twenty-first sunday after pentecost
reformation day
1 thess. 2:9-13
the gospel of john 8:31-36
preached at St. John’s Christopher St, NYC
october 25, 2020
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Beloveds, grace and peace to you from God who created us, Christ who set us free, and the Holy Spirit, who still moves today. Amen.
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If you were in the sanctuary a few weeks ago, you might’ve noticed a hole in the wall behind the pews, by one of the stained-glass windows. The drywall had been pulled off, and two thin wooden beams of the supporting wall were exposed. This hole showed up near the end of the re-painting process we’ve been doing the past couple of months. It was after the ceiling was no longer peeling down in places, the single-tone white/green of the space had been replaced by sky blue and white, with a darker blue in the altar space. The gold accents had been touched up, and clean-up had started.
And yet, under the beautiful work the painters had been doing, there was water damage that came to the surface again, bubbling under the sky-blue paint. In order to repair that damage, some of the work that had happened needed to be ripped out, and the wall dried out. At one point, there were three different standing fans pointing at the hole, including a very loud industrial-sized one. Only after the wall dried out could the painting in that area be re-done, and the space finished.
You might be wondering how this everyday story of construction work connects to our celebration of the Reformation today. For me, this story functions as an example of Reformation – noticing when something isn’t right, undoing as necessary, and repairing, even if it feels like going backwards. Even if it comes at a cost – whether that cost be in money, in time, or in how we live our lives, in letting go of the illusion of linear progress, and holding the feelings that come with that.
Often, when I imagine the arc of history from the Reformation up until now, my first instinct is to imagine linear progress. A line graph always going upwards, at a steady pace. Humanity constantly improving our tools, increasing efficiency, producing more capital, becoming more connected, more tolerant.
Other times, I imagine history as an exponential curve, where the top levels off at a point, because I know we can’t keep going at the pace we have been, with the resource use and exploitation we have been – Creation is groaning, and so many of us are exhausted at trying to keep up.
I wonder if progress, and history, looks more like spirals, and cursive writing. Where collective well-being – taking seriously that all of humanity is created in the image of God, and, I would extend, that all life and growth is in the image of God – where that collective well-being is the driving force, instead of progress.
And I wonder if that’s part of the freedom Christ is discussing with those who believe in him in the Gospel assigned for Reformation.
“If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.”
Jesus’ word is a word of love, justice, accountability, and healing. Jesus’ truth frees us from what is binding and harming us. It frees to care for our neighbor. Frees us to tell the truth about the sins we have experienced, and perpetuated, and which have shaped our institutions. It is daring to dream God’s Kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven.
This freedom comes at a cost.
The cost can come as we let go of linear notions of progress, in favor of collective well-being.
As we acknowledge when we’ve sinned, when our institutions have sinned, and the very real harm that has come from that.
As we change course in our relationships or profession, naming when the path we’re on isn’t right for us anymore, even if other people urge us to keep going as we have been.
As we shape our lives “not to please mortals, but to please God, who tests our hearts” (from 1 Thessalonians).
As we give everything we have, and everything we are, over to the care of God.
This freedom is not easy. It can be painful. It can bring up memories of guilt and shame.
It can remind us of times we had hoped for freedom, hoped for liberation, and it never came, or it came with too many losses, and deaths.
But the freedom that comes from God’s unconditional love and grace? Even though it’s not easy, it’s so powerful, and so revolutionary, that Jesus died at the hands of empire for it. For the sake of Creation. It’s worth hoping for, and worth working towards.
Liberation is worth hoping for, and worth working towards.
And as I think about Reformation, the church reformed and still reforming, this year feels like a year of Reformation. The ideas of freedom, of collective well-being, of Reformation, of works of love, are so intimately woven together for me. Collectively and personally, it feels like a year of ripping out damp wood, exposing the foundation, and repairing the damage.
Martin Luther’s 44th thesis, of the 95 he nailed to the chapel at Wittenberg, sparking the Reformation, says: “love grows by works of love”.
The Movement for Black Lives is a work of love, a cry for justice and genuine peace, which this land has not seen since before it was colonized. It is a work of love, even as it requires structural change, and a willingness to be wrong, and to transform.
The COVID precautions individuals and local governments are taking are works of love, attempting to minimize harm, to protect our neighbors who are more vulnerable, whether due to disability, economic status, or access to care. They are works of love, even as they require personal and collective sacrifice at a level that could’ve been much different with an adequate national response.
Circling back to 1 Thessalonians: “Even as we speak, not to please mortals, but to please God, who tests our hearts”.
Where are our hearts being tested? Are they being tested in how we respond to works of love? In how we grapple with our freedom in Christ, and our responsibility to our neighbors? In how we allow, or don’t allow, ourselves to dream of a world of collective well-being well-beyond what we have known?
And how are we navigating those tests – are we trying to please mortals, or to please God?
When I ask, “are we pleasing God?” I don’t mean it in a way that’s tied to salvation, or to imply that we need to please God in order to be loved by God. God loves and cares for us beyond anything we can imagine. Full stop. We are sinners, and we are beloved children of God. We are freed and forgiven, and one way we give back to God is by responding in love and care. Letting go of worries about perfectionism, or cost, and instead grounding ourselves in God’s grace, as we live, move, and have our being.
Today, if nothing else, as we celebrate the Reformation, a movement that continues through to this day, I pray that you experience love growing through acts of love. Giving and receiving care. Dwelling in the love of God that frees us for costly, but beautiful, liberation. That you notice where decisions are based in pleasing others, or pleasing God. And perhaps finding a place in your own life where there’s some water bubbling under the painted surface, that needs to be torn out and repaired. Amen.
Reed Fowler 