The Rev’d John M. Kennedy
Christ Church, New Haven, Conn.
The Third Sunday after Pentecost
June 21, 2020
Good morning. I’m John Kennedy and I am serving on the summer staff here at Christ Church; during the academic year I’m a chaplain at the Kent School and Father Holton was gracious enough to invite me to be part of the team here during the summer vacation. It is an honor to be with you, even if only virtually.
We are getting in the swing of ordinary time right now, that season in the liturgical year initially between Epiphany and Lent and then, afterwards, between Pentecost and Advent. But of course, the times we are living in right are hardly ordinary; they seem anything but. For months now, we've been in the throes of a deadly global pandemic and, in more recent weeks, we've seen a flare up of civil unrest because of the reality of racial injustice, discrimination, and violence in this country. It is really no ordinary time. The reading we heard a few minutes ago from the letter of St. Paul to the Romans contains words and some ideas that I think speak to the heart of all this, especially as it concerns the Church and our distinctive vocation in the midst of turbulent and uncertain times. Paul writes:
"For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his. We know that our old self was crucified with him so that the body of sin might be destroyed, and we might no longer be enslaved to sin.” (Rom. 6:5,6)
Enslaved to sin. It's perhaps impossible to hear these words about enslavement to sin without thinking of Juneteenth, an old holiday that has gained new resonance this year as it fell just this past Friday, a day that marks the end of institutionalized slavery in this country in 1865. It's hard to hear Paul’s words about enslavement without thinking about that history of slavery and its legacy (not to mention our history of displacing and killing indigenous Americans). As we know too well, this legacy of racism continues to the present day. It continues through policies that discriminate. This legacy continues in attitudes that white Americans carry, either consciously or unconsciously, which view and lead us to treat our black neighbors as somehow inferior or secondary. It lives on in discriminatory policing practices that disproportionately target and impact Black Americans, all of this leading them too often to feel disenfranchised and even without hope in this country that has prided itself on being a land of opportunity for all. And so while slavery was officially abolished in the 1860s, America remains enslaved in sin. We remain enslaved in our original sin of racism. This sin denies the image of God in our brothers and sisters of different races and colors, and in so doing it dishonors our Creator and violates Christ's most fundamental command to love.
The sin of racism not only does violence to the oppressed; it also oppresses the oppressor because when I act or think in a way that devalues or pushes away people who look different than I do, I am giving into fear and ignorance and there is no joy and there is no life to be found there. When I deny the equality — the equal worth and dignity — of my black neighbor, I deny truth itself; I deny God. I am out of step with reality, and therefore I really have no chance of living in tune with reality, of living in harmony with God and with life. And so racism hurts everybody; it sells us all short. It keeps us from the fullness of life that is available, a fullness of life in which we all strive toward harmony, respect, cooperation; mutual help. And this is the vision that God ultimately has for this world. So racism is a spiritual as well as a social sickness, and the soul of our nation is still enslaved by it.
Now, thank God, seems to be a moment of deep reckoning with this legacy. But it's also a moment in which some are understandably feeling and expressing some skepticism, because there have been times of reckoning and apparent reparation before, times like the civil rights movement in the 1960s and the emancipation of slaves in the 1860s. Despite these real gains, the crushing weight of racial inequality remains all too real for far too many, and so some rightly wonder: how can we be sure this time will be any different? People don't want to get their hopes up in vain. The promise of change has let Black Americans down before. There is a real question about the limits of change, there is a real question about hope. What does the church say to this?
What does the church do about this? What is our response? Is it possible to truly be liberated from enslavement to the sin of racism? As Christians reckoning with the deep-rootedness of this social-spiritual sickness — with roots reaching not only into our nation’s history and policies but also into our hearts as individuals — as Christians reckoning with this, we ask: can we finally be free from sin to walk in newness of life? In our reading from St. Paul this morning, we hear him exhorting the Church in Rome to continue to walk in the newness of life to which they have been called in Christ; to not lapse back into sin, to not presume that because God is gracious that it's just as well to continue living selfishly and thoughtlessly. Paul is saying that to be a Christian is not simply to receive grace like hand sanitizer from a dispenser on demand whenever it’s needed to once again clean our hands so we can continue going about our business. No: the grace we received is to initiate us into a completely new way of being that is such a radical break with how we were before that this process, this initiation, this crossing the threshold can rightly be described by Paul as a death, of being joined to Christ's death, and being raised to new life with him in the power of his resurrection. Paul says there is no turning back; there is no down-time, no "off-time," or merely "ordinary time.” When we understand the Gospel message, when we truly receive the grace of God, we know that there is no going back.
When we hear Paul talking about being joined to Christ's death and being raised to new life in him we might think about baptism, and Paul does indeed refer to baptism here. And, of course, we might think about the great Paschal Mystery of Christ’s passion, death, and resurrection which we celebrate in Holy Week and Easter. I have to say I found it a little bit startling to be presented with this language and these ideas, these symbols, that seem so much like a part of the seasons of Lent and Easter, especially the Easter vigil with the baptism of new Christians, because here we are in ordinary time. This serves as a reminder, I think, that there really is no "ordinary time.” Ordinary time itself doesn't even mean “average,” “boring,” or "unremarkable" time; it simply means "counted time.” The word ordinary itself refers to the numerals used to count the weeks in this season, and so all time counts in the Christian life and, in a very real sense, it is always Lent and it is always Easter, and for that matter it is always Advent and Christmas. Every time we celebrate the Eucharist, we hear: "Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us." We are recapitulating the whole drama, the whole mystery, every week and hopefully every day of our lives; the fullness of the Gospel and the fullness of its hope, the fullness of good news is true every day and every moment.
It’s important to remember this because it means that the hope of the Gospel is not dimmed by anything, no matter how bad things get, no matter how hopeless they might look. Our hope is not in human beings anyway; “Our help is in the Name of the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth” (Ps. 124:8; Compline, BCP 127). And the Lord, as Paul writes elsewhere in Romans, pours his love “into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us” (Rom. 5:5). When we respond to the grace we have received by loving the Lord our God with all our heart, all our soul, and all our mind (Matt. 22:37), God removes our hearts of stone and gives us the sacred heart of Jesus, who never discriminates, who only loves. This means that Christians can be liberated from our enslavement to the sin of racism; our country of course is another matter but we are to seek the welfare of the land in which we find ourselves, as we read in the prophet Jeremiah (Jer. 29:7).
It matters to say this right now because good news isn't valued or even wanted in our culture. I read a recent interview with Bob Dylan and he was asked about Little Richard, the great architect of rock and roll who died recently, and then he was asked why he thought Little Richard's Gospel music didn't get more attention, and Dylan said this: “Probably because gospel is the music of good news and in these days there just isn’t any. Good news in today’s world is like a fugitive, treated like a hoodlum and put on the run. Castigated. All we see is good-for-nothing news. And we have to thank the media industry for that. It stirs people up... Dark news that depresses and horrifies you.” (Douglas Brinkley, “Bob Dylan Has a Lot on His Mind,” The New York Times, June 12, 2020) There is a lot of dark news, and of course a lot of it is true. And it’s important to pay attention to it, to understand it, and to respond to it; America’s sin of racism is real and it it must be reckoned with. But it’s at least as important to never end with the bad news. Our response and our calling as Christ's body, as Christ's physical, sacramental presence in this world, is to always be a people of good news, a people who bear witness to the indestructible hope that we have in God, a hope that is not dimmed, compromised or diminished by anything.
And so may we always walk in newness of life. This might look like literally walking by marching in protest and solidarity, or directing our money toward just causes, or taking time to learn about race in America, or walking peacefully upon the earth and in our dealings all whom we encounter. For all of us, it involves prayer. At all times and in all places, even and especially when things look hopeless — even and especially when there seems to be no place for good news — may we carry the bright hope of the Gospel with our steps, walking always in newness of life.