DATE: November 25th, 2012
SCRIPTURE: 2 Samuel 23:1-7, John 18:33-37
©Rev. Alison J. Buttrick Patton
Saugatuck Church front lawn
So how did it go? How many different views were represented around your Thanksgiving table this year? Do you have a clan divided between the red and the blue, city and country, agnostic and devout, Pats and Giants? Was there someone at your table whose perspectives on politics, religion or society make you wince and pour too much gravy on your plate?
Family gatherings, including Thanksgiving, can be a bit of a mine field, and not just because we split ourselves between those who prefer roasted potatoes and those that insist on garlic mashed. Our family tables are a microcosm of our communities. So even in the most harmonious dining room, where many hands joyfully collaborate to prepare the feast and everyone roots for the same team, there are differences of view. Sometimes those differences remain below the surface, politely set aside for the sake of a pleasant meal; sometimes they bubble up unexpectedly through an off-handed comment about ‘Welfare Moms,’ ‘The 1%’ or ‘religious nuts.’ Once in a while, those differences get flung down like a gauntlet between the stuffing and the sweet potatoes, so the dishes rattle and candle flames gasp.
If you’ve never experienced that tension at your table, you’ve likely encountered it in your work place, at a party, or in your church. This past week, we’ve watched fierce differences played out on the world stage, as Israelis and Palestinians fired missiles at each other in a multi-day eruption of violence that snuffed out lives on both sides of the wall. There’s a generations-long conflict that’s so complex, so tangled, it can be hard to see how it will ever get sorted out. Today my heart aches for those two people of three faiths.
It is against this backdrop that we read a text this morning about truth; it’s in this context that I find myself asking, “Which truth are we talking about, and who gets to decide?”
Jesus is on trial. He’s been arrested by Jewish officials, handed over to Pilate, the Roman prefect and peppered with questions about whether or not he claims to be King of the Jews. The scene sets up a dramatic contrast between Jesus and his adversaries: The Roman Empire, temple officials, and the Jews, or more precisely, Jewish authorities, none of whom seem to grasp what Jesus is up to.
How does this scripture sound to you, read from a bimah, in a synagogue opened to us by our Jewish cousins? Living, as some of you do, in interfaith families; living, as we all do, in a multi-faith community? This is one of the many gifts of being a Church Without Walls: Gathering in someone else’s house of worship invites — maybe even compels us — to read our stories differently, to listen to voices other than our own echoing in the background. If those voices make us wince, perhaps that is a good thing, if that discomfort moves us to examine the truths that we hold to be self-evident.
Truths like this one: Christ is King. Today is marked on our church calendars as Reign of Christ (or Christ the King) Sunday. On this last day of the Christian year (we officially begin a new year in Advent), we proclaim a central tenet of the gospel, that Christ is Sovereign, keystone to our faith, and to the healing of the nations. But what does that mean, and how do we make that claim with a grace that befits our worship in a Jewish synagogue? How do we proclaim our truth at this particular table, shared as it is with people who do not agree?
Rabbi Orkand and I have begun to get to know one another during these past few months, over breakfast at the Sherwood Diner, and here’s one of the first things we acknowledged: We can work together, and honor each other’s traditions without denying or diluting our own convictions. I don’t need to be less Christian in his presence, nor he less Jewish in mine. Indeed, talking to someone from a different religious tradition is a great way to figure out your own views. Have you ever had someone ask you what it means to be a Christian, asked you to explain the resurrection or grace or this guy Jesus?
Here’s how it worked for Iboo Patel, a young interfaith activist and founder of the Interfaith Youth Core, which organizes young people of all faiths to work together for the common good. I met Iboo, while I was living in Chicago. He says he got interested in interfaith activism after he learned about Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker movement. Iboo is an Indian Muslim, but he was fascinated by the ways that following Jesus had prompted Dorothy Day and others to live simply and work for justice among the poorest residents of Chicago. Rather than prompting Iboo to convert to Catholicism and join up, Dorothy Day’s witness inspired Iboo to ask, “what, in my own faith tradition, calls me to that level of social justice engagement, that calls me to make a difference in the world?” He went looking, and found his Muslim faith deepened along the say.
Maybe you’ve experienced a bit of that, if you have different faith traditions represented around your Thanksgiving table. Somewhere between the turkey course and pumpkin pie, maybe you’ve learned something about yourself, as you’ve listened to someone tell their story, or been asked to explain your own.
Of course, that kind of exchange isn’t always easy. And the more marked the differences, the more charged the topic, the harder it gets.
I’ve been listening to a series of interviews conducted by Krista Tippett on the NPR radio program “On Being: Conversations about religion, meaning, ethics and ideas”… This fall she launched a series called Civil Conversations, between people on opposite sides of the political aisle, the abortion debate and the discussion about whether to legalize gay marriage. She chose each pair of guests because they had reached across an ideological divide to cultivate an intentional friendship, despite what we might think of as insurmountable differences. David Blankenhorn, founder of the Institute for American Values and Jonathan Rauch, a journalist and gay man describe this process of connecting as “achieving disagreement.”
“It’s easy to have a false disagreement; I can just say ‘Oh, you’re a bad person and you’re stupid….’ But to actually know where we disagree requires effort from you and from me; we have to have a relationship to do that.”
Alice Rivlin, an economic analyst and a Democrat who builds political bridges says it’s not so much about reaching common ground as it is about common grappling.
All of these speakers were determined not to let difference of perspective, even fiercely held convictions, isolate them from their ideological opposites. Each of them was less interested in scoring points than in making connections; each showed the patience and humility that this kind of mutual listening and learning requires. And each insisted that you can dislike an idea without dismissing a person.
As I listened to them talk candidly about the gifts and challenges of building relationships across difference, I was struck by this, perhaps obvious, but still profound, even unsettling truth: That God-in-Christ loves them all – the democrat and the republican, the gay activist and the man against gay marriage, me and the person I’m sure is wrong. Which brings me back, by a surprising route, to that singular claim that Christ is King, and the question: What does it mean? If we say that Christ is King, are we insisting that we are right and our Jewish cousins are wrong? That Christianity is right and Islam is wrong? That Jesus was right and everyone else is wrong?
Or could we make a different kind of claim, one that’s a bit more humble, and demanding, at the same time? We no longer have many kings in the world, at least not in this corner of the globe, but we do know something about loyalty. So we might ask it like this: What does it mean to claim loyalty to Christ who loves not just us, but also those on the other side of our ideological divides? What does it mean to swear allegiance, to take sides with the One who is most interested in eroding sides, dismantling walls, up-ending differences and mending divisions?
Jesus said, “For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.” Perhaps being Christian, following the Christ, means sharing in that work. Perhaps it is less about staking a claim, than it is about witnessing to the truth wherever it emerges – even in our conflicts. Perhaps, after all, following Christ is about staying at the table, especially when it gets hard, believing that when we reach out and listen deeply, when we work at making connections rather than scoring points, when we cultivate humility and patience, compassion and grace, we may just find ourselves a little closer to living the very truth to which Christ testified not just with his words, but with his whole life. May it be so. Amen.
Scripture Texts
2 Samuel 23:1-7
[The books of first and second Samuel tell the story of David’s rise to power and his reign as king, with all its complex highs and lows. The following words come toward the end of 2 Samuel; this is David’s final, prayerful reflection on his reign. What makes a ‘good king?’ David recognizes the importance of remembering that the source of his strength is God; kingship is a gift from God.]
Now these are the last words of David: The oracle of David, son of Jesse, the oracle of the man whom God exalted, the anointed of the God of Jacob, the favorite of the Strong One of Israel: The spirit of the Lord speaks through me, God’s word is upon my tongue. The God of Israel has spoken, the Rock of Israel has said to me: One who rules over people justly, ruling in the fear of God, is like the light of morning, like the sun rising on a cloudless morning, gleaming from the rain on the grassy land. Is not my house like this with God? For God has made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things and secure. Will God not cause to prosper all my help and my desire? But the godless are all like thorns that are thrown away; for they cannot be picked up with the hand; to touch them one uses an iron bar or the shaft of a spear. And they are entirely consumed in fire on the spot.
John 18:33-37
Then Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus answered, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” Pilate replied, “I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?” Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” Pilate asked him, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”