And the Papers, They Were Signed and Said: They'd Never Fight Again

This is my unedited Sermon from Feb 23. I delivered it without the Star Wars bit, but I think it adds more to the feelings I wanted to put forth. Without further ado, here you be:

Ninth Grade (or thereabouts) me...

Ninth Grade. Those of you currently in 9^th grade and older know that feeling. What feeling? The feeling of being in Ninth Grade of course. You’re in that awkward phase of puberty, where nothing sounds or fits just right, and sometimes, you just do stupid things. Okay, so we all do stupid things now and again, but the frequency of stupid things happening seems to increase once you hit Junior High (or is it senior high here?) Well, okay. I was in Junior High at Morris Area High School. There were about 500 students in the entire high school, 7-12grade. I graduated with 72. Of that 72, I was the on the bottom of the social proverbial barrel. I was probably one of the most awkward children in 9^th grade, and that didn’t help my social status. So, being the bottom of the proverbial barrel, kids picked on me. Frequently. There was this kid Rick that would smack me so hard on the arm, I’d have bruises. I didn’t hit back, for my arms were even more flimsy than they are now. No, I didn’t hit back. I followed one of the lessons of today’s Gospel. I ‘turned the other cheek’ in a manner of speaking. I would turn so he would then hit my other arm… Yeah… It doesn’t work so well. By following Christ’s example, I ended up with two bruised arms instead of one. There’s bound to be some sort of logic involved in there right?

“Turn the other cheek.” “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” Some of you have heard these phrases before. But how many of you are willing to do so? How many of you are willing to lay down your pride so that your enemy may persecute you more? Is that the point? Is that the lesson Christ is teaching us? Pray for those who persecute you…

Ninth grade is an awkward time to be pondering these questions. Ninth grade is an awkward time anyway. You’re somewhere in that liminal period between Junior and Senior High, with some kids still acting like teenagers and yet some are growing full beards. Guess which one I was. For most of my grade school years, my mother was the youth director at the church, and we were always at church on Sundays, rain or shine, no snow or driving blizzard. We lived ten miles north of town, on the edge of nowhere, so there were some Sundays where all five of us piled into the front seat of the clunky old pickup truck just to make it to church. We were always at church on Sundays, so I’d slowly absorb some of what the lessons were saying. I apparently absorbed today’s lesson right around 9^th grade. I distinctly remember thinking “turn the other cheek” when Rick would hit me, hoping the kid might find some heart in not hitting me a second time. Nope. I wore two bruises, because I was being righteous. I was being the man I thought I should be.

“But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous.” (Matthew 5:44-45)

All was quiet on the western front, in faraway fields in 1914. German and Allied soldiers who were shooting at each other for days, gave an impromptu ceasefire on Christmas Eve that lasted until Boxing Day (December 26^th). During that ceasefire, they celebrated Christmas together. Sworn enemies that had been fighting for months on end shared meals and song together, all with the bodies of their friends around them; the bodies of men that were shot by the very men that were now celebrating Christmas together. The soldiers came together; put aside the politics and the warmongering, and became a community, all across the western front; for at least a day or two. But, Christmas came and went, and on December the 26^th, fighting resumed, for another four years. For those brief hours of celebrating the birth of our Savior, community was formed, and peace ruled the land. They loved their enemy, at least for a while.

Fast forward a bit. I was a senior in high school, and our choir was putting on a talent show. I wanted to play guitar in front of everyone, but I’d never played in front of anyone before really, so this was my big break. It was 2007. The American military had been engaged in the Middle East for my entire high school career (and as it turns out, my entire college career so far…). As a bleeding heart socialist in a conservative community, I was the sheep in the pack of wolves that was Morris Area High School. They were in a way, “my political enemies” I could have played something antagonistic, but I chose a different path. I chose a better way. Again, I turned the other cheek. I knew what I wanted to play, but I had to pass it with the choir teacher. Mr. K knew me well enough to know that I was going to sing something political. He was pleasantly surprised when I presented him with a song from 1950.

Ed McCurdy wrote, “Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream” in 1950. It has been covered many times since, and I heard it from the Chad Mitchell Trio. It’s amazing such a song can be so timeless, but I got up there, in front of everyone, and I sang these words of peace:

Last night I had the strangest dream

I'd ever dreamed before

I dreamed the world had all agreed

To put an end to war

I dreamed I saw a mighty room

The room was filled with men

And the paper they were signing said

They'd never fight again

And when the paper was all signed

And a million copies made

They all joined hands and bowed their heads

And grateful prayers were prayed

And the people in the streets below

Were dancing 'round and 'round

And guns and swords and uniforms

Were scattered on the ground

Last night I had the strangest dream

I'd never dreamed before

I dreamed the world had all agreed

To put an end to war.

From that fateful night...

I sang those words, in front of all of my friends, their parents, and half of Morris. With my foot rapidly quivering the entire time, I proclaimed to those gathered there, that we should indeed put an end to these wars. Enough was enough. Seven years later, Iraq no longer has major American military presence, and we’re hopefully leaving Afghanistan this summer.

            

Return with me, to a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. This time, we meet Luke Skywalker on the ice planet of Hoth, (similar to the climate we currently reside in) freezing to death. He had just had an altercation with a large monster and was losing consciousness. Before he loses coherency, Luke hears Obi-Wan calling from the distance. Obi-Wan instructs Luke to head to the Dagobah system to learn the ways of force from Yoda.

            

A giant battle soon ensues; Luke and the Rebels flee from the Empire’s attack of the planet, and Luke ventures off to learn the force from Yoda. Yoda, a once proud Grand General of the Republic, is hiding out on this planet far, far away from the clutches of the Emperor’s grasp. Luke crash lands on this swampy planet, and soon discovers Yoda. After a discussion or two with Yoda and Obi-Wan, Luke begins to learn the ways of the force from Yoda. He carries Yoda around on his back, lifts rocks using the force, and learns to hone his skills. Yoda then tells Luke, “A Jedi uses the Force for knowledge and defense, never for attack” 

Later on, Luke is sitting with Yoda, when he feels a disturbance, and he wants to check it out. Yoda tells Luke, “Your weapons, you will not need them.” But he takes them anyway. Luke wanders around in the swamp for a while, and then sees him. Darth Vader: the man who killed his father (or so Luke thinks). Vader draws his lightsaber. Luke draws his. A slow motion lightsaber duel ensues, and Luke soon chops Vader’s head off. Too easy. Vader’s head rolls on the ground, and then, a cloud of smoke. Underneath Vader’s shattered mask is not Vader’s face, but Luke’s. This surreal vision was only the manifestation of Luke’s daringness to bring his weapons. The idea was that if Luke continued down his aggressive path, Luke would become what he hated most: Darth Vader.

Christ didn’t say “Turn the other cheek” because he wanted us to be weak willed. A classmate of mine explained that in those days, for a person to slap another once in public was an outrage, but for a person to slap another a second time, on the other cheek, meant that the slapper was the one disgraced. They went over the line. Christ wasn’t telling us to not fight back, but that the slap shouldn’t happen at all. To slap another twice was more disgraceful for the slapper than for the abused. “Pray for those who persecute you” isn’t a commandment of defense, or to make yourself feel better, it’s a commandment of ending violence. If we truly followed the “Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth”, we’d all be blind and in need of dental surgery. If we only turned the other cheek, and prayed for those persecuting us, we’ll still have those two bruised arms. This text is not about the perpetuation of violence, but about a call to END the violence.

In a country where many are killed due to gun violence; where many are abused by their partners; where kids are picked on at school; we need to implement a change. Christ commands us to find a better way.

Remember that February is Black History Month. Remember the sacrifices Martin Luther King Jr. and others made to end the violence in this country. There are better ways of resolving conflict. Christ told us this 2000 years ago, and think of all the wars since then that have been waged in His name. Find a better way folks. Don’t just turn the other cheek, but pray for those who persecute you to stop the persecution, to find a better way.

I leave you with a video of a recording of John Denver and the Chad Mitchell Trio singing "Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream"

Hermeneutical Heresies

Two weeks have passed (and then some) of my first Spring Semester here at Luther Seminary. As a quick rundown, here are my classes:

Synoptic Gospels: Mark
Pastoral Care
Creation and the Triune God
Early and Medieval Church History
Rural Church Administration (second half of the semester)

And, because it's been a while since I've written in my blog, here's an update:

Over J-Term, I worked a lot at church, stayed home with Sam for the 5 (FIVE!!!) Snow (Frigid cold) days, worked on Greek and Hebrew (not as much as I would have liked), and played a fair amount of video games... (I stocked up because I don't really have time now...)

Also, I've asked my Rabbi, Joseph Edelheit to be my Spiritual Director as a request from my Candidacy Committee. He is happy to proclaim to folks he introduces me to that I had to request permission from the Dean of Students to have a retired Rabbi as my Spiritual Director. It's an honor to have him guiding me through my next few years at seminary, and I thoroughly enjoy our conversations together.

I'm also in the process of finding a counselor, also as part of my candidacy process. Hooray! The last time I was placed in front of a counselor (besides Mr. Graves giving me advice on college) was when my parent's divorced and the three of us went to Lutheran Social Services in Alexandria to talk about said divorce. None of us said much of anything, and the counselor got frustrated with us, so, we didn't return. That was my last formal counseling meeting. (again, besides pre-marital counseling with Tiffany and Pr. Randy)

I also purchased my first truck, a blue 97 Dodge Dakota. It's pretty, runs reasonably fine, and it was reasonably cheap in comparison to everything else. The 4WD has also come in handy, especially in our own parking lot. I've had to use it at least on 3 occasions, and it looks like I'll get to use it again tomorrow. Hooray!

SO, with these new additions to my already hectic life, spring oughta come real quick. Spring... it seems like such a long ways off, especially considering the amount of snow expected to pile on tomorrow. But, there are 40's in the forecast, so ya know... who knows.

On that note, let's (the obligatory hortatory subjunctive) begin. I wanted to officially start off this post with two definitions tonight:

First, Hermeneutic: a method or principle of interpretation
Second, Heresy: a belief or opinion that does not agree with the official belief or opinion of a particular religion. (In the original Greek, αἵρεσις means choice)

Ya know... Lots of choices...

I need to commit heresy. I need to commit a(n) hermeneutical heresy(ies) against myself. Yep. Let me explain. A little more than a week ago, I had a wonderful conversation with Joseph (my Rabbi) as part of my Spiritual Direction (it's really become a lot of life direction as well). (I should write a book someday...) (maybe without all of these J.D.-esque parenthetical thoughts everywhere...)

Anyway, we were conversing about my most recent sermon on Vocation, and he had suggested that I needed to revise it. He suggested that I needed to re-frame the thought as not a single moment of calling, but an entire lifetime of calling. Thus, I should not have focused solely on Luke's calling from Ben as a one time moment, but more of a constant calling of saving the galaxy.

How Luke goes from this guy...

  To this guy...

And to finally this guy...

So as to not show that Luke has only one time in his life that he's called, but that he has had multiple times in which that he is called, to show much more of a story. The idea is, that we are each called not once, but multiple times throughout our lives.

To put it in perspective, I feel that I've been called to be a campus pastor. I have an entire Call Story that goes with that calling. But I only focus on that time at the stoplight with the garlic bread. (If you don't know about the garlic bread story, I'll tell you sometime...)

Joseph also suggested that I should not be so sure of my calling; that my confidence in my call may be a cover for anxiety and fear of what lies ahead. My confidence as to my role in life may not be so confident after all...

And this my friends, is where I commit my heresy.

You see, my CYF professor, Andy Root, explained hermeneutics perfectly this way: he had our class take our forefingers, hold them above our head, and spin them in a circle clockwise (you can try this if you want), watching them spin clockwise. Then, he had us slowly lower our fingers below our nose, (slowly now...) watching as our fingers went from spinning clockwise, to spinning counter-clockwise below our very noses...

Hermeneutics, he explained, is perspective. Our fingers didn't change the direction they were spinning; only our interpretation of the direction changed. Our perspective changed when we moved our fingers from above our head to below it. Our outlook on the world changes, when our perspective changes.

When I moved to California, I had no idea about the daily struggles of immigrant workers. I had no idea the constant fear they lived under. I had no idea of the realities that were "anchor babies". Mothers were scared of deportation when their "anchor babies" lived here in America. When I finally moved back to Minnesota, my hermeneutic on immigration changed. My hermeneutic on LGBT relations changed. My hermeneutic on California(ns) changed. Life changed.

So when life changes, perspectives change with it. This is where I need to commit that heremeneutical heresy. My life has changed in the last few years. I went from college freshman status to newlywed status to parent status to graduated status to seminarian status in less than 4 years. In all that time, I've had the same outlook on my call, and the same outlook on my future life. I think it's time for heresy.

I need to re-frame my outlook on my call. Maybe God was indeed calling me to be a campus pastor. Maybe, however, I should take a hint from others and look at other prospects as well. I still have an undying love for campus ministry, and will continue to fight for it's survival, but maybe I need to broaden my horizons a bit.

When I was 6, we were moving from Saint Cloud to Donnelly, and it was my last day at Roosevelt Elementary (which is now an ECFE center). It was recess, and I was wearing an amazingly awesome red sweatsuit. (Yes, red sweat pants, red sweater). It was windy, and I think this was my first (memorable) in-touch moment with God (or my spirituality), but I can clearly remember sticking my arms out (like a sail) and walking with the wind. With my pants and sweater fluttering in the breeze, I can remember pretending I was a leaf, being carried by the wind, and I slowly glided across the playground, being carried by the wind.

That is where I need to be again. I need to be that leaf again. I need to let go of my inhibitions, and go where the Holy Spirit leads. I need to let go of that confidence, and realize that life is truly up to God. Life is not a road map, but a river; constantly ebbing and flowing, turning this way and that, with tributaries leading to more rivers...

So. All in all, I'm a heretic. I'm committing hermeneutical heresy, but I need to sit back, and let the Holy Spirit guide me and my family. So then, and only then, might my heremeneutic change, and life may once again join that river ever flowing...

Amen