From Isaiah 60:1-18
People bombed his home. Death
threats were common. He was arrested several times. Once, while he
was in jail, someone slipped him a local Birmingham newspaper in
which white religious leaders had written an article calling him and
other civil rights protestors “law breakers.” So, sitting in
that dark, dank jail cell, in the margins of that newspaper—and
even on toilet paper—Martin Luther King, Jr. wrote his “Letter
from Birmingham Jail.”
One section goes like this: “In
the midst of blatant injustices inflicted upon the Negro, I have
watched white churchmen stand on the sideline and mouth pious
irrelevancies and sanctimonious trivialities. . . .
In the midst of
a mighty struggle to rid our nation of racial and economic injustice,
I have heard many ministers say: ‘Those are social issues, with
which the gospel has no real concern.’ And I have watched many
churches commit themselves to a completely other worldly religion
which makes a strange, un-Biblical distinction between body and soul,
between the sacred and the secular.”
Now, there are
many striking arguments in this letter, and in this paragraph in
particular. MLK isn’t primarily angered that white Christians
aren’t out in force protesting in solidarity with the black
community; instead, he focuses his concern on the fact that those
white Christians choose not to connect
their Christian faith with the Christian imperative to care for
others—who they don’t consider to be part of their social group.
He presses us to
consider: Who is my/your neighbor?
Who are you called to love? Who is it
okay not
to care about?
And MLK also
puzzles over the disconnect many Christians create between Christian
belief and Christian behavior: Is it
true that the gospel has no concern—and nothing to say—about
society? … Or just what does the gospel have to say about social
issues—and social injustice in particular?
I puzzle over this in my own
work—serving a church, as well as teaching social ethics and
courses on spiritual practice. How are we supposed to live out our
faith? How should we, as Christians, respond to global warming,
racism, homophobia, sexual assault, the border wall? Could these
really be issues that the gospel has no concern?!
Well, frankly, I believe that
attending to that vital connection—and that interdependent
relationship—between social realities and spiritual development is
THE essential work of faith. It is not an optional add-on or
afterthought to faith; it is faith. How we interact and
respond to social issues expose our theological beliefs, our
spiritual values, and our understanding of biblical and social
justice.
The biblical prophets knew that,
of course. Each one of them rooted their ministry contextually on
the social, political, and economic realities of their day and the
spiritual development of their people. It was a given. . . .
Social realities and spiritual development were understood as
interconnected. If climate change had been presented to them
as a pressing issue affecting all aspects of creation, you better
believe they would have addressed it from a faith perspective.
But like us, those biblical
prophets and the people they served easily became weary and
exhausted—when change was slow or failed to arrive—especially
when power holders turned a deaf ear, when the path became rocky,
painful, and took sharp, unexpected turns.
That was certainly true during the
Babylonian Exile, in the 6th Century BCE. That’s 2600
years ago. It’s hard to imagine what life would have been like
2600 years ago. But what we do know is that the Babylonians invaded
and defeated the nation of Israel in the land of Palestine.
Nebuchadrezzar II, the greatest king of the Chaldean dynasty of
Babylonia, destroyed Israel’s great Temple, plundered its wealth
and resources, took the people into bondage, and marched them into
Babylon in chains, where they remained for 70 years. Many of the
laments of the Psalms recall this heart-wrenching event. The
Babylonian victory over Israel was absolute; it completely devastated
the political, social, economic and religious life Israel had known
for centuries.
It is probably impossible for us
to imagine this kind of devastation, humiliation, and destruction.
Many of the people in exile felt completely abandoned, wondering
where was God? Were they still God’s people? Was God still
God?
And into this angst, God speaks
through the prophet Isaiah, reminding the people who God is and how
God works, drawing their attention beyond this particular, historical
moment and into the larger purposes of God. . . . I imagine a camera
lens slowly zooming out from a close-up shot to a wide-angle, cosmic
view. There is more to this picture. There is more that we are
called to be about. . . . God is the God not only of Israel—not
only of Babylon—but God is the one who creates the heavens,
universes, black holes, and spreads out the earth in all directions
and all that comes from it, who gives breath to all people and all
creatures, who fills all those in the world with spirit. This is
the God of all Creation, who dwells throughout the wide, open,
cosmos. This God is not bound by exile, and yet does
have a very particular love for individual people, particularly those
in pain.
Isaiah extends God’s lifeline of
consolation. . . . He extolls God’s promise and God’s hope, even
in the bleakest of times, when all hope seems hidden. . . . Even
when there are forces active in the world that would ask us to kowtow
to abusive demonstrations of power, expect us to relinquish our
values and principles of faith out of fear, encourage us to turn a
blind eye to injustices because they tell us we are too helpless to
change them. Isaiah assures us, faithful resistance can make
a difference. Isaiah declares that God is appointing Peace as
our Overseer.
But who is this Overseer Named
Peace?! Referenced again and again, bringing justice and love—not
domination and tyranny—throughout the world, for all nations, for
all people. . . . There are all kinds of speculation, academic
hypotheses. . . . But I think in reminding God’s people that
God is still—and is always—with them, at work among them,
constantly and continually restoring them and creating them to be
blessings to others, Isaiah is calling each and every one
of us out to be that Overseer Named Peace. We are
the ones called faithfully to resist wherever the poor are not
offered good news, wherever the captives are not offered release,
wherever the blind are not offered their sight, wherever the
oppressed are not offered their freedom. Resistance
in the face of tyranny is the most faithful thing I can imagine. And
MLK believed that. Jesus believed that. And Isaiah believed that.
We are called to be that Overseer Named Peace,
rooted solidly in our faith and moral authority, pointing boldly to
life-giving, life-affirming possibilities for ourselves, our
families, our communities, and our world.
And like many of the servants and
prophets who have gone before us teach us: there will be those who do
not want to hear what we have to say, who do not want to see the work
that we do, but we must say it and we must do it anyway. We will
experience times of frustration and exhaustion, when the road seems
too long, and we’re not sure we’re getting anywhere. But we must
keep walking that road anyway.
The deepest work of faith lies in
making connections—however tiring it may be, however long it
may take. Those of you who have been involved in Common
Ground and any kind of community organizing—especially—know what
I am talking about. . . . Change is hard. And doing the spiritual
work of social justice is exhausting, tiring work. It does not move
fast or particularly smoothly, and there is nothing to guarantee our
success. But it is spiritually necessary work. It is the only way
to strive toward lasting change.
And I hear from many of you—you
inspire me—you seem to remember and know even when I forget: “We
don’t have to do the work all by ourselves. We have to remember
that. The power of God is amazing!”
And you’re right—although I
sometimes fall into this trap—especially when it comes to changing
social systems and structures—we can’t get stuck feeling like we
have to set everything right all by ourselves—that God’s presence
is all very nice, but all the heavy lifting really falls on us. That
completely discounts God. And while I do believe we are the hands
and feet and eyes and heart of God active in the world, I also
believe that we are not acting alone. We cannot leave God out of the
equation! Our prayers matter. Our faith matters. God’s abiding
presence matters. That’s how the ancient prophets—like
Isaiah—kept going. . . . They opened themselves up and allowed God
to renew their strength!
We have to remember that the One
who calls us to magnify freedom and justice throughout the world is
the God who created the earth, who calls out the stars, whose
strength knows no limits. The One who calls us and sends us out into
a world of great need is also the God who gives strength to the
powerless and words to the silenced. God commissioned the
life-giving work of the prophet Isaiah, as well as the profound and
inspiring work of Martin Luther King, Jr. And God continues to call
to us and commission us today. To bring forth light and justice to
ALL the nations, to connect social justice with our own spiritual
development, and to live in faithful resistance to anything that asks
us to sacrifice our deepest value and belief in God’s universal and
lavish love. May we live our lives in ways worthy of this calling. .
. .
Amen.