Mysterious Transformations (1/24/2016)
Jan Polack, Christ Preaching in the Temple
My apologies for the delay in posting this. I was on vacation from January 25th through the 30th, so I'm a bit behind on my postings. On Sunday, January 24th, we considered the life and work of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and how that relates to our understanding of reconciliation in the Presbyterian Church (USA).
Sermon
Good
morning! Last Monday we honored the life and the work of the Rev. Dr. Martin
Luther King, Jr. with a federal holiday. The civil rights movement was one of
the great social and legal struggles of the twentieth century, and Dr. King
advocated love and nonviolent direct action to confront legal and social
segregation. When we speak of the man or the holiday, we abbreviate his name
and title, referring to the person as Dr. King or MLK, or the holiday as Martin
Luther King Day. Of course that’s human nature and we all do it. However, we
should never forget that his title was the Reverend Doctor. King was a pastor
and he led a group of clergy called the Southern Christian Leadership
Conference.
I
bring this up for a couple reasons. I think I may have told this to some of you,
but certainly not all of you: I spent a number of years outside of the church.
For most of my twenties and my early thirties, I was unchurched. I had my
doubts and church just didn’t fit into my life. And I was happy that way. I
really didn’t think I was missing anything. Still, I was often reminded of
things I learned in church, favorite scriptures, etc. One of the other things
that I remembered is that the civil rights movement was led by men of great
faith, such as Dr. King. That knowledge made it difficult for me to completely
let go of my own faith.
There
is another reason I want to emphasize the Reverend Dr. King’s identity as a
member of the clergy. It has always mystified me that African Americans
embraced Christianity. Consider for a moment, the lives of the African slaves
who were brought to North America. They had their own religions when they were
taken as slaves. On the voyage to North America, they would have watched many
their brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, and even their own children
die from disease and malnutrition. Why would the people who witnessed this ever
adopt the religion of the people who took them and kept them as slaves? As one
scholar put it:
The existence of
chattel slavery in a nation that claimed to be Christian, and the use of
Christianity to justify enslavement, confronted black Evangelicals with a basic
dilemma, which may be most clearly formulated in two questions: What meaning
did Christianity, if it were a white man’s religion, as it seemed have for blacks;
and, why did the Christian God, if he were just as claimed, permit blacks to
suffer so?[1]
Why, indeed?
The
short answer is that, in the 1700s, long before this country had won its
independence from Great Britain, there was a religious movement called the
Great Awakening. Many of the preachers in that movement felt that they should
be preaching to the slaves on southern plantations. The story of the Exodus, of
Moses leading the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt, resonated with many of
the slaves and they came to embrace Christianity. Gradually, both slaves and
free blacks began to form their own congregations; in those congregations,
black people had their first opportunities of leadership in their own
communities—it was a measure of freedom that they didn’t experience anywhere
else. Needless to say, white Christians in the South passed laws to restrict
the activities of black churches.[2]
There
are some interesting similarities between the Christian community at Corinth
and the religious landscape of the United States in the late 1700s and early
1800s. The Apostle Paul was writing to a divided community at Corinth. “One of
the main critiques Paul lodges against the Corinthian congregation is their
inability to live out the essential claim of a community founded in the Gospel.”[3] In
particular, there was a group within the community that believed it had a
greater set of gifts—spiritual gifts—than the rest of the community. Those
members who believed that they had special spiritual gifts believed that they
were entitled to greater honor within the community. In this morning’s reading
from 1 Corinthians, Paul is speaking directly to those members of the community
who feel that they have a greater place of honor than the other members of the
community. He is urging that diverse community toward unity:
Indeed, the body does
not consist of one member but of many. If the foot would say, “Because I am not
a hand, I do not belong to the body,” that would not make it any less a part of
the body. And if the ear would say, “Because I am not an eye, I do not belong
to the body,” that would not make it any less a part of the body. (1 Cor.
12:14-16)
This is not a unity that tries to make every member
exactly the same, but rather, a united body that draws strength from the unique
attributes of each of its members:
If the whole body were
an eye, where would the hearing be? If the whole body were hearing, where would
the sense of smell be? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each
one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be?
(1 Cor. 12:17-19)
In other words, it’s silly to expect one group of
people to try to become like the other group, who, in this case, deem
themselves to be more worthy of honor within the community. Instead, Paul urges
the Corinthians to remember what they all have in common: their baptism into
Christ, through the power of the Holy Spirit.
This
was also the divided world—and church—in which the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King
grew up. I don’t need to tell you about the Jim Crow South of the twentieth
century. You all know that African-Americans weren’t allowed to exercise their
Constitutional right to vote. You all know that public facilities were
segregated and schools were segregated. But you probably didn’t know that in
the 1930s and 40s there was also a great division within African-American
congregations. There, the question was whether or not the church should be
involved in the political struggle for civil rights. There were some who
thought the church shouldn’t wade into politics. Maybe things would get better
for African-Americans if they didn’t push too hard or confront white people
about it.
Dr.
King’s father, the Rev. Martin Luther King, Sr., was also a pastor. In 1940,
the elder King took up this question in a speech given to the Atlanta
Missionary Baptist Association:
Quite often we say the
church has no place in politics, forgetting the words of the Lord, “The spirit
of the Lord is upon me, because he hath [anointed] me to preach the Gospel to
the poor; he hath sent me to heal the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to
the captives, and the recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them
that are bruised.”[4]
Does that sound familiar? The translation is a
little bit different, but the elder Rev. King is quoting this morning’s reading
from the Gospel of Luke! And in that reading, Jesus is quoting from the prophet
Isaiah.
The
elder King helped to move African-American churches toward a common sense of
mission around civil rights. His son, Dr. King, Jr., continued that work and
galvanized the Civil Rights movement through the church. And the movement
succeeded in changing the laws of the United States, and to a lesser degree,
the culture of our nation. It is no longer acceptable to use the host of racial
slurs that were once a part of everyday conversation. Most of us find the
thought of burning a cross to be repugnant. Yet many of the same divisions that
were present in our society and in our churches fifty or sixty years ago are
still with us today.
Despite
the successes of the Civil Rights movement, our society is still divided along
lines of race and class. As Christians, we are called to tear down these walls.
As Presbyterians, we can find confessional statements that call us to the work
of reconciliation in the Book of
Confessions. Of course you’re all familiar with the Apostles’ Creed and the
Nicene Creed, but maybe you haven’t spent much time with the Confession of
1967; it talks a lot about reconciliation. In one section it states:
God has created the
peoples of the earth to be one universal family. In his reconciling love, he
overcomes the barriers between brothers and breaks down every form of discrimination
based on racial or ethnic difference, real or imaginary. The church is called to
bring all men to receive and uphold one another as persons in all relationships
of life: in employment, housing, education, leisure, marriage, family, church,
and the exercise of political rights. Therefore, the church labors for the
abolition of all racial discrimination and ministers to those injured by it.[5]
The world has changed a great deal since 1967, but
that doesn’t mean that we’re off the hook when it comes to the reconciliation
of hearts and minds.
Before
I go any further, I want to make something absolutely clear: I am not
advocating for any particular political party or agenda, nor am I calling
anyone a racist. I am simply affirming our belief, as members of the
Presbyterian Church, USA, that we are called to do the work of reconciliation.
And let’s face it, this is very difficult work.
I
think there are two reasons why it is so difficult to get involved in the work
of racial reconciliation: pain and blame. When we deal with people who have
been wounded—in any way that one may be wounded—we hear stories of pain and
loss. If you’ve ever served meals at a homeless shelter, then you’ve heard some
stories of pain. It might have been uncomfortable to sit with some of the
guests who came to be served. But chances are, nobody ever blamed you for their
suffering.
But
when the conversation turns to problems of race in the United States, it’s very
hard to hear this conversation without feeling like someone is blaming every
white person. I know when I feel like I’m getting blamed for anything, I get
defensive. Then I start to think; now wait, all of my ancestors came over here after the Civil War. Slavery was gone
when my people arrived. Heck, I was born after
Dr. King was murdered. I didn’t do any of this! But that’s the wrong response.
First
of all, it’s wrong on the facts. My mother’s ancestors all came to this country
before the Civil War. Three of my great-grandparents were from Georgia. No
doubt, I have ancestors who fought for
slavery, on the side of the Confederacy. More than that, the response, “I
didn’t do any of this,” is the wrong theological response; it is the response
that shuts down the conversation. Make no mistake, this is an uncomfortable
conversation, and that’s why we get defensive. I think defensiveness is like
that song you can’t get out of your head, and once it gets into your head, you
can’t hear anything else.
Instead,
the correct theological response is to listen. Listening is an act of agape love. When we listen, we are
saying to the other person, “you are valuable and your story is valuable to
me.” According to Dr. King:
Agape
does not begin by discriminating between worthy and unworthy people, or any
quality people possess. It is an entirely ‘neighbor-regarding concern for
others,’ which discovers the neighbor in every man it meets. It begins by
loving others for their sakes. Therefore, agape
makes no distinction between friends and enemy; it is directed toward both.[6]
And that’s really the point. We are called to
perform acts of agape love for
everyone we meet. Period. No exceptions. In doing so, we are participating in
the process of reconciliation.
That
is a slow and difficult process. It’s not easy. God doesn’t call us to the easy
jobs—people volunteer for those right jobs away. I know I have. Be a greeter
before church? Sure, I’ll do that! Maybe they won’t ask me to serve on the
stewardship committee this year. That’s the difference between an easy task and
a calling. The prophet Isaiah said:
“The Spirit of the Lord
is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to
proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of
the Lord’s favor.”
In this morning’s reading from the Gospel of Luke,
we heard Jesus repeat those words. This was Jesus’ first public act in the
Gospel of Luke: He declared that Isaiah’s prophecy was fulfilled: Jesus would
bring good news to the poor, proclaim release to the captives, and set the
oppressed free. We are baptized into the life, the work, the death, and the
resurrection of Jesus Christ. The Apostle Paul reminded us that all Christians
are also bound to one another through the sacrament of baptism. Reconciliation
was and still is Christ’s work. Because we are Christians, baptized into that
work, we cannot forget that this work belongs to all of us! Thanks be to God.
Amen!
Benediction
Now, beloved,
as you depart from this place, remember that we are called to do the work of
reconciliation. It is difficult and uncomfortable work, but it is our work, all
the same. We were baptized into this work of reconciliation. So go forth and be
instruments of God’s peace and reconciliation. Do not return evil for evil to
any person, but know that we are all loved by God, and that we are called to
reflect that love to everyone we meet. In the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord,
let all God’s children say, Amen!
[1] Albert
J. Raboteau, “The Black Experience in American Evangelicalism: The Meaning of
Slavery,” in African-American Religion:
Interpretive Essays in History and Culture, Timothy E. Fulop & Albert
J. Raboteau, eds. New York: Routledge (1997), p. 91.
[2]
Raboteau, pp.92-95.
[3] Karoline
Lewis, “Commentary on 1 Corinthians 12:1-11,” retrieved from http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=532
[4] Martin
Luther King, Sr., quoted in African-American
Religion: Interpretive Essays in History and Culture, Timothy E. Fulop
& Albert J. Raboteau, eds. New York: Routledge (1997), p. 347.
[5]
Confession of 1967, 9.44
[6] Martin
Luther King, Jr. A Testament of Hope: The
Essential Writings and Speeches of Martin Luther King Jr. Ed. James M.
Washington. New York: HarperOne (1986), p. 19.
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