Act! -- A Sermon on Micah 6

I preached this to the good people of Davis Lutheran Church and Lutheran Church of the Incarnation at their midweek Lenten Evening Prayer. The theme for their Lenten season is "Continuing the Covenant of Baptism" and the focus for this week was "creating justice and peace throughout the earth." The text Jeff and Dan selected for me to preach on was Micah 6:6-8. Funny how the Spirit moves, sometimes.

I went to college at California Lutheran University. It’s a great institution, and I’m so proud to be an alum of an ELCA college. While I was a student there, I worked in the library as a Writing Center tutor. I helped undergrads and grad students write papers, and plan research and presentations. I did this because I love words, and because I am a grammar nerd. So when I looked at this passage from the prophet Micah, I was struck by the punctuation. 

In these three verses of Micah, as translated by the New Revised Standard Version, I noticed that there are five questions. There is not one declarative sentence. There’s one independent clause, but it’s attached to a question via a semicolon. “God has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”

There’s a lot to question in this world. In this prophecy, Micah speaks on behalf of the people, asking their questions. The first four questions are about what to give to God. What to offer? What is enough? What will please the Lord? I have sinned, and now I need to remedy that. The questioner is, seemingly, distraught. But as the prophet replies on behalf of YHWH, with, I assume, a light chuckle, the questioner already knows the answer. “God has told you, O mortal, what is good,” he says. Sure, we know, but we don’t always do.

As Martin Luther would remind us, we are simultaneously saint and sinner. We have sinned against God and against one another, probably today. But Micah, prophet of God, says to go forward, treating one another justly, kindly, and with humility. It’s a new day.

Yesterday morning, I saw on Facebook a photo of an ELCA colleague of mine, Sylvia, wearing a clerical collar and holding up a sign that says “Love, not Hate” and she’s standing next to a woman with a sign that says “do justly, love kindness.” They’re at a protest outside a Donald Trump event on the campus of Lenoir-Rhyne University, an ELCA college in Hickory, NC. They and hundreds of other Lutherans and people of faith gathered to sing hymns, and to pray, and remind us all--like this text from Micah does--of our simple responsibilities.

Inside the event, a Christian minister spoke in advance of the candidate, calling out Democratic Socialist candidate Bernie Sanders’ Jewish identity. He said that Senator Sanders “gotta meet Jesus” and “gotta get saved.” [1] This is not okay.

We cannot, ever, disparage our sisters and brothers of the Book--Jews or Muslims--for their different relationships to the God we know.

We cannot, like many preachers have done and will do, use this Micah text or texts like it to disparage our Jewish sisters and brothers.

We cannot read texts like this and claim superiority over their covenant, over their sacrificial history.

Jesus the Christ told us that he came not to abolish the law but to fulfill it. We have a tendency to erase the entirety of the Mosaic tradition by lumping it all under animal sacrifice and considering ourselves far too sophisticated for such a thing. We have a new covenant, after all, that does not demand such activity.

In our modern expression of Christianity, even if we are going to ignore most of Jewish Law, we are not free to ignore the History and the Prophets. Here, Micah tells us exactly what activity God still demands.

Do justice. Love kindness. Walk humbly.

It is our right as Americans to speak freely in public. It is our responsibility as Christians to speak freely and boldly in public against bigotry and hatemongering, wherever we hear it. As we do justice, as we love kindness, as we walk humbly, we must act when our words are unjust, unkind, unhumble. We must.

In this season of Lent, Christians have been reflecting, thinking, reading, praying, fasting. We have tried to look at ourselves through different eyes, considering our shortcomings and working to reorient ourselves toward God.

I’ve endeavored, these 40 days, to consider the spiritual discipline of joy. I’ve been working hard at enjoying myself. You heard that right. Like I told the LEVNeers this Monday, anything can be a spiritual practice if you put your spirit into it. The reason I made this choice this year is because I spent the first several weeks of 2016 in a near constant state of lament. The world is a mess. It is so easy to look at the morning’s headlines and crawl right back into bed.

Consider these, which I read just this morning:

• “White House announces new North Korea sanctions”
• “Mitch McConnell says he'll continue to refuse to support any SCOTUS nominee President Obama puts forward”
• “Zika mosquitos may spread to New York and LA this summer”
• “FIFA admits to accepting bribes for World Cup hosting”
• “Over one million refugees have entered Greece since 2015”
• “Two suicide bombers kill 22 near Boko Haram stronghold in Nigeria”

Let’s take a deep breath.

In the interest of not ignoring and, in fact, diving deeper into the traditions of our Jewish roots, I present to you my favorite commentary on Micah 6:8. The Talmud says: “Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.”

That’s the key, my friends. It is not that we need to pretend that the world is perfect. The rabbis who wrote the Talmud acknowledge that the world’s grief is enormous. And they wrote it more than 1500 years ago, during which time the world’s grief has only grown. The acknowledgment of the grief, the lament, is not the end, either. We are called to act.

Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now.

"Preach it, sister," I am bold to say.

My dearest ELCA, thank you. Thank you that I am not only allowed but encouraged to speak, preach, teach, and lead in whatever situation I find myself. Thank you for giving me a scholarship to attend seminary, to follow this dream I have of making a difference in the church and in the world. Thank you for all the amazingly powerful female classmates with whom I share in this awesome experience.

Sure, we haven't always been allowed. Sure, some parishes still won't call us. But as a national body we have declared -- more than a generation ago, now -- that women are called to this vocation and should be given equal opportunity to serve the people of God. We as a national body have declared that the voices of women are welcome in the pulpit, in the classroom, and in the boardroom.

Today, I eavesdropped on a conversation between two women studying at an evangelical seminary that does not afford them the same. They are free to pursue degrees in things like "discipleship" and "Christian education" -- they'll be leaders of women's groups and Sunday school -- honorable, necessary, faithful work -- but they are relegated to domains not led by men. They're also encouraged to pursue marrying their male classmates, who are studying to be preachers and teachers and leaders.

One of these women was lamenting -- confessing, even -- to the other that sometimes, the deepest desire of her heart is to be a preacher. She was mad at herself for this sin, she said. This sinful, prideful desire. She said that it should not shock her one bit that Satan had this kind of power over her -- that the right thing to do was to suppress these feelings, because they were dangerous. And that her desire to preach was empty, because the Spirit would not give her words to say if she stepped into a pulpit. Her desire to preach was completely self-serving, she said.

I wanted to say something. I wanted to weep. I wanted to yell at the top of my lungs that she should be allowed to do the same! That it was not sinful and prideful to want to preach the Gospel to her people -- that's what we do here! That's what each and every one of us is called to do. And she can preach the Gospel to her fellow women and she can teach children and that will be wonderful and she will do great things with her deeply faithful servant heart. But if she feels so loudly called to this vocation, she should be able to honor that.

And that, dearest ELCA, is why I love you with my whole heart. Because you allow and encourage me to yell at the top of my lungs about the God who loves me. And about Jesus the Christ who came to teach and to serve and to save. And you allow and encourage me to speak truth to power -- to your own power! -- when injustice scars our communities. You allow and encourage me to participate fully in the life of this Church.

We the ELCA are not perfect. But we're not called to be perfect. We are called to love and serve to the best of our ability, whatever our ability is.

I am weepily grateful that I have not had that fearful conversation. That I have not been afraid to stand in the pulpit and proclaim the good news. That no person in a position of power in this Church has ever told me, "you can't." And that I have never told myself that I can't.

There is not a way for me to solve the problem that this woman finds herself facing. But what I can do is keep using my voice until she can use hers. Because I am allowed an encouraged to use my voice.

And for that, thanks be to God.

Hope

The last weekish has been so busy, I can hardly believe I haven't lost my head!

Last Monday, I got a great phone call with an incredible opportunity to be part of the future of advocacy in the life of young adults in the ELCA -- aka my dream life.

Tuesday morning, I attended the Legislative Prayer Breakfast with Colorado's state legislators and progressive interfaith organizations in the Denver metro area. Inspired by the words of the Methodist Bishop of the Rocky Mountain Conference, we are bold to pray for our elected leaders.

Wednesday, our Advocacy Group and Congregational Renewal Group had their monthly meetings, full of great ideas and excitement for the future of Holy Trinity.

Friday, Saturday, and Sunday I was in Colorado Springs with 750 middle schoolers and chaperones for the Rocky Mountain Synod gathering. It was so overstimulating that I think my ears are still ringing but it was incredible.

I told my mom that it was equal parts noise and junk food, and I'm definitely not kidding when I say that. But it wasn't just that, either. We were split into groups on Saturday (half in the morning and half in the afternoon) to go out into the community of Colorado Springs and do service projects. For a lot of kids, this was the first time they really understood themselves as the hands and feet of Jesus in the world.

Our group went to a homeless shelter and outreach program for young adults -- they serve ages 15-21, though they cannot legally house anyone under 18. So we hung out with some of the residents and heard their stories and got the grand tour of their facility -- 20 of them live in about as many square feet as I do. It's a challenging place to be, but it's a roof over their heads, which is particularly critical in the winter.

The young woman who led us around and with whom I spent the most time speaking introduced herself as TK. She and I agreed that Harry Potter is the best thing ever, and she told me about the punk band she sings in, and how she took some classes at the community college in drawing, because she wants to be a comic book artist. I thought about who I was at her age (I think she's 19) and who my friends were and what our lives were -- we were all 4-year university students all around the country -- and how impossible it is to wrap my head around having been transient for a decade. The thing that struck me the most about TK was her positive attitude and her deep gratitude for the organizations that had gotten her to where she was. She didn't talk about leaving there ASAP or how much she hated everyone or any of the things that I'd probably say if I had to spend a week there, frankly. She smiled and she laughed and she was honest with us and happy to tell us her story. She was simultaneously so like and so unlike every other 19-year-old I've ever known.

When we got back to the gathering and were in our large group meeting for the evening, the emcees walked through the crowd handing the kids a microphone to share with everyone what they'd experienced and where they'd seen the face of God that day. Mind you, this is a group of hundreds of 12- and 13-year-olds. There were countless more hands raised than there was time to hear from, and each young person had something much more profound to say than I think even they knew. I started taking notes in my phone of what was coming out of these kids' mouths:

"We were at a soup kitchen and I didn't even know the people but I cared about them. I didn't know that was possible." 

"I saw God in how nice the homeless people were to me, even though they didn't know me, and even though I'm not homeless." 

"We went to a farm, and I fed chickens whose eggs are going to feed hungry people." 

"I was cleaning a cupboard and was like, 'No one is even going to see that I did this,' but then the lady in charge thanked me for cleaning it even though it seemed like it wasn't important. I think it was God telling me that even the little things are good things to do." 

"Today I learned that I can love people I don't know."

At that one, I began to cry. This was the first time that these kids had experienced what service of others is really like. Some of them had never been in a situation where they came face to face with the people they were helping. Some of them had never met a homeless person before. For so many of these kids, this was the first time that anything had pulled at their heartstrings in a way they could express as the face of God.

As much as we lament that our pre-teens and teenagers are so separate from the world they live in and so disrespectful of others, there are several hundred middle school students who now know that they are the hands and feet of Jesus in the world, and want to do something with that.

This, coupled with the second inauguration of my main man President Barack Obama, leads me to feel serious hope for this country. And maybe you're inclined to say that what President Obama said yesterday were just words, and that these kids have probably already forgotten how they felt on Saturday, but I can't see it that way. I have hope for the future, and more importantly I have hope for the present. I hope you do, too.