June 27, 2009
Thank you so much for the invitation to share with you this morning. I am humbled to stand before this community, whose faith and dedication to justice serve as an inspiration to many, including to me.
As many of you know, from 7 am yesterday until 7 am this morning, a group of people, including members of this community, gathered in front of the White House for a 24-hour vigil commemorating the United Nations International Day in Support of Torture Victims and Survivors. It is a travesty that such a vigil had to take place. That our fellow brothers and sisters continue to be physically, mentally, and emotionally abused in ways that are so horrendous it is almost unimaginable.
As we begin this morning, let us take a moment of silence to, as Debby Churchman reminded us “share this burden, allow ourselves to feel, to touch this wound, to see our deep, deep brokenness.”
--Silence--
At 8th Day we talk a lot about injustice—inequality, oppression, exploitation, and torture. In my 7 months here I’ve heard more sermons that mention torture than I have in the previous 24 years of my life. And this is not just a community that talks about injustice—it supports one another in taking action. The ways that people in this church live their faith through everyday acts for peace and justice is truly inspiring—from Orlando boldly sharing his story as a survivor of torture and his passionate work to help other survivors, to those who have opened their homes to survivors of torture—David and Wendy Dorsey; Carol Fitch; John and Hariett Mohr; Gail Arnall; Kent Beduhn and Carol Bullard-Bates; Marja and David Hilfiker and others who I may not even be aware of, as it is such a common practice in this community that it is easy to know someone for months and have no idea. From Wallace’s efforts to live simply and help others to reduce their attachment to material possessions to Meade’s work to maintain the Potters’ House as an open and welcoming destination, to Sarah Campbell’s commitment to start a spiritual support group next year in North Carolina, to Marja Hilfiker who takes Greyhound buses around the country rather than flying, with an open ear to whoever is open to share. I can only begin to name the people who have taken someone into their home, made personal sacrifices to be better caretakers of this earth, or shepherded a new comer to the community.
I’m not trying to portray people as saints, at least not in the traditional sense. If the community were full of saints it would be all too easy to say “Oh, they do that because they’re saints. They’re just too perfect. They don’t get angry, jealous, depressed. I’m different. I’m broken. I can’t do that.” We all know that we are far from perfection.
While not saints in the traditional sense, I see in this community saints the way Fred Taylor described in his Easter sermon—someone who breaks the mold and opens the gate for others to pass through. Someone who breaks the mold and opens the gate for others to pass through. I may only have been at 8th Day for 7 months, but I have certainly seen some mold breaking going on.
For those of you who are even newer to 8th Day than I, you will have the chance to hear just a fraction of what people in the community are involved in during a very special part of the service that we call—announcements. During this time people share upcoming events and community news. If you’re like me and want to be involved in everything, this part of the service can be downright overwhelming.
A few months back, I was feeling pretty overwhelmed at 8th Day—both by being once again confronted by the brokenness of the world and the realities of torture and by the number of related actions I wanted to be involved in. Carmen Trotta from the New York Catholic Worker and the 100 Days Campaign had come to speak about the actions to shut down Guantanamo and to end the US government use of torture and detention without a trial. While I had certainly heard before about torture at Guantanamo, I felt connected in a new way as he described the details of waterboarding, a torture technique in which a fellow human being effectively experiences the physical response of drowning. He then described the fact that many of the people at Guantanamo had not even been found guilty of wrongdoing, and in some cases were picked up just for being Muslim at the wrong place at the wrong time. As he spoke, Guantanamo was brought in my mind from an abstract political issue to a moral issue regarding real human lives. Afterward, I tried to rearrange my schedule to fit in any events I could around my work. I soon decided that for me at that time, being a follower of Christ was to put aside what would work conveniently in my schedule, lay a part of myself down on the line, and risk arrest with sixty other people in front of the White House. Plus, the people of Guantanamo did not get to say “Hey, getting arrested doesn’t really fit into my schedule this week. Can we wait until next week after I finish this project at work?”
The night before the action, on April 29th, hundreds of peace activists gathered at National City Christian Church on Thomas Circle. Carmen was on the front stoop, smoking a cigarette. Feeling a little nervous and with the sense that I did not really know what I was getting myself into, but knowing I needed to do it, I was grateful that he recognized me from 8th Day and welcomed me into the group. He began to introduce me to his friends, all of whom were from other Catholic Worker Houses in the region. Still feeling a bit uneasy, I walked in with them as the service began. While the entire service was certainly moving, about halfway through I heard a sermon that quite honestly changed my life and my conception of what it means to be a Christian. Dr. Tony Campolo, professor emeritus at Eastern University and founder of the Evangelical Association for the Promotion of Education gave a sermon that he has become famous for—“It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming.” For those of you who haven’t heard it, it goes a little something like this.
It’s Friday. Jesus is standing, silent as a lamb before the slaughter. But that’s Friday. Sunday’s a comin’. Only it sounds a little more like this “It’s Fry-Day! Sunday’s a commm – in!” It’s Friday, Jesus is beaten, mocked, and spit upon. The Son of man stands firm as the crown of thorns is pressed into his brow. But that’s Friday. Sunday’s a comin’. It’s Friday. Mary is crying her eyes out. Jesus is hanging on the cross, bloody and dying. The sky grows dark, and the earth begins to tremble. The people are saying that darkness will rule the world. But they don’t know. It’s only Friday. Sunday’s a comin’.
It’s Friday, and those forces that oppress the poor and keep people down are in control. But it’s only Friday. Sunday’s a comin’. It’s Friday. God’s children are being tortured in Guantanamo Bay. They are beaten, deprived of sleep, and repeatedly made to think that they are drowning over and over and over again. But that’s Friday. Sunday’s a comin’.
On Saturday, the people do not know it is going to happen. The Disciples are distraught, running in every direction like sheep without a shepherd. They did not resuscitate Jesus with CPR. The people could not perform a resurrection. But God’s plans are greater. Sunday comes, and Jesus rises. However terrible it seemed on Friday, the resurrection occurred, and with it brought amazing hope.
Growing up atheist, I had never had a deep or personal connection to the resurrection. Even this Easter at 8th Day, I was somewhat uncomfortable when people greeted me with “Christ has risen.” I think I responded with “Happy Easter,” or “Good morning, nice to see you,” hoping that I would not be called out on my uncertainty regarding this central tenant of Christianity.
Then something clicked during Tony’s sermon. This idea of Sunday coming, of extraordinary hope, became for me the distinction between being a believer of social justice in and of itself and being a follower of Christ.
Whether we believe in the physical resurrection of Christ or, as David Hilfiker said in his Resurrection sermon, whether we “experience a goodness, a power, a love that we don’t really understand, and know that it is out of the worst despair that salvation may come,” there is a shared vision of radical hope, of what may seem like irrational faith, that has become for me a large part of what it means to be a Follower.
In the reading this morning, the Israelites begin in a place of despair. They are in the desert. They are hungry and weary and even say that they preferred slavery. They are in a Friday situation. When God says that he will provide, they do not at first believe him. Even when the dew on the ground turns into manna, which seems so clearly to be an act of God, they gather it, eat, and try to store it for the next day. They do this day after day—gather, eat, and try to store it up, perhaps not believing that tomorrow it will really come again, that God will continue to provide. Even after God has provided 6 times over, has provided twice as much on the 6th time, and commands that the people take Sabbath, some still go out and try to find more. But God does not provide manna on this day. It is the day of rest. Those who observe the Sabbath are making a very visible affirmation that they have put their faith in God, who has provided for them time and time again.
As I studied this passage, I began to have a new understanding of Sabbath. An understanding of Sabbath as not just resting in preparation for another busy week to come, but rather, Sabbath as allowing myself to trust God. To experience this, what may seem like irrational faith. To affirm that while I must act daily for justice as an aspiring follower of Jesus, I have radical faith that Sunday is coming. Bonnie Thurston described this notion of Sabbath beautifully: “By keeping Sabbath we affirm the value of work, but we also stop worshipping the idols of technical civilization.... Our inability to find time for Sabbath rest is, at worst, a form of idolatry and, at best, putting our own agendas before God's.”
Sabbath sounds pretty great. And I have had a few wonderful and rejuvenating experiences taking Sabbath. I have experienced turning off my cell phone as freedom, rather than restriction and skipping a social justice event as not as a failure of my desire to follow Jesus, but as an act of affirming that I believe so radically that I can also step back and give it up to God.
Even still, I find that I often do not do Sabbath well. Like the Israelites, I continue to look for manna on the 7th day.
This morning, I come before you after spending the night in front of the White House, coming straight to the Potter’s House to set up the chairs for the service, and before the Spiritual Support Group picnic in Rock Creek Park (which you’re all invited to, by the way). How do I reconcile decisions of when I should drop everything and risk arrest, and when I should stay at home and read the Bible? I have spent enough time with people in this community to know that this struggle is not one that I alone experience. It seems that we who are engaged in works for justice have the most trouble with Sabbath. What does that say about our trust in God?
I invite us to enter into another moment of silence to reflect upon the role of Sabbath in our lives and our relationship with God, followed by which I invite you to share your thoughts.
--Silence---
I invite you to share as you are moved.
--Sharing--
Thank you for sharing, and Thank you for letting me share. As we go out to work for justice and to end torture, may God grant us rest in our radical hope and faith that no matter how dark it gets, Sunday’s a comin’.