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A sermon preached at Niles Discovery Church, Fremont, California,
on Sunday, March 26, 2017, by the Rev. Jeffrey Spencer.
Scriptures: Mark 5:1-20 and “Kids Who Die,” by Langston Hughes
Copyright © 2017 by Jeffrey S. Spencer
Today’s gospel lesson is a wonderful, dramatic story. Jesus has been teaching by the Sea of Galilee. That night, he and his disciples get in a boat to cross the sea. While Jesus sleeps, a storm kicks up, severely scaring the disciples. They wake Jesus and he stills the storm.
They get to the other side of the sea, in the country of the Gerasenes, an area where Gentiles live. They step out of the boat and are met by a madman who has made his home in the cemetery. I’ve always pictured Jesus coming ashore and wandering directly into the cemetery, though that’s not exactly what the scripture says. I’ve also pictured the man as naked and unbathed, with matted hair and beard. The story doesn’t say that either, though later, when he’s been saved by Jesus, there is a line about him being clothed.
There is no question but that the man is tormented. He has lost his own voice to what torments him; all he does is howl. When words come out of this mouth, that the words of the demons that we hear. He injures himself because he is in so much pain. The demons that torment him have stripped away his humanity – completely. Only the demons speak, and when they do, they recognize who Jesus is and the threat Jesus poses.
The story is rich with symbolism. In the Hebrew scriptures, the sea represents chaos. In the story right before this one, Jesus show he is master over chaos when he calms the chaotic, life-threatening storm on the sea. The man who meets them when they come ashore is the personification of chaos. They come ashore in the land of the unclean (the Gentiles), in an area that is unclean (a cemetery), and are confronted by someone who is unclean (the man who is possessed).
If there is any person who is less than fully human, it’s this guy. If there is anyone who is less worthy, of less value, it’s this guy. This man is “other” on so many levels. And Jesus sees right through this “otherness,” seeing the man’s true humanity.
When I picked this lesson for this sermon, I thought about the “otherness” of the man possessed. I thought about how racism “others” people of color. Racism says that whiteness is normal and people who aren’t white are abnormal, not fully human, less than, other. I looked at how Jesus saw through that “otherness” and heard a call to go and do likewise.
But as I reflected on this scripture this past week, I came to see society in the man possessed. Society is possessed by the demon of racism. And racism has a legion of faces.
“My son was about 2 years old,” writes Kelly Brown Douglas. “I had taken him to the park to play in a Flintstones-like car that was in the park’s playground. This particular park was next door to an elementary school. After being in the park for about 15 minutes, what appeared to be a class of first graders recessed into the park. Two little boys, one blonde-haired the other redheaded, ran down to the car where my son was playing. Seeing them coming, my son immediately jumped out. Soon the two little boys began fighting over who was going to play in the car. My son looked on with the fascination of a 2-year-old. The little redheaded boy, who seemed to be winning the battle for the car, saw my son looking. He suddenly stopped fighting for the car and turned toward my son. With all the venom that a 7- or 8-year-old boy could muster, he pointed his finger at my son and said, ‘You better stop looking at us, before I put you in jail where you belong.’ This little white boy was angry. A black boy had intruded upon his space. My son was guilty of being black, in the park, and looking.
“I was horrified. Before I could say anything to the offending boy the white teacher, who was in earshot, approached. She clearly heard what the little boy said to my son. I expected her to have a conversation with the little boy and to make him apologize. Instead, she looked at my 2-year-old son as if he were the perpetrator of some crime, and said to the little boys, ‘Come on with me, before there is trouble.’ At that moment, I was seething with anger. I took my son and left the park.
“As we walked away, I felt an unspeakable sadness and pain. At 2 years old, my son was already viewed as a criminal. At 7 or 8 years old the link between a black boy’s body and a criminal had already been forged in the mind of a little white boy. If at 2 years old, a white teacher already regarded my son as a troublemaker, I feared what the future might bring.”
That is one of the legion of faces of racism today; there are many others. I asked a group of friends who live in the Tri-Cities to share with me their experiences with racism. I tried to get a cross-section of ages and ethnic backgrounds, and I was blessed with several responses, especially given how quick a response I had asked for in my request. Here’s just a sample.
One friend is a Muslim woman. She and her husband are immigrants from Pakistan. They have three children. She told me that their eldest has pale skin and, when little, was often mistaken for a Caucasian. His experience was quite different from that of his little brother. The younger brother tans easily and has a mole on his forehead. From early elementary school, he was teased. In Middle School, he was called names like “Zit Face,” “terrorist,” “Gandhi dot,” and “sand monkey” – to mention just a few of the names that his mother is aware of.
A European-American shared some incidents she witnessed or learned about in her neighborhood. In Union City, after an off-campus shooting, the Union City police pulled together suspected gang members and their friends, all of whom were African American, for questioning. She wonders what role racism played in that roundup.
Her neighbor reported his car tagged with a gang symbol. Some of the responding police suggested the perpetrators were wannabe gang members and called them “grease monkeys” and “welfare cases.”
Another friend, a middle-aged woman from south Asia, immigrated in 1978 and became a citizen in 1986. She shared how for the first twenty-plus years she lived in the United States, she volunteered in her children’s schools, in Girl Scouts, in camps, in sports programs, and on the boards of several non-profit organizations. Then came the attacks on September 11, 2001. “It is painful to be labeled as terrorist,” she told me, “because of the 9/11 tragedy, [especially] after being a part of the American fabric for over 20 years and serving and trying to make America a better nation for all. Our loyalties are questioned every day since that tragedy by asking us to condemn those or any other terrorists acts since then, no matter who is responsible and where it happens.”
This is a woman with a deeply compassionate heart, and she told me about another incident that happened to a young Latina who worked in Starbucks. One day, my friend saw that the barista was upset and asked her what had happened. Earlier that day, a customer had asked the barista a question about school. The barista proudly told the customer that she had just graduated from high school. The customer responded, “So this is it for you because your kind do not go to college, you will get pregnant and have babies.” The barista was too stunned to respond, even though she could have said that she had a full scholarship to attend a university that fall.
These stories I’ve shared are about just one form of power that Racism takes. You know the old expression, “It’s only the tip of the iceberg.” It refers to the fact that the vast majority of an iceberg is underwater. It applies here. These overt acts of racism are the portion of the iceberg we can easily see. Below the surface there are other powers at work.
The first power we see is “Power Against” or “Power Over.” This is the power I’ve talked about so far, the power that works against people of color. When racism wields this power, it tells the shop clerk to follow that African-American kids through the store because she is suspect, that it’s okay for a cop to label a Latino kid a “grease monkey,” and that the future for a 2-year-old black boy is jail.
The second power of racism is often harder to see. It is the “Power For” people who are white. This is the power that allows me to assume I will be treated justly in the court system, or to assume that I will get a job interview based solely on the fact that my name “sounds” white. This is the power that gets me a bank loan when an equally qualified person of color doesn’t get it. It is the power that allows me to assume that I will be shown the apartment if it’s available, as assumption people of color cannot always make.
One of the people who I asked to share stories of racism told me one about a time her daughter got caught shoplifting. The mom threatened to “let them” have her arrested, and that this would ruin her chances to get into college, and there would be all kinds of consequences for her stupid actions, and (as the mom put it) “blah, blah, blah.” The mom talked about grounding, severe consequences at home that hadn’t yet been imagined. She said to the child that you need to apologize, assure the store person that you will never do anything like this again. This went on until the store person said to the mom, “Obviously, you will make sure this doesn’t happen again. Your child’s name will be kept on our records and isn’t allowed back in here.” No police report filed. No jail time. No criminal record. The daughter got to go home, got go to college. The mom points out that she and her daughter are white.
This is racism’s Power For white people at work.
So is the fact that the GI Bill made home loans available to white GIs after World War II, but not to black GIs.
One of my friends pointed out that white people general don’t acknowledge that their families have benefited from access to college educations, home loans, inherited wealth, job preferences, networking, safe travel, white-biased testing, financial and social training, etc. All this is racism’s Power For white people.
And then there’s the third power of racism, the Power that Distorts the truth: that we are each and all made in the image of God. This is the power of racism that gets deeply and perhaps I should say demonically internalized. Any time I feel better than, more than, scared of someone of darker hue, this is the result of this third power of racism distorting the truth in me.
A white friend shared with me about dating an African-American man. My friend said, “Watching women clutch their purses or actually cross the street when they walked by my beautiful and gentle boyfriend was shocking to me. Overhearing a family ask to move their seats away from our vicinity in a Black Angus restaurant was an eye-opener.” This is racism’s Power that Distorts at work. Racism distorted these strangers’ views of my friend’s boyfriend.
It is the same Power of racism at work in a friend who is of several races. He shared with me how through his adolescence he tried so hard to be white. He said, “I desperately wanted to be accepted by the White community. I wanted to be as white as possible, forsaking the color of my skin, my heritage, and my culture,” this despite the fact that his white friends often bullied him, calling him “half-breed.” Racism distorted my friend’s sense of his own full humanity and it has taken a lot of personal work to reclaim it.
Being aware of these Powers racism has is a start, but it is not enough. Some of the work that we need to do is very personal, and I’ll talk about that next week. The other work is communal work. Obviously, standing up to overt acts of racial prejudice is one way we can address racism’s Power Against. Working on policy change so that racism’s Power Against and Power For are rooted out is another activity we can engage in. For instance, we could work for criminal justice reform and an end to mass incarceration. And we as a congregation could develop partnerships with faith communities whose members are predominantly people of color.
The past sermons in this series have shown just how deeply racism runs in our culture and country. We are not going to get rid of it easily. But the more we are aware of racism’s powers, the more likely we will find ways to cast out this demonic legion that possesses us.
 Kelly Brown Douglas, “The Stories That Matter from a Black Mother to Her Son,” Sojourners, https://sojo.net/articles/faith-action/stories-matter-black-mother-her-son (posted and accessed 20 March 2017).
 Fremont, Newark, and Union City are called the “Tri-Cities” here in the San Francisco Bay Area.
 See, for instance, http://americanexperience.si.edu/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/After-the-War-Blacks-and-the-GI-Bill.pdf and http://www.demos.org/blog/11/11/13/how-gi-bill-left-out-african-americans.
A sermon preached at Niles Discovery Church, Fremont, California,
on Sunday, January 19, 2017, by the Rev. Jeffrey Spencer.
Scriptures: Matthew 16:13-28 and Isaiah 42:1-9
Copyright © 2017 by Jeffrey S. Spencer
Brian McLaren calls Jesus’ visit with his disciples to Caesarea Philippi a fieldtrip. I think that’s an interesting framing (it reinforces the idea of Jesus as a teacher) and, if nothing else, it lifts up the importance of the location.
And the location is important. Jesus and his disciples are in Caesarea Philippi, 25 miles north of their base in Galilee. The location has a long history as a place of worship. Canaanites worshiped the god Baal there. Later, the Greek god Pan was worshiped there. Eventually, the Romans replaced the Greeks and around the time of Jesus’ birth, it was part of the region the Romans had Herod the Great controlling.
When Herod the Great died, the area he ruled was divided among his surviving sons to rule. This area north and east of the Jordan was placed by the Roman emperor under Philip’s control. He changed the name of the town to Caesarea Philippi – the first part of the name honoring his patron, Caesar Augustus, the Roman emperor; the second part of the name honoring himself (can you say, “ego issues”?). The second part of the name actually did serve a practical purpose. There was another community called Caesarea on the Mediterranean coast, so calling this community Caesarea Philippi did distinguish it. But, yeah, ego issues.
Imagine what it would have been like for a rabbi to take a group of Jews to this Caesar-ville. You walk the streets and are reminded, simply by the location, that a foreign army occupies your country. You walk the streets and you are reminded that you are not free. It might be like a Native American teacher taking a group to Wounded Knee or a Japanese teacher taking a class to Hiroshima.
There in the middle of a place where many gods have been worshiped over the centuries, there in the middle of the latest Caesar-ville, Jesus asks his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” This vignette takes place in Mark and Luke as well, only the question is a little different. In Mark and Luke, Jesus asks the disciples, “Who do people (or the crowds) say that I am?” In Matthew, the question is, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” So there’s a reason Matthew uses “Son of Man.”
In Matthew’s gospel, when Jesus uses “Son of Man,” he is almost using it as a first person pronoun, so at one level Jesus is essentially asking the same question as in Mark and Luke. But that’s not the only way Matthew uses “Son of Man.” There is a strong association of “Son of Man” in Matthew’s gospel with “the Son of Man” being the judge at the end of time and of “the Son of Man” having a kingdom.
So, here we are in Caesar-ville, and Jesus is asking who the people say the final judge is. His disciples’ answers express some of the theology of the day. Maybe the Son of Man was a prophet of old. Maybe the Son of Man was John the Baptist (who has been killed by this point in Matthew’s narrative).
As I read Matthew’s version of the exchange, I feel like Jesus knows the answer he going to get to his next question. “But who do you say that I am?” The obvious answer is, “the Son of Man,” the one who will judge the nations at the end of time, the one who has the alternative kingdom. I don’t get that feeling in Mark’s and Luke’s versions, but here in Matthew’s version Jesus’ second question feels almost like a leading question.
Peter offers the answer: “You are the Messiah (or in Greek, the Christ), the Son of the living God.” Not just the Son of Man, mind you, but the Son of the living God. To our ears, this sounds like a theological claim, but given the setting, it is as much a political statement as it is a theological statement. In Greek, Christ, in Hebrew, Messiah – it means “the one anointed as liberating king.”
“To say ‘liberating king’ anywhere in the Roman empire is dangerous, even more so in a city bearing Caesar’s name. By evoking the term Christ, Peter is saying, ‘You are the liberator promised by God long ago, the one for whom we have long waited. You are King Jesus, who will liberate us from King Caesar.’
“Similarly, son of the living God takes on an incandescent glow in this setting. Caesars called themselves ‘sons of the gods,’ but Peter’s confession asserts that their false, idolatrous claim is now trumped by Jesus’ true identity as one with authority from the true and live God.”
Here’s what McLaren says about Jesus response to Peter’s confession. “[Jesus] speaks in dazzling terms of Peter’s foundational role in Jesus’ mission. ‘The gates of hell’ will not prevail against their joint project, Jesus says, using a phrase that could aptly be paraphrased ‘the authority structures and control centers of evil.’ Again, imagine the impact of those words in this politically-charged setting.”
Most (maybe even all) Jews who thought God would send the Messiah during the Roman occupation assumed the Messiah to be a liberating king by being the leader of an army – an army that would prevail against the powers that oppressed them. This is the Messiah Peter was expecting. And if Jesus truly was the Messiah, then the one thing he cannot be is defeated. He will conquer and capture the enemies. He must torture and kill the enemies. But that’s not what Jesus says will happen.
Yes, he’s going to travel south to Jerusalem, the seat of power. But he’s not going with an army and he’s not going to wage a war. He is going to be conquered, captured, tortured, and killed by the very agents of oppression that the Messiah is supposed to save them from. And then be raised.
But Peter doesn’t seem to hear that last part. He takes Jesus aside. That’s not the way the story is supposed to go. “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” “Like most of his countrymen, Peter knows with unquestioned certainty that God will send a Messiah to lead an armed uprising to defeat and expel the occupying Roman regime and all who collaborate with it. But no, Jesus says. That way of thinking is human, Satanic, the opposite of God’s plan.”
Since the beginning, Jesus has taught a different way, a third way to over come the principalities and powers. If you’re not a part of the Adult Sunday School class, I encourage you to join. And if you can’t join, I encourage you to read the book they are reading and discussing anyway. They are about halfway through The Powers That Be, by Walter Wink, and in it Wink speaks directly to today’s gospel lesson.
“The Domination System,” he says, “grows out of the fundamental belief that violence must be used to overcome violence.” Thus, the Domination System is stuck in a cycle of violence. As a program to overcome the Domination System, the kin-dom of God must overcome this cycle of violence, so that is what Jesus did. That is why Jesus said that he is going to Jerusalem and why he would be killed. The cross laid bare the domination system and refused to play its game of cycling violence.
“When the Powers That Be [that’s Wink’s term for the principalities and powers of oppression] catch the merest whiff of God’s new order, they automatically mobilize all their might to crush it. Even before the full fury of the Powers was unleashed on Jesus, he apparently predicted the outcome of the confrontation [as we heard in today’s scripture lesson]. The Powers are so immense, and the opposition so weak, that every attempt at fundamental change seems doomed to failure. Merely winning does not satisfy the Powers; they must win big, in order to demoralize opposition before it can gain momentum. Gratuitous violence, mocking derision, and intimidating brutality in the means of execution typify the Power – all this is standard, unexceptional. Jesus died just like all the others who challenged the world-dominating Power.
“Something went awry in Jesus’ case, however. The Powers scourged him with whips, but each stroke of the lash unveiled their own illegitimacy. They mocked him with a robe and a crown of thorns, spitting on him and striking him on the head with a reed, ridiculing him with the ironic ovation, ‘Hail, King of the Jews!’ – not knowing how their acclamation would echo down the centuries. They stripped him naked and crucified him in humiliation, all unaware that this very act had stripped the Powers of the last covering that disguised the towering wrongness of the whole way of life that their violence defended. They nailed him to the cross, not realizing that with each hammer’s blow they were nailing up, for the whole world to see, the affidavit by which the Domination System would be condemned.”
We heard our invitation to participate in this work in our gospel lesson. “Then Jesus told his disciples, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.’” Wink interprets this for us: “One does not become free from the Powers by defeating them in a frontal attack. Rather, one dies to their control … [W]e are liberated, not by striking back at what enslaves us – for even striking back reveals that we are still controlled by violence – but by a willingness to die rather than submit to its command.…
“We must die to such things as racism, false patriotism, greed, and homophobia. We must, in short, die to the Domination System in order to live authentically.”
What Wink is saying is just as paradoxical as what Jesus said: “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” But, as Wink points out, “Dying to the Power is not, finally, a way of saving our souls, but of making ourselves expendable in the divine effort to rein in the recalcitrant Powers. When Jesus said, ‘Those who try to make their life secure will lose it, but those who lose their life will keep it’ (Luke 17:33), he drew a line in the sand and asked if we would step across – step out of one entire world, where violence is always the ultimate solution, into another world, where the spiral of violence is finally broken by those willing to absorb its impact with their own flesh. That approach to living is nonviolence, Jesus’ ‘third way.’”
Jesus’ third way is intensely powerful. It is a way that is alternative to both the way of remaining victim and the way of participating in the cycle of violence. It is a way that both refused to submit to evil and to oppose evil on its own terms. It is a way that is both assertive and nonviolent. It is the way of the kin-dom of God.
I’ve spoken of it before, so I won’t go into much detail here. I would like to share an example of how it is at work today.
Erdem Gunduz was called “the standing man of Turkey.” His story goes back to June of 2013. The Turkish government had cleared Taksim Square after weeks of clashes with the police. That “might have seemed like the end of it for many protesters, until [this] lone man decided to take a stand, literally, against the government. For more than six hours [one] Monday night, Erdem Gunduz stood motionless in Taksim Square, passively ignoring any prodding or harassment from police and people passing by.” He stood alone for hours, and then other people began to join him, silently staring toward the cultural center. By midnight, several hundred people had joined Gunduz’s protest.
“As word of the standing man spread across the Internet, Turks adopted the hashtag #duranadam, which means ‘standing man’ in Turkish. Before long, people in other parts of Turkey began their own standing protests in solidarity with the man.”
The Standing Man of Turkey and those who followed his lead did not stop the domination system in their country. But they found a way to resist it, to refuse both to be victims of it and to be participants in its violence. They found Jesus’ third way.
When theologian and historian Diana Butler Bass looks at what is going on in this nation and in other countries (especially in western Europe), she see troubling evidence of the domination system at work. She says that there are many causes, including economic anxiety, racism, generalized fear, misogyny, etc. “But,” she says, “this has been primarily motivated by a idolatrous vision of God – one that believes God is a white-skinned, gendered Judge, Father, and King who sits on a throne in heaven. They want that God to punish their enemies, heretics, and evildoers, and bless them, His faithful people, with material prosperity and power – and to return everything to their imagined vision of Eden.
“It isn’t that complicated. There was deep appeal to a myth, the primary myth at the center of European Christianity.
“Through time, this myth was rejected by many – mystics, saints, and seers – but was perpetrated by a church of the rich and powerful. We are living in that story still. A story where the empire of wealth uses a convenient God to enslave the many; and where a sacred resistance grows to protest on behalf of truly God – the One who is Compassion, Who is Love.
“Jesus hates that we have used him in service to a myth of power. For he came and still cries out against this idolatry.”
Now, as we move into our time of quiet, I invite you to reflect on …
… anything from the sermon or scripture that caught your attention; or
… a time when you were completely certain about something, and then you realized you were completely (or at least partly) wrong; or
… what it means for you to take up your cross and follow Jesus in your life and in the midst of current events; or
… this: Imagine you are Peter after he hears the words, “Get behind me, Satan!” Listen for ways your thinking is out of sync with God’s ways. Imagine what you would want to say to Jesus in reply.
 This is also McLaren’s term.
 The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible, Vol. 5 (Nashville: Abington Press, 2009) s.v. “Son of Man,” 345.
 McLaren, op. cit., 117.
 Ibid, 117-118.
 Ibid, 118.
 Walter Wink, The Powers That Be, (New York: Doubleday, 1998), 91.
 Ibid, 82-83.
 Ibid, 93-95.
 Ibid. 97.
 See Chapter 5 of The Powers That Be for a full explanation of Jesus’ third way.
 Andy Carvin, “The ‘Standing Man’ Of Turkey: Act Of Quiet Protest Goes Viral,” The Two Way, http://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2013/06/18/193183899/the-standing-man-of-turkey-act-of-quiet-protest-goes-viral (posted 18 June 2013; accessed 16 February 2017).
 Diana Butler Bass, Facebook post on 7 February 2017 https://www.facebook.com/Diana.Butler.Bass/posts/10154577500398500 (accessed 18 February 2017). I have changed what she had as ALL CAPS to italics.
A sermon preached at Niles Discovery Church, Fremont, California,
on Sunday, July 24, 2016, by the Rev. Jeffrey Spencer.
Scriptures: Ephesians 6:10-20 and Acts 4:1-22
Copyright © 2016 by Jeffrey S. Spencer
Martin Luther gets the credit for writing the lyrics to our opening hymn. He also gets credit for the tune, though some the tune was one sung at local bars, and originally had much less pomp and a lot more swing.
Some people have an immediate negative reaction to the hymn. They don’t like all the language about evil.
“For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe,
with craft and power are great, and armed with cruel hate,
on earth is not his equal.”
Oh, we are doomed by the craft and power of the great adversary.
“And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us,
we will not fear for God has willed the truth to triumph through us.
The powers of darkness grim, we tremble not for them;
their rage we can endure, for lo, their doom is sure,
one little word shall fell them.”
That word, we learn in verse 4, is Christ.
The world Luther describes in this hymn is one in which a great struggle is taking place between the forces of evil and the forces of good. “Pish posh,” some say. “The world is the world and these notions of spirits is poppycock.” And I joined them for a time, until I got to reading Walter Wink.
Walter Wink’s seminal work is, I think, his trilogy of books on power. Heavy reading – a little heavier than I was willing to do. Then, in 1998, he wrote The Powers that Be, an accessible distillation of this previous work about power. This is from the introduction.
“All of us deal with the Powers That Be. They staff our hospitals, run City Hall, sit around tables in corporate boardrooms, collect our taxes, and head our families. But the Powers That Be are more than just the people who run things. They are the systems themselves, the institutions and structures that weave society into an intricate fabric of power and relationships. These Powers surround us on every side. They are necessary. They are useful. We could do nothing without them. Who wants to do without timely mail delivery or well-maintained roads? But the Powers are also the source of unmitigated evils.
“A corporation routinely dumps known carcinogens into a river that is the source of drinking water for towns downstream. Another industry attempts to hook children into addiction to cigarettes despite evidence that a third of them will die prematurely from smoking-related illnesses. A dictator wages war against his own citizens in order to maintain his grasp on power. A contractor pays off a building inspector so he can violate code and put up a shoddy and possibly unsafe structure. A power plant exposes its employees to radioactive poisoning; the employee who attempts to document these safety infractions is forced off the road by another car and dies. All her documents are missing.
“Welcome to the world of the Powers.”
The powers that be can promote goodness or evil. As Wink pointed out, when the powers make sure everyone in a community has access to emergency medical services, the powers are working for good. When, in an effort to save the municipality money (which a first glance is a good thing), the powers allow the water system in Flint, Michigan, to be and remain poisoned, the powers are working for evil.
The powers, Wink points out, “are not merely the people in power or the institutions they staff. Managers are, in fact, more or less interchangeable. Most people in managerial positions would tend to make the same sorts of moves. A great many of their decisions are being made for them by the logic of the market, the pressures of competition, and/or the cost of workers. Executives can be more humane. But a company owner who decides to raise salaries and benefits will soon face challenges from competitors who pay less. Greater forces are at work – unseen Powers – that shape the present and dictate the future.”
Traditional Christian religious imagery personifies these powers as angels and demons fluttering about in the sky. But we don’t need to embrace that literalism to embrace the reality of the spiritual forces that are at work, impinging on and in some cases determining our lives. Instead, we can acknowledge that spiritual forces are real, though not embodied in spiritual beings fluttering about in the sky. “The Powers That Be are not, then, simply people and their institutions …; they also include the spirituality at the core of those institutions and structures. If we want to change those systems, we will have to address not only their outer forms, but their inner spirit as well.”
But how? How do we change the systems?
Our natural responses to being confronted by evil are reflexive: fight or flight. Flight changes nothing. Can fight change things?
“Unjust systems,” Wink writes, “perpetuate themselves by means of institutionalized violence. For example, racial segregation in the southeastern United States was supported by Jim Crow laws, state and local police, the court and penal systems, and extralegal acts of terrorism – all sustained, passively or actively, by the vast majority of white citizens. Blacks who ‘stepped out of line’ were savagely exterminated. Against such monolithic Powers it was and is tempting to use violence in response. But we have repeatedly seen how those who fight domination with violence become as evil as those who they oppose. How, then, can we overcome evil without doing evil – and becoming evil ourselves?”
Fight or flight are only two options. Jesus offers a third way that is both practical and spiritual, the way of nonviolence.
Last week, I talked about how we are invited to be co-conspirators with the Holy Spirit to bring blessings to the world. Sometimes this means confronting the powers that be. Sometimes this means confronting the evil in the world, and not just the cruel behavior of individuals, but the evil of systems that oppress and even kill.
The big challenge for me is making sure I don’t become what I’m opposing. It’s so easy to convince myself “that evil is over there among them, and only moral rightness is here among us. In this accusatory state of mind, focused so exclusively on the faults of [my] counterparts, [I] become utterly blind to [my] own deteriorating innocence and disintegrating morality.”
It is so easy to think that the evil must be destroyed; that’s what the “fight” response tells us; it is what the myth of redemptive violence tells us. Following Jesus’ third way is not easy. Jesus calls us to pray for our enemies, not to destroy them. The goal is not the destruction of our enemies, but their transformation.
I don’t know how Paul figured this out, but he did. Brian McLaren wrote, “[Paul] kept reminding the disciples that they … were struggling against invisible systems and structures of evil that possess and control flesh-and-blood people. The real enemies back then and now are invisible realities like racism, greed, fear, ambition, nationalism, religious supremacy, and the like – forces that capture decent people and pull their strings as if they were puppets to make them do terrible things.” Listen again to what Paul told the Ephesians:
“Put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to withstand on that evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm. Stand therefore, and fasten the belt of truth around your waist, and put on the breastplate of righteousness. As shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace. With all of these, take the shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.”
This is the armor of the nonviolent activist. This is the armor of Jesus’ third way. The power we, as disciples of Jesus, are supposed to embrace and use is Spirit Power. This is not the power of this world. This is not the power of military might. This is not the power of being ‘over’ another. This is the power that brings God’s truth and love, the only real power that can save.
Listen to McLaren again: “Where unholy, unhealthy spirits or value systems judge and accuse, the Holy Spirit inspires compassion and understanding. Where unholy, unhealthy spirits or movements drive people toward harming others, the Holy Spirit leads us to boldly and compassionately stand up for those being harmed. Where unholy, unhealthy spirits or ideologies spread propaganda and misinformation, the Holy Spirit boldly speaks the simply truth. Where unholy, unhealthy spirits or mind-sets spread theft, death, and destruction, God’s Holy Spirit spreads true aliveness.”
If you’re like me, you’re probably wondering what this looks like. Well, let me share a story. “In the spring of 1939, 47-year-old Paul Grüninger was a middle-level police official in St. Gallen, a picturesque Swiss town near the Austrian border. The son of middle-class parents who ran a local cigar shop and a mediocre student who enjoyed the soccer field more than his studies, Grüninger became an unprepossessing man of quiet conventionality. After dutifully serving time in the Swiss army in World War I, he obtained a teaching diploma, settled into a position at an elementary school, attended church on Sundays and married Alice Federer, a fellow teacher.
“To please both his mother and Alice, Grüninger applied for a better-paying position in the police department, a job that involved mainly filling out reports and arranging security details for occasional visiting dignitaries. Or so it seemed.
“In April 1939, Grüninger found his way to work blocked by a uniformed officer who told him: ‘Sir, you no longer have the right to enter these premises.’ An investigation had revealed that Grüninger was secretly altering the documents of Jews fleeing Austria for the safety of Switzerland. ‘Non-Aryan’ refugees were not allowed to cross the border after August 19, 1938, but all it took was a few strokes of Grüninger’s pen to predate the passport and perhaps save a life, a small action but one of great personal risk.
“Grüninger was dismissed from his position, ordered to turn in his uniform and subjected to criminal charges. The authorities spread false rumors that Grüninger had demanded sexual favors from those he aided. Disgraced as a law breaker and shunned by his neighbors, Grüninger peddled raincoats and animal feed until he died in poverty in 1972.”
That’s what following Jesus’ third way looks like.
And it looks like the Israeli soldier who refuses to serve if deployed to the occupied territories. And it looks like the Wall Street whistleblower who can’t find a job anymore in finance. And it looks like the Serb who kept identifying his Croat neighbors with Serbian names to keep them from getting swept up and killed during the Yugoslav Wars.
“As we walk this road together, we are being prepared and strengthened for struggle. We’re learning to cut the strings of ‘unholy spirits’ that have been our puppet masters in the past. We’re learning to be filled, led, and guided, not by a spirit of fear but by the Holy Spirit instead … a spirit of power, love, and a sound mind to face with courage whatever crises may come.”
Now, as we move into our time of quiet reflection, I invite you to reflect on …
… anything from the sermon or scripture that caught your attention, or
… a time where you suffered in some way for standing up for what was right, or when someone else paid a price for standing up for you, or
… the idea that racism, revenge, religious supremacy, tribalism, political partisanship, fear, or economic greed can “possess” people, or
… your life as a tree in a storm: imagine deep roots, a strong trunk, and flexible branches, and after holding this image for a few moments, ask God for the strength to stand bold and strong against whatever adversity may come.
 “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God”
 Walter Wink, The Powers That Be (New York: Doubleday, 1998), 1-2.
 Ibid, 2-3.
 Ibid, 4.
 Ibid, 7.
 Ephesians 6:11-17, NRSV.
 McLaren, op. cit.
 Thomas G. Long, “Faith Matters: Small acts of courage,” Christian Century (2 May 2012): 47.
 Susan Gardner, “Book discussion: Eyal Press’ ‘Beautiful Souls’ … and whether Edward Snowden is one of them,” Daily Kos, http://www.dailykos.com/story/2013/6/16/1215736/-Book-discussion-Eyal-Press-Beautiful-Souls-and-whether-Edward-Snowden-is-one-of-them (posted 16 June 2013; accessed 23 July 2016).
 McLaren, op. cit.
A sermon preached at Niles Discovery Church, Fremont, California,
on Sunday, January 26, 2014, by the Rev. Jeffrey Spencer.
Scripture: 1 Corinthans 1:10-18
Copyright © 2014 by Jeffrey S. Spencer
I went to see Starstruck Theatre’s production of “Peter Pan” on Thursday. It was an impressive performance – which is exactly what I’ve come to expect from Starstruck. And as I watched the show, I thought to myself, “Yeah, this is going into my sermon on Sunday.”
I suspect you know the basic storyline of “Peter Pan.” If you don’t, I apologize in advance for this spoiler. Peter is a boy who refuses to grow up and, thanks to fairy dust, is able to fly. He has a tendency to fly from Never-Neverland to England to peep into windows to see how children with real mothers live. One day, he meets the Darling children, teaches them to fly, and takes them to Never-Neverland, where they join the Lost Boys and Wendy Darling ends up pretending to be their mother.
Now, on the Island of Never-Neverland, there are some fairies (including Tinkerbell), the Lost Boys (led by Peter Pan), the pirates (led by Captain Hook), and an Indian tribe (led by Tiger Lily). The Lost Boys, the Pirates, and the Indians are all in conflict with each other, but the Lost Boys and the Indians form an alliance when Peter saves Tiger Lily and Tiger Lily saves Peter. Now the conflict is two-sided, and the Pirates end up defeating the Indians and then capturing the boys (including the Darlings). There’s a battle and, thanks to the intervention of the crocodile, Hook jumps overboard and Peter throws some dynamite after him (at least in this production).
Ka-boom. The end.
Except it’s not, because the Darlings go home with many of the Lost Boys who are adopted into the Darling family. Peter, who refused to grow up, doesn’t go. And he doesn’t come to visit Wendy, like he had promised. So Wendy grows up and Peter doesn’t. Then Peter finally does return and teaches Wendy’s daughter to fly, and we assume to go off to Never-Neverland where the story of the conflict between the Lost Boys, the Indians, and the Pirates will be repeated.
The psychology of the story is pretty messed up. There seem to be Oedipal issues, issues about growing up, etc. Those aren’t the issues that interest me today. What interested me is how the story utilizes the myth of redemptive violence without even thinking about it.
What is the myth of redemptive violence? I’m glad you asked. The myth of redemptive violence is, quite simply, the belief that violence saves. According to Walter Wink, the “Myth of Redemptive Violence is the real myth of the modern world. It, and not Judaism or Christianity or Islam, is the dominant religion in our society today.”
I would argue that the myth of redemptive accumulation is the other dominant religion in our society. This is the myth that the accumulation of stuff, especially wealth, saves. But certainly the two are the primary, operative myths in our culture.
Look at how pervasive the myth of redemptive violence is. How is the conflict in Never-Neverland solved? Violence. Except the solution is only temporary. That’s what make the myth of redemptive violence so enticing. In the short term, violence might actually protect, so it appears to save. But it doesn’t. Peter Pan and Wendy’s daughter return Never-Neverland and the cycle of violence is repeated.
The Popeye cartoons are based solely on the myth of redemptive violence. “In a typical segment, Bluto abducts a screaming and kicking Olive Oyl, Popeye’s girlfriend. When Popeye attempts to rescue her, the massive Bluto beats his diminutive opponent to a pulp, while Olive Oyl helplessly wrings her hands. At the last moment, as our hero oozes to the floor, and Bluto is trying, in effect, to rape Olive Oyl, a can of spinach pops from Popeye’s pocket and spills into his mouth. Transformed by this gracious infusion of power, he easily demolishes the villain and rescues his beloved. The format never varies. Neither party ever gains any insight or learns from these encounters. They never sit down and discuss their differences. Repeated defeats do not teach Bluto to honour Olive Oyl’s humanity, and repeated pummellings do not teach Popeye to swallow his spinach before the fight.”
It is not only in children’s literature that the myth of redemptive violence holds sway. Consider how easily our nation goes to war. But the invasion of Granada didn’t save us from communism. The invasion of Panama didn’t save us from the ravages of drug addiction. The invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan haven’t ended terrorism.
Think about the pressure President Obama was under to invade Syria. And in many ways he is still under that pressure. Why? Because people believe that violence will save us.
It is important to point out that the myth of redemptive violence isn’t new. Walter Wink has traced it back to the Babylonian creation stories that are over 3,200 years old. There in the stories of Apsu, Tiamat, and Marduk, the myth of redemptive violence is holding sway. And in Jesus’ time, the myth was equally a part of the Roman psyche.
The myth of redemptive violence is so strong that it has led Christianity to misinterpret the meaning of the crucifixion. It is a common human instinct to try to make meaning out of senseless events. A child develops a cancer and dies. It is a meaningless event. It doesn’t mean anything; it’s just tragic. The actions of the child and the child’s parents, family, and friends leading up to the death mean something, but the death itself is meaningless.
A rabbi is executed by the state. The death itself doesn’t mean anything; it’s just tragic. The actions leading up to the death by the rabbi, the government, the rabbi’s friends, and society at large (and, I would add, the actions of God before and after the death) have meaning, but the execution itself is meaningless. Unless you look at the death through the myth of redemptive violence. The myth of redemptive violence says that violence can save us, so violence of the execution must have salvific meaning. Surely the rabbi’s blood being spilt saves us, the myth says.
So, by the third century, we get Origen explaining the meaning of the rabbi’s death – it’s a ransom payment to Satan to free humanity from the bondage of inherited sin. And by the 11th century, we get Anselm explaining the meaning of the rabbi’s death – it’s the payment of a debt to God owed by people for their sinfulness. So it’s a punishment meted out upon a substitute that brings us into rightrelationship with God – penal substitutionary atonement.
But let’s go back to the early church. In the gospel of Mark – the first of the gospels to be written, probably some 30 years after the crucifixion – Jesus speaks of the cross and ties it to the meaning of discipleship: “If any want to be my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me” (Mark 8:34).
Think for a moment what the cross meant for those who were listening to Jesus and for those who were hearing Mark’s gospel. “Ched Myers puts it this way: ‘The cross in Mark’s day was neither religious icon nor metaphor for personal anguish or humility. It had only one meaning: that terrible form of capital punishment reserved by imperial Rome for political dissenters.’ Myers goes on: ‘The cross was a common sight in the revolutionary Palestine of Mark’s time; in this recruiting call, the disciple is invited to reckon with the consequences facing those who dare to challenge the hegemony [the domination and control] of imperial Rome.’
“With this ominous invitation, the cost of discipleship got much, much bigger. Embracing Jesus means embracing that cross. Mark doesn’t say it, but I suspect that after these words, the crowds around Jesus got smaller.”
Paul takes up the theme of the cross in his first letter to the church at Corinth, in the passage we heard today: “For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God” (1 Corinthians 1:18). Taking up the cross and following Jesus not only entails great cost, it is also viewed by the world as an utterly foolish thing to do. Yet it is where the power of God lies.
Think for a moment about Martin Luther King, Jr. He was a man who understood the falsehood of the myth of redemptive violence. Violence was not going to and is not going to save our nation from the sin of racism. So, as a disciple of Jesus, he took up is cross and dared to challenge the hegemony of racism nonviolently. Utter foolishness. Except it worked. We made great progress, until racist thought that they could save racism by killing King. But violence doesn’t save, and anti-racism work continues.
“If I’m honest with myself – perhaps if we are all honest with ourselves – there are ways in which we, each in our own way, resist the foolishness of the cross. The cross, Paul says, seems like foolishness to the part of us that is attached to the world, the part of us that is perishing. The cross is God’s foolishness and is wiser than our wisdom. The cross is God’s weakness and is stronger than our strength. Yet to the part of us that [has been indoctrinated] with the assumptions and values of our culture, the cross doesn’t make sense. Rarely do we choose to be foolish or weak.
“Will Willimon has asked some good questions about this foolishness of the cross. What kind of sense does it make to worship a God who, instead of rescuing us out of trouble, rescues us by entering into the trouble with us? A God who, instead of helping us to avoid pain, heals us from our pain by entering the depths of our pain with us? A God who, instead of fixing things for us, addresses them by becoming weak with us in our weakness?
“But this is the [foolish power] of the cross. All of us know pain and grief and disappointment in our lives. Our human wisdom wants a God who will heal us and make us feel better. The foolishness of the cross is a God who enters into our pain and bears our pain with us. To the part of us that is human and perishing, this is incomprehensible and we want something more. But to the part of us that is [human and] being saved, it is the very power of God.
“And even more foolishly, this very same God expects us to do the same with each other: to enter into each other’s pain, to bear each other’s burdens and those of the world around us. To the world, that is an utterly foolish way to live, but to those who embrace the cross, who take up their cross and follow Jesus, and who are ready to lose their lives to save their lives, it is the only way to live. It is the power of God within us.
“Each of us bears the responsibility, daily, of taking the cross more and more upon our selves, losing ourselves and finding ourselves in the process.
“If we want to take Jesus seriously, if we want to go deeper in our discipleship, we must follow in the way of God’s [foolish power.] That’s where God calls us to be.
“As Frederick Buechner writes: ‘In terms of human wisdom, Jesus was a perfect fool. And if you think you can follow him without making something like the same kind of fool of yourself, you are laboring not under the cross, but a delusion.’”
 Starstruck is a community children’s theatre in Fremont. http://www.starstrucktheatre.org
 Walter Wink, “Facing the Myth of Redemptive Violence,” Ekklesia, http://www.ekklesia.co.uk/content/cpt/article_060823wink.shtml (posted 21 May 2012, accessed 22 January 2014).
 See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ransom_theory_of_atonement for much more detail about this.
 Joe Roos, “The Foolishness of the Cross,” Sojourners, http://sojo.net/preaching-the-word/foolishness-cross (accessed 19 January 2014).
 Ibid. Yeah, I know it’s a long quote, but when you find something that’s written well and makes the point you want to make, why not just use it. I did modify it a bit [in brackets] to replace a word so it would be more understandable and to make it echo the sermon title [replacing “foolishness” with “foolish power”].