Jim is the only Baptist
living in a Catholic neighborhood. On
the first Friday of Lent he lights some charcoal and grills a huge steak, which
every other person on the block can smell as they sit down at table to eat
bland, tasteless, cold fish. This
repeats itself every Friday in Lent, tempting the Catholics and making them
miserable. They determine the best way
to address the situation is to invite Jim to convert to Catholicism so he too
will not eat meat on Fridays. Jim agrees
and after going to classes he is baptized.
“Jim”, the priest says as he sprinkles water on his head, “You were born
a Baptist and raised a Baptist, but now you are a Catholic.” When Lent comes around next year, the
neighborhood is overwhelmed with the smell of steak on a grill. Folks march over to Jim’s house to complain
and arrive just in time to witness him standing over the meat, sprinkling it
with water, and saying, “You were born a cow and raised a cow, but now you are
a fish.”
As we come to the end of Lent
and approach the threshold of Palm Sunday and Holy Week, today’s gospel reading
records Jesus telling his disciples the hour has come for him to be “glorified”,
and by glorified, he means crucified. Jesus
says, “Unless a single grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains
just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” It is a statement of resignation, reality,
and hope. Resignation, in that Jesus
understands there is no other way forward for him. Reality, in that some movements simply do not
get started without great sacrifice.
Hope, in that things can change; new possibilities and growth can
happen.
Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies…
nothing will change.
We always begin the season of Lent on Ash Wednesday being
reminded of our own mortality: “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall
return.” This year, as we said these
words in the reverent calm and safety of our sanctuary, the people associated
with Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School experienced it as a horrific
reality. The picture of a mother with
panic on her face and a cross of ashes on her forehead hugging her child is
indelibly imprinted on our minds.
The fourteen students, three teachers, and surviving
members of the school family have been our companions on our 2018 Lenten
journey. The stories of those who are
lost and the voices of those who live on have been with us in a very powerful
way over the last five weeks. Seventeen
grains of wheat have fallen into the earth.
The question is, what kind of fruit will come from their deaths.
Jesus is a master storyteller and many of
his parables involve seeds. Perhaps the
best known is the story of the Sower and the Soil. You remember how the sower scatters seed over
a field. Some fall on packed soil and are
eaten by birds. Some fall on stony
ground, sprout up quickly, but wither due to lack of depth. Some fall among thistles, which choke them
out shortly after they begin to grow.
And some fall on good soil and these seeds produce an abundant
harvest. The parable invites us to
ponder what type of soil we are – as a person, as a community, as a society,
and as a people.
Our national conversation about school
violence is a well-worn path. The ground
everywhere is packed hard with entrenched positions. When the seeds of lost lives fall,
immediately the special interests start to pick away at them. “You must do this.” “You can’t do that.” It is the same old conversation and the same
old fight between the same old tired voices.
Rather than coming together with a sense of urgency to make our schools
safe for our children, and rather than thinking creatively and cooperatively,
we retreat to our long-held positions, stomp our feet, and make the ground even
harder.
There are some who are like the rocky soil
and just don’t have the personal depth to care about a problem not affecting
them personally. They are apathetic,
indifferent, and in no way, shape, or form will ever lift a finger to get
involved. Their voices will never be
heard because, frankly, they have no voice.
Others are like the soil with weeds.
Yes, this shooting has their attention, but something will come along soon
enough to divert it away. The news cycle
will change eventually, and many who care now will lose interest.
If the shooting in Parkland has shown us
one encouraging thing it is this: there is a lot of good, fertile soil in our
country. We see and sense it in our
children and who are demanding #neveragain.
Last Wednesday, young people across our country and in our own community
walked out of class for seventeen minutes to remember the seeds fallen in the
soil of our violent society. They are
determined to ensure these tragic deaths bear fruit in them and through
them. Many young people, including
members of our own church, have become part of the prophetic Walk Up
movement. They have committed to reach
out to fourteen fellow students they do not know and three teachers, in order
to offer words of kindness and encouragement.
Some have tried to discredit their voices,
holding they are being manipulated by one special interest group or
another. I cannot image a more cynical
or defensive response. As one of my
nieces commented, if you get defensive when a school student says these
shootings must end, you might want to stop talking and ponder your own
response. What in this makes you feel so
threatened?
Some will say this sermon is
political. What is political about stating
life is sacred and every child should be safe in school and every parent should
have confidence their children will come home at the end of the day
unharmed?
As a country we hold as sacred the
inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Of the three, life is paramount. We do not have the liberty to drive at any
speed we choose, nor are we free to run a traffic light. Our liberties are inhibited in numerous ways
in order to safeguard life. The same
goes for happiness. Our pursuit of
happiness has its limitations too. If it
gives you the giggles to scream “fire” in a crowded theatre, you will soon be
incarcerated. We give up what we hold
dear in order that all might live. It is
God’s first gift to us and we need to protect it above all else.
I do not pretend to have the answer to
solving the problem of school shootings – or any of the other acts of mass
violence committed in our country. I do
not believe there is a single, simple solution.
But nothing ever changes because, as I said earlier, as soon as a
tragedy happens everyone retreats to his or her entrenched position and yells
as loud as possible at everyone who disagrees with what they say. I think about 9/11 and how, almost over
night, we made air travel safe again. It
has been 20 years since Columbine and many of our children and schools still
are not safe. It is shameful. It is sinful.
And I can’t begin to explain or understand it. We as a country need to repent.
Sadly, we need to receive seventeen more seeds
into our soil and pray we might be tilled and ready for a bountiful harvest to
spring forth from their sacrifice.
Jesus, the divine seed, has died for us that we might be willing to
undertake difficult journeys. Jesus, the
Resurrected One, has demonstrated new life is possible. If Jesus can rise from the grave of death,
and if Jesus promises always to be with us, surely we can come together as a
country and figure this out.
May this be the last Lent we have to mourn
the loss of innocent students and teachers.
Can there possibly be anyone who objects to this? O God, please, give us the courage and the
wisdom to act so that not one more precious, young seed will fall to the ground
needlessly.
