Pentecost 12 August 22, 2009

Pentecost 12
August 22, 2009

I’ve been edgy all week.
At first I thought it was the weather—in the immortal words of Cole Porter, it’s just been “too darn hot.”
But then I noticed that I’d stopped listening to the news, started ignoring the newspaper. Hmm, I wondered, what’s that about?
Then I realized what’s going on. I’m scared. The health care “debate” has dominated the news and the level of anger and hostility at the town hall meetings has escalated and I’m feeling the threat of violence in the air. Something feels seriously wrong.

I’d like to ignore it and get on with my summer.
But like you in my lifetime I’ve witnessed violence in this country and certain of these incidents changed forever the way I see the world, especially the Vietnam War and the horrific string of assassinations during the 1960’s—John and Robert Kennedy, Martin Luther King and others.
September 11th traumatized whole new generations of Americans and undermined their trust that peace and civility will prevail.

What can we Americans Christians do about hostility and violence?
Jesus gives us a clear answer about what we should be doing. In the Sermon on the Mount he says: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.” The catechism of the church (in the very back of the BCP) tells us that the basic mission of the church is to make peace: “The mission of the Church is to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ.”
Does that mean that we Christians are called to be wimps? Does God want us to give in and give up our principles and beliefs in order to “keep the peace”?
The writer of the second lesson today certainly doesn’t think so. He tells Christians to suit up (spiritually speaking) like a Roman soldier in full armor complete with the “sword of the Spirit.”
So does that mean, as opposed to being wimps, are Christians supposed to wade into disputes like the Crusaders of old full of self-righteous zeal and the conviction that “God is on our side”?

Nope—neither wimps nor militants. The passage from the Book of Ephesians is clear that the spiritual armor we’re talking about is not ours—not our strength, our “truth,” our righteousness—but God’s, God’s, bestowed upon our powerlessness by God’s grace.
When we try to construct our own armor, to forge our own sword, that’s when we get into trouble. That’s when we’re self-righteous, rather than righteous. When we have faith in our own opinions rather than in the mystery of God’s will. When we fight to the death with the sword of our own self-will.
The passage also says—and this is terribly important— the battle is not against our fellow human beings, our enemies, the bad guys.
No, the battle we’re armed and armored for is a lot scarier than that. It’s against “the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.” Against, that is, demonic powers, especially those of violence and hatred which can, like the demons in horror movies, take us over and possess us.

How can we become Christ’s peacemakers in a place and time that desperately need them? We need to start small.
First of all—and maybe this is the hardest thing—we’ve got to recognize the hatred and hostility, the rage and wrath we find within ourselves.
I’m slowly learning that if I’m angry a hefty percentage of the time, it’s probably not the other person or people I think I’m angry at that I’m really angry at.
There’s a good chance that the demons are really inside me and not in the other person—resentments from my past, triggering reactions way bigger than they deserve. So I try and remember that wonderful line from the old cartoon “Pogo”: “we have seen the enemy and it is us.” I’m learning that this is a good time to beat a strategic retreat and do a bit of soul-searching and a lot of praying.
Secondly—as Christian peacemakers-in-training we need to look at how we act in the small things, how we are every day with one another in our families or in the church. Can we disagree with someone without hurting or degrading them? Can I admit that I may be wrong and you admit that you may be wrong and can we then stay in that uncomfortable place of disagreement until God’s wisdom and God’s Spirit has had time to work in us?
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This week I happened to pick up a book on what’s called “the new monasticism,” Christians who choose to live together as communities in the world.
One story has stuck with me: The writer describes two men—one white and one black— who lived and worked together for years in an interracial religious community in the South. They finally admitted to each other and the community that they really didn’t get along very well and the reasons stemmed from race.
They finally went to a counselor. He showed them that they couldn’t make peace when one was always trying to triumph over the other.
The only thing that could help them, they finally realized, was to trust that God’s grace is powerful enough to work through and in them if only they could get their own egos out of the way. One of the men reported, “John [the counselor] taught me what was enough. It is enough to get the love of God into your bones , , , ,. It is enough to care for each other, to forgive each other, and to wash the dishes. The rest of life, he taught me, is details.”

I’m still afraid of the anger seeping through this country right now.
But I know that God’s grace is infinitely stronger than the demonic powers of anger and hostility.
It’s not easy—but each day we can each in our own lives and in our lives together apprentice ourselves to a peace-making God, praying: “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.” Or, in other words, care for each other, forgive each other, do what needs to be done, and . . yes, wash the dishes.