June 19th Sermon Notes from Pastor Erin

Began both services by reading Bishop Maas' message followed by the names of those killed at Emanuel AME and Pulse. This is my sermon from today...

God of grace and mercy, may these reflections of our hearts bond with your will that we may be called to live in the Way of Christ. Amen.

It has been a difficult week. Tensions are high. Even if you have taken a step back and turned off the television for a while; even if you have been kept busy with all the daily-ness of life; even if you have far too much on your mind with your personal stuff to think much about the world past your front door: You can feel anxiety hanging in the air. Discussions and debates that seem to come around every few months or so and go round and round in circles are back. Quite frankly, it is all too familiar.

And because it seems so familiar maybe we forget it is not the same. It is different every time. Each and every time someone is killed in an act of violence, that person’s death creates a new world for all the people who loved them and who lost them. A mother and father, brother and sister, son and daughter, friends, co-workers, a circle of people have lost someone forever. Their world is changed, forever. And when a mass shooting occurs the number of lives forever changed is beyond count. Yes, 49 people were senselessly murdered last week. But countless lives will never be the same. The world is changed.

And change is scary.

A year ago a gunman walked into Emanuel AME and murdered nine people. A week ago a different gunman walked into another sanctuary and murdered 49 people. Yes, I called Pulse, a gay bar, a sanctuary. Because, in truth, for a marginalized and persecuted group such as those who are in the LGBTQ community, Pulse was a sanctuary. It was a place that they were able to be fully themselves without judgment or fear. It was a place, they believed, of safety. Just as the members of Emanuel AME believed their church was safe.

It should have been safe.

Then, so too, should a movie theater, a school, even a shooting range.

But the fact is, not many places feel safe anymore. And the truth is, for people in the LGBTQ community, a lot of places haven’t felt safe for a long time. Basic human rights have been denied to people based only on their sexuality. Employment, medical insurance, housing, marriage, and other things many of us are able to take for granted have been denied people; not because of who they are, but because of who they love. For those killed and injured at Pulse, many faced a second form of prejudice by way of racism. So many black and brown bodies, black and brown lives, ended by a man with a gun who was living in fear, anger, and ignorance—a terrible and deadly combination.

Systematic (methodical/organized) racism and homophobia have, for a long time, allowed people, and the organizations run by people, to overlook, ignore, other-ize, and abuse so many who are LGBTQ and/or people of color. The church is far from innocent in all of this. God is God. The church, however, is an institution organized and run by human beings. As such, it subject to the same failings and sins as we the people. In many ways, the church is even more accountable for spreading fear and hatred towards the outsider since it is we as the church who are called to be more Christ-like in the world. Simply put: where is the love? That is what we are called to; not judgment, love.

In today’s Gospel Jesus meets a man possessed. “Legion” is the name the demons give, because they are many. We, too, individually and culturally, are possessed by “Legion.” Many are the concerns, fears, prejudices, expectations, misunderstandings, and certainties that have us running around fearful and frantic looking for life among the dead. Like the man possessed we are naked and vulnerable. Like the man possessed we need Jesus.

However, like the Gerasenes, we also want to send Jesus away. Notice how very fearful the people are of the man once he has been restored. He sits calmly at the feet of Jesus, clothed, and in his right mind. And they are more terrified of him than ever before. The Gerasenes ask Jesus to be on his way. “Please leave. You are making us really uncomfortable.”

In his Contemporary Language Bible, The Message, Eugene Peterson writes the scene this way: “Later, a great many people from the Gerasene countryside got together and asked Jesus to leave—too much change, too fast, and they were scared.”

Too much change. Too fast.

I also want to note the name Peterson gives Legion is “Mob.”

So many voices conflicting within us and outside of us. So much change. And we are afraid.

God knows it is difficult.

There are times we would rather send Jesus away than accept that we might have to change how we live. We might have to let go of old ways of thinking. We might have to learn not just to accept but to love people different from ourselves. We might have to sit at the feet of Jesus and be calm even as the Mob all around us shouts for chaos, fear, hatred, and disorder.

Maybe to some of us, change does seem to come too fast.

Until 1973 homosexuality was considered a form of mental illness, still today there are places where people are sent for “rehabilitation” and subjected to torture to try and “cure” them. The voting rights act of 1965 tried to clear the way for black people to vote, still today there are laws being passed and actions being taken to further limit the likelihood of some people of color voting. Women have been fighting for equal pay for many years, still today women make 79 cents to the dollar a man makes…that is white women and white men. Men and women of color are also paid disproportionately for the same job with the same level of education and experience.

Do you think a minority or marginalized person thinks change can be too fast in coming?

Why bring politics into all this? Shouldn’t this be a time for grieving and sorrowing over the 49 murder victims? And why bring politics into the pulpit where the Good News is to be preached and shared?

Why?

Because Jesus loves the outsider. Jesus loves the LGBTQ neighbor, the black neighbor, the Hispanic neighbor, and, yes, even the Muslim neighbor. How do we know? We know because God loves all of God’s children. Each and every child of God’s creation is a beloved child of God. But how do we know? Because we never had to do a single thing to earn it. We couldn’t earn it if we tried. We didn’t go to God; God came to us. Jesus came to us, for us, in love with us. But not JUST us.

The love of God and Christ Jesus cannot be made less by being shared more. That is not how love works.

Love shared grows.

We do grieve. We grieve the deaths of those lost to violence born of fear and hate.
We grieve for the changed world. We grieve for how we sometimes don’t know whether to push Jesus away or sit at his feet, and be in his calm, and let the voices of Mob be still.

The world changes every single time another innocent is killed. The world changes all the time. We can’t stop it from changing. But we can help to change it for the better. Sitting at Jesus’ feet. Calming the Mob within and without. And then going and telling what God has done.

God has loved. God is loving. God loves. God will love.

Oh, and God gave us power so we can love, too.

Thanks be to God.