Caring for All in Our Charge
Caring for All in Our Charge
Luke 20:9-19
Rev. Dr. Christy
Newton
13 November 2016
Luke 20:9-19
He began to tell the people this parable:
“A man planted a vineyard, and leased it to tenants, and went to another
country for a long time. When
the season came, he sent a slave to the tenants in order that they might give
him his share of the produce of the vineyard; but the tenants beat him and sent
him away empty-handed. Next
he sent another slave; that one also they beat and insulted and sent away
empty-handed. And he sent yet a third; this
one also they wounded and threw out.
“Then the owner of the vineyard said, ‘What shall I
do? I will send my beloved son; perhaps they will respect him.’
“But when the tenants saw him, they discussed it
among themselves and said, ‘This is the heir; let us kill him so that the
inheritance may be ours.’ So
they threw him out of the vineyard and killed him. What then will the owner of
the vineyard do to them? He
will come and destroy those tenants and give the vineyard to others.”
When they heard this, they said, “Heaven
forbid!”
But he looked at them and said, “What then does this text
mean: ‘The stone that the builders
rejected has become the cornerstone.’? Everyone who falls on that stone will be broken to
pieces; and it will crush anyone on whom it falls.”
When the scribes and chief priests realized that he had
told this parable against them, they wanted to lay hands on him at that very
hour, but they feared the people.
It took me a while to name it. The feelings I was having for several days
last week felt strangely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place them. Intense grief. A tightening of my chest. Shortness of breath. Just short of a panic attack. A mixture of rage and fear.
I read all the post-election “kum-by-yah”
things that more conservative people were sharing, encouraging me to put these hard
feelings aside: “We must come together, without the anger.” “It’s all over now, and it’s time to unify.” “Ah, come on, it’s not that bad.” “He never
really meant the things he said. . . .” “Just move on.” “Try to understand the
other side.” “Be a good loser.” “Get up,
shake it off; time to put our differences aside, reconcile, and work together.”
And I will say this, I hope the time will
come when those things might be possible.
But right now, that familiar feeling I’ve been wrestling with, I
realize, is way too similar to my feelings following the Pulse Nightclub
shooting. The mass murder in the church
in Charleston, South Carolina. The
senseless brutality of Sandy Hook. . . .
The
feelings I’ve been wrestling with are the feelings of grief and rage that
accompany experiences of utter devastation and the incomprehensible destruction
and violence against vulnerable, at-risk people in our communities—including
many in our community right here. And right now, it is too soon to let that go. I need to feel the grief fully in order to
know how and which way to move from here. . . .
Griefàspiritual teacher
But I also want to share with you that a
couple of weeks ago my family spent a week in Sequoia National Park with many
of the largest and oldest trees in the world.
And there is nothing like spending
time with the biggest trees in the world to put things in perspective… Trees that are thousands of years old. . . . And as frustrated, fearful, enraged, and
grief-stricken as I feel right now, I know that this particular election result
is in no way the final word. We live in a democratic
nation, and while sometimes a person I like doesn't win or someone I actually
fear does win, the reality is that there will always be another election. And there are plenty of opportunities—and
plenty of ways—for me and for us to intervene in the world in the name of love,
justice, and the common good. We talked
about this a couple of weeks ago. In the
words of MLK, Jr.: “The arc of
the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” Right
now the arc might be straying in another direction. So, regardless of who holds political power, it
is up to us to pull that arc back down. . . .
Because as I let my grief and anger work
deeply on me, I know that I am strong. That
our community is strong. That we are not
alone. That our God stands with
us—always and forever—on the side of compassion and generosity and justice. This is what I wrote to you before the
election. And I believe it.
The
election was never about 1 person or 2 people, or their parties of affiliation. The election, like the work of the church,
was about—continues to be about—how we engage the work of building up, mending,
restoring, and reconciling a world that is hopeful, inclusive, gracious, kind. And God’s steadfast
and unfailing love—we all know—is bigger than any election. And it demands that we extend that Love to
any and all we meet.
But this work—and this expectation—does not
please the Pharisees in our scripture story this morning. This work—and this expectation—does not
please the bullies of the world. The
Pharisees are mad about Jesus’ teaching this morning because Jesus is laying
this failed expectation at their feet. They
have not engaged in the work of building up, mending, restoring, and reconciling a
world that is hopeful, inclusive, gracious, kind; they have not extended God’s
steadfast and unfailing Love to all they meet.
Instead, as God’s appointed caretakers, and public servants, the
Pharisees—like the tenants in the story—have abused the vulnerable people in
their charge—all the people that come asking for a share of God’s abundance. And no matter who comes, these “caretakers”
look out only for themselves. They
refuse to see the needs and well-being of others. They would rather kill and destroy and throw people
out than offer a portion of their blessings.
And we
see this. Not just in this story. But today.
This is where some of the election grief comes from. Immigrants,
refugees, and asylum-seekers are being thrown out. People of color, people with disabilities,
and people who have experienced sexual assault are being thrown out. Muslims, Jews, Sikhs, and anyone who worships
differently than them are being thrown out.
Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, questioning, intersex, and
asexual people are being thrown out.
Indigenous communities and their fight for their land and their
well-being are being thrown out.
Where will it stop? And more specifically, where will we draw the
line?
We are entering into a frightening new era for
vulnerable people in America. And as the
church, we must stand openly and boldly in the face of bigotry and continue
the work for justice—and continue to care for all of God’s beloved ones. We don’t get to pick and choose who is worthy
of our love and support. God
has appointed us as caretakers, and we must care for all those in our charge.
To make this as plain as I can: The church—the moral stronghold of our
community—has work to do. And that work
that hasn’t changed. We have to fight
for the spiritual, physical, emotional, economic, and social well-being of
every member of our community—no matter who they voted for, no matter what
their political motivations are. We do
this by working for justice and caring for one another.
Remember,
Luke keeps telling us: Jesus
brings no peaceful complicity with the status quo. He boldly names the injustices that deny some
people their humanity in order to privilege others. And he is willing to cause division and
discomfort in order to advocate for the common good—especially for those who no
one else is willing to stand up for! He
is willing to push us hard toward the
justice the world needs in order to help us grow in faith and love and
grace.
He challenges us to cross
well-established boundaries. Boundaries
that may feel really difficult to cross.
He invites us to travel with him into new confrontations. To expect resistance. And to respond with loving defiance and uncompromising welcome. How many of you remember what German pastor
Martin Niemoller said in 1930s Germany?
First they came for the Communists. And I did not speak out.
Because I was
not a Communist.
Then they came for the Socialists. And I did not speak out.
Because I was
not a Socialist.
Then they came for the trade
unionists. And I did not speak out.
Because I was
not a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews. And I did not speak out.
Because I was
not a Jew.
Then they came for me. And there was no one left. To speak out for me.
All of us, my friends, are all of
them. Because all of them are actually
us. We must use our privilege to
make places for others. To provide safe
space. To speak up and act in the face of injustice. To stick up for the vulnerable. To challenge bigots and bullies. To refuse to let hate speech become
normalized. To live into our calling to
be people of faith not fear.
We are called to
welcome the foreigner into our vineyard and to share our blessings with
her. For she is one of God’s beloved
children. Let it be so. Amen. “Our good Lord answered to all the questions and doubts that I might make, saying full comfortably: I may make all thing well, I can make all thing well, I will make all thing well, and I shall make all thing well. . . . All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” ―Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love
posted by First Christian Church on 6:14 PM
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