Luke 21
We woke up Tuesday and this is what we said in my house,
“Today is a day for celebration because the campaign season’s over!” “Wait,”
one child asked, “It’s over? Who won?” And we explained that Tuesday was voting
day so everyone would be casting their votes… and all day, I prayed for people
to make it to the polls, for voting to go smoothly, for everyone to have the
opportunity to vote… and all day, I watched as my friends cast their votes,
with a feeling of joyfulness and anticipation and because of the people in my
circles of friends, lots and lots of “#I'mwithher.” There was this sense among women leaders and
friends in every category that Trump has diminished over the course of his
campaign that… today, we’ll be done with this nonsense. We got this.
When colleagues said to me, “You know, I’m getting a little
worried.” I said, “No, no… don’t worry!”
So I’m not telling you this because I think that you should
believe and think as I do…
As Lutheran pastors, we don’t tell our congregations who to
vote for from the pulpit—unlike some faith traditions—because we deeply value
your ability to vote from your own conscience, but I’m revealing where I was at
so that you’ll have a picture of where I was at on Tuesday night as the results
started rolling in & commentators were both in shock (How did we get this
so wrong?) and already giving all kinds of analysis about why of course this
happened. There was no more memory of the hateful campaigning or the late
breaking FBI accusations and withdrawals of accusations. (Now the new analysis was,
well, the Democrats simply lost touch with the working poor. The Democrats
chose the wrong candidate; the party got ahead of the country on social issues;
it was a backlash; it shows the depth of racism in the U.S.)… and at 11 p.m. we
tried to get to sleep but you know, it wasn’t a good sleep…. and when we woke
to the news that it was done? For me… the unthinkable had happened.
When we’re hit with shock, fear, grief… we all have
different responses. My first response was to get busy… to tell the news and
reassure our kids—we’ll make it through this. I was so, so grateful that I got
to meet with people all through the day on Wednesday. First, my weekly text
study where we read this gospel from Luke together:
Jesus says the temple will be torn down. There will be news
of wars and insurrections… there will be natural disasters… and people will be
persecuted.
Just imagine the people who Jesus is talking with. They look
together at the temple with mixed feelings, because it’s both a beautiful
monument to their faith … but it’s also a source of embarrassment (because an
oppressive ruler, Herod, had built it). By the time Luke is writing this story,
the temple has already been destroyed, so this story of its destruction is not
fortune-telling… it’s remembering together how Jesus told them, “Bad things
will happen… and it won’t just be out there, it will be personal… they may come
for you, Jesus’ followers…. But you shouldn’t fear it or worry about it… and
the way that you should interpret all this suffering, if and when it comes to
you, is as an opportunity to testify.
An opportunity to testify. An opportunity to tell your story,
tell God’s story. An opportunity to say the truth of what you see to the best
of your ability, to be ready for God to give you words and a wisdom that none
of your betrayers can contradict… because by
your endurance you will gain your souls.
So on Wednesday, my next gathering was our Matthew Bible
Study that meets on Wednesdays at 10:30 a.m. and in that circle, I said to each
weary and worried person, “Welcome to this circle of love.” And then, I got to
visit members of our congregation who voted for Trump, and I asked why, and I
listened to their response… and then, in the evening, I gathered with the
Confirmation students… who had wise words and good questions and told about how
they had hugged their crying teachers throughout the day, and told how they are
accompanying with care & kindness other students who are worried that their
parents will be deported.
Since Wednesday, I’ve been watching and reading as some of
you have testified by going to protests… as others have shared ideas about how
to deepen community in response to acts of hate by those who are now emboldened
to bully and harass those who are most vulnerable…
I’ve wondered if there are those of you who haven’t felt
safe to have conversations with others… or who just haven’t had the chance.
I’ve wondered who is feeling worried and which worries are most founded…
I sat with another group on Thursday in which two African
American pastors cried and said they are so tired of feeling unsafe… and so the
fact that more that 50% of both white women and men voted for the agenda that
Trump campaigned on is so disheartening. The fact that Evangelical Christians
voted for this platform shakes their faith. In social media… I watched as
witnesses are labeling hateful actions since Wednesday [for example, a parade
by the KKK, racist graffiti, kids telling other kids to go back to their
country (even if their home country is this one)] as signs of “waking up in a
new America.” But the idea that this is new for white liberals and progressives
feels so hollow to these Black pastors… because this is the America they have
experienced far too much, far before Wednesday…
And then, there’s Michael Moore… and others. Who knew this outcome
would happen all along. Who say those of us who thought Trump was not electable
were living in a bubble. Who know everything.
It wasn’t until Friday morning that I finally broke down,
really feeling the grief of it all. It was when a friend of mine sent an
article I had written ten years ago for Café—an online magazine for young adult
women who want to build their faith. This article was on “raising your voice” and
had been published in October 2006, prior to a less consequential mid-term
election, back before we even imagined having our first Black president. And as
I read that article, I remembered…
Remember everything that you’ve survived?
Remember how we weathered the storm together after the
events of September 11, 2001?
Remember how we’ve lived through other leaders who told us
lies and didn’t serve our best interests? Remember, how in every political
moment—no matter how good or faulty our elected leaders—we are freed in Christ and
that is what gives us power to do good? Whether we are called to use that
ability to bring about political change in the limelight, or whether we are
called to simply serve, love, and shelter others in our daily life and work, in
far less visible ways…
As I’ve been reading friends’ reactions to this election, there
is one friend who is, I think it’s fair to say—madder than a hornet. She’s
especially mad at Christians. She keeps writing scenarios that describe certain
people’s shocking prejudice and then tags it with these words
#YourJesusIsShowing.
Underneath all that fierce anger, I think there are two
deeper questions that occur to many of us:
What in the world is God up to?
And how could people who call themselves Christians think any
of this?
(How could any Christian reject the neighbor, support
someone who says and does such hateful things, etc.)
And in a climate where workplaces and schools are reaching
out to their employees & students with messages of solidarity, where is the
church?
We received this message from our Roseville schools
superintendent—
“As we end what can best be
described as a challenging week, I want to take this opportunity to remind our
students, families, and staff members that we value each and every one of you.
As even our youngest students react to what they are hearing at the national
level, I urge each of you to remember that at the core of our school’s equity
mission is the need to treat one another with dignity and respect and to
communicate those values loud and clear to our children.”
Here is where I think we need to be as church.
We may not be of one mind, particularly on how to move
forward… but we are one body. Every part of the body is vitally important. If
one part suffers, the whole body suffers.
There is one other story that has come up for me this week—it’s
a story that only appears in Luke—the gospel we have journeyed with all through
this last year. It was the text at my ordination, and it’s a resurrection
story.
And this is how it goes. Two disciples were on their way to
Emmaus, and a stranger joined them on the road. The stranger asked them what
was wrong, and they said, “Are you the only one who doesn’t know what has
happened?” They described Jesus’ horrible death and the death of their dreams. “We
had hoped that he would be the one to save us.”
Then, the stranger began to tell them how God works—and as
they neared the place they would stay for the night, the two disciples invited
the stranger in. Maybe they wanted to hear more, maybe they were showing hospitality…
but they invited the stranger in, and when he broke bread with them, they
recognized that this was no stranger but the risen Christ. They responded,
“Weren’t our hearts burning within us as he walked with us?” And in retrospect,
they could see how Christ had been with them every step of the way.
When we are filled with grief and despair, when we are
afraid that life as we know it has ended, when we have witnessed injustice
first-hand & we don’t exactly know where to go from here… that is exactly when
God our Advocate meets us along the way and invites us to come and eat. At the
table, we not only receive nourishment for all that’s to come but we realize our
oneness. In Holy Communion, we are not only receiving but we are becoming the
body of Christ, and that means that as Bishop Wohlrabe said last week, “The
worst thing will never be the last thing.”
God gets the last word. The sun will rise, with healing in its wings.
So do not fear. Instead, come and witness the risen Christ
here in the middle of us… the one who will give us the words and a wisdom of
how to testify in this next season.
Come, eat & drink, and taste healing.
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