(Homily for Gayton Road Christian Church's Worship on March 18, 2018, Lent V)
The Chalkboard
I grew up on the cusp of a
revolution. By the time I was
graduating from Godwin High School, every student had a laptop. We had the internet at the tips of our
fingers. Old excuses, like “the
dog ate my homework,” were no longer in circulation. Instead I was accustomed to hearing more electronic
explanations: “The program crashed just before I finished,” or much more
commonly, “I forgot to save my work.”
But it was only a few years
before then that my classes were taught primarily on the chalkboard. Most of you lived in the dark ages too,
so you remember the chalkboard.
Even though I haven’t touched a chalkboard in over a decade, I remember
it well. I remember how in math
the teacher would call us forward individually to solve equations on the
board. And I remember how
sometimes as a prank, a mischievous student would squeeze a few pieces of chalk
into the eraser. And I remember
how in elementary school, cleaning the chalkboard was one of our many
responsibilities: line-leader, door-holder, and chalkboard-cleaner.
Cleaning the chalkboard was
crucial. It was the only way we
could move from one lesson to the next.
Israel’s Cheatin’ Heart
The story of Israel is a little
bit like a chalkboard.
As Jeremiah reminds us today,
when God heard the cries and heartache of the Israelites in the land of Egypt,
God took them by the hand and brought them out of Egypt. In the process, God fell in love with
Israel. Today’s scripture refers
to their relationship as a marriage.
The problem is, Israel forgot its
marriage vows. Well, sort of. On the outside, things looked
alright. Priests were performing
the sacrifices. Prophets who knew
the scriptures said many things in the name of God. People were following the letter of the law. Technically they were honoring their
vows. But they had what Hank
Williams would have called a “cheatin’ heart.” For they had forgotten the love of God. God had come to them when they were
oppressed, weak, and needful. But
now, they were neglecting the oppressed, weak, and needful, and instead
hoarding power and possessions at their expense.
Here’s how Jeremiah puts it:
“From the least to the greatest of them, everyone is greedy for unjust gain;
and from prophet to priest, everyone deals falsely. They have treated the wound of my people carelessly, saying,
‘Peace, peace,’ when there is no peace” (6:13-14). And Isaiah, who came before Jeremiah and was perhaps a
prophetic role model, puts it like this: “Bringing offerings is futile; incense
is an abomination. New moons and
sabbath and calling of convocation—I cannot endure solemn assemblies with
iniquity….Learn to do good, seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the
orphan, plead for the widow” (Isa 1:13, 17).
In other words, while the
Israelites were busy carrying out the vows of their relationship with God, a
completely different law was being written on their hearts: entitlement,
prestige, profit, and all at the expense of the needful.
Cleaning the Chalkboard
Which brings us to today’s
scripture, where God is heart-broken.
God desires more than the Israelites’ holy habits; God desires their
hearts. So God declares, “I will
put my law within them, and I will write in on their hearts; and I will be their
God, and they shall be my people” (31:33).
In other words, God has the chalk
in hand and wants to write something new on the chalkboard of the Israelites’
hearts.
What does that mean for the law
of greed currently written on their heart? Jeremiah never spells this out, but I think it means that,
first, the chalkboard will need to be erased. As I learned in elementary school, cleaning the chalkboard
is crucial. It’s the only way to
get from one lesson to the next.
Or as David says in our psalm today: “Purge me with hyssop, and I will
be clean” (51:7). The desert
fathers and mothers, who pioneered our faith in the first few centuries after
Christ, stressed that this was the first step of faith: purging. We must unlearn what we have
learned. We must shed our old
thoughts and feelings, before we can put on Christ.
Our Chalkboard Hearts
Our story, I think, is little
different than Jeremiah and the Israelites. Because you or I or anyone who lives in this world, has a
chalkboard heart full of writing.
Our family, our friends, and our society write upon our hearts a host of
expectations and assumptions, fears and desires. The funny thing is, I normally think of myself as having
thoughts and feelings. But when I
step back and look at myself, I can see that in fact thoughts and feelings have
me![1] I am very often following a script
written upon my chalkboard heart by the rest of the world.
I remember the first time that I
flew to England. At the gate to my
plane, there were several men with long beards who were prostrating themselves
repeatedly in prayer. At that
time, the news media were showing similar images whenever they talked about
terrorism. And so written on my
heart was the suggestion that these men were dangerous. I was fearful. I’m ashamed to share this, but I also
understand now that I was being shaped by forces beyond my comprehension. As Paul says, we wrestle not with flesh
and blood but with unseen powers and principalities (Eph 6:12). Later I would share a flat with Reza, a
business doctoral student and practicing Muslim from Iran, and I would meet
many more Muslims who were scraping out a new life in England, despite daily
being misunderstood and mistreated.
And over time something—perhaps the grace of God—slowly erased that fear
on the chalkboard of my heart, and in its place wrote love. For what else is the image of men and
women prostrating themselves, than an image of faith? It happens round the world billions and billions of times
everyday, not as a prelude to terrorism but as submission to the will of God.
Recently I’ve been reading the
work of Miguel De La Torre, a Cuban Baptist minister, whose ministry has taken
him into the lives of undocumented migrants. He shares their experiences firsthand from a ground-level
perspective. Before reading these
stories, written on my heart was doubt and suspicion toward these folks. What I had learned in history class and
in general conversation was the idea that people come to our country because of
opportunity—such is the story of my family, who emigrated from Germany—and our
country has laws that very sensibly regulate this incoming immigration. I was not prepared for stories like the
ones that De La Torre told, like the ones about Mexican farmers who lost their
farms years ago as a result of a trade policy pushed by our country. These farmers then find work for
substandard wages at the maquiladoras,
factories in Mexico that are owned by American companies that export products
very cheaply back into our country.
Unable to make ends meet with their meager wages, these
farmers-turned-factory-workers finally make a perilous journey through the
desert in order to look for a living wage in the country that has been
profiting at their expense all the while.
They risk their lives not for opportunity but for the same reason anyone
risks their lives: survival. I
understand that these stories are not every immigrant’s story. But they
certainly have me questioning the writing on my heart. So I wonder what Jeremiah would
say? Would he say what he said in
chapter 22: “Woe to him who builds his house by unrighteousness and his upper
rooms by injustice; who makes his neighbors work for nothing, and does not give
them their wages” (22:13)? And I
wonder, too, what law would Jeremiah want written on my heart. The law of a powerful and
self-interested nation? Or an
older, untraceable law that repeatedly invites care for the weak and
needful? Indeed, I am haunted by
the fact that the Hebrew Bible says only once to love your neighbor
(Lev 19:18), but thirty-seven times says to love the stranger.[2]
The Only Way for Life to Grow
In our gospel text today, Jesus
compares our life to a single grain of wheat. If we hold onto our life, he says, we will lose it. We will be but a single grain of wheat,
clinging to the stalk, shriveled and fruitless. But if we let go, we bear much fruit.
Which is perhaps another way of
saying what Jeremiah is saying. If
we hold onto the script that the world has written onto our hearts, allowing
ourselves to be possessed and directed by the thoughts and feelings that we
have—which is to say, the thoughts and feelings that have us—then we will be
little more than machines, following the same the program, the same code, day
after day.
But as I learned years ago,
cleaning the chalkboard is crucial.
It is the only way to move from one lesson to the next. Perhaps part of Jeremiah’s message is
that cleaning the chalkboard of my heart is the only way for life to go on, the
only way for life to grow.
For only when my chalkboard heart is clear, can God write anew God’s law
in my heart.
Jeremiah doesn’t explain what
God’s law looks like, when it is written on the heart. I don’t know what he had in mind, so I
can speak only from my own experience.
For me, God’s law written on my heart is not some unchanging word. It is a living word. It is continually written and erased
and rewritten. Perhaps it is more
accurate to say that the law that God writes on my heart when I allow it, is a
person: Jesus Christ.
I’m quite a poor student at
times, and often I refuse to clear the chalkboard of my heart. But when I have done so, Christ has
been written on my heart anew, looking different each time, shattering my
expectations and my assumptions, driving out old fears and filling me with new,
life-giving desires. So I have
been led to embrace my Muslim brothers and sisters and to look with compassion
upon the powerless who seek refuge in this powerful land.
I’m grateful to you today for
allowing me to share some very personal thoughts and feelings. They are only my experience and
perspective, and yours may be very different. What I do trust for both you and me is this: Lord only knows
what will be written on our hearts next, if we have the courage to keep
cleaning the chalkboard. For
cleaning the chalkboard is the only way to move from one lesson to the next.
Prayer
Christ of the new covenant,
Our hearts are covered
With self-interested scripts
Written by our world:
Empower us to erase
Our old expectations and assumptions
And to anticipate and welcome
The strange new script
Of your love.
Amen.
[1] Cf. Richard
Rohr, Just This (Albuquerque: CAC,
2017), 34.
[2] Jonathan
Sacks, Faith in the Future: The Ecology
of Hope and the Restoration of Family, Community, and Faith (Macon: Mercer
University Press, 1997), 78.
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