Justice for All

Deuteronomy 7: 1-11

Psalm 137: 1-9; 149: 1-9

Matthew 15: 21-39

As many of you know, we are working our way, week by week, through the Bible using a book titled “We Make the Road by Walking”. The subtitle is “A Year-Long Quest for Spiritual Formation, Reorientation, and Activation”. I knew the topic for this past week was bound to come up one of these days, and it is here, and it is a tough one. It is about Conquest – about the violence in our world, and about what God’s role is in it.

To be honest, I’ve been kind of dreading this week, addressing this set of scripture. If you read through all four of the scriptures for this week – we only heard two of them here – they are all really tough, really challenging. The first one, the passage in Deuteronomy, is not included in any of the standard Lectionary readings that most churches use. It’s really violent. It tells the people of Israel to be sure that when they go about clearing Israel of the seven nations that are living there, to be sure to “utterly destroy” them.

But in another sense, I am grateful to Brian McLaren for putting these texts in front of us and inviting us to consider these things. For there is no question that violence exists in our world and in our hearts; that conquest is something that humanity just seems to be destined for, that our world cannot escape.

I will admit to you up front that I don’t really understand violence. I don’t understand war. I have not experienced either one personally, but I know that many people have, that people here today have. Some of us whom we recognized today have experienced it. Some of us have lost loved ones to various forms of violence. Even though I have not engaged in war or physical violence at a personal level, I was thinking this week about what weapons I use, what I conceal and pull out when I need to, what I use to satisfy my own impulses for conquest and for destruction. And I realized that for me, it is words that I am most at risk of using in a hurtful way. The only thing I ever remember punching was a car door after a particularly bad argument I was in with the person inside it. Left a dent and hurt my hand. But if I’m not careful, I can spew out words that hurt almost as fast as a bullet, and like a bullet, I cannot reverse their damage once I’ve done that. So I know I must be cautious with my words, to resist the impulse of using them as a weapon, to be generous with them in offering compassion and encouragement instead.

Sadly, war and violence are big parts of our world and our collective lives. And even if we have not experienced them personally, we do place a lot of effort and energy into trying to avoid their effects on us and our loved ones. A big part of the reason that they are such a significant factor in our world is that, no matter what, we all see the world as made up of “us and them”. We can’t help it. Even though we read throughout scripture that God sees us all as beloved, and even though our own country’s pledge of allegiance claims the right to “liberty and justice for all”, we cannot help but place everyone in one of two camps, the “us” camp and the “them” camp. If we are doing well, we tend to put everyone else who is doing what we do into the “us” camp, and anyone who threatens our well-being into the “them” camp. If we are not doing well, we tend to associate ourselves with others who are in similar circumstances, and we see all those who are causing our grief or pain or misfortune as “them”. We all see the world through our own filters, experiences, and limitations.

And so when others hurt us, or we fear that they will, we feel rage toward them. It’s natural to do so. It is what we hear in the words of Psalm 137. The writer is in exile, a Jew in Babylon, missing Zion, hurting terribly from the way they are being treated by the Babylonians, wanting God to strike “those people” dead, confessing that they would be happy for them to get what they deserve, even if “those people’s” children were brutally killed. There are horrible images raised in those words – but there are also feelings that we all can pretty much relate to, if we are honest with ourselves.

Those are the kinds of times when we pray for a God of violence to strike down those who are hurting us.

It doesn’t take much for us to go from telling God about our rage toward others, to wanting God to act upon our rage toward others, and then to us acting on our rage toward others. Telling God our rage is prayer – it’s perfectly fine prayer, in fact. God wants us to come with everything we feel. But Acting on our rage toward others is sin.

But it’s really hard to pray all our feelings – we think we ought to filter them and only “show God” our good side.

And it’s even harder to not impulsively act upon our feelings. That’s what happens when I let my angry words come out before I have asked God to help me temper my anger, to dull my weapons, to change them into words that help and heal and soften soil instead, so something good can grow.

That’s why I was glad to be able to talk with the kids this morning about the second verse of Jesus loves me being “Jesus Loves You” – if we can only pray and sing these words when we are angry, how could that help us reshape our actions toward one another?

When the Canaanite woman came to Jesus and asked for healing for her child, he hesitated at first, describing her as a “them” when he was sent for the children of Israel – the version of “us” that he was part of. She was a Gentile. He had come to the area of Tyre and Sydon, which was a Gentile area. She saw him as Lord. But she was one of “them” – one of the “them” that had descended from one of the seven nations that lived in Israel when the Jews arrived to take over their promised land. She was from one of the seven nations that Deuteronomy said should be “utterly destroyed”.  Apparently they were not.

And here she is, accepting Jesus referring to her as a dog that he was not sent to feed, and pointing out to him that even the dogs eat the crumbs from the table. So he sees her faith in that statement, and he heals her child. And he goes right from there to a second mountaintop miracle of feeding. This is the second time that a crowd has gathered to hear him teach and to receive his healing, and he says once again to his disciples, I have compassion for them because they have nothing to eat. Let’s feed them. Is he thinking about his earlier conversation with the Canaanite woman – even the dogs eat the crumbs from the table?

So what do they have? This time it’s seven loaves and some fish. And he takes it and blesses it and distributes it, and all are fed, with seven baskets left over. Seven this time, not 12 like the first time. Seven, perhaps, for the seven Gentile nations that were to be utterly destroyed? The first time, 12 reflected the 12 tribes of Israel.

So here we see God being revealed as slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. God is not repeating the destruction of the past. Just as with the flood, when God promised it would never happen again, so it is with the destruction of the seven nations. In a book about the Old Testament written by Matthew Schlimm, called “This Strange and Sacred Scripture”, he devotes an entire chapter to the issue of violence in the Old Testament, and he reminds us that God said just a bit later, in the book of Judges, “I will no longer drive out before them any of the nations Joshua left when he died.” God moves from the Hebrew word herem, meaning genocide, to shalom, meaning peace.

And Jesus teaches, heals, and feeds the great crowd of Gentiles. Christ’s new commandment – to love one another – both the “us’s” – our neighbors; and the “thems” – our enemies – now becomes a new approach to these seven nations that had inhabited Israel – those nations that were to be utterly destroyed.

And this prepares us, doesn’t it, for another new approach, one that is not typical, when we consider the brutality of the crucifixion itself. Where is the rage that we would expect to feel over the execution of our Lord and Savior in such a cruel way? Why do we not act upon our rage for this, of all things?

Well, first because of the resurrection. Christ won the final conquest – Christ is victorious over death – and so are we. We have nothing to fear anymore, for ourselves or our loved ones.  Jesus told his disciples, “In the world you face persecution. But take courage; I have conquered the world!” We do not need to conquer the world; it’s already been done for us.

And next, because rage and revenge is not the response God desires from us. Love and reconciliation is what God calls us to do, with all of ourselves and with all of our lives.

And finally, Christ was very clear in the giving of this sacrament that we are participating in today. “Do this in remembrance of me. Do THIS (not those other impulses you have) in remembrance of me.” Come to the table, this is the joyful feast I have prepared for you – and you – and you too. For all of you. All are welcome at the table. Christ calls us all. Come with God’s beloved, all over the world, and remember that you are the body of Christ. By receiving Christ into you, here at the table, you become a participant in Christ’s reconciling peace in the world.

Come to the table.