Sermons

“Abiding in Justice ”
Psalm 80:1-2, 8-19; Isaiah 5:1-7; Luke 12:49-56 – Rev. Rebecca Littlejohn
Vista La Mesa Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), La Mesa, California – August 18, 2019
Third of four in the “Abiding in Christ” Series

Holy God, bless the speaking and the hearing of these words, that we might choose the baptism of Christ and be faithful to the commandments of your justice. In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.

I’m not much of one for interpreting the times. I’ve lost count of how many times in my lifetime some crackpot or another has predicted the end of the world. I’ve always felt that claiming our times are noticeably worse than previous times is disrespectful to history and those who lived through it. The Bible talks about “wars and rumors of wars”, and what I’ve noticed is that we always seem to have one or the other, and usually both, going on somewhere.
But a couple weeks ago, I had a phone call with Beau Underwood, a young Disciples pastor in Missouri who was part of the moderator team that led us through our recent General Assembly. I’ve known Beau since he was in college in my hometown and watched him grow and achieve great things. I’ve always thought him to be a steady and sensible person. We were talking because he’s going to be taking on leadership for the Social Witness Task Force I’ve been serving on, and he wanted to get caught up. What strikes me now about that conversation is that right at the beginning when we were making those usually ritual comments about “Hi, how are you? I’m doing well, thanks,” Beau said something about how these are difficult times to be a pastor. There were more words to it than that, and I’m sorry that I didn’t have time to follow up, because it was clearly a thoughtful, if rueful, comment on what was going on in his life at the moment.
I share this because it occurred to me this past week that, for the first time in my 18 years in ministry, it doesn’t feel like an exaggeration to say these are the most difficult times to pastor congregations since the 60s. When I entered into ministry in 2001, I had been formed by the church of the 80s and 90s, a somewhat insecure but mostly calm and reasonable body, that wasn’t particularly well equipped for what was coming. Just as I began my first professional ministry, we were thrust into the era of the Global War on Terror. I remember thinking that my generation of theologians was going to have to be the ones to come up with a relevant theology for a post-Peak Oil world. It turns out global climate change was the bigger issue, but both questions speak to the need for a faith that sustains us as things get worse before they get better. I have to say, though, that even as I looked ahead to these challenges, there was, in the air, a lingering memory of pastors in the 60s losing their jobs for preaching in support of the Civil Rights movement, and the risks they took seemed far removed from my life. I’m not sure I can say that’s true anymore.
How can we expect to interpret the times, when even the old signs that it’s going to rain or get really hot seem to be broken? The signs of the times seem to tell us that we’re more divided than we’ve been in decades, that the disparities between the have’s and the have-not’s have reached dangerous proportions, that even should we make the hard choices to change course as a society, many lives will still be lost in the process, whether from gun violence or poverty or racism or addiction or climate crisis. For the first time, even I can stand here, exceptionalism skeptic that I am, and say with conviction that we are living in exceptionally difficult times, and not just by the measurement of pastoral job security. We live in exceptionally difficult times, and we have not done a great job, as church, at preparing ourselves for this.
But we are not without resources. I would argue even this seemingly depressing passage we just read from Luke can be a sign of hope. Living in times when we know families to be divided, three against two and two against three, we can read these words and begin to recognize that it’s time to look around for Jesus, for he must be here somewhere, since that’s what he said he’d be doing. If he’s pushing us to interpret the times better, perhaps we’d better make sure we’re landing on the right side of history, as these divisions take their toll.
There’s a hymn I would have like for us to have sung today, because it speaks to the sort of moment we find ourselves in, once again after so many years. You’ll give me credit, I hope, for not including it in the regular order of worship, since it’s largely unfamiliar, but I want us to take a look at it. If you’d pull out your blue Chalice Hymnals and read along with me on #634. The first verse sets the stage, naming the decisive moment we’re living in: “To us all, to every nation comes the moment to decide, in the strife of truth with falsehood, for the good or evil side; some great cause, God’s new endeavor, offering each the bloom or blight, and the choice goes by forever ‘twixt that darkness and that light.” Verse two starts out pretty gory, but the most important part of the song comes in the second half: “By the light of burning martyrs, Jesus’ bleeding feet I track, toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns not back; new occasions teach new duties, time makes ancient good uncouth; they must upward still and onward, who would keep abreast of truth.” And then finally verse three reminds us of the power of hope in difficult times that is at the center of our faith: “Though the cause of evil prosper, yet ‘tis truth alone is strong, truth forever on the scaffold, wrong forever on the throne. Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown, God is standing in the shadow keeping watch beside God’s own.”
I’ve been a fan of this hymn for a long time, but until now it’s always felt a little melodramatic, both in melody and lyrics. The words were written, as you can see at the bottom of the page, in the years leading up to the Civil War. It is distressing that it’s starting to feel accurate if still a bit poetical, rather than overly sensational. Listen to those words from verse two again: “new occasions teach new duties, time makes ancient good uncouth; they must upward still and onward, who would keep abreast of truth.” The habits and practices we’ve used for so long are proving insufficient for the challenges ahead of us. Christ’s church cannot thrive in these times if we attempt to hold it together with mere politeness and baked goods. We’re going to have to look around for Jesus. So it is that today, in our series on “Abiding in Christ,” we find ourselves striving to “abide in justice.”
So let’s get back to that grapevine. We’ve talked about how long it takes for a grapevine to produce fruit. And we’ve alluded to the work that is required, most of which is done by God, the Master Vinedresser, to help the vine bear fruit. But today we have two new scriptures about vines, and there’s a lesson to learn as we compare them to each other. This is a very clear case of hearing two sides of the same story. Did you notice how Psalm 80 describes the problems the vine is having almost the same way as Isaiah 5? But what is different? The blame, of course! Psalm 80, written from the perspective of the people, is all about what God should do to rectify the situation. ‘If only you would take care of us, God, and save us from this terrible stuff that’s happening, we just want to be your people like you intended for us to be!’
But as we read in Isaiah 5, God has a different point of view on this. ‘I planted grapes, but what did I get? Wild grapes!’ My study Bible says the word is more literally translated “noxious” grapes. One of the speakers at General Assembly made reference to this passage and noted that some translators suggest it should say “stinky grapes!” And in case the metaphor is too vague, there is utmost clarity at the end: God “expected justice, but saw bloodshed; righteousness, but heard a cry!” There is no mention of this at all in Psalm 80, no indication that the people have any idea that they’ve done anything wrong, just a blithe pleading with God to save them. How very human! Times were fraught with bloodshed and oppression, and the people were pretending there was nothing they could do about it. God, on the other hand, was singing them a song in hopes they would recognize they were living in a “moment to decide.” If it seems like we’re surrounded by division and strife, and we want to be abiding in Christ, we need to make sure we’re choosing justice rather than bloodshed. It’s disconcerting how such weighty decisions sneak up on us, but here we are. Were we ignoring the signs? Were we covering up the sounds of the cries that were rising up to God’s ears? Quite possibly. But the storm clouds are gathering in the west and the south wind is blowing. There is no ignoring the moment that is being thrust upon us, whether we feel prepared or not.
It’s not going to be pretty. The reason division emerges in families or within any kind of relationship is because someone makes a clear choice to be a certain way or do a particular thing. When we clarify who we are and what we’re about, it forces others to decide if they’re on board or not. And some of them will be, and sadly, some of them won’t. “Though none go with me, I still will follow,” we sang last week. Will we? This is the moment to decide. If we love the God of Justice, if we want to abide in Christ, whose peace only comes with justice, we must re-commit ourselves every day, in every context, to seeking justice, even when it results in division. As Disciples, we have traditionally lauded the goal of unity, but as of late, we have come to the deeper understanding that unity without justice is a lie and a sin. This knowledge makes the struggle for unity more difficult, but it also makes it more holy. We are living in difficult, holy times. We are surrounded by division, so we’d better get busy looking around for Jesus. We know he’s nearby. We will find him when we join in the struggle for justice. Alleluia and Amen.