dancing with power

SERMON PREACHED AT St MARY’S, N^th OAMARU

and St Alban’s, Kurow

THIRD SUNDAY of the EPIPHANY (January 23^rdp) 2022

 

 

READINGS:

 

Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10

Psalm 19

1 Corinthians 12: 12-31

Luke 4:14-21

 

 

The story of Nehemiah is one we turn to too rarely. Like most biblical texts, it is a dangerous text to read. Read correctly it will challenge us to look at ourselves, individually but perhaps more as an institution, and ask where we have grown complacent or even corrupt. 

Unusually, but not uniquely amongst the prophetic figures of God’s history, Nehemiah was not a fringe-dweller, but a central figure in the corridors of power. Foreign power. He was also a person of integrity, prepared to centre his life on his God, prepared to challenge corruption.

Unlike John the Baptist, who we visited last week, and perhaps even Jesus himself, Nehemiah had political influence. He may remind us more of Joseph, or of Moses, for he had the ears of the powerful. Most of our religious leaders today are, because religion and faith is marginalized, forced to speak from outside the corridors of power. But other powerful prophets speak. I think perhaps of Tory British Conservative MP David Davis, who last week echoed 1940s Tory MP Leopold Amery, calling to his Prime Minister “In the Name of God, go.” Have there been moments in New Zealand history when similar calls for credibility and justice have been made? I can think of some. Perhaps even in this diocese there have been dangerous calls, right or wrong.

Nehemiah – the patron of dangerous calls. Cup-bearer to the king, and faithful servant of God, he dares to ask to be allowed to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem. For a moment let Jerusalem and the People Israel be what they have not always been, symbols of the compassionate love and justice of God. Let us for a moment see the walls of the city as a metaphor, as walls of justice, walls of protection for the vulnerable, walls of compassion for those most at risk. They are perhaps walls of protection for abused women and children. They are perhaps walls that open up to protect the wretched of the earth, protect and empower them. Men and women like Behrouz Boochani, the Kurdish refugee granted asylum in New Zealand, Nehemiah's walls give them saftey, then hope, safety and a platform from which in turn they might speak justice.

Those who wish to build such walls of safety for the vulnerable are few and far between, and often unpopular. In this they are forced to the very fringes of society and must speak only from there, no matter whenre their voice originates. Technically Boochani was a fringe-dweller, powerless. First he was a Kurd in Iran, hatesd by Iranian and Syrian and Turkish authorities alike, neglected by Britain, the UsA and other European powers. Then, fleeing persecusion, he was incarcerated in Australia’s inhumane and illegal immigration detention programme.  He was held on Manus Island until his smuggled manuscript and smaller works generated enough awareness for the world to hear him, and for prizes to accrue. Then, despite the Australian Government’s bloody-mindedness, he was able to receive asylum from the New Zealand Government. (While New Zealand’s record on justice is imperfect, moments like the Tampa crisis and Boochani’s restoration at least serve to remind us that being an unimportant people on the edge of the world has its advantages, and we are far less imperfect than our neighbours).

I digress far from Nehemiah, from Paul’s writings to the Corinthians, from Jesus preaching in Galilee. Or do I? In each of these there is a call that dwells at the heart of Christ. We are called to set aside pretentions of power, and adopt the voice of vulnerability, the way of the Cross. The great Christ-bearing figures of the last hundred years, figures like Maximillian Kolbe, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Martin Luther King, Desmond Tutu: these have perhaps gained access to corridors of power, but the teeth of their convictions were cut in powerlessness, now power. They wielded no weapons. Nehemiah as a cup-bearer may have had considerable influence, but even he lived at constant risk and earned the trust of Artaxerxes only at great peril. Power itself – like money – is not evil. The all-too-frequent abuse of both is the root of evil, and far too easy to adopt.

Christianity has too often adopted the language and rhetoric of power. Clergy of the past – and many in the too recent past (but hopefully none in the present?) saw themselves as powerful. Christian leaders who became too comfortable in corridors or venues or on the stages of power too quickly believed in themselves as the subject of the gospel. Their riches or finery of cloth or mortar was their imposter sign of importance. If last week I hinted at one such self-proclaimed bishop and his Harley Davidsons, who as it happens is at present learning a touch of powerlessness in prison, I am only too aware that in our history our prelates were addressed as “lord,” and built fine houses in Woodhaugh, and clergy lived in fine parsonages far beyond the reach of most of their community, and sexual abusers and other predators used power and influence for evil.

All these become signs not of gospel – good news – but of the corruption of Christianity. They became bad news. Our grand infrastructures become not an invitation to encounter Christ but reinforcement of inequality and injustice. We must turn the metaphor of Nehemiah’s wall on its head: he rebuilt a wall to protect God’s people from marauders. Too often we became the marauders ourselves, abusing the vulnerable, or at best muttering “let them eat cake” to those most in need.

Consequently, God is tearing down our walls. Western Civilization’s walls, the Church’s walls: these are different to Nehemiah’s wall. Reading the scriptures is not always straightforward. The story of the Corinthians could if we had time reinforce this: the holier-than-thou crowd were fighting hard to keep the vulnerable and voiceless away from the best seats in the house of encounter with God. But that is a story for another time – I may even set up a Lenten study on Corinthians here should there be any interest! As it happens St Mary’s is less likely to absorb the sin of prestige than some of our other faith-communities: we aren’t that glamorous. And less I seem unfair, St Alban’s too despite the idiosyncratic magnificence of its buildings has never quite had the opportunity to rest on its laurels and meditate on its self-importance (unlike some faith communities I have known!).

Enough. The readings this week really leave me reflecting simply on the call to us all to live, as the Roman Catholic Church once put it, simply, so that others may simply live. It’s a bit upside-down but all Nehemiah wanted was a place of safety for some of the most vulnerable in the vast Persian Empire. It was a tough call, but in prayer he made it, and God responded.