For a Week Like This: Sermon Based on Matthew 14:22-33; Romans 10:5-15

For the scripture texts, go here: http://bible.oremus.org/?passage=Romans+10%3A5-15&vnum=yes&version=nrsv
and here: http://bible.oremus.org/?passage=Matthew+14%3A22-33&vnum=yes&version=nrsv
          For decades the best news many heard each week was from Lake Wobegon “where all the women are strong, all the men are good looking and all the children are above average.” I bet many would’ve been thrilled this past week if our biggest news was that there were too many tomatoes in people’s gardens. Instead we’ve had a steady diet of bellicose bombast from US and North Korean leaders and updates from Charlottesville about the most recent protest by KKK members, neo-Nazis, and other white supremacists, and news of subsequent deaths and injuries. If we ever needed to hear different news, especially the odd and radically different good news of the Gospel, this would be it.
          But at such a time, today’s assigned texts seem irrelevant, even ludicrous. Our reading from Paul’s letter to the Romans is part of a larger, three chapter long soul-searching struggle: if Jesus really is God’s main man for setting things right between God and us and showing us how to live truly with one another, why haven’t Christ’s own people and Paul’s faith family bought in? If Jesus really is true, why don’t God’s chosen and favored people, the Jews, see the light?
          This isn’t a little mind game for Paul; it causes him anguish, grief. The Jews are God’s uniquely chosen and adopted; they experience God’s glory and presence in a matchless relationship of worship and commitment; he says, “to them belong the promises, the favored faith ancestors; from them has come the chosen Messiah who is over all, God blessed forever.”
          How did things go wrong? A few verses before our reading Paul affirms that his fellow Jews have real love and devotion for God. The problem is that they don’t truly get who God is or how to be in a right relationship with God. The truth is that often we don’t get it, either.
          Paul says there are two ways to be right with God and each other. One is to keep the rules, cross all the t’s, dot all the i’s. In other words, prove we’re worthy of God’s love and deserve special favor and treatment. Paul writes, “Moses writes about the righteousness that comes from the law, that the person who does these things will live by them;’” or as another translation puts it, “a person can become acceptable to God by obeying God’s Law in scripture; if you want to live you must do all that the Law commands.”
          At my age I go to lots of funerals; I often hear about how great and good a person was, so there’s no question: they’ve earned their heavenly reward. On the other hand, many young folks believe in so-called moralistic therapeutic deism: there is a God who created everything and watches over us but isn’t too involved in life, except when we need help with a problem; this God wants us to be good, nice, play fair, be happy and feel good about ourselves; and if we do that we’ll go to heaven when we die. Truth be told, many learned that in Sunday School and in countless children’s sermons. And in between youth and age, it’s tempting to believe we’re God’s favorites because we work hard, or get the best grades or the most Instagram likes, or live in the right area or are the right color or gender or live in the best nation or chose the right religion; we even believe that people are poor because they deserve it, which means I deserve being well off. I’ve earned it, by God. We create a world of winners and losers, them and us, insiders and outsiders, chosen and rejected. But it’s life on a very shaky foundation. If we’re not always and everywhere the absolute best bringing our A Game, then confidence and entitlement evaporate. What if we’re not good enough, smart enough, hard working enough? There’s no rest or real joy; we only have disquiet, stress, fear as we anxiously look over the shoulder at who’s catching up. There’s no real community of care because you’ re a competing threat; we can live glibly together, but in a crunch you can soon become my enemy. It’s a helluva way to live.
          But God intends another truer way, a more blessed way. In Romans Paul describes another righteousness that comes from faith, trust, and confidence in God, not in ourselves. The God met in Christ loves us, is for us, cherishes us simply because we are, is always at work for the good of all of us, and simply will not leave us or forsake us or abandon us to fend for ourselves. Your pastor got it right in his Easter sermon this spring: there’s absolutely nothing you can do to keep God from loving you. This is the faith of Jesus; he lived his life all the way to the cross and beyond, trusting in God and God’s loving care above all else. And God said “Yes!” to that kind of trusting faith and blessed it as the right way to live by raising Christ from the dead. The Risen Christ is alive in our midst and not far off. And the great good news is that I am most alive when I learn by heart to live trusting in that God, too. Best of all, Paul says that blessed better way is for all: “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved; everyone: Jew and Gentile, American and North Korean; white and person of color; anyone will be saved who trusts and believes that God loves and forgives and accepts and shows mercy toward all and wants abundant life for every last one of us.
          Now that’s not me just saying the right thing or having the right feeling in my heart. To say Jesus is Lord means no one or nothing else has first place in my life: not my race or nation or a political leader or ideology or tax bracket or anything else. And believing that in my heart is not cozy warm fuzzy feeling. If I confess from the heart that God raised Jesus from the dead, that means I stake everything on trusting that is the way to live and commit body and soul to doing so. I will not be ashamed to live like that. No matter what, I will give myself to living that way, come what may. That is the Jesus Way. The world’s dying to see us live like that’s true and real. What a blessing to lay down the burden of proving our worth; to experience joy and live lighter. It is God’s gift to us.
          I’ll spend my whole life learning to receive and trust the gift fully. I’m like Peter in today’s gospel story. I want to trust that Christ is near and step out in faith even in the dark; sometimes I actually do so. But when life’s storms threaten or fears batter I quickly can sink in doubt. Thank God, Christ still reaches out today to save me and help me walk in faith and trust again.
          Today while the governments of North Korea and the US play a cosmic size game of chicken, Christians in both North and South Korea are united in praying, as they do every August, for the peaceful reunification of the Korean Peninsula. Those prayers from the hearts of countless Koreans north and south, on both sides of he Demilitarized Zone, are being joined by many other Christians connected globally through the World Council of Churches, the World Communion of Reformed Churches and the World Evangelical Alliance. Jesus people trust it is more holy to live from mercy and grace than fire and fury; we know the Lord of all is generous to all who call to him.
          This week a friend asked prayers for her nephew Jason Kessler, the young man at the heart of yesterday’s Unite the Right event in Charlottesville. She’s pained that Jason’s alienated from his whole family, angry and hate-filled. They were all worried, disheartened and concerned for his safety. Jason’s aunt reported something remarkable: First United Methodist Church was Ground Zero for people of faith to gather to bear witness against hate, and one of the pastors at the church reached out to Jason to offer sanctuary if he felt threatened in any way. It is that odd way of Jesus, to trust that God wants life for all.
          In yesterday’s chaos and anger there I saw Christ as clergy and other people of faith stood between protesters and counter-protesters. In a photo they were linked arm in arm in an alternating pattern so they faced both sides as if, through them, God was calling all to turn and live and be saved. Tragically someone spurned his invitation; a life was lost and others maimed, by a hate-driven guided missile of a car. All the more reason for us to continue to bear witness to the truth we know in Christ.
          Mother Teresa said, “If we have no peace it’s because we’ve forgotten that we belong to each other.” Our wounded woebegone world aches to hear our good news. How beautiful our feet when we bring it, our mouths when we tell it, our lives when we live it. Amen.
-David M. Hindman, 2017, soli Deo gloria.

Healing Donnie, Son of Christ

We are four months into the presidency of Donald J. Trump, son of Fred Christ Trump (yes, President Trump is Christ’s son).  Often I find myself sputtering and fuming incoherently in response to his most recent Tweet or Executive Order or policy proposal. This weekend I have felt something different – pity and sadness, wondering if there is a little boy stuck there in a man’s body.

Three images last week brought me to this place.  First was the strong, enduring handshake between France’s Emmanuel Macron and President Trump.  This certainly is not the first longish handshake between Mr. Trump and another; each one has lasted an extended time and has reminded viewers of tugs-of-war, or a modified form of arm wrestling, in which a winner must be determined.  In this instance, it appears that Mr. Trump was the one who cried “Uncle.”  But that is not the point; keep reading.

The second image was of the prime minister of Montenegro being pushed aside by President Trump.  It is true that Montenegro’s prime minister downplayed the scene, but I also know how tempting it is to tell a teacher about a bully, “No ma’am, nothing happened; it was nothing – really.  He was just playing with me.”  At least to me, the possibility that more was going on between the two is glimpsed in the way President Trump shoulders past, never looks at the other, and then thrusts out his chest; I really expected him to thump a time or two as he lifted his head and looked at the camera.  That appears to me at least to be Alpha dog behavior, putting another in his place while strutting victoriously and powerfully over the foe.  Never mind that President Trump never speaks or makes eye contact, never apologizes or even “sees” the other.  The prime minister of Montenegro is made invisible and inconsequential, of no regard.

The final image again involved France’s Macron as he walked toward the gathering of G-7 leaders.  As he draws nearer, Macron seems headed directly for President Trump; when Mr. Trump begins to extend his hand toward Macron the French leader suddenly veers away, leaving Mr. Trump’s hand grasping…well, nothing.  He has been publicly shunned and humiliated, as Macron intentionally goes toward Angela Merkel, warmly greets her, then another leader, and finally shakes Mr. Trump’s hand briefly and moves away.

Why do I dwell on these images?  Because they all could have taken place on a playground with 8 year old boys in various ways seeking to assert supremacy, or being knocked down a peg or two.  While President Trump has won his previous arm wrestling matches with other world leaders, he didn’t seem to win against President Macron and he certainly was brought up short in their other encounter.  On last week’s power playground, Mr. Trump was 1-2, and he only managed to eke out a win against a much smaller foe; after all, how many of us can even find Montenegro on a map, much less expect its leader to take on the leader of the Free World in a shoving match?

But whatever Mr. Trump’s win-loss record from last week, he seems always to feel the need to win; never to back down or admit error or defeat; when attacked, to swing back harder; to demean, diminish, dismiss, or demolish any and all opponents; and to exude emotions of aggressiveness, anger, braggart brashness, confidence, cockiness, intimidation, and unrelenting stubbornness – all of which combine to create a certain hard, stony harshness to his persona.

How did he become this person?  I wonder if there were there wounds received earlier, frights or experiences of falling short that led to stumbles or painful scars that hardened previously soft tissue?  I know very little about his parents or his growing up years, but when your father’s middle name is Christ, I wonder if that would feel overwhelming or intimidating to a small boy who looked up to you for love, acceptance and approval.   In my mind’s eye I see a little boy, too young to be a Donald yet, a small youngster named Donnie.  Would you feel like you had to please, but could never quite do so as fully as wished or expected?  Would acceptance and love feel like it had to be earned even if it was offered freely; would recognition seem a bar too high, a bridge too far?  Like the triumphant and distant Pantocrator Christ in the dome of an Eastern Orthodox cathedral, would that young Donnie’s father Christ feel distant, demanding, unapproachable; and even if he wasn’t, could that have been that little boy’s perception? Or did this Christ teach his son to feel superior and always to be tough, no matter what the cost?   We know that President Trump’s brother died at a relatively early age, his life shortened by alcoholism (this is one reason the President does not drink, and he is to be commended and honored for that discipline). But did his brother drink because he was too soft and tender, and was overwhelmed by life or his father or expectations for hard, unforgiving toughness?  Did that young, small Donnie see what happens when you are tender or too gentle, and decide that the only way to survive is to be tough, never to back down, never to be vulnerable or open to a wounding blow?  I have no idea at all, but I did wonder these things this past week.

During this presidency, I confess I have been greatly troubled by what I perceive to be outrageous, hurtful, illegal or unconstitutional, belittling and dismissive words and actions by President Trump.  And I have also been stunned by his sudden and unexpected changes in direction or opinion.  Even members of his own political party don’t seem to know which way he will go with any change of wind, or whether his words today will be trustworthy or reliable, or have any cache tomorrow.  He seems to be untethered, unmoored, unanchored, so much so that his words, demands and promises seem light, airy, impermanent, diaphanous, ephemeral, insubstantial gossamer nothingness.  There is no there there.

This past week what came to mind was T. S. Eliot’s  “hollow men,” or C. S. Lewis’ “men without chests.”  Mr. Trump’s reluctance to engage in self-reflection seems to suggest a disquieted fear that if he ever did so, he would find no one home.  Where there should be heart and substance, there is only straw and empty space.  What is missing in that vacuous emptiness is heart, love, acceptance, the sense of being cherished for who you are, not for what you have.  And while Mr. Trump may laugh on occasion, it is never at himself, and he seems not to know joy, or happiness, or authentic peace.  He is a troubled soul.

Buddhist philosopher Ken Wilber, in his book, A Brief History of Everything, describes modern people as Flatlanders who think the only thing that is real is what can be counted, measured, possessed.  It is a shallow and superficial existence that fails to notice or experience the great depth and mystery of the richer, thicker, substantial, spiritual entirety of the Kosmos.  Wilber believes we can all experience this spiritual depth and reality, but often we are wounded and crippled by previous experiences and get “stuck” in early, immature positions that block and impede further growth and deepening of life.

In thinking about Wilber’s work, I wonder how many wounds Mr. Trump carries and how stuck he is with earlier pain and defensive responses from childhood or other early years of life.  What if, beneath The Donald’s suits and ties and insistence on being right all the time and need for recognition and take no prisoner mentality, there is still that little child Donnie, hidden away, scared, uncertain and hurting, just wondering what it would be like to be loved and accepted unconditionally?  What if the next time that hidden Donnie extended a hand to begin a power wrestling handshake, he was pulled into a warm embrace and held and comforted and reassured that his life mattered, regardless of wealth or success?  What if the members of the G-7 had surrounded that young hidden Donnie and provided a strong, caring, accepting, welcoming embrace that held him close and would not let him go as he was  told he didn’t have to be strong, and could stop trying relentlessly to prove himself because they would treat him with dignity and respect and honesty, period?  And what if I and 1,000,000 other people wrote him a letter, assuring him that we prayed for him and wanted him to be healed and whole, and that he didn’t have to be a bully or loud or pushy to get our attention.  I honestly don’t know, but I wondered this week if beneath all the bluster there’s still a little Donnie deep down there who doesn’t know how to get out, but would be so much happier if he could be set free.