The Church of the Redeemer

May 25, 2003

Sixth Sunday of Easter

    Growing up at the Church of the Redeemer in Irving, Texas, I remember starting each Sunday school class singing the following words, “God whose name is love, happy children we, Listen to the song that we sing to thee.” (Hymnal 1948) and lately these words have come back to me on several occasions when in the course of discernment and conversation with my spiritual director I have been asked, “So, Craig, where do you see the love?”  This is his ruler for assessing where God is leading during times of confusion and indecisiveness. Both the simple hymn of my childhood and the simple question of my Spiritual Director are reminders of the message St. John conveys to us concerning who God is and how we are to emulate God.

            St. John tells us that God is love and through God’s great act of love, the death of Christ upon the cross, we have been the recipients of God’s love, therefore we are to love one another as God has loved us, because if we choose to love one another, then God lives in us.  Take a second and think about the enormity of this statement, when we choose to love one another, God lives in us. The reality that St. John is pointing out is awesome because what it tells us is when we choose to love one another; we become the embodiment of God on earth.  It tells us that you and I have the ability not only to share in the presence of God, but that we can be God to others in our daily lives and it is as simple as choosing to love.  

            I don’t think St. John’s words this morning would make sense to me, if were not for an experience I had several years ago when I served as a chaplain at an adolescent prison in Connecticut.  It was during this experience that I was first encountered child victims of abuse and neglect.  Over the course of the summer, as I learned their stories and heard time after time how hopeless their lives felt to them, I found that I had entered into the heart of darkness surrounded by children with no hope. Here I was, surrounded by children who knew nothing of life but poverty, violence and human suffering; surrounded by children who saw no light of life or hope in their lives.  In my times of prayer that summer I began to ask God why He had abandoned them, why his light of life and hope had been kept from them. Each day I asked God this question, until one day, in the silent depths of my heart, God revealed to me that He had not abandoned these children, but had sent me, and all those who worked hard as advocates and caretakers to be His lights of life and hope. They were the instruments of God’s peace, called to lead these children out of the heart of darkness and into the light of light and hope.  From that day forward I saw the people who served these children in a whole new light. I realized that in them and through them God was being made present to the one hundred plus children that were confined to that institution.  I realized that it was God who was being made known to them each time I witnessed a youth services officer embrace a young inmate for doing well.  And it was the presence of God I saw in one young man’s eyes when he accepted the victor’s award for being the fastest in a one-mile race.  This was a sense of positive validation and accomplishment he had never felt before.  After God’s revelation to me that warm summer day, I no longer saw that institution of adolescent confinement as the heart of darkness, but as an institution fully aglow in the light of God.  Perhaps, because of this experience, I cherish every opportunity I get to spend time at the Nativity and Epiphany schools, because these are places within Boston where God’s love is unmistakably present through the teachers and administrators who work there.

              Sadly, over the last two years, it has been a challenge to be the embodiment of God.  Christ tells us to love our enemies and to pray for those who persecute you. …(and be) perfect, therefore, as your heavenly father is perfect.”  But since September 11, 2001, our lives have been forever changed and filled with new and constant fear, as we have been confronted with new enemies and sources of evil in the form of Osama Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein.  Our fear is real, as we wonder when they will attack us again on our own soil, as they have done so in Saudi Arabia these past weeks.  It is easy to pray for peace, to pray for the United State’s military and other coalition forces that we know working hard to protect us.  It is easy to pray for the well being of Iraqi children.  But it feels just about impossible to pray for the former Iraqi military, Saddam Hussein and Osama Bin Ladin.  In a way it feels disloyal as an American to pray for these people.  In some way it feels as if we were asking God to provide them victory over our own people and safety.  It is hard to pray for our enemy, but it is for our enemy as well that we are called to pray for, because the act of praying for another is an act of love and when we choose to love one another God is present.  God is not present in anger, or hatred or fear, but in love and as St. John states, “love casts out fear”

            Twenty-two years ago, an older man walked into the jail cell of a young Moslem male and after a brief conversation the older man embraced the younger and told him that he forgave him.  The older man was Pope John Paul II and the young man in the jail cell was the person who had attempted to assassinate him several months earlier.  To this day, the Pope continues be an example of Christian love to the world.

            Several years ago, an American journalist spent and extended honeymoon in Israel, a country she had longed to visit for several years.  During her time in Israel, she befriended a Palestinian family that had been associated with the Hamas movement.  Over time she learned their stories as they spoke openly about their frustrations and anger with the Israeli and American Governments. In time, she learned this family had a young relative incarcerated in an Israeli jail for attempting to randomly murder an American tourist. This woman took it upon herself to visit the young man in jail.  Over a period of several visits, this woman became a comfort to the young man who had been cut off from his family and friends.  In the beginning, when he discussed why he had attempted to kill the American tourist, he showed no remorse, because what was the loss of one American life, when Israeli forces were destroying so many Palestinian lives. Over time, her compassion overwhelmed this young Palestinian.  As his understanding of Americans began to soften, he began to feel remorse for what he had attempted to do.   Then, on the day of his trial, the American Woman stood up and asked to speak on the young man’s behalf.  When asked on what grounds she believed she had the right to speak, she revealed to the court and all in attendance her full identity, she was the daughter of the American tourist the young man had attempted to kill and she wanted the court to know that she knew this young man was truly sorry for what he had done, that her family had forgiven him and asked that the Israeli government do the same.

            Where is the love this Memorial Day weekend, when we remember those who gave their lives for the protection of our freedom?  On this weekend when we remember the events of wars that gripped our nation with fear plunging us into the heart of darkness.  The love we seek is with God. God whose name is Love, who is present in us, and all around us, when we choose to abide in his love, by loving one another.  Amen

The Rev. Craig R. Swan

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