My sermon from today's liturgy...
Seventeen years ago, in the spring of 1994, a brutal civil war broke out in the East African nation of Rwanda. Pitting the ethnic tribes of the Tutsis and Hutus against one another, the brutal, devastating conflict led to over one million deaths in the space of just three months. In the wake of the disaster there was much recrimination and countless calls for revenge and getting even from both sides. However, in the midst of it all, powerful, transformative stories of forgiveness also started to emerge and served as an opening for healing and hope.
One such story is that of a Tutsi woman named Imaculée Ilibagiza. Just a young woman at the time of the outbreak of the violence, Imaculée was awakened by her brother one morning and told she had to flea immediately in fear of her life. The mass killings were already beginning and her only hope lay with a Hutu pastor who offered to hide her and a few companions in the shower stall of his bathroom. Trusting that he would not betray them, Imaculée and the other women huddled together in the bathroom for several hours as a band of Hutus passed by and searched the house.
Surviving that initial brush with death, Imaculée endured another 91 days of waiting and praying – reciting the words of the Lords’ Prayer over and over but always stumbling over the words “forgive us our trespasses…” These were words she could not yet bring herself to speak, and yet while she was still in the bathroom Imaculée had an epiphany. As she put it, “You being mad at them, you getting angry, wanting to do what they’re doing—doesn’t change a thing…Something was so clear in that moment, that told me…everyone has a chance…there is a chance that this person can see the truth. That allowed me to let go of that anger.”
Through the gift she received of being able to let go of her anger and desire for revenge, Imaculée reached out in friendship and reconciliation to members of the Hutu tribe, including one woman interviewed for the program I saw who spoke of what it meant to her to hear Imaculée’s words… “At the beginning I didn’t believe her, that she was really sincere…but after a few days I saw her love for God…and her faith in forgiveness touched my heart…and I believed she really wanted to be a friend.”
Hutus and Tutsis, death and genocide, revenge and animosity. These were some of the realities facing the people of Rwanda in the aftermath of unspeakable brutality and yet stories like those of Imaculée and her friend were there too – as a light shining in the darkness of a terrible tragedy – as a balm for the deep spiritual wounds that both peoples suffered. In a word, stories like Imaculée’s were and are seeds of the gospel…points of light and hope rooted in compassion, reconciliation, and forgiveness.
Jesus himself speaks today to the transformative power of forgiveness. In our gospel he tells Peter and the other disciples that what they bind, what they refuse to let go of, will remain so…and that what they loose, what they release and let go of, will be set free. This power, this remarkable force, as Jesus tells us, is nothing less than the key to the kingdom. The key to open up the kingdom of God and to allow God’s reign of justice and abundant peace to break forth is fundamentally tied to nothing less than our ability as human beings to forgive—to let go of our resentments, bitterness, and anger and to let God heal us and those who have harmed or wronged us.
This is certainly not an easy process and sometimes seeking justice and speaking the truth of what happened is a necessary part of it. But above all I think the heart of the matter comes in learning, as Imaculée did in her own story, that vengeance accomplishes nothing and that there is always a chance that others will see the truth and that healing, forgiveness, and even friendship can come as a result.
In the end, the remarkable thing is that keys of the kingdom don’t belong especially to any church leader or spiritual figure or religious authority. In truth, they belong to all of us and they work not by any superhuman strength or effort on our part. No, the way to turn the key and to unlock the kingdom of God’s goodness, mercy and peace is right inside all of us. All we have to do is let go and let God – let go of our desire to mete out justice on our own terms and let God move through us, bringing healing, hope and transformation to ourselves and to our world.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Sermon on Guadalupe
Below is the text of a sermon I had the opportunity to give this weekend at our Lutheran parish. I was especially grateful to be able to make some connections in it to a place that means a great deal to me and my personal journey...
Sermon – 8/14/11
Recently, during the time I spent doing my doctoral research, I had the chance to live in one of the world’s largest and most dynamic population centers – Mexico City. Every day I would make my way to the archives amid the din of subway cars and countless taxi cabs, trying to adjust to the smog and air pollution and not be overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of it all.
Amidst the chaos, though, there was one place where I would go from time to time to escape and find tranquility and peace. I, along with many others, would periodically make my way to the shrine of the Virgin of Guadalupe – formerly a small hill located on the far outskirts of the city and now completely engulfed by the metropolis. Although it’s surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the activity around it, there’s something special about visiting la Guadalupana, as the place and its namesake are known. For me, whatever the stresses of the day or of the journey that took me there, a sense of peace and renewal was always to be found in visiting the church and witnessing the beauty of the grounds – which include a long, ascending walkway surrounded by flowers, a gentle waterfall, wayside chapels with beautiful artwork, and even an image of a rainbow – a moving reminder of God’s radically inclusive love.
And, in a way, visiting the church of Guadalupe, walking its grounds, and taking in its vistas and scenery was indeed a reminder of the nature and the presence of God – gracious and merciful, compassionate and steadfast, abiding and renewing. To visit a shrine ostensibly dedicated to a very special saint was in fact much more about the beauty and the wonder of the One to whom she pointed – the God of whom her spirit had become a reflection.
Of course, in speaking of the Virgin of Guadalupe and referring to a remarkable saint I’m making reference to the mother of Jesus – Mary, or Miriam as she might have been called in her own tongue. In the tradition of the Reformation, Mary and other saints have sometimes been regarded with a good deal of skepticism – and often rightly so, insofar as devotion to them can sometimes deflect attention from the centrality of Jesus Christ at the heart of our belief and of our lives as Christians. Still, among contemporary Lutheran theologians and representatives of other traditions there is intriguing work being done on ways in which reflection on Mary or other saints could actually prove beneficial to our lives of faith.
As we’ve done here at CGS today in choosing to observe the feast of Mary, the Mother of Our Lord, it’s evident that in honoring Mary by no means must we abandon Christ. On the contrary, if we look at the mother of Jesus from a biblical perspective, as Martin Luther and other spiritual masters would remind us to do, we see that in fact the central message—really the only message—that Mary might wish to give us is one that points to the goodness and graciousness of God—of course, precisely the reality of God has revealed to us through our faith in Christ.
As Luke tells us in his gospel, Mary’s first action upon learning of her pregnancy with Jesus was to venture out in service to her kinswoman and then to break out into song, praising God. This “Magnificat,” as it’s become known, is the essence of Mary’s presence in the Bible and at its heart it’s a very simple yet strikingly profound message. In truth, as Mary reminds us, the heart of the matter is this: to know the greatness of God, to perceive our own lowliness, and having made that crucial connection, to proclaim and live boldly and decisively God’s kingdom of mercy, justice, and peace – which humbles the proud and exalts the lowly; which casts down the mighty and raises up the poor; which sends away the rich and fills the hungry; which brings the deep and abiding peace that comes when justice is done and lived.
This message, this poem to the majesty and the mercy of God is what Mary is all about and for that reason, if we stick close to what scripture itself tells us, remembering and honoring Mary can’t help but instruct us profoundly on what it means to be a follower of Christ. As Max Johnson, a contemporary Lutheran theologian, puts it, honoring Christ’s mother is “a vehicle for the doctrine of justification through grace.” Remembering Mary and the lessons of the Magnificat can help us to recall our own imperfections and need for God’s grace and in doing so can embolden and empower us to reach out both joyfully and decisively to work for justice and peace in our community, our nation, and the world.
In a way, it all comes back to the experience that I and countless others have shared in visiting la Guadalupana. When we visit the Guadalupe shrine or, for that matter, when we read and pray the words of the Magnificat, it isn’t so much about Jesus’ mother as it is about encountering a fellow Christian – someone who’s learned to let God be magnified in her soul rather than keeping all the glory and honor for herself. Someone whose example, if we learn to follow it, can teach us to do that very same thing – to serve as instruments of God’s steadfast love and abiding peace, allowing our creator and our savior to be magnified through us and, in the process, for the kingdom to come just a little bit more in all of our hearts and in our world.
Sermon – 8/14/11
Recently, during the time I spent doing my doctoral research, I had the chance to live in one of the world’s largest and most dynamic population centers – Mexico City. Every day I would make my way to the archives amid the din of subway cars and countless taxi cabs, trying to adjust to the smog and air pollution and not be overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of it all.
Amidst the chaos, though, there was one place where I would go from time to time to escape and find tranquility and peace. I, along with many others, would periodically make my way to the shrine of the Virgin of Guadalupe – formerly a small hill located on the far outskirts of the city and now completely engulfed by the metropolis. Although it’s surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the activity around it, there’s something special about visiting la Guadalupana, as the place and its namesake are known. For me, whatever the stresses of the day or of the journey that took me there, a sense of peace and renewal was always to be found in visiting the church and witnessing the beauty of the grounds – which include a long, ascending walkway surrounded by flowers, a gentle waterfall, wayside chapels with beautiful artwork, and even an image of a rainbow – a moving reminder of God’s radically inclusive love.
And, in a way, visiting the church of Guadalupe, walking its grounds, and taking in its vistas and scenery was indeed a reminder of the nature and the presence of God – gracious and merciful, compassionate and steadfast, abiding and renewing. To visit a shrine ostensibly dedicated to a very special saint was in fact much more about the beauty and the wonder of the One to whom she pointed – the God of whom her spirit had become a reflection.
Of course, in speaking of the Virgin of Guadalupe and referring to a remarkable saint I’m making reference to the mother of Jesus – Mary, or Miriam as she might have been called in her own tongue. In the tradition of the Reformation, Mary and other saints have sometimes been regarded with a good deal of skepticism – and often rightly so, insofar as devotion to them can sometimes deflect attention from the centrality of Jesus Christ at the heart of our belief and of our lives as Christians. Still, among contemporary Lutheran theologians and representatives of other traditions there is intriguing work being done on ways in which reflection on Mary or other saints could actually prove beneficial to our lives of faith.
As we’ve done here at CGS today in choosing to observe the feast of Mary, the Mother of Our Lord, it’s evident that in honoring Mary by no means must we abandon Christ. On the contrary, if we look at the mother of Jesus from a biblical perspective, as Martin Luther and other spiritual masters would remind us to do, we see that in fact the central message—really the only message—that Mary might wish to give us is one that points to the goodness and graciousness of God—of course, precisely the reality of God has revealed to us through our faith in Christ.
As Luke tells us in his gospel, Mary’s first action upon learning of her pregnancy with Jesus was to venture out in service to her kinswoman and then to break out into song, praising God. This “Magnificat,” as it’s become known, is the essence of Mary’s presence in the Bible and at its heart it’s a very simple yet strikingly profound message. In truth, as Mary reminds us, the heart of the matter is this: to know the greatness of God, to perceive our own lowliness, and having made that crucial connection, to proclaim and live boldly and decisively God’s kingdom of mercy, justice, and peace – which humbles the proud and exalts the lowly; which casts down the mighty and raises up the poor; which sends away the rich and fills the hungry; which brings the deep and abiding peace that comes when justice is done and lived.
This message, this poem to the majesty and the mercy of God is what Mary is all about and for that reason, if we stick close to what scripture itself tells us, remembering and honoring Mary can’t help but instruct us profoundly on what it means to be a follower of Christ. As Max Johnson, a contemporary Lutheran theologian, puts it, honoring Christ’s mother is “a vehicle for the doctrine of justification through grace.” Remembering Mary and the lessons of the Magnificat can help us to recall our own imperfections and need for God’s grace and in doing so can embolden and empower us to reach out both joyfully and decisively to work for justice and peace in our community, our nation, and the world.
In a way, it all comes back to the experience that I and countless others have shared in visiting la Guadalupana. When we visit the Guadalupe shrine or, for that matter, when we read and pray the words of the Magnificat, it isn’t so much about Jesus’ mother as it is about encountering a fellow Christian – someone who’s learned to let God be magnified in her soul rather than keeping all the glory and honor for herself. Someone whose example, if we learn to follow it, can teach us to do that very same thing – to serve as instruments of God’s steadfast love and abiding peace, allowing our creator and our savior to be magnified through us and, in the process, for the kingdom to come just a little bit more in all of our hearts and in our world.
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