Peace United Church of Christ
Sunday, April 15, 2018
Jeremiah 9:20-21, 23-24
1.
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| The Rev. Beverly F. Brook |
Before the prophets
of hope preach hope, before the bread church feeds her people, before pop-ups
pop, the sisterhood must teach their daughters a dirge. Beverly Faith Brook, this is the Word of the
Lord. The Word that comes to Jeremiah as
his nation, his city, his people teeter on the edge of destruction. The Word of the Lord. So I’ll say it again. Before the prophets of hope preach hope,
before the bread church feeds her people, before pop-ups pop, the sisterhood
must teach their daughters a dirge.
I just want to be
clear with everyone in the room that this text is your text, Beverly, your chosen
text for this extraordinary day. It’s an
odd choice, in many ways, unlike any ordination text I’ve heard through the
years. Jeremiah on the eve of his
people’s catastrophe. Preparing them for
that catastrophe. But you tell me you’re
drawn to the prophet’s honesty, even to his pain, to his grieving for “children
cut off from the streets” and young people robbed of their youth.
And it does make
sense: that your call to ministry, and your ordination today, are somehow
mediated through God’s grief, shaped by God’s pain, animated by God’s care for
“children cut off from the streets” and young people robbed of their
youth. We who ordain you know this. Their pain, God’s pain shapes your call to
ministry. Theirs are the voices you hear
so powerfully in your soul. Theirs are
the lives you hold so tenderly in your heart.
“Children cut off from the streets.” In some strange and paradoxical way, Jeremiah’s
broken heart is just right for our exuberant celebration today. So your text, Beverly. Your text. Your day. Your calling.
2.
So let’s get into
this a little bit. Jeremiah and Beverly
Brook. Our call—because it is our call
now—our call to their ministry. Verse 20
goes like this.
“Hear, O women, the
word of the Lord,
and let your ears receive the word of God’s
mouth;
teach to your
daughters a dirge,
and each to her neighbor a lament.”
In ancient Israel
as in so many other cultures, groups of women wandered the city, roamed the
countryside, devoted to grief and mourning.
Often in public, usually for whole communities of people. These were semi-professional choirs, called
on to sing dirges for the dead or songs of lamentation at a time of disaster or
great distress. A woman dying in child-labor. A death-dealing drought. A leader’s sudden demise.
In our text Jeremiah
calls out these same women, these choirs of the grieving, to teach their many
daughters a new dirge. A small chorus
will not do. The present crisis requires
a multi-generational upwelling of weeping and wailing. Grieve,
cries Jeremiah, for children whose childhood is ripped from their hearts. Weep, cries Jeremiah, for young people who no
longer break-dance in parks and skateboard across city squares. The nation has lost its way; and the children
pay the highest price. (This sounds
familiar, right?) So “teach your
daughters a dirge,” Jeremiah insists, “and each to her neighbor a lament.” The time for grotesque nationalism is
past. The time for false bravado is long
gone. The children are cut off from the
streets.
You’ve seen this
kind of grieving, Beverly, I know that you have. You’ve seen it our courtrooms. You’ve seen it in the eyes of parents whose
children never had a chance and never will see the light of day. You’ve seen it in the faces of dedicated
staff at juvenile hall, struggling to hold it together as children suffer all
around them. You’ve seen it in your dear
prophets of hope team, right here at Peace United. And you’ve seen it—most definitely—you’ve
seen this kind of grieving in the mirror at night: your own deep, inconsolable
sadness for children we toss out like garbage, in an America addicted to
privilege, wealth and racism.
“Death has come up
into our windows,
it has entered our palaces,
to cut off the
children from the streets
and the young people from the city squares.”
Sure it has.
3.
Jeremiah calls
these choirs, then, to grief and lamentation in Jerusalem. It’s time for the sisterhood to teach their
daughters a dirge. Take your pain to the
streets, he says. Before the next march
is organized. Before the next petition
is launched. “Death has come up into our
windows, / it has entered our palaces.”
Our state capitols. Our white
houses. Our think tanks. Take your pain to the streets, Jeremiah
says. A small chorus will not do.
And it’s a
particular dirge he’s after, a particular kind of complaint and lament. And this, Beverly, is so important for you
and for us and for the calling we share in prophetic ministry. So, back it up a bit, to verse 10, same
chapter, Jeremiah 9. And there, in verse
10, Jeremiah’s God says:
“I will weep and
wail for the mountains and take up a lament concerning the desert
pastures. They are desolate and
untraveled, and the lowing of the cattle is not heard.”
Beverly, God is
grieving. And I know you know this. God is weeping. God is wailing. For
all creation. For the holy and glorious land. For the desolation of cattle and birds and
all the living beings laid waste by human greed and national pride. God is wailing, Jeremiah says. For children forgotten and betrayed. For teens and families counted as collateral
in a global economy. God is
wailing. And so must we. That’s the movement, in Jeremiah 9, from
verse 10 to verse 20. God is
wailing. And so must we. And the women of Jerusalem, always the women,
must teach us how.
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| Ferguson, MO |
There’s more to
say, Beverly, about the other verses in this text. But let me pause, let me just pause right here,
to thank you for teaching us—here at Peace United and across this city—how to
weep for the children. You’ve done that,
over many years, with spiritual integrity and theological sophistication. You’ve taught us to show up at hearings for
the forgotten children of our city.
You’ve taught us to keep vigil with their families. You’ve taught us to channel our grief into
action, when the time is right, into advocacy for just sentencing processes for
adolescents, into activism for bus stops that make a difference for families,
into mobilization for facilities that make sense for women doing everything
they can to get back to their families at last.
Already, your
ministry is a rich expression of Jeremiah’s prophetic nerve, a unambiguous
“yes” to Jeremiah’s call to lamentation and compassion. And we thank you for that. Keep at it.
Insist that we learn the dirge you know so well. Today we ordain you to teach us that song.
But there’s
more. Death may have come to our
windows; corruption to our palaces. But
the Word of the Lord will not be denied.
God’s passion for life and reconciliation, for shalom, will not be
denied. And this, Beverly, this is where
prophets of hope have to be prophets of imagination. Like Miriam in the Red Sea. Like Ezekiel in the Valley of Dry Bones. Like King on his mountain top. We’ve got to risk seeing things others
haven’t seen yet. We’ve got to risk
remembering stories others have long forgotten.
Prophets of hope imagine redemption.
Prophets of hope imagine reconciliation.
Prophets of hope imagine a beloved community, on earth as in
heaven. And we do all this because we
know—deep in our bones—that God’s passion for life will not be denied. We’ve seen it. We’ve tasted it.
So the heartbroken
prophet goes on—even today, even here—to celebrate the living heart of his
faith, the restless power of Torah itself.
Verses 23 and 24: verses our friend and UCC scholar Walter Brueggemann
has called the “epicenter” of the Hebrew Bible.
In the church, we call this kind of stuff “gospel.” It pierces the fog of fake news and unmasks
the architects of empire. And this
afternoon, Beverly, your ordination, it’s your “epicenter” and ours. Right here in the Good Book: Thus says the
Lord!
“Do not let the
wise boast in their wisdom, do not let the mighty boast in their might, do not
let the wealthy boast in their wealth; but let those who boast boast in this,
that they understand and know me, says the Lord.” And these words flash like lightning, I
think, across the stormy American sky. There’s
more to history than the authoritarian bluster of oligarchs. There’s more to this shining planet than
interest rates and hedge funds and profit margins. “Do not let the wise boast in their wisdom. Do not let the mighty boast in their might. Do not let the wealthy boast in their wealth.” His heart is broken, Jeremiah; but his words
pack a punch!
And here comes
Torah, here comes gospel, here comes the heart of it all. “I am the Lord,” says God. “And I act with HESED, MISH-PAT and
SEDAQAH. I act with steadfast love
(HESED), with justice (MISH-PAT), and with righteousness (SEDAQAH).” To know God is to know what God is doing in
the world. To understand God is to pay
attention. Steadfast love, justice and
righteousness.
Now this isn’t
guesswork on Jeremiah’s part. This isn’t
a new theory he’s publishing in real time.
This is his people’s story. This
is his people’s experience. And if we’re
serious about being the church, and if we’re serious about solidarity, and if
we’re serious about biblical faith, it’s our experience too. Our God acts in history, always and forever,
with HESED, MISH-PAT and SEDAQAH. Our God
is the great provocateur of liberation, the restless lover of the poor. This isn’t guesswork. When Israel was in Egypt’s land, God said,
“Let my people go!” When Israel was
shackled to Pharaoh’s trickle-down economy, God told Moses, “Enough is
enough!” When Israel was bereft and
bewildered, God made a way out of no way.
“I act with steadfast love, with justice, and with righteousness.” “I am the Lord.”
So delight with me,
God says, delight with me: in steadfast love, in justice and in
righteousness. Remember what I have
done. Watch what I am doing. And delight with me.
The church, as you
well know Beverly, is called to resistance.
Especially our church. Especially
now. We’re called to resistance and lamentation
and brave advocacy for children cut off from the streets, for young people
banished from their homes and their schools, their city parks and squares. You know this. And we know this. There’s no doubt about it. We are called to challenge narratives that
oppress and systems that corrupt and economies that impoverish.
But that resistance,
our resistance, will only bear fruit if we ground every prayer and every
campaign and every effort in God’s delight.
God’s delight. If we’re serious
about being the church, if we’re serious about ordination and covenant and
mission, we take all this delight, God’s delight, God’s passion, to heart. And
we make it our own. HESED, MISH-PAT and
SEDAQAH.
Now Jeremiah’s
asking a lot of us today. There’s no
doubt, Beverly. Nice text you’ve chosen for
all this! We’re to embrace our people’s
pain, and teach our daughters sad songs and lamentation. And at the same time, in almost the same
breath, we’re to remember God’s delight, God’s passion, God’s provocative ways. Our dirges are somehow inspired by our
hopefulness. Our sad songs are somehow emboldened
by our hope. We’re a strange and
strangely called bunch. Welcome to the
ministry, Beverly. Welcome to the
gospel.
5.
So let me toss one
more word your way. One more juicy provocative
biblical word. A word to mull over as
you step onto a new path tomorrow, which is the old path, which is the path we
travel together. The Hebrew word
“HALAL.” This word the NRSV translates
for us as “BOAST.” Do not let the wise
HALAL in their own wisdom and sophistication.
Do not let the mighty HALAL in their own might and in their own war
machines and in their own guns and gadgetry. And do not let the wealthy HALAL in obscene wealth
and trickle-down economics, in shifty back room pay-offs and sheeshy Floridian
golf clubs. This is how we lose our
kids, right? This is how we settle into
exploitative economies, right? This is
how we accommodate greed and replicate Egypt right here in the promised land,
right? But do not HALAL in these things,
says the God of Torah and Gospel; do not HALAL in these things, says the God of
Jeremiah and Jesus; but HALAL in steadfast love, and HALAL in justice, and
HALAL in righteousness. “Thus says the
Lord.” (Just to be sure we’re paying
attention.) “Thus says the Lord.”
And, of course,
HALAL becomes HALLELUJAH! Same root,
same word, same biblical lineage. And
this may be the key to the whole prophetic project, Beverly, the spiritual
practice that unlocks our hearts and God’s plans and the church’s true calling.
When HALAL becomes HALLELUJAH!—the
church shows up with God at a child’s sentencing in a somber courtroom. When HALAL becomes HALLELUJAH!—the church
speaks truth to power in the halls of justice.
When HALAL becomes HALLELUJAH!—the church brings warm bread into prison
cells and art supplies to juvenile hall.
When HALAL becomes HALLELUJAH!—the church prays over and over and over
again: Thy kingdom come! Thy kingdom
come! On earth, as in heaven! Thy kingdom come!
So your ordination,
Beverly, which is our ordination today, is a summons not only to lamentation,
not only to pain, but also to praise, to exuberance, to the kind of worship
that lays burdens down and binds up broken hearts and rebuilds ruined
cities. GLORY, GLORY, HALLELUJAH! GLORY, GLORY, HALLELUJAH! Let the church HALAL in this, that we
understand and know God, that we know the one who acts with HESED and with
MISH-PAT and with SEDAQAH. Let the
church sink its theological and spiritual roots into the fertile ground of the
Hebrew Bible, into the provocative and unsettling gospel of Jesus of
Nazareth. Let the church—let our
church—HALAL in this, that we understand and know God’s ways. It’ll take us a lifetime. But that’s what your ordination is all
about. A lifetime of HALLELUJAHS!
So just to sum
up. There is no doubt, says the prophet,
that “death has come up into our windows, that it has entered our
palaces.” But it is our calling,
Beverly, and it is our calling, people of God, to resist. The good news today—the truly good news—is
this: we will not be alone on the way. We will not be adrift in the stormy
seas. Because we know, because Beverly
Faith Brook knows, because the church knows that God resists too. And how about that? THE GREAT I AM is resistance and courage and
delight!
And that’s really
all we need to go out and get it done.
