No Longer Strangers

Proper 11B; Jer. 23:1-6; Eph. 2:11-22; Mk 6:30-34, 53-56; 

St. Paul’s Smithfield, 7/22/2018 

Jim Melnyk: “No longer Strangers”

 Last Friday night Lorraine and I went to see Won’t You Be My Neighbor?, a biopic film about Fred Rogers, who was the heart and soul of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood.  Fred Rogers, who was an ordained Presbyterian Minister, spent his life encouraging, affirming, and honoring children.  In part his mission was to help both children and adults learn to love our neighbor and love ourselves.  His goal was to teach children that they are beloved as they are – not because of how they looked, or what they wore, or what they did.  He taught us to love one another in the midst of pain and fear – first welcoming us into his neighborhood in 1968 with all the tensions of the day.  And he found ways to help break down the many walls that often separate us from one another – without having to tell us what he was doing.

One of the regulars in the neighborhood was François Clemmons, who played a police officer on the show.  In a 1969 episode Rogers invites Clemmons to sit down and rest his feet with him in a small plastic pool.  This was a time when people of color were routinely chased from neighborhood pools – something that seems to be back in vogue these days.  Clemmons tells us, "The icon Fred Rogers not only was showing my brown skin in the tub with his white skin as two friends, but as I was getting out of that tub, he was helping me dry my feet."  They repeated the same scene 24 years later in their last episode.  Love your neighbor – and love yourself.

That said, if I had to pick a theme for today’s lessons – something to put out on one of those flashing church signs to inform everyone going by what happens to be on the preacher’s mind at the moment it would read, “No longer strangers or aliens,” a quote from today’s reading from the letter to the Ephesians (Ephesians 2:19).  Or perhaps, a little tongue-in-cheek, I’d call it, “Won’t you be my neighbor?”

The theologian that was Fred Rogers wanted us to understand what it means to be neighbor.  We are no longer strangers or an aliens – we have a home in the heart of God – we have a home in the Body of Christ.  There was an incredible depth to Rogers’ message – just as there is an incredible depth to the message of today’s lessons.  At the heart of it all is a message that conveys the deep compassion God has for all of creation.         

Yet throughout the centuries the Church has struggled to agree on just how the compassion and love of God in Christ Jesus is made known and experienced – and the Rogers movie shows that as well – giving us a glimpse into the so-called Christians of Westboro Baptist Church who picketed his funeral in 2013. 

And so it becomes the witness of Jesus, himself, and those who followed after him, that offers to us some insight on what it means to no longer be strangers or aliens before God, but rather “citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God” (Ephesians 2:19).  It is the witness of Jesus that challenges us to recognize how we all belong to the household of God – even those who are different from me – or different from each of you.

As the author of Ephesians (most likely an admirer and follower of Paul) tells us, Jesus is one who came among us to “break down the dividing wall” that separated people of faith – most notably Gentile and Jewish Jesus Followers toward the end of the first century – as well as the many and varied walls which separated human beings from God.  That said, along with the witness from Mark’s Gospel, we have a picture of Jesus who envisions and who embodies the compassion of God in all its glory.  Rather than building walls, Jesus breaks them down.  Rather than drawing lines in the sand that separate and exclude, Jesus draws ever-widening circles that embrace and include.  And it seems he does so with an intense inner fire – what we might call a fire in the belly – a fire in the gut – a feeling of deep connection to a people who have lost their way or who have been pushed aside by wayward shepherds who, like those from today’s lesson in Jeremiah (23:1-6), have lost their own sense of God’s call.

And after all, that sense of fire in the gut – that fire in the belly – that deep connection – well, that’s what compassion is all about.  It’s a word that gets bandied about a lot these days, and too often we just think it means to care about something or someone.  But actually, compassion is a “feeling of distress” on behalf of others.  Compassion means to “suffer with” the other (Dictionary.com).  In other words, to have compassion for others is to journey with them – it is to feel with them – it is to companion with them – and it is to carry deeply within us a desire to eliminate the suffering those others are experiencing.  One might say compassion is empathy toward another tied to action.

For Jesus, that means breaking down walls that separate people from each other.  It means breaking down walls that separate people from God.  It means inviting those who take the time to listen to his teaching to then become participants with him in the coming reign of God; and it means inviting others – others who have been cast aside as well as those in the inner most circles of the faith – inviting everyone who takes the time to listen, and to then become a part of the in-breaking kingdom of God: no longer strangers or aliens, but friends of God!          

Now, I could be wrong, but it seems to me that we live in a world – we live in a culture – that has more to do with separating folks rather than including them – that has to do with pushing folks away, rather than inviting their participation in community – a mindset that is more about identifying and avoiding strangers, than acknowledging their worthiness to be with us in all their wondrous diversity.  It seems to be a significant aspect of the human condition these days – though on our better days we fight the pulling apart of our world.

Disagreement, it seems now-a-days, is a sign of not belonging.  You disagree with me, you don't belong with me.  Diversity of opinion – diversity of theological or philosophical thought, it seems, is a sign of disrespect.  You don't believe as I believe – what I believe – you don't respect me.  But we’re still neighbors – and remembering that is part of the challenge today in the midst of this age of Social Media and instant dissemination of news and opinions – where tempers flare and fears are so easily fed. We’ve lost, as a society – as a nation – the ability to feel with one another – the ability to journey with one another – the willingness to suffer with one another – and the desire to celebrate with one another. 

I believe that we at St. Paul’s have a gift to share with a fractured society – the gift of compassion – the gift of community in the midst of diversity.  We are not a homogenous community.  We at St. Paul’s are politically, socially, and theologically diverse – and yet we find ways of being community together.  We work together.  We play together.  We serve this community together.  We break bread together at this Holy Table, and with one another at meals in Lawrence Hall.  And we can even chuckle with one another about our differences – well, most of the time, anyway.  That’s a gift we can share.   

This Jesus stuff isn’t easy!  If it was, the kingdom of heaven would already be realized.  The Jesus we meet in the Gospels challenges us to take a closer look at our own lives.  What does it mean to truly follow Jesus?  Living out the compassion and love of God in Christ might even feel overwhelming at times.  That’s the reason why I have on occasion used a Franciscan prayer as our closing blessing: “May God bless us with discomfort at easy answers, at half-truths, and at superficial relationships, so that we will each live more deeply within our hearts.”

So, how do we get to a place where the Other is no longer stranger or alien – a place where the Other is known to us as he or she is known to God – as God’s beloved?  Perhaps by recognizing we’re all in this wonderful and terrible mess of a world together – perhaps by recognizing we have more in common than in opposition – perhaps by recognizing that our job is to love one another – or, if baby steps are needed in some instances, by just trying to remember the person with whom we disagree is still our neighbor. 

Recalling that through Christ we are no longer strangers and aliens, but [that together, we are] citizens with the saints, and [that we are all] members of the household of God.

Righteousness and Peace Have Kissed

Proper 10B; Ps 85:8-13; Mark 6:14-29 St. Paul’s Smithfield, NC 7/15/2018

Jim Melnyk: “Righteousness and Peace Have Kissed”

Every now and then the psalm for the day offers a particular verse that captures my imagination.  Psalm 85 is one of those.  About halfway through the poetic hymn the Psalmist declares, “Mercy and truth have met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other,” (85:10) and I find myself wondering, what exactly does something like that look like?  What does it look like for mercy and truth to meet – or for righteousness and peace to kiss?  Metaphors can certainly be amazing!  I thought about famous kisses like Romeo and Juliet or Scarlet and Rhett, and infamous kisses like Michael Corleone and Fredo or Judas and Jesus, but none of those seemed to fit.  Then an old TV episode came to mind.

Fifty years ago this coming November TV audiences across the nation, especially in the Deep South, were stunned by what many refer to as TV’s first ever interracial kiss.  On November 22, 1968, in a Star Trek episode called “Plato’s Stepchildren,” Captain James T. Kirk of the Star Ship Enterprise kissed his Communications Officer Lieutenant Uhura while NBC executives – who at one point wanted an edited scene for southern TV stations to air – watched, and waited, and held their breath.  And although it wasn’t actually the first interracial kiss on TV, and the script had the characters coerced into the act, it was a powerful moment, and its legacy lives on in the minds of many.  At 13 years of age I don’t recall giving it a second thought until I heard some adults complaining about it over the next few days.

Those of us who lived through the mid-to-late 1960s will probably never forget our nation’s unrest at that time – and for some it was much more horrific than for others.  We lived through Vietnam and the many protests against our nation’s involvement.  We also lived through the height of the Civil Rights Movement as a significant portion of our fellow citizens protested, marched, and fought for equal rights for all people, while others tried to shut them down or drown them out.  Scenes of water cannons turned on protesters, snarling police dogs, and flag-draped coffins were common place on the evening news.  In 1968 we witnessed the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and the riots that followed across the nation as sorrow, fear, and anger exploded and cities burned in the night.

And into the midst of all that tension and terror two actors on NBC kissed.  It wasn’t part of a long-winded manifesto.  It wasn’t part of a sit-in, a march, or a pitched battle.  It was simply two actors, whose skin color happened to be different from each other’s, kissing.  The Psalmist proclaims, “Mercy and truth – or steadfast love and faithfulness – have met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other” and perhaps that’s an apt metaphor for what took place in an NBC TV studio set those fifty years ago. 

In the midst of a nation fraught with anger, fear, and conflict, actors Nichelle Nichols and William Shatner kissed and perhaps a nation was able to catch a brief glimpse of new possibilities yet to come – a prophetic statement about our need as human beings to see beyond the colors of our many diverse skin tones.  And because we all know too well what often befalls prophets, NBC held its collective breath once they finally decided to let the episode air as written.

On the surface Psalm 85, which we just recited this morning, has nothing to do with modern day science fiction.  Yet one of the core structures of science fiction is how it can speak a challenging word to society through the use of a neutral setting – a different world – or even a different race of beings.  Science fiction utilizes metaphor to capture our imaginations and allow us to think about our present reality in possibly less threatening ways.  The writers for Star Trek were able to pull that off on a regular basis.

The metaphorical language in the psalm about mercy and truth meeting and righteousness and peace kissing speaks to the human longing for connection – for relationship – and to God’s desires for humanity to come together at a challenging time in Israel’s life.  The psalm was most likely written shortly after the end of Judah’s exile in Babylon.  God’s people have come home to find Jerusalem devastated and the temple in ruins.  The memories of Babylon and the sense of guilt over what brought about the exile are still fresh in their minds.

Those returning from exile have been charged by God to rebuild the city walls and the temple – something King Cyrus of Persia is willing to let happen as long as Jerusalem acknowledges itself as a vassal state and continues to send its tributes east.  The Psalmist recognizes that Jerusalem is still in a fragile place, but is encouraged by God’s presence in the most unlikely of relationships – the faithful of Judah tied to Cyrus, a Persian messiah and a Gentile, who has heard and responded to the God of Israel.  Israel and Persia – as unlikely a couple as Kirk and Uhura – as unlikely a relationship as the covenant between God and humanity.

The Psalmist declares the unthinkable is possible – not because of humanity’s great track record – not because Israel’s leaders had suddenly grown a social conscience toward the poor and the needy – not because Israel had become a beacon of faithfulness overnight – but because of who God is and how God chooses to be made known in their lives.  When we see words like “mercy,” “truth,” “righteousness,” and “peace,” or as other translations offer: “steadfast love,” “faithfulness,” “justice,” and “well-being,” we are being offered a glimpse into the divine attributes of God.

These words are divine watch-words of God’s character and activity in the world – and they are words of invitation for humanity to respond in kind to one another and to God.  They are prophetic words when spoken in places that hold little understanding of the divine character – and even smaller understandings of what it means for human beings to live together in the love of God.  “Mercy and truth have met together; righteousness and peace – or justice and well-being – have kissed each other.”

Throughout the life of this world the Divine One has sought to sweep us up in the arms of God’s saving embrace.  Amos comes on the scene before the fall of the Northern Kingdom – before the Psalmist’s words about righteousness and peace kissing one another.  Amos tells the people that God has shown him a plumb line set in the midst of Israel – and has found their foundation out of line.  The leaders have turned on the people, disenfranchising the poor and the powerless.  Those in power seek to shut Amos down.  He speaks the Word of God and in response he is told to shut up and go back home to take care of his herds and his trees.  Mercy and truth, it seems, are strangers to each other.  Justice and well-being aren’t even on speaking terms.  And the Northern Kingdom falls to Assyria.

Centuries later John the Baptizer comes on the scene and the only kissing going on there seems to be between Herod and his wife – whom he stole from his brother Philip.  John the Baptizer, like Amos before him, speaks the word of God to power – and instead of being sent home to tend sheep he finds himself thrown in prison by the very powers he is challenging.  Mercy and truth are once again strangers to each other.  Justice and well-being are not even on speaking terms.  Herod boxes himself into a corner over John.  Make no mistake about it – just like Pilate and Jesus, Herod has complete control over his actions.  We can’t blame John’s death on his wife’s lust for revenge or his step-daughter’s childish dancing.  Herod’s rule is absolute – it is Herod who pulls the trigger the moment he sentences the prophet of God to his death.  There is no mercy – there is no truth – there is no righteousness – there is no peace – in the court of Herod.

Into all the wild machinations of history steps Jesus.  He is not the first to proclaim Good News to God’s people, nor is he the last.  But like an unexpected kiss that can capture our imaginations and shake us from the complacency of what has always been, Jesus incarnates the divine character of God in one solitary human life, and invites us into the fullness of the divine/human encounter.  Jesus invites us to see the divine character – the divine image of God in one another – in family and friends – in companions along the way and in strangers met on the way – and even as Jesus reminds us, in our enemies – the divine image in each of us meeting one another and joining hands with one another.  

In Jesus, as in the prophets of old and in women and men of faith throughout the ages, the steadfast love and faithfulness of God meet – and in that meeting the whole of creation, in all its diversity, is joined together.  Mercy and truth meet.  Justice and well-being kiss.  And we all find ourselves invited to revel in the joy of being God’s own beloved.