Power

Sermon

This week I heard a great story from our Universalist Unitarian friends. It goes like this.

Among the most accomplished and fabled tribes of Africa, no tribe was considered to have warriors more fearsome or more intelligent than the mighty Masai. It is perhaps surprising, then, to learn the traditional greeting that passed between Masai warriors: “Kasserian Ingera,” one would always say to another. It means, “And how are the children?”

It is still the traditional greeting among the Masai, acknowledging the high value that the Masai always place on their children’s well-being. Even warriors with no children of their own would always give the traditional answer, “All the children are well.” Meaning, of course, that peace and safety prevail, that the priorities of protecting the young, the powerless, are in place. That Masai society has not forgotten its reason for being, its proper functions and responsibilities. “All the children are well” means that life is good.         (https://www.uua.org/worship/words/reading/and-how-are-the-children)

This story from Matthew’s gospel does beg that question about the children, because the children do not fare well. You have probably heard part of this story – the visit of the magi part – but at Christmas we manage to skirt around the issue of King Herod’s evil intent when he learns the Messiah has been born. In the lectionary schedule of readings, this story, commonly known as the massacre of the innocents, is always the Sunday after Christmas. It may not be a surprise that I’ve never chosen to preach on it that day.

It is a terrible story, but it is just that – a story. There is no historical truth that this happened, though King Herod did some terrible things. Nonetheless, Matthew chooses to tell the story, and it raises serious questions.

Why was Herod so afraid of a child? Was his grasp of power so tenuous that he had to eliminate all potential threats?

Where were Herod’s advisors? Where were the people of Jerusalem, those in power? Where were the priests? Where were the parents, rising in outrage?

And where was God? Why did God warn Mary and Joseph, who were able to take Jesus to safety, but not warn all those other parents?

Some of those questions can be answered by remembering that this is not history, but a story told by Matthew for particular reasons. Remember that Matthew bases his story of the life of Jesus on the life of Moses – the bringer of the law, as Jesus will be the bringer of a new law. Like Moses, Jesus will lead his people to a new and better life. And so, like Moses, baby Jesus is threatened by the powerful king, except that in this story the king is Herod and not Pharaoh.

And so, just as Pharaoh threatened to kill all the Hebrew boys, ordering the midwives to kill them as they were born, so Herod orders his soldiers to kill all those baby boys who might be the Messiah. But this time there are no sneaky midwives who thwart the evil scheme. Children die.

I wonder how we interact with this story that we might prefer to ignore. Maybe we imagine ourselves in it and imagine who we would be.

Maybe we are Herod, the ones who have power, the ones who use power for our own purposes? Am I Herod, fearful of losing my power and doing whatever it takes to hold on to it?

Maybe we are Mary and Joseph, the people responsible for the well-being of a particular child, with the ability to protect and save our child but not trying to save the other children.

Maybe you are or I am the soldier, the one following orders no matter how wrong those orders are, the one allowing injustice to remain the status quo.

Maybe we are the magi, visitors from another place who see what is happening and participate in the good part, then return home and return to our usual lives with no thought of where we have been.

Maybe we are the ordinary resident of Bethlehem or Jerusalem, afraid of what Herod might do to us or ours if we challenge him, seeking refuge in the safe stance of doing nothing and remaining neutral.

Maybe we are the people of Egypt, who provided safe haven for Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, welcoming them in their time of need.

And maybe we are the parents of one of those poor baby boys, undone by grief, unable to cope with anything, with no outlet for our anger and horror.

Where do we find ourselves in this story, and where do we find ourselves in the reality of the world today?

It is a good thing to pay attention to the reality of the world today for the children of the world. I have to tell you, I wish as a global community that we could agree that children will not be pawns in the arguments or wars of adults. Honest to Pete.

Let’s not use children as soldiers.

Let’s not kidnap schoolgirls or threaten girls who just want to go to school.

And let’s not separate children from their parents as those parents seek asylum and a better, safer life for their family.

What parent, what grandparent, aunt, uncle, godparent, what person who cares about children is not going to do whatever is necessary to protect a child? And what person in power doesn’t know that threatening children strikes at the deepest heart of a community? For Matthew, this is a story told for literary purposes. For the children of the world, it is a reality of life and death.

While putting the sermon together, I was looking up information about the stresses that the world’s children face, and after reading and reading and reading, I got a lump in my throat and my eyes welled up and I had to stop. And when I got myself back together, I wondered how much I should share.

Because I know some of you are dealing with hard stuff right now – illness, estrangement, employment concerns; valid worry about health; death and dying and grief. And I know that for some, church – and Sunday morning worship in particular – is the place where you come for solace and good news and hope. For some, church is the place to hear a word of justice, a calling out of what’s wrong, followed up with a good dose of hope. And I never want to offer cheap grace, a quick forgiveness and a simplistic, happy answer.

I’ll paint a broad picture. The children of the world – including here in the U.S. and here in Portland – are threatened by poverty, lack of education, war and other violent conflict, climate change, natural disaster, and disease. And those threats lead to other threats: human trafficking, drug trafficking, child soldiers, child labor, child marriage.

And how are the children?

In December, a fourth grade boy in Oregon City died by suicide.

And how are the children?

At last Thursday’s meeting of the Interfaith Alliance on Poverty, the Reverend Bill Sinkford, pastor of First Unitarian Church, asked us all point blank when was it that it became okay for children to live in cars? When did that become acceptable to us as a society?

And how are the children?

My friends who are pediatricians have taught me about ACE scores – Adverse Childhood Experience – and about how those traumatic things that happen to us as children affect our health as adults. Adverse Childhood Experiences include witnessing violence in the home or community, having a family member attempt or die by suicide, substance misuse, mental health problems, and instability due to parental separation or household members being in jail or prison.

(https://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/childabuseandneglect/aces/fastfact.html)

My pediatrician friends also tell me that they are working to teach their young patients and their parents how to build resilience. That’s a bit of a buzz word lately – resilience – but if we unpack it we might see that it’s actually an ancient thing.

Basically, resilience is the ability to adapt to or bounce back from the hard things that happen to us. We might think that some people are just born that way, born resilient, but it’s actually something we human beings can develop.

Here’s what help builds resilience: strong and stable relationships with family, with friends, with social supports; concrete support like food, shelter, and clothing; and social and emotional awareness to recognize and understand one’s feelings, to express those feelings in a healthy way, and not to turn to unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Good relationships, tangible help, emotional –maybe even spiritual – awareness: it sounds a bit like the way God calls us to live.

Here’s the thing: bad stuff is going to happen. People in power will abuse that power for their own gain, and the innocent will suffer because of it. Children are often the most innocent and most vulnerable among us, but others are too. The elderly poor are so vulnerable, as are those who are “different” because of the color of their skin, because of the God they worship, because of whom they choose to love.

Bad things are going to happen but those things do not have to paralyze us or stop us. Indeed, the bad things we see in our midst might even motivate us to do something, to speak up, to get involved, to put ourselves on the line.

So often that is the call of God to us: to respond. We have before us myriad ways of responding, some things that are helpful that don’t require much of us and some things that are a little frightening and require us to be super-versions of ourselves.

It’s been said that the only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men (and women) to do nothing. So to stop the Herods of the world from getting away with murder, you and I must do something.

You might need to do your own resilience work. You might work on your most intimate or your oldest relationships. You might get to know your neighbors, or see a therapist or a spiritual director. You might need to work toward sobriety. You might need to let your elected officials know what’s on your heart and mind. You might need to protest. You might need to pray.

However we choose to respond to the evil around us, however we choose to respond to the suffering of the world, let’s not forget that we are not alone. I say that God is with us in all of it. I know that for some who experience trauma God is absent and no amount of convincing will change their minds. That’s okay; some people do not believe in God, or do not believe God is good or that God cares. Life is hard and for some people a loving God cannot be reconciled with a hard life.

But there are others for whom life would be unbearable without God. Without God, they could not make it through adversity. Without God, there would be no hope in the face of evil. Without God there would not be a different kind of power that enables those good relationships, that encourages that tangible help, that invites a deep and courageous look at self.

Last week I mentioned that at the Ash Wednesday service we proposed questions for Lenten contemplation, and the questions from this text were these: When have you witnessed the abuse of power? How have you confronted the abuse of power? When have you participated in the abuse of power?

But maybe a better question is this: and how are the children?