On October 31, 1517, 487 years ago today, a young priest named Martin Luther nailed to the door of the church in Wittenberg a list of ninety-five points of disagreement with established church. Luther hoped to engage church officials in a debate over his Ninety-five Theses, but instead the church reacted strongly against him and his ideas, threatening him with imprisonment or worse. Other reformers of the past, most notably Jan Hus in Bohemia, had challenged church teachings and failed, but with the advent of the printing press and political changes in Europe, the time was ripe for Luther's ideas to take hold, and the Protestant Reformation began. The biggest problem with the church in Luther's day was not its specific doctrinal stances on one issue or another, but its inability to deal with criticism, even from a source that was friendly (at least at first). Church doctrine develops. This statement has been true of both Catholic and Protestant churches (as well as Orthodox, etc.) from the beginning. Doctrines that are considered sacrosanct today might be completely rejected or drastically modified in 500 years. The issue is not whether doctrine needs to change, it is how the church as an institution responds to challenge. One of Luther's key texts was Romans 1:17, which in turn quotes today's reading from Habakkuk 2:4, which says in full, "Look at the proud! Their spirit is not right in them, but the righteous live by their faithfulness." ("Faith" is how Paul translates the word, based on the LXX or a similar Greek translation of Habakkuk. "Faith" fits Paul's argument in Romans well, but his use of the verse doesn't control our reading of Habakkuk in its original historical context.) The prophet was facing a crisis of unfathomable proportions. The kingdom of Judah, seat of the throne of David, was about to fall to the Babylonians. Chaos and death would reign in David's stead. What had become of God's promises? Habakkuk, like so many of his contemporaries, grew up believing that the literal kingdom of Judah was the proof of the Jews' special relationship to God, but now he understood that that special relationship could exist in the absence of the nation. God's people were no longer those who lived within a certain set of geographic boundaries. God's people were those who were faithful, those who put their whole trust in God, even when the world around them was crumbling. The Catholic Church of Luther's day was the church in the Western world, and it was set in its doctrinal positions. Its fierce rejection of Luther's challenge, however, reveals a level of self-doubt. Reform came in the form of the Protestant Reformation, and it came in the form of the Catholic Counter-Reformation. Since that time both Catholic and Protestant churches have experienced periods of ossification, refusing to engage in discussion with challengers, preferring to burn Servetuses at the stake rather than debating them. Fundamentalist movements today, both Catholic and Protestant versions, dig their heels in, refusing to be dragged into the twentieth century, much less the twenty-first. If they spurn rather than burn their heretics, it is not for want of desire but for the constraint of the state. Being a people of faith means more than just believing a particular set of doctrines. Being a people of faith means, above all, being faithful to God and doing our best to follow our understanding of God's leadership in our lives. Social upheaval changes public opinion, scientific discoveries challenge long-held beliefs, and political turmoil shifts power from one country and alliance to another. Through it all, God's faithfulness to a faithful people remains constant.
This week in the online news source CommonDreams.org, Karen Horst Cobb, a freelance writer from Santa Fe, New Mexico, wrote a provocative piece called "No Longer a Christian." She contrasts her understanding of Christianity as being Christ-like with the image of Christianity portrayed by self-proclaimed christian leaders--ecclesiastics and politicians alike--who champion war, violence, and aggression (she spells "christian" with a lowercase "c" to underscore her contention that these leaders advocate positions that are radically different from the teachings of Jesus). Of course, she is referring to the Christianity of the Christian right, whose basis of belief is rooted as much in capitalist economic theory and Western (especially American) ultra-nationalism as much as in the Bible. After decrying the hijacking of the Christian name by a group whose positions are far from the ideals set forth by the founder of Christianity, Cobb concludes, "So I am no longer a christian but just a person who continues trying to follow the example of Christ." In today's reading from the Psalms, the psalmist is faced with a dilemma. Should he ignore the false teachings of those around him, those who have power and wield it capriciously, or should he stand up for what he believes to be true? His answer comes in verse 139: "My zeal consumes me because my foes forget your words." The psalmist will not be silent, and he will not be silenced. He will proclaim his vision of God's word in the face of opposition and even oppression. There is a great danger afoot in America today, and in other Western nations as well. It is the danger of confusing temporal military and economic power with God's imprimatur. Those who read history know that empires don't last forever, and the American empire will undoubtedly fall as well. Believers in God are foolish to put ultimate faith in a country, no matter how strong it appears to be. No Christianity that is tied to a doctrine of nationalism can stand; it will fall with the nation. Many strong nations have been overthrown by revolutions from within or by attacks from without. A Christianity that has ceased to be prophetic and has become a mouthpiece for an extreme form of nationalism and aggression will fail. The German churches that supported Hitler 70 years ago lost all moral authority to the opposition Confessing Church. The Dutch Reformed Church that supported apartheid for decades in South Africa lost its political power (it has lost its moral authority long before) to the churches that united against institutionalized racism. Today's fundamentalist churches that support American aggression around the world will eventually lose their pull on any but the most extreme zealots, and prophetic Christians, alongside progressives of all religious and nonreligious stripes, will once again speak for the majority of the populace. But for this to happen, we who are now the minority must be courageous enough to speak out. We must defend the teachings of Christ in the face of those who twist his words to mean the opposite of what he said. We must champion the image of Jesus as the Prince of Peace in the face of those who want to portray him as a warmonger. We must remind the world that compassion isn't a campaign slogan used to gloss over a covert assault on the poor through regressive taxation and denial of social services, it is a word that describes Jesus' real concern and love for those most in need. As in the psalmist's days, those in power have forgotten God's words. Do we have the boldness, the zeal, the cojones to speak the words they've forgotten?
When I was young, my mother used to tell me stories about my grandfather, who was a Baptist preacher in rural East Texas. He had a great compassion for people and a great boldness for God. My grandfather died when I was about seven, and he was sick for the last several years of his life, so I never knew him when he was full of vigor and life. Nevertheless, my mother's stories created a great respect in me for him, as well as a certain awe. I sometimes thought about the possibility of God calling me to the ministry, but I was sure that that wasn't in the cards for me. For one thing I was scared to stand up in front of people and talk. For another, I didn't feel worthy to be a preacher or missionary or anything else along those lines. Several years later when I began feeling that God was leading me in the direction of full-time Christian service, I struggled again with feelings of unworthiness. It's not that I felt worthless--I suppose I've never had problems with self-esteem--but I just didn't feel worthy of such a high calling. When I finally made the decision to pursue a vocation as a Christian minister, it wasn't because I had overcome my feeling of unworthiness--more than twenty years later I still haven't--but because I came to realize that God's call alone was sufficient grace to make up for my intellectual, spiritual, moral, and emotional failings. Paul tells the Thessalonian Christians that he is praying for God to make them worthy of the divine call and to give them the strength to accomplish good works. Paul knew what took me awhile to figure out, that no one is worthy--not himself, not the Thessalonian Christians, not me, not my grandfather. Only by the grace of God, who calls us to service, can we attain the worthiness to work for God's kingdom. One things I've come to understand over the years since accepting God's call in my life is that God calls people to all different kinds of service, not just full-time Christian service. I believe that God calls doctors, lawyers, teachers, politicians, social workers, bus drivers, and others. Sometimes God calls us to follow a new career path. Sometimes God leaves us where we are but gives our lives a new focus. I believe that God is calling all who will listen to a new life, a life of challenges and surprises, a life of successes and disappointments, a life in which we can make a difference in the lives and fortunes of others. None of us is worthy of God's call, and woe be to those who think they are, but all of us become worthy by the very act of God calling us to follow wherever God leads.
Those of us who grew up in church know the song about Zacchaeus: "Zacchaeus was a wee little man, and a wee little man was he. He climbed up in a sycamore tree for the Lord he wanted to see. And as the Savior passed that way he looked up in the tree. And he said, 'Zacchaeus, you come down! For I'm going to your house today. For I'm going to your house today.'" When we think about the story, we picture a short man, unable to see above the crowds, climbing a tree in order to see Jesus. The focus of our storytelling is often on the first part of the story, where Zacchaeus overcomes his height disadvantage and has an encounter with Jesus. The real focus of the story, however, is the second part, where Jesus dines in Zacchaeus' house and Zacchaeus promises to give half of his possessions to the poor, as well as refund those he defrauded four-fold. As I read this familiar story this week, I wondered about the impact of the gospel we preach on people of means. Do we directly challenge the wealthy to use their riches--a large portion of their riches--to benefit others? Do we indirectly preach a message that is likely to convict people about their need to meet the needs of the less fortunate? At election season I often think about taxes, and as I reflect on what has happened to the tax rates in the U.S. over the past four years, I realize that the message of Jesus isn't getting through to those in power, which is also usually those with money. The highest marginal income tax rate was lowered by the president and Congress from 39.5% to 35%, near the 70-year low of 31% achieved by Bush's father, but far below the historic average of 61%. The lowering of the top brackets shifts more of the tax burden onto the poor and middle class. The president and Congress also passed a bill calling for the gradual elimination of the estate tax, another boon to the superrich. The state of Alabama had a chance to reform its tax codes, which are some of the most regressive in the country, but even though encouraged to do so by popular, Christian, Republican governor, the measure was soundly defeated at the ballot box. Many Christians today think it is their Christian right to horde as much money as they can and pay as little in taxes as possible. It's a gospel of me, me, me. However, when Zacchaeus had an encounter with Jesus, he felt compelled to share his riches with the poor. For Zacchaeus, the gospel was all about you, you, you. Which gospel are we preaching today?