Peace, But Don't Be Still

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Mark 4:35-41; Micah 6:6-8

June 24, 2018

Tuesday afternoon I joined a thousand other siblings of our Presbyterian family engaging in civil disobedience as we blocked traffic walking a mile or so through the streets of St. Louis from the convention center to the city’s justice center to deliver $47,000 to pay the bail of dozens of folks jailed on nonviolent offenses and unable to pay bail themselves.

We were decent, but we were decidedly out of civil order as we took to the streets. We were seeking the peace of the city, but we could not be still.

Wednesday afternoon, the assembly approved – on its consent agenda (which means support was so overwhelming that it was noncontroversial) – an overture affirming and celebrating the full dignity and humanity of persons of all gender identities. A young adult advisory delegate led the assembly to understand and add “asexual and intersex” to the “LGBTQIA+” that amended all assembly references. One of the newly elected co-moderators explained the plus noting that there’s still a great deal we don’t know about gender expression so we are open to more. We are seeking the peace of the city, and we cannot be still.

Thursday morning, the assembly condemned President Trump’s executive order – issued Wednesday – “that further criminalized migration through the expansion of family detention on military bases and other government property, potentially indefinitely.” We are seeking the peace of the city, and we cannot be still.

I was at GA all week advocating on behalf of overtures demanding that the Presbyterian Foundation divest its holdings in fossil fuel companies who continue to profit from the pillage of the planet. Though the assembly did not adopt the strategy that those of us in the Presbyterian Peace Fellowship/Fossil Free PCUSA coalition continue to advocate, it was abundantly clear that the choice was strategic and simply a difference of opinion on how best to address a crisis that we all agree must be addressed with urgency. We are seeking the peace of the city, and we cannot be still.

You see, a great storm has arisen and its ill winds are blowing in too many directions to count across our country these days. If we remain still amidst this storm, who will still the winds?

The Spirit is speaking powerfully these days in and through the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). I have certainly had my fair share and then some of disagreements and disappointments in the church that I have walked with for almost 60 years, but last week in St. Louis, I was proud to be a Presbyterian.

As I was walking with the church down the middle of Washington Avenue toward the justice center, my friend, and former moderator, Bruce Reyes-Chow received a tweet that read:

“Hello! I live on Washington Avenue in St. Louis. I am used to conventions happening down here, but I am not used to being moved to tears by members of the groups. The message of that march was beautiful. I am not used to seeing a religion actually live out messages in the way you guys did today. Thank you for opening my mind, eyes, and heart to both the problem of cash bail and to the Presbyterians of the USA.”

Truth be told, most of us Presbyterians of the USA are probably not used to that either.

There was a moment in a committee room, when the committee that had been asked to recommend passage of an overture that commended Martin Luther King’s Letter from the Birmingham City Jail and called for creating study materials, instead initiated the process that could lead in the next several years to that prophetic text’s ultimate inclusion in our Book of Confessions. This is as close to adding a document to the canon as we Reformed Christians come, so this was a really big deal.

There was another moment on the first night of plenary sessions when a young adult advisory delegate came to the mic to speak up in support of adding the letters “IA” to an assembly reference. He said, “dad, if you’re watching on the live stream, I just want to say, ‘I’m bisexual.’” That he chose to come out on the floor of the general assembly of the Presbyterian Church says something powerful about who we are becoming as church.

We say we are the body of Christ in the world, and we are. But we are also just a small boat full of frightened disciples caught in the midst of a mighty storm on an endless sea. If we are to embody Jesus for one another, then the Christ in each of us must say to the wind, “be still,” and the Christ in each of us must say to one another, “don’t be afraid.”

Don’t be afraid. For, in life and in death, we belong to God. Of course, the shadow of the death of our dear Peg cast its pall over the week. The waters of grief are endless as the sea, and though its waves will calm its tide will tug at us until, like Peg, our baptisms are complete in death.

Peg and I flew out together, and on our flight we talked about what was just before us: the work of both the larger church at general assembly and our wee part of it at Clarendon. She was brimming with optimism and full of hope for both the assembly and for Clarendon.

She was, a half dozen years ago, part of the staffing model discernment team that helped us live into our mission of feeding and fellowship of the table. That mission, adopted back in 2012, served us well as we set out and became a more vibrant congregation focused on welcoming everyone to this fellowship.

But as the discernment team met over the past six months, it became increasingly clear to us that as we listened to the congregation, the community, and the Spirit of God speaking to us, our emerging call was not so much on welcoming folks in as it is on being sent out. Thus we drafted, and session adopted, a new mission statement, printed along with the older one in the bulletin this morning.

Of course we still believe the words we proclaimed in 2012, and we are still claimed by them. We do gather at this table. We do welcome everyone.

But the Spirit is calling the church: go into the world, get in that small boat and set out on the teaming sea. Seek peace. Pray for it. But don’t be still.

Trust that we are not alone, and seek companions for the journey. Out there none too distant from us, there are refugee children shackled and in jail: go forth and liberate them. Out there in some cold jailhouse, there are poor folks whose debt literally imprisons them. Liberate them as well. Out there in some school house there is a transgender child who just wants to find some rest in the restroom. Go forth, o church, and do justice for that child. Out there in some coastal town the waves of an angry and rising sea are washing away memory and history while fossil fuel companies continue to mine profit from a depleted earth. Go forth, o church, and love mercy for those communities on the front lines of climate change. Out there in some immigrant community a child of God is bowing in prayer facing Mecca, but keeping one eye out for those who would do her violence because of the scarf she wears over her head. Go forth, walking humbly with God, to stand in solidarity with her community as it lays its own claim to the founding vision of this country we share. Go forth, in deep humility, to stand in solidarity with native peoples whose country we inhabit as immigrants.

Understand, through it all, that, as Dr. King wrote from that jail in Birmingham, injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere, for we are all bound together in a single garment of destiny. Whatever effects one directly, effects us all indirectly. So, go forth, o church, and make peace. Make peace, but don’t be still. As long as we have breath and the Spirit breathes within us, do not be still. Amen.

And here's the text for the hymn we opened with (with its missing Oxford commas and all):

Come Live Your Days!

 

Come live your days in faith.

            Be people of the way.

            As salt and light give life to all you meet this day.

Now hear God’s call:

let justice, mercy and Christ’s love be shared with all!

Come live your days in hope.

            Be people of the light.

            For prisoners blinded by their fears, lift up new sight.

Now hear God’s call:

let justice, mercy and Christ’s love be shared with all!

Come live your days in love.

            Be people filled with grace.

            Bring outcasts, orphans and the poor unto this place.

Now hear God’s call:

let justice, mercy and Christ’s love be shared with all!

Come live your days in power.

            Be people filled with fire.

            On eagles’ wings you’re lifted up so you’ll not tire.

Now hear God’s call:

let justice, mercy and Christ’s love be shared with all!

Tune: Darwall’s 148^th, c. D. Ensign, 2003

Family Stories: A Dialogue

Mark 3:20-25

June 10, 2018

“Do you remember that time Jesus went off on that thing about family?”

“Which time?”

“You know. That time he asked the crowd ‘who is my mother’ and Mary was standing right there?”

“Oh, yeah. Whoa. She was steamed.”

“God, I’ll never forget that night. Afterwards. The crowds had all gone home and we were hanging around the fire after dinner. She sat down next to him, gave him the side-eye, and said, ‘yo, Jesus, who is your mother? You mean, the woman who went into labor in a stable? The woman who nursed you next to a snoring donkey? That one?’”

“And, and Jesus was all like, ‘mom, I didn’t mean you. I was talking about the way people cling to tribal loyalty instead of to G--.’”

“And she just cut him off – ‘yeah, well, all I’m saying is I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it, sonny boy.’”

“And then Jesus was about to start in on whose world it really is, and who really brings us into it, and she just walked away and went to bed.”

“I don’t think he tried that line again – at least not when Mary was around.”

“Yeah, I don’t remember any of us being too happy with him whenever he started in on that.”

“Peter tried asking him about once. You remember that?”

“No. But I do know that he said, ‘get thee behind me, Satan’ to Peter more than once!”

“Yeah he did. Said it to you a couple of times, too, brother Mark.”

“Yeah, John. I think he said it to you once or twice, too, buddy.”

“True story. The ‘son of man’ saw Beelzebul in our midst plenty of times back in the day.”

“On the other hand, he got called the devil more times than I could count. Every time we stepped on any big toes they’d call us all sons of satan but they saved the worst of it for Jesus.”

“They still do, friend. They still do. Best never forget that, no matter what you’re doing. … So, Mark, what are you up to these days, anyway?”

“Just trying to write down some of the stuff we lived through with Jesus. Kind of a ‘family history’ of our weird little family.”

“It was more like a moveable feast than a family, as I remember it.”

“I suppose that was his point, all along. What does it mean to be a family? I think it’s the ones you sit around a table with, to begin with. I mean, all that stuff we did together, most of it was dreamed up over meals, right?”

“Yup. Especially the dangerous stuff. The stuff that got us in real trouble. The stuff that’s why I don’t live in Jerusalem any more. The stuff that still wakes me up in the middle of the night.”

“For sure. Lots of night. Last night, in fact. Last night I was up late writing. Here, let me read something. It’s from that time we were talking about: ‘But no one can enter a strong man’s house and plunder his property without first tying up the strong man; then indeed the house can be plundered.’ You remember when he said that?”

“Lord, yes. I’ll never forget that. That was the line that really ticked off the Pharisees and the scribes and all the rest who went in against us. They knew he was talking about them. They knew they were the ‘strong man,’ and they knew they were screwing everybody who wasn’t already one of ‘em.”

“Yeah, and they knew we were coming like thieves in the night, too.”

“I really do think that’s why Jesus talked so much in those days about ‘family.’ All those priests and scribes – they were all from the same families going back generations.”

“Well brother, that’s for sure. If you weren’t an insider you were a nobody.”

“Hah! Some things never change.”

“It’s a good thing Jesus isn’t here right now. ‘Cause if he heard you say that he’d kick your butt!”

“Yeah, and then he’d tell me to turn the other cheek – so he could kick that one, too.”

“Oh, man, I miss those days.”

“Yeah, me, too. That’s why I’m writing this stuff down, too. So people remember. We were something different in the world. We were the ones Jesus was talking about – whoever tries to do the will of God is my family. We were just following where he led, trying to do God’s work in the world.”

“Well, that’s worth passing along, for sure. It will always be true as long as there are a few people willing to be like thieves in the night.”

“As long as there are a few people willing to sit around tables and scheme for a better world.”

“Amen to that, my friend. Amen.”