“Toward a Just Peace”
Isaiah 56:1-8
Ephesians 2:14-22
An unjust and horrible thing happened on my way to planning and writing this sermon for Just Peace Sunday:
The governor of Florida, in an apparent attempt to match the craven manipulation of desperate people practiced by the governor of Texas, used Florida taxpayers’ funds to mislead some 50 Venezuelan migrants about what was happening to them and then fly from Texas to Martha’s Vineyard.
About the time this news was breaking, public officials in Northampton and Amherst were receiving phone calls informing them that hundreds of undocumented immigrants would soon be arriving in our towns. The calls ended with a cynical expression of thanks for our status as sanctuary cities.
Before it became clear that the calls were a hoax, I was told by the Amherst town manager that, if it was true that as many as one hundred powerless people would soon be on our doorstep, he would be in touch with us, because we would all be needed to help.
Of course, I replied. Please let us know. We’ll do whatever we can.
I had been planning a sermon that would challenge us, 35 years after we became one of the UCC’s first Just Peace congregations, to reconsider what Just Peace means in this place and in these days of division, hostility, climate crisis, unprovoked war, and a frightening embrace of authoritarianism and falsehood.
I had been studying the scriptures, re-learning some history, and planning to encourage us to consider re-thinking our views on some things, including billions of dollars in U.S. military support for the Ukrainian war effort against Russia.
But a funny and wonderful thing happened on the way to that sermon:
I went to the Amherst Block Party.
I went with Nathan Patti and at least 11 other church members who staffed our booth and shared the good news of the Cranberry Fair. For almost four hours we greeted passers-by, offered free buttons, stickers, and candy, handed out fliers, talked about church, and offered Blessings to Go. We heard heartbreaking stories and met wonderful people, some of whom may be here this morning.
It was a joyful and encouraging evening, the street filled with people of all ages so happy to be out and enjoying this great community event for the first time in three years. It was as if, as the town manager said to me, the crowds were a reflection of our common pent-up demand for connection, fun, and frivolity.
There was also, apparently, a pent-up hunger for hope, belonging, and blessing. With the possible exception of a Pride festival or two, I have never offered as many blessings as I did on Thursday evening—to people of different and no religions and of every age, race, gender identity, and sexual orientation. I know for sure I have never blessed so many teen-age boys.
Who knew?
I had set up my blessing station a few feet in front of our booth, the better to see people and have them see my “Ask Me for a Blessing” sign. And while I was making conversation with folks and offering blessings, hordes of children and teenagers flocked to our table for candy and buttons.
At one point I noticed a group of three teen-age girls standing near me, waiting for their other friends to finish collecting buttons, and so I struck up a conversation. One of the girls, who I would soon learn is a high school student, said to me, “I so appreciate your church’s message.”
Well, that got my attention—and I wondered what she understands our message to be. So I asked her.
Before I tell you what this 16- or 17-year-old girl said about our church, I want to tell you what she didn’t say, which were all the things I would have expected.
She didn’t say she loves that we provided sanctuary for Lucio.
She didn’t say that she loves us for our rainbow flag.
She didn’t say that she appreciates our anti-racism ministry or our work to address and mitigate the climate crisis.
She didn’t even thank us for hosting Not Bread Alone.
The message she so appreciates, she said, is that Jesus loves everybody.
Jesus. Loves. Everybody.
Ain’t that the truth? Ain’t that the good news?
Because the love of Jesus is not a political program or even a Just Peace strategy. It is a way of life—a way of following and learning, seeing and thinking, feeling and understanding, connecting and standing with—that changes and guides everything. Because the love of God in and through Jesus changes us.
Without that love, all our ministries, all our messages, all our peace and justice work would be, as the apostle Paul says, nothing more than a clanging symbol. Nothing more than another political platform, one way of seeing things among many, one more meme or slogan or social media post to throw into the mix, and perhaps even one more position that would drive people away from the love of Jesus and the community of the church.
Unless we and our messages and ministries are grounded in and shaped by the healing, reconciling, transforming love of Jesus, we will accomplish nothing. And if we traffic in political discourse and direct action without being grounded in and guided by the love of Jesus, we may actually make things worse.
This is also true of our work toward just peace in our community, our nation, and this world that God so loves.
Decades ago, long before the creation of the 24-hour news cycle, the Internet, and social media, the late Buddhist monk and peace activist Thich Nhat Hanh spoke of the importance of love in working for peace.
“In the peace movement,” he wrote, “there is a lot of anger, frustration, and misunderstanding. The peace movement can write very good protest letters, but they are not yet able to write a love letter. It would be wonderful if we could bring to the peace movement our contribution, our way of looking at things, that will diminish aggression and hatred. Peace work means, first of all, being peace.”
I’d like to paraphrase that statement to reflect the same reality in the context of the church. Listen:
In the progressive church there is a lot of anger, frustration, misunderstanding, and even hostility and hatred toward the people on the so-called ‘other’ side. We in the progressive church can write very good protest letters, we can organize vigils and participate in marches and even get arrested for our cause, but are we able to do it in the name and with the love of Jesus? We can collaborate with people of other faiths and no faith, but we aren’t so skilled at reaching out to and listening to people of different theologies and politics.
It would be wonderful—it would be revolutionary—if we could become living love letters. If we could bring to our peace and justice ministries the love of Jesus, which is the love for all people, including our enemies. It would be wonderful, it would change us all and change at least the tenor of the world around us, if we could so embody the love of Jesus that it would diminish aggression and hatred and calm the fears that fuel so many of our divisions. Just peace work means, first of all, being love.
Now I realize this may sound vague, and I realize it may feel uncomfortable and even risky. I worry sometimes that in our still (barely) majority-Christian country, we have forgotten the truth that to truly follow Jesus is to risk being considered fools or even worse.
For all the gifts of our time in offering sanctuary to Lucio Perez, for example, for all the ways we were blessed in getting to know Lucio and his family and working alongside many of our neighbors, I felt deeply that the most challenging aspect of that work was staying rooted in the all-inclusive, radical, and non-violent love of Jesus. Indeed, there were times when we refused to engage in hateful political rhetoric or treated our enemies with respect, even though the pressure to do otherwise was intense, and the judgment, and even ridicule, was real.
Moving toward a just peace is not about overcoming our enemies. It is not even about conquering the very real evil that is active in the world. It is about transforming.
It must begin, I believe, with the love of Jesus, a love that heals and changes us until we can see other people—every person—with the tender love, healing compassion, and passion for justice of Jesus.
It must continue with the welcoming of every stranger and the questioning of every act of war, including so-called defensive wars that fuel hatred and endanger the lives of millions of people.
The movement toward a just, loving peace must take on the work of restitution and reparation for the past injustices of slavery and the ongoing inequities of white supremacy and institutional racism.
The movement toward a just peace must be characterized by a love for all creation that is greater than our disdain for fossil fuels and plastic.
The movement toward a just peace must engage us in issues—including gun violence—that may not have touched us personally but are devastating God’s beloved children in other places.
Beloveds, Christ is our peace. Christ’s love is the bridge across all that divides us from one another. Christ’s love is what can break through hatred, hostility, misunderstanding, and difference.
In our ongoing commitment toward a just peace, may we never fail to be a dwelling place for the God who is love. May everything we do be done in such a way that when someone thinks about who we are, that when someone is asked to boil down everything we do to one simple message, they will say, without hesitation and with great joy, that because of us they know that Jesus loves everybody.
