Letter writers see the nation divided between those who believe in reason, and those who believe in faith, as though the two were certainly and inevitably incompatible. This post-election face-off has clearly revealed what for a long while we could pretend not to see: it’s absolutely obvious that in this country the religious right is defining “religion,” and particularly Christianity. A whole generation of letter writers and editorial writers and news writers and grownups of all sorts have come to maturity believing that the local fundamentalist church is what Christianity is all about.
Those of us in the historic churches, perhaps naively still called the “mainline,” are beginning to get the picture, and we’re not in it.
We’re not counted among the devout, but at the same time, we’re not secular enough. We value reason, but don’t see it as the certain enemy of faith In fact, in our experience, reason can serve faith quite as well as it can serve unfaith. But our way of seeing things doesn’t fit any of the available categories. By the standards of the pollsters, we’re neither fish nor fowl.
The question is, how are we mainliners going to handle our new, downsized status? What’s our plan, now that hardly anyone notices us or listens to our voice? Should we just roll over and play dead? That doesn’t sound much like the prophetic faith of Holy Scripture. And, whether anyone notices or not, the gospel we proclaim hasn’t petered out; our conviction isn’t used up; our passion for it isn’t exhausted.
What are our options? One option that’s increasingly popular in the world is something like jihad, as the Muslims call it, or crusade, as their opponents prefer. In other words, we could become militant for the sake of the God of our forebears–undertake something like guerilla warfare to defend the God of the church catholic.
But wait a minute. Do those two words ever go together: “defend” and “God”? Does God need to be defended? Does the God who exorcises demons, who’s already plundered the strong man’s house, the God who’s already trampled down death—does this God really need our defense? Will this God simply fade away if not mentioned in the pledge of allegiance to the flag? Will this God simply withdraw from history if the Ten Commandments aren’t inscribed on the courthouse wall? Will this God “command fire to come down from heaven and consume” those who neglect public prayers before the high school football game?
Maybe there are other options. Of course, we in the historic churches have more or less had things our way in the religious world for a long time. We’ve had no serious experience of persecution in this country, and, in fact, have probably gotten along a little too well with the powers-that-be. We haven’t had to keep the faith when it really cost something to keep it. The Christians of Thessalonica did. The apostolic letter to them commends them, saying, “We ourselves boast of you among the churches of God for your steadfastness and faith during all your persecutions and the afflictions that you are enduring.”
I don’t mean to suggest that the stress experienced by the historic churches these days is equivalent to the stress experienced by the Christians of Thessalonica in the first century. We in the so-called “mainline” are neither persecuted nor afflicted. We still have a lot of resources at our disposal. We’re far from helpless. And yet—and yet—we sense that our faith is in some peril. And the first peril is that the Christ we know in Scripture and Sacrament is at risk of being taken captive by those who would use him as a mascot to protect power and privilege. A peril we know all too well from our own sad experience doing the same thing.
So, what are our options, we who’ve come so late to repentance? Not keep quiet, surely; not retreat into some safe place, surely not. Nor shall we be tempted to “holy war.” The God of the exodus and Sinai, the God of Calvary and Pentecost has no need of any more defending.
The apostle, writing to the Thessalonians, sensed their need for reassurance. They needed to know what they were bearing up for, what they were suffering for, what they were holding on for. The apostle offers encouragement, reminding them that God will, in spite of everything, have the last word, and “give relief to the afflicted … when the Lord Jesus is revealed from heaven with his mighty angels … ”The apostolic writer describes the Parousia, the reign of God, the day of the Lord in stark and unsparing terms. Those “who do not know God,” those “who do not obey the gospel of our Lord Jesus” will “suffer the punishment of eternal destruction, separated from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of his might …”
That language is scary. It seems to draw a sharp line between those to be vindicated and those to be punished. It was language that served a purpose in the crisis of the church in those times, but is there anything there for us? For us, who sense that judgment may not fall only upon those “others,” but may in fact “begin with the household of God”?
There is a holy Word here for us, if we can hear it. And that Word is to trust God who will, at last, bring all things to light. In his first letter to the Corinthian church, Paul wrote, “Therefore do not pronounce judgment before the time, before the Lord comes, who will bring to light the things now hidden in darkness …”Our calling is not to defend God, who needs no defense; and not to pronounce judgment, since that’s not our prerogative, but to trust God, whose redemptive purpose has always taken surprising turns.
The prophet Isaiah cried, “For a child has been born for us, a son given to us …” This promise may have been a comfort to some folks in Israel, who longed to be delivered from the predations of the unclean, the Gentiles, ancestors to most of us. “A child has been born for us—presumably, not for them.” But the advent of Jesus Christ stirred things up. This Jewish Jesus praised a Samaritan, healed a Canaanite woman, commissioned his disciples to go “into all the world.” So, from that perspective, who is this “us” for whom a child has been born?
Who the “us” is will be revealed when the glory of the Lord is revealed, and all flesh shall see it together. But I suspect that this “us,” to whom a son has been given, may include some folks we’d rather see left out. It may include Manicheans, who neatly divide the world between “us” and “them”: in other words, between good folks and evil folks, always presuming that we are the good folks. It may include people who read the Bible or the Koran to find out whom to hate. It may include the atheist whose letter gets published in the New York Times. And, maybe, it will include even our church, you and me. For judgment and for redemption, for repentance and for hope, “a child has been born for us, a son given to us.” Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!
This sermon was preached by RONALD P. BYARS, professor of preaching and worship at Union-PCSE, Richmond, Va., on the first Wednesday in Advent 2004.
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