Sermon July 5 2009

“Our Best Intentions”
Mine eyes have seen the glory
of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage
where the grapes of wrath
are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning
of his terrible swift sword:
His truth is marching on.
Julia Ward Howe wrote the words to this hymn in the middle of the American Civil War as a response to her warlike surroundings. She believed that slavery had to end, but wondered at the means by which changes were being made.

She wrote it in wondering at the death that accompanied the war—and then shortly after the war she lobbied for a day to honor mothers, to remember the effect of death on those mothers as they mourned the loss of sons, brothers and husband. Her idea of Mothers’ Day wasn’t simply honoring mothers, but to rally mothers as opponents to war.

Yet I find it interesting that we sing this song to a very martial tune—the music sounds like soldiers marching. And the words speak of Jesus’ triumph over evil in militaristic terms, but God is the one marching—her words convey that Jesus destroys, or tramples out anger, wrath, or war. And her idea’s come from Jesus’ words of truth, “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”
I have read a fiery gospel,
writ in burnished rows of steel:
"As ye deal with my contemnors,
so with you my grace shall deal;

We know things about the gospel that we seem to be afraid to stand by—we know Jesus preached love for all believers. We really do understand that Jesus wanted our lives to be guided by the actions he took—meeting injustice with righteous anger, but not violence. He met persecution with grace and with words of truth and conviction, but did not resist violence with violence.

God works in the ways that you have experienced, read about and lived. What God calls you to do is to share those ways, understand how you have been blessed by them and reveal it. At church we have the opportunity to learn the language to share that—and then go out and speak of our faith.

Yet sometimes the places where we would expect the most support and opportunity to learn are the places where we assume we are least welcome to be ourselves. In the gospel text today, we read that Jesus experienced a lack of welcome from people who had known him from childhood because they had a certain set of expectations fro him and they found another set as he spoke and taught them.

They seemed to expect the rough hewn carpenter—a man who worked with his hands and not with words. They knew his family of origin—a set of ordinary people, some ornery, some quiet, just like all families—and they probably expected him to be the typical elder brother. He hadn’t stayed around to take care of his mother—or the rest of his siblings. He had chosen to travel around the country learning about the Jewish people—about the chosen people of God. He had walked with people of other regions and learned from rabbis and teachers in other parts of the land. He had spent time in the wilderness in contemplation and fasting—communing with God as many of those in his hometown had not. They thought he was a little odd, I’m sure, and he was not what they thought he should be, let alone what they would expect from him.

I would venture to guess that the friends and neighbors of his mother and siblings thought he had fallen down on his duty to his family. How could they listen to someone who didn’t express tradition and faith as they thought he should? What if all their assumptions about God’s expectations were not as narrow and concrete as they thought they were?

The familiar, ordinary assumptions about many of the aspects in our faith lives are often challenged the more we learn about the Jesus’ life and what he taught about priorities and essentials in life. For instance, as the people of Israel developed as a nation they also developed particular hopes for the one who would save them—the Messiah. They expected a leader of troops, like David.

David had been chosen by God as a young shepherd boy—and anointed by the people of Israel, in today’s text from 2 Samuel, when he was somewhat proven as a general in battle. Only when he fit the expectation of a military power did the nation approve—but his faith and exuberance in matters of faith. In later stories, when David danced in front of the altar, exposing himself to the altar though it was forbidden. Despite David’s habitual tendency to flaunt lawful choices, the biblical witness still says that God favored him because he kept succeeding.

The people of Israel expected David’s martial talent, they wanted a man who would organize them into a force to free them from Rome’s oppression. I’ve said this before and I’m sure I’ll say it again, but Jesus wasn’t the military leader they wanted—he rejected that kind of power in his life. Though he revealed God’s power, he didn’t use it to gather and army to overthrow the Roman’s militarily—instead we know that he overthrew the power of death by succumbing to death and defeating by returning to life. His death turned the power of death on its head. Only by succumbing to death could he show that it was powerless in the face of God’s power.

Often our best intentions to follow the life of Christ means we take his life seriously and as our own. And it means that we are called to follow his teachings, his example and his intentions for us even if they aren’t what we expect they should be. And I suspect that the expectations we have don’t fit exactly what God wants for us—and I also suspect that our best intentions for following are exactly what God wants for us. We are called to do our best, not because it is less than God wants, but because it is exactly what God wants. I also suspect that God loves us so deeply that our attempts to please God are often what pleases God.

The Battle Hymn of the Republic was written by Julia Ward Howe in a similarly vein. It speaks of the work of Christ in military terms, but it guides people away from solving problems through fighting.
I have read a fiery gospel,
writ in burnished rows of steel:
"As ye deal with my contemnors,
so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman,
crush the serpent with his heel,
Since God is marching on."
She uses biblical images to establish the idea that it is Christ who will defeat evil—it’s not our job to destroy others. The sword of God’s word cuts sharp and true, but it does not destroy; it refines and cuts away the falseness. The sword is wielded only by Christ and destroys only death, even according to the scriptures that speak of the sword.

The Christ’s witness exists within our lives as we live out his ministry in our lives—at least as we do out best to do so. We are called to be Christ in the world, not just to be good to one another who live within the church. We are called to carry the teachings that we receive here, at this way station of faith and carry those things in our lives as we interact with others.

One of the ways that I think people of faith have always missed God’s point when it comes to carrying out God’s will in their lives is by making an experience of God a permanent fixture. Yet that’s often how people respond to God once God makes God’s self known to them. We build structures that commemorate our experiences—or we create institutions to make our experiences seem more real to us. But when we solidify those experiences, we create limitations for the ways in which God works. Institutions, buildings, rituals and practices can be used to help us remember the story of God and continue telling it, but they can also become the ends instead of the means.

We are blessed by God’s presence, the love of Christ and the communion of the Holy Spirit as we walk this journey of faith with the best of intentions—with the intention to share the peace we have in Jesus Christ, the intention to live the love that Jesus brought to us, the intention to hold Jesus before us as an example.

We cannot be perfect—to attempt perfection is the sin of idolatry. If we are perfect, we have no need of redemption and salvation. Let make the best of our intentions to be faithful, to be loving, to be the presence of Christ in the lives of those we meet. But we have to let the savior be the savior, not take that job for ourselves.

As we are called to live for Christ and share his love, let us live and share what we know, that Christ will do what Christ has been called to do.

As Christians we are called to believe this world can be a place of hope:
where power is shared;
where all have clean water and enough to eat;
where there is concern and action
to secure freedom and justice.
We are called to believe in God’s way of love and peace,
and to proclaim it.
We are called to believe this world can be a place of peace:
where love triumphs over war;
where people of different faiths
live together in good will;
where there is unity among neighbors.
We are called to believe in God’s way of love and peace,
and to proclaim it.
We are called to believe this world can be a place of truth:
where words of honesty are heard
more often than words of propaganda;
where there is honor among those who govern;
where integrity guides our daily lives.
We are called to believe in God’s way of love and peace,
and to proclaim it. (from Seasons of the Spirit, July 5 2009, copyrighted material)

To the glory of God, only to God—present in Christ and powerful in the Spirit. Amen.