When I woke up on the morning of November 6, the day after the election, the first action I took was to pick up my phone to see the results, I suspect most of you did the same thing. For some, the results brought joy and a sense of relief, a feeling that the world is getting back to a place that makes sense to them. For me I felt fear and despair. My feelings came not because “my team” lost, but instead because I almost immediately began to think about the people I know and love whose lives will most likely be changed in very bad ways in the next months and years as a result of the election. These thoughts came not from an over-dramatized understanding of what might happen but probably won’t. These thoughts came from a close reading of what those who won the presidency and races in the house and senate have said they will do once in power.
So, I thought of my friend who is a trans man and who transitioned over 30 years ago. He is retired and lives on only his meager social security and SNAP benefits. He relies on Medicaid for his healthcare which includes the gender-affirming hormones he takes. I felt afraid for him. I thought about my several friends who are in same-gender marriages who are scrambling to make sure they have legal protections in place for when and if federal protections for same-gender marriages are revoked. I thought about the many wonderful and hardworking federal employees that I knew when I served a church in Arlington Virginia who may lose their jobs in the near future. These are people who have worked for the federal government for decades and bring great apolitical knowledge and experience to our nation and keep our government running through every administration, whether republican or democrat. I thought of some of my children’s classmates who rely on free breakfast and lunch and free meals in the summer in order to have enough to eat, for whom these programs may go away or be cut back. I thought about our very earth, groaning under the weight of our consumption and use of fossil fuels, and wondered if things are going to get so much worse as we “drill, drill, drill.”
And then I thought about people who I don’t know, but in whose shoes I can imagine walking. I thought about the undocumented immigrants who have risked life and limb to save their families by travelling thousands of miles to this country, and who have been quietly working in essential jobs that none of the rest of us want to do while paying taxes and being ineligible for the benefits that taxpaying brings, whose families will be ripped apart—children separated from mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters. I thought about the women who will die because they are unable to receive needed reproductive healthcare during wanted but dangerous and life-ending pregnancies. I thought about the girls whose bodies may be able to reproduce but are really too young to do so who become pregnant though rape or simply a young mistake who will be forced to see the pregnancy through at the cost of their reproductive systems and psychological health. I thought of the people of Ukraine fighting for their country and their very life and what it will mean for them to lose the support of the United States. And I thought of so many more people, and I did not want to get out of bed. But, of course, I did. I had children to get to school and a job to go to. But I confess that getting up was not easy for several days.
As we had a guest preacher last Sunday, I did not have to immediately reflect on what I might preach, which was both a blessing and a curse. I was glad not to have to put energy that I was not sure I had into the writing of a sermon. However, writing sermons is also a spiritual discipline for me. I write sermons because it is my vocation, my responsibility as your rector, but for me sermon writing is also where I most frequently experience and encounter the divine. There is something about the process of seeking to connect scripture with our lives and putting this into writing that allows space for the Holy Spirit to enter my heart and mind. So perhaps I would have been able to get out of bed more easily and more quickly if I had been the preacher last Sunday. Who knows? What I do know is that working on this sermon this week has helped lift me from my place of fear and despair (I still have my moments, but overall, I am in a better place). If you are finding yourself stuck in fear and despair, I hope my sharing today will help you too.
So, I got on my computer and looked up the Gospel reading for today and you know what I read:
As he came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” 2 Then Jesus asked him, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.” and
Then Jesus began to say to them, “Beware that no one leads you astray. 6 Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’[a] and they will lead many astray. 7 When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. 8 For nation will rise against nation and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.
And I thought, “O great. What am I going to do with this?” And then I remembered that the community Mark was writing to lived just before or just after the fall of the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem. Mark’s community was either living during the Jewish revolt against the Romans or just after, and as they were still Jewish (Christianity did not yet exist as its own religion), they suffered greatly during this time. The Romans were brutal in their response to these rebelling people. And I began to think of all the many times in history when oppressive forces had the upper hand and people on the margins, people without power, people who were different, and many other innocent people suffered greatly.
I thought of when the Jewish people were exiled to Babylon. I thought of their recent near annihilation during the Holocaust. I thought of the people of Gaza, the Israeli hostages still in the hands of Hamas, the people of Yemen, people still digging themselves out of the aftermath of the hurricanes earlier this year. In our own history I thought of the Trail of Tears when the Cherokee people were forced off their lands and had to march thousands of miles to barren lands in Oklahoma. I thought of the African peoples torn from their families and land and everything they had known and forced into brutal chattel slavery in a strange land with strange people. I thought of the descendants of these African peoples living in the Jim Crow South with no rights or dignity. I thought of the brutality of the Civil War. I thought of the Japanese Americans interred in camps during World War II. And I thought to myself, “Why not us? Why not now?” Like the Temple in Jesus’ day that seemed great and permanent but was not, human institutions, including human governments and economic systems, have always been and will always be fragile, transient, and open to manipulation and subjugation by forces who seek power only for themselves and those they love. And I began to wonder how people survived and found life during these difficult times. For clearly people do survive times of great trial and suffering. If they didn’t, we wouldn’t be here. The human race would have died off a long time ago. The most significant, radical, course-changing movements for justice in our world erupted during times of intense and catastrophic repression. The anti-apartheid movement of South Africa intensified after the Afrikaner nationalist party blocked all legal forms of protest by non-white people. The LGBTQ+ movement was born during a time of brutal police crackdowns on the public gathering of gay people. Rosa Parks sat down on a bus when interracial marriage was still illegal, and most black people could not vote. Perhaps these are the birth-pangs Jesus is speaking of.
And I remembered as I read our Gospel reading for this morning that while human institutions, systems, and governments are fragile, fallible, and transient, God is not. God is with us. Judaism, a religion that continues to reveal God to millions around the world today, was born out of exile, and repression. Christianity was born from this minority faith. We follow a savior who still bears the marks of Empire on his hands and feet. Millions of suffering people around the world have found and find strength, faith, and life from this crucified savior. We continue to be followers of Christ no matter who holds the reigns of power, no matter what policies are enacted, and as followers of Christ our calling remains exactly the same today as it was yesterday and will be tomorrow. We are called to love God with all our heart, mind, and soul, and we are called to love our neighbor as ourselves. This means that even if our own freedoms and rights were not diminished by this election, we are to stand in solidarity and fight for those whose lives will change for the worse. If we are tempted to sink into fear and despair, we must realize that only people who occupy a place of privilege have the luxury to do so. Those who will lose freedoms and rights and resources don’t have the luxury of doing nothing, they will be fighting to survive.
And, my thoughts turned to our Celtic Christian ancestors. When the Roman Empire withdrew from Western Europe, by and large Christianity withdrew too. It was a challenging time. Invasion by rival tribes was the norm. But Christianity survived on the outer edges of what had once been the Christian Roman Empire. It survived in Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and Cornwall. And this Christianity was different than that found in Rome. It was orthodox. They believed that Jesus was the Messiah and the Trinity was very important to them. But in many other ways it was different from the Christianity that had developed at the heart of the Roman Empire.
Celtic Christianity was less hierarchical. It centered not on bishop-princes appointed by the pope-emperor, but instead on monasteries, communities where the Christian way of life was lived day in and day out in ordinary life. There was much more equality between women and men, and women held leadership roles in the life of the Christian community. The worship and prayer life of these communities was connected deeply to nature, finding God in everything and avowing that there is no place that God is not, and therefore all of life matters to God. Learning was celebrated and shared and people flocked to these monastic communities to join in the learning happening there. Hospitality and care of those in need was central to the life of these Celtic communities. And finally, prayer and worship were meant to sustain those who called themselves Christian so that they could go out into the world and be Christ for others. They gathered for prayer and worship not to save their own souls but to give them the strength to go out and save others.
It could not have been easy to live on the edge of the known world. If you have travelled to Ireland, Scotland, Wales or Cornwall, you know that these are beautiful but rugged places. Without the modern comforts of electricity and the like, survival must have been precarious. These are not the places in which the Celtic people originated. They likely were driven there by the Greeks and the Romans. And yet Celtic culture and Christianity flourished there and amongst these people, and these people were able to bring Christianity back to places where it had been lost when the Roman’s retreated and to places it had never been before. How on earth did this happen? How did this marginal people survive and thrive?
Well, I think it is precisely the communal, relational, earth-bound, and prayer-focused nature of the Celtic people that helped them to first survive, then thrive, and then become a people who could go out into the world and bring this life to other people. And I think this is what we need to be and do as well. For we Episcopal Christians are a marginal people too. The mainline church no longer exists. Our form of Christianity is no longer the dominant religious voice in this country, Christian nationalism is. Do we want our voice completely silenced, or do we believe that God has something to say to the world through us? Do we believe that our understanding and way of following Christ is something the world needs?
If our answer is yes, then I think we would do well to follow the example of our Celtic Christian ancestors. We need to come together for worship and prayer so that we might find the strength and sustenance needed to do the work we are called to do. We need to support one another and care for one another. We need to learn together. We need to connect with the earth and see and experience the presence of God there. And as we are sustained and strengthened, we need to go out into the world and care for all in need, for all who are harmed by the systems of this world. We need to walk shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand with our neighbors, all our neighbors, fighting for dignity, freedom, and life for all.
And I leave you with a quote from J.R.R. Tolkein from his novel Lord of the Rings:
“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo. “So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” Amen.
