Alongside
the Community Church of Durham
Sunday,
December 1, 2019
1.
On
April 4, 2018—the fiftieth anniversary of the assassination of Martin Luther
King, Jr.—seven Catholic activists cut a hole in a security fence at the Kings
Bay Naval Submarine Base in Georgia.
They entered the base singing peace songs and praying for mercy, and
they recorded their procession with body cams.
The oldest and most experienced of the seven, Liz McAllister, was 79 at
the time.
The Kings Bay Base is home to six Trident
submarines—each carrying missiles tipped with nuclear warheads. And the Kings Bay Plowshares Seven—as they
are now known—hung banners and crime-scene tape where they could. Then they pounded a display of a Tomahawk
missile with a hammer and poured human blood on a seal of the base, a seal that
depicted a missile crossed with a submarine.
They’d chosen the anniversary of Dr. King’s death with a purpose: to
remind us all of the deadly triplets—militarism, racism and poverty—crushing
hope and diminishing human community around the world. One of the seven read aloud from Pope
Francis’ statement denouncing the possession of nuclear weapons. Another left behind a copy of Daniel
Ellsburg’s 2017 book “Doomsday Machine.”
All seven were arrested, jailed and charged with conspiracy, destruction of government property, depredation of a naval installation, and trespassing. Four were released on bail after two months; the others remained in jail for more than a year.
2.
It’s
obviously no surprise that Isaiah’s poignant vision (swords into plowshares) motivates
the Plowshares Seven; and it’s been that way since the Plowshares movement came
together in the 1980s. We’ve heard Isaiah
this morning. His is a vision of global
communion; his is a vision of international collaboration. “In days to come, the mountain of the Lord’s
house shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be raised
above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it. Many peoples shall come and say, ‘Come, let
us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob.’” Isaiah’s envisioning a festival of
peacemaking, a convocation of nations and cultures: this is God’s intention,
this is God’s hope, this is God’s promise.
In Hebrew: shalom! Shalom! Later, much later, Jesus would pray: “On
earth as in heaven!”
And
for those seven at Kings Bay, the implications are clear. God’s intention. God’s hope.
God’s promise. There’s no room in
the prophetic vision for concrete border walls.
There’s no room in the prophetic vision for invasive surveillance
cameras and families separated by governments.
And there’s no room in the prophetic vision for Tomahawk missiles and
Trident submarines. The Georgia action
was something like Plowshares’ one hundredth public protest, each one
manifesting biblical courage and nonviolent witness in a dangerously protected
space. Because isn’t that exactly what
Isaiah had in mind? Isn’t that exactly
the path to peace and communion? “They
shall beat their swords into plowshares,” cried the Prophet, “and their spears
into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither
shall they learn war any more.”
Eight
centuries before the birth of Jesus, Isaiah was surrounded by mayhem and
despair. Nations planned for war and
conquest. His own nation invested its
precious resources in weaponry and strategized around timing and
aggression. When to move. How to move fast.
But
Isaiah reimagined Jerusalem, the Holy City, as something like an academy of
nonviolent instruction, an international school for peacemakers and conflict
transformers. Isaiah insisted that God’s
people had a role to play: that God’s people could be partners in making this
divine vision reality. Sometimes it’s
easy to take this kind of vision for granted—we’ve heard it so often; but it’s
stunning, really. A stunning call to
economic, moral and spiritual transformation.
“Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn
war any more.”
3.
Daniel
Berrigan was a key member of the Plowshares movement in the last three decades
of his life. And about peacemaking, transformational
peacemaking, Daniel Berrigan once said: “When something difficult is attempted,
it’s like trying to break a rock with an egg.”
Isn’t that something? “When
something difficult is attempted, it’s like trying to break a rock with an
egg.” But this is indeed God’s
invitation and this is indeed our human calling. To love the world into healing. To embrace difference as blessing and
opportunity. To beat swords into
plowshares. To lean into mercy and
forgiveness.
As
the first Christians tried to make sense of Jesus, as they struggled to
understand Jesus’ passion and Jesus’ heart, they returned again and again to
prophets like Isaiah and texts like the one we’ve read this morning. Jesus was himself a teacher, and he gathered
around him women, men, children of all nationalities and cultures. He instructed them in the practices of prayer
and praise, in the arts of forgiveness and mercy, in the strategies of
nonviolence and equity. In Jesus’
company, they too imagined a world beyond war, a generous and just sharing of
food and warmth and love. In Jesus’
company, those first Christians believed Isaiah’s vision and committed to
Isaiah’s vision and stepped towards Isaiah’s vision in faith. “Nation shall not lift up sword against
nation, neither shall they learn war any more.”
And
maybe most important, this kind of poetry, Isaiah’s poetry, shakes us all from
our tendency to despair and powerlessness.
This too was Jesus’ gift, is still
Jesus’ gift, for all who follow. The future
is not locked in place. The arrangements
of the present are not forever set in stone.
By the grace and mercy of God, God’s people are always receiving new
life; God’s people are always entertaining new visions; God’s people are
partners in creating a future of blessing, abundance and peace. Every day we awaken to praise God for the sun
rising in the east. Every evening we sit
down to break bread and bless the earth and share laughter and love with
friends. Every time we stand in
solidarity for justice, every time we protest institutional violence and grim
nationalism and weapons of mass destruction.
This
too is Jesus’ teaching, Jesus’ gospel, Jesus’ instruction. The future is not locked in place. The arrangements of the present are not
forever set in stone. We are
partners—God’s partners—in creating a future of blessing, abundance and
peace. It’s not so easy; and sometimes
we’ll have to risk our pride, and maybe our privilege, to step forward and bear
witness. And it will often seem that we’re
trying to break a rock with an egg. But
the good news is: the love of God is stronger than our fear, and the grace of
God is sufficient for every challenge we face, for every hill we climb. Indeed, sometimes faith moves mountains, and
it turns out that eggs can break rocks too.
And
in a church like ours, we can do this together.
That’s really the beauty of Christian community, of our life in the Body
of Christ. Our gifts differ, person to
person, small group to small group, ministry to ministry; and that’s as it
should be, as God means it to be. Some
of us are committed to peacemaking through prayer. Others of us are gifted in caring for the
church, attending to its daily needs, to the nuts and bolts that fit together
to make our life together work. And
still others, of course, will be out in the streets, in the rain, at protests
perhaps, bearing vibrant witness to God’s passion for peace, even beating some
of those swords into plowshares. In a
church like ours, all of these energies serve one another, and all of these
commitments serve the greater good. We
are peacemakers together. We shine God’s
light together. In sisterhood. In brotherhood. In this beloved community. Our lives fit together that way! Jesus’ teaching comes to life that way. Isaiah’s vision too.
4.
I
find Denise Levertov’s poem a wonderful complement to the ancient language, the
ancient poetry of Isaiah. She too is
imagining potential, daring to suggest new arrangements and possibilities. And she too is challenging believers to step
out of despair, out of powerlessness, into partnership, into commitment, into
prophetic faith. Did you catch that
lovely language in her poem, around making peace, around embodying peace in our
lives and language?
But peace, she writes, like a poem,
Is not there ahead of itself,
Can’t be imagined before it is made,
Can’t be known except
In the words of its making,
Grammar of justice,
Syntax of mutual aid.
Denise
Levertov grasps the heart of our vocation, our calling in Christian community,
koinonia. We make peace as we live
bravely and peacefully together. We make
peace as we enact justice in our care for one another, in our prayer for one
another, in our shared sufferings and joys.
“Peace is not there ahead of itself, can’t be imagined before it is
made.” So we show up for one
another. So we pay attention to one
another’s pain and celebrate one another’s joy.
So we stand strong alongside immigrant sisters and immigrant brothers,
and we protest racism and xenophobia in public policy, and we make peace as we
speak new sentences, intone new prayers together. “Grammar of justice, syntax of mutual aid.”
This
time of year, we love our traditions.
And our traditions are often indeed sweet and potent, and a living
reminder of life’s blessing and warmth.
But let’s not miss the new things God would be doing in our lives. Let’s not miss the opportunity to speak a
word of mercy in a relationship that’s broken.
Let’s not miss the challenge of stepping out to protest an injustice or
support bullied neighbors. Let’s not
miss the urgency of prayer, the beauty of wonder, the radically simple gift of
just listening to the wind, or just watching the sun set over barren hillsides
in the west.
The
coming of Christ, after all, is not just the same old thing this year. It’s a new coming. It’s a new moment. It’s God’s commitment to partnering with you
and me in the creation of a new world. A
world of peace. A world of
compassion. A world of radiant love and
abundant mercy. So watch for it. Look for it in your heart. Look for it in your classroom. Look for it in the streets. Because God is doing a new thing. And we—you and I—are the partners God
needs. God is coming, Christ is coming,
for us.
Amen.
A Benediction for Advent 1:
Go now in
the light of Love to bless the God of Israel
and live in grace and gratitude!
Go now in
tender mercy to watch for signs of the coming reign of peace,
the advent of
justice!
Go now in
courage to beat swords into plowshares,
and angry spears into pruning hooks!
Go now,
blessed by God, blessed by love, blessed by mercy.
Go now to be light for the world!
