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.
No comments:
Post a Comment