Empire or Kin-dom?
Today is the last Sunday before Palm Sunday, Holy Week, and Easter.
Most, if not all, of you know that I have been organizing an event for Palm Sunday afternoon.
People of faith from all over the state are coming together to say that we stand by Jesus’ command to love God and love our neighbor.
We will feed those who are hungry.
We will welcome every stranger—every person who is not like us—whether they are a different race, a different sexuality, a different gender or gender identity, or an immigrant.
We will care for those who are sick—in body, mind, or spirit.
We will visit those who are in prison, or homebound, or in detention.
What we are for is very important.
But what we are against is equally important.
We stand opposed to the vilification of people from different countries and faith traditions.
We stand opposed to the cruelty of family separation and mass incarceration.
We stand opposed to the ever-widening wealth gap in this country.
We stand opposed to unjust wars and the military-industrial complex that profits from it.
We stand opposed to violations of our constitution.
Some would say that I am getting into politics and politics have no place in the pulpit.
I’ll set aside my argument why politics very much belong in the pulpit for another time.
And I’ll answer the question of “where does all this ‘what we are for’ come from?”
My brother and sister-in-law came to Emanuel 8 or 9 months ago.
I suspect I know their political leanings, but we don’t talk about it, because I love my brothers and I am determined to maintain a relationship with them.
That comes at a price though—I am often conflicted about not confronting what I believe to be uninformed and dangerous thinking.
Anyway, they came to visit right after H.R. 1, the so-called “Big, Beautiful Bill”, passed.
In my sermon that week, I called out all the harm that would result from the bill—harm that we are just now beginning to see.
I called out how the brunt of harm would fall on marginalized people—women, children, seniors, and immigrants.
After the service, my sister-in-law said, “I see you’ve drunk the Kool-Aid.”
I let the comment go, partly to keep the peace and partly because I don’t think I was going to change her mind while I was shaking hands in the narthex.
What I wanted to say was my beliefs—what I am for—come from Matthew, chapter 25.
I stand by that—Jesus was very clear how we are to love our neighbors.
Feed the hungry.
Give drink to the thirsty.
Welcome the stranger.
Clothe the naked.
Comfort the sick.
And visit those in prison.
Those commandments were contained within a parable, but they were not part of it.
Jesus’ meaning was crystal clear.
It was a message that appears throughout the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament.
And after the commandments, Jesus said, “The truth is, as often as you neglected to do this to one of the least of these, you neglected to do it to me.”
And what about the “we stand opposed”?
Where does that come from?
The Kin-dom of God¬—the state of the world that we aspire to—is about justice.
Calling immigrants criminals, and drug dealers, and rapists is not justice.
Therefore, we should stand opposed.
Separating children from their families and then putting them into foster care or up for adoption so their parents have little hope of ever being reunited with them is not justice.
Therefore, we should stand opposed.
Giving tax breaks to corporations and billionaires while taking benefits away from poor and low-income folks is not justice.
Therefore, we should stand opposed.
Committing genocide against Palestinians and bombing an elementary school while the corporations who make weapons of war rake in billions of dollars is not justice.
Therefore, we should stand opposed.
Making people disappear and ignoring the balance of powers in our government is not justice.
Therefore, we should stand opposed.
In today’s gospel, Jesus hung on a cross.
His crucifixion was a warning to anyone who would oppose the status quo of the Empire.
The Empire was all about classism and peace through violence.
Jesus preached a message of community and peace through love.
That made him subversive.
That made him dangerous—a threat to the status quo.
He hung on the cross next to two thieves, although it is very likely that was a mistranslation and they were actually rebels or insurrectionists.
And Jesus invites one of them to paradise.
Paradise, which—like the Kin-dom—is a place of justice and love.
The man is a criminal.
He doesn’t recite a creed.
He doesn’t even confess and ask for forgiveness.
He just believes that the Kin-dom Jesus taught about was different from the Empire he lived in.
And Jesus extends him grace.
Jesus extends grace to a convicted criminal.
Not because the criminal asked for forgiveness.
Not because the man’s crime didn’t matter.
Jesus extended him grace because of who God is.
Our God is a God that loves us unconditionally.
Our God is a God that shows us grace—not because of anything we do.
God shows us grace because of who God is.
We are living in a time of Empire, my friends.
The wealth gap continues to get wider.
Violence is pervasive both within our country and in the world at large.
People continue to be excluded and pushed to the margins.
We are living in a time when those in power routinely perpetrate injustices.
And we are witnesses.
Like Mary and John watching from the foot of the cross, we are witnesses to the violence and the injustice.
The question is: what do we do about it?
Are we going to be the “thief” who believes in the Kin-dom and the promise of justice?
Or are we going to be the “thief” who is resigned to the violence and injustice of Empire?
This week, we commemorate Óscar Romero, a martyr of the church.
Like Dietrich Bonhoeffer, he is one of my heroes.
Both lived in times of Empire—where violence and injustice were the norms—Bonhoeffer during Nazi Germany and Romero during a military dictatorship in El Salvador.
Both spoke out against the violence and the injustice.
Both were martyred for daring to believe that their faith compelled them to act.
To oppose violence and injustice.
In one of his sermons, Romero said, “God’s best microphone is Christ, and Christ’s best microphone is the church, and the church is all of you.
Let each one of you, in your own job, in your own vocation–nun, married person, bishop, priest, high school or university student, day laborer, wage earner, market woman – each one in your own place live the faith intensely and feel that in your surroundings you are a true microphone of God.”
I hear that as a call to action—a call to preach the Kin-dom, as Jesus did.
To proclaim that justice, peace, and love are not only possible, but also God’s intent for us.
I know it is easy to be overwhelmed.
There is so much violence and so much injustice on so many fronts.
But, as I have said before, “shock and awe” is the point.
The Empire hopes that overwhelming us will lead to inaction.
The Empire hopes that the threat of violence and oppression will lead us to silence.
But Jesus was not silent and, as his followers, we shouldn’t be either.
I know it can seem hopeless.
I know you wonder what one person can do.
But never forget that God is with us.
A God who wants peace, love, and justice for us.
A God who can breathe life into dry bones.
A God who can suffer death and the cross and then rise again.
A God whose Spirit inspired a simple German pastor and a quiet, scholarly priest to oppose powerful Empires.
I hope some of you will join me next Sunday afternoon in Trenton.
And may the God of justice and mercy go with us.
May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.