Who belongs to God: 20th after pentecost a

I also reference the first reading: Isaiah 45:1-7.

El santo evangelio según San Mateo (22:15-22)

¹⁵Then the Pharisees went

and plotted to entrap Jesus in what he said.

      ¹⁶So they sent their disciples to him,

            along with the Herodians, saying,

                  “Teacher,

                        we know that you are sincere,

                        and teach the way of God

                              in accordance with truth,

                        and show deference to no one;

                              for you do not regard people with partiality.

                        ¹⁷Tell us, then, what you think.

                              Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor,

                                    or not?”

¹⁸But Jesus,

      aware of their malice, said,

            “Why are you putting me to the test,

                  you hypocrites?

            ¹⁹Show me the coin used for the tax.”

And they brought him a denarius.

²⁰Then Jesus said to them,

      “Whose image is this, and whose title?”

²¹They answered,

      “The emperor’s.”

Then Jesus said to them,

      “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s,

            and to God the things that are God’s.”

      ²²When they heard this,

            they were amazed;

            and they left Jesus

            and went away.

El evangelio del Señor.

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you

see your face.

you

see a flaw.

how.  if you are the

only one who has

this face.

–     the beauty

construct

(Nayyirah Waheed)

There are images all around us every day.  Images of violence, of pain, of joy, of anger.  Images of jobs and vocations, service, relationships, and estrangement.  Images of power and privilege, of isolation and marginalization.

These diverse images are on our money, too.  An image of a man of power: Washington, Hamilton, Franklin—soon Harriet Tubman, an image of freedom and resistance to oppression.  An eagle – an image for this country, with a head pointing toward the olive branch of peace and away from the arrows of war. 

A pyramid image of endurance, withstanding the test of time, with the Eye of Providence, or is it the eye of God? Claiming God’s presence and blessing, perhaps, though other countries also make that claim.  A new order, this great seal declares.  At the top, the united states of america.  Below that, on the back, the phrase “in god we trust.”  And those are just a few, easily spotted on this one, old bill. 

Images are all around us and even on us.  Images that seem perfect and images so full of what we call flaws: lines of wrinkles from laughter, worry, and surprise trace across our faces; scars from illness or injury; marks we try to cover up or choose to create as art; marks from violence that we hide from others, struggling to seek help or a way out.  All over our bodies, we carry images.

But there is one image more precious and more powerful than the rest.  An image that challenges our assumptions when seen on others whom we might call “interesting” or “different.”  An image that brings comfort when we cannot find the good in our own selves.

Jesus asks, “whose image…whose title?”  and it is “the emperor’s.”  When the image is marked “for the Empire,” then it is for the Empire.  When the image is marked for God, then for God.

But “in the beginning when God went about creating the heavens and the earth andthe earth was a formless void…God created humanity in the divine image.  In the image of God humanity wascreated”—in all our diversity.

Certain images may be marked on money and things, but the everlasting image of the Divine is marked on all of creation and on all of us created beings.  And that makes a difference.  We are made in the image of God.  Together with all of the ways we are unique, we belong to God—the God who calls us by our name and surnames us.

And if we belong to God, it is not just us, but all of humanity.  Every soldier killed fighting for this government, every soldier killed fighting for other governments, even every soldier killed fighting for ISIS bears the image of God and so belongs to God.  Every family that goes hungry on the weekends or in the summer bears the image of God and so belongs to God.  Every billionaire CEO and every family on welfare and everyone just trying to stay in the middle class bears the image of God and so belongs to God. 

Every baby born and every person who dies bears the image of God and so belongs to God.  Every victim of violence—sexual harassment and domestic violence, economic violence, gun violence, terror attacks and mass killings—and every perpetrator of violence bears the image of God and so belongs to God.  Every janitor, firefighter, sex worker, pastor, administrative assistant, nurse, teacher, elected representative, telemarketer, and community organizer bears the image of God and so belongs to God. 

Every person with documentation to live and work in a country, every person without documentation, and every person awaiting deportation bears the image of God and so belongs to God.  Every lawyer, every government employee, every person in prison bears the image of God and so belongs to God.   

Every woman, every man, every transgender person, every person for whom the gender binary doesn’t fit; every bisexual, heterosexual, asexual, lesbian, gay, and queer person bears the image of God and so belongs to God.  Every one who is single, divorced, widowed, struggling with their marriage, and happily married bears the image of God and so belongs to God.

And if all of humanity bears the image of God and so belongs to God, then all of Creation bears the image of God and so belongs to God.  Every tree, river, bush, and lake bears the image of God and so belongs to God.  Every bluff, mountain, valley, desert, sea, and glacier bears the image of God and so belongs to God.  Every creeping thing upon the earth, every swimming thing every flying thing bears the image of God and so belongs to God.  Every planet, moon, star, galaxy, black hole, asteroid, and supernova bears the image of God and so belongs to God.

And if all of creation bears the image of God and so belongs to God, then even “the things that are the emperor’s” are really “the things that are God’s.”  The things we think we can separate out from our faith are a part of our faith.  They belong to God just as we belong to God. 

So in all that we do and use we find divine belonging.  When we spend our money, we are using God’s resources and God’s creation.  When we are spiteful or cruel, we are doing so to God.  When we are honest about pain, oppression, and conflict, we are being honest with God and all that belongs to God.  When we care for another and for ourselves, we care for God.

Nayyirah Waheed’s poem, which I began with holds the truth about this image of God:

you

see your face.

you

see a flaw.

how.  if you are the

only one who has

this face.

–     the beauty

construct

(Nayyirah Waheed)

In all you see as a flaw, God recognizes the beauty that is your truest self.  And the same holds true for the flaws we see in others.

As a reminder, please turn to a neighbor, ask their name (just to make sure—if everybody does it the person whose mind goes blank will have an excuse), ask if you can bless them, and if they give permission, mark their forehead or their hands with the sign of the cross and say, “You are a beloved child of God.  You belong to God. And that will never ever change.”

…

Amen.

Infinite Worth: Holy Innocents

The holy gospel according to Matthew (2:13-23).

¹³Now after the magi had left,

       an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said,

              “Get up, take the child and his mother,

              and flee to Egypt,

                     and remain there until I tell you;

                            for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” 

¹⁴Then Joseph got up,

       took the child and his mother by night,

              and went to Egypt, 

              ¹⁵and remained there until the death of Herod.

                     This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord 

                            through the prophet,

                                  “Out of Egypt I have called my son.”

¹⁶When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the magi,

       he was infuriated,

              and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem

                     who were two years old or under,

                            according to the time that he had learned from the magi. 

              ¹⁷Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah:

                     ¹⁸“A voice was heard in Ramah,

                            wailing and loud lamentation,

                                  Rachel weeping for her children;

                                          she refused to be consoled,

                                                 because they are no more.”

¹⁹When Herod died,

       an angel of the Lord suddenly appeared in a dream

              to Joseph in Egypt and said, 

                     ²⁰“Get up,

                            take the child and his mother,

                            and go to the land of Israel,

                                  for those who were seeking the child’s life are dead.” 

       ²¹Then Joseph got up,

              took the child and his mother,

              and went to the land of Israel. 

                     ²²But when he heard that Archelaus was ruling over Judea

                            in place of his father Herod,

                                  he was afraid to go there.

                     And after being warned in a dream,

                            he went away to the district of Galilee. 

       ²³There he made his home in a town called Nazareth,

              so that what had been spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled,

                     “He will be called a Nazorean.”

The gospel of the Lord.

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Today’s gospel is not the gospel I want for Christmas—really, I don’t ever want it.

Growing up, when I thought about Christmas, I rarely thought about today’s gospel.  The shepherds and angels from Luke’s gospel would quickly come to mind, the poetic Word made flesh of the incarnation in John and even the magi with the star to follow in Matthew’s gospel would all dance about in my imagination, with Santa and elves and stockings and sleigh rides, but not the flight to Egypt, not King Herod killing all the children.

It wasn’t until I started seminary and consistent worship planning that I realized this story and the commemoration of the Slaughter of the Holy Innocents is in our lectionary each year, sometimes as a feast day, the third day of Christmas, and sometimes as a Sunday of Christmas, like this year.  It doesn’t always make its way into a Sunday morning because we celebrate Epiphany on Sundays a lot of the time, like we did last week, but it is part of the Christmas story—the part we don’t want.

We don’t want a ruler so insecure that he is threatened by a baby.  We don’t want a ruler who has no qualms about slaughtering the children in an entire town.  We don’t want a ruler with power he so easily abuses.

We don’t want parents to have to struggle with pain because they do not have the power to save their children.  We don’t want children’s futures to be beyond our control.  We don’t want to be unable to protect these most vulnerable—to be unable to keep them alive and whole and safe.

We don’t want difficult conversations with children about death and evil.  We don’t want to think about the conversation these parents will have with their child when they return from Egypt and the child looks around and asks why there aren’t any kids his age to play with.  We don’t want to break the child’s heart.

We don’t want this Christmas story.  But this is the Christmas story, because just as God is coming to be with us—just as God is deciding to show God’s immense love for the whole world, humans included, by becoming human, humanity—or one human in particular with several lackeys—is deciding that these smallest and youngest humans are disposable.  They are not only a threat to the one in power, but they are also disposable—worth little enough that getting rid of them is an easy spur of the moment decision.

I was talking to a friend this week and she mentioned theology professor Jeremy Posadas’[1] insight that so many people in this country feel, and are treated as if, they are disposable.  The culture we live in puts our value in what we can contribute to the economy, and even then someone could easily replace us—jobs could be shipped overseas, big farms could replace our family farms, downsizing and machines could take over. 

And if we’re not working, we’re disposable, too. Never mind that we might be caring for children or parents or grandchildren, we might have just retired after decades of work, we might have disabilities that keep us from some jobs, or we might do work on the farm and the garden, but those don’t provide pay checks, or maybe we just can’t find work.  The violence we have seen this last year—against people of color, against lgbtq+ people, against police—and the violent and demeaning rhetoric we have heard just feed into this feeling of disposability.

The message is clear: we are disposable, just like the things in our life are disposable.  There’s always something new or better for sale on TV and in stores and it’s easier to replace a broken toy or appliance than try to fix it. 

So much in life declares everything to be disposable, but whenever I think of things being disposable, an image pops into my head of women spread out at separate tables downstairs, each with her own sewing machine.

These women, as you know, have collected t-shirts—from Grace Place, from people, from the whole community—and these t-shirts that people do not want to wear and that could easily be disposable become diapers for families in crisis.  And then what’s left of the scraps from the diapers becomes quilt squares.  And what’s left from the scraps from the quilt squares become rags to clean with. And what’s left from the rags to clean with goes back to Grace Place to be sent in to be repurposed and the money they receive then helps support the ministries of Grace Place.   

Nothing about that t-shirt is disposable.

And that is where God is.  In the basement of this church building, yes, but more than that—in the families and children that will have diapers and quilts, in the ministry of Grace Place, in the rags and people who clean up and care for shared spaces, and in a landfill that is just a bit emptier because of the hundreds, or perhaps thousands of t-shirts that are not in it.

You all know the worth of things—t-shirts, jars that can be reused for canning and freezing food, plants and animals.  And you know the worth of humans of all ages—from the youngest to the oldest.

We read of King Herod’s heinous acts and we wonder where God is. 

How could God let those children suffer? 

And there are no easy answers to these questions that we ask from 2000 years ago and the questions that we still ask today—from our lives and our place in history. 

Two of the most striking images from this place in history

last year are of a young boy washed up on shore because the boat carrying him and many other refugees didn’t make it safely to the shore, and the image of a three-year-old boy covered in dust and blood, sitting in an ambulance in Aleppo.  And we ask how God could let these children suffer? 

And it’s not just the children halfway across the world.  We know the children suffering in our own community of faith and connected to our own community of faith, and we ask again and again how could God let the children we love who are sick suffer?

Where is God when human lives feel disposable?

As we hear from Jeremiah, echoed in our gospel today, God is “A voice …heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.”   

God is weeping over a humanity that is of infinite worth.  

God is weeping over the violence that tears again and again through this world that God came here to love.   

God is Rachel weeping, the mother who has lost her children.   

God is naming your value and mine because even in the weeping and lament, even in our grief and our pain, God is with us.   

Our questions remain, and yet Jesus is Emmanuel. 

Jesus comes as God-with-us, not to give easy answers to our questions, not to solve all the problems in one foul swoop.  God comes to us because you are of infinite worth.  Because you are God’s beloved.

Thanks be to God.

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[1] Dr. Jeremy Posadas is a professor of theology at Austin College and co-led the fight for LGBTQ equality in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America for several years.