What Shall We Cry?
(This is one of those sermons in which I was influenced by so many people thinking and writing and preaching and speaking, that it is difficult to know where all of the following words come from or to correctly attribute them. I know I am in debt particularly to Walter Brueggemann for giving me courage to speak and reminding me about George Carlin: http://www.journalforpreachers.com/pentecost2013-Brueggemann.html , the blog, "Peace Bang," http://www.peacebang.com/2014/12/04/the-intellectual-condescension-of-white-liberals/, this NPR Morning Edition report about civil rights attorney Constance Rice http://www.npr.org/blogs/codeswitch/2014/12/05/368545491/civil-rights-attorney-on-how-she-built-trust-with-police, the extraordinary women in my pastor group at PPI, and most especially to the wisdom and generosity of Rev. Frederick White of Kingdom Life Fellowship https://www.facebook.com/KingdomlifefellowshipPittsburgh)
Isaiah 40:1-11
Isaiah 40:1-11
Comfort, O comfort my
people, says your God. 2Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her
that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid, that she has received
from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.3A voice cries out: “In
the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a
highway for our God. 4Every valley shall be lifted up, and every
mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the
rough places a plain. 5Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
and all people shall see it together, for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”
6A voice says, “Cry out!” And I said, “What shall I
cry?” All people are grass, their constancy is like the flower of the field. 7The
grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the Lord blows upon it;
surely the people are grass. 8The grass withers, the flower fades;
but the word of our God will stand forever.
9Get you up to a high mountain, O Zion, herald of
good tidings; lift up your voice with strength, O Jerusalem, herald of good
tidings, lift it up, do not fear; say to the cities of Judah, “Here is your
God!” 10See, the Lord God comes with might, and his arm rules for
him; his reward is with him, and his recompense before him. 11He
will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and
carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep.
Nobody would ever mistake George Carlin for a
prophet. But, like the prophets in
both the Old and New Testament, the well-known comedian George Carlin had a
knack for saying words that upset people.
You might remember that Carlin set off a firestorm in 1973 with his now
infamous monologue, “The Seven Words You Can’t Say on T.V.” Do you remember that? Don’t worry, I’m not going quote
it.
A man named John Douglas was so offended by
hearing Carlin’s routine on the radio that he wrote a letter of complaint to
the Federal Communications Commission.
Mr. Douglas’ complaint was the only one received by the FCC, but that
one letter was enough to set off a national debate about what is and isn’t
appropriate language for television and radio. The Supreme Court finally settled the matter by establishing
the provision that gives broadcasters the right to broadcast indecent, but not obscene material between
the hours of 10 pm and 6 am, when it is presumed many children will be
asleep. Non-broadcast media such
as cable television and satellite radio have never come under that provision
which is why you can hear all of Carlin’s seven words and many more 24 hours a
day on HBO.
I don’t think any of us would argue against
preventing children’s even accidental exposure to George Carlin’s 7 not very
polite words. But I think that all
of us, whether we are aware of it or not, walk around with our version of the
FCC in our minds, editing our words and thoughts into categories of what is ok
to say out loud, and what is not. We want to be liked. We want to be loved. We want to be seen as reasoned and
reasonable people. But sometimes
we become so wrapped up in our desire to not rock the boat and not make other
people uncomfortable that we do not speak words that need to be said.
I’m not thinking about dirty words like George
Carlin’s. I am not thinking about
yelling fire in a crowded theatre.
I am not thinking of idle chatter or gossip or wasted breath. I am thinking about words of
truth. The truth about our
lives. The truth about our
community. The truth about our
political and economic systems. The truth about the world around us. The truth we know deep in our bones,
but do not speak out loud because it might make someone angry. “The truth can set you free,” Gloria
Steinem once said, “but first, it will (tick) you off.”
Prophets in the Bible do not seem to worry
about ticking people off. On this second Sunday of Advent, we encounter two
prophets who are not afraid of speaking truth. At the beginning of the Gospel of Mark, we run headlong into
a cranky, weatherworn prophet named John the baptizer. Like the prophets before him, John takes a good
look at the world around him and tells the truth. He cries out what other people were thinking, but no one
else dares mention. A person could
get himself killed by the authorities for that kind of thing. But for people who have long been
holding their breath, crushed under the weight of a brutal empire, hearing
John’s words is like taking that first gulp of air when you break through the
surface of the water. The words
uttered by John are words of life for the people streaming down to the Jordon
to be baptized.
That’s how prophets are.
They are usually not polite. They are not worried about proper leadership
technique. Prophets seem to see
above and beyond what ordinary people can see. Prophets are called to tell the truth, even when it’s a
messy truth. John cannot ignore or
tamp down the fire in his belly or in his words. Even when his words pose a danger to authorities that have a vested interest
in keeping the status quo, the status quo.
Mark introduces John by
casting his words in the tradition of another prophet who spoke his mind --
Isaiah. Like John, Isaiah isn’t
afraid to speak out. Earlier,
Isaiah called out and named the devastation that lay ahead for Israel. And in Isaiah 40, the devastation has
happened. The people of Israel
have suffered all that Isaiah foretold and Jerusalem is a ruined city. The people feel abandoned by God, so
much so that they can barely believe that God still exists for them. The prophet Isaiah who warned of the
unspeakable horror of Jerusalem’s destruction now invites the people to look
beyond the horizon of suffering and see God’s vision for humanity. Because he has the eyes of a prophet,
Isaiah can look at a flattened landscape and envision a peaceable kingdom,
where the child plays unafraid of the wasp, where leopard and kid lie down
together, where the wolf and lamb play.
Isaiah speaks of great
changes that are surely coming.
Big changes. He says to the fearful and trembling exiles “Comfort, O
comfort my people says your God.
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her
term, that her penalty is paid, that she has received from the Lord’s hand
double for all her sins.” The
fearful people listening to Isaiah know better than anyone that flesh, grass, and
flowers fade and wither. They have
seen unspeakable death and destruction happen before their eyes. To those who have been in exile under
foreign domination, Isaiah’s words of God’s transformation sound completely
ridiculous, scandalous, certainly naïve. Comfort? A word of comfort is pretty thin gruel when you are in the
middle of unspeakable grief. How
can they believe in the promises of God when they feel utterly forgotten by
God?
Yet Isaiah boldly speaks
words that fly in the face of the reality. He speaks impossible words that must be spoken to people who
will die without some sort of crazy hope. Just like the people from the Judean
country and the city of Jerusalem who streamed out to John the Baptist to be
baptized in the swirling waters of Jordon. The words of Isaiah and John the Baptist are for people who
walk in darkness so deep that they have given up hope of ever seeing light
again.
To say that Advent is
about waiting for Christmas is only part of the story. The prophets remind us that Advent is
about waiting for Jesus’ breaking into the world and God’s love breaking into
our lives. Advent is about God’s
mercy ripping apart our systems of inequality and injustice, about God’s love
wiping out hatred, God’s welcome burning down all things that separate us from
each other, and God’s power defeating sin and death. Words like breaking, ripping, wiping out and burning down
are not comfortable words for people who like the world the way it is just
fine, but they are Advent words. In Advent, we are not talking about small
adjustments to the world. We are
talking about valleys being lifted up and mountains crumbling. Advent words speak of unsettling, drastic,
disruptive and impossible changes, like a world where everyone can earn a
living, where everyone eats good and healthy food, where everyone has access to
clean water, where differences and diversity are not feared, but embraced,
where resources are shared with generosity and compassion, and where people act
in ways that first consider how their actions will impact others.
In Advent, the prophets
tell us that we are not looking for a small baby in a manger, but a very big
thing that does not fit on a Christmas card. We are looking for God’s complete power over all things,
including the power of sin, death and the presence of evil in the world. Something mighty is coming at us like a
speeding train that we cannot control, and we anticipate that powerful
in-breaking every year in Advent.
In Advent, we remember that God’s intention is to transform the whole
world by taking on the flesh of every human being. And in Advent, we listen to prophetic voices crying out to
make straight a highway for our God in the desert of human life. Voices crying for God’s glory to be
revealed not just for some people, but for all people, that we might see God’s
glory not as a divided people, but together, all people. Voices crying for God’s mercy to bring
justice and comfort to every rough place and anywhere there is still uneven
ground.
A voice cries out in the
wilderness! What shall cry out
this Advent, my brothers and sisters?
What shall we cry? Will we
cry out words that are safe? Or
will we cry words that call upon the power of God to bring down the mountains?
I have been thinking for
weeks about what words are safe for me to speak from this pulpit in the wake of
Ferguson, and Staten Island, and Cleveland. I am not a prophet, but I am not deaf. I cannot ignore the voices crying out
this Advent about things that need God’s transformation.
A voice cries out it the
wilderness. What do I hear?
I hear voices of fear
and despair.
I hear the voices of
police officers who are fearful when they go to work in the morning.
I hear the voices of
police officers’ families who are fearful that their husbands or wives or
mothers or fathers won’t come home in the evening.
I hear the voices of so
many in the African American community who are fearful that their sons are at risk
every time they leave the house, whether or not they are guilty or innocent of
a crime.
I hear voices like that
heard in Ramah, wailing
and loud lamentation, like Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be
consoled because they are no more (Matthew 2:18).
I hear voices of
fear. And everyone is afraid. Every one is afraid. None of us can breathe. Whether we are white people or black
people. Whether we are white
police officers or black teenagers.
Everybody is holding their breath including the protestors on the
streets, and people in arm chairs trying to drown out the crying voices by
turning up our Christmas carols.
I have been holding my
breath for weeks wondering what I can say to you. Then God broke in.
The pastor of a African American congregation that is leasing
the Knoxville U.P. Church asked if he could meet with me this week. I am the chairperson of the
administrative commission helping the Knoxville Church decide what to do with
its building as it considers a merger.
So Rev. White of Kingdom Life Fellowship asked me to meet with him about
some issues related to the building on Thursday morning, the day after it was
announced that the grand jury in Staten Island decided not to indict the police
officers involved in the death of Eric Garner.
We got through our
business stuff quickly. At the end
of the meeting, I asked Rev. White, “How are you speaking with your
congregation about Ferguson?” And
then we had a conversation that lasted for two hours. Actually, it wasn’t a conversation. Rev. White talked. I listened. I listened hard.
And in his words, I recognized the voice of a prophet. Who told me what it was like to have
his young son frequently stopped and questioned by police officers when he
walked home from school in Quaker Valley through neighborhoods where very few
people share his skin color. I
heard the voice of a prophet who said the people who burned and looted in
Ferguson and other parts of the country were destroying their own neighborhoods and that kind of violence made
no sense and wouldn’t make things better.
I heard the voice of a prophet who is talking to the commander of the
police precinct in Allentown, hoping to begin conversations that might build
trust and understanding between the officers who serve in -- and the people who
live in -- that troubled hilltop neighborhoods – especially the young people. All of whom need to know one
another’s names and faces and stories. I heard the voice of a prophet who sees
how vital it is for the police and the community to come together and try to
solve problems instead of being afraid of one another.
When I asked Rev. White
what I might say to you to help us understand what’s at stake for folks in his
community, he asked us to engage in empathetic imagination. We are not much different than the
people in Knoxville. We love our
children. And like people in
Knoxville, we have seen our children make bad choices, sometimes terribly
destructive choices. The
difference, said Rev. White, is that our children’s worst choices do not often put
their lives at risk.
Rev. White asked that we
just imagine for moment being in the shoes of an African American mother or
father or sister or brother for whom the world is often a very, very
frightening place – and begin to imagine how we might all work together to make
it less frightening for everyone.
It is not Rev. White’s job
or my job to tell you what to do or how to think or how to respond. All I can do is offer you is this lens
to look through by offering you are these biblical stories of unreasonable,
outrageous and sometimes dangerous hope.
All I can do is point to God’s entrance into the world for everyone,
God’s grace for all people, and God’s promise that no matter how bad it seems
and despite all evidence to the contrary, the world was and is and will be
changed when God enters into it.
All I can do is point to Jesus’ instructions to work for the kingdom as
we wait for its completion, and how you decide to do that work is up to
you.
But today, I will tell you
one thing to do, and it’s direct quote from an angel of the Lord. Fear not. Fear not. Fear
not. Because a Savior is being
born for us.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
