I want to start this morning by saying up front that
on or around national holidays
like this one,
(like the 4th of July),
I get nervous
(as a pastor)–
especially in contexts like this–
especially in the context of
church.
This nervousness, largely,
is because (as a pastor)
I am very sensitive to the reality that
the pride in-
the love of-
the experience of both freedom and oppression within-
and the level of critique in each of our hearts and guts for-
the country we live in
varies radically
from person to person
and
from body to body
in basically every congregation I’ve ever known here in the Midwest,
and (perhaps) especially in cities and towns like ours.
That is to say,
where we come from,
how we speak,
how much money we do or don’t make,
the schools where we have learned
(or have been kept from learning),
and how our bodies–our hair, our abilities and disabilities, our age, and our skin,
are perceived in this world by others–
all of these things make our own individual experiences of this country
(and of this piece of the earth
on which we dwell)
quite different and varied,
one from another,
in so many very real
and important
ways.
+++
Many of us, of course,
are in one way or another
grateful
to be here.
Perhaps we migrated here.
Perhaps this is where we were
born.
Whatever the case, we feel somewhat free.
And we believe that,
in one way or another,
life here holds some good possibilities which we may choose to chase after
as we climb
whatever ladder it is
we wish
to climb.
Those of us who fit that category, I think,
feel mostly as if we have the liberty to move,
to live,
and to love,
wherever
and however
and whoever we want to,
whenever we want.
Or at least we have the freedom to try.
On the other hand, some of us
(though also full of gratitude for so many of life’s blessings)
are harassed
or
disadvantaged
on a daily basis.
Those of us who fit that category are sometimes looked at with suspicion by our neighbors,
judged by people (powerful and everyday)
who don’t even bother
to learn our
names,
but nonetheless who hunt down and lock up our sons and daughters
or
who scapegoat our communities
whenever they are looking for someone to blame.
Amen?
And, of course, there are so many other experiences
gathered here
in each of you
and in those of you who are joining us online.
Amen?
So many!
Because there is not
one
experience of anything.
And there is certainly not one experience of this particular country.
Period.
+++
I also get a little nervous
on national holidays because
as a human
and as a pastor
of
both
German and Lutheran
descent,
I personally come from a theological school of thought
which I have inherited from Lutheran theologians
like
Deitrich Bonhoeffer,
who fought both the Nazis
and
their particular brand of
spirited patriotism,
Christian nationalism,
and murderous
xenophobia
in Germany.
This Lutheran theology
(which we’ve all inherited as Lutherans–if we wish to claim it)
says
that God is bigger than any nation or family or tribe,
and that God’s love expands beyond the borders we create,
dissolving human-made distinctions,
and crumbling the walls we often build
and use
to exclude
and to deny
our neighbors.
That is, God is not the God of a particular nation in this theological worldview,
but rather,
God is the God of the whole world,
and
God pays particular attention
not as much to “blessing” one border or polity or another
(as our politicians may have it),
but rather to calling into mission
everyone who claims God as their own
to care for
and to stand with
those who are poor
and abused
and oppressed.
+++
I also get nervous
because
so often,
in our country
(and in many countries, especially these days)
when the spirit of nationalism
is invoked,
so is this idea that our country is somehow
“extra-blessed”
or extra special
or exceptional,
or better than all the others.
+++
This may seem at first, of course,
just like some kind of healthy pride.
And pride, no doubt,
is healthy
and very good
a ton of the time–
especially when pride is fostered in people and groups
who have unjustly been made to feel ashamed.
That’s why we have pride parades, right? To counter the imposition of oppression and shame.
Amen?
But/and,
also:
when nationalistic pride gets mixed up
with a kind of religious fervor
and then infused with a fearful, hateful, or skewed view of the neighbors who live beyond our borders and walls,
(or who live near to us
but are different from what we call normal
or
“the norm”)
that pride
can become the kind of pride that Jesus
(and even the Church)
once labeled
as chief
among
the
“deadly
sins.”
That is, there are times (for sure) when pride can unite us
and move us to fight shame and repression,
and to do good in the world,
and to improve conditions for those in need,
claiming and reclaiming rights
for those who have been deprived—
(and to be proud of that work!)
but at times
(and in the times when patriotism or nationalism
glorifies one person or group while demonizing the others),
pride can also be deadly.
This (of course)
is what happened
in fascist Germany,
and
that’s what happens here, too,
when our patriotic or nationalistic fervor becomes a kind of pride
that is
willing
to kill.
When this happens, rather than being loving Good Samaritans
(which Jesus lifts up as the best way to live and to love
as his followers),
helping those quite different from us
and caring for those
who find themselves disadvantaged
and beaten
on the sides of life’s many roads,
instead of that,
if we are caught up in or possessed by a spirit of nationalistic pride,
we risk becoming the robber on the road
who beats everyone up
who looks or believes or speaks or eats differently from us,
claiming all they have as “ours”
and leaving them
left-for-dead
on the side
of the road.
Amen?
This is the risk of pride that is tied to ideologies of
supremacy.
+++
So,
a) the fact that we all have really different everyday embodied experiences, based on who we are, how we look, where we live, and so on;
b) the conviction that God is above and beyond borders, embracing all people and all of creation, and calling us to participate in God’s work of justice and peace in all the earth; and
c) the belief that pride can be a good and liberating tool, but that when it’s tied to a “we’re-better-than-those-folks” mentality, it can also be used as a horrible weapon to kill:
all of these things make me nervous when it comes to preaching on a national holiday like the Fourth of July–
especially if folks are showing up
eager to hear about how faith
and love of country
go together seamlessly
without any contradiction at all
and without any questions.
Cuz: you know.
That’s just not how serious faith
works.
Amen?
+++
Considerations like these when approaching days like these
are the things that leave pastors like me, and most ELCA Lutheran pastors, I think,
debating about whether we should even speak to the day,
or
whether we should bypass mentioning it at all
and simply stick to the text.
And,
as you can tell,
I’ve already mentioned it!
And like all days and holidays (national, religious, or otherwise),
I think it’s actually very important to acknowledge,
even though,
admittedly,
I have not always done so.
+++
So, sort of to acknowledge,
and to celebrate today,
what I wanna do
is I wanna talk a little bit about that first song that we sang today–
a very popular American song that we use,
in our best moments,
to remember and to celebrate
the liberative (and theological) strands and hopes and aspirations
that do lie buried in our shared history
as people who live here (in this country).
So that’s what I’m gonna do.
Ok? Ok!
Ok, then let’s shift gears…
So:
this song that we sang just a few minutes ago,
"Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory,"
known to most of us
as The Battle Hymn of the Republic,
was (lyrically) written by Christian abolitionist Julia Ward Howe
(the same person we talked a little bit about on Mother’s Day).
Amen?
And it was written,
by her
using the melody of another song,
called, "John Brown's Body,"
John brown being another quite radical Christian abolitionist
(who we’ll mention again in just a minute).
Julia Ward Howe (in brief)
was a leader in the spiritual anti-slavery politics of the 1850s and 1860
here in the United States,
when, as you’ll remember, slavery, was a legal practice
until January of 1865,
and still practiced
at least
until Juneteenth of that same year.
Julia Ward Howe was a part of that struggle, writing this song in 1861 as a solidarity and freedom song for the struggle against the slavery of the south and those who would support it.
There was even a rumor at one point that Abraham Lincoln (who grew up not too far from here, Amen?) suggested that Howe should use this particular melody (the melody used for John Brown’s Body),
but historians tend to freak out if anyone
suggests that that rumor is actually true.
It’s more of a myth, they say.
Nonetheless, the choice of the melody is somewhat interesting because Howe’s husband, Samuel,
was (back then) counted among those who were called
"the secret six"--meaning the people who secretly funded the 1859 raid on Harper's Fairy that was led by John Brown (the guy who the first song was about).
I like this story,
set in the context of this country
for at least a couple of reasons.
a) because it’s about Christians
doing what they believed love required, and
b) because that love,
and the faith that was gifted to them by God,
moved them to struggle and to work
to improve this country (that is: to make it more just)
by dismantling
the dehumanizing
and deadly
system
that was built
(among other things)
on the deadly and murderous sin
of
white pride.
Julia Ward Howe and John Brown,
looking back,
without a doubt
were imperfect people,
to be sure.
We can save the list of imperfections for another time.
They were imperfect. And so are we.
And,
as people who embrace a Lutheran theology
inherited from Deitrich Bonhoeffer and others,
we might disagree with several words they said
(and even several words in the song)!
I would certainly argue with Howe on some points.
And yet,
these historical characters
seem to have been committed,
because of
and through
their faith,
to abolitionism
and to the liberation of oppressed people everywhere
into the power,
into the freedom,
and into the dignity of [NOT BEING OWNED!]
and of being able to craft and create their own worlds
and their own futures,
of
their own agency.
This, they believed, and they plainly said, over and over again, was their call as Christians.
This, they said, is what it meant to live their faith and to respond to Jesus’ call to love their neighbors in this country.
And this, my siblings in the faith,
though national holidays can be tricky,
I think,
is worth talking about.
Because not only is it a part of the history of this country.
But it’s also a part of the history of faith in action in the world.
And this kind of stuff--the liberation and hope and love kind of stuff,
the challenging and protesting and changing of systems that enslave and kill kind of stuff,
this stuff
doesn’t make me nervous at all.
It makes me excited,
As, clearly (as Christians in this century)
it’s worth clinging to.
And it’s worth remembering on a holiday that’s dedicated to America.
Because is a memory of people who strove to live
into the love and faith of Jesus
that calls us to love our neighbor
by participating in the uplifting,
the uprising,
and the resurrection of all–
especially of the least of these.
+++
So I wanna say, in closing,
that preaching on days like this does makes me nervous. Still!
But at the same time, I’m really grateful and happy that on days like this,
we have the opportunity
to have conversations like this.
And that we can consider our faith anew, in the context and in the land which we inhabit.
May God bless the world.
And may God’s love move us beyond borders
into genuine,
caring,
nurturing,
beautiful
and
liberating
love.
AMEN!
May it be so.
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