Sermon for Sunday, August 31, 2014
Sermon for Sunday, August 31, 2014
12th Sunday after
Pentecost
Lutheran Church of the Redeemer,
Jerusalem
The Rev. Carrie B. Smith
Grace and
peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.
Tuesday,
August 26th was National Dog Day in the United States. I can’t blame
you if you missed it, what with all the ice bucket, rice bucket, and rubble
bucket challenges in your Facebook feed this past week. And then, later that
evening, a truce between Israel and Gaza took effect, thanks be to God! I
hesitate to call this current state of being “peace”, but as one Redeemer
worshipper said, “No one is actively dying in a bombing today in Gaza, and I’ll
take that for now.” Amen!
Clearly,
there was a lot going on this week to take your attention away from the
veritable Facebook flood of adorable dog photos. I will admit, however, that I
noticed them. I noticed because apparently 95% of my friends in the States own
dogs (and cameras). I also noticed because I didn’t have a photo of my own to
share. You see, one of the consequences of moving here to serve in Jerusalem
was that we had to find new homes for the animals in our family.
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| Charlie the dog, in my former church office Photo by Carrie Smith |
Charlie, our
dog, is in a really, really good home. He has three kids to love him, and a
little dog friend named Lucy to keep him busy. He lives in our old
neighborhood, and gets to walk in his familiar places. I am utterly confident
that we made the right choice in not bringing him with us. Still, the day that
we dropped Charlie off at his new home was one of the most difficult parts of
this move for me. I’m not ashamed to say I shed many tears over it.
As many of
you know firsthand, international moving requires much planning and often much
sacrifice. At one point in our relocation process, a friend said to me
something like “Gee, Carrie…when Jesus said ‘Take up your cross and follow me’,
he really meant it, didn’t he?”
At the time,
that sentiment felt exactly right. Selling our home and saying goodbye to church
and friends and animals felt like a huge burden. But I was remembering this
comment as I watched those cute dog pictures flood Facebook this week, showing
up right alongside the horrific photos coming out of Gaza. Giving up my dog was
really, really difficult. Was it my cross to bear? Hardly.
But we need
to be clear about saying that neither is digging out of the rubble of our destroyed
home the cross we are to bear. Or learning to live without legs after surviving
an air strike. Or enduring a chronic illness. Or being the parent of a child
with a disability.
All of these
situations are difficult. All of them are examples of real human suffering. But
these also are not the cross Jesus asks us to carry.
Illness,
pain, grief and war cannot be the crosses Christians are asked to bear, because
frankly, I can’t believe in a God who would deal out disease or disability or war
from a deck of cards in order to give us the opportunity to learn self-denial
or to increase our faith. On the cross, Jesus shows his love for and solidarity
with all who suffer. But suffering, in and of itself, is not the cross he asks disciples
to take up.
No—rather, “taking
up the cross” refers to a conscious decision, as a follower of Jesus Christ, to
surrender status, ego, comfort, and even life itself, for the sake of others,
and thus for the sake of God’s kingdom.
I can’t
emphasize enough the voluntary nature of cross-bearing. As a pastor, I’ve often
heard people describe a medical diagnosis, a job loss, or even a particularly
annoying co-worker as “the cross I must bear.” While it might be accurate to
describe these situations as burdens, as trials, and even as opportunities for
spiritual growth, these are not rightly compared to the cross of discipleship.
Again, it gets down to what we believe about the God we serve and the Christ we
follow. As Jesus prepared the disciples for the next step on the journey, the
entrance into Jerusalem, he told them the truth. He told them that as a result
of his radical message of grace, he and any followers would soon face suffering,
and public humiliation, and possibly death. He did not say to them: “Andrew,
here’s your cross. And Philip, here’s yours. Peter, yours is especially big,
because after all, you’re the rock. You can handle it.”
What Jesus
did say was, “I’m going to Jerusalem. Things are going to get tough—really
tough. I want you to come with me. But if you want to join me, you’re going to
have to leave some stuff behind, because what you’ll be carrying is heavy. This
will require all of your heart, your mind, and your strength. Even so, do not
be afraid, for what you will find in the end is life, and life abundantly.”
Jesus voluntarily
took upon his shoulders the cross, the ruling authorities’ ultimate tool of
public disgrace and violence, and made it his identifying mark. He transformed
the cross from a symbol of death and institutional power into a symbol of life
and liberation. His invitation to the disciples, and to us, is to join him in
this subversive effort. He asks us to consider: In the context in which I find
myself today, where do I see powers and principalities working against God’s
kingdom and the Gospel of love? What is the symbol of that domination, and upon
whom do I see it inflicted? Once we’ve discovered these answers, we can finally
answer the question: What, therefore, is Jesus asking me to take up and carry
for the sake of my neighbor?
Electing to
take up the cross and follow means choosing an alternate way of being in the
world. By choosing the kingdom over comfort, solidarity over status, and the
other over the self, we necessarily lose some things—and find others.
One of the
things we lose is respectability. I remember having a conversation with church
members about whether we would allow same-gender marriages in the building.
This was at a time when neither the church nor my country had made any formal
decisions on the topic. The church council boldly moved forward in faith,
saying they would allow such unions, at the pastor’s discretion. However, just
before ending the meeting, someone was sure to say, “Just so long as we don’t
fly a rainbow flag over the church, Pastor.”
I had no
plans to display anything but a cross over the building, I assure you! But it
did make me think: Flying a rainbow flag over the church would certainly have
sent a message. It would have branded us as the “gay church.” It would have
gotten us talked about, maybe even laughed at. It might have cost us members or
money. But then...what do you suppose it was like when Jesus’ followers started
wearing the cross after his crucifixion? Crosses weren’t always considered
essential pieces of jewelry. They didn’t always adorn the tops of buildings as
beacons of respectability and tradition. They were once merely symbols of
humiliation, public disgrace, and death—a bit like a rainbow flag, depending on
where you live.
Another
thing we lose when we take up the cross and follow is the option of remaining
invisible. I’ve been thinking about that desire to remain invisible (or at
least unnoticed) as I walk through this city as a female clergyperson. One
would think, considering the variety of religious attire worn around Jerusalem,
that my simple black shirt and white collar could blend in. But female clergy
are still uncommon here, and so I’ve been called both “Father” and “Sister”,
have been whispered about as I walk by, and have even had someone say to my
face, “What ARE you?” I’m not sure where in the world I would necessarily blend
in, but oh, it feels good to go home at the end of the day and change into
something utterly unremarkable.
 |
| NOT ME! (Vicar of Dibley. You should watch it,) |
The sight of
Jesus, the great healer and teacher, rumored to be King of the Jews, carrying
the instrument of his own execution through these same streets of Jerusalem,
gathered a curious and mocking crowd. There was no way to make that journey
anonymously. In the same way, when we take up the cross and follow, we must be
prepared to lose the option of anonymity, invisibility, and conformity. When we
name the reality of racism and are ridiculed; or speak and act against the
occupation and become targets of retribution; then can we understand the
scandal and spectacle of the cross.
“If any want
to become my disciples, let them take up their cross and follow me.” The cross
was, and is, a heavy burden to carry, and discipleship is costly. But on that
walk with Jesus to Golgotha, we may find that with each step, we’re a bit
lighter, as we shed the extra baggage of our own self-preservation and
self-focus.
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| Golgotha today. Church of the Holy Sepulcher, Jerusalem Photo by Carrie Smith |
One step
forward: Off falls the worry about what people will think.
Turn the
corner: There goes my fear of rejection.
Another few
steps forward: Now I’ve lost the anger and hatred I’ve been harboring against
my neighbor.
Nearly there
now: And oops, there go my concerns about my career and my social standing that
have been holding me back from speaking truth to power.
Every step
toward peace with justice for the oppressed; every move toward honor and
respect for the neighbor; and every day that we choose to take up the cross and
follow Jesus, means losing one more piece of the junk that’s been weighing us down,
until the cross that at first seemed so heavy and so humiliating to carry becomes
part of who we are – Christ followers. Dead to sin, but alive in Christ.
Baptized into his death, and now a new creation. Lost, but now found.
For those
who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for Jesus’
sake will find it. Amen.
Let us pray:
Look with
mercy, gracious God, upon people everywhere who live with injustice, terror,
disease, and death as their constant companions. Rouse us from our complacency
and help us eliminate cruelty wherever it is found. Strengthen those who seek
equality for all. Grant that everyone may enjoy a fair share of the abundance
of the earth; through your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
(ELW p. 79)
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