Sunday, September 12, 2021

Stronger Together

September 12, 2021
St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

Proverbs 1:20-23, 29-33; James3:1-6a, 9-10[1]

From the top of the towers, you could see past the narrows,
Past Our Lady of the Harbor, to the broad, open sea;
See the curve of the earth on the vast, blue horizon,
From the world's greatest city, in the land of the free.

All the brave men and women that you never would notice,
From the precincts and fire halls, were first on the scene
Storming into the buildings on the side of the angels,
They were gone in an instant in the belly of the beast.

We are children of slavery, children of immigrants
Remnants of tribes and of tired refugees.
As the walls tumble down, we are stronger together
Stronger than we ever knew we could be
Strong as that statue that stands for the promise
Of liberty here in this city of dreams.[2]

These words, written by David Wilcox shortly after 9/11, capture for me the essence of that day.

I was working in check processing for Wells Fargo Bank in downtown Denver. Shortly after the morning shift started, our manager called us all together to break the news. We were assured that upper management was monitoring the situation, our building – one of the tallest in Denver – was not a likely target, and we were to continue working the full shift. I remember watching footage of the second plane and the collapse of the towers on a computer in the manager’s office and, with a ball of ice in my stomach, thinking “we’re going to nuke somebody.” It was a strange and lonely bus ride home that day.

You each have your own memories of that day. You may have known someone working in the towers, in the Pentagon, or even on Flight 93. Today we honor the nearly 3,000 people who died on September 11, 2001, and even more who lost their lives in service to our country in the twenty years since. What stands out for me, what fills me with hope from the days and years following those events, is the courage shown by those who, when terrible things happen, seek to help.

Fred Rodgers offered this advice to children, said by his mother when something awful was in the news: “Look for the helpers.” That advice, meant to help young people process tragedy, can be a call to adults to be the helpers.

In his address the evening of September 11, then-President George W. Bush framed it this way: “Today, our nation saw evil -- the very worst of human nature -- and we responded with the best of America. With the daring of our rescue workers, with the caring for strangers and neighbors who came to give blood and help in any way they could.”[3] The best of human nature is in our desire to help others, to offer care and compassion, to save and to serve.

Another former President, Barack Obama, remembers it this way: “America has always been home to heroes who run towards danger in order to do what is right.” He wrote these words yesterday:

For Michelle and me, the enduring image of that day is not simply falling towers or smoldering wreckage. It’s the firefighters running up the stairs as others were running down. The passengers deciding to storm a cockpit, knowing it could be their final act. The volunteers showing up at recruiters’ offices across the country in the days that followed, willing to put their lives on the line.[4]

It's not just Americans, either. I recall in the days following 9/11 seeing photos of embassies all around the world piled high with flowers, candles, and handwritten prayers and notes of solidarity. The Rev. John Thomas, then General Minister and President of the United Church of Christ, was in Germany meeting church partners in Europe. In a reflection written last month, Thomas recalls: “From the members of the news media who invited us to their studio to watch the unfolding events, from those who joined in the vigils and memorial services we attended, and from the hundreds of young people who gathered in central Berlin that night to sing, we experienced a global solidarity the world desperately needs today.”[5]

That solidarity, that desire to help, was soon overpowered by desire for revenge, the demand for a response that would show the strength and power of the United States. Twenty years on we have only now ended our longest war, our unity is frayed, and we are facing new threats to our society with division and hostility.

When interviewed in Germany twenty years ago, Rev. Thomas said, “The violence so many in the world experience on a daily basis has now come to the United States. I hope that our response is to be drawn into a deeper sympathy and solidarity with the vulnerable ones around the world, that we will not retaliate by simply inflicting our own violence on others.”[6] Sadly, we have in many ways turned away from sympathy and solidarity. We have too often turned away from the gospel.

When our Muslim, Sikh, Arab, Indian, and Pakistani neighbors are attacked because they look like the twenty men who took over the planes that day, that is not the gospel. When people in the store are speaking Spanish, Chinese, Hindi, or Arabic are told “this is America; speak English” or “go back where you came from,” that is not the gospel. When people in our communities who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender are blamed for offending God or destroying families, that is not the gospel. “The tongue is a fire. With it we bless the Lord, and with it we curse those who are made in the likeness of God” (James 3:6a, 9).

God is love. God loves everyone. That is the gospel. Jesus said, “Love one another” (John 13:34). That is the gospel. It is not too late for us to turn back to love, to community, to recognize that we are all in this together. It is not too late for us to remember that we are stronger together, if we listen when wisdom cries out in the street.

Today, as we face another wave of coronavirus infections, the helpers are still there. Doctors and nurses are exhausted, but they are still doing what they can to save lives. Soldiers, some of whom weren’t yet born 20 years ago, stayed in Afghanistan as long as they could to save Americans and help refugees find a better life. Firefighters are battling forest fires in the west, and first responders are defying flood waters in Louisiana, New Jersey, and New York to bring families to safety. The best of human nature is still within us, and that is what can and should bring us together.

On this 20th anniversary of 9/11, let us consider how we can still reach across barriers and find common cause with those who, in the words of Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, seek to “break down the dividing wall of hostility” (Ephesians 2:14). Let us undertake the journey that leads to a new understanding of how we live in peace as a human, global community. Let us find our unity again, not only as Americans, not only as Christians, but as one human family.

The leadership of our denomination, the Elected Officers of the United Church of Christ, have this challenge for the Church:

We… call for and invite a turning towards the ways that make for peace between all peoples. Let us unlearn the ways of war. Let us no longer cultivate fear for the purchase of political power. Let us be eager to know both the conditions that make for suffering, and the requisite empathy needed to alleviate it. …We embrace the hope that people of faith will unite in a common love for all. That love is the only pathway we see to the vision we have of a just world for all.[7]

In conclusion, I offer these words of prayer written by The Rev. Ann Kansfield, a UCC minister and New York City Fire Department chaplain, for a remembrance of 9/11 yesterday:

We pray for the fallen. They are the ones we love so dearly and miss so deeply. We have entrusted them to you and ask you to continue to embrace them in your love. We don’t really have to tell you, God, since you already know. But we’ll say it again: the ones who have died and whom we entrust to your care are some of the best people — wise, brave, compassionate, joyful, whip-smart and really humorous. They are family, friends, neighbors, and colleagues. They are your beloved children.

We also pray for the crestfallen. This day marks a time of so much sadness and grief for so many. We ask for your care and comfort for the living. Remind us again and again that you are with us and you always have been.[8]

Amen.



[1] The scripture quotations contained herein are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A.  Used by permission.  All rights reserved.

[2] “City of Dreams” by David Wilcox and Pierce Pettis on Into the Mystery © 2003 BMG Rights Management, Soroka Music Ltd.

[3] George W. Bush, “9/11 Address to the Nation” delivered September 11, 2001. https://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/gwbush911addresstothenation.htm.

[4] Barack H. Obama, posted on Facebook September 11, 2021. https://www.facebook.com/barackobama/posts/10158872265961749.

[5] John H. Thomas, “Are We Still of Any Use? Reflections on September, 2001 After Twenty Years,” August, 2021.

[6] Ibid.

[7] The Rev. Dr. John C. Dorhauer, General Minister and President; The Rev. Traci Blackmon, Associate General Minister, Justice and Local Church Ministries; and The Rev. Dr. Karen Georgia Thompson, Associate General Minister, Wider Church Ministries and Operations; Co-Executive, Global Ministries; “UCC officers pray for healing, understanding, unity in love on 9/11 anniversary” September 7, 2021. https://www.ucc.org/ucc-officers-pray-for-healing-understanding-unity-in-love-on-9-11-anniversary/.

Sunday, September 5, 2021

Hark, Hark, the Dogs Do Bark

September 5, 2021
St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

Psalm 145:1-13a; Mark 7:24-37[1]

Wow! Did you catch that? Jesus called that woman a dog. Where did that come from? He was probably exhausted from travel and mentally tapped out as well. He had just traveled from Galilee, where he had been arguing with the Pharisees again, to Phoenicia, which is modern-day Lebanon. He had hidden in a house “and did not want anyone to know he was there” (Mark 7:24). Then this local woman found him.

The Syrophoenician woman—we never learn her name—had the cards stacked against her. She was a Gentile, not a Jew, not one of the children of Abraham. She was a woman, and in those days, women just didn’t talk to men who were not members of their family. And to top it off, she caught Jesus on a bad day.

Wasn’t she hurting her cause to interrupt him as he rested? She was breaking customs, which made everyone around them uncomfortable. But she was desperate. She was driven by something more powerful than customs and protocol. Her daughter had been possessed by a demon, and she feared for the life of her daughter. What else could she do? She intrudes into the house and begs this Jewish holy man for help.

Jesus responds by telling this desperate woman that his mission is for the Jews and the Jews alone. He compares her to a dog looking for scraps. We squirm around in our seats, but it would not have been so out of character in those days for cultures to clash so rudely. Early Christians would have known that she was a pagan, and the healing of a foreign child by Jesus would be far more shocking than the words which offend us.

She must have been crushed, offended, deeply hurt. But, she can no longer bear the suffering of her child, so she does what she has to do. She responds with courage. She challenges the dismissal. She confronts Jesus, and it is this Gentile woman who teaches him, the Messiah, the true nature of his mission. Jesus is reminded of what he had just been teaching his followers: social conventions, like ritual hand washing before a meal, should not stand in the way of helping those in need. Indeed, she also challenges his derogatory label, calling to mind that it is the things that come out of us, our words and actions, which can cause harm and defile us.

One New Testament scholar remarks, “Could the story of the Syrophoenician woman be a kind of ‘conversion’ moment for Jesus, in which he realizes how (maybe in a very human moment of physical and mental exhaustion) he has lost sight of the point of his mission and has to be reconnected with it by someone assumed to be outside of it? Then for Mark the woman is more than simply rhetorically gifted: she is prophetic.”[2]

The Messiah is supposed to bring salvation to people of Israel, yes, but not only them. In Isaiah we read, “I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth” (Isaiah 49:6). Up until this point, Jesus has been focused only on ministry with the Jews. This journey into pagan lands, meant to be an opportunity for retreat and renewal, is the critical moment when Jesus truly grasps the universality of his mission.

This courageous woman confronts Jesus, and it changes him. The love that this mother has for her child touches something deep within him, and he is moved. From this moment on, there will be a new focus, a new mission field. From now on the children of God will be understood to include more than a chosen few. Mark ends his Gospel with these words: “Go into all the world and proclaim the good news to the whole creation” (Mark 16:15). And as we heard from the Psalm: “They shall speak of the glory of your kingdom, and tell of your power, to make known to all people your mighty deeds, and the glorious splendor of your kingdom” (Psalm 145:12).

Alas, I would be lying to you if I said that that the news proclaimed to all the world by Christians is always good. We Christians have not, as a whole, been very accepting or welcoming of people who are different from us. Our churches are much more likely to be segregated by race and culture than they are multi-racial or multi-cultural. Women find it much more difficult to hold a leadership role in the church, let alone be called as pastor. People of a certain sexual orientation or gender identity have heard in no uncertain terms that they are not welcome in most churches.

Somehow, the Syrophoenician woman got through to Jesus, and changed his heart. I have every reason to believe that if the heart of Jesus can be changed, so can mine, and so can yours. There are evil intentions in our hearts, but there are also good intentions. Sometimes it takes someone from outside of our comfort zone to help us realize that we are not expressing the best intentions of our hearts.

We are faced with an ever-growing list of serious problems that we need to address as a community, as a nation, and as a planet. In the first century, the poor, the widow, the orphan, the infirm, the mentally ill, the alien, and women had the cards stacked against them. In the twenty-first century, many of these people still live at the margins of society. We have become a nation more inclined to incarcerate people than rehabilitate them. Many of us still believe that people who are homeless or addicted to drugs must have brought it upon themselves. As the refugees from Afghanistan begin to arrive on our shores, does the voice of Lady Liberty still say “Give me your tired, your poor / Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free”?[3]

If we are going to get rid of the demons that are eating away at us, we need to be more like the Syrophoenician woman. We need to decide that the people that we love and the issues of justice that lie close to our hearts deserve our courage. We need to decide that we can no longer bear the suffering of God’s children and confront those with the power to make a difference.

The desperate mother and a deaf man who wouldn’t be silenced are children of God just as much as we are. They matter just as much as we do. Jesus demonstrates the love of God that reaches beyond all barriers, beyond race, culture, age, gender identity, gender expression, sexual orientation, ability, or socio-economic status. We too must seek to love beyond all barriers.  Amen.



[1] The scripture quotations contained herein are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A.  Used by permission.  All rights reserved.

[2] Loye Bradley Ashton, Theological Perspective on Mark 7:24-37 in Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year B, Volume 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 44-48.

[3] Emma Lazarus, “The New Colossus.”