Sermon: Justice at the Center?

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.

Sermon video: Breaking Down Dividing Walls

Videos of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon video: Every One of Us Afire

Videos of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Breaking Down Dividing Walls

Ephesians 2:11-20

Breaking Down Dividing Walls

James Sledge                                                                                                   June 21, 2020

Shortly after the murder of George Floyd touched off waves of protests around the country, I began to see people on Facebook and Instagram posting lines lifted from the Confession of Belhar. For those who have no idea what that is, it is the newest confessional statement in our denomination’s (the PCUSA) Book of Confessions.

We Presbyterians love well-crafted and carefully articulated statements on what we believe and what that leads us to do and be in the world. Our Book of Confessions begins with ancient Creeds, the Apostles’ and Nicene, moves to a number of confessional statements and catechisms from the time around the Reformation, then jumps to the 20^th century.

Even though Belhar is new to our Book of Confessions, it isn’t all that new. It took shape in South Africa in the early 1980s when apartheid was still the law of the land there. It was written by members of the Dutch Reformed Mission Church, originally the denomination for those labeled “coloured” in the system of apartheid. This denomination was distinct from the Dutch Reformed Church in South Africa, the white church.

The Dutch Reformed family is one of our theological cousins whose roots go back to John Calvin just as ours do. But I don’t think Calvin’s theology had anything to do with the Dutch Reformed Church in South Africa developing sophisticated theological justifications for apartheid that cited biblical evidence for a divinely ordained separation of the races.

Of course we Presbyterians did exactly the same thing during the times of slavery and segregation. When I attended Union Theological Seminary in Richmond (now Union Presbyterian Seminary), Dabney Hall was a residence for some students. Robert Dabney was a professor at Union who served as a chaplain in the Confederacy, and who wrote stirring theological defenses of slavery and the noble cause of the South well after the Civil War.

His views held sway long beyond his time. My brother and I once found some of the my father’s school work in a box in my grandmother’s attic. Amongst the papers was some sort of quiz or worksheet where the correct answer labeled Blacks as the accursed descendants of Ham from the biblical Noah story, part of the rationale Dabney used to justify slavery and the marginalization of people of color.

The Belhar Confession correctly calls such foolishness sin and insists that the Church is called to precisely the opposite sort of activity, to ministries of reconciliation and justice. Even so, it took us Presbyterians until 2016 to add Belhar to the Book of Confessions.

Sermon video: Unmanageable God

Videos of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Unmanageable God

Genesis 1:1-2:3; Matthew 28:16-20

Unmanageable God

James Sledge                                                               June 7, 2020, Trinity Sunday

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, ²the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind(or perhaps Spirit) from God swept over the face of the waters. ³Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. So opens Genesis and the Bible. So opens a lot of religious silliness as well.

For some people, the literal account found here becomes a critical item of faith, one that prohibits them for believing in things such as evolution. Other Christians, some in reaction to the first group, insist the story is merely symbolic, describing a well ordered cosmos. Or they dismiss it entirely, a primitive tale with no real bearing on the modern world.

I think all these views miss the mark, in part because religion, both conservative and progressive, has a tendency to become utilitarian. Religion becomes about getting something that I want. Perhaps its a certainty that I’ll go to heaven when I die. Perhaps it’s a sense of spiritual well-being that has eluded me despite buying into the competitive, success oriented, consumerist version of life that our culture peddles.

When religion is utilitarian, it’s a resource to be used, a way to get those things I want. That’s true if I’m a conservative who needs a list of things I must believe in and affirm so I get to heaven. And it’s true if I’m a progressive looking for spiritual purpose and meaning. In either case I decide what I need from religion, from the Bible, from God. In essence, I determine what God’s purpose is.

We all witnessed one of the most crass examples of utilitarian religion this past week when President Trump stood in front of St. John’s Church and waved a borrowed bible. It was brazen and shameless in enlisting religion, enlisting God to the president’s cause. But most all of us engage in more subtle, nuanced forms of enlisting God to our causes.

But back to our story from Genesis. When this story was written, it was, in part, meant to undermine utilitarian notions of God. The ancient Middle East was filled with gods; every kingdom had at least one of their own. These deities ensured that the crops produced and the herds grew. And when conflicts between kingdom erupted, they were viewed as power contests between gods, holy war in the truest sense of the term.

And Israel’s God had lost. The Babylonians had conquered them and carried all the important citizens into exile. Never mind prophecies promising an endless throne of David. Never mind assurances that Jerusalem would stand forever. Now there was nothing; the great city, the palace, Solomon’s magnificent Temple, all lay in ruins. Their God had failed them.

Sermon: Every One of Us Afire

1 Corinthians 12:1-13

Every One of Us Afire

James Sledge                                                                           May 31, 2020 – Pentecost

Some years ago, I had the chance to visit Corinth, Greece. Corinth sits on the Isthmus of Corinth which connects the Peloponnese peninsula with the rest of mainland Greece. This location made it a thriving seaport in ancient times. A canal has allowed ships to traverse the isthmus since the late 1800s, but in ancient time the Greeks and then Romans devised various methods to create on overland shortcut such as rolling ships across on logs.

As often happens with seaports, Corinth was a cosmopolitan city with people from all over, many of them hoping to make it big there. It had reputation as a place where upward mobility was easier than in much of the Roman Empire. In that sense, Corinth was not totally unlike America. It was a land of opportunity, a place where even former slaves might become respected figures in the community. There was a sense of freedom and possibility.

No doubt the cosmopolitan, Gentile populace of Corinth posed challenges for the Apostle Paul when he first arrived and began a Christian congregation there. His converts often weren’t familiar with Hebrew ideas of a covenant community that cared for the least of these, notions which permeated the teachings of Jesus. Jesus doesn’t fit easily into a worldview of advancement and upward mobility, a world view that often sees those left behind as failures.

Most all we know about the congregation in Corinth comes from the letters Paul wrote. When Paul founded a church, he didn’t stay on as pastor. He was a missionary, always looking to spread the gospel, but he still tried to care for his congregations, visiting them occasionally, getting reports from travelers whenever he could, and communicating by letter.

Based on Paul’s letters, the Corinthian church was an exuberant, energetic place. People were excited about their new faith and the experience of the Spirit. But, as often happens with religion, they tended to view their faith through the lens of culture. American Christianity has become so individualized that might well be unrecognizable to Jesus, and the Corinthians saw their faith as another aspect of competitive, upward mobility.

Sermon video: Faithful Witnesses (from the early "informal" service)

More sermons and worship on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Faithful Witnesses

Acts 1:6-14

Faithful Witnesses

James Sledge                                                                                                   May 26,2020

“Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” It seems like it would be a good time. Jesus had been raised from the dead a little over a month earlier. He’d been hanging out with the disciples, talking more with them about the kingdom of God, and telling them to stay in Jerusalem awaiting the promise of the Father… waiting to be baptized with the Holy Spirit.

Something big was about to happen. Maybe now God was going to straighten things out, set the world right. And by the time the two volume set of Luke-Acts gets written, likely over fifty years later, the world looked like it needed even more straightening out. The Romans had completely destroyed the city of Jerusalem, its magnificent temple totally obliterated. Jews and Christians alike had fled to various parts of the Mediterranean world.

By that time, the break between Judaism and Christianity was pretty much complete. Christians were no longer a sect within Judaism, and so they no longer enjoyed the special religious exemption that Rome gave to the Jews for being an ancient religion. And then there was the problem with that basic faith statement, “Jesus is Lord.” Rome said Caesar was Lord, that the emperor was a god. Christians were clearly trouble makers, a threat to the social fabric that held the empire together.

Lord, this would be a really good time to restore the kingdom, to straighten things out, to make life easier for the faithful. It’s a mess, God. Do something! But Jesus answers, “It is not for you to know the times and periods that the Father has set… But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses…”

Fast forward nearly two thousand years, and it’s not hard to sympathize with those early disciples. Lord, this would be a really good time to do something. Many scientists are worried that we are perilously close to a tipping point on climate change, if it isn’t already too late. COVID-19 is decimating communities, sending countless people into poverty, and exposing our broken healthcare system. The partisan divide in our country has become so extreme that even the pandemic cannot overcome it, and wearing a mask in public, a simple act of loving one’s neighbor, has somehow been politicized.

Sermon video: Learning to Love Back

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Sermon video: Easter Life

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Sermon: Learning to Love Back

John 14:15-21

Learning to Love Back

James Sledge                                                                                                   May 17, 2020

Occasionally, when I first read a scripture passage I might preach on, thoughts just pop into my head. As I read today’s gospel, I thought of the “new commandment” Jesus had given to his followers moments earlier, “that you love one another.” Somewhat less obviously, I recalled a quote from Anne Lamott. about learning to love back.

For those who’ve never read her, Lamott is a novelist who may be better known for her bestselling writings on faith. These contain a mixture of her often strange personal story, wry wit and humor, and sometimes irreverent thoughts on how faith has helped her navigate it all.

With a little effort I found the quote I had recalled in one of her books. She was discussing her then fourteen year-old son, Sam, and the struggles of raising a teenager as a single mom who is a recovering addict. She spoke of Sam’s religious sensibilities, how he believes that Jesus is true, how he prays, even prays with his mom at bedtime on occasions. But he hates church, even the quirky little Presbyterian congregation Lamott belongs to. She writes:

Then why do I make him go? Because I want him to. We live in bewildering, drastic times, and a little spiritual guidance never killed anyone. I think it’s a fair compromise that every other week he has to come to the place that has been the tap for me: I want him to see the people who loved me when I felt most unlovable, who have loved him since I first told them that I was pregnant, even though he might not want to be with them. I want him to see their faces. He gets the most valuable things I know through osmosis.

Also, he has no job, no car, no income. He needs to stay in my good graces.

While he lives in my house, he has to do things my way. And there are worse things for kids than to have to spend time with people who love God. Teenagers who do not go to church are adored by God, but they don’t get to meet people who love God back. Learning to love back is the hardest part of being alive.[1]

I think she’s right. We’re all born needing to be loved. The desire for it is innate. Infants and young children who do not receive love struggle to thrive. But we are not born knowing how to love in return, to love back, and many of us never learn to do it all that well. The world is full of people who always take a lot more love than they give. Countless marriages and relationships fall apart because the balance of giving and receiving love gets so badly out of whack, because so many of us have not learned well that hardest part of being alive.