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A Sermon by Donel McClellan When Hope and
History Rhyme A Sermon by Donel
McClellan When Hope and
History Rhyme A Sermon by Donel
McClellan When Hope and
History Rhyme A Sermon by Donel
McClellan When Hope and
History Rhyme Most prophets live in
terrible times. Or, perhaps prophets live in all times but we remember and preserve the
words of those who spoke judgment and hope in troubled times. In contrast we live in
relative peace and quiet. We have not known the black tragedies of war, disaster and
devastation for many years. We are a generation which has not felt the need for prophets,
and it is difficult for us to hear their message. I grew up in a church
which seemed capable of providing an island of security and prosperity among the tragedies
and conflicts of life in the society around it. Over the years, the mainline protestant
churches, like this one, have seen themselves as outposts of civility and faith which
reflected the very best achievements of democratic capitalist society. We liked to see ourselves
as providing leadership in morality and compassion for the larger community. We set
ourselves to the task of providing services to people who needed food, shelter, clothing,
medical and dental care. We were in the business of acting on behalf of others. Church was
part of a well-rounded civic life. We learned to give enough of ourselves to church in
order to make it a success. It was the belief of that
church in which I grew up, that we were making progress against the evils and injustices
of the world around us. We came to believe that the world was becoming more educated and
more moral. It is a little difficult to hold that high and positive view of society now. Someone has put it well in
an article making the rounds of the Internet titled: The Paradox Of Our Age. (1) It
does a pretty good job of covering my concerns: We have taller buildings,
but shorter tempers; We have bigger houses and
smaller families; We drink too much, smoke
too much, We have multiplied our
possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too
seldom and lie too often. We've learned how to make
a living, but not a life; We've been all the way to
the moon and back, We've conquered outer
space, but not inner space; We've learned to rush, but
not to wait; We build more computers to
hold more information, These are the times of
fast foods and slow digestion; These are the times of
world peace, but domestic warfare; These are days of two
incomes, but more divorce; These are days of quick
trips, disposable diapers, It is a time when there is
much in the show window Seamus Heaney, another of
Ireland’s poetic gifts to the larger world writes with simplicity about the same
phenomenon in his poem The Cure at Troy: (2) Human beings suffer, The innocent in gaols It is this mood to which
the prophet Joel speaks. Times were hard in Israel. A plague of locusts had wiped out the
year’s harvest, nibbling leaf and grain and darkening the sun with the dense
constellation of their buzzing bodies. Such tiny insects. Anyone could crush one between
thumb and forefinger. One, yes, but not a dozen dozen, a hundred thousand, tens of
millions of the small bloated marauders. Israel hurt. And Joel promised: 23 It would appear that the
solution for Israel’s dilemma and, may I say, for ours, rests not in the wealth and
power and religiosity of the people, but in the intervention of God. In powers beyond our
imagining and our control. The gift is to look beyond ourselves for our healing. Seamus
Heaney again: History says, Don’t
hope When hope and history
rhyme, we find our opportunity. No, that’s not quite it. For the community of faith,
when hope and history rhyme, we find our God right here in the midst of us. God speaks to
us, not in the tragedy we have observed, not in the pain and disappointment of our own
empty lives, but in dreams and visions which are given, not to the faithful, not to the
priests, not to the righteous, but to all flesh: Then afterward You have heard those words
before. They are the birthday song of the Christian church, the words which describe the
moving of God’s Spirit on the earliest followers of Jesus at Pentecost. These words
are our anthem, our assurance of hope. These words have died in
the church in our time. They were never taken seriously by the church in which I grew up.
Prophesying, dreaming dreams, and seeing visions were the last thing the busy church of
the sixties, seventies and eighties was interested in. We were too busy making the Bible
fit comfortably in our scientific world. We were preoccupied with designing curriculum for
church school which was more like that used in the public schools. We were organizing
youth groups to provide wholesome experiences for our teenagers. We were engineering
programs to provide food and clothing, housing and medicine to the increasing hoards of
poor people, and homeless people, and drug and alcohol dependent people, and mentally ill
people, and physically and sexually abused people. Did we ever stop to contemplate the
enormity of this plague of problems which saps the energy and life of our cities? Did we
ever, even for a moment, stop to dream dreams and see visions of how we might offer, in
Jesus’ name, more than a roof and a meal, a pill and a rehabilitation program to
these brothers and sister of ours. I do believe that we
really thought that, if we worked hard enough, we could figure out ways to fix these
monumental wrongs. I don’t know about you, but I believe that our own gifts and
wisdom and resolve are not enough to address these issues. We do not have the resources
individually or collectively to stem the waves of nationalism, racism and self-interest
which threaten our world. I am not suggesting that the church turn away from great moral
issues or from those in need, but that we need a new vision, a renewed faith to fuel our
efforts. Seamus Heaney says that we
find our opportunity where hope and history rhyme: So hope for a great
sea-change And, believe that God is
with us, and will make of us dreamers and believers, if we are willing. The direction we
must take is clear even to secular reporters, as William Raspberry showed when he wrote. "I know this must
seem a strange message from a not particularly religious writer in an utterly secular
newspaper, but I am increasingly struck by two phenomena. The first is the growing sense
that America's major failings are not political or economic, but moral. The second is the
discovery that most successful social programs are those that are driven – even if
only tacitly – by moral or religious values . . . ." Raspberry than tells about
Marvin Olasky, a journalism professor, who spent a few nights as a "homeless"
person on the streets of Washington DC. Every shelter he visited plied him with as many
sandwiches and soft drinks as he wanted, but nobody – even at a church-run shelter
– asked him the first question about how he became homeless or what he thought might
help him toward independent living. Raspberry wonders if this
neglect of the spiritual helps explain the persistence "not just of homelessness, but
also teen pregnancy, substance abuse, school failure and the whole range of problems that
we tend to see as stemming primarily from bad economics or racism? Shouldn't organized
religion take the lead in doing what the rest of us fear to try?" Robert L. Woodson, Sr.,
head of the National Center for Neighborhood Enterprise suggests that "We have been
looking for cures in all the wrong places. We don't have a crisis in recreation, or social
services, or consumer capacity. Certainly, our children need these things and need jobs,
too. But these things have no redemptive quality, and what our young people need above all
is to be redeemed." (3) Redemption. Now that
something we didn’t talk about so much in the church in which I grew up. Perhaps it
is time for the church to listen again to the stories of its heritage, to Joel and the
promise of God’s Spirit. To Paul and the assurance of Christ’s presence in the
body gathered to continue ministry in Jesus’ name. So hope for a great
sea-change Amen. (1)
Attributed to Norris Peters
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