Sunday, January 6, 2013

The Empire Strikes Back (Matthew 2:1-12(13-18), Epiphany, January 6, 2013)



Matthew 2:1-12 (13-18)
Epiphany
January 6, 2013

Rev. John M. Caldwell, PhD
First United Methodist Church
Decorah, IA

What a strange and disturbing story Matthew tells us!  Epiphany rounds out the Christmas season, the thirteenth day of Christmas as it were.  And we who have basked in warm Christmas feelings, hoping for a parting blessing from Matthew, are given instead this story of visiting magi.

Some of the story is okay.  At least we’ve managed to domesticate it by weaving it into the story that Luke tells.  And the result is a Christmas pageant, complete with towels, beards and bathrobes:  Joseph and Mary journey to Bethlehem from Nazareth (that’s Luke, not Matthew), Mary gives birth to Jesus in a stable (again, that’s Luke, not Matthew), angels appear to shepherds who rush to see the baby Jesus (Luke again), the shepherds exit stage left, the magi enter from stage left (that’s Matthew at last), give their gifts and exit stage right.  Cue the organist for “Silent Night” and light our candles.
But Matthew’s story isn’t finished, not by a long shot.  For one thing the Christmas pageant left out the visit of the magi to Herod.  We don’t really know who the magi were, not for certain.  They were not kings; we know that.  We don’t know how many they were or where precisely they came from.  This vagueness is probably deliberate: it creates some mystery around these figures.

They were astrologers.  Like most ancients they believed that the cosmos was arranged so that the events in the heavens and the events on earth were linked in some way.  Interpreted correctly, the dance of stars, planets, moon and sun could unlock the secrets of things that were happening or were about to happen on earth.  These magi had claimed to have seen a star that belonged to the newborn king of Judea.  So they came to Judea, looking for him.

This was news to Herod--and not good news.  There had been no births in his palace.  Any newborn king was a security threat to his regime.  Once again his intelligence community had let him down.  Oh, sure, they could tell him where Messiah was to be born, but if they missed the fact that he had been born, what good were they?  

Threatened autocrats are dangerous.  If we have any doubt of that we have only to ask the folks in Libya or Syria.  Herod was a threatened autocrat and with plenty of reason Jerusalem was frightened.  
Herod held a secret meeting with the magi and squeezed as much from them as he could.  He extracted promises of updated intelligence once they had found the child.  So he, too, could go a worship him, he said.  But of course this was a lie.  Herod never had any intention of worshiping his rival; he only wanted the intelligence so he could have his rival killed.

It was nothing personal, you understand.  The political situation was delicate.  Unless they were managed carefully and skillfully, the Romans threatened Judea’s very existence.  And Herod knew how to manage them.  Any threat to Herod was a threat to Judea itself.  So anything that Herod did to preserve his power had to be done for the sake of his country.  That’s how Herod thinks.  

In that way, of course, Herod is not unique.  He thinks like the Empire he pretends to manage, that is in fact managing him.  There are always plenty of Herods.  And there is always an empire.  And that is how empires and autocrats think.  In their own minds their actions are always justified for the sake of the greater good.  When push comes to shove, though, they will do anything it takes to hang on to their power.

We leave this part out of the Christmas pageant.  We might or might notice in the Christmas pageant that the magi were not born yesterday.  With or without helpful dreams they know better than to go back to Jerusalem.  So, while they came in from the left, they leave to the right.  

But Herod is not going to be turned aside so easily.  Herod lacks the precise intelligence that he needed to have Jesus assassinated quietly.  But he knows the district in which Jesus is to be found.  At least his intelligence community could give him that information.  Thanks to the magi he knows when Jesus has been born, more or less.  So, just to cover his bases, and for the sake of the greater good of Judea, he orders a special op to murder all the boys who are two years of age or younger in the district of Bethlehem.  I’m sure he didn’t call it murder.  I’m sure he said “take out” or “interdict” or something like that.  But it was all the same to the children and their families.  In Herod’s mind preserving the fragile peace of Judea was a necessary goal that was worth the few dozen toddlers who had to die to make it happen.

Herod may be long since dead, but his way of thinking is very much alive.

On October 9 of this year, a fifteen year old Pakistani girl named Malala Yousafzai was shot in the head and neck by Taliban gunmen as she rode home on a school bus.  She had become an outspoken champion of the education of girls.  Doubtless the Taliban regards her as a threat to their version of Muslim culture.  For them the death of this bright and beautiful young woman would be an acceptable price to pay for the greater good.

We ourselves have been engaged in a global war against Al-Qaeda and allied movements.  One of our tactics is the use of remotely operated aircraft, commonly called drones.  We use them to kill militants in remote areas or in places where it is politically impossible to reach them with troops on the ground.  Parts of Pakistan fit this definition.  By definition, any male who is in the area of a drone strike is considered a combatant, and we do not count civilian casualties.  But among those deaths we do not count have been over 175 children[1] in Pakistan alone.  But this is an acceptable price to pay for the greater good.

Of course we have had our own “slaughter of the innocents” in Newtown, CT.  This event, unlike any other that I can recall, has prompted a national conversation about how we can protect a right to own and use firearms for legitimate purposes and protect our children and each other from gun violence.  There are many thoughtful and caring people who have entered that debate and they represent a variety of opinions.  I'm sure they are all well-represented right here.  There are serious disagreements, but I believe that if we pursue this conversation we will prove wise enough and caring enough to figure it out.  

But of the gun and ammunition manufacturers I have a different opinion.  We don’t have many autocrats in our country, but we do have large corporations.  If corporations are persons, as the Supreme Court seems to think, then I think they tend to be sociopathic persons.  Sociopaths look pretty good from the outside.  They are often charming.  But they do not care about the feelings of others.  They only thing they care about is getting what they want.  And they want what they want because they want it.  

Corporations, too, especially large ones, have nice headquarters buildings with lots of gleaming steel and glass.  They have effective public relations departments to put a good face on their actions.  But they only care about two things: profits and growth.   The people who work for these corporations don't often act that way, but the corporation itself does.  Certainly, this picture fits the gun manufacturers who for the sake of nearly a billion dollars in profits last year are willing to accept the deaths of 20 children in Newtown.  

What is their solution to gun violence? Their solution is more guns—guns in schools, guns in movie theaters, guns in offices, guns in churches, guns in every store, guns in every home, guns everywhere.  This would certainly expand their market and increase their profits.  And this is what they care about.

Herod and the empire, in whatever guises they appear, do not care about toddlers in Bethlehem or brave Pakistani girls or first graders in Newtown.  They care only about their own power and profit.
This would be an awful way to end the Christmas season if Herod and the empire had the last word.  But they do not.

Jesus and his family escaped Herod’s attempt to assassinate him.  Even Pontius Pilate, who succeeds in putting Jesus to death, does not have the last word.  That word is pronounced by the angel at the tomb: “Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified.  He is not here; for he has been raised…”[2]  The empire does not have the last word.

Two days ago Malala Yousafzai walked out of a British hospital, waving at hospital staff members and holding her head high.  The empire does not have the last word.

A star shines its light into the empire’s darkness and nothing that Herod can do can stop it.  The empire does not have the last word.  

In these dark days the light of that star still shines.  And when it seems that the empire is too big and too powerful to resist, let alone reform, let us remember and never forget: The empire does not have the last word.

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 444 Castro Street, Suite 900, Mountain View, California, 94041, USA.





[1] “The British-based Bureau of Investigative Journalism (BIJ) has calculated that by August 2011, 2,347 people had been killed by drone attacks in Pakistan alone. The total included at least 392 civilians, 175 of them children. The Obama administration refuses to tally civilian deaths, arbitrarily labeling all males within a drone target area as “combatants” unless there is evidence proving otherwise.” O’Connor, Patrick. “New US Drone Attacks in Pakistan and Yemen | Global Research.” Global Research: Centre for Research on Globalization, January 4, 2013. http://www.globalresearch.ca/new-us-drone-attacks-in-pakistan-and-yemen/5317718.
[2] Matthew 28:5b-6a.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Growing Pains (1st Sunday after Christmas C, Luke 2:41-52, December 3, 2012)



1st Sunday after Christmas – C
Luke 2:41-52
December 30, 2012
Rev. John M. Caldwell, PhD
1st United Methodist Church
Decorah, IA
Growing Pains
If you’re a parent of a teenager, you’ve been there. If you’re a teenager, you’ve been there.  If you’re a child, you’ve been there.  There’s a little something in this story for everyone.
 If you’re a child, you root for Jesus.  For once, the kid has something to say to his parents for which they have no answer.
 If you’re a teenager, well, you’ve been busted at least once, just like Jesus.  Probably, though, your excuse wasn’t as good as his.
 If you’re a parent, you know what went through the minds (and hearts) of Mary and Joseph.  You know the heart-sick anxiety.  You’ve made the frantic phone calls as it got later and there was still no sign of her.  You imagined the worst, told yourself she was fine, then imagined the worst all over again.
 Then, of course, she waltzed through the door, and anxiety turned instantly to anger—anger for putting you through it, anger for not realizing how dangerous the world is, anger for being fragile and careless.  “I forgot to call.  What’s the big deal?”  And you were speechless.  You tried to come up with words to convey the depth of your love and of your fear and the best you could come up with was, “You’re grounded until you graduate.”
 Mary and Joseph doubtless went through the same thing.  Their words upon finding Jesus, who it must be remembered had been missing for the better part of three days, were, "Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety."  I suspect that our writer has cleaned that up a little.  But maybe you could try that response the next time.
 Of course, I suppose you could ask what kind of parents these were who went a whole day without even noticing that their child was missing.
 In their defense, though, people in those days travelled in caravans whenever they could.  The holy family was no doubt part of a large group of relatives and neighbors from Nazareth.  Jesus was twelve, a man by some measures.  That Joseph and Mary didn’t see him, only meant that they assumed he was somewhere else in their group.
 On realizing that he was not in fact with the caravan, they dashed back to Jerusalem, finding him finally in the Temple complex.  If I had been Joseph I suspect I would have felt a little frustrated.  What kind of a kid is this, anyway?  Kids will do some foolish things—that’s pretty normal, in fact it’s kind of abnormal if they don’t.  But Jesus isn’t mixed up with some girl, or hanging around a tavern.  Instead, he goes to church.
 Karen Chakoian put it well when she wrote, “It would be like taking a kid on a class trip to Washington, D.C. and having him get lost, only to find him chatting with the Supreme Court justices.[1]
 It’s not really what you would expect of a normal adolescent.  But then maybe the text is telling us that Jesus isn’t a normal adolescent. 
 We know that it is possible to tell the Jesus story without any material about his birth or childhood.  Mark and John both did it and quite well.  The stories that we have from Luke and Matthew are, in one sense, not really necessary for the telling of the story.
 When we write a biography nowadays we are interested in a person’s childhood because we believe that childhood experiences shape the adult a person becomes.  For the ancients it was, if anything, the other way around.  They believed that a person’s adulthood identity shaped their childhood experiences.  Luke’s interest in stories about Jesus’ childhood comes from his conviction that in those stories we will see the emerging adult that Jesus became.  If we want to read this story as it was written we will read it as telling us something about who the adult Jesus is.
 And when we do, we see something that maybe we had only guessed at before.  For Jesus allegiance to his family is superseded by his mission.  In its earliest days Christianity was not a religion designed to strengthen families.  Later in the gospel when Jesus was told that his mother and brothers and sisters were there to see him, he replied, “My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and do it.”[2]  In Luke 12 Jesus told of a time when families will be divided against each other,[3] presumably over their allegiance to him.  Luke 14 he laid down as a precondition of discipleship that one “hate” their family members.[4]  Now, we read that word “hate” as an exaggeration, but still, it is clear that, for Jesus, the reign of God holds first place in his heart.  He expects the same of his disciples.
 It is strange is that anyone would think that the Christian message with its radical demands would strengthen families.  It certainly didn’t have that reputation in the early centuries of our movement.  Time and again we read of young women, especially, who faced their parents who tried to talk them out of following Christ.  One of the most common arguments was that, by giving their allegiance to Christ, they had robbed their families of the reverence that was due to them.  That is why early Christians were known as enemies of piety—they refused to respect their families.
 When Jesus’ parents found him in the Temple complex deep in conversation with the rabbis and expressed their anxiety, he calmly replied, “Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”  Some translations have “about my Father’s business.”  The Greek is not specific. There is no noun.  It simply says, “in the…of my Father.”  Anyway the point is, Jesus has a calling toward God, but it has little to do with his family, and certainly not with the man he calls Father.
 Jesus says, “Did you not know that I must be engaged with my Father’s agenda?” and we hear in it a hint of Jesus’ future unswerving allegiance to the reign of God.  That hasn’t emerged fully just yet.  We’re seeing Jesus’ first steps toward that end.We’re seeing Jesus’ determination to find out what God wants him to do.  Jesus knows it’s something, but what? 
 If Jesus had to struggle to find his path, how much more do we?  We have to struggle to find our path as Jesus’ disciples.  We have to struggle to find our path as a congregation.  None of that is going to be handed to us.  It isn’t going to come from the Annual Conference center.  It isn’t going to come from the bishop.  It isn’t even going to come from me, as if I were to disappear on retreat for a few days, talk to God, and come back with “the plan.” 
Like Jesus we’ll need to be in conversation with our tradition.  Like Jesus we’ll need to pay attention to the world around us.  Like Jesus we’ll need to be about the things of our God.  As it was for Jesus the process and result may both be disruptive.  They may not please the bishop or the district superintendent.  They may not even please me.  But we’re not the ones that this congregation or its members need to answer to.

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 444 Castro Street, Suite 900, Mountain View, California, 94041, USA.



[1] Karen Chakoian, "Between Text and Sermon: Luke 2:41-42," Interpretation 52, 02 (April 1998), 189
[2] Luke 8:21.
[3] Luke 12:52-53.
[4] Luke 14:26.

Light into Darkness (Isaiah 9:2-7, Christmas Eve C, December 24, 2012)



Light into Darkness

Isaiah 9:2-7
Christmas Eve C
December 24, 2012

Rev. John M. Caldwell, PhD
First United Methodist Church
Decorah, IA

The prophet Isaiah begins with darkness.  He begins in “a land of deep darkness.”  He begins with “the people who walked in darkness.”  People walking in darkness…in a land of deep darkness.

If Isaiah had lived in Decorah he would have experienced deep darkness at about this time every year.  The sun’s light comes late these days and night’s darkness comes early.  Carol and I get up before dawn and it’s hardly light by the time she gets to work.  She works in an office with no windows and comes out into the dusk of late afternoon when her work is done.  Even if you’re lucky as I am to be near windows and required by my work to be outside some of the time, there’s a lot of darkness and precious little light this time of year.

It’s no wonder that our ancestors were alarmed as the day was swallowed by the night.  They came up with ways to encourage the light.  They kindled a new fire and burned a Yule log to summon the light to return.  We don’t do that, but we do light candles tonight, and we still bring a green tree into our homes.  We still look for the light to come back, bringing with it warmth and life.

It’s no secret that no one knows when Jesus was born.  Birthdates were not recorded in those days, at least not among peasant families, as Jesus’ family was.  We celebrate the birth of Christ on December 25 because there was already a Roman festival—and a not very virtuous one at that—called the Saturnalia that fell on the same date.  Celebrating Christmas on December 25 was a way of luring Christians away from the Saturnalia.  So we celebrate Christ’s birthday on December 25.  And we postpone the Saturnalia until the night of December 31.

We can’t tell it yet, but we’re actually past the darkest day of the year.  The days are already getting a little longer.  So as likely as not there will be another spring and another summer and life will not end because the sun went south and never came back.

But that’s not really the darkness that Isaiah is talking about.  Isaiah lived in what anyone would call dark times.  The darkness was the shadow cast by a greedy empire to the north, the Assyrian Empire.  It had already swallowed up Syria and Israel.  Judah was next on their list.  These were times of terror for the people and king of the little kingdom of Judah.

We’ve seen our dark days.   Too many families in our nation are dealing with being out of work for a very long time.  In most states unemployment benefits run out after 99 weeks.  That’s nearly two years.  In September there were 1,800,000 people out of work for more than 99 weeks.  And that doesn’t count those who have simply stopped looking.  They and their families are living in a land of deep darkness.

Men and women in our nation’s uniforms have been through their own darkness and for far too many it is a darkness that they do not leave behind when they leave the combat zones.  There are shadows on their souls.  They have seen things and done things that no one should have to see or do.  They are wounded in places you cannot see.

Some are living these days with dark clouds hanging over them.  Some know in their hearts what their families and friends are reluctant to say out loud: that this is the last Christmas they will see from this side of the river.

We have seen our terrors, too.  In a movie theater in Aurora, CO, and an elementary school in Newtown, CT, terror struck us in the last places we look for it. 

Especially the killings in Newtown have cast a shadow over our joy this season.  We’ve begun a conversation about how to keep such awful things from happening again, and it’s good that this is happening.  After all, shouldn’t we able to watch a movie without worrying that the violence on the screen will suddenly become all too real?  Shouldn’t we be able to send our little children to school and know that they will be safe?

We haven’t talked much about the deep darkness in the hearts and minds out of which this violence erupted—other than to lump it under the catch-all category of mental illness.  But surely that darkness has particular qualities that make it different from the millions of folks who suffer mental illnesses without harming any of us.

Yes, we too are a “people who [walk] in darkness…in a land of deep darkness.”  What light can light up the land?  What light can guide our footsteps?  I believe I speak the truth when I say that it will take more than the returning sun to dispel that darkness, more than Yule fires, more even than a lovely candlelight service while singing “Silent Night.”  If the light that Isaiah is talking about isn’t brighter by far than all of those together, there is no good news tonight.

Isaiah surveyed his world.  He heard the tramping boots of the Assyrian army.  He saw their might and knew their purpose.  He looked deeply into the shadow that hung over his people and he saw…a child born.  It was a royal child, in Isaiah’s context probably the heir to the throne of Judah.  This child born in the darkness under the shadow would fulfill his people’s hopes for light and liberty. 

He would do this not because he would be a shrewd politician who would negotiate a peace that was favorable to Judah.  He would not be a brilliant general who would be able to take Judah’s puny little army into victorious battle against the might of the Assyrians.  He would do this because God would act: “The zeal of the God of the heavenly forces will do this.”  That’s what Isaiah saw, and that news was a light that was brilliant enough to scatter even the deep darkness that his people lived under.

We, too, gather in darkness.  We have walked in deep darkness.  We walk in darkness, some of it shared, some of it private.  As we gaze into the darkness with Isaiah, we see…another child born in another dark time and place.  His light shone.  His light still shines.  We have seen it shining in him.  We have even seen it shining through us.  That light will light up the path in front of us.  It will shine in our land’s darkness.  It will light up the world.It will be bright enough to do that.

And it’s not because we are so clever, nor so strong, nor even so good.  It will happen because “the zeal of the God of the heavenly forces will do this.”

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 444 Castro Street, Suite 900, Mountain View, California, 94041, USA.