Anti-Patient Anti-Racism Soap Box

Luke 18:1-8

Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. He said, “In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people. In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, ‘Grant me justice against my opponent.’ For a while he refused; but later he said to himself, ‘Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.’”

And the Lord said, “Listen to what the unjust judge says. And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”

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(I seriously considered finding an actual soap box to stand on for this morning’s sermon, which might make sense to some of you in a minute.)

Last week, I preached something about John Lennon and the song “Imagine” – arguably Lennon’s most well-known and most beautiful creation. It’s full of what seem like pie-in-the-sky hopes and dreams about what the world would, could, should be like if humanity could get its act together. “No countries… No possessions… Nothing to kill or die for,” remember. “No need for greed or hunger… A brotherhood of man… All the people sharing all the world, living as one, living in peace…” Yada, yada, yada.

Sadly, it feels like we’ve “yada, yada, yada-d” right over all of that goodness, grace, beauty and hope since then, for lots of reasons.

Since then, I learned about Kanye West going viral for promising – by way of Twitter – to go “death con 3 on Jewish people.”

On Sunday, recordings leaked of the Los Angeles City Council President, Nury Martinez, griping and gossiping on a hot mic about another city council member – a white guy named Mike Bonin who has a Black son. Martinez said something about Bonin treating his Black son like an “accessory” and that the child looked or acted like a monkey.

Then on Tuesday, every family in our school district, right here in New Palestine, got an e-mail letting us know that allegations were made by students and coaches up at Pike High School that one of the girls on our volleyball team had “behaved inappropriately” during a match on the other side of town. If it’s true, this child, took what the LA City Council President did to the next level … she teased, taunted and tried to humiliate her Black peers … to their faces… in public… on their home court, by mimicking a monkey.

Imagine.

“Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart.”

And then he tells this story about a nagging, persistent, “importunate” widow (that’s what they called her in my grandma’s old Bible, anyway). This widow was nagging and persistent about the justice she craved in ways that weren’t well-received, or welcomed, or respected, or acknowledged, as far as we can tell. Had she been any of those things – well-received, welcomed or respected, I mean – she wouldn’t have had to keep coming back, right? She wouldn’t have had to be such a nag, or so “importunate,” would she?

And she was nagging a judge, looking for justice, even though this particular judge couldn’t have cared any less about her concerns – he neither feared God or had respect for people, we’re told. But he gives her the justice she seeks, just to get her off of his back; just to remove her from his docket; just to get her out of his hair and out of his business.

And Jesus seems to be saying that if a corrupt, uncaring, unjust, faithless judge like that can be made to do the right thing every once in a while, then we should trust and expect the God of all creation to respond with goodness and grace, just the same, and without delay, to the prayers of justice we continue to offer, day after day.

Well, I expect it. I trust it will come. I have faith that God is good for it, in the end. But it’s the delay, that gets me – and Jesus’ suggestion that justice is coming quickly. Which is why I’m here – on my proverbial soap box, which can be pretty awkward and uncomfortable, to be honest – to play the role of the nagging, persistent, importunate widow … yet again … this morning.

See, I get accused of beating this anti-racism stuff into the ground… People wonder if I really need to keep talking about this… People ask me if it really is as much of a problem as I – and others – make it out to be. And this week – from near and far – I was reminded that it is. But if you still don’t believe me…

I would say ask your Jewish friends, neighbors and co-workers what a Tweet like Kanye West’s does to them – especially if they or their children or their neighbor’s children love and listen to his music, which they very likely do. (And then watch that PBS documentary I also mentioned last week called “The US and The Holocaust,” too.)

And I would say listen to the pain in Mike Bonin’s voice – that LA City Councilman with the Black son – when he describes what’s happened to his child and to his family. He said those racist, hateful words about his kid “cut” and they “stung.” And, because he’s a white man, he said, “I know that I can never really know or comprehend or feel the weight of the daily relentless racism, anti-Black racism, that my son is going to face. But man, I know the fire that you feel when someone tries to destroy Black boy joy.” He feels it like a rage, he said.

And I would say listen to those girls up at Pike High School – and their parents – and imagine what it must be like to welcome that ugliness into your own backyard; to become another one of these stories on the evening news, in the local paper, in the ever-present, inescapable world of social media, in which our young people live these days; and to know so many people are going to minimize, dismiss, deflect and doubt the Truth of their experience.

And I would say, imagine what it must feel like to be one of the very few Black kids in our town who has to show up for class tomorrow, after fall break, in light of it all.

And I would suggest that in just these three examples, taken from the local and national news, over the course of just the last week, we see how this sin of racism permeates so many levels and layers of our lives:

Entertainment - and entertainment for and by a younger generation than mine, which we all pretend is supposed to be evolving beyond our racist ways;

Politics - and by a woman … a woman of color, herself … and a Democrat, in arguably the most liberal state of our union, to boot;

Athletics - something as important in the lives of young people and families in our culture as anything, these days;

Education - one place – besides Church – where we would, could and should be teaching our kids more and better and differently about all of this, in my opinion. (And I’m glad to know our schools have been and continue to be working on this, I have to say.)

But it’s everywhere, people. And it’s not going anywhere all on its own. That is clear.

You can’t drive into New Palestine from the east on US 40, or from the west on US 52, without seeing a Confederate flag, many days. There are people who have hung nooses from trees as Halloween decorations in my neighborhood. And there are people who tell me this is not something I need to keep harping on.

So, thinking about today’s Gospel – and Jesus’ parable about our need to pray always and not to lose heart – it seems like all we have left, sometimes, are our prayers and our persistence and whatever hope we can muster when it comes to fighting the racism around us. We keep talking about it. We keep coming forward to acknowledge and educate about it. We keep preaching and teaching and speaking out against it. We stop it when we see it. We don’t allow it to live and move and breathe in our presence for one more moment.

And I’m praying that, if you don’t have the courage or the conviction or the energy; if you don’t have the passion or the patience or the hope enough to be persistent about this injustice from where you sit, that at least you’ll listen to and allow those who do to do their thing. And pray for them, in the meantime…

…so that someone might hear.

… so that those with the power to respond might do something different for a change – whether they want to or understand why or mean it, or not.

… so that justice might be granted, finally.

… so that change will come, finally.

… so that when the Son of Man shows up, he might – finally, finally, finally – find faith on earth.

Amen

Imagine

Luke 17:11-19

On the way to Jerusalem, [Jesus] was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee. As he entered a village, ten lepers approached him. Keeping their distance, they called out to him, “Jesus! Master! Have mercy on us!” When Jesus saw them he said to them, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went, they were made well.

One of them, seeing that he had been healed, turned back praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at the feet of Jesus and thanked him. And he was a Samaritan.

Jesus said, “Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to turn back and give praise to God except this foreigner?” Then he said to him, “Get up and go on your way. Your faith has made you well.”

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Foreigners, foreigners, foreigners…

If you have not seen the latest Ken Burns/PBS series called “The US and the Holocaust” I highly recommend it. (Here’s a link.) It’s not for the faint of heart, but one of those things that should be seen. Even if you think you’ve heard that history before, or heard it enough, this is different. It tells a different story about the way the US handled the issue of Jews as “foreigners,” and as refugees, and as immigrants before, during and after the war, and it has a lot to teach us about how we do – or do not do – immigration these days.

My sermon for today was already done when I finished up the series late last night, so all I’m prepared to share about it is a little Public Service Announcement – and pastoral encouragement – to take the time to watch it.

In the meantime … have you heard the stories lately about the migrants from our southern border who are helping with the hurricane recovery and rescue and rebuilding in Florida? It’s a thing. And it feels like a cosmic irony to me that many of the people who, just a few weeks ago, were being toyed with like so many pawns in one of the ugliest, most controversial political games we have going in our country these days, have made their way “to the rescue” in Florida, despite the fact that that state’s governor, in particular, is the source of so much of the drama that surrounds them.

What I mean is, the very people – or people very much like them – who, a couple of weeks ago, were being flown around the country to score political points about a broken immigration system, have since headed into the source of the drama, to help save the day.

Apparently, it’s nothing new though, and prevalent enough, that there are even non-profit organizations that facilitate these efforts and advocate for the safety and fair treatment of the migrants who do that kind of work. There’s an organization called “Resilience Force,” for example, which helps thousands of undocumented immigrants move around our country from one disaster to another as they clean up and rebuild homes and businesses that get destroyed by hurricanes, tornadoes, tropical storms and the like.

A Mexican roofer who does this sort of thing describes himself and others like him as being like “traveling white blood cells … who congregate after [a disaster] to heal a place, and then move on to heal the next place.” Apparently, hundreds of these people have made their way to Florida, in the wake of Hurricane Ian. They’re coming from places like New York, Dallas, and Houston. Again, the very states – to and from which – they were being shipped in the first place.

Of course, migrants do this work because they’re smart and resourceful and desperate enough, perhaps. It’s hard, dangerous work. They get screwed out of compensation, they risk their safety and they endanger their lives by working without insurance or a safety net of any kind. That’s some of what an organization like “Resilience Force” exists to help with.

But it’s not only about wages, job security and self-preservation for these “foreigners.” “Resilience Force” also leads these migrant workers on service projects where undocumented immigrants rebuild homes for uninsured Americans who are, like them, without a safety net, too. And then they host meals where those American homeowners and migrant workers can get to know each other. They build relationships. They become friends. And their minds, opinions and politics, even, often change because of it.

And when I read about this and then read this morning’s Gospel about Jesus and that Samaritan “foreigner,” I couldn’t help but connect the dots.

Yes. There’s a lot in this Gospel that invites us toward deeper gratitude and a more faithful response to God’s blessing in our lives. I’ve preached that sermon plenty of times and will again, someday.

But what makes this story different … the key player today … the surprise twist for anyone who heard about what happened with Jesus and those lepers that day, in some village somewhere between Samaria and Galilee is all about the Samaritan; it’s that he was a foreigner; it mattered to Jesus, and it should matter to us, that he was an outsider in a group of outsiders.

Yeah … this guy was an outsider in a group of outsiders. He was an outcast, among the outcasts. As a foreigner, he was a leper, even to the lepers, you might say. (I wonder if that’s why he turned around, honestly. I wouldn’t be surprised if, once they were all healed, the rest of them left this guy in the dust and returned to their homes, because they were no longer bound to him by their disease. The other nine were utterly liberated. He was healed, but still a foreigner … still an outcast … still an outsider, after all.)

Which is why Jesus lifts him up as a model of faithfulness. Jesus lifts him up as an example that the other nine – and we – could learn from. In doing that, Jesus reminds whoever’s paying attention that, where God is concerned, there are no insiders and outsiders; no “us” and “them;” no “illegal” children of God, if you will. After all, Jesus didn’t ask for the foreigner’s papers, or expect him to assimilate, or naturalize, or pledge his allegiance before he was healed. He just loved him and healed him right along with the others.

It’s a reminder that our boundaries are not God’s boundaries – whether those boundaries are political, religious, theological, ethnic or whatever.

I heard Howard Stern interview Jann Wenner last week – he’s the creator of Rolling Stone magazine. Among other things, they were waxing nostalgic about John Lennon, generally – about what a genius he was on so many levels, and about what a tragedy it is that he’s no longer alive among us. And they marveled specifically about the song “Imagine” and the seemingly earth-shattering, mind-blowing, ground-breaking ideas he sings about there.

And Howard Stern, a self-professed atheist who I actually have a fair amount of respect for, swooned over Lennon’s encouragement to – as the song goes – “Imagine there’s no countries … it isn’t hard to do … nothing to kill or die for … and no religion, too.” “Imagine all the people … sharing all the world.” You know the song. If you don’t, you’ll have to take that up with Jesus.

Anyway, in today’s Gospel, Jesus himself, embodies what John Lennon – genius though he was – could only imagine. Jesus embodies what we can only imagine, too much of the time.

In that moment, with that Samaritan, there were no countries. No nationality that mattered any more than any other.

There was no religion, too. (Jesus wasn’t a Christian, remember. And those lepers were healed before they ever made it to the priests. Religion didn’t do that for the, their faith did.)

And there was no hell down below, and no heaven somewhere far and away, either. Because heaven was happening right there among them. Grace was shared. Healing had come. Gratitude was expressed. New life was taking shape. The outsider was allowed in. Faith and life had come together and all was well.

Imagine.

And then let’s stop imagining it and let’s make it so. Let’s stop imagining what we are called to embody as God’s people on the planet. Let’s see all of it – our country and theirs – as God’s creation. Let’s see all of us – and them, whoever they may be – as God’s children, too. Let’s talk about and seek out the common ground of our faith more often than we argue about what divides us where religion is concerned.

Let’s do like Jesus did – and calls us to, just the same. Let’s embody the kind of grace, courage, welcome and mercy that so much of the world has very good reason to doubt, deny, long for and merely imagine, unless and until we show them how real it is and how real it can be, by the grace of the God we know in Jesus.

Amen