Year B, Pentecost
9 Ephesians 2:11-22 Over
a week ago (this was before the shooting) I was listening to a podcast about
the election. One person asked what it would take to bring the country together
again. The other person answered, it would have to be a crisis—like
9-11. Then the person went on to talk about how the country was unified
after 9-11, at least for a little while. I thought, is that really the
only way to bring unity? A terrorist attack that killed over 1000 people
and launched a war? Is the only way for our country to be unified to be against
someone outside our nation? Then, this Saturday a presidential candidate and
former president was shot. A person nearby was killed and two others were
critically wounded. Immediately people called for unity and to lower the
temperature of the vitriol that was being spewed out. I thought, well
this might last a few days. I don’t think we even made it 24 hours.
Let me be clear that I am not blaming one side or the other because it’s coming
from all sides.
This reading from Ephesians can seem irrelevant at first
glance. Once the Bible starts talking about circumcision, most Christians
tune out. When Paul referred to those circumcised, he was talking about
Jewish people. When he referred to the uncircumcised, that was everyone
else. Circumcision was a physical sign of a very real commitment that the
Jewish people made. At this time (about 70AD), the division between the
circumcised and uncircumcised was drastic. There were few interactions
between a Jew and a non-Jew, and those interactions were superficial and
limited. There were no meals together, no inter-marriage, no friendships.
In his letter to the Ephesians, Paul was saying that this barrier (as
impermeable as it seemed) was no longer relevant or necessary because Jesus
died on the cross for all. They were no longer Jew and no longer
Gentile. They were Christians, followers of Christ and that is all that
mattered. Paul wrote, “For he is our peace; in his flesh he has
made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is the
hostility between us.” A lot of people have tried to figure out
what wall he was referring to. Was it a real wall? Was it the wall that
divided the temple from the outer courts? Was it a wall between heaven
and earth?
I am not sure why anyone is debating this as the text is
clear. It’s the hostility between us. There is no real wall.
Humans have manufactured walls through fear, jealously, anger, and apathy. The
walls were created by humans and for
humans. Unfortunately we build pretty good walls, even when they aren’t
physical. That is why Jesus had to live as one of us and then sacrifice
himself on the cross. He had to show us what it was to love without
walls.
“But
now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the
blood of Christ.” Hearing about the blood of Christ has the same
effect on some of us as hearing the word circumcision. In many Christian
communities, there has been an overemphasis on the blood of Jesus. Some
people and groups have attributed magic like qualities to the body and blood of
Jesus. It is the opposite of magical. The blood of Jesus, and the
broken body of Jesus are reminders of Jesus’ sacrifice for each one of
us. Jesus did not make the sacrifice for only one group or one
country. Jesus sacrificed for all of us so that those who were far off
would be brought together.
In
this text, Paul wrote, “(Jesus) is our peace.” One of the most achingly
beautiful ironies of the Christian faith is that the way Jesus embodied peace
was to be executed by the Roman Empire. We cannot be sure exactly why the
Romans executed Jesus. However, it is most likely because they were
afraid that he would inspire people to revolt. They recognized Jesus as a
leader and one who could inspire the masses. The Roman Empire maintained peace
through oppression. They killed the people who threatened their
rule. Jesus’ mere existence threatened their rule. The irony is that this
violent sacrifice that Jesus made paved the way for real peace, not peace
maintained through violence and fear, but real peace.
Jesus
taught us what that could be. Yet in light of what happened last weekend or the
327 people who are shot daily in the United States alone, I don’t know that we
have learned the lesson we were meant to learn. Recently a clergy friend of
mine told me she had someone request that they stop exchanging the peace. She said that they still wanted her to
proclaim the peace, but didn’t want the interaction. And this was not because of germs (although
that’s a perfectly valid reason to do a wave instead of a handshake) but
because the interaction was simply unnecessary.
That is perfect illustration of how we want peace in our nation. We want someone to proclaim it, but we don’t
actually want the interaction that would enable it.
I am not exactly sure what that
interaction looks like. But I am sure
it’ not between a pundit and their audience or a politician and their political
party. It should be between those who
are not already in agreement. How can we
possibly dismantle the walls that are between us if we are too busy throwing
rocks over them and then ducking as we await the return fire?
We celebrate that Christ Church was a
place where the signers of the Declaration of Independence and the framers of
the constitution prayed. And I love
that. But they also argued—vehemently. They argued over who would lead the first
prayer for the continental congress. They argued whether there should be a
prayer to begin sessions. They didn’t
see these arguments as a sign that they should stop discussing. It was an opportunity. We liked to think that
everyone in our church was pro-independence, but they weren’t. And when the Civil war came, they were
divided then as well. But here’s what
the church has always been pretty good at, coming together in prayer even when
we don’t agree.
We celebrate Holy Communion every Sunday. One of the
things we do in communion is we remember the sacrifice that Jesus made for us
2000 years ago. Jesus knows that humans are fickle and tend to forget
things. That is why he asked his disciples to share the bread and wine in
memory of him. Because not only do we remember the sacrifice when we
celebrate communion, we come to this table together. Just for a few minutes, we
remember that Jesus died so we could dismantle the walls and rethink what
community is, what it could be.
Consider all of those who have gathered together at this altar over
the years, people who gave disagreed about so many things. Our altar stands as
a reminder of what we are called to do as Christians—to come together. Now our
church probably has more people who agree than not. But if you do know someone who is on the
other side of the political spectrum (or maybe just a few notches over), offer
to pray with them (and don’t say “I’ll pray for you” in that slightly passive
aggressive way some people are known to do)—actually pray with them.
I understand that sitting down and talking to someone who you
don’t agree with is hard and I will admit that there are people in my family I
can’t talk to about politics, but what if we started to pray with people? I
understand, not everyone is the praying sort, but some are. I bet that’s
scarier to most Episcopalians than actually talking about politics. If you
can’t do it out load, do it silently. It
probably won’t change them, but it can
soften your heart just a little. It might lower that wall. It might bring you
some of that peace that Jesus promised so many years ago. It doesn’t matter where we are on the political
spectrum, we all need more peace.