First of all, I’m sorry. The theme of our worship today perhaps isn’t what you were looking for when you came to chapel. There is a mantra I’m sure some of you have heard that our job as spiritual leaders is to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. At this point in the semester, with almost exactly one month to go – for some of us it’s one month until the end of our studies on the ridge – we are feeling afflicted. We are beginning to push toward the end of the semester as final projects loom on the horizon. I certainly feel some level of affliction when I think of the work in front of me. Unfortunately I don’t intend to bring words of comfort to our affliction today.
I can’t bring words of comfort when we are confronted with the reality of the Holocaust. We are confronted with stories and images of horrific acts of violence. The affliction I felt over a few papers to write starts to seem really meaningless. The struggles of balancing work and school and family feel less like a burden and more like a blessing. My family and I live in safety and comfort compared to what confronts us today. I’m free to work as I choose and study in freedom, unlike those who suffered unimaginable oppression.
I want to explore what this task of remembrance means for us. What is it we are supposed to do with the stories we encounter about the worst acts of horror in the modern era, and arguably of all of history? You can see the theme we have been given for today. “What You Do Matters”. I know, all of us who are immersed in Lutheran theology just cringed a little bit. The phrase, “what we do matters” puts us on edge when we hear echoes of the Book of Concord in our minds. “Likewise, they teach that human beings cannot be justified before God by their own powers, merits, or works.” (BoC, 39) “I believe that by my own understanding or strength I cannot believe in Jesus Christ my Lord or come to him…” (BoC, 355) We are conditioned to remember that it isn’t what we do, but it is what God does. What we do doesn’t matter when it comes to salvation – but what about our response to the world.
With that in mind, we are confronted with the reality of the Holocaust and we are left wondering what it means for us. Yes, we can trust in Article 4 of the Augsburg Confession when it comes to what God has done for us in regard to salvation, but we also can’t forget Article 6, “they teach that this faith is bound to yield g
ood fruits and that it ought to do good works commanded by God…” (BoC, 41) Like our theme tells us, “What we Do Matters.” We are not left to lounge around in the comfort of justification while the world around us is dying. We have to deal with reality. We have to deal with the world as it is.
I have an image for you to consider. Some of you have probably seen this picture before – I know I saw it in a class, but I can’t recall which one – it was at least two years ago. It has haunted me ever since. This part of the picture isn’t so hard to see. We can look at this picture and make it be what we want it to be. We can think perhaps it is a picture of a mother comforting her child. Perhaps it is a picture of a long awaited reunion. Perhaps there is much joy in the embrace. We can try to think of it this way, but then we have to deal with reality.
This is the reality of what we are confronting today. This is the reality of the Holocaust. We aren’t permitted to run from this and hide in a motherly embrace. We are confronted with reality – with horror. And we are confronted with the need to do something.
This image tells us part of the story of the Holocaust. What I found about this picture is that it tells a story of the Einsatzgruppe – the mobile killing squads that carried out the murder of innocents. This reportedly comes from the Ukraine in 1942. That’s the literal story of this particular picture, but it tells us much more. It is the story of what the cross means for us in a world mired in guilt and sin. This is the story of the world in which we live. It is the story of the world that God went to the cross to save, and it is the story of the continued existence of the cross and the crucified Christ. In this image we have a glimpse of where Jesus continues to be crucified.
Our reading from John tells us of the conversation between Jesus and Peter. Jesus asks a simple question, “Do you love me?” and follows it up with a command. Peter’s reply that he does love Jesus isn’t enough. Jesus follows it up with 3 variations on a theme. “Feed my sheep.” Do something about it. Loving Jesus isn’t enough. We are commanded to respond to that love and care for those who are afflicted. It would be far easier to not act. It’s not that hard to profess our love for God. It would be easier to lament this as an act of evil and not see the whole story. But this is where Christ is. This is where Christ remains and we are called to be there with him. The cross of Christ brings us to this place. This is where we see God at work in the world. Not simply in the motherly embrace, but the motherly embrace at the brink of ultimate sacrifice, the motherly embrace in the midst of tragic death. But seeing Christ in this is not enough. We are told to tend the sheep and that means more than simple recognition – more than simply naming evil for what it is.
Let me offer a quick disclaimer that I haven’t had the opportunity to read any of Stanley Hauerwas’ writings. I wasn’t even able to see his lecture when he was on campus a few years ago. But I did encounter something he said in an interview that I want to share. He says,
“[W]hat is the deep problem? The deep problem of Christian non-violence is: you must be willing to watch innocent people suffer for your convictions…In the hard cases, it means it’s not just your death, it’s watching other people die, whom you might have been able to defend. Now of course, you want to try to do everything you can that would prevent that alternative. But you may have to envision that. (http://cruciality.wordpress.com/2009/04/18/stanley-hauerwas-on-patriotism-pacifism-and-just-warriors/)
I just can’t get on board with his take on what our calling is. I can’t look at what is happening in this picture and think it is my place to simply claim it is wrong and respond only with non-violence. I’ll admit it, I’m biased. I’ve made the decision to minister to and with those who have made the decision to fight for what they believe to be right. I’ve made the decision that my response to this kind of violence is not to watch it happen and simply name it for what it is. For me, the fight is to overcome the oppression as we are able – to work for those who are oppressed. Naming is important. We can do much for the world’s violence by naming it for what it is. But Jesus commands us to do more. He commands us to feed his sheep and follow him.
Following Jesus brings us to the realities of crucifixion. That reality isn’t easy. Elie Wiesel, a survivor of the Holocaust Tells another story of the Holocaust,
One day, when we came back from work, we saw three gallows rearing up in the assembly place, three black crows. Roll call. SS all around us, machine guns trained: the traditional ceremony. Three victims in chains – and one of them, the little servant, the sad-eyed angel.
The SS seemed more preoccupied, more disturbed than usual. To hang a young boy in front of thousands of spectators was no light matter. The head of the camp read the verdict. All eyes were on the child. He was lividly pale, almost calm, biting his lips. The gallows threw it’s shadow over him.
This time the Lagerkapo refused to act as executioner. Three SS replaced him.
Three victims mounted together onto the chairs.
The three necks were placed at the same moment within the nooses.
“Long live liberty!” cried the two adults.
But the child was silent.
“Where is God? Where is He?” someone behind me asked.
At a sign from the head of the camp, the three chairs tipped over.
Total silence throughout the camp. On the horizon, the sun was setting.
“Bare your heads!” yelled the head of the camp. His voice was raucous. We were weeping.
“Cover your heads!”
Then the march past began. The two adults were no longer alive. Their tongues hung swollen, blue-tinged. But the third rope was still moving: being so light, the child was alive…
For more than half an hour he stayed there, struggling between life and death, dying in slow agony under our eyes. And we had to look him full in the face. He was still alive when I passed in front of him. His tongue was still red, his eyes were not glazed.
Behind me, I heard the same man asking: “Where is God now?”
And I heard a voice within me answer him: “Where is He? Here He is – He is hanging here on this gallows…”
That night the soup tasted of corpses. (Liturgies on the Holocaust, 57)
We are witness to the crucifixion – every day. In stories such as this we are confronted with the reality of suffering and God’s response. God is suffering there in each of the 6 million deaths of innocents. We see the presence of God revealed in the midst of all of the suffering and violence of our world.
I hope and pray that in our lives in ministry we don’t face anything like that, although genocide is still happening in various forms around the world today. What we face may not be as grand a scale, but it is a reality for any setting. In the last calendar year of my service to a small town parish I have encountered much more than I expected. Of course there were the unexpected, sudden deaths of those who had long lives, but still seemed to die too soon. But the community has also experienced the suicide of an elderly man who was more depressed than anyone imagined – found by his son. Just a few weeks ago, a four year-old boy was killed in an ATV accident – and was found by his father. And almost exactly one year ago, 3 young children and their mother were murdered by their father/husband, who then killed himself. All this in less than one year.
I can name this suffering for what it is. It is the reality of sin and brokenness. It is the continued reality of crucifixion. It is the continued suffering of a broken world. Yes we are now after Easter. We can say our Alleluias and celebrate the reality of the Resurrection, but we are celebrating the reality of a Christ who was resurrected as our crucified Lord. He is still dying in acts of violence. He is there in the midst of the worst acts of humanity we can imagine or remember. We are called to be there. We are called to follow him. We are called to name this violence for what it is and care for those who are suffering. We can’t stand on the sideline and watch. Love demands more. Love reminds us that what we do matters. Amen.
