First Congregational Church in Auburn MA (UCC), May 26, 2024
The Rev. Dr. Virginia H. Child, preaching
John 3:16-17: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. “Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world but in order that the world might be saved through him.
Second Inaugural Address of Abraham Lincoln – – With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O God, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.
I want, today, to talk about the ties that bind — and the ties that divide — this country on this day, on the weekend in which we are called to remember those who have died to make all free. And I want to talk about the power of God’s love to change our world.
In long-ago days, Memorial Day was a fixed holiday, focused on the Civil War, always celebrated on May 30, and marked by parades in which elderly veterans of that war tottered down the streets of our larger cities, or rode in the back of automobiles in long and somber parades. Speeches were made, and if there were picnics, they were at the cemetery where the graves of our honored dead were decorated with flowers.
Today, Memorial Day has been altered to remember all those who died in the service of their country, and for many, it has morphed into the first raucous summer celebration. But it is still worth remembering that terrible war and what it has to say to those of us who seek to live in peace. For it is in nurturing peace that we give the best respect to those who died in war.
The world has changed; the celebrations have changed. But let’s not lose the lesson that is stored away in this weekend. Let’s honor the dead and remember, sometimes war must happen, but that doesn’t mean it’s all good. War is dark and terrible; it destroys people; it destroys community. War makes us want to see each other in sharp distinction, as if one side is all good and the other all bad. And that’s just not how it is.
Abraham Lincoln wrote, in his Second Inaugural Address, that both sides of that terrible war, read the same Bible and prayed to the same God. We might add that they spoke the same languages, belonged to the same churches and often were members of the same family. Despite all the ties they had in common, the union broke apart. Churches were torn apart — Baptists north and south created new organizations – the Southern Baptist Convention and the Northern Baptist Convention — as did the Presbyterians in our country. Families were destroyed.
The conflict which began in 1860 was not just about states’ rights, or slavery, but at its foundation about how human beings treat one another. And the struggle which tore our country asunder in those days, continues today, because we’re still not sure that all people are really created equal.
We can look back and say, “look, we no longer segregate our schools. We no longer put signs in the windows saying no <fill in the blank> need apply.” But that’s not the end of things. Just last winter a black man was stopped for driving through West Hartford, the police were called, just because a homeowner knew he couldn’t possibly belong there. We are sophisticated and educated and yet we sometimes stumble over the pre-conceptions and assumptions of our society.
It’s no wonder that in the wider world, more people stumble than get it. There are two basic human assumptions that keep us from getting it. The first is simple: our way is best.
What we like is right…. the right name for that drink with milk and ice cream is a frappe, right? Except, in Rhode Island, that’s a cabinet. . . and where I grew up in Florida, it was a milk shake.
Our way, what makes us feel good, is best.
The second assumption is that people who do things differently, especially if it’s very differently, are less capable than those who do things our way. “Their” food isn’t as good; their “color sense” is tasteless; “they” don’t do this, think that, whatever. . .
The first assumption makes those who are different feel unwelcome. The second assumption makes them feel unworthy of being welcomed. Together they are the foundation of the toxic stew we call racism.
And racism — rejection of the other simply because they are other is one of the gravest wrongs a Christian can commit.
Our text for the day is one many of us know by heart – for God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have ever lasting life… but that’s not the whole of it… it goes on … for God sent not his son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world, through him, might be saved.
What does that have to do with war – it is, at least, this – that even as we fight with one another, we must recognize that we are all children of God, we are all loved by God, we are all sisters and brothers under the skin.
And when we fight – which we will because we are not perfect – we have to recognize and respect our commonalities. My colleague, Jan Edmiston, who is a denominational exec for the Presbyterians, writes: naming our enemies as savages
. . . is the time tested way of othering our neighbors whether we are talking about Hutus and Tutsis, Bosniaks, Serbs, and Croats, Native Americans and colonists, slaveholders and enslaved, or Republicans and Democrats. “Savages” are also known as “vermin” or “deplorables.”
Name-calling is dangerous if for no other reason than it breaks down the unifying love of our neighbors and makes it possible to hate one another.
St. Paul says, in the Letter to the Ephesians, that Christ is our peace, that he has broken down the walls that divide us one from another. It is Christ’s hope and God’s plan that we be one people in all things that matter, united in our recognition of a common humanity, even while separated by taste and habit, custom and ethos.
It’s all about love. It’s not about closing doors; it’s about opening them. It’s not about throwing people out; it’s about inviting them in. It’s not about saying “no”, but about saying “yes”.
And there’s the clue; there’s the pointer on the way, the guide to let us know how we can join the conversation, how we can take our part in the creation of a world where “whoever you are or wherever you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here.”
The answer is love, and the way is conversation. The task is to love those we do not love, to listen to those whom we do not like, to reach out to those we fear. It’s a wonderful feeling to experience those dividing walls falling down.
Every other year I attend the General Synod of our denomination — the biennial meeting of delegates from all across the church. I’ve rarely actually been a delegate, but visitors may participate in much of the preliminary work, and we’re always welcome to sit around and listen to the many conversations — because, you know, even at that national meeting, decisions are made after a LOT of conversation, and just about nothing is cut and dried.
In 2003, at the Synod meeting in Minneapolis, I found myself on a Committee formed to decide whether or not our Gay/Lesbian Caucus would be allowed to change their name from Gay/Lesbian/Bisexual to Gay/Lesbian/Bisexual/Transgendered. Now I thought this was close to the dumbest assignment I’d ever had. First of all, I didn’t understand why the Synod should be wasting time deciding what one small group should call itself. And secondly, I didn’t care what they called themselves, and if they wanted to list “Transgendered” in their name it was fine with me.
So, off I went to the meeting, assuming that this would take 10 minutes, we’d all be in agreement, and we’d be free for the afternoon, for more interesting things – like visiting the used book stores in and around Minneapolis. There’s no such thing as too many books, you know!
Of course, it didn’t turn out the way I thought. And I was annoyed for a while. I really didn’t want to spend a beautiful afternoon in that over air-conditioned committee room. But then I began to listen to the stories of the people who were there to explain why it was so important to them that their existence be recognized in the name of the group. And, gradually, I realized that — for me — the experience was not about giving them permission to have their name mentioned, it was about giving them the gift of my listening ear, about hearing, really hearing, how unwelcome transgendered people are, about getting to know the people behind the exterior, about building the connections which break down those dividing walls.
I hadn’t even known the wall existed. I didn’t think I was walling them off, and I don’t know that I was, even now, but I do know that they thought there was a wall, and it was only by taking the time to listen, really listen, that they experienced that wall being destroyed. And by being there and seeing that happen, I shared the joy.
God calls us in many ways. . . sometimes it’s a whimsical committee assignment that opens our eyes. However it happens, when God calls us our curiosity perks up and we want to know more — who are these people; how could the same man do that and say this. . . and in the exploration, in the conversation, we break new ground.
Recognizing and accepting difference as good and valuable is God’s call for us today. Seeking to build bridges, talking with and listening to those with whom we disagree, is holy work for holy people. Listen once again to Abraham Lincoln:
With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.
Amen.
© 2024, Virginia H. Child
To Believe is to Care. . . To Care is to Do 