Feb 02 | “Shedding our Armour,” (Sermon, January 20th 2016)

I used both of the readings for the day, which can be found here and here.

 

Last Wednesday I attended the first gathering of the Diocesan Indigenous Justice Circle. Facilitated by Diocesan Indigenous Justice Ministries Co-ordinator Brander Macdonald, the group was impressively diverse, with people of a multitude of colours, orientations, ages, stations, and genders, and a cohort of both lay and ordained Christians. Together we talked about how we might address the calls to action which were included in the official Truth and Reconciliation report, and listened to stories and songs from residential school survivors.

For many survivors, it is clearly becoming easier to tell the stories. That alone is a beautiful truth, and it is truly a gift to witness resurrection happening in real time, before our eyes.

But of course it is no easier for me to hear these stories then as it was to hear them in the listening tent at the TRC events when they came to Vancouver just under three years ago. It was a very raw time for all of us spiritually to bear witness to such devastating trauma.

And yet, the listening tent was always full, and not just with survivors.

With every day people, just like you and me, committed to listening no matter how much it hurt to be born into a new spiritual body able to process and accept the deep anger and pain of other human beings, often on behalf of those who were no longer on this earth but had carved that pain into flesh and soul in years long past.

It’s really hard work. But we were not there out of some toxic form of guilt. We were there because the Christian story teaches that taking on weakness voluntarily is one of the best ways to experience redemption, because that is the pattern of God.

In the stories of our Jewish ancestors, David refuses the armour held out to him by Saul, choosing instead what he knows best: his own tools and his own self. This honours the truth of God’s choice. David, the youngest son, not his stronger and bigger brother Eliab, will be king. Not only did God not choose Eliab, but God did not intend for David to adopt any of Eliab’s characteristics. God wanted David – the runt of the litter, the shepherd boy. God wanted the reckless one who believed in the sacred presence and showed no wavering in the face of frightening adversity. God wanted the one who would later mess up big time – something God surely saw coming – and chose him anyway.

David trusted. He wasn’t like Moses, who said, “Don’t you want somebody else?” and was still chosen. He wasn’t like Jonah, who ran the other way immediately and was still chosen. David didn’t seem to care what common sense decreed about his suitability for this work.

He stepped up. He stepped up with a slingshot and a couple of pebbles from the river and became king.

Jesus continues with his work even though there is a group of Pharisees following him around and sniping about him behind his back. Today’s story is the last in a series of skirmishes between Jesus and the Pharisees. It’s interesting to compare these stories, because the degree of engagement between the Pharisees and Jesus changes as they progress. It takes them quite a while to challenge Jesus to his face. They start by muttering among themselves, and then they gripe to his disciples. Eventually they do come to Jesus directly, but point out something objectionable his disciples are doing, saying, “Why do they do what is unlawful on the Sabbath?”

Jesus replies, “The Sabbath was made for humanity, not humanity for the Sabbath.”

These are sophisticated elites and Jesus is from a podunk town in the middle of nowhere, probably illiterate and certainly uneducated compared to them. Why does it take these professors a whole chapter to confront this backwoods preacher directly?

In today’s story, they are watching him closely to see if he messes up. How petty this is! And for the record, healing is absolutely permitted on the Sabbath under the law. Why would they have a problem with it? Why do they even care what Jesus is doing?

Once again Jesus displays his terrifying wit. He asks them, “Is it lawful for someone to do good or to do harm on the Sabbath, to save life or to kill?”

There is no answer to this question. They are wise to be silent.

Jesus becomes angry. This might make us feel uncomfortable. I think it’s kind of beautiful. If he thought they were complete degenerates, beyond any redemption, he wouldn’t feel anything. He wouldn’t even bother to engage. But he does.

And he heals.

Take a moment to contemplate the awesome power that Jesus displays here. He doesn’t say any magic words or perform any ritual. He doesn’t even touch the guy. He just tells him to stretch out his hand, and it’s restored.

This is what you do with power. You don’t use it to police other people’s behaviour. You don’t use it to intimidate or bully people. You don’t conspire with other people of power to do harm to those who aggravate or threaten you.

You take it where it’s needed and you pour it all out to help someone who doesn’t have any.

You take off the helmet and give it to someone else, even if other people laugh at you. You bring degenerates to your banquet and gold to dark stables. If you have nothing to offer but flesh and bone, you use it to share the weight of another.

And then, you do it again, over and over, for the rest of your life.

So what’s the armour we might shed? Maybe an artifice, something that might seem protective but adds unneeded weight. What is the sword we don’t need, and what are the unexpected tools we can pick up, ones that we are already skilled in using but maybe never considered that God would have a use for?

And if there are people in our lives waiting to see us fail or mess up, who whisper behind our backs, or grieve and anger us: Are they not best served with our belief that even they can transcend petty fear?

In theory it’s easy. We all take the first step by being baptized into the death of Christ.

Even if you didn’t choose that for yourself, you are bearing witness to that choice by being here right now.

You died, and rose again.

The Holy Spirit rested on you then and it is resting on you now.

You have power, and it will never falter.

Pass it on.