Looking on the Heart

Sermon

It went like this: People had difficulty trusting that God was with them when faced with uncertainty, change, and hardship. Though there were wise, inspired voices trying to convince them otherwise, the people clamored for a leader who promised to make them strong against the threat of other nations: to be first in the world. The ruler was chosen, but he quickly revealed himself to be moody, irrational, envious, and deeply threatened when attention was paid to someone else. He corruptly used his powers to bring down a rival. Finally this leader was ousted, and a new leader was chosen. Unfortunately, the pattern of struggle for power continued, including violence, insurrection, envy, and deceit, as men vied for more power.

Hmmmmm. Though this may sound like it was lifted from recent news headlines, it actually is the background of our scripture today. The ruler was Saul, the first recognized King of Israel. And though God’s prophet, Samuel, anointed Saul as King, our scripture today states,
“And the Lord was sorry he had made Saul king over Israel.”

God has regrets? That gives us pause. It doesn’t fit with the classical belief that God is omnipotent, perhaps. But it cracks open space for our insight into human behavior. Maybe it means that though we sometimes make poor choices, we have the power to choose again toward love and justice. Today, I want us to think about our choices and about power: the worldly power of our human structures, the power each of us has, and the power we have together, as “we the people.”

When have you regretted your choice? When has another person’s choice seemed to take power from you? When have our choices as a community disempowered others? How can we choose differently NOW?

The Scriptures show us that God is constantly choosing truth and forgiveness. (Thanks be to God.)

If we were to continue the story beyond what we read today, we would learn that King David was also favored by God. And David, too, eventually shows his own moral failures: lust, adultery, violence, corruption.

In the ancient world, power and corruption caused suffering. But the problems persist today. How many of our own heroes have fallen from a pedestal because their transgressions were publicly revealed? When the #MeToo movement brought to light corrupt behavior from entertainers, writers, and politicians, I remember that among others, I was sad that Prairie Home Companion’s Garrison Keillor fell from his place of wholesome honor. As power shifts provide

hearing of long-silenced voices, we wonder if leaders can still bring about something good, even when they’ve behaved dishonorably.

We wonder not just about corrupt individuals but about corrupt systems. The murder of George Floyd over a year ago, at the hands of police, casts scrutiny upon police departments and justice departments.

Injustices are usually linked to poor choices in the past. For example, today, for every $1 of wealth owned by White families, at most, it is 12 cents owned by Black families. Part of the extreme disparity is directly traceable to federal governmental policies created post-World War II. The federal government aimed to help people buy homes, offering federally insured home loans, available to Whites but not to Blacks. And the G.I. Bill, which provided for college education for those who served in the military, was also for Whites, not Blacks. These are just two policies that helped to create a wealth gap. But lest we throw up our hands in despair, or defense, remember: Policies can be changed. We can make different choices. We have the power to do that. The question really is, What power do you have? Do I have? How can we use that power with others to transform the system that needs changing?

It may seem as though work for social justice and healing between individuals are separate kinds of work. But, really, the power we have within us to recognize truth, to speak honestly, and to relate with compassion begins with how we relate to people in our daily life.

Now, I’m going out on a limb and doing something that preachers shouldn’t do. I’m going to talk about a conversation with my ex-husband. I’m choosing to do that because it is very likely that there is someone in your life, an ex or relative or friend, with whom you’ve had a strained relationship. And how we choose to think of them and relate to them over time has a direct bearing on the healing that happens in the world.

With my ex-husband, one of our negative patterns is that when I perceive he is behaving impatiently or judgmentally, I react strongly. In the past, I’ve even yelled, and hung up the phone. But recently, we were on a phone call, sharing concerns about another family member who has just had a loss of a dear friend. In the course of this call, he began to vent his frustration and anger about the relative to the point of mocking the grief. My hands clenched into fists—but then I realized that we had the power to change the direction of the conversation.

I took a deep breath and told him calmly that though I share some of his criticism of our relative, they need our understanding and love, especially in this time of grief. We were both silent on the phone for a while. The words floated upon the silence and maybe even sunk in. The negativity didn’t escalate. God was with us.

We have the power to choose differently than in the past.

Truth-speaking and peacemaking—without bitterness and hatred—comes from God. It is at the root of our power to make real change happen. Civil rights activist Fannie Lou Hamer said it best:

“Righteousness exalts a nation. Hate just makes people miserable.”

Friends, as we move forward in the second half of 2021, look toward a future when Westminster is aiming to be more prophetic in leadership. As we seek for transformation of unjust systems, remember that relationships can be changed. Policies can be changed. Hearts can be changed. The Holy Spirit is with us. When we trust God and claim our own power, using it for truth and forgiveness, we are part of the change. The arc of justice may bend farther out into the future than we would hope, but just because we can’t see the end of the arc doesn’t mean we are without power. And WE is the key. Christ is in our one-on-one relationships, especially when we stand together to bring about God’s dream of peace and wholeness.

We can choose the new. I am ending with this poem by Barbara Crooker, called Promise:

This day is an open road
stretching out before you.
Roll down the windows.
Step into your life, as if it were a fast car.
Even in industrial parks,
trees are covered with white blossoms,
festive as brides, and the air is soft
as a well-washed shirt on your arms.
The grass has turned implausibly green.
Tomorrow, the world will begin again,
another fresh start. The blue sky stretches,
shakes out its tent of light. Even dandelions glitter
in the lawn, a handful of golden change.
God goes with us.