses, no explanations. “Those people deserved what happened” will not fly. “I was too busy” will be ignored. “I didn’t know” isn’t good enough. The evidence against us will be overwhelming. All we can do in the face of it is confess. The only thing we can say is “I failed,” because we have.
The unblemished mirror of God’s law shows no other truth but that one.
The only recourse, the only chance we have, is mercy. The same mercy we failed to show to others. But God is not us. As Isaiah says elsewhere in his prophecy, “his ways are not our ways.” Good thing too, because when he looks down at the width and the breadth of our lives, it will not be the evidence against us that he sees. It will be his son, stretched out on a cross, instead.
“Not them. Take me instead.” How many cheezy movies have we seen that cliche play out, that trope? Where the hero asks that their loved one be spared and themselves punished instead. That’s what Jesus does for us. “Not them. Me. Yes, they deserve it, but take me anyway.” That’s what the cross is about. That’s what it means. It means we don’t get what we deserve. It means our sins, as numerous and as vicious as they are, are not held against us. We get mercy when we don’t deserve it. Out of love, Christ stands in our stead and wins us a pardon by his sacrifice on the cross.
That’s not the ending we deserve. Not by a long shot. But it is the one we get. And the only way we get it is through Christ. Not by ignoring the evil within ourselves. Not by pretending it isn’t there. And certainly not by pretending that our sins are somehow justifiable or permissible because someone else out there is worse than us. No, none of these things can save us. We are guilty. Period. Our only hope is pardon, forgiveness, mercy. And because of Christ, that’s precisely what we receive. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment