On this weekend when we celebrate the prophetic ministry of Martin Luther King, Jr. and the inauguration of Barack Hussein Obama as the 44th president of the United States, the lectionary gives us a Gospel reading that includes the element of prejudice, something Dr. King addressed in significant ways and something that made President-to-be Obama's election such a victory. Many members of predominantly African-American congregations and many members of this congregation know full well how cruel the expression of prejudice can be. You may be surprised to discover prejudice in the pages of the Bible. But the Bible is a reflection of the human condition as well as a witness to the all-inclusive and affirming love of God. It is a portrayal of life as real people live it as well as a testimony to God's constant presence in the world.
The writer of the Fourth Gospel gives a different slant on the calling of Jesus' disciples. The Fourth Gospel gives no list of "the Twelve," as do the other three Gospels. Instead the Fourth Gospel names Andrew as the first person invited to discipleship. Then we hear about Philip, who is not prominent in the other Gospels, and Nathaneal, who is not mentioned in any other Gospel. When Philip tells Nathaneal that he (Philip) has found the Messiah, he calls him Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth. Nathaniel seems to sneer as he says, "Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?"
When I was a student at Princeton Seminary, one of my classmates was from Hoboken. He said he was teased all through college about coming from Hoboken. "Can any good thing come from Hoboken, or Nazareth, ...or Illinois?" Small minds find it difficult to believe that talent, intelligence, and spiritual sensitivity can come from the widest range of people, without regard to race, geographic origin, gender, or sexual orientation. Nathaneal in our Gospel lesson spoke for more than just himself when he asked, "Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?" He spoke for all men and women who too easily categorize people and embrace stereotypes unthinkingly. Most of us have done that at some time or another. Prejudice is not limited to Caucasians, to straight people, or to males. Prejudice is a human trait. It is an equal opportunity weakness.
What I think is important for us to note in our Gospel lesson this morning is Jesus' treatment of Nathaneal, the man who impugned Jesus' origins. We don't know whether Jesus was aware of Nathaneal's prejudicial comment. What we do know is that Jesus affirmed Nathaneal as a person not given to deceit, a true Israelite. Words of high praise. And not empty flattery either. Jesus seems to have had a way of seeing beyond the flaws of the people who were open to his message, encouraging them to build on their strengths and to let go of their weaknesses. Jesus dealt firmly with willful brokenness when he came across it, but he never wavered from his commitment to reflect God's love for all people in the way he carried out his mission. His firm but gentle love was the model for Martin Luther King, Jr., whose practice of non-violent resistance is one of his greatest legacies. Jesus' way of firm but gentle love is still the standard of conduct for all who profess to be Christian. Christian love at its best is not wishy-washy. It doesn't coddle. It knows how to be firm as well as gentle.
When Nathaneal scornfully asked if any good things could come out of Nazareth, Philip didn't lecture him or berate him. Philip simply said, "Come and see." See for yourself. Let the evidence make the case.
I believe that was the case with the presidential campaign of Barack Obama. Thank God there were enough people in this country, people eligible to vote, who could see beyond race, beyond the matter of specific experience, and look at the evidence. Come and see. And what they saw, what we all saw was an articulate man of high intelligence, a man with the political skill of a community organizer, a man with deep roots in a faith community with the courage to distance himself from one pastor's excesses, and, in some ways the most important characteristic for me, the capacity to be comfortable in his own skin, so that he could remain calm in challenging circumstances.
Our second lesson this morning, the one from II Samuel, is not a lectionary reading for today. But it is a reading I kept hearing in my head all week, a reading that can speak to us this weekend as we await the presidential inauguration on Tuesday. It is traditionally called in the text "The last words of David." Whether written by the great Israelite King David or by someone else, it is inspired. "Whoever rules over people justly, whether king or president, whoever rules in the fear or reverence of God, is like the light of morning, like the sun rising on a cloudless morning, gleaming from the rain on the grassy land."
I have to say that the election of Barack Obama and his coming inauguration as President of the United States makes me hopeful. Some of my friends have called me naïve because of my hope. (I was called other things this past week, but that's another story.) I read the columnists who carp about this or that appointment, I hear the television experts who think they have the answers even though they have never held public office, and I acknowledge openly my misgivings about Rick Warren's offering the invocation at the swearing-in ceremony. But I am still hopeful. After all, Obama has invited the openly gay Episcopalian Bishop Gene Robinson to pray at an inaugural event also. The man listens! Using the words of our reading, I believe he will rule justly—not perfectly, because he is human, but justly, as fairly as he can.
I believe he will govern—or rule in our reading's word—in the fear of God. I am glad Obama doesn't wear his faith on his sleeve, and I'm especially happy that his faith is a thoughtful faith. In an interview on March 27, 2004, when he was running for the U.S. Senate, Obama was interviewed by Cathleen Falsani, religious editor of the Chicago Sun-Times.
Falsani said to Obama, "So you got yourself born again." He replied,
Yeah....I retain from my childhood and my experiences growing up suspicious of dogma. And I'm not somebody who is always comfortable with language that implies I've got a monopoly on the truth or that my faith is automatically transferable to others. I'm a big believer in tolerance. I think that religion at its best comes with a big dose of doubt. I'm suspicious of too much certainty in pursuit of understanding just because I think people are limited in their understanding. I think that, particularly as someone who's now in the public realm and is a student of what brings people together and what drives them apart, there's an enormous amount of damage done around the world in the name of religion and certainty.
Faith doesn't cancel uncertainty, but uses it as a prod to act with noble resolve. If we wait to be sure, we freeze in our tracks. Faith propels us forward. [from "Obama's Lincolnesque faith embraces uncertainty" by Jack R. Van Ens, Presbyterian Outlook, January 11, 2009]
If that's how Obama sees ruling in the fear of God, I am hopeful. I was hopeful when I participated in Dr. King's March on Washington in 1963, and I am hopeful today.
I like the image of the sun rising. Ernest Hemmingway liked it also: The Sun Also Rises. For me the image of the sun rising acknowledges that there is darkness; there is night with all that connotes. I know what it is like personally to experience thick darkness and emerge into the light. I believe in many ways that our country and the world have lived through a kind of darkness for the last several years. But there is a strengthening consensus that hope is growing globally in spite of the economic catastrophe we are experiencing.
Hope emerges in amazing ways and in unexpected places. This story was in Tuesday's New York Times.
Jamil sounds different on the second day of the attack. It isn't the occasional voice-obscuring thunder in the background—Israeli shells exploding near his Gaza City apartment. It's a subtler note, a bewildered despairing flatness I have never heard in the six years that this kind, understated, endlessly resourceful child psychologist has coordinated our center's work with Gaza's psychologically traumatized population.
"Do you know our team member Waleed?' he asks. I do. The image arises of a sweet, soulful young social worker who cares for traumatized kids.
"He has been killed," Jamil tells me.
Gaza has never been easy.
Since Hamas won elections in 2006 and Israel sealed Gaza's borders, conditions have grown worse. Unemployment reached 60 percent or more; fuel, food, and water were often in short supply. Fed by impotent rage, family violence and clan conflicts escalated.
Still, Jamil, Waleed, and the other 90 professionals we trained felt happier and more hopeful as they used the techniques that our international faculty taught them: slow deep breathing to quiet anxiety; guided imagery to seek intuitive solutions to intractable problems; words, drawings, and movement to express and share their feelings.
Now, two weeks after the initial bombings, with almost 900 dead, several thousand wounded, and Israeli ground forces swarming Gaza, it is hard to find hope. Yet in the midst of despair, many of our colleagues do find some.
"When the bombs fall," Jamil tells me, "my children and I breathe deeply, and then we share our feelings. We have each other—our families and our Mind-Body Team too—and of course we have to trust in God."
He's getting ready to sign off. He thanks me for listening and for encouraging our Israeli colleagues—Arabs and Jews—to get in touch with him.
As we hang up, I remember what another Gazan colleague told me not long ago. "In our Scripture, it is written that when you do not have hope, you look for it in the face of your friend." [by James S. Gordon, M.D., New York Times, January 13, 2009, D7]
I am hopeful this morning—hopeful for our world, our nation, and this congregation. And I am grateful when I see hope in the faces of you, my friends.
Thanks be to God.