I am not sure I could call this a sermon,
but I’ll let you be the judge of that.
I did wait until I was off of pain meds
to work on it.
There is always a riptide of temptation
to allow the sermon to be used
in the service of commentary
on something that has just happened.
The shooting in Buffalo, for example,
to which there were personal connections
for me and my family.
Clearly the war in Ukraine,
which rocked the world as it began
and continues even now,
to seem like something
that should be mentioned
or discussed in a sermon.
Or of course, this past week in Texas
when a teenage loner wiped out a classroom —
teachers and students alike —
as if he were trying to erase his own
painful memories of a childhood
that hurt too much.
When it comes to senseless gun violence
and the easy accessibility
of weapons of war,
every Sunday could be a sermon
condemning,
mourning,
or advocating gun regulation.
Whether the shooting
are by a deranged loner
deranged racist
or deranged political militant,
they are as numerous
as the readings set out by the Sunday lectionary.
As a preacher,
I restrain myself when it comes
to making commentary on immediate events.
Even after 9/11 for example,
I refrained from preaching on it
and simply included it in the prayers of the people,
and then, the following Sunday night,
had a vigil dedicated to the victims of 9/11
and all victims of war.
There were people in my congregation
incensed that I didn’t rail against the terrorists
in my sermon
but I do not think
that enhances the credibility of the pulpit
nor what Sunday morning is for.
Just like today,
Memorial Day is a national holiday
in which to mourn the nation’s war dead.
For us, Christians with a spiritual nationality
that spans every border of the globe,
it is also a day to remember all victims of war.
I am shy about preaching on
or against
or for
any sudden event,
because I do not trust
that I or we
ever have enough information
or perspective
to know,
with any kind of certainty,
what should be said
when claiming to speak
in the voice or spirit of God.
I do not know any more than you do
about the events we are most horrified by,
and to which we are convinced
we know the solution.
So why should I risk the credibility of the pulpit
to pontificate
on what I know
I do not know.
Cry out, yes.
Join the chorus of painful rage, yes.
Ask God, why babies
and bystanders
and innocents
who never asked for war
or absurd gun rights
or invited violence in any way
are so easily eliminated?
Yes, ask God
and even curse God
for these flagrant injustices.
But no, not preach — not preach
about events so present and hot
that we all are torn apart by
and have so many different reactions to.
I choose to wait in such situations
to see where the voice of God
and the presence of the spirit
make themselves known.
In short, in preaching
I am always behind the media
and 24/7 cycle of loud, crashing events.
I mention this because you may wonder
or be disappointed
that I do not do more condemning or proclaiming
about the events of the world
bearing down upon us each week.
I may mention them
as a means of acknowledging their presence
and that we are all filled with emotion
about them,
but rarely do I make a current event
the centerpiece of a sermon.
What I try to do instead,
is offer up a biblical or theological lens
through which to view the events
of the world around us.
There are political, economic, and psychological
commentators aplenty,
and they have the loudest bullhorns
when it comes to telling us how to think
or perceive or believe
about certain events.
I figure,
there ought to be someplace to go
to try on a difference lens
and to wonder out loud
about what is going on and why.
As for that lens, by now you know
I am a fan of the man whose name was Jesus,
who pointed to our challenge
to create the kingdom of God on earth
as it is in heaven.
That is a particular kind of lens
and it carries with it
a whole bunch of assumptions
about how to create
the kingdom
on earth
as it is in heaven.
It also begins
with the assumption
that it IS possible
for us to create the reign of God
on this earthen sphere
at the tail end of the Milky Way.
If we begin with the assumption
that it is possible for human beings
to create a commonwealth of community on earth
as beautiful as the one in heaven,
and then add to it
the assumption that it is our task
to help create that realm,
then that will lead us
to particular political, economic, and
life-style choices.
Conversely, if we begin
with a different assumption as our bedrock
that will lead us to other choices.
If the supremacy of any particular Nation
is our bedrock assumption,
that leads us to specific choices
about citizenship and nationalism.
If the supremacy of our particular race
is our bedrock assumption,
that leads us to specific choices
about oppressing or eliminating other races.
If the 2nd Amendment is our primary allegiance,
that will lead us to specific choices
regarding the accessibility of guns.
But if Jesus,
who says that we can and must
help create the kingdom
on earth
as it is in heaven,
is our bedrock assumption,
then that will change the calculus
of our lives.
So, while I am as opinionated
as the next person about politics,
economics,
and social commentary
on access to guns,
climate change,
or critical race theory,
I struggle to keep the primary lens
of this pulpit
as the one that assumes
God’s kingdom on earth
as it is in heaven
is ours to create.
Our primary lens
determines the assumptions we begin with
and from there we are led
to specific values,
beliefs,
hopes,
and choices.
It matters what our primary assumptions are
because they shape the lens
through which we view life.
Most of us
most of the time
walk around without awareness
of our bedrock assumptions.
Lack of self-awareness about our assumptions
can cause us to make choices
and set priorities
that actually go against
what we think our true, bedrock values are.
But here, from this pulpit,
and from the preacher,
all assumptions begin with Jesus
who said
we can create
a commonwealth of community
on earth
as it is in heaven. And, that that is our task.
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