October 23, 2022 Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost 10:00 AM
Scripture Lesson: Matthew 25:31-40
Sermon: “Braving the Wilderness: Holding Hands with Strangers”
When Pastor Deborah asked me to preach today, I was honored as always to accept her gracious invitation. But I have to tell you: This has ended up being one of the most challenging sermons to write that I’ve given in my 28 years at Beverley Hills, for several reasons.
The first challenge stems from the fact that I had never read anything by Brené Brown until now. In fact, I first heard of her just a few months ago, when her name popped up on a Canadian situation comedy, “The Lake,” that I streamed on Amazon Prime.
The next problem: I have never been a fan of self-help books, though I enjoyed reading this one. And I found a lot of Brown’s observations sensible, if sometimes obvious.
The title of this morning’s topic was yet another hurdle. Most of you will probably not be surprised to hear me confess that the very idea of holding hands with strangers gives me the willies. Frankly, I’m not even wild about holding hands with friends! But duty calls.
Finally, it turns me off when authors strive to come across as “spiritual” rather than religious. You won’t find any Bible verses in Braving the Wilderness, and only passing references to Christianity. What I find most frustrating about that approach is that it appears Brené Brown and I have had similar journeys, moving from Southern-fried fundamentalism to a more inclusive faith. So I would have liked to hear more about that!
To be blunt, Braving the Wilderness is only incidentally a book about faith. But as you’ve been hearing—and I hope you’ll hear again today—it still has some useful things to say to us about becoming an even more welcoming faith community. And in that respect, I admire the way Pastor Deborah has adapted Brown’s thoughts for our current sermon series, both by focusing on the themes in various chapters each week and finding Scripture passages to go with them.
All of which brings me to today’s topic, “Holding Hands with Strangers.”
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In today’s Gospel passage—surely one of the most memorable of our Lord’s parables—Jesus describes two groups of people. The first group, the sheep, have done God’s will by ministering to strangers: feeding the hungry, giving water to the thirsty, clothing the naked, and visiting those who are sick or in prison. The king in the story informs these servants of his pleasure at their virtuous conduct on his behalf, which shocks the sheep. They had literally no idea they’d done anything out of the ordinary, let alone done something for royalty. So they ask: “When did we do that for you?” And he answers: “Inasmuch as you have done it to the least of these, you have done it unto me.”
Matthew does not record what, if anything, they said when the king explains that, but I imagine “O my God, what if I hadn’t done that?” figured pretty prominently in their thoughts.
We didn’t hear the goats’ story read today, but you know how that part of the story goes. They saw the same strangers as the sheep did, but did nothing to help them.
Now, I have a hunch that only some of the goats were callous, intentionally withholding their
assistance from the needy because they regarded them as unworthy. The rest were just preoccupied with their own troubles, or feared they wouldn’t have enough resources for their own families if they gave away food and clothing to mere strangers. Some may genuinely have believed that someone else would take care of feeding the hungry and performing other good works.
Whatever the reasons for each goat’s indifference and apathy, the core issue is that they failed to recognize the people they encountered as people: members of their own community. As Desmond Tutu once observed: “We’re not our brother’s keeper; we’re our brother’s brother.”
Beverley Hills Community United Methodist Church has a long tradition of acting on that understanding. We don’t just write checks, either, valuable as that is. No, many of you are hands-on participants at Carpenter’s Shelter and ALIVE and Casa Chirilagua and many other worthy organizations. You literally hold hands with strangers!
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Speaking of which: I can’t honestly say I found much of Brown’s chapter on this topic helpful. She devotes a lot of it to the idea of experiencing community at soccer games and rock concerts and funerals, and even goes so far as to talk about “football as religion.”
She doesn’t mean that literally, of course, but she really does seem to believe that the wave of emotion a stadium full of fans feels is not just a momentary rush of adrenaline, but something more profound. Maybe I’d buy that claim if I’d ever felt it for myself, but I haven’t—so I don’t.
Happily, just when I was about to give up on finding any inspiration in this chapter, Brown talks about a concept she calls “common enemy intimacy.” Or, as the old saying goes, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
Brown cites one of my favorite quotes to introduce this section of the chapter: “If you don’t have something nice to say about someone, come sit by me!” That saying, generally attributed to Alice Roosevelt Longworth, expresses something universal. Most of us love to gossip about someone, especially if they’re all high and mighty and could stand to be taken down a few pegs.
But the problem, as Brown notes, is that there is no adhesiveness to such a bond. If all two people have in common is their mutual dislike of a third, then their “friendship” is phony. And as such, it can’t sustain a more meaningful relationship, let alone build community.
From there, common enemy intimacy snowballs into tribalism, which dehumanizes not just individuals but whole groups. And because there is nothing keeping such a group cohesive except fear and hatred, its leaders must keep fueling the fire with ever more polarizing rhetoric that attacks anyone not in the group.
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Sadly, we see the evidence of the breakdown of community all around us. So what can we do as Christians to bring about reconciliation and healing?
Alas, I have no sweeping answers to that question. But I will offer this recommendation: We should speak out, both as individuals and as a church, against the bullying and abuse so many of our politicians and faith leaders are advocating. And I’m not talking about generic hand-wringing, either. We should be naming names, and making clear that those who invoke God as they persecute sexual minorities and the powerless are not honoring Christ in the process.
Now, some of you are probably thinking, “Wait a minute! What about turning the other cheek? Aren’t we supposed to be peacemakers?”
Yes, of course we are. But I would respectfully point out that our Lord did not mince words when he confronted the religious authorities of his day, who followed the letter of the law but not its spirit.
In Luke 11, Jesus declares: “Now, you Pharisees cleanse the outside of the cup and of the dish, but inside you are full of extortion and wickedness. You fools! Did not he who made the outside make the inside also? … Woe to you Pharisees! For you tithe mint and rue and every herb, and neglect justice and the love of God; those you ought to have done, without neglecting the others. Woe to you Pharisees! For you love the best seat in the synagogues and salutations in the marketplaces. Woe to you! For you are like graves which are not seen, and men walk over them without knowing it.”
Pretty harsh, right? But Jesus was following a long prophetic tradition that stretches all the way back to Moses warning the pharaoh of the dire consequences if he didn’t let the Israelites go. Elijah and Elisha and Isaiah and Jeremiah all denounced the kings of Israel for their failure to rule justly.
Nor did our Lord stop at speaking truth to power. He took matters into his own hands on one memorable occasion, Matthew 21 tells us. Just days before his death, “Jesus entered the temple courts and drove out all who were buying and selling there. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the benches of those selling doves. And He declared to them, “It is written: ‘My house will be called a house of prayer.’ But you are making it ‘a den of robbers.’”
I have always detested the saying “Hate the sin, love the sinner.” As a gay man, I’ve heard that a lot over the years, and in practice, what it actually means is: Hate the sin and marginalize the sinner. So let me be clear: I am not advocating that we sink to the level of those who promote so-called “Christian Nationalism,” by declaring them evil and beyond redemption.
But we do have a solemn charge to resist those who are working to flout democratic norms and rend our social fabric, under the pretext of making America a “Christian nation.” Our faith commands us to defend all those whom politicians target and exploit for who they are; for whom they love; for what deity they believe in or don’t; for the color of their skin; for the language they speak; or where they came from. As I John 4 tells us: “If anyone says, ‘I love God,’ and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen. And this commandment we have from him, that he who loves God should love his brother also.”
Back in January, on the first anniversary of the Jan. 6 insurrection, Washington National Cathedral hosted an online conversation between Jon Meachum, the Pulitzer Prize-winning historian and journalist, and the Episcopal Church’s presiding bishop, Michael Curry. If you watched the wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markel a few years back, you saw and heard Bishop Curry in action; hold that image in your mind while I share a few excerpts from that dialogue.
Bishop Curry begins his remarks by referencing all the stories about Jesus and his disciples huddled on a boat at night in turbulent waters. There’s no artificial light, just the moon and stars, so we can certainly understand why the men are terrified.
In one of those stories, Peter sees Jesus walking on the water in the midst of the storm. Impetuous as always, he jumps out of the boat and starts walking toward him. Peter’s doing OK until he lets his fear of the storm take his focus off Jesus, at which point he immediately starts sinking. Curry draws this parallel to our situation:
“We must not shift our focus from becoming the true democracy—a multiracial, multiethnic, plural, holistic democracy—which is that shining ‘city on a hill.’ We must not shift from that vision of who we can be by focusing only on the storms that are in our midst, because the storms will consume us. They will consume our perception. And eventually, we’ll believe that’s all there is—lightning, thunder and the roll of the water—instead of the possibility of becoming that city on the hill.
Bishop Curry continues: “It’s midnight in the hour of this democracy. We will determine what we will do with that moment. It’s a moment of decision, and we must decide: Will we be E Pluribus Unum? Will we truly become, from many diverse peoples, one nation indivisible, with liberty and justice—not just for some, but for all?”
The full title of Brené Brown’s book is: Braving the Wilderness: The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone. Even in a state somewhere between purple and light blue, and a fairly liberal city, it still takes real courage for us to denounce racism and misogyny, homophobia and transphobia, and every other form of bigotry, and to resist those who would enshrine those evils in our laws.
But that is how we can hold hands with strangers, and help them belong. In the process, we will truly live up to the words we recite at the end of each service at Beverley Hills: “Our mission is to welcome all people as they are, to grow together in Christian faith and fellowship, and to share Christ-like love in word and deed.” Amen.
Here’s another timely piece on promoting justice and resisting bigotry in today’s America from the San Francisco Chronicle: ‘We are the real face of America’: Local faith and civil rights leaders call out racism, division https://www.sfchronicle.com/bayarea/article/We-are-the-real-face-of-America-Local-17529396.php.
