Doing Justice
Third
Sunday of Easter
Acts 6:1--7:2a, 44-60
April 30, 2017
Acts 6:1--7:2a, 44-60
April 30, 2017
Rev.
John M. Caldwell, PhD
First United Methodist Church
Decorah, Iowa
First United Methodist Church
Decorah, Iowa
This
is long reading with
two parts.
There is a part about the selection of deacons to run the church food
pantry. Then there is a part about one of the deacons, Stephen, who
got stoned, well, who was stoned by a crowd for alleged blasphemy.
There are two sermons in there, too.I was going to preach the one
about how Stephen got stoned, but my eye was caught by something,
something in the first part of the text. I noticed, and not for the
first time, that the seven men who were chosen to supervise the food
distribution to the widows all had Greek names: Stephen, Philip,
Prochorus, Nicanor, Timon, Parmenas, and Nicolaus. Yep, all Greek
names. And then I started thinking about how those men were chosen
and it occurred to me that there is something very unusual going on
in this reading. Let me see if I can show you just how unusual.
The
"church" had grown in Jerusalem. I put church in quotation
marks because it wasn't really very organized. It was still very much
in the movement stage of things. There were a few men and women who
were leaders, but their roles were still fluid. There were no policy
manuals, charters, or by-laws. All of those things, even our own Book
of Discipline,
were very much in the future and were often responses to various
crises.
This
was the first such crisis, a result of growth in numbers of the
Jerusalem community of Jesus-followers. They had a program to
distribute food to widows. Widows were often in a tough spot. As far
as their family of origin was concerned, they were part of their
husband's family. To their husband's family they were considered
non-family members who were in possession of extended family wealth.
If they had no grown sons to support them they had few allies or
sources of help.
So
the community of Jesus-followers undertook to provide the widows who
were part of the movement with their daily bread and more. I imagine
that this policy aided their evangelistic work among widows.
What
complicated this was that the community was basically bi-lingual. At
this early point most of the community spoke Aramaic. The rest of the
community spoke Greek, the common language of the eastern
Mediterranean world. This wasn't just a language division, but also a
cultural and even ethnic division. Outside of the community of
Jesus-followers, there was a certain amount of negative feeling--of
mistrust and even dislike--between the two groups.
As
we heard, this negative feeling also existed inside the community.
Not only that, but it was being reflected in how the food pantry was
being run. Aramaic-speaking widows, that is, widows from Judea, were
getting three grocery sacks of food, while Greek-speaking widows,
were only getting two. The Greek-speaking part of the community
thought this was unjust, so they complained to "the Twelve."
The Twelve in turn called the whole community together. It wasn't
right, they argued, for them to stop preaching in order to wait on
tables. So, pick out seven qualified men to organize and reform the
food distribution program as needed.
Okay,
first of all, now I'm thinking this wasn't so much a food pantry as a
community meal program, where the Aramaic-speaking widows could go
back for seconds, but the Greek-speaking widows could not.
Second,
weren't there any women who could have overseen a food distribution
program to support widows?
And,
third, I'm wondering if pastors haven't been given an effective
complaint-reduction strategy here. When someone complains, put them
in charge!
Well,
none of that is remarkable. What is remarkable is what came next: the
community appointed seven men. The mostly Aramaic-speaking community
appointed seven Greek-speaking to be deacons, a Greek word that means
minister, which is a Latin word that means table-waiter.
We
don't have any of the minutes of the meeting other than what the
Twelve say and what the community decided, but the conversation must
have included something like this from the majority, Aramaic-speaking
party: You Greek-speaking folks say that there is an injustice in the
way our community has supported widows. We believe you. So we would
like for you to run this program the way you think it should be run.
Decide what needs to be done. Show us what justice for your widows
looks like. And that's what we'll do.
A
majority Aramaic-speaking community with Aramaic-speakers in charge,
showing favoritism toward Aramaic-speaking widows turned over its
power to the Greek-speaking minority to arrange a part of the
community's life more justly. That never happens!
I
imagine that it didn't happen without a struggle. Like I said, there
were no minutes from the meeting, just the apostolic charge and the
decision. But I'd be surprised if there weren't some voices who
objected: Yeah, but if we let the Greeks run things then our
widows will be the ones getting short-changed. At very least some of
them thought
this. It was
a risky move. Yes, the Greek-speakers could have simply turned the
tables. To trust that they wouldn't was taking a real risk. But they
believed and trusted the Greek-speakers and took the risk. And we do
not hear that their trust was betrayed.
It's
hard to imagine any community acting the way this early Christian
community acted. I know how people in power usually deal with these
things. For as long as they can, they deny that there is a problem.
Or they tell the victims that change is coming, but it will be slow.
Or addressing this injustice isn't possible yet because there are
other more important priorities.
Then,
if they are forced into acting, they'll set up a commission with
representation from all sides: six Greek-speakers, six
Aramaic-speakers, and a Latin-speaking moderator. They'll do
everything they can to shift the focus from justice to fairness.
The commission can look at the rules of the game as long as no one
questions whether the game should be played at all.
In
the end, they will do as little as possible as long as they can avoid
the appearance of unfairness. That's what people in power usually do.
Imagine
if they didn't!
Imagine
if the Ferguson Police Department sat down with the Ferguson
community and said to them, You have said that law enforcement in
your community is unjust. We don't completely understand why you say
that, but we trust that you're speaking honestly from your
experience. What needs to change? How do we make this right? You tell
us and that's what we'll do.
I
know there would be voices that would say, Are you crazy? Crime will
run rampant! Police lives won't be worth anything! You can't put them
in charge!
It
would be risky. The people in charge would have to decide that doing
justice was more important than being in charge. They would have to
decide to trust the Ferguson community to know what justice would
like in Ferguson, MO.
In
the United Methodist Church we put our LGBTQ clergy on trial for whom
they love. Clergy who perform weddings for every
adult couple who want to commit themselves to a lifetime of loving
are brought up on charges. We declare that the consecration of an
elder in good standing to the office of bishop is illegal, because
she is joined in love and marriage to a woman. We appoint commissions
with tiny minorities of LGBTQ people to have conversations about the
full range of human sexuality, fully prepared to reject their
conclusions at the special General Conference in 2019.
Imagine
instead that the Council of Bishops sat down with LGBTQ clergy and
laity and said to them, "Tell us what justice for you would look
like in the United Methodist Church. And that's what we'll do."
The
radical approach to doing justice in the real world practiced by the
early Christian community is easy to overlook. It lies just at the
edges of what it is even possible to imagine. But that doesn't mean
that we shouldn't live toward it. This is one reason why I'm so
enchanted by the model of Sister Parish. When we go from North to
South, we don't go with money bags; we don't go with a list of things
that would make their lives better if only they listened to us; we
don't go convinced that we know what good news would be for them. We
go to listen and to learn. We go to form tentative new relationships,
afraid to do or say the wrong thing, worried that we'll misunderstand
or be misunderstood. We find instead people who are willing to take
the risk of befriending Americans. Given the history of our country
with the nations of Latin America, we do not underestimate how risky
that might seem. But they do it anyway. They forgive our mistakes.
They welcome us into their homes. They share what they have. They
tell us their stories of struggle and resistance and survival.
It
is that trust and willingness that allow me go to Potrerillos,
Chilatenango, El Salvador, where lives are so difficult for so many
because of policies that help make life so easy for me, and say to
them, I know that grave injustices have been committed and continue
to be committed against you by my nation. I have an intuition of what
injustice looks like and I see far too much of it. If I'm wrong about
that, please correct me. Tell me what justice
would look like. I will believe you. I will stand with you. I will
work to make it happen.
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