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Showing posts with label apostle Paul. Show all posts
Showing posts with label apostle Paul. Show all posts

Sunday, May 14, 2023

Sermon, Proper 5, "The Great Altar of Pergamon as macro-narrative"

 

C Proper 5
Galatians 1:11-24
Galatians 1:11-12

Ancients talked about the divine world, the activity of the gods, to explain how things are or why things are the way they are.  Or as a way of expressing how Divine activity was beginning to move or act in a way that either is in keeping with other stories or counters the dominant story of the time.  For the Jewish people, a people often beholden to an alien power, God was often moving counter to the dominant story of the time.  Paul shares this in our passage from Galatians today.

11 For I want you to know, brothers and sisters, siblings and cousins, that the gospel that was proclaimed by me is not of human origin, 12 for I did not receive it from a human source, nor was I taught it, but I received it through a revelation of Jesus Christ. 

Using the divine realm gives a story power and authority, a sense that what we participate in is a story bigger than ourselves—even etched in stone.

           Those who have been with me in Bible 101 studies know one of the original questions to ask of any Scripture verse is, “What is the macro-narrative, the defining story, the matrix or context?  And how do we know it?”  That larger question is answered with other power questions such as: 

·       Who owns the land?

·       Who owns the natural resources? 

·       Who has access to food and water and its distribution?

·       Who owns the means of production?

Those who tell the macro-story put the story in a prominent place, a place where the story might be seen and told over and over again.

One of the most common ways ancient societies told stories was through their architecture.  Paul’s gospel has a backdrop, a macro-narrative, to which he is responding in his letter to the Galatians.  Paul is telling the Christian gospel as a response to the macro-story or narrative of the Roman gospel and how their gods have ordained the status quo.

New Testament scholar, Brigitte Kahl, points to the architectural marvel of the Great Altar of Pergamon to help us better understand that Roman gospel.  Just to give you a sense of scope for how powerful that story was intended to be for people in the ancient world, here is a photo of the Great Altar of Pergamon at its moder-day home in Berlin.  Look at how huge that thing is!   The story written into that architecture is meant to dominate the landscape in the ancient world.

The historical matrix for the altar begins with the Attalid Dynasty at the time of the Seleucid Empire, at the end of the 3rd Century B.C.E.  Kahl writes:

 The historical background of the altar is a series of successful military operations of the Attalid dynasty of Pergamon directed against "marauding Gauls" towards the end of the third century B.C.E. In the battle scenes of the Great Altar, these historical Gauls became transformed into mythological "Giants" in order to celebrate the archetypal and universal dimension of Pergamon's victory over them. These are "our" Galatians. "Marauding Gauls" is a common name for them at this time. And, they are perceived as universal enemies and an almost cosmic security risk.

To understand this we have to keep in mind that the Greek word for "Galatians" (Galatai) covers Gauls and Celts in general.[1]

 

The Galatians were the “northern barbarians” found all over what we now call Western Europe and also found as far east as modern-day Turkey.  These barbarians troubled the Greco-Roman world for centuries.  Late in the 4th Century BCE, the Galatians forever seared themselves into Roman consciousness by conquering and burning Rome.  One hundred years later, in 279 BCE, savage tribes of Galatians attacked the Greek sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi, referenced as the navel or center of the world.  In another hundred years, in 189 BCE, “the Roman general Manlius Vulso, in a ‘pre-emptive’ and highly disputed military action, massacred or enslaved 40,000 Galatians, quoting them to be the notorious enemies of Rome all over the world and a permanent threat to Roman interests in Asia Minor, even if they had not taken up arms against Rome at this point.”[2]


Two decades after Manlius Vulso, the Great Altar is erected, to capture the order of things and enshrine the Galatians as the universal barbarians, ancient terrorists, the common enemy uniting empires across centuries.  The dominant story, the macro-narrative regularly refers to the Galatians as the terror et tumultus (the terror and the tumult). 

And so it was displayed at the Great Altar where the Galatians are portrayed as the vanquished, the defeated, the ones who come from the
ground up, the outside and below.  They are portrayed as the mythological Giants.  In the sacred victory over the barbarians, anarchy, the lawless, the Attalids have their gods, protectors of law and order, coming from inside and above.  The gods bring with them cosmic civilization over and against barbarism, law and order over and against lawlessness and chaos. 

Rome legally inherits the Great Altar and Pergamon becomes one of the early centers of the Roman imperial cult in Asia Minor.  The Roman gods transplant the Greek ones:  Zeus becomes Jupiter, Athena becomes Minerva, Nike becomes Victoria, Aphrodite becomes Venus.  The Great Altar not only comes to define the larger narrative for the Romans, the dominant people, New Testament Professor Adela Yarbro Collins believes the Great Altar defined Roman occupation for oppressed peoples like the Jews as well.  Collins believes the Great Altar is what is being referenced in Revelation 2, verses 12 through 16, as the “dwelling place” or throne of several identities fused into one, the throne of Satan, Jupiter, and Caesar.[3] 

John of Patmos writes in Revelation:

12 “And to the angel of the church in Pergamum write: These are the words of him who has the sharp two-edged sword:

13 “I know where you are living, where Satan’s throne is. Yet you are holding fast to my name, and you did not deny your faith in me even in the days of Antipas my witness, my faithful one, who was killed among you, where Satan lives.

From the Roman perspective, the Great Altar was a reminder of your social location, who is in and who is out, who are the sons of the gods and who are the others, the outsiders.  We learn from the Great Altar, before we even think about it, who brings law and order, and who brings terror and tumult.  The Jews, especially during the First Century, had become fused with the Galatians, the barbarians, the other, it was seen as the throne of Satan, the story of how the Romans justified their domination and violence against the Jews.  In response to Rome as the first commercial empire, using debt to leverage the loss of land, a people who understood land as given to them as a gift of God would respond.  Several times the Jewish people revolted against Rome.

           Again,  take a look at the Great Altar of Pergamon.  Presently, it is found
at a museum in Berlin.  And one can see how huge and imposing, its immensity as a communicator of Roman law and order. 


This is a frieze or a panel showing Athena, the goddess of Pergamon, and Nike, the winged goddess of victory, doing battle.  They ascend from on high, calmly in command, Athena with her hand in the nappy-headed hair of Aeschylus, the son of Gaia being separated from his mother who is coming up out of the earth from below.  As legend would have it, Alkyoneus was considered immortal as long as he remained in contact with the earth, his mother’s energy flowing through him.  Many of these giants like
Alkyoneus are portrayed as sub-human, beastly, large serpent tails, trailing behind them. 

In this frieze, Athena begins to lift Alkyoneus off the ground, separating him from his life force.  Athena and Nike are imposing their righteous will.


This frieze, although damaged, shows the domination of the gods over against the Giants.  Aphrodite, the goddess of civic order and war, is above these two Giants who appear in defeat and humiliation.  This close-up clearly shows her foot pressing down on the face of a Giant.  This is the sandal on the face, what we have come to say in the modern parlance, the figurative boot on the neck, the knee pressed down on the neck to not only indicate who is in charge but who can take life at a whim.

 In this frieze, one can see the goddess Hecate (right) fighting the Giant Clytus with his
serpent tail.
   And the goddess Artemis (left) fighting the Giant Otos with her dog biting the neck of another Giant on the ground.   

Once again, the gods hold the upper position fighting against Giants whose animal-like qualities, including those serpent tails, are emphasized to tell us the position of the Seleucid gods and their progeny and the social position of the sub-human social location of the Giants and their progeny, the Galatians. 

I know this is much more history than what you bargained for in a Sunday sermon.  But Paul’s letter to the Galatians is one of the earliest written books we have in the New Testament, and Paul quotes within it the earliest baptismal formula we have in Christianity.  How is Christianity defining itself some twenty years after the death of Jesus, probably twenty years before the earliest gospel is written?  How does Christianity understand itself in relation to its cultural matrix or context? 

Paul’s letter to the Galatians is also critical because it has been widely understood as dismissing Jewish legalism in favor of Christian freedom.  When we never see Paul dismiss or renounce his Jewish faith in his New Testament writings, why would we believe he would dismiss the Mosaic covenant or the Law, a central identity for the Jewish people?

With recent scholarship, focusing particularly on Paul’s choice for the word “law,” we know he is focusing on Roman law and order.  If he is critiquing Jewish Law, he is only doing so to critique the way Roman law and order has co-opted Jewish Law to become about who is in and who is out, who brings civilization and order, and who brings terror and tumult.

The Great Altar at Pergamon tells us not just how the Seleucid and Roman Empire organized themselves but also tells us how imperial projects organize themselves in making a group of people the down and out, the other, and then developing a divine narrative which sanctifies State violence against them. 

Who do we call barbarian, terrorist in our time to justify severing then from their life force?  How do we justify the use of law and order to maintain what we call civilization with what we believe to be divinely ordained brute force?

In Paul’s letter to the Galatians, he proposes an alternative to the macro-narrative found at the Great Altar of Pergamon, a Roman narrative that justifies pre-emptive force to slaughter people, wipe whole peoples off their land, and believe that the gods have thus sanctioned the “othering” of another people as subhuman, the spilling of blood in the name of the gods, and even the destruction of the earth, a separation from our own life force. 

Justification for divine blessing in the Roman story is done through violence against peoples we presume to be barbarians--violent, marauding, terrorists, beastly, less than human. 

The Roman gospel said that there were some ethnicities that were insiders and other ethnicities that were less than human.  There were some socio-economic classes that were acceptable and some that the gods did not find to be of any worth.  In a patriarchal system, even with female goddesses, men were deserving of public power with a divine right to navigate the world and its choices but women were not. 

Another note on that original frieze I showed you, with Athena, the goddess of Pergamon, separating the Giant, Alkyoneus, from his source of power, the earth, defined by his mother, Gaia.  Athena has her hand in his hair, lifting him from the earth.  Many of you probably know that Gaia has come to be known, traditionally, as Mother Earth. 

Not surprisingly, what the Great Altar of Pergamon also represents is a domination of and violence toward the earth itself, to bring it under control.  Too often, historians have associated dominating, violent, slave societies with advanced civilizations:  Egypt, Greece, Rome. 

When Rome came into being in about 750 BCE, the soil was richly fertile for a wide variety of food:  olives, figs, and grapes, peaches, apples, and pears, almonds, walnuts, and chestnuts.  Gradually, though, certain Roman philosophers began advancing the gospel that human technical skills could engineer “a second world within the world of nature.”  Rome therefore pressured the good earth to produce more and more.  Roman agronomists advocated plowing even more than once a year to save on labor.  That plowing led to greater and greater erosion.  Once flourishing towns declined and their populations left.[4] 

Eventually, that erosion and degradation of the earth became so precipitous that the Roman Empire could only feed its people by conquering new territory where fertile topsoil was still available.  David R. Montgomery, professor of geomorphology at the University of Washington, writes, “Rome didn’t so much collapse as it crumbled, wearing away as erosion sapped the productivity of its homeland.”[5]

Rome’s history is a reminder that the universe is not woven together on the backstrap loom of violence, domination, and warfare.  In the end, if not only Gaia’s son but any of us are separated from earth as our source and power, life will not be sustainable. 

Rome maintains their law and order through threats, actual violence, and armed warfare.  The gods ordain it, justify it, bless it.  The question for us, as people who come to church to say we believe in the gospel of the crucified and vanquished is whether our faith is justified in solidarity with the gospel of Christ?  Or, are we justified in another way, a far more violent way, that says our path is made and secured through violence, domination, and the boot on the neck of people we presume to be barbarians?  Paul’s letter to the Galatians knows the Roman story.  And he does not want his Jewish faith co-opted by it.  Paul writes of a different gospel.  To which gospel will we give our loyalty?  I pray we choose Christ crucified.  I pray.  Amen.



[1] Brigitte Kahl, “Reading Galatians and Empire at the Great Altar of Pergamon,” Union Seminar Quarterly Review, p. 24.

[2] Ibid, p. 25.

[3] Ibid, p. 26.

[4] Jay Griffiths, “Dwelling on Earth,” Emergence Magazine, https://emergencemagazine.org/essay/dwelling-on-earth/, October 3, 2019

[5] David R. Montgomery, dirt:  the erosion of civilizations, (Berkley:  University of California Press, 2007), p. 5.

Monday, May 9, 2022

Sermon, Third Sunday of Easter, "The Call of Paul, Righteous Jew"

 

C Easter 3 Pilg 2022
Acts 9:1-8
May 1, 2022 

           Who knew?  I mean, really?  When in Rome, do as the Romans do, right?  Rome is this hodgepodge of many peoples and many gods competing for space and loyalty.   We fight each other over the small squares Rome allots to us.   As a Jew, this was the long history of our faith.  Our people had seen a great line of emperors and empires compete for our loyalties—from Pharaoh in Egypt, to Nebuchadnezzer in Babylon, to the Greek Antiochus Epiphanes, to now Caesar in Rome—all claiming absolute loyalty, all claiming eternal rule, all claiming to be an equal to God.  As a Jew, I was well-schooled and studied on this.  There is no god but the Living God of our ancestors, right?

           Rome has its creed.  “I thank God that I am a Roman and not a barbarian (meaning everybody else, right?), I thank God that I am born free and not a slave.  I thank God that I am a man and not a woman.”[1]  Presumably, Rome, as the incarnation of violence and war, saw us all as the uncivilized, unwashed hordes.  I, even I, claimed my Roman citizenship when it helped me get along in the world.  If we were so lucky as to escape the poverty found everywhere, we would thank God that they were not the poor and long-suffering. 

Again, within Rome is this mish-mash of all these kinds of different, conquered peoples and loyalties where people other than Jews carry with them some of their ancestral superstition.  I’m sorry, each one with their own faith.  This is the way of the world.  As a Jew, I had seen it as my job to hold the line against all other superstitions, contenders . . . I mean faiths.  The Greeks had their Father Zeus—Epicureans and Stoic, their philosophies, the cult of Isis and Mithras, the Persian sun god, all with a different version.   Rome liked to play us off against each other.  Divide and conquer. Divide to conquer, right?

Rome knew that if it could keep us fighting one another, we would never turn our attention to them instead--resisting and revolting against Rome.  Greeks would kill a number of Jews at one circus.  We would rise up and kill many more Greeks at the next circus.  Back and forth.  Thus it went.  We all moved to position ourselves as “legitimate” under the thumb of Rome.  Just as they liked it.  Just as they planned it. 

           You can imagine then, to have what it felt like a loyalty challenge within your own faith.  How this cult begin to catch fire, how alarming this was to me.  As a good Jew, already feeling pressed by rival sup . . .faiths,  how we, as Jews, were trying to make our way in the world when a superstition or cult within your own faith tries to claim space already taken.  I was furious. Jews already had so much to contend without.   But to fight those battles within?

           A peasant leader, crucified, like so many other Jews before and after him, threatens to divide us even more, undercut the rank we hold in the pecking order, and dilute the Jewish cause. That the Jewish faith might show itself greater than any other rival, I actively sought out these followers of The Way--in their meeting places.  I beat them, oversaw their killings, and would arrest them to take them back to Jerusalem to have them tried. 

           But then . . . this.  I had what I can only describe as a vision, a revelation, a new call from God and this crucified Jesus.  He didn’t provide answers.  He didn’t tell me his way was the better way.  He asked me about the suffering of a people and why I would persecute him?  What kind of faith is this that begins with questions and does not readily supply answers?  And in that moment, I woke up to something.  I recognized that my loyalties and faith were supposed to be . . . different.  Was being a Jew about conquering?  About needing to prove ourselves over all rivals?

In my persecuting of these people, how was I any different from Rome?  In fact, I was doing Caesar’s bidding by dividing people up, quashing differences, and seeking out a monolithic faith that had always been so big and wide and vast.  Then it was that something else occurred to me.  As Jews we have always claimed that God is bigger than just us.  Yeah, yeah, we may be the manifestation of the Living God in the world, but within my people’s Scriptures are these dreams of all peoples flowing to the throne of the Almighty.  For Jews, this was to be our dream, the Day of the Living God, that others not be our competition but know and find a common path. 

      As this Jesus not only appeared to me on the road to Damascus but through the Jewish teaching he extended to his initiation rites.  And, in a moment in time, I remembered who I was called to be as a Jew.  This Jewish group begins their initiation rites by saying, "There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female."[2]

It was about remembering our common identity, our common way as Children of God--it was about our solidarity.[3]   I am a Roman citizen.  I think I identified more as that than as a Jew.

Whenever I extended the rivalry to another faith and another people, I was just Rome’s citizen, Rome’s tool of violence and judgment against others.  I was not a righteous Jew.  I was a righteous Roman, dividing and conquering others, extending hate to oppressed and colonized people.  This is what this Jesus knew that made me a more righteous Jew:  destroying one another, persecuting one another, vying for supremacy and lordship over one another—this is not God’s Way..  Oh, we may kill and maim and destroy in the name of the Living God.  But how is this not Cain killing Abel all over again?

           Is killing and maiming and destroying others in your God’s name the way you show your faith’s superiority over others?   Are you great because you are a citizen of your country and others are not?  Free? A man?   If so, I say you have no faith.  I say your faith is too delicate and too fragile.  “If you want to do violence in this world, you will always find the weapons.  If you want to heal, you will always find the balm.”[4]  It really depends on what you are looking for.   And what I was looking for before this vision, well, I think I was looking to justify myself.  And the vision I had on the road to Damascus opened me up to the possibility that I was already justified.  And so was everyone else.  And what the Living God called me to do, more than anything, was to help Gentile as well as Jewish ears hear that they had been justified too—that these divisions created were fictional, made up to keep us at one another, tearing one another apart. 

           Who has an interest in keeping you at one another?  Do you have the freedom to say you will no longer do it, practice it, prepare for the harm?  Why are you any different in God’s eyes than the Greek, the Athenian, the Stoic?  It was and is the dream of all of Israel that all peoples might flow to God’s throne.  Not as conquered and beaten peoples but as people who know God’s glory and flow willingly to that throne.  Who are we, then, to prevent that? 

           I am no longer Saul, the unrighteous Jew who sought to prove my faith through acts of violence to show God as the punisher of all who are not like me.  I am Paul who seeks to bring Greek and Jew to table with one another, who recognizes that ways we create hierarchies to show our superiority based on ethnicity, social class, and gender are no more in Christ Jesus.  I believe this makes me more thoroughly Jewish, more thoroughly faithful.

Maybe we are all a mix of that unfaithfulness and faithfulness.  I ask myself, “What hierarchies have you created, Paul, to show your unrighteousness?”  And then again, “What tables have you fashioned, Paul, so that all peoples might flow to the throne of God?” 

Be a righteous Jew, or Greek, or Athenian, or Stoic, or whatever it is you are so that this proving our faiths over one another might come to an end.  And we might all walk the road to Damascus as a touchstone of joy, our eyes opened.  Violence and war by faith—that is the superstition.  May we all be initiated into the faith that is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female.  That is true faith.  Amen. 



[1] Stephen J. Patterson, “Interview with Stephen J. Patterson,” Westar Institute, https://www.westarinstitute.org/blog/scholar-feature-stephen-patterson/?fbclid=IwAR2ICaUr9a28GHo61oLxJsEt_Xc02Ycx6vNcV3cY2GVmyL5NuXg6O0zqU2A; Stephen J. Patterson, The Forgotten Creed:  Christianity’s Original Struggle Against Bigotry, Slavery, & Sexism (Oxford:  Oxford University Press, 2018).

[2] Galatians 3:26-28.  Patterson notes that the early creed probably did not include “in Christ Jesus.”

[3] Patterson, “The Forgotten Creed.”

[4] Rachel Held Evans, A Year of Biblical Womanhood:  How a Liberated Woman Found Herself Sitting on Her Roof, Covering Her Head, and Calling Her Husband 'Master’ (Nashville, TN:  Thomas Nelson, 2012) , p. 296

Monday, January 31, 2022

Sermon, Third Sunday after Epiphany, Ecumenical Sunday, January 23, 2022, "We are connected"

 
C Epiphany 3 Pilg 2022
1 Corinthains 12:12-31a
January 23, 2022

 

            About twenty years ago, I went to hear the message of a Viet Nam War veteran, Brian Wilson.   Wilson related that he had been one of those pilots who was directly involved with napalm drops over Viet Nam.  He had left law school at twenty-seven to go fight “communism.”  During his time in Viet Nam, an unusual event happened to transform him into a peace activist. 

           Unusual because during his time in Viet Nam he related that the military had a policy which did not allow people who performed napalm drops to ever act as later ground reconnaissance.  The policy did not want those performing napalm drops to connect their acts with suffering experienced by civilians on the ground. 

This one unusual time, however, there was a snafu.  For some reason, after dropping his napalm on a village, he was also asked to be part of the ground reconnaissance team to determine the success of their drop.  While performing that reconnaissance, he came upon a dead mother holding her three dead children.  Wilson believed the mother’s eyes were still opened, but as he drew closer, he realized the napalm had melted off her eyelids. 

For some unknown reason, tears welled up in Brian Wilson’s eyes, and with his commanding officer present, he fell to his knees and shouted in agony, “This is my mother.  And this, these are my children.”  Though his commanding officer laughed, he remembers that as the transformative moment in his life.  So transformative, in fact, that he had become a peace activist.

As a peace activist back in the States in 1987, he had lost both his legs sitting on a train track outside of a military weapons facility, hoping to stop weapons bound for Central America. While sitting on the track, he thought surely the train would stop and that the armaments would not go through.  Other activists had employed this form of protest successfully.  Certainly, Brian Wilson thought, the train would not go through.  What he could not know is that the train’s conductor had strict orders to plow through regardless.  Or . . . that the conductor could not see the many people on the track.  Both stories are told.  What is known is that Wilson was the only one not able to get up from the track before the train came through.

There Wilson was, on the day I say him, using two prosthetic legs to get around in the world.  Putting his legs on the track was a risk he took when the connection to all of life had become vividly apparent to him.  He remembered knowing that truth as a young child.  But somehow . . . somehow that truth had been drummed out of him by the destructive powers of disconnection and death.  Down deep we know this truth, he believed.  We are connected..

I have seen that transformative moment take place on any number of mission delegations when those going to do the work to bring about salvation realize that they are the ones being saved.  We recognize that God is doing work we would not have realized beyond Sawyer, or beyond Michigan, beyond our country.  And all of a sudden, we are overcome with a love we would have never known.  It may be spoken in a different language, by people of a different color, or just in a way we never contemplated before.  And the activity of God, which looks nothing like we ever expected, loves and connects us in such an amazing way. 

In Paul’s letter to the churches in Corinth, Paul tries to reach out to communities immersed in conflict.  One group or person is vaunting themselves up over another group or person because of their spiritual gifts.  This group believes that God can only be found within them, in the gift they have been given, or that their understandings and gifts trump everyone else’s understandings and gifts.  Paul turns to them to say, “Don’t you see how much you need each other? How God in Christ is found in different manifestations across your community? For you to claim that you are not connected, that you do not need each other, is to deny the reality.”

We were created as the Body of Christ, and when we deny others access to the goodness of God through our unwillingness to see Christ in each other’s eyes, we lose so many gifts God intends for each of us. 

Paul asks, "How can one part of the Body of Christ say it doesn't belong or one part deny another part of the Body?"  In this masterpiece of Christian prose, Paul seems to get the eternal conflict of religious life.  How we affirm our God-given diversity and our heard work toward unity all at the same time.  Too often we deny the way God has made the world for our salvation.  We deny our connectedness to each other.  We deny that we are the Body of Christ--a Body, Paul writes, where those who appear to be weaker, or the most humble, are the most indispensable.  

Hear the good news:  God wills us to be connected, one to another, brought together in all of our diversity to form a community which will love and cherish each other.  It is almost as if God has said, “You know, this is the way I have made the world—with all of its connection.  It will work in no other way.  If you choose to deny the connections, then the world, as a whole, will suffer because of it.  Choose to live in the interconnection and the building up of community or inherit the destructive powers of disconnection and death.” 

It is not about God’s judgment but about the consequences of our choices.

The apostle Paul, as a Jew, would have known this truth through the foundational Jewish value of hospitality.  Jews know that it may very well be the stranger who teaches them something of God.  Of all people, it is the stranger who reminds us we are connected. 

Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker, from the congregation Beth Israel in Colleyville, Texas, is now known as the courageous leader who threw a chair to help the remaining hostages and himself escape.  He said in an interview with NPR this past week that the whole incident began with a knock at the synagogue door.  The man was cold so Rabbi Cytron-Walker made him some tea.  He went on to talk about the reality too many people know in synagogues and schools.

 

There have been too many situations at synagogues, too much violence in our schools, too much violence overall within our society. And it's horrible. It's not sustainable. It's something that we collectively need to be able to address. And at the same time, we have to deal with the practical reality.[1]

 

The interviewer went on to ask Rabbi Cytron-Walker what he would do different.  Or what would he do next time.  And in keeping with the description of an incredible faith leader I have heard all week, Rabbi Cytron-Walker said:

 

And so when someone comes to the door, they are nervous. They are questioning. They're asking - am I going to be accepted? - whether they're somebody who's Jewish who's coming in from another community or from our community or whether they're not Jewish. And maybe they're exploring Judaism for the first time, or they just want to see what a Jewish service is all about because they're curious. And they're asking, am I going to belong? And I want them to know that they are going to belong. We can't forget about who we are. Hospitality means the world.[2]

 

Hospitality means the world.  That foundational Jewish value continues in Christian story in the road to Emmaus story where two apostles, mourning the death of their friend and teacher, grant a stranger hospitality and recognize that it has been Christ walking with them all along.  That foundational value is found in Christian teaching in Hebrews where strangers are to be granted hospitality because you might just be welcoming an angel, an ode to the story of Sodom.

Violence is out in the world, yes.  But the pandemic which is violence was inoculated against at congregation Beth-Israel in Colleyville, Texas, and was not passed on by its courageous rabbi.  In keeping with the value of hospitality, the apostle Paul is trying to remind the congregations in Corinth that they belong to each other, that the violence that was a fact of life in the Roman Empire should end with them, should not be passed along.    

And any number of colleagues came forward this past week to affirm that this is who Rabbi Cytron-Walker 24/7.  His values are not about convenience but what defines him even in the most difficult of circumstances.  The great satirist, Jon Stewart once said, “If you don't stick to your values when they are being tested, they're not values: they're hobbies.”[3]

What Paul is teaching in this passage from Corinthians is that we not only are the Body of Christ, the Body of Christ is who we are to be as a deep-seated value.  Each of us is indispensable in God’s eyes, why the very least of us is considered most precious.  Perhaps we might even wonder how our world might be different if we thought of God as a Viet Namese mother, still clutching her children.  Then we would weep in love.  We would know why God wants us to be connected.

Three years ago, one of the great prophets in our nation, Rev. Dr. William J. Barber, stood to preach his sermon in Milford Chapel at Park Road Baptist Church in Charlotte, North Carolina, in memory and celebration of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.   His sermon reminded us that we should not only remember we are connected in personal acts of service but in systems and structures that function in a way that assumes we are connected to one another as the Body of Christ.  We remember that we are connected in acts of liberation.  It is what I see in all of you when we remember our connection to one another.   Rev. Dr. Barber went on to say,

 

To preach is to see the people who are crying out and the systems that are crushing them. It is to say, “Somebody’s hurting my people and it’s gone on far too long and we won’t be quiet and inactive anymore.” It is to do something about it. It is to join with others who are doing something about it.

 

When words are changed into deeds of liberation—that’s preaching. And anything else is just talking.

 

When the fruit of the lips become actions dedicated to justice—that’s preaching.

 

When our words call Jews and Muslims and Christians and Sikhs and Buddhists and even people not of faith to come together to work the work of love and work the work of liberation—that’s preaching.

 

When a call goes out that unites people across the lines of race and class and creed and sexuality—now that’s preaching.

 

When the Poor People’s Campaign brings Natives and Asians and Black and White and Brown people together, and march together and organize together and go to to jail together for a moral revolution of values—that’s preaching.

 

When preachers go to the border and serve communion to the officers and communion to those who are holding back the immigrants and then tell them while they’re eating the communion that they need correction and that they’re wrong—that’s preaching.

 

When nuns lobby for healthcare and when preachers say, “I’m not gonna preach another funeral over somebody who died from the lack of healthcare and said ‘God called him home.'” Instead I’m going to say, “God may welcome them home, but the government killed them.” That’s preaching.

 

When churches and synagogues and mosques open their doors and offer sanctuary to families that are being ripped apart by ICE — that’s preaching!

 

And when that kind of preaching is happening, it is transformative. It changes the world. It might get you killed, but that same preaching will get you back up again. And if it doesn’t get you back up, preaching gets folks pregnant. So you might be dead, but those behind you will come forth. Preaching always produces.[4]

 

God looks at you with tears in Her eyes and proclaims, “Don’t you know how long I have waited for you to affirm your connection with me, so that I could affirm you as so precious in my sight—so precious.”  We are a part of the Body of Christ bringing God’s reign of Shalom to the earth, preparing the way for God’s liberation, and the least, the very least and humble of us, considered the most indispensable part of that Body.  We are connected.  Rabbi Cytron-Walker ended his NPR interview by saying, “We can’t know what’s coming.  And we also can’t live in fear every step of the way.”  When asked what he would say to the family of the man who held them hostage, he took a moment and then Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker said, “I would say to his family, I am so sorry. I'm so sorry that you had to endure this tragedy. It's horrible for all of us.”  For all of us. 

As I read that part of the interview, I began to cry, knowing that the deep Jewish ethic of hospitality or the teachings of the apostle Paul were not hobbies for this Jewish teacher and preacher.  They were foundational values. 

Now, Children of God, go out into the world and know yourselves to be the Body of Christ.  We are connected.  Thanks be to God.  Amen.

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