A Fourth Church Sermon by Dana Ferguson

October 21, 2001 | 9:30 and 11:00 a.m.

A Time to Act

Dana Ferguson
Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 119:97–104
2 Timothy 3:14–4:5
Luke 18:1–8

A widow wronged. A judge unresponsive. A longing for justice, for vindication, for vengeance. The parable for today. It’s enough to make a preacher break out in sweat. At least this one. At least during these times. Vindication. Vengeance. Justice. I’ve heard enough of it of late. How do we sort it all out? How do we balance citizenry, patriotism, Christianity in these times? It’s a big question, and one I wasn’t sure I wanted to struggle with from the pulpit. So I turned the pages. Tried to flee from the parable assigned in the lectionary for the day.

Timothy. It’s much easier. It’s straightforward and simple. A fairly unarguable Christian stance. The importance of scripture. The centrality of the Word in our daily lives. That’s pretty unarguable. The Word. It is what our whole tradition centers around and so does the whole of our worship. It is why the procession here each Sunday morning begins with someone carrying the Bible right to the front and center of this sanctuary. The written word. It’s what Timothy tells us today is important, important to us as Christians. It informs us and shapes. It guides us and defines who we are. Will Willimon, chaplain at Duke University, says, “One reason why I preach and why you listen is that we find peculiar strength from reading and interpreting Scripture together in the church.”

It’s an important reminder in these times of fear and frustration, turmoil and terror. It’s important to be reminded to turn again to scripture. To open ourselves to the Word for insight and understanding, for wisdom and guidance. To open the pages and let them speak to us about our faith. And so it seems that we aren’t off the hook. That Timothy is calling us back to all the stories of scripture—even the parables that we might want to avoid.

And so again. A widow. A judge. Does this judge represent the God we worship? Is this our God: unconcerned, unresponsive, uninterested in being involved? Indeed not. Instead what we have is a comparison. If an unjust judge will grant justice, imagine how a God full of grace and compassion will respond. In the Christian Century, Mark Harris, an Episcopal minister, says that instead of being bothered by the widow, God commits to taking our side and being by our side. “What happens in the whole of Christianity is about the judge becoming a friend—that when God takes the form of a human—comes to be with us in Jesus Christ—that God took our side—came to stand with us. God moved from impartiality to partiality—from distant thunderer to compassionate companion” (“Do Not Lose Heart,” Christian Century, September 26, 2001, p. 17).

Two weeks ago, I journeyed to Havana, Cuba, with a delegation of Fourth Church members to celebrate World Communion Sunday. John Buchanan worked hard last week at telling all of the stories from our experience there so that there wouldn’t be any left for me to tell this week. I think it’s a competition that dates back to a story about a coach, Perry Reese Jr. You might remember. It got told here twice, but I was the first. So the competition was born and calls for one more Cuba story. It so happened that while we were in Cuba, there was a national gathering, a rally in Revolution Square, complete with over a million or so folk attending and Fidel Castro speaking. The reason for the gathering was to commemorate the twenty-fifth anniversary of the bombing of a Cuban plane—the bombing was attributed to the CIA. The rally wasn’t included on our itinerary. When we heard about it, our group asked questions and expressed a keen interest in attending. I was uncomfortable. It seemed a little inappropriate. Whether you agree or not that the CIA was responsible for the bombing, the million or so folks gathered there have been told for twenty-five years that the USA was responsible. I just wasn’t sure about a group of U.S. citizens then showing up at the commemoration. It seemed to me to carry hints of disrespect on this day of remembrance.

The day before the rally, our host, Hector Mendez, pastor of the Havana Presbyterian Church, was reviewing the itinerary for the next day. Plans had been changed so that we could attend the rally. “Be certain,” he reassured us, “that you will be welcome. You are our friends and you will be welcomed.” And so our group was—welcomed by a huge crowd of people that gathered there, who shared smiles with the delegation, who even offered Cuban flags to wave.

It was astounding to me that we were so welcomed in a country whose ills have long been blamed on the United States. I was astounded by the welcome we received from Cubans on the streets and in churches, welcome from Cubans who have been told, justifiably or not, that their lack of access to many essentials in life, including food and immunizations, is plain and simply the fault of America. The Cubans didn’t just welcome us; they lavished us with hospitality and prayed thanksgiving for our presence there.

John Buchanan told you last week about a prayer meeting we attended hosted by a home church—a church beginning just as they did in the beginning of Christianity, meeting in homes. There in the backyard, where fifty or so Cubans were gathered with our delegation interspersed, the Cubans asked the pastors representing the Fourth Church delegation to come forward. There we held hands together with their leaders as they prayed for this country. There we Americans overwhelmed by welcome by the Cubans sat in the backyard on plastic chairs, listening to tape-recorded music, and were lifted up in prayer, prayed for as we suffer loss. It was amazing to me: a people oppressed—as told by their government for decades—by the United States dedicated and determined to stand with us in solidarity and to support us during our moments of suffering.

The judge became companion. It is what our faith is about: about drawing near, standing alongside, becoming a companion. Dirk Ficca, director of the Council for a Parliament of the World’s Religions, told a story here at Fourth Church a couple of weeks ago about a Middle easterner Yehuda Stolov. Yehuda directs the Interfaith Association, which brings together Israelis and Palestinians for weekend encounters. “There is a view in the Middle East,” Yehuda Stolov said, “that we have to have a political solution to our situation before Jews and Arabs can come to know each other as human beings and live in peace.” He shook his head. “No. It’s the other way around. Only until we come to know each other as human beings, will we find the reasons and the resolve to seek the political solution that leads to peace” (“The Things That Make for Peace,” Fourth Presbyterian Church, October 7, 2001).

There is a question on the form that new members complete when they join Fourth Church. It asks what attracted them to Fourth Church. A new member of this congregation, a refugee escaping political persecution in another country, responded this way: I was attracted to Fourth Church “because of the love of the members and their friendliness. They befriended me when I was lonely, gave me a home when I was homeless and hungry. I cannot wait to know of the love of these dear people. I really want to know why they are such people.” Why are we such people? Because we worship a loving God, a judge become faithful companion. Why are we such people? Because our faith is about knowing each other and serving each other, about outstretched arms on a cross not judging but welcoming us, welcoming us to a relationship filled with grace and love; forgiveness and hospitality, about arms stretching across a pew and across a street; across this nation and across this world, about outstretched arms welcoming friend and stranger alike, calling us to reach out, to build houses in Honduras, to serve meals in Memphis, Tennessee, to build a playground for handicapped children in Albania. And calling us to open wide the doors of the church to inner-city schoolchildren, to those living on the streets, to people searching for a friend, in need of support. It’s what our faith is about: drawing near, becoming a companion, living the love of God.

In 1956, five missionaries journeyed to the jungle of Ecuador. Nate, Jim, Roger, Ed, and Peter had experience in the mission field. They journeyed to the jungles of Ecuador to minister to a very primitive tribe known for their fierce infighting and hatred of outsiders. Historically, every encounter with the Acua had ended in death, from the sixteenth-century conquistadors to the seventeenth-century Jesuits to nineteenth-century gold and rubber hunters. Toward the end of 1955, the oil companies were closing in on Acua territory, an area of about 2,500 square miles. This tribe of unknown size and location was seen to be an irritant to development. Not only had they killed oil company employees who ventured into their territory, but they had even lain in ambush outside the big oil camps and killed unsuspecting employees right outside their own quarters. Little was said about the raids made by gun-wielding oil company men against the people, but every Acua killing was told and retold in the oil camps until tribal savagery and killing prowess gained almost mystical power to strike fear into the hearts of even seasoned jungle workers. Soldiers had been dispatched to protect oil camps. There was talk of a military attempt at wiping out this nuisance.

Confrontation was inevitable, and the question was not would the Acuas be contacted, but who would contact them and with what intentions. Would the contact group take medicines and go in peace to live among the people, or would they go with poisoned meat and booby traps and guns to see the nuisance was eliminated or driven deep into the jungle where it would no longer impede the progress of civilization? Five missionaries volunteered. Nate, Jim, Roger, Ed, and Peter’s relationship began with the exchange of gifts. The missionaries would fly over the area with a basket hanging from their plane, bringing gifts of machetes, axes, and cooking pots. The tribe reciprocated with gifts of a feather headdress, smoked money, and even a live parrot, which became a pet for one of the missionary’s children.

After thirteen weeks of gift drops, the missionaries landed their plane in the jungle. After three days of waiting on the beach, natives from the jungle approached. Hamburgers and Kool-Aid were shared. One of the Acuas even wanted to take a plane ride. He was taken up not just once but twice, basking in the whole experience, waving down to fellow tribespeople. Soon after these interchanges, the Indians disappeared into the jungle just as they had appeared. What the missionaries didn’t know was that once the Acua disappeared, they were planning to murder them. One of the women of the tribe claimed that the missionaries had attacked her. Soon it became clear to the Acua that the claims were false, but the attack continued on. The next time the Acua appeared, it was to take the lives of all five of the missionaries.

Fewer than three years after the murders, Nate Saint’s sister, Rachel, and Jim Elliot’s widow, Elisabeth, were living among the tribe, beginning their ministry by practicing basic medicine. They dedicated their lives to ministry to this tribe who savagely and unjustifiably killed their brother and their husband. And so did Steve Saint, son of one of the five. To this day, Nate’s son Steve lives in the jungle of Ecuador, ministering to the Acua people. Steve writes, “Forty years ago, Gikita, one of the members of the tribe, was an unusually old man in a tribe that killed friends and relatives with the same zeal and greater frequency than they did their enemies. Now he is nearing eighty years of age and has seen his grandchildren and great-grandchildren grow up without the constant fear of spearings. He has repeatedly asserted that all he wants to do is go to heaven and live peacefully with the five men who came to teach him about Wangongi, creator God.” Steve says of his dad, “I suppose he is best known to others because he died for this faith, but the legacy he left his children was his willingness to first live for this faith” (Steve Saint, “Did They Have to Die?” http://www.ChristianityToday.com, September 16, 1996).

We live, my friends, as Christians, not according to what has been done to us but by what has been done for us. Who we are is not decided by murder or terror, economics or envy, hatred or evil. Who we are is defined by what has been done for us. Who we are is defined by a judge who becomes our companion in Jesus Christ, by a Savior who went to the cross, went to the cross that we might live life and live it abundantly serving friend and enemy alike, who went to the cross that we might stand hands outstretched to those we meet, like or not alike, needy or needing to give. We are defined by a God who comes to us first not demanding vindication or vengeance but offering us forgiveness, drawing near to us as an ever-faithful companion and comforter.

Citizenry, patriotism, Christianity. Our president has said that the events of September 11 call for bold action. And they do. So what are we to do? Our government asks that we be patient. And so shall we. We shall continue to support our government. To speak out when we feel actions are inappropriate and when they are appropriate. To write letters and cast our votes. To converse and dialogue and understand. And we shall continue to speak for justice. To speak against wrongful acts and to stand with those wronged.

Citizenry, patriotism, Christianity. Faithfulness. Our God calls us to be faithful: faithful to the word written, committed to understanding it, to be led by it, to be centered on it. Our faith calls us to be persistent, persistent as the widow is, faithful to the living Word, Jesus Christ. We are called to be persistent in praying for those who grieve, for those with tough jobs to do, for those who are persecuted, for those who are poor and those who are sick, and for those who persecute us. And to continue in ministry. Such times of uncertainty do call for bold action, bold action from the community of faith, calling us to be ever vigilant, ever persistent, ever committed to living out the Word of God, reconciling enemies and friends, serving the hungry and the homeless, supporting those who work for freedom, working for the ever-important kingdom of God in a world shaken by evil deeds.

“Will faith be found on earth?” ends the parable. Indeed it will. It will be found in ever-vigilant, ever-persistent, ever-faithful communities living because of what has been done for us. It will be found in backyards in Cuba, in city streets in America, in jungles in Ecuador. Will faith be found on earth? Indeed it will. It will be found wherever people live according to what has been done for them in Christ Jesus our Lord. All to God’s glory and honor and praise. Amen.