04/21/2013 ~ Fourth Sunday of Easter ~ Acts 9:36-43; Psalm 23; Revelation 7:9-17; John 10:22-30 ~ Note: moved Psalm 23 to 4/14 for Choir Anthem ~ Blessing of the Super Sew Sunday Quilts.
Plain Talk
“...Jesus was walking in the temple, in the Portico of Solomon when the religious authorities gathered around and said, ‘How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are really the Messiah, tell us plainly.’” — John 10:23-24.
When I, several weeks ago, preached in Corning on March 17th, it being Patrick’s Day, I wished them a happy one and said it’s commonly claimed we are all Irish on Saint Patrick’s Day. [1] My presumption, on the other hand, is if my full name— Joseph Francis Connolly, Jr.— does not say I am of Irish descent, nothing will. I, therefore, often forego the wearing of some green on March the 17th. It would be redundant.
Then I offered a history lesson about the Irish in America. I said my ancestors arrived on these shores shortly before the Civil War, an era when the Irish were stereotyped as uncivilized and their very humanity questioned. Advertisements for employment regularly said: “No Irish Need Apply.”
Many regarded the Catholicism of the Irish as an alien, rebellious religion and the Irish culture, itself, as an alien, rebellious culture. In fact, during the mid and late nineteenth century insurance companies would often refuse to sell Catholics insurance. Why? Simply because they were Catholic. [2]
And so, in 1882 the Knights of Columbus was born. The initial and real purpose of the Knights was to be (quote): “a mutual benefit society,” an insurance company, from which Catholics could buy life insurance without fear of discrimination. [3] (Pause.)
We heard a lot about violence this week— from bombs and gunfire in Boston to explosions at an ammonium nitrate storage facility in Texas. As these stories played out in the media I reflected and wondered about why my tendency is to remain calm in the face of violence.
To answer that, let me flesh out my own, personal history a little. (Slight pause.) I sometimes say I grew up in an Irish Catholic ghetto in Brooklyn, New York. There were some Italians and Germans in the mix, but mostly the names were O’Neill, Sullivan, etc.
But still, why do I label that neighborhood a ghetto? (Slight pause.) When I was about seven out a window of my family’s third floor apartment, I saw a woman being mugged.
I ran and got my mother who rushed to the street. The mugger had run off, so my Mom brought the woman to our apartment and called the precinct. A burly red-headed officer arrived to interview the victim, to take down information.
Despite my young age, I remember admiring his sense of calm. And I also remember he was clear— an incident like this was a normal occurrence. (Slight pause.)
So, why do I label that neighborhood a Ghetto? To this day I hesitate when I drop a letter into a mailbox on the street. You see, in that neighborhood it was a common occurrence for someone to dump some gasoline into a mailbox, light a match, throw it in and walk away. Those memories never leave your psyche. (Slight pause.)
So then, having reached the age of majority and having dropped out of college, I was drafted. And all that early experience of violence was reenforced as I saw first hand how inhumane people can be. (Slight pause.)
Let me fast forward a little. I was working on Wall Street in the World Trade Center— to think about the World Trade Center still leaves me with an empty feeling— I was working in the Trade Center but the place I worked was only five stories up. One day everyone in my office suddenly gathered at a window.
I joined them and saw police cars across the street. The next thing I knew a police officer came up behind us and told us to get away from the window because there was a sniper in the building opposite us.
The only ones to move back from the window were myself and another veteran. We knew precisely what violence was and had our fill of it, thank you. (Slight pause.)
Perhaps my tendency to remain calm in the face of violence is because I know what violence feels like, what violence tastes like, what violence means. Which is not to say I approve of violence. It is to say I am familiar with it. (Slight pause.)
This week I heard a lot of people, a lot of commentators trying to parse, trying to give a definition to the word terrorism. Let me give you some plain talk about what terrorism is.
Terrorism is an act of violence, any kind of violence— case closed. Motive does not matter. Means do not matter. Terrorism is any act of violence. (Slight pause.)
Therefore, terrorism is when insurance is not sold because someone is Catholic. And terrorism is when someone is mugged. And terrorism is when a mailbox is set aflame.
And terrorism is setting off a bomb in a crowd gathered to watch their friends run a marathon. And terrorism is when safety regulations for storing ammonium nitrate are not followed so it explodes obliterating a neighborhood.
And terrorism is when people are denied the right to vote. And terrorism is cheating on taxes. And terrorism is not treating someone as equal due to their sexual orientation.
And terrorism is not providing equal healthcare for everyone. And terrorism is not providing equal pay for equal work. (Slight pause.) And that, my friends, is plain talk.
Here is another piece of plain talk. When someone shuts their mind to what someone else says even though it is obviously true— that is terrorism because it is a violent act. Terrorism, you see, is when people play politics with the lives of other people to suit their own ego or their own needs or their own desirers. Violence is violence is violence is violence. (Slight pause.)
Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. said this: “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” (Slight pause.) Equally, violence— violence any kind of violence from physical violence to mental violence to economic violence to systemic violence— violence anywhere is a threat to the safety of all people everywhere. Violence anywhere is a threat to the safety of all people everywhere. (Pause.)
And these words are from the work known as John: “...Jesus was walking in the temple, in the Portico of Solomon when the religious authorities gathered around and said, ‘How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are really the Messiah, tell us plainly.’” (Slight pause.)
This passage is dripping with irony. Why? Those questioning the Rabbi have heard Jesus speak to the fact of being the Messiah in a multitude of ways. And they simply deny it. In their denial they are committing an act of violence— political violence— playing with the lives of others to suit their own ego and their own needs and their own desirers.
Again, violence is violence is violence is violence. Therefore, perhaps the real questions for us are twofold: how do we react to violence and what do we do to counter it. (Slight pause.)
Yes, I tend to be calm in the face of violence. Given the background I’ve outlined that’s not surprising. But I am also a theologian. Some of that demeanor comes from theology. The peace of God, you see, has little to do with the absence of violence.
The peace of God is the presence of God. The presence of God can be tangible, whatever the circumstances, even in the midst of violence. And when the peace of God, the presence of God is real to us, we understand that violence— any violence— is merely an attempt to divert us from the presence of God, to insist God is not real, to insist God is not present.
That realization about how people use violence can, in fact, be quite calming. (Slight pause.) So, if the presence of God is real to us, how do we take the next step? How do we counter violence, violence which can be all around us, despite the fact that we recognize the presence of God with us? (Slight pause.)
In a couple of minutes we will dedicate the quilts put together by the Chenango Piecemakers Guild. What these should represent for us is a response to violence. You see, historically some of these quilts will go to Chenango Memorial Hospital for newborns and to Roots and Wings for the domestic violence program. [4]
And that needs to be our real response to violence: to reach out to others, to try to comfort and to protect our neighbors. Our response to violence never needs to be a response of fear or a response self-centeredness. Our response to violence never needs to be more violence.
Why? God is with, by our side, present to us now and forever. And that, my friends, is plain talk— as plain as I can say it. (Pause.) Amen.
04/21/2013
United Church of Christ, First Congregational, Norwich, New York
ENDPIECE: It is the practice of the Pastor to speak after the Closing Hymn, but before the Congregational Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “This quote was going around the Internet this week, probably with good reason. It is a quote from Fred McFeely Rogers, better knows as Mister Rogers. And for those of you who do not know this, Fred Rogers was an ordained Presbyterian Pastor. (Quote): ‘When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of ‘disaster,’ I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world.’ (Slight pause.) And now before invoking the Benediction I ask for a point of personal and pastoral preference.” [The pastor reaches into a bag and brings out a Boston Red Sox hat, puts it on and proceeds to the blessing.]
BENEDICTION: Go now— go in safety, for you cannot go where God is not. Go— go in love, for love alone endures. Go— go with purpose and God will honor your dedication. And go— go in peace for it is a gift of God to those whose hearts and minds are in Christ Jesus, the Second Person of the Trinity. Amen.
[1] This was a pulpit swap with the Rev. Marraine Kettell of Corning.
[2] http://www.victoriana.com/Irish/IrishPoliticalCartoons.htm
[3] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Knights_of_Columbus
[4] This Ceremony of Dedication, in fact, happened after the sermon and a time of prayer.
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