Joel D. Kline
January 18, 2004
Highland Avenue Church of the Brethren
The Second Sunday after Epiphany
Martin Luther King, Jr. Remembrance
There were two shaping events in ancient Israel’s history, with the themes of those events continuing to impact our understanding of faith yet today. The first event is the story of the Exodus, God delivering the Hebrew people out of bondage in Egypt. It is a story that affirms in a powerful way that ours is a God who is able to find for us a way out of no way, a remarkable God who hears the cry of the suffering and fashions good out of our most trying times of struggle and difficulty.
The second shaping event in the life of ancient Israel is the experience of exile. Convinced that they were God’s chosen people who had been led out of Egypt into the promised land, and that the Temple in Jerusalem was a central holy site—indeed, the Temple was the dwelling place of God—the Hebrews could not conceive of the Temple’s destruction and of separation from their homeland. Even in times of straying from their faith, the ancient Israelites persistently—and sometimes arrogantly—held fast to this conviction that Jerusalem and its Temple were central to their identity as a people. As a result, when the Temple was destroyed, the city of Jerusalem lay in ruins, and the people were carried off into exile, it was a time of utter despair. Indeed, we can scarcely fathom how deep was their sense of anguish and desolation.
This morning’s Scripture lesson from Isaiah, chapter sixty-two, is set in the aftermath of the exile, as many who had been living in Babylon were now allowed to return to Jerusalem. But upon that return, the city continued to be in ruins; life little lived up to the people’s high hopes.
It is in this context of disillusionment, confusion and despair that the prophet breathes words of hope that seem strangely out of place. “For Zion’s sake,” cries the prophet, “I will not keep silent, and for Jerusalem’s sake I will not rest, until her vindication shines out like the dawn” (62:1). In other words, Isaiah is holding God to God’s promises. In effect, Isaiah is saying, “I will not rest until God does what God has promised to do. I will not rest until God has restored Jerusalem in the sight of all the nations.” And in the process, says the prophet, it is as if Israel shall be given a new name, a new character.
The Scriptures are filled with stories of persons whose name and identity are altered when touched by the living God. When God proclaims that a covenant will be fulfilled through Abram and Sarai, each takes on a new name—Abram becoming Abraham, and Sarai becoming Sarah (Genesis 17). Jacob wrestles with God, and is told, “You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel” (Genesis 32:28), a name which means, “The one who strives with God.” Over in the New Testament, Jesus tells Simon, in the aftermath of his Great Confession of Jesus as the Christ, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! … I tell you, you are Peter,” which means Rock. And in that blinding encounter on the road to Damascus, Saul, the great persecutor of the church, is commissioned as apostle to the Gentiles, and takes on the Greek form of his name, Paul.
To receive a new name suggests a new calling, a new direction in life, a new orientation for life. The ancient Israelites who have returned from exile, the prophet tells us, will no longer be termed Forsaken; their land shall no longer be called Desolate. But now Jerusalem shall be named My Delight is in her.
The new name speaks volumes to us about the very character of God—a God who, in spite of the people’s lack of faithfulness, stands ready to restore and recreate their lives; a God who delights in the people of God’s creation; a God who so yearns for relationship with the people that their land, Isaiah tells us, shall be named Married. God delights in the people, even as a new bride and groom delight in one another.
This is the prophetic task, to hold high before the people a vision of what life can be as we embrace the gracious gift of God’s love for us. To the ancient Israelites, bound in their despair, Isaiah asserts that something new is indeed breaking forth! But in order to begin experiencing that new life, in order to begin actually tasting it, risk is involved. Faith, as the author of the letter to the Hebrews reminds us, is “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (11:1). And as Jim Wallis reminds us in his book Faith Works, “hope is believing in spite of the evidence, then watching the evidence change.”
In spite of all the evidence affirming how deeply the sin of racism is embedded in our culture. Martin Luther King, Jr. was one who believed that our society could take on a new character—a new name. King lived among us as a modern day prophet, lifting up before us a vision of life in which all persons, regardless of race or orientation, are treated with dignity and seen as sisters and brothers, children of God. King came among us, proclaiming a vision of peace and justice that would not let us rest content with brokenness and despair, with prejudice and fear, with injustice and indifference. He called us to the kind of faith that involves the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not yet seen.
History makes it clear that not all appreciate prophets, and that’s every bit as true in our day as in the time of the ancient Israelites. Back in the heated days of the civil rights struggle, many, including fellow clergy, frequently criticized King for inciting unrest. You may remember the noted “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” King’s response to a published statement by eight leading pastors and rabbis in Alabama naming King’s actions “unwise and untimely.” Responded King,
Though I was initially disappointed at being categorized as an extremist, as I continued to think about the matter I gradually gained a measure of satisfaction from the label. Was not Jesus an extremist for love: “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you.” Was not Amos an extremist for justice: “Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” Was not Paul an extremist for the Christian gospel: “I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus.” Was not Martin Luther an extremist: “Here I stand; I cannot do otherwise, so help me God.”
The question is not whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists we will be. Will we be extremists for hate or for love? Will we be extremists for the preservation of injustice or for the extension of justice?
King challenged his fellow clergy—and all of us—to put our faith into action, to envision life in which justice does indeed roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. Indeed, King’s challenge was that people of faith embrace the new name, the new character, God offers to us. Like the ancient prophet, Isaiah, King’s challenge issues forth, not from anger and disdain, but from love. It was as if, with the prophet of old, King asserted, “I will not keep silent, I will not rest, until that day when racism no longer mars the human heart, until that time when peace and justice reign supreme in all creation.”
A little later in King’s “Letter from Birmingham Jail” he writes:
In deep disappointment I have wept over the laxity of the church. But be assured that my tears have been tears of love. There can be no deep disappointment where there is no deep love. Yes, I love the church. How could I do otherwise? I am in the rather unique position of being the son, the grandson and the great-grandson of preachers. Yes, I see the church as the body of Christ. But, oh! How we have blemished and scarred that body through social neglect and through fear of being nonconformists.
There was a time when the church was very powerful—in the time when the early Christians rejoiced at being deemed worthy to suffer for what they believed. In those days the church was not merely a thermometer that recorded the ideas and principles of popular opinion; it was a thermostat that transformed the mores of society. Whenever the early Christians entered a town, the people in power became disturbed and immediately sought to convict the Christians for being “disturbers of the peace” and “outside agitators.” But the Christians pressed on, in the conviction that they were “a colony of heaven,” called to obey God rather than [humankind]. Small in number, they were big in commitment. They were too God-intoxicated to be “astronomically intimidated” …
Things are different now. So often the contemporary church is a weak, ineffectual voice with an uncertain sound. So often it is an archdefender of the status quo. Far from being disturbed by the presence of the church, the power structure of the average community is consoled by the church’s silent—and even vocal—sanction of things as they are.
Behind King’s critique of the church and society rests a deep love, a passion to walk in the ways of faith, a commitment to embrace the new name God would give us. Could it be that God calls us by the very name God offered those ancient Israelites—My delight is in you? Ours is a God who loves us with a love that will not let us go; it is an empowering love, a transforming love, a redeeming love.
In a speech days before the conclusion of the famous Montgomery bus boycott in 1956, King preached a sermon in which he urged his fellow boycotters not to lose sight of love as their motivation. Preached King,
Always be sure that you struggle with Christian methods and Christian weapons. Never succumb to the temptation of becoming bitter. As you press on for justice, be sure to move with dignity and discipline, using only the weapon of love … .
I still believe that standing up for the truth of God is the greatest thing in the world. This is the end of life. The end of life is not to be happy. The end of life is not to achieve pleasure and avoid pain. The end of life is to do the will of God, come what may.
I still believe that love is the most durable power in the world … . This principle stands at the center of the cosmos. As John says, “God is love.” He [or she] who loves is a participant in the being of God.
With Martin Luther King, Jr., shall we not affirm that love is at the heart of God? It is the principle that stands at the center of life and faith, indeed at the center of all creation. With the ancient prophet, shall we not celebrate the good news that God would call us by a new name, that God would plant within us a new character, that God invites us to participate in God’s very being?
There is a sense in which, even now, we live in exile. We yearn for that day when all of life is made new, when God’s realm of justice and compassion and peace and self-giving love is fully within and among us. And while we wait and hope for the coming of that day, shall we not heed the call to do justice, love tenderly, and walk humbly with God? Shall we not live in the light and hope of God’s love for us in Jesus Christ?
May it be so among us this day. Amen.
Precious Lord, loving God, we live in days of challenge and uncertainty, yet also days full of promise, and we need your hand of guidance. Our world is deeply divided—rich and poor, haves and have-nots—divided by color, by economic rank, by life orientation, by religious faith, by national loyalties. In our own nation we stand in the midst of political campaigns, and we yearn for the kind of leadership that will address critical needs. In the church as well, we face days of uncertainty. We struggle with what it means to be your people, O God, and with the call to deepen faith, proclaim peace, embrace community, welcome others, and serve our neighbor, in the compassionate spirit of Jesus.
Precious Lord, take us by the hand and the heart. Guide us to new levels of caring and grace and mercy and justice. When we feel embattled and worn down, refresh and renew our spirits, O God. Strengthen and empower us. Guide us to life in your kingdom. Fill us with wisdom and courage, that we might be a people who follow your vision, your peace, your way of living.
Precious Lord, hear us now as we hold before you those in special need of your healing touch. We remember the homeless and the hungry, the lost and the confused, the broken and the forgotten. We hold before you those in our own midst who need your hand of healing … .
God of peace and wholeness, take us by the hand and guide us in pathways of peace and reconciliation. Where there is darkness, may we bear your light. Where there is division, may we bring healing and life. Where there is confusion and fear, may we live and proclaim your vision of a peaceable kingdom in which all persons live together in righteousness and justice.
Precious Lord, take us by the hand. Through the storm, through the night, lead us on to the light. Amen.