Sermons

“Being Re-Formed”

Jeremiah 18:1-11; Philemon 1-21 – Rev. Rebecca Littlejohn

Vista La Mesa Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), La Mesa, California – September 4, 2016

Holy God, bless the speaking and the hearing of these words, that your Spirit might take hold of our hearts and our lives and lead us on the path of faithfulness. We pray in Jesus’ name, Amen.

The letter to Philemon is such a tiny snippet of what must have been a fairly complicated situation. We don’t know the exact nature of Paul’s relationship to Philemon. We don’t know for sure how Philemon and Onesimus were connected. We don’t know what happened to separate Onesimus from Philemon. We don’t know the possible consequences of Onesimus returning, or why he might owe Philemon a debt Paul has offered to pay. We don’t know much at all about what preceded this letter, and technically, we don’t know what happened once it was received either. One commentator has pointed out, however, that surely Philemon must have done what Paul asked, because if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have allowed the letter to become public knowledge. I find that theory fairly convincing.

At least one scholar has suggested that this letter is Paul’s attempt to reconcile estranged brothers, in which case an entirely different sermon would be called for. But traditionally – and by “traditionally” I mean since at least around the 4^th century – interpreters have concluded that Onesimus was a runaway slave, and Paul’s letter is an attempt to send him home in good standing. But even once we make some choices about what we’re going to assume about the back story of this letter, there is still a lot of ambiguity here. For the sake of this sermon, we’re going to go with the traditional assumption – that this letter is about reconciling a runaway slave with the household he had left. The problem with that conclusion is that it’s still wide open to interpretation. American slaveholders in the 18^th and 19^th centuries loved to use Philemon as a justification for their horrific practices. They were all for slaves being returned to their masters. And of course, from their perspectives, there was no doubt that Onesimus was being returned to slavery. It was that nice, friendly kind of slavery they liked to describe to their Northern adversaries, where the slaves were happy and well-fed and enthusiastic about their work, that is, the kind of slavery that only existed in the slaveholders’ minds.

From our perspective, of course, the idea that people would use scripture to justify slavery is appalling. It seems obvious to us that when Paul was sending Onesimus back, it wasn’t so he could continue being a slave – “no longer as a slave” Paul said – but because Philemon’s household was likely the only family he’d ever known and Paul wanted to help Onesimus avoid living in the shadows for the rest of his days, always looking over his shoulder. How could anyone think that slavery is consistent with Christianity? Yet, even as we ask the question, we know that generations of Christians did, or at least lived as though they did. And if we’re honest, the moral ambiguity begins with Paul. It’s not clear what Paul is sending Onesimus back to; nor is it clear if Paul really knew what the consequences would be. It’s not clear how on board with this plan Onesimus was, as we never hear from him, or even Paul’s interpretation of his wishes.

But perhaps the most disturbing part, for Christians who believe slavery to be an obvious evil, is how Paul makes his argument. He doesn’t tell Philemon that he should set his slaves free because he wants to follow Jesus. If we choose to believe that Paul is, in fact, requesting that Philemon set Onesimus free, it’s only because of Onesimus’ particular circumstances, that is, that he had become a Christian. Onesimus, in Paul’s view, should get his freedom because he is now a Christian, not because Philemon is one. Paul has given no direction concerning any other slaves Philemon may purport to own. This is not a resounding moral victory.

In fact, there is no place in scripture where Paul clearly condemns slavery. Instead, we have passages like Ephesians 6:5-8 and Colossians 3:22-25, where Paul basically tells slaves to be well behaved and loving toward their masters. There are bright spots, like Galatians 3:28 and First Corinthians 12:13, where Paul implies that in Christ we are all one, and slave or master status is of no matter. But even there, it’s not clear if Paul is saying that because of our oneness in Christ, all slaves should be set free, or if he’s talking about a spiritual state of freedom and oneness that merely goes alongside our physical realities, until Christ returns. In his defense, Paul was expecting Jesus back some day really soon, so he was less concerned with transforming the here-and-now than he might have been if he’d realized we were in it for the long haul.

So what do we do with scriptural moral ambiguity like this? As with many things, I would submit that our first step is confession. This is not simply a Paul problem. This is our problem. We are just as compromised in our faith as he is. We are no more able to fully embrace the gospel than he was, for we are just as limited by “the way things are” as he was, even if our “the way things are” is different than his. The thing about economic systems and social structures is that they have a way of feeling inevitable. Even though we know, at some level, that these things have shifted over the course of centuries, “the way things are” in our present day often feels like the only way they can be. Even if we agree that the systems don’t work very well on a “liberty and justice for all” measurement, it’s hard to imagine things working differently. And so our faith adapts. We look for ways to make things better, within the system. We engage in the modern-day equivalent of Paul telling slave masters to treat their slaves fairly.

We can learn something from the ways in which Paul did achieve faithfulness. Where did he do well? When he learned and was transformed by a relationship. He stuck out his neck in defense of a slave, because that slave, Onesimus, had become precious to him. We do this too. When someone we care about is being jerked around by the system, all our indignation is on their side. Whether it’s disability being denied, or an insurance company rejecting claims, or hours being cut, or wages being docked, we are pretty good at being righteously irate on behalf of our friends and loved ones. Those of us with the means are sometimes even willing, like Paul, to offer to buy someone out of their troubles.

But we struggle, just like he did, to translate this righteous indignation into active resistance to the systems that create these problems for our friends and thousands of other people we’ll never meet. If we’re going to transform the world solely through the motivating power of relationships, we’re going to have to broaden our circle of friends much wider than most of us have currently achieved. Paul at least went to prison to meet new friends. Most of us have little interest in taking it quite that far.

So how do we learn to care about the system-wide injustices? How do we begin to care about wage theft on a broader scale, or exploitation-level wages for the people who provide services we use every day? How do we become people dedicated to eradicating modern-day slavery, which we know still exists but try not to think about most of the time? It’s not that hard for us to describe the way God would desire for our world to work. People have meaningful work. Everyone is able to support themselves and their families. Those who are vulnerable and unable to do for themselves are protected and looked after. But to make the connection between that vision and the way things currently are feels almost impossible. It’s hard even to know where we would begin. And so we allow our faith to be compromised, to acquiesce to “the way things are” and just try to make the best of things. We resign ourselves to just making a difference in the tiny little part of the world we’re occupying, amongst those we care about.

Except that we’re not Paul. We’re not in prison. We live in a world that is far more connected than his was. We do have the capacity to get to know those who are affected by the systems of injustice that run our world. And we’re not living under an emperor, but rather in a representative democracy, corrupted by money as it may be. We do have the capacity to care about our neighbors and make a difference in their lives. We do not have to be satisfied with a compromised faith. I don’t think Paul probably was either, though he clearly struggled as we do to overcome it.

There is something more than the transformative power of relationships that can influence how our faith motivates us to live our lives. I’m going to go back to the passage we heard earlier from Jeremiah now. And because it is not the main point, I’m going to tack the common tack of using the imagery found there, while ignoring the violent and fatalistic understanding of how God works in the world. If we latch onto the metaphor of the potter working the clay, we can find a helpful spiritual truth. If you’ve ever seen a potter working clay on a wheel, you know how amazing it is to watch. It grows and changes and eventually turns into something other than a lump of clay. But sometimes, it gets wonky. Some irregularity or unevenness develops, and the piece goes off the rails. And so then you see the potter collapse the whole thing, squish the clay back into a lump and start over.

Some of you recognize this pattern from your own life. Sometimes things get wonky. Sometimes things go off the rails. Sometimes, we have to collapse the whole thing and start over. But there is a reality within the clay metaphor that we must be wary of. The collapsing and starting over only remains possible as long as the clay is still wet and pliable. Once that clay has dried out, or been fired in the kiln, that kind of do-over is no longer an option. And that is the trick. Our faith can continue to grow. Our hearts can get bigger and bigger, and care about more and more people and problems and maintain the hope and motivation to tackle them. But only if we keep our hearts open to the shaping influence of the Holy Spirit, the Spirit that connects us to one another, the Spirit that opens our hearts to the suffering of others, the Spirit that motivates us to work for justice, the Spirit that pushes us to believe that “the way things are” is not, in fact, inevitable, the Spirit that helps us to hope that we are the ones who can make change in our world, the Spirit that makes it possible to live out a faith that is not limited and compromised, but bold and visionary and faithful to the gospel of Jesus Christ. We can follow Paul’s example and be willing to make personal sacrifices, but we can also go beyond what he was able to do, and make systemic changes that will move our world closer to the kingdom of God, if we can stay open to the Spirit’s transformative power. Alleluia and Amen.