Sermon for Epiphany 1 – Baptism of Our Lord - Year C - The Reverend Jeffrey W. Mello - January 23, 2022
To view a video of the Rev. Jeffrey W. Mello’s sermon, click HERE
Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10; 1 Corinthians 12:12-31a; Luke 4:14-21
This week, I found myself bound in heart, mind and spirit to a varied group of individuals, most of whom I had never ever met.
Their names are, in no particular order, John Mahony, Fannie Lou Hamer, Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker and Michelle Go.
Perhaps some are familiar to you.
John Mahony was a long-time St. Paul’s parishioner who died last week whose funeral we celebrated yesterday morning.
Fannie Lou Hamer was a fierce civil rights activist and theologian. I attended a lecture on Wednesday about her life and witness as part of an interfaith clergy gathering.
Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker is the rabbi of Congregation Beth Israel synagogue in Colleyville, Texas. Last week, an armed man held him and members of his congregation hostage in the latest grotesque demonstration of anti-semitism.
Michelle Go was an Asian woman pushed in front of a subway train in New York City.
This week reminded me of the ways in which I am connected to people simply because we are children of a loving God.
Though I do not know Rabbi Cytron-Walker, my heart immediately went to my dear friends and colleagues who are rabbis, and to their communities.
Though I did not know Michelle Go, my heart went to the many people I know and love who are of Asian descent.
I did know John, as many of you did. And my heart went to his wife Arlene, to their daughters, family and friends.
It was a week in which I was made painfully aware that, because I choose to follow the Way of Love, my heart is always vulnerable to the pains and sufferings of others, no matter how well I know them, if I even know them at all.
Because we are connected by the God who loves us all, what happened in Texas, or on a subway platform in New York, or in a family in the community doesn’t just happen in Texas, or in New York, or just in that family.
Living with an open heart means giving up control over who or what might get in; who or what might break it; and who or what might have the capacity to heal it to love and break and heal all over again.
A clergy colleague remarked this week that they noticed that people were increasingly feeling “done” with one another. “I just can’t with that person any more” is heard more often. People are quicker to argue, quicker to offend, quicker to break off relationships.
I think that makes a lot of sense. We are living in a time when compassion fatigue is a real thing.
And the pain and grief we are all carrying from this seemingly endless exposure to suffering, when it is not named, not lifted up and not allowed, very quickly masks itself as anger, frustration, betrayal and hate.
When Fannie Lou Hamer was in jail and being repeatedly abused by her captors, she tried desperately to connect with them, calling on scripture to remind them of their connection as children of God, and siblings in the body of Christ.
After quoting a passage from the Book of Acts (17:26), “From one [person God] made all the nations, that they should inhabit the whole earth,” the jailer responded that it was Abraham Lincoln, not the Apostle Paul, who had said that, and continued the abuse.
In order to carry out the brutal beatings of Hamer, her captor must have been able to look at her, look in her eyes and come to the conclusion that he had no need of her.
In fact, as Hamer recalled later that, as she was regaining consciousness after the beating, she heard the jailers talking to each other, and one commenting that they could throw her in the river, and no one would miss her.
St. Paul, in his letter to the church at Corinth argues that having no need of one another is a position we are simply unable to take and still call ourselves Christians.
We cannot, as a particular part of the body of Christ, say we have no need of the larger body and we cannot, as the body of Christ, say we have no need of any particular part.
“If one member suffers, all suffer together with it;” St Paul writes. And, “if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.” (1 Cor 12).
This is the point Jesus, teaching in the temple, is making by connecting his ministry with the prophet Isaiah’s call for the people of God, to “bring good news to the poor … to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor."
We cannot say we have no need of the poor, if we are not poor; no need of the captives if we are not captive, no need of the oppressed if we are free. We can’t do that and call ourselves followers of Jesus. We can’t do that and know the liberating, healing Good News of God in our own lives.
It is tempting, in the face of all the suffering and injustice in the world, to quote Jesus at the wedding feast last week and ask “what does that have to do with me?” It has everything to do with you. Everything to do with me. All of it has everything to do with all of us.
While having a conversation with an African-American colleague about racial justice recently, she stopped and asked me, “Why do you care?”
I was taken aback, unsure how to respond.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Why do you care? You don’t have to. You’re a white guy. You’ve got a good life. You don’t have to care, so why do you?”
No one had asked me that before. I said something about people I love, something about my own experiences of being hated simply for who God made me to be, something about my belief that as a white male, I have a particular responsibility and role to play in fighting white supremacy and racial injustice.
But at the end of the day, I know it comes down to this argument that St. Paul is making to the struggling church in Corinth.
Or to quote Fannie Lou Hamer, “no one is free until everyone is free.”
It is exhausting to turn on the news or scroll through social media, or show up to work or in the world as a witness and have your heart broken over and over and over and over again.
But what’s the alternative? How else can we know the Love of God, but to let our hearts give and receive it?
How else can we feel the mercy of God but to extend it?
How else can we feel a part of the larger Body of Christ, or the larger still siblinghood of the beloved children of God, but to connect ourselves inextricably to the members of it?
So, yes, please do take good care of yourself. Sabbath is a commandment, too. Rest. Grieve. Play. Turn off the news for a bit. Connect. Create. Love with reckless abandon.
Do take care. But do not give up on the world. Do not cut yourself off from the Body that will break your heart. And, please, do not cut off members of the Body in an effort to keep your heart from breaking.
Let your heart break for all the John Mahonys of this world; for all the Michelle Gos, for all the Rabbi Cytron-Walkers and all the Fannie Lou Hamers.
Let your heart break, because we are all one body. And when one member suffers, all suffer with it. Let your heart break, that you might know what it feels like to love as Christ loves us; with a heart that has been broken wide open.
AMEN.
© 2022 The Reverend Jeffrey W. Mello