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Written by JKnepper
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Thursday, 19 March 2009 |
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I believe that we are all called to frequent acts of courage and faith, the long-term consequences of which we will never know. And yet, strengthened by the stories and witness of Jesus and the uncounted millions who have chosen to act with generosity, faith, dignity and courage, we undertake what might seem impossible but what is so incredibly necessary, the continuing coming of God’s realm, God’s Kingdom come, on earth. In our decisions and in our actions of faith, may we become, as have so many before us, bread for the world.
FAITHFULNESS
Q1-Q8
March 1, 2009
I don’t think it would be a surprise if I shared that Scott loves movies, particularly movies that tell the story of people who rise out of oppression to claim their God-given identity and speak truth, even at great cost. Recently, he bought several DVDs for the church, including The Color of Freedom. I watched this story of South Africa as it moved through the internal war that ended apartheid, a story viewed through the relationship between the prisoner Nelson Mandela and his personal captor, a lower class prison warden named James Gregory.
Although James Gregory, an only child, had spent his childhood years roaming the fields, talking, and stick fighting with a Kaffir boy—a native of South Africa—his adult experiences had been shaped by and interpreted through the lens of fear, racism and hatred. He undertook his special assignment, given because he could understand Kaffir language, with a large measure of hatred and resolve, determined to give his wards, the political prisoners—terrorists, they called them—of the Robben Island Prison a hard and unrelenting experience of oppression. His special task—to read and censor the prisoners mail and to listen to their twice-yearly conversations with family, searching out anything political or critical of the government and assuring that prisoners received no word of the struggles against apartheid. Beyond that, he was to pass on any personal information that the government might not have, thus setting up secret and illegal murders of the men and their family members.
Mandela, trained to be a leader of his people, was also educated, as a child and young man, in Wesleyan schools, schools organized by followers of Methodism’s founder John Wesley—part of our connection to the forces for good that prepared him to rise to leadership in the struggle to end apartheid. That struggle led to his conviction of sabotage and his sentence to prison for life, a sentence that lasted 27 years until he was freed by then South African President De Clerk in 1990.
Twenty seven years. We can look back now and marvel at the dignity, courage and resolve that carried Mandela through such a long time of imprisonment, but we see it from the perspective of 2009, when we know that he was elected in 1994, just 4 years after his release from prison, to be the president of South Africa and to preside over the adoption of a new national constitution. We cannot know what that experience of twenty seven years of prison was like lived from day to day. This is always the case with those we hold up as heroes and leaders—we only see their acts of courage through eyes conditioned by their success, never through eyes that couldn’t see the outcome, only the looming costs.
I think that insight is important as we listen to this story of Jesus, a young man, who had come out into the desert to be baptized by the prophet John and heard God speaking to him in the midst of that experience. He knew that John was preaching the coming of a new realm of God, was challenging Roman rule, was calling upon the people to resist the culture and ways of empire. But what did this have to do with him? Imagine yourself, coming up out of the water with these words ringing in your ears: You are my son. Today I have become your father.
The man Joseph who had been there in his childhood was long dead. He was called, in his village, the Son of Mary, a man, in a fiercely patriarchal culture, without a paternal lineage. And now God, Master of the Universe, was claiming him, not as a faithful follower but as God’s own child. What could this mean? How should he understand himself now? Who and what we he being called to be?
Have you had a time in your life when you knew that things were going to be very different, but couldn’t see the future? Do you remember a time of searching and wondering, of recognizing your gifts and searching for your calling, the way of being who God wants you to be? Have you come to that time of crisis, of devastation and promise and confusion and determination to rise to your calling, if only you could know what it would be? This was that time for Jesus.
Jesus went into the desert—into an area of limestone cliffs, dusty winds and relentless sun called Jeshimon, the Devastation, to pray and fast and wait for an understanding of who he was to be. There, he considered the possibilities of God’s words to him. Would they mean that he would never face want, that he could have every necessity, every wish fulfilled. Perhaps a claimed son of the master of the universe was to be a beloved and pampered prince. Would that be so bad, for a young man who had never known luxury, or even a consistently full belly? But no, life, and God, must want more for him.
But then, what of magical protection? Could he act bravely, counting on God to protect him from every injury? Don’t we still wonder the same—if I am a child of God, won’t God keep me safe from all harm? It took more resolve to turn away from that tempting belief—but how could he claim that God would protect him, especially him, when he knew that God’s prophets and people had often been stoned and imprisoned? No, whoever he was to be, it would not include magical protection from dangers or oppression. He could see the powers arrayed against John—living as a child of God, living as though the realm of God was a reality could bring real experiences of imprisonment, suffering and death. He’d have to take that into his understanding, that being a faithful child of God didn’t mean that life would be magically safe.
And then another idea played out in his mind—if God claimed him as God’s child, could he lead the masses into a rebellion against Rome and become, oh wouldn’t it be grand, become the ruler of God’s realm, a new kingdom of peace on earth, a just and god-beloved ruler? He was bright; he understood much. If God was claiming him, might all people see that he was called to be the new King, a Messiah, a new incarnation of King David, a young man called to battle the Romans and destined to rule the land? What a noble vision, what a joyous calling, to grab the power to lead his people to freedom from Roman rule and, at the same time, to revenge himself on all those who ridiculed his low status.
Still, he turned away from this as well, recognizing the temptation to elevate his pain and his people’s suffering as a kind of perverse idolatry. No, he remembered and claimed for his life, he was not called to serve bread or safety or power, but only God. He came out of the wilderness a changed man, someone who knew that the even though the future could hold hunger, danger and powerlessness, he would be God’s child, secure in his faith in the love and presence of the one who had claimed him for all eternity.
He could not know what the future would bring, or how we would now understand his life. He could only decide, day by day and once and for all, to live as one who put the will of God at the center of his life. And that decision has made such a huge difference, one that continues to echo through all time and all places, a decision that still shapes our lives and calls us to likewise turn our lives over to the one who claims and calls us.
This week is a time of consideration of calling for me. You know that I have been deeply involved in the struggle to extend the full welcome of the United Methodist Church to all people, and especially to people who are gay, lesbian, transgender and bisexual. In this struggle, I have been a spokesperson for a group called Affirmation: United Methodists for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Concerns, a role I stepped out of when I decided to focus my energies on being a pastor to this very special congregation. Most of you know that I have continued to be involved in work for inclusion in the annual conference and our Western Jurisdiction. Those of you who were hear a year ago know that Marcia and I travelled to Fort Worth to be activists and witnesses and workers for inclusion at our 2008 United Methodist General Conference. You saw that we came home wounded and exhausted, and yet still committed to both our church and a vision of full inclusion.
I have been asked to be a part of a small circle of advocates—perhaps a dozen people—who will meet with a like number of bishops from all over the church, from around the US and from conferences in Africa and other regions of the world who resist the inclusion of people like me, people like some of you. On Friday, I will travel to Chicago to prepare for a meeting on March 9, the first of an undetermined number of meetings that will take place during the next four years, meetings called with the intent of finding new ways to do our common work of seeking the will of God for this denomination.
I have been in much thought and prayer since I was asked to be a part of this circle of advocates. I know that I must be present as a beloved child of God, as a truthful person, as a person who understands the dynamics of power involved in being truly who I am in the presence of people who have great power in our church. I want to be someone who invites people into relationship, into caring, into honesty, into faithfulness to God’s mutual call to us as United Methodists. I go into this encounter, knowing that I will not be magically protected from all danger and yet believing that God will be there, with all of us, in the midst of our disagreements and confusions. I hope, and pledge, to be faithful to my calling as one child of God, to believe that I can neither see nor imagine what the full fruits of faithfulness might be, even if they do not play out in our lifetimes.
I was strengthened to consider the story of Nelson Mandela this weekend—thank you, Scott, for putting it in front of me. I am strengthened by the continuing witness and courage of so many of you who make up this congregation of believers and followers of Jesus. And I will be strengthened this morning as we join together to enact and celebrate the meal of faith and fellowship that Jesus invited his imperfect and short-sighted followers, as us, to repeat as a sign of God’s continuing presence and invitation in our lives.
I believe that we are all called to frequent acts of courage and faith, the long-term consequences of which we will never know. And yet, strengthened by the stories and witness of Jesus and the uncounted millions who have chosen to act with generosity, faith, dignity and courage, we undertake what might seem impossible but what is so incredibly necessary, the continuing coming of God’s realm, God’s Kingdom come, on earth. In our decisions and in our actions of faith, may we become, as have so many before us, bread for the world.
Amen.
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