The Colors of Hope
Romans 8:12-25; Isaiah 6:1-7
June 9, 2009
As Bud and I wandered the streets of Rome, Florence and Venice last month I noticed a whole lot of these flags flying from windows and a few storefronts in the cities.
“Pace” or “peace.” Certainly the European peace movement, outspoken throughout this decade of American war, is a strong presence in Italy so I understood the “pace” part, but what was the rainbow saying?
In American cities, dating back to the 1970s in San Francisco, the rainbow flag has been a sign of hospitality for the GLBT population.
But the history of the rainbow banner is much older than that. With its obvious Biblical connection in the Noah story, the rainbow has been a sign of hope for thousands of years. When God gave Noah the rainbow sign, as the old spiritual puts it, it was a promise about the goodness and constancy of creation and the created order.
Even before that story, the rainbow itself, occurring as it does in the midst of the combination of sun and storm and so often at the end of the rain, is simply a natural sign of hope that the storm is over.
Thus it’s no wonder that people in various cultures have used the colors of the rainbow as colors of hope.
Apparently the Incas used a variation on the theme to mark their territory, and it became a sign of resistance when the Spanish invaded. In the early part of the 20th century, the international movement of cooperatives used the rainbow as a sign of unity in diversity. And, back to my Italian balconies, the peace movement in Italy began using the rainbow in the early 1960s. During the run up to the war in Iraq the Italians began a campaign they called Pace da tutti i balconi ("peace from every balcony"), encouraging people to show their opposition to war by flying the flag from their balconies.
All of which reminds me that hope springs eternal, or, as the late Harvey Milk said, “you gotta give ‘em hope.”
Hope is not enough to live on, but without it life is impossible, so you gotta give ‘em hope!
The apostle Paul certainly understood this: We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.
So, this morning, as we celebrate More Light Sunday, and lay claim once again to our own hopes for a church as generous and just as the God we worship, and for a social order of justice and equality, what hope colors our lives? This morning, what is the color, or nature, or content of your hope? What are you hoping for today?
Let me share, very briefly, this morning three hopes of my own.
I organize these hopes under three headings: Christ, community, and call.
First, I hope that, in the words of an Irish blessing, we will keep Christ before us, behind us, and beside us as we move forward together in the work of justice for the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender community. We are going to hold a strategy meeting here on the last Saturday of the month to discuss the way forward within National Capital Presbytery. We know that many within the larger church are tired of talking about ordination and sexuality, and we want to be mindful of that both from pastoral and strategic perspectives. Nevertheless, we also know that over the years thousands of faithful, called GLBT Presbyterians have been denied ordination, and continue to live as outcasts within the household of faith, and they are tired of that. Therefore, we cannot tire in our work for justice. As we pursue that work – along with all of the rest of the mission and outreach, the feeding, the peacemaking, the rebuilding, the work of compassion and of advocacy to which we are called – I hope that we will keep Christ in our hearts so that our work in his name is advanced by means he would choose and employ. That is to say, I hope and trust that we will together continue to speak the truth in love, and speak that truth to power as we are called.
Second, I hope and trust that we will do this together – that is to say, as a community actively living out its faith together in worship, study, prayer and action.
Bruce Reyes-Chow, the current moderator of our General Assembly, posted a note on his Facebook page the other day saying that if you think you are leading but turn around and find no one there then you are only out for a walk. As Bruce noted, leadership and solitary walks are both good things, but they are not the same thing.
I have been engaged in a good deal of activism over the past couple of year: working with People of Faith for Equality in Virginia on GLBT concerns in the public square; working with Christian Peace Witness for Iraq on precisely what the name implies; and working a bit on the interfaith effort to build a faith-based community organization in Northern Virginia.
While some of the relations that I have built in that work are among the most important and sustaining relationships that I have, and while I treasure them, I am also aware that, with respect to this community at Clarendon Presbyterian Church, my social justice work has been a solitary walk as distinct from congregational leadership.
I am concerned about this distinction, and I believe we need to explore it together – in community. If we are a congregation of followers of Jesus called to be a progressive, inclusive and diverse expression of Christian community, what does that mean with respect to the Biblical imperative to do justice, and what does this mean with respect to my own calling both to community and congregational leadership and to the work of justice and peacemaking? I conceive of these as open questions, and, fundamentally as questions that we must address together as a community.
Part of addressing such questions entails, of course, looking at some foundational questions anew:
Who are we?
How are we called to express that identity in the world?
Are we responding faithfully to that calling?
Paul knew a thing or two about such questions. In some sense, his entire life – or, at least the parts that we know about through his writings – was spent trying to answer them.
Who was he? A Jewish man, to be sure. A citizen of the Roman Empire, also. But finally a man trying to come to grips with and respond to his encounter with the living Christ. In that encounter, Paul discerned both his fundamental identity and his true calling. As he put it in the letter to the Christians in Rome: “we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ.”
If heirs, then, children living in response to the promise of God and living out of that promise. What does that mean? What does it look like in the world?
For Paul, and for us, also heirs to this promise, the answer to that question lies precisely in the life of Jesus. If you want to know what God desires of human beings, read the gospel stories of Jesus. Here is human life fully realized and lived in intimate relationship with the divine and in obedience to its leading.
And in this lies our hope – for ourselves and for the world.
So my final hope is that we, too, might live faithfully into our several callings in this place.
Just as Isaiah said, so shall we. When the living God, creator of all that is, calls to us through creation, what shall we say? Do we dare respond, “here I am, Lord”? When the Spirit, blowing where it will, calls to us in wind and fire, what shall we say? Do we dare respond, “here I am, Lord”? When Christ stands in our midst, as the poor one, the outcast, the marginalized, victimized by violence and injustice, silenced by rules in the church – when this Christ stand in our midst and beckons, what shall we say? Do we dare respond, “here I am, Lord”?
In our response lies our hope, if we dare. Amen.
June 9, 2009
As Bud and I wandered the streets of Rome, Florence and Venice last month I noticed a whole lot of these flags flying from windows and a few storefronts in the cities.
“Pace” or “peace.” Certainly the European peace movement, outspoken throughout this decade of American war, is a strong presence in Italy so I understood the “pace” part, but what was the rainbow saying?
In American cities, dating back to the 1970s in San Francisco, the rainbow flag has been a sign of hospitality for the GLBT population.
But the history of the rainbow banner is much older than that. With its obvious Biblical connection in the Noah story, the rainbow has been a sign of hope for thousands of years. When God gave Noah the rainbow sign, as the old spiritual puts it, it was a promise about the goodness and constancy of creation and the created order.
Even before that story, the rainbow itself, occurring as it does in the midst of the combination of sun and storm and so often at the end of the rain, is simply a natural sign of hope that the storm is over.
Thus it’s no wonder that people in various cultures have used the colors of the rainbow as colors of hope.
Apparently the Incas used a variation on the theme to mark their territory, and it became a sign of resistance when the Spanish invaded. In the early part of the 20th century, the international movement of cooperatives used the rainbow as a sign of unity in diversity. And, back to my Italian balconies, the peace movement in Italy began using the rainbow in the early 1960s. During the run up to the war in Iraq the Italians began a campaign they called Pace da tutti i balconi ("peace from every balcony"), encouraging people to show their opposition to war by flying the flag from their balconies.
All of which reminds me that hope springs eternal, or, as the late Harvey Milk said, “you gotta give ‘em hope.”
Hope is not enough to live on, but without it life is impossible, so you gotta give ‘em hope!
The apostle Paul certainly understood this: We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.
So, this morning, as we celebrate More Light Sunday, and lay claim once again to our own hopes for a church as generous and just as the God we worship, and for a social order of justice and equality, what hope colors our lives? This morning, what is the color, or nature, or content of your hope? What are you hoping for today?
Let me share, very briefly, this morning three hopes of my own.
I organize these hopes under three headings: Christ, community, and call.
First, I hope that, in the words of an Irish blessing, we will keep Christ before us, behind us, and beside us as we move forward together in the work of justice for the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender community. We are going to hold a strategy meeting here on the last Saturday of the month to discuss the way forward within National Capital Presbytery. We know that many within the larger church are tired of talking about ordination and sexuality, and we want to be mindful of that both from pastoral and strategic perspectives. Nevertheless, we also know that over the years thousands of faithful, called GLBT Presbyterians have been denied ordination, and continue to live as outcasts within the household of faith, and they are tired of that. Therefore, we cannot tire in our work for justice. As we pursue that work – along with all of the rest of the mission and outreach, the feeding, the peacemaking, the rebuilding, the work of compassion and of advocacy to which we are called – I hope that we will keep Christ in our hearts so that our work in his name is advanced by means he would choose and employ. That is to say, I hope and trust that we will together continue to speak the truth in love, and speak that truth to power as we are called.
Second, I hope and trust that we will do this together – that is to say, as a community actively living out its faith together in worship, study, prayer and action.
Bruce Reyes-Chow, the current moderator of our General Assembly, posted a note on his Facebook page the other day saying that if you think you are leading but turn around and find no one there then you are only out for a walk. As Bruce noted, leadership and solitary walks are both good things, but they are not the same thing.
I have been engaged in a good deal of activism over the past couple of year: working with People of Faith for Equality in Virginia on GLBT concerns in the public square; working with Christian Peace Witness for Iraq on precisely what the name implies; and working a bit on the interfaith effort to build a faith-based community organization in Northern Virginia.
While some of the relations that I have built in that work are among the most important and sustaining relationships that I have, and while I treasure them, I am also aware that, with respect to this community at Clarendon Presbyterian Church, my social justice work has been a solitary walk as distinct from congregational leadership.
I am concerned about this distinction, and I believe we need to explore it together – in community. If we are a congregation of followers of Jesus called to be a progressive, inclusive and diverse expression of Christian community, what does that mean with respect to the Biblical imperative to do justice, and what does this mean with respect to my own calling both to community and congregational leadership and to the work of justice and peacemaking? I conceive of these as open questions, and, fundamentally as questions that we must address together as a community.
Part of addressing such questions entails, of course, looking at some foundational questions anew:
Who are we?
How are we called to express that identity in the world?
Are we responding faithfully to that calling?
Paul knew a thing or two about such questions. In some sense, his entire life – or, at least the parts that we know about through his writings – was spent trying to answer them.
Who was he? A Jewish man, to be sure. A citizen of the Roman Empire, also. But finally a man trying to come to grips with and respond to his encounter with the living Christ. In that encounter, Paul discerned both his fundamental identity and his true calling. As he put it in the letter to the Christians in Rome: “we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ.”
If heirs, then, children living in response to the promise of God and living out of that promise. What does that mean? What does it look like in the world?
For Paul, and for us, also heirs to this promise, the answer to that question lies precisely in the life of Jesus. If you want to know what God desires of human beings, read the gospel stories of Jesus. Here is human life fully realized and lived in intimate relationship with the divine and in obedience to its leading.
And in this lies our hope – for ourselves and for the world.
So my final hope is that we, too, might live faithfully into our several callings in this place.
Just as Isaiah said, so shall we. When the living God, creator of all that is, calls to us through creation, what shall we say? Do we dare respond, “here I am, Lord”? When the Spirit, blowing where it will, calls to us in wind and fire, what shall we say? Do we dare respond, “here I am, Lord”? When Christ stands in our midst, as the poor one, the outcast, the marginalized, victimized by violence and injustice, silenced by rules in the church – when this Christ stand in our midst and beckons, what shall we say? Do we dare respond, “here I am, Lord”?
In our response lies our hope, if we dare. Amen.
posted by David Ensign at
7:53 AM
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