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.

Unexpected and Untamed Messiah

Proper 9B; Mark 6:1-13; St. Paul's, Smithfield, NC 7/8/2018           

Jim Melnyk: “An Unexpected and Untamed Messiah”

It's early morning on the first day of the week.  The sun has broken above the horizon, burning brightly through a slight haze.  Already, clouds of dust are raised by townsfolk bringing their produce and their wares to market.  There is, on the dry breeze, the promise of another long, hot day in Nazareth.

Some of the town elders are sitting in the shade of a canopy as they await the new day's bustling activity.  After their polite “good mornings” their talk turns to their usual gossip.  Only today's gossip is a little more sensational than that of the past few days.  Yesterday's Sabbath observances quickly become the focus.

“Imagine that one showing up here, in his own home town, telling us how to be faithful!” says old Jacob.  “Why, I've been a faithful son of Abraham for many more decades than he's been alive.”  “It's not like he's been to Jerusalem to study with the great rabbis,” complains Benjamin.  “He hasn't been gone all that long – certainly not long enough to show up on our doorsteps acting like some great prophet or something.”  Jacob shows his indignation. “Did you hear what he had the audacity to say?  'A prophet is not without honor, except in his own country, among his own kin, and his own house.'  Mary was right to go after him last month.  He is crazy.  Too bad he wouldn't listen to her.”

A stranger joins the group dominated by Jacob's and Benjamin's dialog.  “Here, now!” he says.  “Are you talking about that Jesus fellow?  I've heard tales about him – and if even half of them are true....  Some say he's a miracle worker, and really a prophet like our father Moses.  Others say he might even be the Messiah.  Why, they say he even raised a young girl from the dead.  It was over by the sea, somewhere.  What if...?

“Prophet,” sneers Jacob, as he spits in the dust.  “He ain't no prophet!  He’s just a carpenter gone crazy who thinks he talks to God.   Well I say, God help him!”

By now a small cluster of people have joined the group.  “Look at him over there with his followers – like some great teacher or something.  Didn’t he and his brothers and sisters hang around with your kids growing up, Jacob?  Didn’t he get into all kinds of mischief just like the other youngsters?  And what about that time he ran off in Jerusalem? ‘Bout scared his parents half to death!” 

Talk turns to how so many of the villagers had rocked the crying Jesus in their arms, watched him toddle about needing a change of nappies, picking him up and dusting him off when he fell.  A few of the younger townsfolk in the growing crowd recall playing games with Jesus, and how they had all learned their lessons from the town rabbi together. 

If they were to take a few minutes and reflect they would probably all acknowledge that the Jesus they know has always loved God with all his heart…but a prophet… or the Messiah?  Well, that’s just too much of a stretch. 

“Look,” says another in the crowd, “there’s a lot of talk about how he practices his faith – people saying he doesn’t take Torah seriously enough.  How can someone like that be a prophet?”  Jacob is nodding his head in agreement.  “Exactly my point!  Look at who he breaks bread with all the time – tax collectors and ne’er-do-wells – people I’d never have in my house, that’s for sure.  And he hangs out with people who are ritually unclean – what about that man with the withered hand we heard about?  Why, he’s even been seen hob-knobbing with lepers!” 

“And he’s always in an argument with one religious leader or another about proper Sabbath keeping,” says another.  “Now I enjoy a good theological debate as much as the next guy, and he seems to be keeping the spirit of the day, but….”  “And don’t forget,” Benjamin adds, “he claims the prerogative to forgive sins.  That’s no different than claiming to speak for God! It’s almost like claiming to be God!”  That final statement is met with a collective gasp, just as Benjamin intended.

Many of them are torn between wanting to believe Jesus is something new and holding on to what they’ve always known.  Jesus comes among the people of Nazareth as the Christ, as the Messiah, and he is anything but a tame Messiah.  He is the Christ who comes to do the will of God, not to fulfill the expectations of his neighbors, or to fulfill the world's expectations either.  And in the end he comes as a friend – One who loves his own to the bitter end – One who lives and loves all the way to the cross and beyond – a Messiah who defies all logic – One who shatters the boxes and breaks the chains of peoples' expectations.  He is not a Messiah easily recognized by jealous neighbors or unwilling hearts.  Yet he is the Christ who comes for all, and perhaps most especially, for those who most need the love of God in their lives.

Meanwhile, across the square, Thomas is muttering under his breath.  “Look at them over there, Jesus, they’d just as soon stone you as hug you.  You’re the favorite son returning with a story that both inspires them and scares them half to death.  And we’re supposed to go out into a world like that?  Without you?”  Jesus, who in a very short time has come to love each of his twelve chosen followers, smiles at them.  “Thomas, I’m not asking you to do anything I’m not doing myself.  Do not fear those who can harm your body – because very truly I tell you, they will never be able to harm your soul.”

And so, in the midst of all the speculation and scandal – in the midst of wagging heads and the tugging of beards – Jesus sends his disciples out into some kind of theological twilight zone – between the known and the unknown – between the hope of God’s kingdom and the reality of this world – between the promise of God and the everyday struggle and pain of life.  Jesus sends his followers out into world with little more than their wits and their faith to sustain them – sends them into a world that will struggle to recognize them for who they are – messengers of God’s redeeming love. 

Like the people of Nazareth we seem to struggle with a Jesus who wants to live his life outside of the boxes and free from the chains we use to constrain him and his message.  And all he wants us to do – all he wants us to do is step into the whirlwind with him!  Jesus calls us to go beyond ourselves – to go beyond our own desires and needs; proclaiming the in breaking of God’s kingdom, and sometimes – perhaps most times – we feel sent out into the world with little more than our wits and our faith to make a difference in people's lives.  Jesus finds himself a prophet without honor in his home town, and perhaps we fear the same response if we follow his lead in our home towns.

We find ourselves sent with the challenge to offer prayer, healing, and hope to those whose lives are broken; and to challenge to repentance those whose lives are built on the backs of the broken-hearted.  We find ourselves sent with a challenge that opens the eyes of one's faith enough to know that those whom the world pushes to the edge are each fully and gracefully well within the circle of God's love – perhaps even at the very center of that circle.

It’s challenging to seek and serve a Risen Christ who will not be tamed by our expectations – a Risen Christ who will not be constrained by neat, well-practiced liturgies or by our society’s encouragement to look the other way when confronted with human suffering.  It seems to be too hard of a challenge for far too many people to seek and serve the Risen Christ in the eyes of children at the border, or children and teachers hiding behind desks in a classroom. 

To say we are not troubled when we meet the Jesus of the Gospels would be surprising to me.  We live in a society where the idea of offering charity out of our abundance is one thing, but changing whole systems of society so that others don’t need our charity – ways that honor the dignity of every human being?  Well, that’s a horse of a different color – just like Jesus coming to his home town and going from preachin’ to meddlin’ in a way that disquiets the whole town – in a way that challenges a whole nation – in a way that challenges us two thousand years later – that’s a Jesus who shakes our lives like thunder!

Which Jesus do we expect to meet as we come to the Holy Table each Sunday?  Do we expect to meet the carpenter’s son – the comfortable Jesus – the Jesus constrained by culture and religious dogma, or are we willing to risk being disquieted and troubled in our search for Jesus?  Are we willing to meet the Jesus who offers his body broken for us, and his blood poured out?  Because that’s the Jesus we find in the gospels – and that’s the Jesus who can transform our hearts and renew our lives.