July 3, 2022
Fourth Sunday After Pentecost
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Weekly Prayer Recording
Interdependence Day
The Reverend Linda Mackie Griggs
Recording of the sermon:
When preparing a sermon, a preacher asks this question: What is the Spirit calling me to say about this passage to these people on this day? The passages are determined by the Lectionary. The people—the congregation—has its own unique demographic and personality, and one never knows what visitors the Spirit will nudge through the doors. But it is the day that can be the most challenging. While the calendar places us in time within the church and secular year, social, cultural and political contexts always affect any given Sunday. It’s all a balancing act of a lot of factors, and the preacher prays that the Spirit will weave it all together so that truth will be spoken and truth will be heard.
So here we are on the Fourth of July weekend 2022, each of us bringing to this holiday our own context and expectations. I have good memories of Independence Days past—picnics, fireworks, readings of the Declaration. But when I think about it, most of the Fourths of my memory have been shadowed by challenging events; by Vietnam, political assassinations, Watergate, the Iran hostage crisis, 9/11, Katrina, pandemic, Black Lives, mass shootings, insurrection, the overturning of Roe. That’s just within my lifetime.
Experiencing the Fourth in the context of these and other events, I have always felt that, even as there is so much to be proud of and to celebrate, this country that I love, and in the name of which so many have given so much, is an imperfect union.
As are we all, aren’t we? Every human being; we are beautifully and wonderfully made, and capable of so much goodness. But we are flawed, shadowed, and in need of repentance every single day.
So over the years, I have come to see the Fourth of July through a more and more somber lens; to put it in liturgical terms, as less Easter and more Ash Wednesday. And that’s not a bad thing. Because to love one’s country, like loving oneself, is to know the need of clear-eyed critique and a desire to do better, to live into the knowledge of who and whose we are. It’s true for us as individuals and as a country.
So. What is the Spirit calling us to hear in today’s readings on this Independence Day weekend?
On this day we are called to ponder the concepts of power and authority, not in a business/organizational context, but in a Biblical/theological context.
Retired Bishop and Native Elder Steven Charleston begins a recent reflection this way:
“I invite you to consider the difference between power and authority. One is the quantification of force. The other is the recognition of something stronger than force.”
Hold that thought.
In our Old Testament reading, Naaman, commander of the army of Aram, knew about force. He knew about power—Israel had just suffered defeat at his hand. He had power, he had wealth, he had slaves, he had the approval of the King of Aram.
But he was apparently no match for leprosy.
Note how it is those with little or no power who move much of the action in this story. Naaman’s healing begins with a young slave girl who he had captured from Israel on a raid. Note that when Naaman finally pulls up to the house of Elisha with his horses and his chariots, loaded with the copay to end all copays, Elisha doesn’t even come to the door. He sends servants with instructions to the man of power, who becomes enraged at this snub.
“Don’t you know who I am????” These are words of someone accustomed to power. Accustomed to intimidating and terrifying those who oppose him. Accustomed to getting his way by the quantification of force.
Note that Elisha doesn’t cave. He doesn’t run cowering to bow before Naaman and to produce the expected flashy miracle. Note that it is Naaman’s servants who persuade him to do what Elisha prescribes.
So the man of power bathes and is healed; not because he is powerful but because he is persuaded (by those with little power) to be obedient.
In the next two verses Naaman declares, “Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel,” and he offers Elisha payment—silver, gold, ten sets of garments– but Elisha refuses. He has done what God called him to do, which was to let the commander of the army of Aram know that there is a prophet in Israel, who, by the way, doesn’t respond to intimidation.
That’s the thing about power. Its currency is fear and anxiety, and its methods are control and force.
A snapshot of unbridled power today: There are more guns than citizens in this country. Those who sell firearms prey upon people’s anxiety and distrust of others in order to sell more and more guns. (So-called) Christian Nationalism and White Supremacy are threatening the fabric of democracy, apparently at the highest level. Our constitution is being eroded by decisions that are decreasing, rather than expanding, the liberties of “We The People”, particularly women, minorities, LGBTQ and trans people, and the poor. A recent article comparing Hungarian autocracy with what is happening here used a chilling image of where we may be headed, saying, “The frog isn’t boiling yet, but the water is getting hotter.”
This is the current state of our America the Beautiful, the country we love, succumbing to fear, distrust, and hatred; forgetting that our interdependence upon one another is more important than our power over one another. This is an Ash Wednesday moment. We need to, yes, repent; turn and remember that there is something stronger than power to effect healing, and justice, and reconciliation.
[Jesus said,] “See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say, `Peace to this house!’ And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you.”
Lambs in the midst of wolves, depending upon the hospitality of others as they proclaimed the Good News of the Dream of God to all with ears to hear. Since the time of the Patriarchs hospitality had been a vital part of the culture of God’s people. One of the Bible’s most dramatic accounts of divine punishment, of Sodom and Gomorrah, was due, not to immoral sexual behavior, but to neglect of hospitality to strangers. In today’s passage Luke reminds his audience of the foundational roots of their relationship with God—the importance of interdependence and care of one another. The Dream of God that Jesus commanded the Seventy to proclaim was a call to interdependent relationship, and the first sign that people would be receptive to this Good News would be evident in the nature of their welcome of the disciples.
The disciples were figuratively as naked as Naaman bathing in the Jordan; with no purse, bag, or sandals. They were vulnerable, but they weren’t unequipped.
‘Whoever listens to you listens to me…’”
Lambs among wolves, they had no power. They did not go out like Naaman bearing wealth and bluster. But, like Elisha and all of the supposedly marginal characters who moved Naaman’s story along, they had something more effective. They had authority. The authority of the Dream of God. The authority of love that is the foundation of discipleship.
Here is the rest of Bishop Charleston’s reflection:
We may not have much in the way of power. We cannot coerce others into our way of thinking. We cannot control them. But we can inspire them. We can demonstrate a higher allegiance, a life in service to the source of all that is good, an authority that liberates humanity rather than dominates it. When we speak, we speak on behalf of the powerless, but we speak with an authority that will not be denied or diminished.”
What does that look like to you on this Independence Day weekend–living into the creative tension of patriotic critique of this troubled, fractured country we love? What does it look like to express the authority of love through discipleship?
I seriously encourage us all to explore these questions, both individually and as a community in the coming days and weeks.
I was talking with a couple of friends about despair and hope. We pondered the image of walking through a deep, dark, forest, filled with pitfalls and lurking things. It’s scary, but we have no choice but to put one foot in front of the other, keeping our eyes open for every ray of sunlight or moonlight that comes dappling down through the leaves; sometimes just a smattering, and every now and then a wider clearing. We just keep going; we have no choice because like it or not, it is where we are. But here’s the thing about the deep dark forest that we’re in. It is filled with peril and fear, but–no, AND–it is also filled with life, nourishment, and resources to help us move along, even though we feel we are without purse, or bag, or sandals.
One of my friends concluded, “I’m just going to have faith in us. That we will keep doing the work that needs to be done. It’s what gets me up in the morning, opening up my computer, and starting the day, every single day.”
That’s what the authority of the Dream of God looks like.
We’re just going to have faith in us, in our authority, and in God’s authoritative call to healing and justice. One foot in front of the other, together.
When preparing a sermon, a preacher asks this question: What is the Spirit calling me to say about this passage to these people on this day? The passages are determined by the Lectionary. The people—the congregation—has its own unique demographic and personality, and one never knows what visitors the Spirit will nudge through the doors. But it is the day that can be the most challenging. While the calendar places us in time within the church and secular year, social, cultural and political contexts always affect any given Sunday. It’s all a balancing act of a lot of factors, and the preacher prays that the Spirit will weave it all together so that truth will be spoken and truth will be heard.
So here we are on the Fourth of July weekend 2022, each of us bringing to this holiday our own context and expectations. I have good memories of Independence Days past—picnics, fireworks, readings of the Declaration. But when I think about it, most of the Fourths of my memory have been shadowed by challenging events; by Vietnam, political assassinations, Watergate, the Iran hostage crisis, 9/11, Katrina, pandemic, Black Lives, mass shootings, insurrection, the overturning of Roe. That’s just within my lifetime.
Experiencing the Fourth in the context of these and other events, I have always felt that, even as there is so much to be proud of and to celebrate, this country that I love, and in the name of which so many have given so much, is an imperfect union.
As are we all, aren’t we? Every human being; we are beautifully and wonderfully made, and capable of so much goodness. But we are flawed, shadowed, and in need of repentance every single day.
So over the years, I have come to see the Fourth of July through a more and more somber lens; to put it in liturgical terms, as less Easter and more Ash Wednesday. And that’s not a bad thing. Because to love one’s country, like loving oneself, is to know the need of clear-eyed critique and a desire to do better, to live into the knowledge of who and whose we are. It’s true for us as individuals and as a country.
So. What is the Spirit calling us to hear in today’s readings on this Independence Day weekend?
On this day we are called to ponder the concepts of power and authority, not in a business/organizational context, but in a Biblical/theological context.
Retired Bishop and Native Elder Steven Charleston begins a recent reflection this way:
“I invite you to consider the difference between power and authority. One is the quantification of force. The other is the recognition of something stronger than force.”
Hold that thought.
In our Old Testament reading, Naaman, commander of the army of Aram, knew about force. He knew about power—Israel had just suffered defeat at his hand. He had power, he had wealth, he had slaves, he had the approval of the King of Aram.
But he was apparently no match for leprosy.
Note how it is those with little or no power who move much of the action in this story. Naaman’s healing begins with a young slave girl who he had captured from Israel on a raid. Note that when Naaman finally pulls up to the house of Elisha with his horses and his chariots, loaded with the copay to end all copays, Elisha doesn’t even come to the door. He sends servants with instructions to the man of power, who becomes enraged at this snub.
“Don’t you know who I am????” These are words of someone accustomed to power. Accustomed to intimidating and terrifying those who oppose him. Accustomed to getting his way by the quantification of force.
Note that Elisha doesn’t cave. He doesn’t run cowering to bow before Naaman and to produce the expected flashy miracle. Note that it is Naaman’s servants who persuade him to do what Elisha prescribes.
So the man of power bathes and is healed; not because he is powerful but because he is persuaded (by those with little power) to be obedient.
In the next two verses Naaman declares, “Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel,” and he offers Elisha payment—silver, gold, ten sets of garments– but Elisha refuses. He has done what God called him to do, which was to let the commander of the army of Aram know that there is a prophet in Israel, who, by the way, doesn’t respond to intimidation.
That’s the thing about power. Its currency is fear and anxiety, and its methods are control and force.
A snapshot of unbridled power today: There are more guns than citizens in this country. Those who sell firearms prey upon people’s anxiety and distrust of others in order to sell more and more guns. (So-called) Christian Nationalism and White Supremacy are threatening the fabric of democracy, apparently at the highest level. Our constitution is being eroded by decisions that are decreasing, rather than expanding, the liberties of “We The People”, particularly women, minorities, LGBTQ and trans people, and the poor. A recent article comparing Hungarian autocracy with what is happening here used a chilling image of where we may be headed, saying, “The frog isn’t boiling yet, but the water is getting hotter.”
This is the current state of our America the Beautiful, the country we love, succumbing to fear, distrust, and hatred; forgetting that our interdependence upon one another is more important than our power over one another. This is an Ash Wednesday moment. We need to, yes, repent; turn and remember that there is something stronger than power to effect healing, and justice, and reconciliation.
[Jesus said,] “See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say, `Peace to this house!’ And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you.”
Lambs in the midst of wolves, depending upon the hospitality of others as they proclaimed the Good News of the Dream of God to all with ears to hear. Since the time of the Patriarchs hospitality had been a vital part of the culture of God’s people. One of the Bible’s most dramatic accounts of divine punishment, of Sodom and Gomorrah, was due, not to immoral sexual behavior, but to neglect of hospitality to strangers. In today’s passage Luke reminds his audience of the foundational roots of their relationship with God—the importance of interdependence and care of one another. The Dream of God that Jesus commanded the Seventy to proclaim was a call to interdependent relationship, and the first sign that people would be receptive to this Good News would be evident in the nature of their welcome of the disciples.
The disciples were figuratively as naked as Naaman bathing in the Jordan; with no purse, bag, or sandals. They were vulnerable, but they weren’t unequipped.
‘Whoever listens to you listens to me…’”
Lambs among wolves, they had no power. They did not go out like Naaman bearing wealth and bluster. But, like Elisha and all of the supposedly marginal characters who moved Naaman’s story along, they had something more effective. They had authority. The authority of the Dream of God. The authority of love that is the foundation of discipleship.
Here is the rest of Bishop Charleston’s reflection:
We may not have much in the way of power. We cannot coerce others into our way of thinking. We cannot control them. But we can inspire them. We can demonstrate a higher allegiance, a life in service to the source of all that is good, an authority that liberates humanity rather than dominates it. When we speak, we speak on behalf of the powerless, but we speak with an authority that will not be denied or diminished.”
What does that look like to you on this Independence Day weekend–living into the creative tension of patriotic critique of this troubled, fractured country we love? What does it look like to express the authority of love through discipleship?
I seriously encourage us all to explore these questions, both individually and as a community in the coming days and weeks.
I was talking with a couple of friends about despair and hope. We pondered the image of walking through a deep, dark, forest, filled with pitfalls and lurking things. It’s scary, but we have no choice but to put one foot in front of the other, keeping our eyes open for every ray of sunlight or moonlight that comes dappling down through the leaves; sometimes just a smattering, and every now and then a wider clearing. We just keep going; we have no choice because like it or not, it is where we are. But here’s the thing about the deep dark forest that we’re in. It is filled with peril and fear, but–no, AND–it is also filled with life, nourishment, and resources to help us move along, even though we feel we are without purse, or bag, or sandals.
One of my friends concluded, “I’m just going to have faith in us. That we will keep doing the work that needs to be done. It’s what gets me up in the morning, opening up my computer, and starting the day, every single day.”
That’s what the authority of the Dream of God looks like.
We’re just going to have faith in us, in our authority, and in God’s authoritative call to healing and justice. One foot in front of the other, together.
