This sermon was preached on February 1st at Ledyard Congregational Church, Ledyard CT
At the beginning of my vacation week, I answered a call to join clergy and religious leaders from around the country in Minneapolis.
Six hundred of us answered the call. We gathered on Thursday for a day of spiritual grounding, ethical and theological reflection. We were Hindus and Muslims, Sikhs and Catholics, Jews and Buddhists, Native Americans and atheists and protestants of every stripe.
We claimed the ancient practice of lament, a community practice of sharing grief and sadness and remembering that God is faithful. Many of the 150 Psalms in the bible are songs of lament. Prayed together they give rise to the depth of feeling that is within us as we measure the distance between the way things are and the way God envisions them to be.
Just as Jesus wept over the city of Jerusalem, we wept over the city of Minneapolis and cities like it around the country. We wept over the cities where ICE has not yet arrived. We grieved the deaths of the bystanders and those who died in ICE custody. We cried out to God and God met us in the witness of those doing the work.
We sang new songs for a new age of protest. When you get six hundred religious leaders together, the harmony is stunning. Imagine 600 voices singing, “no one is getting left behind, this time.” We repeated it until it became a prayer that ignited our faith and strengthened our resolve.
We grounded ourselves in non-violence and committed to peaceful protest and noncooperation. We vowed to support those who engaged in civil disobedience.
The speakers were a diverse group of women and men who looked weary beyond describing but spoke with conviction about the work they were doing. They were clergy and community organizers, social workers, a senior advisor to the attorney general and a Native American advocate for his nation.
The main thing I walked away with was hope.
Neighborhoods across the city organized to support their immigrant neighbors. Thousands of volunteers rallied. I learned of neighborhood patrols that warn people when ICE is present. Some accompanied people to their medical appointments because they were too scared to leave their house alone. An entire team worked at finding immigration attorneys for recent detainees. Neighbors delivered groceries. People accompanied their immigrant neighbors to immigration court appointments because people were being detained by ICE after their immigration hearings. One woman expressed her breast milk every day and delivered it to a household where there was a three-week-old baby whose mother was detained. The mother, as it turned out, was a US citizen born and raised in Minneapolis. After ten days she was released without charge, and I might add, without apology. White neighbors transported children of color to and from school. They made human fences around the children to ensure they entered the building safely. Often ICE was looking on, taking down license plates and photographing the supporters.
On Friday, in fifty degree below zero windchill, we gathered with 50,000 other people marched about a mile. We sang and chanted. Our delegation chanted ICE OUT. Others chanted something else. It made for an interesting juxtaposition.
Every Tuesday a group of clergy gather in front of the detention center and ask for access to provide pastoral care and the sacraments to detainees. Every day they are denied. They take as their grounding scripture the widow and the unjust judge.
Lord, when did we see you…? The thousands of volunteers who are caring for their neighbors live the answer to the question every day.
Lord, when did we see you?
This was a conversion text for me. It was an average Sunday morning. I was 15ish and already knew I was going to seminary. I sat in the back pew with my youth group friends, and we prepared to play a game of Pastor Vought baseball. As you have probably noticed, preachers have pat phrases they tend to repeat and Pastor Vought was more predictable than most. At the beginning of the service, we chose our phrases. If he said the phrase and it was yours, you scored a base hit. At least we were listening.
Anyway, pastor Vought started to read this text, and it exploded in the core of my being. My mind darted around and saw the people I walked by because I was afraid, the ones I ignored because they were different, the ones who needed my help and I withheld it.
The words settled deep within me and blew up any notion of what I thought ministry would be like for me.
I pictured myself as pastor of a country church, like the one I grew up in and maybe a hospital chaplain. I thought I would be a normal pastor, keep my head down and not cause any trouble. I never aspired to be a gospel radical or a social activist. But you know the old saying, if you want to make God laugh, tell her your plans.
That ordinary Sunday morning became extraordinary. Hearing the text that day changed my life forever. I have spent my life embodying the truth I learned that day, with varying degrees of faithfulness. Minneapolis was the latest installment in my remedial education.
Lord, when did we see you…?
Ours is a deeply incarnational theology. Christ lives in everything and everyone. When we look with Christ-like eyes, each person is revealed to us as unique and beloved. And there is no going back to passing on the other side of the road, no ignoring the sad and frightened eyes, no ignoring the evil that is visited on the poor, no wiggle room to diminish those who are different from us.
I am inspired by my clergy colleagues who boldly and faithfully venture out every day to encourage volunteers, visit the frightened and call for the repentance of those who visit suffering on the poor. They are contemporary prophets who are unafraid to speak truth to power and are eager to step into the breach between what is and what can be. They encourage me to do the same. Two of the top leaders of the community organizing are UCC colleagues. I have never been more proud to be UCC.
I came home emotionally, spiritually and physically exhausted. I also came home with the flu…but I also came home doubling down on the call of the gospel. I came home encouraged by those who are living into the resurrection by being Christ’s presence in the world.
We are all witnesses to the truth that light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. The darkness will not overcome it when each of us do what is ours to do.
Teresa of Avila, who lived in the 1500’s wrote,
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which God looks,
compassion on this world.
Yours are the feet with which God walks to do good.
Yours are the hands, with which God blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes. You are Christ’s body.
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth, but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which God looks,
compassion on this world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.
We are witnesses to the resurrection—when we grieve, when we lament, when we work for reform. It keeps us from getting cynical and demoralized. And we don’t give up. The gospel is real, the stories are true, Christ is risen and Jesus saves. That’s reason enough to keep standing. (adapted from a poem by Russel Moore)
Would you pray with me
O God, do not let me grow weary when I am tired of loving my neighbor,
when I am worn from speaking the truth,
when I am weak from pursuing justice.
Give me a peace that only you can give.
When I am done with silence at injustice,
When I am over the lies dressed as truth,
When hope feels thin and courage feels costly
Hold me fast.
Do not let my fear become indifference,
or my grief turn to despair.
Breathe again into these bones that I may rise not unscarred but faithful still for the sake of your love. Amen. (Author Unknown)