Sermons Preached at Church of the Redeemer

“The Healing of the Nations” 

Revelation 21:22-22:5

The Sixth Sunday of Easter

May 16, 2004 

One of my favorite Saturday morning cartoons as a child was Popeye the Sailor.  I could watch Popeye for hours; there was something comforting about it.  Perhaps it was the fact that every single episode is exactly the same:  the kindly, bumbling Popeye and his girlfriend Olive Oyl are threatened by the hulking, evil Bluto.  Bluto pulverizes Popeye and absconds with Olive.  All of Popeye’s pathetic attempts at rescue are easily brushed off; Popeye is humiliated and utterly defeated.  Bluto is about to have his way with Olive Oyl when at last, from somewhere in Popeye’s blouse pops out the can of spinach.   The trumpets blow and Popeye is transformed.  With massive physical strength he rescues Olive and gives Bluto a taste of his own medicine.  Bluto is pulverized and humiliated; Olive gazes adoringly at her hero; and all is right with the world – until the next episode. 

It’s a good thing that I never got tired of the Popeye formula, because it forms the basis of a good deal of our popular entertainment.  The same plot line shows up in superhero comic books; in virtually all cartoons and children’s shows; in Hollywood action adventures, in video games, and so on.  It is at the heart of the paradigmatic American entertainment:  the western.  The forces of evil and chaos encroach; the forces of law and order are powerless; fire must be fought with fire; a white hat with a fast gun comes forward, and with a cathartic shedding of blood, order is restored – until the next episode. 

The western formula is often updated in the modern rebel cop movie, such as the “Lethal Weapon” series:  the Mel Gibson character is pummeled, humiliated and imperiled; the forces of law and order are dismally ineffective; only when he takes the law in his own hands and sheds bad-guy blood with guns blazing is order restored – until the sequel. 

As the biblical scholar Walter Wink[1] – among many others – has pointed out, this elemental story line is more than a mere entertainment; it is a narrative that expresses a fundamental understanding of reality.  It is a myth:  the Myth of Redemptive Violence.  Life is imperiled by an evil Other; the forces of reason are ineffectual; only an act of violence and the shedding of the Other’s blood can restore order – temporarily.  The story in inherently cyclical because no one changes; nothing is learned; there is no reconciliation.  The Other cannot be reasoned with; the enemy understands only violence.  Fire must be fought with fire.  Popeye and Bluto cannot have a conversation; there cannot be a relationship; there is no room for mutual understanding.  The cycle is perpetually played out. Popeye never thinks to eat his spinach first.

 The Myth of Redemptive Violence is more than just an entertaining plot line; it expresses the way we live our lives – personally, interpersonally and socially.  For many of us there may be some part of ourselves that is hateful or shameful to us; we want to separate ourselves from it, alienate it; we designate it as Other, though it is within us; we repress it, hide it, keep it under control by force of will.  When it surfaces again we may redouble our efforts, but the very effort to repress it only seems to give it more power.  In this way we can never be reconciled to it; we can never be made whole. 

In the same way there may be something in the personality or behavior of a family member that we find intolerable.  We may feel that our child pushes us beyond the limit; we resolve to teach them a lesson once and for all.  But the lesson that is learned at such times is rarely the lesson we intend; it is more likely to be a wound that resurfaces when our children are themselves parents, and again as their children become parents.  And so the cycle of violence is perpetuated. 

At the social level, in times of uncertainty, anxiety or threat we may look for someone to blame.  Society unites against a common enemy or a popular scapegoat.  At such times rulers and governments may be granted exceptional powers to combat these enemies.  For the sake of peace and security the enemies of society are deprived of their rights, their freedom, even their lives.  There is a cathartic sense of triumph in the subjugation of these Others; the government is confirmed in its expanded powers; and social stability is re-established – for a time. 

The Myth of Redemptive Violence has ancient roots.  These may be traced as far back as the early militarized empires of biblical times.  The Babylonian myth of creation portrays a world founded upon violence.  When the powers of chaos rise up in the form of a dragon, the god Marduk slays the beast, and from its corpse and strewn entrails the universe is born.  Humanity springs forth from the blood of a slain deity.  Chaos and violence are at the very foundation of the universe; order is imposed by force. 

In Babylonian society, political order was perpetuated by domination.  Ritual sacrifice and the shedding of blood appeased the capricious appetites of the gods.  Rulers, as the gods’ representatives on earth, held sway with absolute power and wield the power of the sword without limitation.

Biblical scholars tell us that it was within this militarized imperial society, during the time of the Babylonian exile, that the people of Israel set in writing an alternative creation narrative, known to us as the first chapter of Genesis.  Here order is not imposed upon a pre-existent chaos; the well-ordered universe comes into being out of nothing by the creative act of God; all that is, is good.  Here there is neither battle nor murder but a rhythm of creation and blessing, labor and rest. 

The God of Israel did not sanction the rule of a bloodthirsty tyrant; rather this God heard the cries of slaves in Egypt and brought them out of bondage to make of them a holy people.  This God had no impulses or appetites that needed to be appeased; on the contrary, this God freely bound himself to a chosen people in covenant fidelity at Mount Sinai:  “I will be your God, and you will be my people.”  Within the bonds of this covenant, no human being would dominate another, but all were to be bound equally under the rule of divine law.  This society would not depend upon a designated Other – a common enemy, a perceived threat or an appointed scapegoat – for its social cohesion.  On the contrary, those on the margins of society – the poor and the weak, the sojourner and stranger – were to be brought into the center of concern and given special regard.

As a matter of history, the people of Israel may never have lived up to the ideal of this covenant.  In fact, the biblical record is nothing if not an account of their falling short, again and again.  In time a social order arose very different from that envisioned by the giving of the covenant at Sinai.  The twelve tribes came to resemble the other nations.  They united against a common enemy and called for a king to rule over them.  They built a city and a temple, and they ordained a priestly caste to carry out ritual sacrifices to atone by blood for the sins of the people.  And yet again and again prophets came forward to condemn these practices and to recall Israel to the terms of the covenant.  “Do you think that I eat the flesh of bulls or drink the blood of goats? Says the God of Israel (Ps. 50:13).  “For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice; the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.”  (Hosea 6:6) 

In line with this prophetic tradition, our reading from Revelation speaks of the heavenly city where there is no temple, no place of sacrifice.  In this city there is no domination of one nation over another, but all nations are gathered about the throne of God.  In this city the streams of living water flow, beside which grows the tree of life, “whose leaves are for the healing of the nations.”

And in this same prophetic tradition Jesus himself came forward to condemn the religious authorities of his time that had perverted the intention of God’s law:  they had made of it a means of establishing social dominion, of setting the righteous over against the unrighteous, the acceptable against the unacceptable, the insider against the outcast.

Jesus reached out to those who had been consigned to the margins – the sinners and the unclean; women and children; tax collectors and prostitutes – and he put them at the center of his concern, welcoming them into table fellowship.  Jesus’ parables proclaimed the overturning of the Domination System:  the last shall be first and the first last; the ruler of all must be the servant of all.  In his final prophetic act, Jesus overturned the tables of those who sold animals for sacrifice in the temple.

The religious authorities rightly perceived that Jesus’ subversive teachings and actions represented a source of social unrest and a threat to the peace and stability of society.  With wisdom Caiaphas the high priest counseled that it was expedient that one person should die for sake of domestic security.  And so the religious authorities enlisted the aid of the military imperial powers to make an example of him.  They designated him an enemy of the state.  They arrested, imprisoned, tortured, and humiliated him.  The populace came together as one to call for his blood. 

The crucifixion of Jesus should have been a routine victory for the empire and the religious authorities, but it was not.  Instead the cross of Christ unmasked the Domination System and revealed the practice of scapegoating for what it was:  a crime against God.  By raising him from the dead God vindicated Jesus’ message and his vision of a renewed covenant community, open to all and governed by the law of love.    As Jesus returned to his betrayers with forgiveness he declared an end to the cycles of retribution and violence.  In the power of the Holy Spirit his apostles set out to invite others into the new covenant community of the people of God.  Within this new community none were to be rejected, none humiliated, none designated as Other, but all would be called to take up their cross and make of their lives a living sacrifice of justice and mercy. 

Simone Weil has said that there are two gods in the world:  the bad god turns sacrifice into violence; the good god turns violence into sacrifice. 

Not long ago, in the wake of September 11, our nation faced a choice of paths.  We could have taken a hateful act of violence and made of it a redeeming sacrifice.  We could have responded to the horror by joining our hands with those who were reaching out to us from around the world.  We could have renewed our commitment as a nation to make common cause with all who suffer from violence and terror around the world.  We could have resolved to strengthen the bonds of covenant relationship with other nations, strengthen our commitment to human rights for all and our commitment to the rule of international law. 

Instead we chose another path.  We declared our inherent right, as the dominant world power, to act as we saw fit.  We designated all those who did not stand with us as our enemies.  We suspended constitutional rights in the name of domestic security.  We scorned the instruments of international law and subverted the most fundamental conventions on human rights.  We set out to impose order on a chaotic world by the exertion of our military might.  We would turn sacrifice into violence.

The results we have seen in our newspapers, magazines and television news.  On one side we see an American citizen kneeling before a group of terrorists – bound, humiliated and executed.  On the other side we see soldiers in American uniform ‘softening up” Iraqi prisoners with abuse and degradation.  We have become the thing that we abhor. 

It’s no good pretending that this was an isolated case, or that a handful of guilty persons should be held to account.  News reports make it increasingly clear that the mistreatment of Iraqi prisoners was consistent with practices in Afghanistan and Guantanamo Bay.  This was a matter of policy, written or unwritten, and more than that:  it is the direct result of a choice of paths that we have made as a people. 

We know that these incidents of abuse do not represent the true character and conduct of the men and women who serve in our armed forces.  We are all proud of their service and grateful for their dedication to the mission we have given them  – for the way that they, through their courageous self-offering, turn violence into sacrifice. 

Today we pray for a young man who was confirmed in this parish and who last week was injured in Iraq.  We remember him by name in our prayers as we also remember all who serve in the armed forces and all who are caught in violent conflict around the world. 

As we pray for his healing let us also pray that we might be given just a fraction of his courage and devotion for the pursuit of the mission that God has given us.  

It is not too late.  It is not too late for us each as people of faith to learn the things that make for peace: to make peace with whatever is shameful or hateful within ourselves; to make peace in our households and neighborhoods; to make our churches into communities of reconciliation and mutual respect. 

It is not too late for us as a nation to strengthen our covenant relations with other nations; to make common cause with victims of violence everywhere; to resolve to respect the dignity of every human being; and above all to respect the rule of law.  

It is not too late for us to reject the Domination System and embrace the vision of the city of God.  It is not too late to reject the Myth of Redemptive Violence and to take up our cross and follow Jesus.  It is not too late for us to turn and live. 

Sorry, Popeye. 

The Rev. Steven C. Bonsey

The Church of the Redeemer, Chestnut Hill

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