Amos 5:18-27
Justice at the Center?
James Sledge June
28, 2020
I
recently read an article by a Black, Baptist minister entitled, “Why I’m Skeptical of New Christian Allies.”[1]
His target seems to be more evangelical churches, but I don’t think progressive,
mainline churches are completely spared. Pastor Lavarin is encouraged that so
many Christians, including large numbers who’ve not previously been active in
issues of race, are speaking out against police brutality in the wake of George
Floyd’s murder. But these feelings are tempered by worries that the change
doesn’t go deep enough.
He writes, “Although numerous Christians have
finally chosen to name racism, I am woefully skeptical of new allies who have
rushed to protest without examining the ways in which their own theologies
continue to nurture it. The failure to address theological racism will
cause new allies to come to this moment believing that the fight for justice is
merely theologically adjacent to their brand of evangelism as “the real work of
ministry”. For some, this is still just a societal issue, and not a
theological one.”
As I said earlier, this doesn’t seem to target us
Presbyterians. We tend not to have evangelism high up on our list of “the real
work of ministry,” but I’m not sure justice is much higher for us than
evangelism. For many Presbyterians, the real work of ministry is holding good
worship, educating and nurturing children, and perhaps engaging in some
charitable acts in the community. And so some of Pastor Lavarin’s critiques may
apply equally to us.
He continues, “Prior to this moment, new allies have
preached a gospel of Jesus devoid of justice. They failed to make the
theological connection that Jesus and justice are, in fact, mutually inclusive.
To invoke Jesus and then to invoke justice is redundant. Every time we invoke
the name of Jesus, we commit ourselves to the ministry of justice. Every time
we invoke the name of Jesus, we declare the Psalmist’s decree that justice and
righteousness are the foundations of God’s throne. Every time we invoke the
name of Jesus, we summon the Messianic prophecy that the Spirit of the LORD was
upon Jesus, to preach the good news to the poor, to set the prisoners free from
the Roman industrial complex, and to proclaim liberty to those who were
oppressed. Every time we invoke the name of Jesus, we remember that Jesus was
convicted of a crime he did not commit, received an unfair trial, and was
sentenced to a state-sanctioned lynching on a tree. We cannot divorce our
theology from the ministry of justice, for to do so, is to divorce ourselves
from Jesus, himself. The ministry of justice is the ministry of Jesus.”
But this pastor saves his most pointed barb for the
end of his article. “Before your church decides to go out and protest, consider
protesting your own theology that continues to intentionally and
unintentionally do harm to Black and Brown bodies. Before taking a knee and
holding a prayer vigil, consider this: there is no real substantive difference
between a racist bigot holding a Bible in front of a church, and a Christian
holding up a #BlackLivesMatter sign with no plans to parse out the
practical implementation of the holy truth of justice.”
Ouch. Even if
we are not the intended target of this arrow, it still has a sting for we have
often viewed justice as a good thing, but not necessarily something central to
our faith. It’s one of those extras like joining a prayer group or volunteering
at Welcome Table. It’s optional, an elective in the walk of faith curriculum.
I wonder if the people addressed by the prophet Amos
saw justice as optional. Amos targets the wealthy of his day, but curiously,
the failings of the rich reap troubles for all of Israel. Amos worked during a
time of prosperity, though not a prosperity enjoyed by all.
Amos condemns the wealthy for their abuse and
exploitation of the poor, for their lives of luxury while others suffered. He
also condemns their pious religiousness. These folks went to church most Sundays
and put lots of money in the offering plate. They ensured that the sanctuary
looked grand, the music was glorious, and holidays had elaborate celebrations.
And so they assumed that God would be there for them,
but the prophet thinks otherwise. The
day of the Lord, which apparently was seen as the
promise of God’s rescue in time of crisis, was not at all what they imagined,
said Amos. It is a day of darkness and gloom.
Then through the prophet, God speaks. I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take
no delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt
offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them; and the offerings of well-being
of your fatted animals I will not look upon. Take away from me the noise of
your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps. But let justice roll
down like waters, and righteousness like an everflowing stream.
Going to
church every Sunday; holding wonderful and moving worship, making big pledges
and faithfully keeping them; none of these matter, says the prophet, says God,
without doing justice, without rightly ordered lives and a rightly ordered
society.
_________________________________________________________________
Jesus stands squarely in the footsteps of prophets
like Amos. In Luke’s gospel, Jesus begins his public ministry by reading the prophet
Isaiah and saying that the verses are fulfilled in him. “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring
good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and
recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the
year of the Lord’s favor.”
This last one refers to the Jubilee year commanded
by the Torah, a year when all debts were to be forgiven, and those who had lost
their land because of debt or poverty or pretty much any other reason were to
have it returned. Imagine suggesting that today.
Jesus came
proclaiming the kingdom, the day when God’s way would become the way of the
world. He said over and over that this day favored those with little worth in
our world, the poor, outcast, prisoner, and oppressed, the sinner and those
looked down on by good religious folks. But we somehow turned him into a belief
system that got us into heaven or gave us a spiritual buzz.
_________________________________________________________________
In last week’s sermon I mentioned that the
Confession of Belhar was added to our Book
of Confessions in 2016. I didn’t say that this was on a second try. Belhar
was first recommended in 2008 and sent to the presbyteries for vote in 2010.
But it did not receive the required two thirds supermajority, and so it failed.
I wonder if that wasn’t, at least in part, because Belhar moved justice too
much into the center or our theology when it says:
We believe
• that God, in a world full of injustice and enmity, is in a special way
the God of the destitute, the poor and the wronged
• that God calls the church to follow God in this; for God brings justice
to the oppressed and gives bread to the hungry;
• that God frees the prisoner and restores sight to the blind;
• that God supports the downtrodden, protects the stranger, helps orphans
and widows and blocks the path of the ungodly;
• that God wishes to teach the church to do what is good and to seek the
right;
• that the church must therefore stand by people in any form of suffering
and need, which implies, among other things, that the church must witness
against and strive against any form of injustice, so that justice may roll down
like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream;
• that the church as the possession of God must stand where the Lord
stands, namely against injustice and with the wronged;
• that in following Christ the church must witness against all the
powerful and privileged who selfishly seek their own interests and thus control
and harm others.
I wonder, what might the Church look like if this
sat squarely at the center of what we understood church to be and to do?
[1] Marc Antoine Lavarin, “Why I’m Skeptical of
New Christian Allies” in Medium, medium.com,
June 8, 2020
No comments:
Post a Comment