Bill Countryman, Good Shepherd Episcopal Church, Berkeley

A sermon for the second Sunday after Pentecost, June 14, 2020

Proper 6A: Genesis 18:1-15; Psalm 116:1, 10-17; Romans 5:1-8; Matthew 9:35-10:8

We all have a lot on our minds nowadays. First off, there’s the pandemic, with all of us wondering when things might get back to something like what we used to think of as “normal.” And what would we actually be willing to risk if things suddenly open up again? And, right now, we’re also in the midst of one of the most sweeping social movements in recent American history, one that we hope will lead to far-reaching social changes. That occupies a big part of our thoughts and concerns, too. 

And, if you have room for anything else, let me just mention that June also happens to be “Pride Month,” which celebrates another sweeping social movement that brought about some astonishing changes in our world—one that Good Shepherd was quite actively involved in. One of the things that sticks in my mind about Gay Liberation was that GLBTQ people found allies. All sorts of people were marching, as is true with regard to the current Black Lives Matter movement. It wasn’t just gay and lesbian people (as we used to say in those less precise times) marching; it was also their straight allies. 

And what happened in that movement was that the majority of Americans found, somewhat to their surprise, that their minds were actually being changed—what, in New Testament Greek, is called metanoia, sometimes translated as “repent.” It’s “repenting” not in the sense of beating one’s breast so much as in the sense of seeing the world in a new light, All those presuppositions about heterosexuals and homosexuals didn’t seem to make sense any more. It began to look like we’re all just human beings in this life together.

If it seems like I’m painting too easy a picture, it’s true. I am. That movement still took a lot of time and sacrifice, and the struggle is far from over, as recent government moves to withdraw protections from transgender people make clear. But it remains true that American society—and others in our world—has gone through a sea change in relation to a group that long suffered grave penalties just for being who we were. And, to come back to the present moment, there is hope in the air that the Black Lives Matter movement is achieving something similar. Yes, it calls for changes in laws and in police attitudes and in the economic inequalities that are driving our society crazy. All those are important. But we also need a sea change in how we see one another on a day to day basis. 

Black Lives Matter is becoming the cry of a nation as well as that of an abused minority. Not everybody is on board, not by a long shot. But there’s an astonishingly broad cross section of people who have been converted, have had their minds changed, have come to see things more clearly than we had before. I learned something from Black colleagues and students over the years about the kind of indignities so often visited on them. But I still didn’t really understand how the seemingly endless series of deaths of Black people in the hands of the police was not just a string of separate incidents, but the ultimate expression of the stubbornly systemic racism in our country. I think I’m getting it now. My mind has certainly been changed. 

So we’re all trying to find our way through the pandemic. Black Lives Matter is in all of our minds now. Gay/Lesbian Liberation was a great turning point for many of us. And we celebrate, even if the times demand that we do it more quietly—no Parades! And both of these movements remind us that the task is not finished yet. We as a nation have a long way to go before we will truly be living up to our professed goal of “liberty and justice for all.”

And—as if all this weren’t enough—it just happens that today on the secular calendar is Flag Day, a day that reminds us of both our ideals and the barriers that stand in the way of realizing them. The American flag is a much contested emblem right now. Waving the flag is often a jingoist thing: we’re so much bigger, stronger, and better than anybody else! And Conservative politicians—sometimes quite extremist ones—like to wrap themselves in it as if it belonged more to them than to the rest of us. And that offends me deeply—because I grew up being assured the flag stood for liberty and justice for all, the founding ideals of our republic, the ideals that keep us moving forward even though we have never yet really attained to them. The flag also stands for a sense of community and a kind of selflessness of service to the community that’s manifest in the people of our armed forces. “Not all of them,” you may be thinking. And you’d be right. But the great majority of them. Jon and I both have some of them in our families. And that’s why the flag is flying beside our front door this morning. 

Our national failure to live up to our ideals doesn’t discredit the ideals. It only discredits us. And it is we ourselves who have to hold the ideals high—the very ideals that sometimes condemn us. Why? Because without them we would be directionless. We’re not going to become perfect. We are human beings. But we truly need to acknowledge our failures and keep moving forward.

Now, you may be wondering when I’m going to get on to today’s sermon. Well, right about now in fact. But I wanted to say all this first, because I think our readings speak quite directly to our sins and to the way forward for us. 

I begin with our reading from Paul’s Letter to the Romans: 

For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. . . . God proves God’s love for us in that while we still were sinners, Christ died for us. 

What is Paul saying here? That God has come to meet us at our absolute worst—even as we formed a lynch mob in response. God came in order to wake us up, in order to give us new minds, in order to send us down a new path. This is what proves God’s love for us. Paul is saying, “God didn’t do this for you because you were so sweet and deserving and honorable and religious.” Indeed, as you’ll remember, it was the religious who led that lynch mob in Jerusalem. Being religious offers a chance of repentance, not a guarantee of our own purity and goodness. The gospel is only offered to sinners, in fact. Others, if there are any, need not apply. 

Paul doesn’t say that all is forgiven and we don’t have to grow and change any more. He says, rather, that since we are reconciled by God’s own love in Christ’s death, we will be saved. It’s not a free pass to the heavenly gates. It means that God will stick with us and badger us until we experience the changes of mind that we need. What God is offering us is transformation, not a free ride. And, ultimately, our hope is to live in God’s love, to rejoice in it, to share it with others.

And, you know, this is what the practice of our faith is about. I like that word “practice.” It says it just right. We who practice Christianity are not perfected experts: we’re practicing in our effort to grow and change and become better conformed to God’s amazing love. But as we grow and change, we also become teachers.

This morning’s gospel reading told us how Jesus, as he preached and proclaimed the good news and healed everywhere, “saw the crowds [and] had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, ‘The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into he harvest.'” And who was it that he sent? His disciples! That group of sincere lunkheads who had such a hard time figuring out what he was trying to tell them. Pretty much like us.

We’re all sheep needing a shepherd these days. But Jesus tells us we are, at the same time, shepherds. Jesus doesn’t send perfected experts out to do the shepherding. He sends out practicing students. 

The message is the same, then,sermo for all of us, sheep and shepherds as we are: Change your mind! The kingdom of heaven has drawn near! Believe the good news! The good news comes to those in need of it. And only when we know something of our need can we recognize the good news for what it is. 

The good news, in other words, is for sinners. Others, if there are any, need not apply. God’s love for us helps us to find a new, deeper, more loving mind. It gives us the power to live into that new mind, to let it reshape us and the world around us. We have a hard time believing that it can happen, but it can. It does.

And the wonderful story we heard from Genesis captures our situation perfectly. God visits Abraham and promises that Sarah, who is long past her child-bearing days, will have a child. Sarah laughs to herself, but she’s overheard—oh, the embarrassment! Of course she denies it: “I didn’t laugh.” And God responds, not in anger but in a teasing mode, “Oh yes, you did laugh.” 

And the surprise was on Sarah. The world can turn out different from what we thought possible. We can’t dictate exactly how it will happen. But it starts with getting a new mind,

We’re living in challenging times. But we live through them by the great gift of God’s love, which comes to us before we deserve it, not after. It gives us a new mind. And we can share it with others, even if we are imperfect ourselves in the love of God. And even if we laugh with Sarah at the possibility of good, we may find ourselves laughing with joy later on when God’s gift becomes clearer. What it takes is a new mind, a mind that embraces the possibility of good, even in dark times, even in times like the present, even times of plague and injustice. And that can give us power to change ourselves and the world around us. 

So remember: The Gospel is for sinners. It comes to bring us a change of mind. Others, if there are any, need not apply. But for those to whom it is given, it can work wonders.