Whatever Way Love’s Camel Takes
The following sermon was preached at St. Andrew’s Scots Memorial
Church on April 28, 2013.
“We are stretched between communion with You and our bodied lives…says the
theologian and poet Walter Bruggemann. We are awed by heaven yet rooted in the
earth. We live “between”, in the already and the not yet. To live stretched “between”
we need to do but one thing says Jesus in the Gospel of John, “Love one another. Just as I have loved you,
you should love another.” This is the essence of the faith. Ours is a religion
based on the logic of love. “Love one another.”
In the Gospel of Mathew this commandment is an extension of the first: Thou
shall love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy soul, and with all
thy mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. The Second is like unto
it. Thou shall love thy neighbor as thy self. On these two commandments hang
all the law and prophets.
“Love one another. Just as I have done.”
Easier said than done this loving the way Jesus does---befriending and
eating with outcasts sinners, unclean, and unloved people. Easier said than
done this stretching the boundaries of love, expanding our circles of love to
include all. The kind of love Jesus is
talking about does not discriminate between worthy and unworthy people or
between friends and enemies. This agape love is directed toward creating and
preserving community, God’s Beloved community here on earth now.
But how do we do this? Many would say we that the beginning point is seeing
the face of God in every human being or believing and living as though we are
all part of one family, members of one body in Christ. Others would say it
means refusing to be enemies as the stone sign says up at the Tent of Nations. For me it also means keeping my heart open
even when all it wants to do is close into a fist and scream. It means drawing
a distinction between the person and the act. It means using love to stop
aggression or correct evil.
This commandment to love one another is not only difficult but also messy
and complicated and requires all our abilities, skills, and talent. It requires
a willingness to go into the unknown on a wing and a prayer trusting that God
will fill in when you have gone as far as you can go. It means trusting that
the one thing you do is enough.
Toward illustrating just how difficult this loving one another is I would
like to share a story with you from my experience here as an ecumenical
accompanier with the World Council of Churches in 2011. I was on the Bethlehem Team, part of Group 39,
during the Arab Spring. Part our work, as ecumenical accompaniers were to
accompany Palestinians and Israelis in their nonviolent protests of the
occupation. These protests were often held on Friday afternoons after prayers.
For some unknown reason I decided to follow the soldier. I did not have a plan but just knew I needed
to be present and hoped my presence might keep something from happening between
the soldier and Omar. I didn’t have a plan other than accompany the soldier on
his mission. I was close enough to see that he carried an American made M16. We
were close in more ways than one. My country was supporting his mission. I was
complicit in whatever he was going to do.
I walked next to the soldier and began to sing quietly under my breath, “Peace,
salaam, shalom, peace, salaam, shalom.” My chanting became louder as I became simultaneously
more scared and more confident. ---scared that I didn’t know what I would do if
he actually started shooting and confidant that accompanying him was the right
thing. As I chanted I also tried to hold this young soldier and Omar in the light as the Quakers say. I
realized that I needed also to hold myself in that same light. I realized we were
all part of that light; all connected because each had a spark of this light in
us. This awareness is what I think made my chanting louder. Peace, salaam, shalom. Peace, salaam,
shalom.
In addition to holding everyone in the light, I prayed that this young
Israeli soldier would remember that he is accountable to a higher law, God’s
law, one that respects human life and rights. I also prayed that my heart not
close down in fear or anger and that I continue to see him as a human being and
not just a soldier. It was not easy this chanting, this holding in the light,
this praying all at the same time as I also periodically worried that the gun
he was carrying with his finger on the trigger could just as easily become
directed at me. I tried to remember that my wonderful vest with its many pockets
was not bullet proof.
I stayed close to the soldier, stopping when he stopped, walking when he
walked. The other protestors and soldiers were now engaged in the dance of tear
gas and sound bombs behind us. At one point he stopped and looked me in the
eyes. I tried to look back with all the kindness and compassion I could find. O
my God, he was so young. I could be his mother. He could be my son. Peace, salaam, shalom, peace, salaam, shalom.
While we were engaged in this intense eye contact, Omar got into a car and
took off with his friend. Did my accompaniment intervention save him? Did all
my chanting and praying work? Was it God who intervened? Was it my movement
toward compassion?
When the soldier turned around to
move back toward his unit, I continued to walk with him. I walked beside him,
thanking him and thanking God. I thanked God for saving us all- Omar for not
getting shot or arrested, and the soldier for not doing something terrible he
would regret or not. Then I blessed the soldier and asked God to be present to
him in the days and nights to come while he was on duty. I asked God to guide
him, forgive him and give him the courage to not obey. I asked God to do the
same for me. After all, we were both fallible human beings.
I did not love the soldier. I am not sure even that I would say I saw God
in his boyish face but I no longer hated or feared him. I can’t say honestly
that this would be so if he had fired on Omar or tried to arrest him. When we
neared the protestors, many were running from the tear gas the soldiers were
shooting. I dug out my baggy of lemons and onions and small bandana to cover my
nose. My soldier put on his mask and rejoined his ranks. Our moment had ended
and I was now once again an enemy—an international protestor and he was once
again an enemy soldier with the power to hurt and kill others including me. Or were we? Peace, salaam, shalom. Peace, salaam,
shalom.
In the Book of Revelations, God affirms that the invitation for a new
heaven and earth dwells with the human race, finds a home in us, “And I heard a
loud voice from the throne saying, “See, the home of God is among mortals.” The
home of God is among imperfect, sometimes hateful and fearful mortals who seem hell-bent
on killing themselves and the planet too. Is loving one another really enough,
strong enough to pull us back from the brink of destruction?
I don’t really know but it’s all we've got and when we can hold onto it, name
it and claim it, it changes how we see the world and each other. It connects us
to the divine and to the divine in each other. It softens the heart and allows
us to live not only in the in between but in the grey areas of neither white or
black, but yes and no. And occasionally it stretches us and leaves us open to
be instruments of God’s peace.
So let us leave today open to the logic of God’s love, the commandment to
love one another. Let us leave open to the real possibility of “on earth as it is in heaven.” I end with this prayer by the 11th century Sufi mystic Ibn Arabi
as it too invites us to follow the religion of love:
My heart has
become capable of every form;
It is a pasture
of gazelles
And a monastery
for Christian monks,
And a temple for
idols
And the
pilgrim’s ka’ba
And the tablets
of the Torah
And the book of
the Koran.
I will follow
the religion of love
Whatever way
love’s camel takes
That is my
religion, my faith.
Ibn Arabi (1165-1240)
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