Not Religious

Sermon

When l was a student, I had the opportunity to spend a semester in Sweden. It began in the dark, cold month of January and ended in late May, with melted snow and long, beautiful, spring days. But at the end of my trip, I contracted a virus that went into bronchitis. This was extremely stressful, since I was nearly out of money and anxious about any expenses I would incur before flying back home to Oklahoma in three more weeks. (This was in a time before Venmo and before easy access to ATMs overseas, and besides, I kept a very low balance in my bank account as a college student.) Getting money from my parents quickly would have been complicated. But I was having more and more difficulty breathing. I was afraid. I was homesick. I needed a doctor.

What happened next surprised me. With the help of a Swedish friend, it was easy to make an appointment. The clinic was within walking distance of the “Volkhogskola,” the school where I was living. The doctor was thorough, kind, and there was no fee for the appointment. Because of Sweden’s universal healthcare system, as a temporary student resident, I was covered. The cost for antibiotics was also low. Decades later, I still remember the experience of feeling so vulnerable, even feeling my mortality, and the relief of being cared for. I was a sojourner in a strange land, and I was helped in my need.

 I felt loved in a very concrete way. Receiving care came about because of a system that was meant to be just, to care for everyone, regardless of their economic status.   

I tell you this story because today’s scripture reading called to mind the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., who said: “Love that does not satisfy justice is no love at all. It is merely sentimental affection … Love at its best is justice concretized.” (Where do we Go From Here: Chaos or Community?)

We have been studying and preaching from the prophets this winter. I have been reading about the life of Dr. King and his teaching on nonviolent action. His leadership on justice resonates in our passage for today.

“He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”

Some early rabbis believe this passage summarized the entire law.

What does God want from us? Not public deeds or religious rituals. Not assent to creeds and doctrines, but love in the form of justice, kindness, and humility. Justice is based in love that transcends our self-concern. But it isn’t just at the individual level. It needs our unified effort to change systems that are unfair. Working together for justice to change systems requires some sacrifice. First, we have to imagine walking in someone else’s shoes. Some people have the attitude: “It hasn’t happened to me, so why should I care?” Justice says, “It should never happen to anyone. That’s why I care.”

The values of loving justice, kindness, and humility, though, are at odds with other values promoted by our culture: affluence, winning, individualism, looking out for number one, and never being wrong.

The prophet Micah was a contemporary of Isaiah, and like Isaiah, he had dire predictions for both the northern kingdom and Judah. Isaiah was a city prophet, decrying the corruption in Jerusalem. Micah was a voice from the rural area, the small village outside of the cities. His prophetic voice denounced the greed of the wealthy, who were stealing from the poor, and the corruption of those with the power, trampling on the most vulnerable. He reminds people that God has persisted in loving even when God’s people turn away. Micah forecasts the complete destruction of the temple and Jerusalem. You can imagine his frustration. In the face of corrupt power, what can stop the coming disaster?

 What will stop the corrupt powers? What can we do to stave off disaster? And, which disaster? Broken political systems? The rise of xenophobia everywhere? Climate change? Homelessness? Racial hatred? The trauma of incarcerated children? Micah compels us to ask: what do I need to change to move us toward justice? How can I give of myself to make this happen?

The president of the Ford Foundation, Darren Walker, wrote, “This conception of sacrifice is profound: only when it is uncomfortable or even painful to give do you know that you are giving for reasons beyond your own benefit. And it is worth remembering that, despite this prick of pain, sacrifice has a value beyond what is given up. When you make this kind of sacrifice, you do not give up something for nothing: you give up some of your privilege for something far more valuable: justice.”

Love, at its best, is justice concretized. Dr. King said that no individual or nation can be great if it does not have concern for “the least of these.” At Westminster, our vision is to change the world, one life at a time, by following Jesus as we offer hospitality, encourage spiritual growth, and serve others. And, as we work for change and justice, let us do so with humility and kindness.

In this year 2020, an election year, more than ever, we are prone to polarization. We are tempted, in our divisions, to be dismissive toward those with whom we disagree. But the nonviolent way, the kind and humble way, seeks to defeat injustice, not people.

Dr. King once said, in a sermon in 1963, “With every ounce of our energy, we must continue to rid this nation of the incubus of segregation. But we shall not in the process relinquish our privilege and obligation to love. While abhorring segregation, we shall love the segregationist.” (from “Loving Your Enemies”)

Perhaps we can substitute “segregationist” with any label that gives us trouble. You fill in the blank.

The love we are called to, divine love, does not begin by discriminating between worthy and unworthy people. It begins by loving others for their sakes and makes no distinction between a friend and an enemy. The love we are called to is love directed toward both.

Some people say they are spiritual and not religious, and they avoid organized religion, believing that the flaws and hypocrisy visible in some institutions sully what should be a spiritual life. It is true that the Communion table itself has sometimes been a place where doctrines have excluded and divided people rather than binding up what is broken, rather than freely giving the bread of life.

 But, friends, we gather around a table of welcome. This Communion table represents divine love given to us, for nurture of our souls, and God’s beloved community. There is room at this table for those who dream and those who are despairing. There is room for Republican, Democrat, Independent, young, old, wise, foolish, the North American, the Central American, the straight, the LGBTQ, the seeker, the sorrowful, the confident, and the lost.

Love is justice concretized. As we hold bread in our hands today, I invite us to think of these words by activist Father Daniel Berrigan:

Sometime in your life,
hope that you might see one starved man,
the look on his face
when the bread finally arrives.
Hope that you might have bought it or baked it
or even kneaded it yourself.
For that look on his face,
for your meeting his eyes across a piece of bread,
you might be willing to lose a lot, or suffer a lot,
or die a little, even.