Listening For The "Ching-ching"
Sermon
Sermons on the First Readings
Series II, Cycle C
When television producer, Dick Wolf, introduced a new "cop show" in the early 1990s, he could hardly have predicted it would lead to one of the biggest television sensations of its time. In the fifteen years or so since its first episode, the familiar "ching-ching" sound and opening credits of Law And Order have become cultural icons equivalent to Archie Bunker's All In The Family living room or the scrambling medical staff of M*A*S*H. Since the original Law And Order debut Special Victims Unit, Criminal Intent, Trial By Jury, and Conviction have been added to the lineup with others on the storyboard. Predictably, each series has its own website where fans can log-in for the latest script details and chat about their favorite detectives and lawyers. No doubt we will one day see these characters in the Smithsonian Museum.
Part of the appeal of this series is undoubtedly the fact that these "dedicated police officers and district attorneys" always find the culprit and almost always are successful in putting the "bad guy" (or girl) behind bars. Even when they can't prove their case, the criminal usually gets a serious "comeuppance" by show's end. Viewers get a vicarious satisfaction in seeing justice executed and order restored -- at least until next week.
For the most part, we take great satisfaction in seeing others pay for their sins, criminal and otherwise, particularly if we have been a victim. Reality-based court shows like Traffic Court and people like Judge Judy have been with us for decades -- although not nearly as popular as the fiction. Seeing justice, even the make-believe kind, carried out before our eyes, helps our world to feel more stable, particularly amongst the chaos of our modern times.
Revenge can be sweet, even if it isn't so dramatic. Lots of you may remember uttering the so-called Parents' Prayer: "May you grow up and have children who are just like you." So many times this blessing (or curse) comes true and grandparents just smile knowingly when their children relay the misadventures of their own offspring. "Now I know why you did thus-and-such," the elders are told in a kind of prayer of confession. Rather than offering absolution, these elders often reply with an unsympathetic, "I told you so!"
Sometimes we would rather not see it happen, though, especially when the dire warnings involve our children or other loved ones. Reading about a tough sentence for a DUI or child abuse can bring satisfaction to a victim of these crimes, but for the family of the perpetrator, the pain is tremendous -- even when they are a willing party in the prosecution's case.
What courage and conviction it takes for a spouse to report domestic abuse or a parent to have one's own child arrested for substance abuse. Dr. Phil occasionally does "intervention episodes" which focus on getting family members to confront addicts or offenders, forcing folks into action with the hope of empowering healing. The results (and the ratings) are great if the offenders acquiesce, but the pain is excruciating if they don't.
Perhaps some of you have been caught in that nightmare -- loving someone who, for whatever reason, is hell-bent on self-de-struction and taking others along for the ride. Whether it's a marriage, a friendship, or an employment situation, the most sensible solution is to get out -- especially if you or others are in harm's way. How do we cope and what do we do when the "prophecy" comes to pass and the person gets their wish? Sometimes "told you so" is too sad to say -- even if it is warranted.
In biblical tradition, Jeremiah is known as "the weeping prophet." More than any of the others, he expressed the heartache, the tragedy, the sorrow of being right in his truth-telling. For years, he warned his people about the consequences of worshiping false idols and abusing the poor and the helpless. For years, he had ranted and raved to kings about placing their trust in political gamesmanship rather than the God of the covenant. For years, he had condemned the religious institution and its leaders for receiving the people's sin offerings without condemning sin or teaching righteousness.
Sometimes, it is as devastating to be proven right as to be wrong in our warnings.
For the hurt of my people, I am hurt; I mourn, and dismay has taken hold of me. Oh, that my head were a spring of water and my eyes a fountain of tears; so that I might weep day and night for the slain of my poor people!
-- Jeremiah 8:21; 9:1
In this particular text from Jeremiah, it is hard to know whose words they actually are -- the prophet's or God's. As long or loud as the judgment had been proclaimed, neither Jeremiah nor God has satisfaction when the judgment came to pass and the Assyrian Army began its siege. Later, the city and its temple would be razed and the leaders executed or deported. While escape would have been the most sensible course of action, Jeremiah remained with his people and suffered with them through the whole catastrophe. And, while God had every right to nullify the covenant promise in response to the people's blatant rebellion and religious apostasy, God chose to suffer with them amidst the exile.
This kind of lament in the scriptures serves as an affirmation of faith about who God is. In other non-biblical religions the supreme deity is impersonal and dispassionate -- beyond the suffering of this physical existence. In many of these other religious traditions, the path to salvation lays in denying or escaping such passion and pain; and ultimately to escape the human existence altogether. Even among some who profess a biblical faith this is still an "end-goal." In some people's understanding, God is all about a kind of dispassionate policing of human behaviors, catching the "offenders" and ensuring they are brought to cosmic justice. Others experience a more personal, but vindictive, God who is "out to get me." This divine prosecution is sometimes for real guilt in our moral failures like marital infidelity and such; or, sometimes, to give meaning to various misfortunes unconnected with our human behavior, like natural disasters which destroy our communities and take innocent lives.
Even those of us who have committed ourselves to faithful living by God's commands may wonder at times if such faith makes any difference. We pray for years for the soul of a friend or loved one; we implore God to defend us amidst "office politics"; we tithe faithfully but still struggle to find a job that can pay the bills and provide for the family. We live the wholesome lifestyle prescribed by the scriptures but still experience chronic pain or sickness. We do our best to "trust and obey" but still we sometimes wonder if God even knows or cares.
But clearly the scriptures, both Hebrew and Christian, reflect a God whose heart aches for the abuser as well as the victims; for the lawbreakers as well as the enforcers. That is a place where few of us are willing to go emotionally unless forced there by circumstances in our own lives and families. When the accused is someone we love, even when they are guilty as charged, we weep a fountain of tears. And, even when our fountains run dry and all our compassion is spent, God continues to care.
Amidst the grief, the confusion, the chaos, and the uncertainty, Jeremiah points the way to God's own heart. This is a God who continues to care even for those of us "hell-bent on self-destruction." This is a God who refuses to give up even on us, and who continues to work redemption's plan.
"Is there no balm in Gilead?" the lamenter asks. "Why then has the health of my poor people not been restored?" The region famous for its healing medicine could not produce that which was necessary to heal the wounds of sin and despair. Centuries later an African-American spiritual would answer the prophet's plea:
There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole; There is a balm in Gilead to heal the sin-sick soul.
That balm, we profess, is none other than Jesus the Christ, the Great Physician. His was a ministry of touching the untouchable, embracing the social outcast, healing the bent-over, and forgiving the unforgivable. His was a death of suffering for the cause of the kingdom so that the unredeemable might find redemption. And, his was a resurrection which proved God's own commitment to the salvation of humanity.
In Jesus we encounter a God who has not abandoned us even in our sin, but rather has become invested in restoring what has been broken. Our God stands not only for "Law and Order" but for mercy and compassion. Because of that, we find the strength to look beyond our fountain of tears and live for the day when joy shall be restored. Rather than the "ching-ching" of Law And Order we await the sound of the trumpet announcing the day when "he will wipe every tear from [our] eyes," when "death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things [will] have passed away" (Revelation 21:4).
Part of the appeal of this series is undoubtedly the fact that these "dedicated police officers and district attorneys" always find the culprit and almost always are successful in putting the "bad guy" (or girl) behind bars. Even when they can't prove their case, the criminal usually gets a serious "comeuppance" by show's end. Viewers get a vicarious satisfaction in seeing justice executed and order restored -- at least until next week.
For the most part, we take great satisfaction in seeing others pay for their sins, criminal and otherwise, particularly if we have been a victim. Reality-based court shows like Traffic Court and people like Judge Judy have been with us for decades -- although not nearly as popular as the fiction. Seeing justice, even the make-believe kind, carried out before our eyes, helps our world to feel more stable, particularly amongst the chaos of our modern times.
Revenge can be sweet, even if it isn't so dramatic. Lots of you may remember uttering the so-called Parents' Prayer: "May you grow up and have children who are just like you." So many times this blessing (or curse) comes true and grandparents just smile knowingly when their children relay the misadventures of their own offspring. "Now I know why you did thus-and-such," the elders are told in a kind of prayer of confession. Rather than offering absolution, these elders often reply with an unsympathetic, "I told you so!"
Sometimes we would rather not see it happen, though, especially when the dire warnings involve our children or other loved ones. Reading about a tough sentence for a DUI or child abuse can bring satisfaction to a victim of these crimes, but for the family of the perpetrator, the pain is tremendous -- even when they are a willing party in the prosecution's case.
What courage and conviction it takes for a spouse to report domestic abuse or a parent to have one's own child arrested for substance abuse. Dr. Phil occasionally does "intervention episodes" which focus on getting family members to confront addicts or offenders, forcing folks into action with the hope of empowering healing. The results (and the ratings) are great if the offenders acquiesce, but the pain is excruciating if they don't.
Perhaps some of you have been caught in that nightmare -- loving someone who, for whatever reason, is hell-bent on self-de-struction and taking others along for the ride. Whether it's a marriage, a friendship, or an employment situation, the most sensible solution is to get out -- especially if you or others are in harm's way. How do we cope and what do we do when the "prophecy" comes to pass and the person gets their wish? Sometimes "told you so" is too sad to say -- even if it is warranted.
In biblical tradition, Jeremiah is known as "the weeping prophet." More than any of the others, he expressed the heartache, the tragedy, the sorrow of being right in his truth-telling. For years, he warned his people about the consequences of worshiping false idols and abusing the poor and the helpless. For years, he had ranted and raved to kings about placing their trust in political gamesmanship rather than the God of the covenant. For years, he had condemned the religious institution and its leaders for receiving the people's sin offerings without condemning sin or teaching righteousness.
Sometimes, it is as devastating to be proven right as to be wrong in our warnings.
For the hurt of my people, I am hurt; I mourn, and dismay has taken hold of me. Oh, that my head were a spring of water and my eyes a fountain of tears; so that I might weep day and night for the slain of my poor people!
-- Jeremiah 8:21; 9:1
In this particular text from Jeremiah, it is hard to know whose words they actually are -- the prophet's or God's. As long or loud as the judgment had been proclaimed, neither Jeremiah nor God has satisfaction when the judgment came to pass and the Assyrian Army began its siege. Later, the city and its temple would be razed and the leaders executed or deported. While escape would have been the most sensible course of action, Jeremiah remained with his people and suffered with them through the whole catastrophe. And, while God had every right to nullify the covenant promise in response to the people's blatant rebellion and religious apostasy, God chose to suffer with them amidst the exile.
This kind of lament in the scriptures serves as an affirmation of faith about who God is. In other non-biblical religions the supreme deity is impersonal and dispassionate -- beyond the suffering of this physical existence. In many of these other religious traditions, the path to salvation lays in denying or escaping such passion and pain; and ultimately to escape the human existence altogether. Even among some who profess a biblical faith this is still an "end-goal." In some people's understanding, God is all about a kind of dispassionate policing of human behaviors, catching the "offenders" and ensuring they are brought to cosmic justice. Others experience a more personal, but vindictive, God who is "out to get me." This divine prosecution is sometimes for real guilt in our moral failures like marital infidelity and such; or, sometimes, to give meaning to various misfortunes unconnected with our human behavior, like natural disasters which destroy our communities and take innocent lives.
Even those of us who have committed ourselves to faithful living by God's commands may wonder at times if such faith makes any difference. We pray for years for the soul of a friend or loved one; we implore God to defend us amidst "office politics"; we tithe faithfully but still struggle to find a job that can pay the bills and provide for the family. We live the wholesome lifestyle prescribed by the scriptures but still experience chronic pain or sickness. We do our best to "trust and obey" but still we sometimes wonder if God even knows or cares.
But clearly the scriptures, both Hebrew and Christian, reflect a God whose heart aches for the abuser as well as the victims; for the lawbreakers as well as the enforcers. That is a place where few of us are willing to go emotionally unless forced there by circumstances in our own lives and families. When the accused is someone we love, even when they are guilty as charged, we weep a fountain of tears. And, even when our fountains run dry and all our compassion is spent, God continues to care.
Amidst the grief, the confusion, the chaos, and the uncertainty, Jeremiah points the way to God's own heart. This is a God who continues to care even for those of us "hell-bent on self-destruction." This is a God who refuses to give up even on us, and who continues to work redemption's plan.
"Is there no balm in Gilead?" the lamenter asks. "Why then has the health of my poor people not been restored?" The region famous for its healing medicine could not produce that which was necessary to heal the wounds of sin and despair. Centuries later an African-American spiritual would answer the prophet's plea:
There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole; There is a balm in Gilead to heal the sin-sick soul.
That balm, we profess, is none other than Jesus the Christ, the Great Physician. His was a ministry of touching the untouchable, embracing the social outcast, healing the bent-over, and forgiving the unforgivable. His was a death of suffering for the cause of the kingdom so that the unredeemable might find redemption. And, his was a resurrection which proved God's own commitment to the salvation of humanity.
In Jesus we encounter a God who has not abandoned us even in our sin, but rather has become invested in restoring what has been broken. Our God stands not only for "Law and Order" but for mercy and compassion. Because of that, we find the strength to look beyond our fountain of tears and live for the day when joy shall be restored. Rather than the "ching-ching" of Law And Order we await the sound of the trumpet announcing the day when "he will wipe every tear from [our] eyes," when "death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things [will] have passed away" (Revelation 21:4).
