Sandy Hook Revisited

It’s hard to believe that three years have passed since Adam Lanza gunned down 20 elementary school children, 6 of their teachers, and his mother. Even harder to fathom is that, three years on, the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School no longer stands as an anomaly of recent history. Since that frightful December day in 2012, the frequency of mass shootings in America has pulled the term “active shooter” from the police scanner into the vernacular, and guns have claimed the lives of some 555 American children.

On Christmas Eve 2012, I published a prayer for Newtown, along with a few reflections. I am re-posting them tonight as a tribute to the memory of the fallen and the grief of the living, and an appeal for faith-filled action in the wake of our prayers. The next three years do not have to repeat the last three years.

Adam Lanza did more than shoot a class of innocent, defenseless first graders. He left a .223 caliber exit wound in the collective consciousness of America.

Part of the sting comes from wanting to do something but not knowing what to do. Some are campaigning for gun control. Others are advocating for more and better mental health care. Still others are sending gifts to Newtown. I recently read that well-wishers from all over the world have flooded this community of 28,000 people has with 60,000 teddy bears. I applaud theses efforts, but none of them will ever be enough – for those giving or those receiving.

What I know to do is pray. At least, that’s the only place I know to begin. Following Christ is not a stationary (and never a sedentary!) activity, even when we are still, seeking to know that the Lord is God. If what we call prayer is more than wishful thinking, it must always draw us up off our knees – either to acts of ministry or to stand ready with straighter posture and sharper vision. Prayer moves us. I do not yet know how to move, exactly; but I continue to pray so that I might continue to be ready.

And so for what it’s worth, I’d like to offer these prayers for Newtown on this Christmas Eve. They were first offered on Sunday, December 16, prior to our church Christmas play. They continue to be prayed – for the victims and for us all, that we may heal and learn to wrestle with the questions surrounding this tragedy without forcing answers:

Lord, today as the candles of Advent glow in our midst, a thick cloud hangs over our hearts. We are struggling to comprehend the slaughter of the innocents that took place in Newtown, Connecticut. Such violence. Such grief. Such pain. We turn to you, O Lord: our Rock, our Redeemer; our Shepherd, our Savior, our Sustainer. We turn to you for comfort, for strength, for relief… for we are weary and heavy laden. Hear our prayers and help us to pray. Create in us clean hearts; renew our spirits, and transform our minds. And as we pray, remind us who we are and whose we are in this holy season of Advent.

As a people blessed to mourn, let us pray for the community of Newtown and all who are grieved – around the country and around the world – by what has happened there. May we be comforted.

As a people called to weep with those who weep, let us pray for the victims of the Newtown tragedy and their loved ones, for whom this Advent must seem devoid of anything resembling hope, peace, joy, or love.

As a people called to pray for our enemies and those who persecute us, let us pray – as hard as it may be – for the gunman, Adam Lanza, and those who loved him.

As a people called to go the extra mile, let us pray a special prayer for Adam’s brother, Ryan, who has not only lost his brother and his mother just before Christmas but who must live with the anguish of knowing that his brother killed his mother before shooting 26 other people – most of them children.

As a people called to make disciples of all nations, let us pray that the hope, peace, joy, and love of this Advent season will not be lost in the wake of this tragedy. Let us be inspired to continue celebrating the promise of Christmas. Let us be inspired to continue singing with the angels – not to deny the deep darkness of these days, but to proclaim that in the darkness there is a light that shines; that the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; and the great light that shines is a light that darkness does not – and cannot – overcome.

Finally, as a people blessed to hunger and thirst for righteousness, let us pray together the prayer our Lord taught us to pray, saying: Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory forever. Amen.

Amen.

All Sides of the Sea

A version of this post was my sermon on Sunday, June 28.  The texts are Mark 5.21-43 (NRSV) and 1 Thessalonians 3.1-13 (NRSV).  It is the third in a five-part sermon series on First Thessalonians. 

Three chapters and 43 verses into Paul’s first letter to the church at Thessalonica, Paul is still giving thanks for the members of the Thessalonian congregation. In fact, offering thanksgiving for them and rejoicing over them is essentially ALL Paul has done thus far. The faith instruction that is so prominent in Paul’s other letters has been minimal. Don’t worry, it’s coming; but in the first three-fifths of First Thessalonians almost everything has revolved around Paul’s love for this church and his joy in them as brothers and sisters in Christ – and this in itself is instructional.

We can’t go too far out of our way or make too big a deal out of love. It is Paul, after all, who will later pen the most famous hymn to love in all of Scripture – arguably, perhaps, in all of Western literature: 1 Corinthians chapter 13.

If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing…. [ Love ] bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.

Without love, we, the people of Jesus, have nothing. We gain nothing. We are nothing.

Jesus Himself declares that love is what everything comes down to. Love the Lord your God with your whole self, and love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the prophets hang from these two commandments. Paul is simply embodying here what he has received from Jesus, and what he proclaims elsewhere.

When Paul himself cannot visit the Thessalonian church, he sends Timothy to “strengthen and encourage them.” Paul is afraid that recent trials might have caused them to doubt or stray, so he made sure someone got there. And when Timothy returns with a report that all is well with them, Paul celebrates! He writes to tell the Thessalonians how joyful they have made him, and how that joy has sustained him during his own very trying time.

Then, he goes one step further. Paul concludes this section of the letter with a prayer – praying that God will increase their love for one another, and for all people. He wants them to love even more! For all there is to celebrate, they have not yet found the floor of love’s depths nor reached the peak of faith’s summit. When it comes to love, there is always more: more to receive, more to give, more to experience. And more is what Paul wants for the Thessalonians because that’s what Christ wants for them and all of God’s children. That’s what Christ offers us, and what He models for us. It all comes down to love. And love never ends – which means love only expands; it never contracts.

We’ll see how Paul encourages the Thessalonians to reach for more and strive for more in the next couple of weeks as First Thessalonians continues. In the meantime, to explore why (when it comes to love) there’s always more to reach and strive for, the Gospel lectionary reading for today illustrates the boundless reach of Christ’s love as well as any text in the New Testament. I think it will help us understand why Paul can’t seem to stop rejoicing over the Thessalonians, and prompt us to reflect on how we should love as Christ loves – within our church, and within our world.

In Mark 5.21, Jesus has just returned from the land of the Gerasenes. Jesus had crossed over the Sea of Galilee to the Gentile side, to an area referred to as the Decapolis: a region of Greco-Roman cities and towns east and south of Galilee. These settlements were outposts of Hellenic life and culture in the otherwise Semitic territories of the first century Near East.

For Jews, especially pious Jews, the Decapolis was the land of “the other.” It was an “unclean” region, and the cultural base of their pagan overlords. Yet, Jesus goes there. And not only does He go there, He performs a miracle there – just as He performed miracles throughout Galilee and Judea. Specifically, he heals a man possessed by a “legion” of unclean spirits. As a Gentile, this man would have been considered unclean anyway. But this poor suffering soul turns out to be an unclean Gentile, living in an unclean Gentile land, who makes his home in an unclean cemetery, possessed by an army of unclean spirits. He’s about as unclean as a human being could possibly be in the minds of Jesus’ peers.

He’s so unclean, even the other unclean Gentiles won’t have anything to do with him. The townspeople are afraid of him. He howls like an animal and hits himself with rocks. Out of their fear, the community tried to restrain him, but he was so strong he broke free of their chains. So, they kept away from him – had nothing to do with him. If he came near, they would have run in the opposite direction as far and fast as they could.

But Jesus doesn’t run. Jesus engages this man, then casts out the legion of spirits by sending them into a heard of pigs that happened to be nearby. The possessed heard then stampedes into the sea and drowns. The owners of the pigs are none to pleased, as I’m sure you can imagine – and they ask Jesus to leave. The Lord might have healed this feared man whom everyone thought was incurable, but He did so at great cost to certain individuals and they’re now afraid of Jesus.

So, Jesus leaves. As Jesus and the disciples are getting into their boat, the man whom Jesus healed begs to come with Him. But Jesus refuses his request. Jesus tells him he needs to stay, and this is what He says. “Go home to your friends, and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and what mercy he has shown you.”

These instructions are key to understanding fully what Jesus is up to. Jesus is not just restoring this poor man to his right mind; He’s restoring him to his society, to his friends and family, the community from which he has been ostracized and estranged for so long. Jesus instructs the former demoniac to stay so he can begin rebuilding the bonds of kinship now that he’s been released from the bondage of his condition, and the literal shackles his relatives and neighbors tried to impose upon him.  We might even go so far as to say that Jesus leaves (And takes the blame) so that the former demoniac can stay.

Community matters. Belonging matters.

Now, at the beginning of today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus is back on the “right side” of the Sea of Galilee – back among “righteous” people: God’s people, the Jews. But even here, all is not well and restoration is needed.

Right away, Jesus is met by a man named Jairus, who is one of the leaders of the synagogue. We’re not just back among “clean” folk; we’re among the shiniest of the clean folk. To be a leader of the synagogue, Jairus must have been an especially pious person. At the very least, he must have had a reputation for being an especially pious person. Nevertheless, Jairus’ piety has not shielded his household from tragedy. His daughter is ill – on the verge of death – and he implores Jesus to come and heal her. Jesus agrees.

Then, the story gets even more interesting. On the way to Jairus’ house, another person sees Jesus making His way through the crowd: a woman who has suffered with a hemorrhage, an issue of blood, for twelve years.

Mark tells us she’s been to see all manner of doctors, and spent all of her money trying to get well. But the doctors have failed her. Not only could they not make her better, their proscribed treatments have made the problem worse. What’s more, her affliction, like the demoniac’s possession, has rendered her unclean. For more than a decade, if she touched anyone, or if anyone touched her, she would have made them unclean, too.

So, even though she was there in the midst of the multitude, she would have been isolated. Most likely she was also deeply troubled as well as in great discomfort from her affliction. What had she done to displease God that this was happening to her? What sin had she committed? What offense had she given? After twelve years, the fact that she had any faith left at all is almost as miraculous as what happens next.

The woman says to herself, “If only I can touch Jesus’ clothes, I can be made well.” So, as Jesus passes by, she does what the Law says she shouldn’t do: she reaches out and grabs ahold of Him. When she does, Mark says that she can feel in her body that she has been healed.

Jesus feels it, too. Mark says that Jesus feels the power go out of Him and He begins asking, “Who touched My clothes?” The disciples are incredulous. Seriously? In this sea of people, You want to know who touched You? It could have been anybody.

But Jesus will not relent. He keeps searching, though we’re not quite sure why. Is He surprised? Angry? Curious? The anonymous woman hears His inquiry, and even though she is afraid, decides to make herself known. “It was I,” she says. “I touched You.”

What Jesus says in response to her confession is just as powerful and important as what He tells the Gerasene demoniac. “Daughter,” He says, “your faith has made you well; go in peace and be healed of your disease.”

Jesus addresses her as, “Daughter.” To her world, she may have been anonymous; she may have been an unclean outcast.  But to Jesus, she’s family. She is a “daughter” every bit as much as the child of the leader of the synagogue whom Jesus is on His way to see. Jesus restores her humanity as well as her body. As with the demoniac, He returns her to community as well as to health.

Jesus’ satisfaction is short-lived, however. While Jesus is blessing the anonymous woman with the issue of blood, news arrives from Jairus’ house that his daughter has died.

Yet, unlike the inconsequential, unclean woman in the crowd, the response to this tragedy from the supposedly pious household of the leader of the synagogue is a lack of faith rather than a demonstration of it. The messengers say to Jairus, “Why trouble the teacher any longer?” It’s finished. Nothing can be done.

Jesus won’t hear of it. He tells Jairus not to fear, but to believe – and presses on. When they arrive at the house, the people gathered in the girl’s room laugh at Him when He assesses the situation and them tells them the little girl is only sleeping. They laugh.

No matter. Jesus remains undeterred. He throws the scoffers out of the house, and with her parents and the inner circle of His disciples present, Jesus heals the girl and she begins to move freely around.

Then, at the very end of the story, we discover an incredible detail. Mark tells us Jairus’ daughter is twelve years old. That means that she, the daughter of the prominent synagogue leader, and the unclean, anonymous woman from the crowd share a connection. The woman’s hemorrhage had dogged her for twelve years, which means it began the same year the young girl was born. Now, of course, they share an additional connection: Christ Jesus.

Jesus connects everything in Mark chapter five: Jew and Gentile, the somebodies and the nobodies, the living and the dead. In the privacy of a prominent home, in the thick of a bustling crowd, on the “right” and “wrong” sides of the sea – Jesus lives and moves. We see Jesus with the supposedly “righteous” and the supposedly “unrighteous.” We see Him with the movers and the shakers, as well as with the voiceless and the marginalized. From start to finish, He values people of every station and status enough to allow them to summon Him, interrupt Him, even to tell Him He needs to go. There is more than enough of Jesus and His love to go around.

That’s why Paul can declare to the church that love never ends – and why he prays for love among Jesus’ people to continually increase, even when it abounds in their midst. If love never ends, it must continue to grow. So, even when we’ve gone with Christ to the other side of the sea, we haven’t yet gone as far as we can.

As the people of Jesus, we need to remember that. We need to remember that each and every day, but we especially need to remember it as the people of Jesus in America as we begin to live in the wake of the Supreme Court’s decision on marriage equality.

Since the Court’s verdict was handed down last week, social forums and media outlets have exploded with exuberance and outrage. Some see the ruling as victory in a decades-long struggle for civil liberty. Others view it as the veritable end of Western civilization. What’s more, faithful, earnest, God-fearing, Jesus-loving people are to be found on the side of exuberance, on the side of outrage, and at many points in between. It’s a debate that has been raging for some time, and it is a debate that will continue to rage. The Court’s decision is a milestone, not the finish line.

It’s also a debate worth having. Living a faithful life in pursuit of Jesus is a challenge. Yes, we have the witness of Scripture to guide us, but the Bible says a lot of things. Some matters are addressed directly. Some are hinted at. Others are not addressed at all – and still others are addressed one way in one part of the Bible and another way in a different part. Scripture must therefore be continually and prayerfully interpreted. Engaging in honest, sincere debate about how to best apply what we read to the life we live is how we learn and grow as disciples. And the fact that there are so many faithful, earnest, God-fearing, Jesus-loving people at various points all along the theological spectrum of this particular question should confirm for us that marriage is a nuanced issue far more complex than simply “what the Bible says.”

That’s why the venom and the judgment embedded in many of the supposedly Christian responses to the Supreme Court’s decision are so disturbing. Christians on one side of the debate are essentially telling fellow Christians – and anyone else – on the other side that they are unclean. You don’t see this matter the same way we see it, therefore you are not counted among the faithful. You are apostates outside the fold of Jesus’ flock, essentially outside the scope of His love and mercy.

We simply cannot indulge that kind of rhetoric, or logic. When we draw such rigid lines in the sand, we stunt our own spiritual growth and we make our faith about the lines rather than about Jesus – the Jesus whom, as we have seen, lives and moves among the “righteous” and the “unrighteous” on all sides of the sea. What’s more, we’ve seen that great faith and powerful witness can be found among “the unclean,” and doubt and misunderstanding can be found among the “clean.” Jesus is always deeper and wider and greater than our own conclusions, which is why, at the end of the day, our faith must come down to love, if it is come down to Jesus.

Like Jesus, love always sees people, no matter how thick the veil of fear or doubt that surrounds them, or how thick the crowd that obscures them. Love constantly nudges us, prods us, to push through the lines that crisscross our world – some drawn by others, some drawn by us – and to pay attention to the humanity within their bounds. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.

I think that’s why Paul can’t stop talking about love, can’t stop rejoicing in the love he witnesses and experiences, and why he prays that the followers of Jesus will find and experience even more love.

That’s my prayer today, too: that in the days ahead, the Lord will make the people of Jesus increase and abound in love for one another and for all. May we remember that none of us has yet found the floor of love’s depths, nor reached the peak of faith’s summit – and that Jesus is to be found on all sides of the sea, with “us” as well as with “them,” whomever and wherever “we” and “they” might be.

Amen.

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