Who's Got the Power?—A Sermon on Servants and Tyrants

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

This week’s scripture has some big picture things going on. The text from Job is such a powerful one, but it is a little bit confusing. To make a very long and interesting story fairly short, Job is deeply upset, because his whole life and livelihood have been torn to pieces. He has some friends that are trying to help him reason out this situation, but mostly they are not helping, because they keep talking about how great God is, and how Job must have done something terrible to deserve this. There are several chapters in a row of Job’s friends telling Job to get it together, because God is so great, and there is no way that all the bad things that have happened to Job are a coincidence. Thanks, friends.

So then, in our text for tonight, we hear from God, who is, shall we say, perturbed, that Job and his friends seem to know so much about how the world works and what God does and why. Essentially, God is calling them out. “If you’re so smart, tell me, how does it all work? How was the earth created?” I don’t often imagine God making snide remarks, but this is just so egregious.

You’re familiar with the concept of mansplaining or whitesplaining—when men explain things to women about women that women already know, or when white folks explain race-related things to people of color that they already know—Job’s friends are, shall we say, humansplaining? They’re putting words in God’s mouth and ascribing motive to God’s actions. And God is over it. God goes on for two more chapters after this, listing all of God’s accomplishments that Job and his friends should have to answer for. In chapter 40 God finishes with, “Anyone who argues with God must respond.” Which is basically God-speak for “How do you like them apples?”

God, in this story, reminds Job and his friends of the awesome power that God wields. The power of God is far more than the power of any individual human, no matter what we might think.

We had a jam-packed day of work today, and last night I imagined running out of time to finish this sermon. I thought about what I would say if it came down to not being prepared to preach. And then I thought, if there’s such an obvious important message to blurt out, why don’t I just say that in the first place? Pastors get in our own way sometimes.

So here it is: The world is full of people fighting for power, and we are called as Christians to hold powerful people accountable.

Power, definitionally, is the ability to act or to influence the action of others. As children, we learn that we have the power to make choices, and that our choices affect other people. We go to school to learn what we’ll need to know to be equipped to work in our chosen field, in order to have more ability to choose. We apply for jobs that will allow us to better wield the power we have, and perhaps provide us new power.

For as long as people have lived in community, we have struggled to order those communities and decide who gets to make what choices. As you make your way in the world, you exercise power every day, making choices and interacting with people who have more power than you do or less power than you do. It is very easy for us to be lured into holding power over other people, because we enjoy having control over ourselves and our environments. We can, and do, get carried away.

Jesus’ disciples paved that way for us. James and John, in this story, are thinking ahead to when Jesus eventually sits on the throne of Israel. This is what they anticipate will happen, though we who know the story know that his “glory” is the way of the cross, not the way of kings. So they come to Jesus with the audacity to say, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” And then they ask, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory” (Mark 10:35, 37).

Henry H. Mitchell, a preaching professor, wrote that James and John want Jesus “to promise them a special seat of honor at the end of their services as his faithful followers. They wanted to choose and guarantee their reward in advance. Jesus’ response makes it plain that we were given this life for the purpose of engaging in service, for which there would be no immediate or predictable recompense.” [1]

Jesus says, “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant” (Mark 10:43).  James and John were asking to be made the next-most-important people after Jesus (...👀…) and instead, Jesus says that true greatness comes from service. This was as countercultural then as it is now.

Beloved siblings in Christ: pay attention to who holds power, who is grasping for power, and how power is transferred.

Next Wednesday, we’ll celebrate the 501st anniversary of Martin Luther’s Protestant Reformation. The Reformation exposed abuse of power and hoped for a diffusion of power. We’ll also commemorate All Saints Day and All Souls Day, the Church’s annual remembrances of all those we love who have died. The following week, our nation will head to the polls for the General Election. All of these events in succession should invite us to reflect on human community and power, generation after generation, and how we use the power we have to do good in the world.

We are called, as the Body of Christ, to serve, rather than to be served. What does that call us to do, here and now? Who does that call us to serve? Are the people who lead us—on campus, in our community, at our jobs, in elected office—are the people who lead us Servant Leaders? Or are they tyrants? When we hold power—on campus, in our community, at our jobs, in elected office—are we Servant Leaders? Or are we tyrants?

Taking it all the way back to our good friend Job, let us remember that God is our greatest example of power. God the Creator called life into being. God came among us as one of us in the person of Jesus, speaking truth to earthly power. God the Holy Spirit breathes in us, empowering us.

The same God who laid the foundation of the earth and determined its measurements laid the foundation for your life. The same God whose voice brings forth lightning, who calls forth floods, brought you into being and calls you forth into life. The same God who has the wisdom to number the clouds has the wisdom to number the hairs on your head. The same God who provides for all of creation provides for you.

Over the weekend, a memo from the United States Department of Health and Human Services made national news. This memo explained their effort to “adopt an explicit and uniform definition of gender as determined ‘on a biological basis that is clear, grounded in science, objective and administrable.’ The agency’s proposed definition would define sex as either male or female, unchangeable, and determined by the genitals that a person is born with.” This is not Servant Leadership. This is abuse of power.

The God who created you—your body, your heart, your mind, your spirit—created you perfectly.  God created you male or female or nonbinary or trans in God’s own image. Your gender identity and expression are good and wonderful, whatever they are. Your way of moving through the world in the body you have is good. If you need to change your body in order to more fully live in it, do that. If you feel pressured to change your body by the expectations of the powerful in this world, know that I am praying for your strength to stay true to yourself. If part of the way God created you is with chronic pain, or mental illness, or a disability, you are already holy and whole just as you are.

As members of the Body of Christ, diversity is our strength. The family of God is not complete without all our siblings.

It is not the vulnerable among us but the powerful among us who need to change. James and John asked Jesus to “save them a seat” close to the powerful. They were asking the wrong question. What they really needed was a seat at the table. Here, at God’s table, there’s always a seat for you. In a few minutes, I’ll tell you “come to the table, for all is now ready, and it is Christ who does the inviting.” You maybe don’t even notice that I say that, because I say it every time and it’s just part of the thing. But I say it as a reminder not only to you but to myself. It is not up to me to exclude people from this table. It is God, who created the universe and each of us in it, who invites you into relationship. God invites you to be who you are, whoever you are, here. Amen.

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[1] Henry H. Mitchell, “Proper 24” in Preaching God’s Transforming Justice: Year B, 453.

Be a Good Ancestor—A Sermon on Wealth in Community

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

If you’ve known me for a while, you’ve heard me talk about the long list of podcasts I listen to. I listen in the car, I listen while I cook dinner, I listen while I fold my laundry, I listen while I walk around my neighborhood, I listen on airplanes...I pretty much listen to podcasts any time I’m not reading, writing, or talking. Through these podcasts, I listen to so many different voices—literally and figuratively—and learn so much about the stories of people who are not me. One of the things I enjoy most about the podcasts I listen to is the invitation into the realities of people I have never met and will never meet, or might never have known about any other way.

In the last several years that podcasts have really burst on the scene, I have changed so much about how I source news, how I assess situations of injustice, what I choose to learn more about, and where I go to learn more about something. As someone who talks and listens as my job, it’s especially important that I take time to wonder about whose voices I am not hearing, and whose voices are getting all the air time. Who am I at the table with, and who have I not even noticed I haven’t invited to the table, and whose table have I made myself unavailable for? What of my identities do I think of as normative or neutral, when in fact they’re a totally subjective lens through which I see the world? There’s something very particular about listening to the voices of people who are different from me in some ways, and similar to me in other ways, and hearing directly from them about their joys and challenges. The more voices we hear, the more likely we are to make choices that invite more people to the table.

My all-time favorite podcast, Call Your Girlfriend, is hosted by two best friends, Aminatou Sow and Ann Friedman. They talk about a wide range of topics, and have a wide range of guests—except that they only interview women. They have had high-powered women like Senator Kamala Harris on their podcast, and they have had friends of theirs who are visual artists on their podcast. They’re really just out here to amplify the voices of people who are often not heard from or valued at the same level as those in the majority.

Last week, their episode featured Georgia Governor candidate Stacey Abrams, and some reflections on our participation in the long arc of justice. If you have not already heard about her on the internet somewhere, Stacey Abrams, if elected next month, will be the first African American woman to govern a US State. She is brilliant, and I eagerly await the likely very close election results in Georgia. She spoke on the podcast about the wide-ranging work of justice in this society, and how her work builds on the work done before her, and prepares the way for work that will come after her.

In reflecting on this cultural moment, Ann and Aminatou talked about being part of a relay race, receiving the baton from those who came before them, doing their part, and then handing off their work to the next person to come. We will see change in our lifetime that began lifetimes ago, and we will witness injustice that is not resolved in our lifetime.

Aminatou quoted Marian Wright Edelman, a longtime activist for the rights of children, and founder of the Children’s Defense Fund. A 79-year-old African American woman, Marian Wright Edelman is no stranger to the long road toward freedom and justice for all. Marian Wright Edelman said “Be a good ancestor. Stand for something bigger than yourself. Add value to the Earth during your sojourn.”

I want to stitch that on a pillow, tattoo it on myself, project it on a building, wear it on a t shirt...you get the picture. Be a good ancestor. Stand for something bigger than yourself. Add value to the Earth during your sojourn. Does that resonate with you, as a Christian? We are part of a tradition that spans thousands of years, and will—God willing—carry on for thousands more. Our participation in the life of this world is one piece of a long relay race, generation on generation. The goodness of generations past can triumph over present evil, and our goodness now can triumph over future evil.

It is funny, to me, that though we are part of a loooooong story, we are sometimes still having the same conversations over and over and over. As though the previous generations didn’t settle it, and so we have to pick up where they left off—or even start again at the beginning! Tonight’s Gospel text is one of those stories.

As the story goes, a man with many possessions knelt before Jesus and asked what he needed to do to inherit eternal life. He was a faithful man, following the commandments as he had been taught. But something was still missing from his understanding. Jesus notices this, and replies, “Go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me” (Mark 10:17-31). The man is devastated, because this will be a tremendous sacrifice for him, as the text tells us he had many possessions he would have to part with.

This is one of those stories that we have a ton of trouble with, because we are unsure whether we are supposed to receive it literally or figuratively. In the Lutheran and Episcopal traditions, we interpret scripture with great care, and are quick to resist literal readings. We oppose Biblical literalism when it harms us—when it undermines, degrades, silences, and oppresses. This is important.

Tonight’s gospel, however, is an instance in which Jesus was probably being very literal! Because it is hard to accept, we explain it away. “He may have meant that then, but that doesn’t mean we are expected to do that now,” we say. Or we spiritualize it, saying that we need to slough off the immaterial things that weigh us down. This is insufficient.

When Jesus says “sell what you have and give the money to the poor,” he does not mean “decide you’re done with a couple of old things and donate them somewhere and then replace them in a few months with new things and maybe give a few dollars to your church.” Now, you can look at me and know that I do have not engaged in this practice. I have many more material possessions than are remotely necessary for my survival or even for my enjoyment. The thesis of this sermon is not to provide you with feelings of shame about how much or how little you own.

The thesis of this sermon, perhaps, is more about provoking you to wonder about what you own, and what you buy, and where you buy it from. In this economy, all who are rich are part of an oppressive system. There is no ethical consumption under capitalism. We who gather as Christians and wonder together about what that means for our lives are invited, this week, to wonder about our relationship to richness and to poverty.

At this moment in your life, you may not be or feel particularly rich. Remember the relay race, though. You are here at UC Davis receiving a world class education—or you have graduated with a world class education, already, and are here for various other reasons. With that, you can enter the wider world and give back to your communities. You can enjoy your time here, and learn and grow in all the ways that you can—in the classroom and out. You will have a responsibility, after graduation, to all those who helped you on your way to this place, and to those who will follow you.

How will you act out of gratitude for that which you have received? How will you make space for more people to receive the education you did? You may not know the answer to this question tonight—and that is okay! It may not be that specific action from you will result in an individual admission to a university, right, but, in what way will you as an alum or as a citizen participate in a society that provides more opportunities for more people? How will you be a good ancestor?

Just as Jesus tells us that we who are rich are accountable to the poor, we who are the majority are accountable to the minority. We are responsible for caring for our own, and who is “our own” should be wider than just Christians or just Americans. The anti-Semitic propaganda on campus last week is a sign that our community, to some degree, is unbalanced. We are not accountable to one another as a community in the way that Jesus taught.

White supremacy cannot be allowed to continue to fester at UC Davis, and though we in this room may not have been directly targeted by this event, we can work to prevent the next one. We can support our Jewish siblings in the ways they request; we can ensure that when anti-Semitic, white supremacist, or otherwise racist language or imagery appears in our presence, we call it out as hateful and inappropriate.

This is an issue that has plagued UC Davis and other educational institutions for generations, and so we have to go back to that relay race. What work of justice and community has paved the way for you be part of the solution? What work will you do that enables the next student leaders to make more room for more people, where safety and equity are the norm?

There’s a quotation that speaks deeply to me, though the sourcing of it is pretty sketchy. It was introduced to me in seminary as being from the Talmud, an ancient Jewish text written by several rabbis, but it is impossible to locate the exact phrase. Regardless, I find the words very true. It is written: “Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly now. Walk humbly now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.”

As we consider the immensity of the world before us, we must do our small part, and try not to be overwhelmed with the impulse to do too much. We have good ancestors, who have shown us the way. We can be good students, and we can be good citizens, and we can be good ancestors.

The October Surprise—A Sermon on Being Known, Seen, and Heard

Some of this sermon may seem familiar, if you read the previous one, preached on a different day to different people. This is from the same lectionary week, but to my students.

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Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

Starting the school year at the end of September can make the transition from summer to fall feel very sudden! We had that weird rain yesterday, and the forecast has temperatures dropping significantly in the coming days. October feels like real fall, with the pumpkins and the leaves falling and the postseason baseball and the spookiness. October is also LGBTQ+ History Month, AIDS Awareness Month, Breast Cancer Awareness Month, Disability Employment Awareness Month, and National Domestic Violence Awareness Month.

In addition to the celebration of changing seasons and Halloween, several of October’s commemorative months invite us to consider people on the margins of our society. Historically, LGBTQ folks, people with chronic illnesses, women, and people with disabilities have not been treated as fully human members of our society. Organizers and activists work around the clock to fight for legal protections for vulnerable people. All of these commemorations are important for us to acknowledge, especially because they remind us that—if these are not identities we carry—we spend the other 11 months focusing on other things. National Domestic Violence Awareness Month is of particular concern to me, because it is likely to affect more of us. According to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, 1 in 3 women and 1 in 4 men will face physical violence from an intimate partner in their lifetime.

Situations of domestic violence, intimate partner violence, and gender-based violence are some of most dangerous secrets that our families and friends keep. You may be a little surprised to hear me get right to the point on this, but it’s that serious. People of every age, gender, race, class, religion, level of education—you name it—can be suffering from domestic violence.

You are a beloved child of God, and no one who actually loves you will actively cause you physical, emotional, or spiritual harm. You are a beloved child of God, and you therefore must not cause physical, emotional, or spiritual harm to someone you love.

If someone you know is in a relationship that you see as controlling, or weird, or potentially dangerous in any way, there is a lot you can do to help. CARE, the Center for Advocacy, Resources, and Education on campus is an important place to start. I am also a place you can start. I want you to know that you can trust me, and your friends can trust me. In Christian community, this is part of what we mean when we say we love our neighbors. We support one another, pray for one another, and tell each other the truth.

Our scripture from James tonight is a reminder of this. “Are any among you suffering? They should pray. Are any cheerful? They should sing songs of praise. Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord” and, later, “confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed” (James 5:13-14, 16). Confessing when we have caused someone harm is the first step toward repairing that breach. I do not mean to say that praying is the only solution to problems—especially problems of violence. But praying for one another can contribute to our healing process. Throughout your time at the Belfry, let me know how I can be praying for you. It is my responsibility and my delight as your pastor to carry your sorrows and your joys alongside you.

It is also my responsibility and my delight as your pastor to encourage you to tell the truth—to yourself, to this community, and to God. And to accompany you as you navigate what it looks like to live in our world as a Christian. It can be hard.

One of the ways we support each other in our life together is by talking to each other. It sounds very simple! But talking about God in public may not seem like your idea of a good time. If it doesn’t, I invite you in particular to come chat with us at Public Theology. In partnership with Lutheran Church of the Incarnation, we are gathering at Three Mile Brewing a handful of Thursday nights this quarter to talk about issues and ideas that impact our lives, from the perspective of our faith. We had our first one last Thursday, and the next one is next Thursday. When we were planning, Pastor Dan Smith and I chose a topic for the first meeting: “What is truth?” we asked. We wondered about what our scripture says about truth and what our public intellectuals, poets, authors, and politicians say about truth.

We wondered about this at 8:00 on Thursday night, after a very long day. You may have watched in horror, as I did, as Dr. Christine Blasey Ford bravely testified in front of the Senate Judiciary Committee about Supreme Court Nominee Brett Kavanaugh. You may have witnessed her courage, her voice shaking as she read her prepared opening statement. As she swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Dr. Blasey Ford told the story of the worst day of her life in front of a panel of US Senators on live, national television. She did this because a lifetime appointment to the highest court in the land requires a thorough background check and interview process, and she had information that she thought the Senate should include as they made their decision. Dr. Blasey Ford testified in the interest of truth, fairness, and justice. Her testimony was largely disregarded by the committee, and they voted down party lines 11-10 on Friday to send Judge Kavanaugh’s nomination forward to the whole Senate. They’re in a holding pattern this week as the FBI investigates some of the claims against Judge Kavanaugh.

According to the scripture we read tonight, the 11 members of the Senate Judiciary Committee by whose votes Kavanaugh’s nomination process continues should be a little nervous. Jesus says, “If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea” (Mark 9:42). Jesus rarely minces words.

These men have placed a stumbling block before every American who has survived violence like Dr. Blasey Ford has and has not been believed. Millions of Americans listened to the allegations against Judge Kavanaugh, and then listened as those allegations were dismissed. Millions of Americans have heard truths told that sound just like the truths of their own lives, and have heard their leaders dismiss those truths as lies. Millions of Americans have stumbled over this this week, unsure of their value to their country and perhaps even their value to their God. Maybe you stumbled over this this week.

The women speaking up about the way Judge Kavanaugh mistreated them have told their truths at great personal risk, and have been rewarded by our nation’s leaders with vitriol meant to shame them into hiding. Wielding power to make others feel powerless is not Christian.

And, conversely, have you yourself  placed a stumbling block in front of someone else? Have you used your power to limit someone else’s freedom? Then, remember, “confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed.” Now is the time, my dearest siblings in Christ, to slough off what has been weighing you down. If you have never before been an outspoken defender of the truth, there is no time like the present. If your own past makes it hard for you to feel justified in speaking out, do what you need to do to put it right.

Just as Jesus so graphically puts it, “If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands and to go to hell, to the unquenchable fire. And if your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off; ….And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out” (Mark 9:43-46). It is better for you to go boldly into this world newly absolved, newly liberated, than to relegate yourself to an unexamined life. “Whoever is not against us is for us”, Jesus says. We are all in this together.

Throughout Jesus’ ministry, he spoke to and on behalf of marginalized communities—women, people with chronic illnesses, widows, orphans, children, people with disabilities, the poor and the oppressed. When those without power in his society told the truth about their lives, Jesus believed them. Jesus believed them, and then empowered them to keep telling their truths until they were believed by those in their communities who had the power to do something about it.

In our own lives, when we experience great trauma and tragedy, God knows and sees and hears us. When we feel like we are screaming into the void, God knows and sees and hears us. When we feel like we might go blind with rage, God knows and sees and hears us.

As the body of Christ in the world, as the Church on earth, we, too, have the power to know and to see and to hear the truth when it is spoken to us. We have the power to speak the truth, even when our voices shake. We have the power to say, “I believe you” to someone who fears the worst. And we have the power to denounce the powers and principalities that would say otherwise.

You may be surprised to hear me talk about these things from the pulpit, because preachers are often very careful about who in their communities might be offended by quote-unquote politics. But this is not about politics. This is about your wholeness and your value to this community.

As a called and ordained minister of the church of Christ, it is my duty and my joy to use my power to empower you. It is my duty and my joy to ensure that any one of you who has felt hopeless, who has felt fearful—especially of what our nation’s leaders have done and continue to do—know that you, too, have power. You, beloved children of God, can tell the truth. In your baptism, you were liberated from the poverty of sin and death, set free to claim your wholeness and live your truth!

You are a beloved child of God, and under no circumstances should you suffer through ill treatment. You do not deserve to be treated with physical, verbal, emotional, or spiritual violence. You deserve to be safe and loved, known, seen, and heard.