Proper 10 2015

Proper 10 2015

I spent a year one summer, while I was in college, laboring for a company that did masonry work. As a laborer, it didn’t mean that I was laying block—I would have to work with them for quite a while before they would teach me that. Instead, I got to do things like run a mixer, walk a wheel barrow along planks of wood like an acrobat—I was even told to toss a big masonry saw to my boss a couple of times.

Anyway, for all of the nifty power tools and machines that they used, these masons also used something as simple as a plumb line. This is simply a weight attached to a string, which is used as a reference line to keep a wall straight as it’s being built, row after row, block after block.

The importance of a straight wall is more than a matter of aesthetics, though. The weight of the whole structure, and its soundness relies upon the walls being able to support everything. And because maintaining the vertical line isn’t easy, the plumb line is used to keep each row aligned with all of its previous ones.

The plumb line, then (as anyone might well assume), is an ancient tool. It’s relatively simple, and we see it mentioned in today’s Old Testament reading. The Prophet Amos is given a vision of God holding a plumb line next to a wall—an analogy that would have been easily understood by the people of this time. And God explains that the injustices that had been committed by Israel (and a number of other nations besides) weren’t going to be overlooked anymore. The people (God’s People included) were about to be held to the standard that God had set. And they needed to get themselves ready…because God promised the judgment would be the destruction of Israel and Judah, and that many of the people would be taken into exile.

As you can imagine, Amos didn’t get invited to many parties after this…

But the great thing about Amos, is that he’s essentially a nobody—this is a guy who is not formally trained, and instead comes charging into Israel straight outta the backwaters of Tekoa, a nowhere settlement outside of Judea. He’s a shepherd by trade, and apparently pretty good at caring for sycamore trees, but definitely not prophet stuff.

Only, well…God’s called him to be a prophet because once again God had gotten a belly full of the callousness; the greed; and the complacency of the People of God. What’s more, Amos is made all the more indignant by the fact that these “People of God” have taken for granted their identity as a Chosen People. They seem to take for granted that everything will just blow over, like it always does…they feel entitled to it, in fact—angry prophets and divine judgement not withstanding… So, no big thing…

After all, they’d heard all of this before: don’t cheat, don’t steal, don’t exploit the poor… It’s the same old song and dance, and I’m sure that like a lot of us, these people who were hearing Amos were thinking to themselves—“Well, that isn’t me, and, besides, I’m not trying to hurt anyone. I’m a nice person who’s just minding my own business, and taking care of mine…”

So, what’s the big deal, do you think?

Rabbi Abraham Heschel points out in his book The Prophets, “The things that horrified the prophets are even now daily occurrences all over the world. There is no society to which Amos’ words would not apply (3).” But he adds ironically, “[The prophets] speak as if the sky were about to collapse because Israel has become unfaithful to God (5).”

Rabbi Heschel even muses about whether or not God’s anger and the prophets’ indignation isn’t a bit out of proportion to the cause. He continues by asking, doesn’t it seem “incongruous and absurd that because of some minor acts of injustice inflicted on the insignificant, powerless poor, the glorious city of Jerusalem should be destroyed…” and the people sent into exile (5)? He even goes so far as to call the outbursts of these prophets hysterical, and their judgements bitterly harsh…

However, to be fair, I should probably mention that Rabbi Heschel was very active in the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s, and was a fierce opponent of the war in Vietnam. So, it should be no surprise that he answers these questions by saying: “…[I]f such deep sensitivity to evil is to be called hysterical, what name should be given to the abysmal indifference to evil which the prophet bewails (5)?”

In other words, if speaking out against injustices (as God demands) is considered irrational or crazy…what can we say for being calloused, apathetic, or even enabling the injustices in the world? Y’see, the problem isn’t just the people who are perpetrators of evil and injustice. Like Israel, we’re all rubbing our hands together waiting for them to ‘get their payback.’ But just as incriminating, the problem is also that there are so many of us who have allowed ourselves to become unaffected by such injustices and evil. What’s more, we’re not really interested in responding to it, and becomes a guilt of a different sort.

Now to be fair, I suppose we could claim that things like injustice, and evil are really big and amorphous—how does one even really dig-in, and try to take on such things? What would it mean to challenge the systemic issues in our world like poverty, human trafficking, war, whatever?

But, really, there are some practical ways to respond if we’re paying attention. Groups like Episcopal Relief and Development are great places to start if you’re looking for a multitude of ways to support, or even engage the church’s work in responding to any number of these things… So, while we can’t do it all, we’re certainly not powerless to do something, and there are resources to help us, which means it’s not perhaps as difficult as we might imagine.

Of course, there would still be some who would ask (and fairly I think), why we should focus all of our efforts on people who are far away when we have so many problems right here at home? And as long as we don’t use it as an excuse to do nothing, I would say that because we are such a wealthy nation, and because of the many amazing organizations that work to address need and systemic change, it requires much less effort to help and support their work.

But that’s to say we don’t have to make it an either/or decision, and can offer our support in a number of areas. And, like most things, if more people even contributed a little, a whole lot more good can be done.

  

 So, maybe some of us are thinking, “Well, I’ve given to Episcopal Relief and Development, I’ve given to the food pantry over the years…why do I need to hear about this stuff.” Well, we need to hear about this stuff because giving once in a while doesn’t mean that we’ve committed to the work—it means we’ve reacted to what’s right in front of us. Giving to the food pantry once in a while, when we remember, doesn’t mean we’re actively addressing poverty and hunger in our area… And I know, we’re all busy, and we’re all over-scheduled, and life happens—all of which is fair, and true.

However, it’s because we’ve allowed things like busyness, distraction, inconvenience, and all of these other things to become a rationale for our comfortable consciences… So, while we may feel justified by giving of our time or money at some point—we’re not considering that the problems we’re trying to help address are on-going. My 5 bucks that went to help end human trafficking, and my box of Mac and Cheese that I gave some time, a couple of months ago, have both long since found their use, and the problems still persist in spite of it. My conscience is satiated for a little while, I get my altruism fix, but this is not the same thing as responding to, or taking responsibility for the call of God to the People of God.

Our new Presiding Bishop—Elect, Bp. Michael Curry, said in his sermon at the close of General Convention that “we are the Jesus Movement…” He was preaching on the Great Commission from Matthew’s Gospel, and he says the most important part of that command is “Go.” The secret to building the Church is to “go” where the people are…

He also talks about the trailer for the movie Son of God that came out a year or two ago—and how it shows this moment when Jesus tells Simon Peter (who had been fishing all day with no success)…Jesus tells him to cast his net on the other side of the boat.

Bp. Curry makes the point that Peter, like the Church, needs not only to cast the nets where the fish are—but also to quit thinking that the way he’s been doing things is the only way to do it. But, I might even add that this could have been a much shorter story if Peter had simply not responded to Jesus… What if Peter (well within his rights) just decided to ignore Jesus, and drop him off right back on the lake shore where he’d found him?

I’d imagine Peter might have lived a quiet life of desperation just like anyone, and would have faded into obscurity like any number of other people who pass through the Jesus story, untouched…   

And perhaps this is the real danger—not simply evil people doing bad nasty things in the world—but instead, the danger of our own indifference to it: the subtle seduction of settling. The slow death that comes from not wanting to be inconvenienced. I’m being a little ironic, but it’s a real danger, because it’s indifference, and the illusion of comfort and entitlement that tempts us to be insulated in what makes us feel safe. The danger comes, then, when we miss the fact that our inaction begins to scandalize the very faith we claim to be true. In other words, what we preach becomes empty because we have no action to support them as proof. So not only do we fail to respond to Jesus’ call to go and change the world, we become foils for what we claim the Church of God to be.

We read in Revelation that Christ calls believers to be either hot or cold, but the lukewarm he will spit out…and it seems to me that we live in an age of lukewarm. Lukewarm, as we know is not really hot, and not really cold—it’s just enough of one to not be the other—and today it would seem that the Church is about the business of being just enough of some things, but still enough of some other things, that (well) no one can accuse us of being too hot or too cold. And while we may feel like this is some sort of balance or compromise, instead what we’ve done is perpetuated the idea that religion is a heavenly thing which is of no earthly good. What’s perhaps worse is that we’ve failed to acknowledge this as a danger, and somehow still wonder why our pews are getting emptier, and the Church is no longer a sign of hope and help in the world.

But, here again, the message that Amos brought to Israel wasn’t just judgment about committing injustice and evil—it was also about the indifference of the faithful people of God to it.

Wherever that places each of us, I don’t know—but I will say that this image of a plumb line is a good one. As the Church, our lives and work in the name of Jesus are the very materials upon which the Church stands—and likewise become the structure upon which the future Church is continually built. So, it’s not only our responsibility to build well, but also to build in such a way that the Church can be supported. So, what would the plumb line be for us as people of God?

The simple answer, I suppose would be the old chestnuts: the Baptismal Covenant, and love God and love your neighbor… But the less simple answer demands even more from us. How do we begin to really live like any of this actually matters?

Unfortunately, the way to figure this one out requires some real soul searching—and that is something not even Jesus can do for us, but something we have to choose for ourselves. Finally, I would like to leave you with one last thing—this is a poem which was written, actually, by Rumi, a 13^th Century, Muslim, Sufi mystic…

"What Jesus Runs Away From"
The son of Mary, Jesus, hurries up a slope
as though a wild animal were chasing him.
Someone following him asks, "Where are you going?
No one is after you." Jesus keeps on,
saying nothing, across two more fields. "Are you
the one who says words over a dead person,
so that he wakes up?" "I am." "Did you not make
the clay birds fly?" "Yes." "Who then
could possibly cause you to run like this?"
Jesus slows his pace.
"I say the Great Name over the deaf and the blind,
they are healed. Over a stony mountainside,
and it tears its mantle down to the navel.
Over non-existence, it comes into existence.
But when I speak lovingly for hours, for days,
with those who take human warmth
and mock it, when I say the Name to them, nothing
happens. They remain rock, or turn to sand,
where no plants can grow. Other diseases are ways
for mercy to enter, but this non-responding
breeds violence and coldness toward God.
I am fleeing from that.
"As little by little air steals water, so praise
dries up and evaporates with foolish people
who refuse to change Like cold stone you sit on
a cynic steals body heat. He doesn't actually feel
the sun." Jesus wasn't running from actual people.
He was teaching in a new way.
-- Version by Coleman Barks
"The Essential Rumi"
HarperSanFrancisco, 1995