Sermon:
August 28th, 2007
Morning Services

Scripture:
Romans 11:33-12:2

In Iraq today, the Sunni’s burn with hatred for the Shi’ites, and the Shi’ites hate the Sunnis. Twenty years ago, the people of Northern Ireland learned to despise their British rulers. Forty years ago, the streets of Detroit erupted into a violence that shocked us in our suburban neighborhoods. Eighty years ago, one Finnish farmer and one Lutheran minister locked horns around a political disagreement and refused to go near each other. It’s the pattern of our world. It’s the pattern of our lives and of our families. How can anyone help but be conformed to this world?  

Most days it seems hard to turn on the news or look at the headlines, whether you receive them by newspaper or by Blackberry. The words are the same: 21 people killed in a car bombing today in Iraq. Or fifteen. Or eight. The number varies, but the message is the same. We despair that this war can ever end, that we can ever bring our troops home, for we now understand that there is bad blood between the Sunnis and the Shi’ites that goes back a long, long way. It is remembered and renewed every day with every assassination and every act of violence. 

Twenty years ago, it seemed that the streets of Northern Ireland would never calm down. People who looked alike and who spoke alike and who shared not only Christianity but also a small-island-country simply could not put aside their differences, and the troubles raged on.  

Forty years ago, in the streets of Detroit, riots split our city into warring camps. Our African-American brothers and sisters seethed with anger over basic inequalities and failed opportunities.  And many of us, most of us, turned our backs and ran away in fear.   

Eighty years ago, a Finnish farmer refused to enter the church of a Lutheran pastor, and the Lutheran pastor was glad he didn’t come. The farmer was a socialist, and the pastor despised socialism, so he also despised the farmer. When the farmer finally died, the pastor’s son stood up at the farmer’s funeral and condemned the farmer to hell. I know the story well, because I was there at the funeral. The feud between the two of them caused a rift with the church that is still not fully healed to this day. 

One more story:  In South Africa, in the 1960s, there was a white minority that ruled with a strong hand over the large indigenous population. They believed themselves to be the holders of civilization, of the better way. But there were horrible atrocities committed by them, and in their name by various factions within their country. Murders and torturing and the stealing of people’s truths and people’s lives. It seemed that there could never be an end to the bloodshed and misery in that country.    

But then, there was a spark of grace. A fresh new insight. The world was shown what could happen if we tried the pathway of grace. It began with President F.W. de Klerk, who made a bold change in course. On February 2, 1990, he reinstated some political groups that had been banned for thirty years. And it turned out to be a new beginning for South Africa. 

And then there was a man, Bishop Desmond Tutu, who believed that we must actually try to live according to God’s way. The way of forgiveness and grace. With God’s help. Tutu said he believed that “our God was one who had a particularly soft spot for sinners.”[i] That God really would leave 99 sheep to go and look for one that was lost, even if that one had committed some horrible crime. And he believed that people could change, could be transformed. 

And there were people around him who chose to listen to him, which is surprising since they included the very victims of the atrocities. His words connected with some spark of grace within themselves, and they chose to believe that God might have some better way. 

In December 1995, Bishop Tutu was named as head of a Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa. Each person who had committed some horrendous act was given the chance to come and tell the truth about what he or she had done. With specifics and details. The families of those who were killed were able to know the truth. In addition, there were separate hearings in which those who were victims of brutality, or witnesses to it, could file statements about what had happened during the 34 years of darkness in South Africa. About 20,000 statements were filed.[ii]  

Here’s the amazing part. Perpetrators who told the whole truth were forgiven; given total amnesty. The victims who told the whole truth were given symbolic reparations: things like tombstones for their loved ones, scholarships for the kids who had lost a parent, a symbolic stipend for a period of years, or maybe even a street named after their loved one. 

The next amazing part is this: it worked. Instead of civil war and continual seeking of revenge upon revenge upon revenge, both the perpetrators and the victims experienced a change in the way they lived with the results of 34 years of pain. 

When God created us, we were given the gift of free will. We are free to choose how we will respond when someone hurts us. We are free to hurt one another; and we do so often. Like in Detroit, forty years ago. Or at a funeral for a Finnish farmer, twenty years ago.   

But God also gave us another gift, the gift of prevenient grace. Prevenient means “comes before.” It’s the grace God offers to us before we could ever do anything ourselves. John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, described prevenient grace as the tiny spark within each of us that some might call conscience or a gentle nudging. [iii]  It is God reaching out to us. When we fan that spark, even a little bit, God offers us more spark, more grace. 

Our scripture today says that God promises us that there is a better way. When Paul wrote that passage in Romans, he was writing to people who were already believers, to people who already believed in Jesus Christ as their Messiah, as their Lord. Yet they still had to struggle with wanting to follow the ways of the world. Willing to hurt someone else because they themselves had been hurt. 

But Paul called for a better way: Be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you might test out what is good and acceptable and the perfect will of God. 

When Iraq won the Asian soccer cup a couple of weeks ago, there was a moment when that spark of some greater truth was uncovered. The Sunnis and the Shi’ites danced together in the streets. Can’t you just see it? 

In July, a little more than a month ago, the British army finally ended their mission in Northern Ireland, which had begun 38 years before. The Finnish farmer who feuded with the Lutheran minister was my own grandfather. For his granddaughter to be standing in this pulpit, in any pulpit, is a moment of grace, a sign of God’s transforming and redeeming love.   

You see, God’s will is for a better way. Hopeless situations and hopeless people can be redeemed. But it starts with ourselves. It starts with telling the truth to ourselves and telling the truth to God. Without varnish, to make it look a bit better. Scripture says, “You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.” (John 8:32) When we speak the truth, that is the moment when we open ourselves to grace, justifying grace; sanctifying grace.   

What is God’s will? Actually, it’s pretty clear. It is that we love God and love each other. But sometimes the pathways towards that love seem to be clogged up. There is the sister who wounded us, the colleague who undermined us, the neighbor who talked about us behind our back. Or in some cases, there are the people who shot your uncle or tortured your brother. How can we ever get past that hurt? 

On Thursday I was taking our dog Wendy for a walk when I saw a huge orange truck parked near the curb. As I approached, I was fascinated. Picture a giant orange vacuum cleaner with a lot of extra hoses and with two men perched near the top, and you pretty well have the idea. 

One of the men inside spoke to me, so I asked what they were doing. He told me that this was a sewer cleaning truck. Once a year, the city of Troy cleans out every single sewer line. He said that they flush a big burst of water into each line, wait a few minutes, and a wall of water returns, clearing out anything that might be clinging to the sides of the pipe. Then it occurred to me that our lives are something like those sewer pipes. Our lives get clogged up with old hurts, with missed opportunities, with anger and fear and pain. But we have the freedom to choose to get the pipes cleaned.   

How do we do that? Well, a good way to start is by having a little talk with God, and telling God the whole truth about ourselves. Not that God doesn’t already know it. But sometimes we don’t really know it ourselves until we speak the truth in prayer. This little prayer of truth gets things started, opens the way for a bit of forgiving and a bit of cleaning up.  

Once grace is flowing, we may be as surprised as the Afrikaners at what we might be ready to do. Ideas that seemed impossible before now become doable, as we recognize that there are a lot more alternatives than we ever noticed, third options that we never even thought about before.   

There are third options for me. If I can’t bear to speak to my sister because of what she said to me, and I won’t invite her to my home ever again, maybe I can at least send her a birthday card.  maybe I can send her some pictures of my kids. Even a small gesture of grace can be a new beginning. Maybe there are even third options for our world; things we never considered before. 

Once grace is flowing, we may be surprised to see our enemies in a new light. To see our friends in a new light. To see ourselves in a new light. We may be surprised that we can have a chance for new beginnings. In our homes, in our relationships, and even in our world.