We Don't Do That
All Saints Church, Pasadena, CA
Proper 12 C RCL
July 29, 2007
Scott Richardson +
We Don't Do That
My name is Scott Richardson and I used to work here. I left four years ago for Saint Paul's Cathedral in San Diego. Prior to that, I spent five rich years in the employ of this incredible church. I'm honored and humbled to be invited back to address you about matters of faith; it is pure delight to be among so many cherished friends.
The task of the preacher, as I understand it, is simple and rarely varies; we are collectively called to proclaim the good news of the liberating love of God in Christ. Secondly, we're called to remind you and ourselves that receiving God's love always invites transformation. Faithful preachers parrot the Old Testament scholar and friend of All Saints Church, Walter Brueggemann – God cares more about what might be than what is and God calls us to share that hope.
Now let's be honest – easier said than done, right? A pious woman buys a small plaque that reads "Prayer Changes Things." She hangs it above the sink. Her grumpy husband comes home from work and tells her to take it down. Why, she asks, don't you believe in prayer? No, he responds, I don't believe in change.
Funny, sad, and all-too-true for more than a few of the baptized, your preacher, at times, included. God calls for eternal transformation. God provides the means by which change can occur. God's people don't always have eyes to see or ears to hear. A recent case in point: Gunter Grass' haunting memoir regarding his youthful service in the Waffen S.S. With staggering honesty, Grass recounts his response to the presence of a pacifist in his unit. The boy, he writes, was the epitome of Hitler's sick vision of Nordic purity. He was also good-natured, athletic, humble, indefatigable, friendly, never complaining, always of service. He was perfect in every way save this – he refused to touch a weapon. Give him a spade or a paintbrush or a mop and he jumped to the task; force a rifle on him and he let it fall to the ground. No amount of punishment could get him to change course so the NCO began to punish the entire unit. This led to beatings in the barracks at night but still the boy wouldn't budge – "We don't do that," was all he said when pressed about his bizarre behavior. "We don't do that."
Grass now describes his impact: "His behavior transformed us. From day to day, what had seemed solid crumbled. Our hatred was mixed first with amazement, then with admiration expressed in questions like 'How can that idiot keep it up? What makes him so hard-nosed? How come he doesn't report sick? He's been pale as a ghost lately.' Then we let him be. No more beatings… The insubordinate stood above us, as if on a pedestal."
The boy was arrested and taken to a nearby concentration camp. "From then on, discipline and order reigned… One day his locker was cleared out: private things, including religious pamphlets. Then he was gone – 'transferred,' it was called. We did not ask where to. I did not ask… I must say that I was, if not glad, then at least relieved when the boy disappeared. The storm of doubts about everything in which I'd had rock-solid faith died down, and the resulting calm in my head prevented any further thought from taking wing: mindlessness had filled the space."
Grass, years later, saw things differently and was thereby transformed. God, I suspect, celebrates that blessed outcome and intends that the turn-around time be shorter. An example of a quicker study is offered in our first reading today, in Abraham's intervention on behalf of Sodom. Some of the men of Sodom incur God's wrath due to their attempt to rape divine visitors. Abraham intercedes on behalf of the righteous in the town and engages God in extended negotiations. This is brassy behavior on his part but it's rooted in discerning judgment and authentic compassion. And, importantly, it is new behavior for Abraham. In the name of justice and love he contends with the ultimate power but, just five chapters before, he'd cowered in the face of penultimate might.
Recall the story: Abram and Sarai go down into Egypt during a severe famine. Lovely Sarai is persuaded by Abram to introduce herself not as his wife but as his sister, lest the Egyptians kill him in their pursuit of her. She does so and soon enters Pharaoh's harem; Abram walks away with many gifts. The ruse appears to work, it all looks good from the outside, but it displeases God. A plague strikes Pharaoh's household, he accurately discerns the cause, and Abram and Sarai are cast out.
So, to repeat, in a mere five chapters in the Bible's first book, we witness the transformation of Abraham; from cowardice to courage, from fecklessness to faithfulness, from self-concern to neighbor-concern. All of that happens along the way as Abraham sojourns with El Shaddai, with Yahweh, with the God of Israel and the entire cosmos. Prayer, on-going relationship, spiritual journey, sacred intimacy, invites boldness on behalf of the innocent, justice for the imperiled, and compassion for those who suffer the sins of others. Anticipating the word of our Lord in today's gospel, Abraham asks and knocks and seeks and persists and expects without remission – and he's commended for it.
And now a report from the field: We're in the offices of ICE, Immigration and Customs Enforcement, a wing of the Department of Homeland Security. Getting in wasn't easy. ICE is pursuing a program, funded by Congress, known as "Operation Return to Sender." This operation terrifies the undocumented community. On their behalf, we repeatedly ask for an interview. When it's clear that this isn't forthcoming, we take it up a notch – we wash the feet of the undocumented on Maundy Thursday in front of the Federal Building and in front of news cameras from NBC, Fox TV, and Univision.
The meeting takes place two weeks later. The director of ICE initially takes a hard line; he tells us about his idyllic Midwestern small town ruined by immigrants. We suggest that the town was ruined by a giant chicken-packing plant paying substandard wages. He waves the law code before us like a televangelist with a floppy Bible to reinforce his right to detain anyone suspected of being in the country without authorization. We fire back, demanding he acknowledge the facts on the ground – even contemplating the deportation of twelve million people causes grievous harm.
And then, eventually, everyone calms down. We talk for an hour and a half. We schedule a second meeting and then a third. The conversation broadens – history, spirituality, political strategy. We learn something about one another – the director is himself married to a Mexican-American; they have two children. The racism he experiences through family ties distresses him greatly. A relationship begins to form and, in this enriched context, we make a request – we allow that ICE is obliged to carry out policies mandated by Congress (we're working to change those) and we also suggest that discretion is always possible in every law-enforcement situation; life is full of gray areas. We ask the director to instruct his officers to resist collateral arrests, mission creep – to remain as focused as possible when in the field and avoid asking people for papers if they are not the specific individuals being sought.
We are, for the moment, Abraham - engaging power in the service of humanity after sojourning for a good while. Because the conversation is confidential, we can't tell our friends how the director responded to our request. We can say that we believe life is better now for those who live and serve in San Diego without documents. We can also promise that the conversation with the director and his staff will continue for as long as possible. The arc of history is long but it always bends towards justice, inclusion, and love – unless we disengage. But we don't do that. We don't do that.
And now a personal word: Nine years ago I walked into our bedroom in Lompoc at 6:30am and told Mary about an opening at All Saints Church. I'd like to check it out, I said. She was game - something within us was shifting. We were changing. The people in that parish had been sterling, stalwart, stellar, but we couldn't do conventional Christianity any longer. We needed to be in a place where social transformation was taken as seriously as personal transformation, where global awareness, justice, respect for other religions, and earth-care were cherished and pursued values.
Henri Nouwen once observed that we should come to church not to be comforted but to be confronted and that in the service of conversion. Nine years ago, we needed to be in a community where that charge was taken with great seriousness. We found that here. We found you. We're now trying to take what we learned here to a place where there's still some work to be done. The good people of Saint Paul's Cathedral share that vision. We could not do that without having been here first, and we're forever grateful for your tutelage, your friendship, and your support. In the simplest and most sincere way, let us say thank you and, for now, amen.
All Saints Church, Pasadena, CA
Proper 12 C RCL
July 29, 2007
Scott Richardson +