When I agreed to switch preaching dates with Linda, I didn’t realize at the time what the lectionary scriptures were for this Sunday. I preached on these same passages three years ago. But, you probably remember very little anyway. And this is a different time in our life together. I’ve never been very fond of these scriptures. The snakes-in-the-desert story is just that – story, not history. The snake is a religious icon for many cultures in the ancient Near East and has been conscripted by the Hebrews in this story. Here the bronze serpent represents God’s healing power. You’ll recall that the symbol for the medical profession is the caduceus, a winged staff with two entwined snakes. In the ancient cultures this was a symbol for balance and healing. The John 3:16 passage has always felt a bit threatening and exclusive (if you read the next few lines) writing off all who are not believing Christians. We must also remember that John’s is the most symbolic of the Gospels. He uses metaphorical language to convey deeper meaning and significance. The gospel begins by speaking of Jesus as a light shining in the darkness, and the passage before today’s is about Nicodemus being told by Jesus that he must be born from above, born anew into a new way of being. And, just as the Hebrew writer draws upon the ancient snake symbol, John here draws upon the Hebrew story of Moses lifting up the bronze serpent, and those looking upon it experiencing healing. So John speaks of Jesus being lifted up on the cross, and those who are moved by this to believe in him experience healing and eternal life. The theme running through each of these scriptures is life out of death, healing and newness of life. John is also drawing on the Hebrew motif of the sacrificial lamb. It’s important to understand that when John speaks here of "eternal life," he is speaking of a quality of existence beginning now and widening into something more in God’s future. It’s about living in the way and truth revealed in Jesus. And, the word "believe" is not about doctrines, but comes from the Greek root word meaning "to give one’s heart to". To believe in him is to give oneself in relationship to him. In the past few days, in this time of war, these scriptures have spoken to me in a fresh and more poignant way. Like the Israelites, many of us find ourselves right now in a desert place, a wilderness of doubt and confusion about this war. I find myself in a very ambivalent place. I was against this war to begin with, but now that we’re there, I want us to succeed, and I want to support our men and women who are giving their lives over there. And I worry about the civilian population. I have to confess that I even found myself hoping that that initial bomb would have removed Hussein and his top command so that the conflict might end quickly without extensive death and destruction. That did not happen and the end is not in sight. And the casualties on both sides will continue to mount. So, I’m still in doubt and worried about what all this will entail and what the broader implications of this conflict will be over time and for us as a nation globally. I draw upon the wilderness metaphor because the place we find ourselves in feels unfamiliar. And yet it seems like we’ve been here before. But, so much does seem different. So much we have known has changed. What we have trusted and held onto seems lost and forsaken, and we find ourselves mired in divisiveness and alienation among ourselves as a people and among the nations’ peoples. This is a war that has been approached by our president and many political and religious folk with a religious fervor, and in the language of religious exorcism. And yet, clearly not all of the principles of a "just war" have been met. Our leaders say "we refuse to live in fear, and yet in selling this war they have spoken to our fears, suggesting that we have to strike first to avert some future, imagined calamity. Working with others is one of those things we learned in kindergarten, and yet our leaders have found international constraints unwanted and burdensome, relics in this age of the New American Century. Isn’t it ironic that we find ourselves in this wilderness experience in the season of Lent, in which we remember Jesus’ forty days in the wilderness grappling with the temptations of power. Are we not perhaps facing the temptation of establishing a new world order of our own making? The assumption is that we have the power to go it alone and to say to other nations, "Do as I say or you become irrelevant." This is the arrogance of power, and haven’t we been there before? It’s not as if throughout history there haven’t been other attempts at unbounded power. And if history is any guide there will likely be reaction and revolt against our unbounded power as well. The question is still out as to whether we will ultimately be seen as liberators or an occupational force. And how much will this involve punishing further a people who are already suffering under the punishment of a terrible regime? In the meantime we are suspending our own ordinary civil liberties, spending billions on this war and to purchase allies, beyond an already $355 billion military budget. These costs and new tax cuts will mean cutting important programs and basic human services, making life more difficult for those whose lives are difficult enough already. As Christians, how do we find our way through this wilderness place, facing our fears as well as our humanity? Where can we find hope and healing? And what is it we can come to discover in all of this? Over the years I’ve struggled with the crucifixion story, and a theology that has emerged from this – the substitutionary sacrifice doctrine of atonement. It’s as the Apostle Paul would say, "a stumbling block" for me. But this is not to say that the life of Jesus and the death of Jesus on the cross do not speak to me of sacrifice and love. For the disciples, it was on this cross where the one who had so touched their lives, gave his life for a way and a truth and a life of love. But it was also on this cross, where all seemed lost, that sorrow and love met. His disciples mourned and were unsure about the future, and yet somehow his love had been life changing for them, and moved them to walk together in a new way. And Jesus’ life and death are still compelling, touching our lives and moving us to live in gratitude, and empowering us to follow the way of love. I find that in looking upon him and the cross, something deep and moving passes between us. I think the Catholics are on to something with their crucifixes, with the body still there. If we do not turn away, it has the power to lift us beyond ourselves to see with new eyes and more generous hearts, and to walk in the new way of eternal life. This is, I believe, an experience in which we can find restoration to relationship with God and with one another. This is atonement, at-one-ment. As I said earlier, the war this week has put me even more in touch with all of this. I’ve seen the photos and the accounts of injured, dead and captured soldiers on each side; photos of hungry and injured children, and the demolished homes of their families; interviews with parents and families of the wounded, the dead and the captured. These are young people, sons and daughters and grandchildren, 18, 19, 20 and 21 years of age. Questions arise about all this and about how graphic this war coverage should be. Does it serve to desensitize us, or does it remind us that war is a dreadful thing, and that this is really happening? Certainly there is sensationalizing and spin, and in the interviews some agonizingly foolish questions being put to those who have lost loved ones. But I feel that I cannot turn away. I must pay attention. And I find myself weeping and sharing in their sorrow. And in looking upon them perhaps something deep and moving can pass between us – sorrow, recognition and connection. So, this is a time to weep together with all who mourn, and it’s a time to love. Perhaps this wounding and death can lift us beyond ourselves to see with new eyes and generous hearts and be led through this experience into new ways to peace and reconciliation. And perhaps we can come to more clearly see the face of God in all of God’s children. This would truly be atonement. Let us pray that this might be so. One way our love can rise out of this soil of suffering and death is through today’s One Great Hour of Sharing offering to support programs of health, education, relief and refugee assistance to our neighbors throughout the world. So give generously! And no matter where we stand on this war, we need to rejoice in our life together in this place, touching each other with our love, and finding comfort in knowing that here we do not have to face our perils alone. May this always be a place where we meet God because here the message of love is read and spoken and consciously tried to be lived out. And let us be grateful for the legacy of those we honor today, those who have lived and loved and served through other difficult times to help build this beloved community. Amen. |
