+Do you remember John’s sermon from last Sunday? It was fabulous. I heard it three times, and I got a lump in my throat every time John wound up the story about when he was hit by a car and his father, Don Harris, said, “John, it’s gonna to be ok. Your mama and I are here.”
That’s a father who, no matter what, was going to protect his son. It was a wonderful thing to say.
And it was also, in some respects, a lie. Because at that point, John’s father didn’t know that “everything was going to be ok.” John had severe head trauma. He wasn’t necessarily going to be ok.
But, if John will forgive me for climbing into his father’s head for a moment, that’s not what Don meant. He meant that no matter what happened— brain damage, years of therapy, or even death--- regardless of what happened, ---JOHN---was going to be ok, because he was loved. LOVED. Beyond all measure.
And that kind of love? That kind of commitment? That kind of unfailing support?
It brings me to tears, and lights a fire in my belly and a yearning in my soul.
Presiding Bishop Elect Michael Curry knows a little something about bringing people to tears and lighting fires in their belly. He did just that in a sermon he gave last week. In it, he referenced that great abolitionist and “conductor” on the underground railroad, Harriet Tubman. Tubman had one, non-negotiable, requirement for people embarking on the dangerous, arduous and long journey to freedom--—she would insist that, no matter what, they’d keep going.
That when the dogs took off after them, they’d keep going.
That when the mobs came after them, they’d keep going.
That when the hate, horror and terror came they’d Keep GOING.
She was adamant---“if you aren’t willing to keep going—NO MATTER WHAT—don’t even begin.
Don’t start the journey if you’re not willing to do what it takes to finish it because although it will, eventually, indeed, be ok, getting there may not be...
Harriet didn’t say this out of some misguided litmus test for the true believer, she said it out of the knowledge that the journey to freedom wasn’t something done alone.
John Harris didn’t recover on his own, but with the love of family, the skill of doctors and the perseverance to keep going, no matter what.
Not every slave made it to freedom, and not every abolitionist lived to see the steady dismantling of the Jim Crow south, but every step they took was part of the ongoing journey toward a just and equal world.
The journey’s too long and the arc of history too wide for one person, or one group of people to do it alone.
Jonathan Daniels knew this.
For those of you who don’t know, Jonathan Daniels was a seminarian from New England, studying at Harvard who’d heard and heeded MLK’s call that freedom for all would only be achieved when the privileged of our country-- and you couldn’t get more privileged than a straight white seminarian from Harvard-- got involved. So Jonathan Daniels went to Alabama and, following the example of Jesus, laid down his life for a friend. On that hot August night in 1965, Jonathan took a shot gun blast intended for 17 year old, African American Ruby Sales. This young white man laid down his life for his friend. His young, female, black friend.
There’s a powerful lesson in Don Harris’ words to his son, in Harriet Tubman’s admonition to her “passengers,” and in Jonathan Daniels’ actions in the Jim Crow south of 1965.
It’s the same lesson we hear, week after week in the Gospel: Loving God, following the Christian way isn’t an easy, pleasant, or comfortable journey, BUT by virtue of our baptism we’re on this journey. And, if we’re doing it right, it’s not safe, comfortable or easy.
Jesus asks, “does my message offend you? If so, go ahead and leave.” Folks, Jesus has been telling us for weeks now, you must eat of my flesh and drink of my blood, for through that act you will have eternal life. I know that there are more than a few of us who would like his words to be a little less graphic. Because, in truth, that imagery does feel a little offensive and a lot uncomfortable.
And you know what?
Good.
You see, being a Christian means that if we’re doing it right, if we’re doing it like Jonathan Daniels, Harriet Tubman, MLK, Jr., Jimmy Carter, Michael Curry, Gene Robinson, The Philadelphia 11 and scores and scores of others, people aren’t going to like us. But by doing what our forebears have done, by risking our own comfort, our own security, sometimes even our own safety and our very life, we make the road straighter, the way smoother, the promised land more attainable for those who come after us.
The Bread of Life, Jesus Christ, offers us the nourishment and the strength to do this work but we, we must do it.
Not just talk about the work. Not just pray about the work. Not just nod when we hear about the work.
We must do the work
If you come to church and leave without feeling uneasy, uncomfortable and maybe even a little mad, then, frankly, I’m not doing my job too well.
If you come to church and commit to all that we believe and then go out into the world and don’t do some things that are difficult and worrisome and scary and risky then you aren’t doing your job very well.
The lesson of Don Harris, of Harriet Tubman, of Jonathan Daniels and of Jesus Christ himself is this--
Christianity is offensive.
It upsets the status quo.
It refuses to back down.
We have our marching orders, but frankly I don’t know that we take these orders as ours. Christianity is no spectator sport. It’s fine to admire the heroes of our faith like Jonathan Daniels, Harriet Tubman and John’s dad Don, but admiration never defeated darkness.
Admiration never defeated hate; admiration never fed the hungry or clothed the naked.
We’re on a journey, folks. Are you willing to keep going? Are you willing to make this work, the work of justice, a priority?
Are you willing to be unpopular, uncomfortable and despised?
If so, climb aboard, for everything is going to be ok, as long as we just keep going. Amen.
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