The Park Road Pulpit

“It’s all a matter of where you draw your lines.” So says one of my best friends from seminary days. Theology is a continuum. It’s where you draw your line. Ethics is a continuum. Politics, economics, social and cultural mores… all, where you draw your lines.

In the ancient world there was a line, a boundary that circumscribed the known world, beyond which, it was thought no one could cross. Ancient myths of creation from various traditions all recognized a dome of the heavens above, with a plane of earth below, and beyond the shores there existed water, all round. And beyond that? Well, there was no “there” there. No one ventured too far into the chaos of the watery deep, for this was the place of the sea monster, Leviathon, and the foreboding absence of God.

Boundaries are powerful places. To step across a threshold, pass through a gate, cross a river – in history and Scripture, in mythology and dreams – these can be actions so decisive that they separate the future from the past in a bone-deep way, dividing not just geography but destiny. At the edges of things, we move from one reality – familiar, known – to another reality – unknown, dangerous. Beyond the brink, in those uncharted waters, as the ancient mapmakers knew, there may well be dragons… Crossing boundaries can change our lives forever.[1]

Thanks be to God, though, for that something in our nature -- that longing. That curiosity. That adventuring spirit. That daring, even devilish little desire that loves to find those lines… and to step across, in defiance and destiny.

Five hundred years ago a man with perhaps more bravery than brains, a man named Columbus, dared to strike out across a sea of fear and unknown, and find not a watery death through that chaos, but the rich soil of life – even more life than had ever been known, on the other side. Forty years ago a woman with perhaps more mettle than means, a woman by the name of Rosa Parks, took a seat on a city bus. She had no ocean to cross, but the boundary which encircled her world was just as wide, the fear just as deep, the abyss just as dark and full of monsters and unknown. And on this side, we all know more freedom because of her fearlessness.

I’m grateful this day for the countless boundary breakers, known and unknown, who have braved frontiers of fear and ignorance, whether in geography or ideology, science or music, culture or religion, and “in the soil of suffering, joy, conflict and hope,”[2] have discovered on the other side, the Good Word.

The President of the United States has declared, “We will not live in fear.”[3] And with his statement he draws a line in the sand. The hour is tense. A mother cries in my office, fearful that an only son will soon be called up. A college student asks for prayer for the father who has already been shipped across the deep, into a dark unknown sea. And yesterday, a great flying ship -- a symbol of the advance and promise of our society – reenters this atmosphere of fear and war and explodes, killing its brave crew and shattering again the myth of our invincibility. Reminding us of the fragility of our life. Is the world coming apart before our very eyes?

I have never cared much for the ocean, because the promises of the surface have always been overwhelmed for me by the great, drowning power of the immeasurable depth beneath. So, too, with war -- the glamour of the uniform and the gallantry of brave and faithful service to country (worthy as these are) have always been swallowed up in the suffocating truth that such chaos makes clear. Those who have been there know this truth -- “War is Hell.”

Nothing has ever frightened me more, but, again, I fear, the line has been drawn.

Ironically, as a Pastor, one whose life is given to studying God and people, not political nor military science, the greater question for me this day is not, “Will Saddam cross the line?” But, “Will we?” -- We, as a nation. And, of much more consequence for my pursuit, “Will we, as a people who claim to speak for the Just God? Will we stand behind this line, or will we cross our own self-inscribed boundary,[4] and dare to seek the deep soil of the Good Word?

The words of Deuteronomy today, could hardly be more appropriate.[5] Placed in an historical context, today’s text finds the wandering children of Israel camped on the plains of Moab, preparing for an attack on Canaan, the final prerequisite in their acquisition of the long awaited “promised land.” Moses, the preeminent deliverer and leader is giving his final address to the nation, and the people are fearful of much. Fearful of actually claiming their stake in the land they believe God has promised them. Fearful of hearing a word from God. (Years before, at Sinai, they had heard the Word of God, for themselves, but it was more than they could bear. In fear they had asked that God no longer speak to them, directly. So Moses spoke for God.) Now, in fear of losing their leader, they tremble, “So… how will we hear the Good Word?”

Still today, we are fearful of an unmediated Word. We feign ignorance. We feign humility. (“God couldn’t possibly speak to me…”) We make our excuses, but, could it be that, like the children of Israel, we really just don’t want to know?

What would God really have me do in this situation with my friends? How would God really have me treat my spouse? What is God’s desire for my life as a professional? As a parent? What is God truly asking me to give in time, talents, money, in order that the world around might also know the abundance which is mine?

Maybe, like the Israelites, we really don’t want to know, so we demand a messenger to bring that Word. Oh, we can argue with the messenger. (As I well know!) We can claim a difference of interpretation with the messenger. You know, if we don’t like the message, we can always just shoot the messenger – or crucify him, if we choose.

But, because we live in fear, it is to this that we have come: listening for the Good Word, spoken among the competing words of the messengers of competing gods in a noisy and always bellicose world. Paul Keim has reminded us already today that with the words of any messenger, “we may still be left with the dilemma of how to tell the true word from the false.”[6]

In a world so filled with fear, this may be the only question in life that really matters.

First, I need to tell you today that I do not expect the United States of America to be the messenger of the Good Word. Jesus himself recognized the right of the Caesars of this world to speak.[7] But a secular Sate will always speak for itself. It will always recognize its own boundaries. It will always seek its own security. This is any State’s highest law, and to this State Americans owe a deep gratitude.

But the Good Word will always speak for those who cannot speak for themselves. The Good Word knows no boundaries, national or otherwise, but is freed by the unbounded expanse of an unconditional love. And out of such Love and Liberty the Good Word will always seek life for the other -- at any cost.

I also need to tell you today, perhaps surprisingly, that I do not expect the Christian Church to speak the Good Word, either.[8] No institution ever has. Thousands of years ago the Hebrew prophets recognized that even God’s “chosen people” would never speak with consensus or with the courage that the Good Word requires, so they began to talk of “faithful remnant.”[9] This tiny remnant represented a hope (against hope?) that among a majority (which could never be truly moral[10]), God might yet raise up the Good Word of a powerful minority report.

The Good Word will never be accepted as legitimate by the State or the Church. It is too dangerous. It is too free. It is too self-sacrificing. But without it our way of life will be only a good life, perhaps a great life if you live in America, even – but it will be a life without a Way. A life without a meaningful direction. A worthy challenge. An ultimate goal. Without the Good Word, life becomes encircled by its own boundaries. And boundaries suffocate and stifle and can only lead to death.

But the one who spoke with authority calls us today, “Come … follow me… if you dare to take up your cross… I will give you life, abundant and free.” It is the Good Word.

On that high plain so long ago, Moses was not only speaking to frightened Israelite children. No, in today’s frightened world, the Good Word of Moses sounds with ringing reality and current urgency: War might turn out to be inevitable. But God will raise up someone to ask the Good Word, “Why?” War might turn out to be a nation’s “only choice.” But God will raise up someone to speak the Good Word, which is a reminder to us that for people who are truly free, there are always other choices. There is a world of uncharted, rich soil beyond the watery deep – someone just has to be brave enough to cross the line and find it! War might turn out to be justified by the State, and if so, Religious Institutions will undoubtedly offer their blessing. But Jesus Christ spoke with authority by offering his own life-blood to speak another Word. It is the Good Word of a different kind of justification altogether.

In an article about preaching, I read these words, and I thought not about us who preach from the pulpit, but all of you who have an opportunity to speak the Good Word from your office, on the telephone, in your social circles. Think of your own preaching, and listen:

[Your] task is an objective one: to preach the Word. But what [you preach] is not an objective fact, a moral exhortation or an intellectual doctrine. It possesses an inner, radiating beauty that illuminates the objective message and warms the heart… To bring out this… quality of the Word requires more than [just words]… It summons the [preacher] to be… penetrated by the encompassing presence of the Word [itself]… [11]

Where have you drawn your lines? And are you willing to cross even them and speak as one speaking the very words of God?[13]

[1] Deborah Smith Douglas, “Border Crossing,” Weavings, November/December 2002, p.7

[2] Richard Lischer, “Repeat Performance,” Christian Century, August 28 - September 10, 2002, p.25.

[3] I have found the quotation referring to several of Bush’s speeches. I am not sure whether the words first related to the events of September 11, 2001, or in his appeal to Congress, seeking approval for military action against Iraq.

[4] Many people will insist that, concerning Iraq, Saddam is responsible for drawing the line in the sand. I use the phrase here to indicate my belief that the use of military force, perhaps with the exception of extreme defensive response, is always an arbitrary “line,” that can, if we choose, always be crossed. See below my comments concerning the meaning of freedom.

[5] I heard from one careful critic at Sunday’s door that the problem with using this text for today’s sermon is that, in context, the text itself sanctions the warring action which eventually did lead Israel to claim their “promised land.” The point is well-taken, but goes to further underscore my emphasis that not even “The Church” will speak the Good Word. The concern gives evidence, I believe, of the scripture’s ability to “critique itself.” Did the people of Israel truly hear the Word of God? Did Moses, himself? If history itself (as the text suggests) is the lone vindicator of the Word, then the warring action of Israel was justified. But in the person of Jesus, there is a new justification. (See below.)

[6] The bulletin for the day opened our service with the following meditation: “It’s been said that the lessons of history are never clear, and when they are they’re usually wrong. Whereas the principle set forth in Deuteronomy may provide some means of measuring the accuracy of the predictions of an astrologer like Jeane Dixon or the lucrative prognostications of a dispensationalist like Hal Lindsey, it is less well suited to discerning the reliability of a call to moral judgment and decisive action. We may still be left with the dilemma of how to tell the true word from the false.” Paul Keim, “Called to Order,” Christian Century, January 25, 2003, p.18

[7] Matthew 22.15-22. See my sermon entitled, “Reading Jesus Lips: Truth and Taxes,” October 10, 2002.

[8] I refer here to the “institution” of the universal Christian Church. As an institution, “the Church” will always be torn between the radical call of Jesus and the call of institutional survival, and as a diverse body, filled with loyalists of many differing political perspectives a “consensus” voice will never be reached on this or any other political issue. (What are Iraqi Christians saying of war?)

[9] See, for example, Isaiah 10.21, “a remnant will return…” and Amos 5.15, “Hate evil and love good, and establish justice in the gate; it may be that the Lord, the God of hosts, will be gracious to the remnant of Joseph.” (Fundamentalists Christians have their own version of the remnant, as I once heard a pastor opine that “they say only ten percent of the people who call themselves Christians are actually, really saved, anyway!”)

[10] I am taking a playful jab, of course, at the utopian idea of a “Moral Majority,” a la Jerry Falwell, which always had more to do with pure, partisan politics than with God.

[11] The quotation comes from an article in the “Christian Century,” July 16-23, 1997, p.660. Only one page of the essay was in my file, so I cannot attribute an author.

[12] I was thinking here of President Bush’s recent State of the Union speech in which he attempted to “connect the dots,” building a case for the need for military action. Even if he made that case, politically or militarily (I do not think he did), the Good Word will always push us “Beyond the Boundaries.” An ethic based on the authority which Jesus offered will never settle for answers “sufficient” in political or military terms.

[13] 1 Peter 4.11.

[14] “Be Still My Beating Heart,” is a song by Sting on his CD, “Nothing Like the Sun.”

[15] From a poem by Richard Wilbur.

[16] Matthew 5

[17] 1 John 4.8

[18] Matthew 5