You Are and Will Be

Isaiah 58:1-12
Matthew 5:13-16

One of the first questions I was asked in seminary, umpteen years ago, was “What is your canon within the canon?” This is, of course, “canon” with one “n” in the middle, not two, and refers to our sacred text. Another way of asking the question is “What is your Bible within the Bible?” or What stories or passages sum up your faith?

Let’s face it: the Bible can be used to support a wide variety of beliefs, including ones that we as Christians abhor—like slavery and violent retribution. Entire denominations have grown up around obscure verses, like the one that says children of God can handle snakes and drink poison without dying.

The verses we favor tell a great deal about us and our theology. Evangelical churches tend to highlight John 3:16 (“For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth on him shall not perish, but have everlasting life”) and Romans 6:23 (“For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord”).

Those of us in the United Church of Christ are much more likely to quote the prophets, or the stories of Jesus touching the lepers or eating with outcasts. This passage from Isaiah would definitely be in the UCC “canon within the canon.”

It was written during the post-exilic period, which means after the exile in Babylon, when the people had returned to a devastated land. At this point in their history, “Israel believes a great injustice has been done to them. . . . They had been held captive by foreign oppressors. Their city is in ruins. Their temple is destroyed. They have been abandoned by God.”[1]

“For seventy years Israel would fast at least twice a year commemorating the fact that they had lost their home and their king. They fasted and prayed seeking a response, an answer to their troubles. . . . ‘Why have we fasted,’ they say, ‘and you have not seen it? Why have we humbled ourselves, and you have not noticed?’ The people are clearly fasting in order for their prayers to be answered.”[2]

This passage from the Book of Isaiah offers a response— but it is not one they want to hear.

God is quoted as saying:
Is such the fast that I choose, a day to humble oneself?
Is it to bow down the head like a bulrush, and to lie in sackcloth and ashes?
Will you call this a fast, a day acceptable to the Lord?
Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice,
to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke?
Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them,
and not to hide yourself from your own kin?

See what I mean about it being a United Church of Christ kind of passage? It’s all about feeding the hungry and freeing the oppressed. You want mercy? Then be merciful. You want justice? Then work for justice for others. You love God? Then love others. As the old UCC bumper sticker proclaims: “To believe is to care. To care is to do.” This is us.

This passage, however, invariably makes us ask, “Are we doing enough?” Yes, we give lots of money to those in need. But is that so that we don’t have to give time? And does our work for justice end with charity? Are we feeding the hungry without challenging the system? And are we really supposed to invite the homeless into our homes? In this day and age, that is not safe, and it most certainly isn’t practical.

We are a generous church. When we enrolled our daughter in school, the guidance counselor asked what brought us to South Portland. As soon as I mentioned this congregation, she exclaimed, “Oh, we love that church! Whenever we have children in need, we know we can count on your church for help.” What a fabulous reputation to have in the community—as people who will help. But is it enough?

We help a lot of hungry people, but we can’t do it all. Hunger organizations tell us that only one in twenty-four bags of groceries given to those in need comes from charities.[3] The rest is from government programs, which recently have been cut AGAIN. Last week our governor refused federal money to feed hungry children. Fortunately, his veto was overridden, but the problem is clear.

And the issues in our government don’t end with the hungry. According to the Kansas City Star, Rep. Charles Macheers had this to say about a bill he is sponsoring: “Discrimination is horrible. It’s hurtful … It has no place in civilized society, and that’s precisely why we’re moving this bill.… There have been times throughout history where people have been persecuted for their religious beliefs because they were unpopular. This bill provides a shield of protection for that.”

Sounds good, doesn’t it? But the bill to which he is referring would allow business owners and service providers to refuse service to gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people. All they have to do is proclaim their “sincerely held religious beliefs” against homosexuality, and they can discriminate against anyone they want. Tennessee is considering a similar bill.

Idaho is taking it a step further. Their proposed bill would even allow licensed professionals—including doctors, fire fighters, and police officers, to refuse to help LGBT folks.

I got angry this week when I heard this news because I know that the people behind these laws are the same ones declaring that we are a Christian nation. Well, I must say, they read a different Bible than I do—or at least read different parts.

What are we to do? We don’t live in Kansas or Tennessee or Idaho. Here in Maine we’re doing much better on that issue, although our work isn’t done. And as for federal funding for children’s lunch—we have no control over our governor. So what are we to do? Threaten not to vote for him again? (I wasn’t here, but from what I hear, over 60% of us didn’t!)

So what are we to do? We find a way. We make a way. We write letters. We call our legislators. We attend protest rallies. We speak truth to power. We speak truth to the powerless. We may not live in Kansas or Tennessee or Idaho, but we may have Facebook friends who do. Do they know where we stand?

What are we to do? We find a way. We keep trying, over and over, until our voice is heard. We find a way.

And here’s how.

Our passage from Isaiah has a very clear if/then formula. If you feed the hungry and clothe the naked, then God will answer. If you loosen the yoke, then your light will shine forth.

Our Gospel passage is about light also, if you remember. You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world. But with Jesus, there is no if/then. Not you will be. You just are. Not you will be the salt of the earth if you can get your act together. Not you will be the light of the world if you can stop making bad decisions. Not you will be able to change the world if you can be good enough. You are the light of the world.

I read a blog this week from a preacher who struggled with this concept. She said she thought maybe Jesus was speaking to a special crowd, the light and salt crowd, and not to normal people like her; not to broken people like her.

She wrote: I mean, perhaps there were people in the crowd who totally had their crap together. People who had solid relationships and had paid off their student loans and always backed up their hard drives. People who had nothing they felt shame about and who didn’t have terrible secrets and knew exactly what they were doing. Of course [it] is possible those people were in the crowd; it’s just, that’s not who we are told were coming to Jesus. The ones we are told were coming to Jesus, the ones presumably to whom he was preaching, were described as the sick, those who were in pain, who fought with demons, who were broken and addicted and late on their back taxes. . . . In other words, they were people standing in the need of God. And standing in the need of God is standing in the way of blessedness in a way that having it all together never is.[4]

She finishes by saying: In other words, you are a broken jerk and Jesus trusts you. Don’t wait until you feel as though you have met the conditions of being holy. Trust that Jesus knows what he is doing. And that you already are salt and light and love and grace. Don’t try and be it. Know that you already are.[5]

This is the key: knowing that we already are salt and light . . . because it flips us right back to the Isaiah passage. If we already are the light of the world, then we can loose the bonds of injustice. If we already are the salt of the earth, then we can undo the yoke of oppression.

Then we shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail. We shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in. If we already are what the world needs, then we have got to stop hiding it.

Marianne Williamson wrote: Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. . . . You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world.

Our playing small does not serve the world . . . not as individuals and not as a church. We are the beacon on Meeting House Hill. That light grew brighter over the last twenty years, and great things came to pass because of it. We did not get here by playing small.

My question to you is: What’s next?