Raging for Justice
I’m looking forward to today’s Second Sunday Salon, when we’ll explore music in worship and life with our choir director Marion Horton. As much as I love sacred songs, I also have a soft spot for musicals. The ones that really speak to me involve characters whose perspective on their world dramatically changes, causing them to make new decisions. Think of Rent, Les Misérables, South Pacific, Kinky Boots, Hamilton, and the most recent musical to hit movie theatres – Wicked. In it, the soon to be witches – Elphaba and Galinda – realize that the Wizard of Oz isn’t just the bumbling fraud he is in the original Judy Garland classic. He’s a villain who stokes fear and hurts creatures as he attempts to expand his power. As everything they know about Oz is called into question, Elphaba and Galinda feel disappointed, misled, and angry.
I felt similar emotions the first time I engaged with the Episcopal Church’s Sacred Ground program. Through the course of eleven sessions, we viewed chapters of American history through the lens of race and social class. Discussions of assigned videos and readings helped us process the material through storytelling, grounded in faith. What I learned left me feeling deep sadness and anger – anger at the betrayal of the American dream for communities of color and at truths that I didn’t know about the country I love.
That kind of anger – rage, even – burns in today’s readings. The prophet Isaiah tells us about a farmer who lovingly tends to his vineyard, expecting a bountiful harvest, and instead receives a crop of rotten fruit. In his anger, the farmer removes all his security measures and makes the vineyard a wasteland. Finally, Isaiah reveals the farmer to be God, giving Israel all good things for its prosperity but seeing its exploitation and oppression of the most vulnerable; God “expected justice, but saw bloodshed, righteousness, but heard a cry!” Like the frustrated vineyard owner, God furiously asks, “What more could I have done?” “Why did this happen?”
Today’s psalm of lamentation seems almost an anguished and angry response. Israel asks why God seems to have turned away from the people. The psalmist acknowledges that God planted the vine of their people and took care of it, bringing them safely out of Egypt. But then the psalmist angrily asks “Why have you broken down the wall” that protects us, letting all our enemies in to destroy us? In a cry that echoes through generations, the psalmist raises a fist and shouts, “Why us? Why now?”
Author C.S. Lewis writes “anger is the fluid love bleeds when you cut it.” Isaiah’s revelation and the psalmist’s cry are rooted in love. God loves the Chosen People so much that God is disappointed in their actions, knowing they could do better. The people, in return, love God so much that they don’t understand – or can’t admit - why God seems to have turned away from them. And yet, at the end, the psalmist says, “will we never turn away from you; *give us life, that we may call upon your Name.”
Theologian Megan Watterson calls this kind of anger “sacred rage.” She says “It’s a rage that clarifies what we care most about in this world, about what we will put our bodies on the line to stand up for. Rage, like a slow controlled burn, can fuel and inform us….”
It’s the fuel for the kind of fire that Jesus means to bring down to the earth. It’s the fire of the burning bush, which was not consumed but revealed God’s presence to Moses. And it’s the fire of Pentecost, which enabled the disciples to understand the different languages of the crowd gathered around them. It’s the fire that exposes the world’s inequalities, challenging our comfortable status quo and urging us to see God’s vision of a new creation.
This new viewpoint comes at a cost. Hailed by angels at his birth who announced he would bring peace on earth, goodwill to all, Jesus tells us that he has come to bring division instead. If you’re one of his disciples, following Jesus means separating from family and friends to build a new community. If you’re a first century Gentile, it means running afoul of the imperial commands to worship Roman gods. Decisions sometimes come with divisions and disruptions. Jesus asks us to interpret the present time through the context of mercy and compassion.
I recently attended an orientation to a new faith-based immigration court accompaniment ministry. Fr. Scott Santarosa explained this ministry of deep listening and spiritual presence and described his recent experience accompanying one of his older parishioners to immigration court. She was unable to complete her first appointment as she was so anxious and frightened, she fainted. Fr. Santarosa helped her make an appointment on another day and drove her to the courthouse. As they were waiting, he and his parishioner prayed and talked quietly together. Fr. Santarosa had a moment of clarity in which he decided to go with her to detention if she was arrested after the appointment. Although he knew they would not be detained together, Fr. Santarosa wanted to walk with his parishioner and comfort her as long as he could. Fortunately, his parishioner wasn’t arrested, but following Jesus’ way can lead us in unexpected directions.
In Jesus’ perspective, peace doesn’t mean the absence of conflict; Jesus’ interpretation is the broader peace of shalom, where life is as God intended – whole, connected, a flourishing, inclusive place. The sacred rage we feel when we see the world’s alienation and suffering presents us with opportunities for change. But, as Megan Watterson explains “if we move the way rage wants us to move, we will cause harm to ourselves and others. So, when we go to take action, we must first intentionally return to love. Rage informs us about what we love, and love moves us to act in ways only love knows.” Fr. Santarosa committed to shepherding his parishioner in her hour of need. I decided to help with San Diego Diocese’s racial reconciliation program, LARK. Even Elphaba and Galinda, though they chose different paths, worked for justice in OZ.
I don’t know about you, but I’m uncomfortable with anger, even this sacred rage. It’s hard to always act with intentional love, and sometimes I make mistakes. But our reading from Hebrews reminds us that we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, faithful believers who have gone before and are, even now, supporting us as we live into and share God’s love. With Jesus, the Prince of Peace as our guide, we join our siblings in faith - past, present, and future - as we run toward God’s promised vineyard, overflowing with the ripe fruit of Divine shalom.
