Two Fourth of July Sermons

Isaiah 66:10-14

Rejoice with Jerusalem, and be glad for her,
   all you who love her;
rejoice with her in joy,
   all you who mourn over her—
that you may nurse and be satisfied
   from her consoling breast;
that you may drink deeply with delight
   from her glorious bosom.

For thus says the Lord:
I will extend prosperity to her like a river,
   and the wealth of the nations like an overflowing stream;
and you shall nurse and be carried on her arm,
   and dandled on her knees.
As a mother comforts her child,
   so I will comfort you;
   you shall be comforted in Jerusalem.

You shall see, and your heart shall rejoice;
   your bodies shall flourish like the grass;
and it shall be known that the hand of the Lord is with his servants,
   and his indignation is against his enemies.

So for Brick Church folks, you know that for the past few months, I’ve been really harping on community. Church attendance, social club and volunteer group membership, it’s all been plummeting for years and years, way pre-pandemic. I’ve talked ad nauseum about how activism, promoting important social causes, has become nothing more than people posting a cute infographic on Instagram or liking a post on Facebook. And my blathering on about the importance of community and the urgency of making sure we don’t lose our sense of community, especially as people have gotten out of the practice of being in community thanks to the pandemic, isn’t over. Because, Church, sadly, I think we’re going to see more than ever, that we need to rely on one another; that we need to rely on the care, hospitality, compassion, and generosity of community more than ever before, because we are being deeply failed, disregarded, and harmed by the powerful.

“rejoice with her in joy,
   all you who mourn over her—
that you may nurse and be satisfied
   from her consoling breast…”

I’ve made it very clear that I’ve been mourning. I’ve been mourning since my own personal loss in December, and I’ve been mourning this nation’s collective loss for weeks now. I just want to be able to stop mourning. I want to feel satisfied and consoled and secure by those in power. But Church—I don’t have a lot of faith that that’s a possibility these days. Thank God though thank God, that I do have faith in God, and even more so right now, I thank God that I do have faith in each of you; that I do have faith in this community, that from what I can see, we do have faith in one another.

It's no accident, Church, that I picked a Bible passage for this incredibly complicated 4th of July, (as if the 4th of July was ever uncomplicated)— a passage full of feminine and maternal imagery and metaphor, full of images of motherhood at a time when our choices of whether or not to be mothers, or whether or not we can feel comforted and safe are being stolen from us; it’s no accident that I picked a passage about the God and country keeping us satiated and safe at a time when the country is doing neither.

There’s a great novel from a couple year ago, Deacon King Kong by James McBride—it’s set in the 60’s in the projects of South Brooklyn. At one point in story, in the aftermath of yet another death in their neighborhood, with community members gathered together speculating and grieving and gossiping, an older Black woman, Sister Gee, is recounting the myriad injustices to the black and brown folks she’s surrounded by, a list that is long and painful and bleak. It’s about an entire people being failed and vilified by the powerful. It’s about a rigged game, a fixed system. But then, it’s written,

…every once in a while there’s a glimmer of hope. Just a blip on the horizon, a whack on the nose of the giant that sets him back on his heels, something that said, ‘Guess what, you so-and-so, I am God’s child. And I. Am. Still. Here.’ She felt God’s blessing at that moment, thanked Him in her head, for right then, she could see that glimmer in their faces too…

I’ll be honest, I’m not filled with a ton of hope in this country right now. I don’t have a lot of hope in the leadership of this country, I don’t have a lot of hope that things will get better quickly. What I do find hope in, Church, is in the glimmers I see in everyone’s faces here. I have some hope that things will get better eventually, but that can only happen if we can continue to maintain our sense of community here, if we continue to keep these glimmers alive.

In the passage we heard today, we heard words about the unconditional love of mother-God, the and the protection, comfort and safety that comes with it. And we heard language of a nation that cares for and sustain its people. Now as far as I’m concerned, we always have the unconditional love of God, but it can be really hard to feel that love when we live in a country that seems to be doing everything in its abuse of power to shield us from that light and love of God, that even more disturbingly, blasphemously uses God as an excuse to hide God’s light and love from us.

Well thank God we live in a community like this one. Thank God that you all reflect and live out that unconditional parental love with one another every day. In my short time here thus far, I have seen example after example of community members stepping up to help those in need, of people stepping in when the system fails them. Is it enough to stave off what’s happening to our country? Probably not, not on this level; but just to see so many people of different backgrounds and ideologies exemplifying this unconditional, capital-L Love every day is enough to keep me going.

“As a mother comforts her child, / so I will comfort you,” says God. Because we are God’s children and We. Are. Still. Here. Nothing a rogue supreme court or oblivious and out-of-touch people in power can take that away from us.

Now Church, I’m a reserved New Englander like most of you. Bursts of anger and effusive shows of emotion aren’t really my style. Angry Gods tend to make me a little uncomfortable. But for maybe the first time, I actually like this mention of God’s indignation. Because I would love to see a little more righteous indignation today. There’s not enough of it right now, at a national level. But I think we can rile ourselves up and save our righteous indignation for those who really need it—direct it towards causes and rights that are seem to be gutted daily these days; direct it towards funds and organizations like the one our offertory will be going to. Because this is how we take care of one another. This is how comfort one another like a parent comforts their child—because we are all God’s children. And we are still here.

I talk a lot about reflecting and exemplifying the divine, unconditional Love that God shows for us—and we will continue to do that—but let’s also reflect some of this divine, righteous indignation— isn’t that so much of what the 4th of July is about? Or is supposed to be about? Celebrating supposed freedom that came from righteous indignation?

So let’s find that divine balance of capital-L Love and indignation. Let’s continue to lift up and support and take care of one another, in community; let’s not let what’s happening on a national level destroy the Love we have for one another; let’s comfort one another as a parent comforts their child, even as the powers that be attempt to take our comforts and safety away from us. Because we are all God’s children. And we are all still here. Amen.

(transcript for second sermon unavailable)