"The Lord require of you"-Sermon for Epiphany 4, Micah 6:1-8:
So, somehow this passage from Micah, our Old Testament lesson today, sort of escaped me until I was a young adult. Or, if I did encounter it as a child, I don’t remember it sticking with me in any moving or memorable way. However, I absolutely remember discovering it as a newly minted youth minister in my early 20’s, and, since then, it is always been a favorite of mine. In fact, I would describe that first encounter with it, in particular, verse 8, sort of like Charlie Brown’s response to Linus telling the Christmas Story in the beloved Peanut’s Christmas Special. Perhaps you recall that for much of the special, Charlie Brown is so sad. He is struggling to understand the joy that sits at the center of Christmas. He is lost in what, at least, feels so artificial about the secular parts of the season…a holiday made up to boost business’ bottom lines…to throw parties that some get invited to but others are left out of. It all feels so shallow and meaningless to him. And, of course, when all those around you seem so full of joy, the absence of it in your own life…is just magnified…you just feel worse.
So, in what feels like an existential moment of desperation, Charlie Brown implores Linus, his wise friend, to please tell him what Christmas is really all about. So, in response, Linus tells the old story…the story of hope coming through an angelic encounter to working class shepherds out in the fields…the story of hope emerging in a cave, in a small town, in the backwoods, in an inconsequential corner of the known world, outside of the palaces where the power brokers and policy makers gather to solidify their own power and prestige…the story of hope coming to a nearly disgraced teenage mother and a bewildered carpenter father through the blessed gift of the birth of a healthy, new child, a baby boy, a growing family…the story of hope that God is not done with this world yet…that God comes into this world…where least expected and when most needed…in the dark night of the world’s seemingly unending winter. And, as Linus finishes telling that old story, Charlie Brown exclaims, “That’s it!”. And, indeed, Christmas comes, as hope is born afresh, in good ole Charlie Brown.
Now, back to where I began, though I can’t remember if I screamed it out loud like Charlie Brown or not…I like to think I did…but when I really heard for the first time this passage from the Prophet Micah…when the full force of these words really took root in my body…in my consciousness…in my soul…my heart screamed out…that’s it! That’s it…that’s our only possible faithful response to the good news that the entirety of our faith and the whole of the bible points. That’s who God created us to be. That’s the very life the living hope of Christmas and Easter intends to shape within in each of us. For, Micah declares, “He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” That’s it…that is what we are created to do and, more so, who God has created us to be. And, I believe to be such a person, again, requires and is empowered by the hope promised in the story of Christmas that God is with us where least expected and when most needed…and by the hope promised at Easter…that life not death…that love not sin and division will have the final word…in all things…for you…for me…for all who suffer in this world’s seemingly unending winter. For, being an agent of God’s justice, living a life suffused with loving-kindness, and finding the humility to accept that we all are broken and stand by the grace of God alone…is it…it is God’s dream for all who live…the very hope of the world…but…but becoming, really becoming that person…requires great faith…that God is with us and that God’s will, which is life and love alone, will be done…on earth as it is in heaven.
Though Micah lived nearly three thousand year ago, in the 8###sup/sup### century BC, his world was more similar than different than our own. He lived in a small town and he was only one voice that must have felt, despite the truth of his God given words, almost powerless, not hopeless, but powerless over the corruption, economic injustice, and disinterest in the plight of the suffering by those in authority in his day. And, he warned that such faithlessness, such blindness, such greed, such a lack of justice, kindness and humility would lead to his nation’s destruction. And, history would prove him right, as Jerusalem would be destroyed and its people forced into mass deportation by the Babylonians some 150 years after he prophesied just such an end.
This past Sunday, as we were separated by the winter storm, and as much as I enjoyed the ability to connect virtually with our community, I found in myself a deep and consuming sense of sadness. I felt distant, disconnected and so very powerless. Certainly, that was, in part, because of our physical separation…the frustration of trying to make the technology work to create meaningful worship and connection…the trauma of COVID times rearing its ugly head. But, it was also because the world feels like and is, indeed, more on fire than frozen. And, though a fire was brewing inside my own heart and head, I felt frozen, like the streets literally around me. That is I felt stuck and unable to help the world in its suffering…unable to find the words that the people I love, like many of you, need to hear who are feeling scared, feeling uncertain about where our world is headed, feeling deep empathy for those whose lives are being taken away, feeling a similar experience, like mine, of helplessness…as we hope and prayer for justice and peace…for those in Minneapolis and well beyond…those suffering deep dehumanization…on both sides of the demonstration lines…in this seemingly unending winter. Christmas promises that God is with us and Easter promises that life and love are firmly established in Jesus’ glorious resurrection, and yet, such tremendous hope can, at times, feel buried under a ton of ice and snow with winter firmly set in.
And, then on Monday morning, still stuck at home…still feeling, like good ole Charlie Brown, my own existential moment of desperation, I sat down to write a sermon for today, as I do most Monday’s when I am the preacher the following Sunday. And, as I always do, I began by praying and then reading through the scriptures assigned for today, the ones we just heard read beginning with Micah, and, friends, God began to melt the ice in here. Like my first, “that’s it” epiphany in my early 20’s, God began to remind me of who I am and who I am called to be, “[God] has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” This, friends, is where we begin to find our footing again and again, as the ice continually threatens to slip us up and land us, once again, on our backs.
To do justice…with the money, time, resources and whatever modicum of power that we each do have, beginning in our own proverbial back yards. That we insist on fairness at work and in our schools, remembering that fairness rooted in God’s justice may look different than how the world defines fairness. That we teach and mentor our children to know the difference between good and evil and to seek the good. That we pay attention to those suffering in our own communities and bring awareness to such suffering with our words and deeds…even when it feels unsafe or uncomfortable. And, we always lead with loving-kindness, beginning in our homes and church and where we work and learn, paying close attention to those most in need of experiencing kindness…those subject to hate…those who so often go unseen and ignored. Kindness is a spiritual disposition that must be nurtured through prayer and service, especially, prayer and service toward those we might even consider our enemies. And, we walk humbly with our God, a humbleness that recognizes our own brokenness and giftedness…that recognizes God’s love for all without exception. For the humble heart does not disparage self or seek to tear ourselves down…but it lifts others and, sometimes, ourselves up…that we all might stand before the God of grace, shoulder to shoulder, heart to heart. That’s it…that’s what we do next. That’s who we are to be…more and more.
As I made the move from prayer and reflection to actually writing this sermon, again, it was Monday, and the sun was out shining brightly. And, there was an unceasing rhythm of sound outside my window…an unending pattering of sorts. I paid little attention to it at first. It was like white noise in the background. But, at some point, I stopped writing and just listened. Though still very cold, it was, of course, the ice on my roof melting. Water, which our central Texas parched earth desperately needs, pouring in sheets onto the ground…hour after hour. A natural thing, an expected thing, a little thing…but it resonated in me…like I was experiencing it on the inside…like something was becoming unfrozen in me…something that felt like the warmth of hope. I am not a prophet like Micah, and I don’t know what the future holds…there is a lot of iciness, a lot of sin and separation, in our world that still needs melting. But, I do have a Christmas and Easter hope that God is with us and that life and love is what awaits us, all of us, in the end. Thus, I firmly believe a spring of sorts will emerge. If you go on to read the next chapter of Micah, you will see that, despite his more difficult prophesies, he ends by saying, “Who is a God like you…. You will again have compassion on us…and hurl all our iniquities into the depths of the sea. You will be faithful to Jacob, and show love to Abraham, as you pledged on oath to our ancestors in days long ago.” And, led on by and leaning on that hope…this mortal knows a little more deeply what good God requires of him…a place from which to begin again…a very next step to take…to do God’s justice, to lead and live with kindness, and to walk humbly with our God. That’s it. Amen.