Matthew 5:43-48
“Violence in Stone” from After Jesus: Before Christianity
Today’s chapter from After Jesus: Before Christianity focuses on the Arch of Titus, a tribute to the deceased emperor Titus, built by his brother, the new emperor Domitian in 81 CE. It declares Titus to be a god, in the tradition of Roman deifying emperors, and it depicts the destruction of Israel/Judea and Jerusalem as one of Titus’ greatest works.
Jerusalem and Judea were pawns in a struggle for power. They had briefly freed themselves from Rome in 66 CE and spent four years while the general Vespasian played with re-conquering them, waiting for the time to be right to cement a victory and claim the right to be emperor. Titus finished the job for his father. Near the end it’s estimated that Romans crucified 500 people a day, trying to intimidate the holdouts in Jerusalem to surrender. Perhaps a million people died in the four-year war and 20,000 were enslaved. When the army finally broke through the walls, the Temple was set ablaze and utterly destroyed. Historians debate whether that was intentional or accidental, but it was still devastating. For the first time in Roman military history, the Temple of the conquered was left in ruins, rather than being rebuilt. In fact Jerusalem was left uninhabited until Hadrian built a Roman city on the ruins fifty years later. But the riches of the Temple and Jerusalem were carried to Rome (a scene depicted on the Arch) and financed the building of the coliseum. Jewish slaves quarried the stone for that gift to the Roman people.
In the thick of all this destruction the followers of Jesus were trying to figure out how to maintain their own identity as Judeans, followers of Israel’s God, when their mother nation and Temple were destroyed. It’s fitting that we think about the meaning of identity as national PRIDE month comes to a close and we’re preparing for ND celebrations of PRIDE in August. We are 54 years after the Stonewall uprising when folks who identify as LGBTQIA+ said enough was enough. Fortunately, the movement has seen gains over time and not destruction. Yet the struggle to claim dignity and value for everyone continues, and in this particular moment seems to be losing ground. Reflecting on how we claim the goodness of all people in our time gives us insight into how our ancestors struggled to claim their own humanity under oppression.
It seems like the early chapters of our book this summer have repeated the themes of violence over and over. In the face of pervasive violence and dehumanization, how do the followers of Jesus carve out an identity and a way of surviving that is life-giving? Today’s scripture tells us in part: they commit to love. God is love and those who identify with God share that love with everyone. With friends and family of course, but also with enemies, persecutors, the unrighteous. Their lives were full of these difficult folks. This teaching of Jesus wasn’t just theoretical – they really were persecuted, threatened, treated unjustly virtually every day. In the face of that treatment, they chose to love. They turned the other cheek, not in submission but in strength. They shared meals, shelter, clothing, work, hopes and dreams with each other and those in need – of physical sustenance and emotional support. In the weeks that follow we are going to look more closely at some of the many practical ways that played out over a century of experimentation.
On the first anniversary of the destruction of the World Trade Center I was asked to give the sermon at a service honoring those who died on that day and those who helped then and in the months following. It occurs to me that those who attacked on 9/11 were a bit like Rome – so certain that they were right that they were willing to kill in the name of their convictions. They took power into their own hands and purposely created chaos and horror. They wanted to be feared. Those who were attacked, on the other hand, reached out in love. They phoned family and friends and left last words of love. They helped each other and some were able to reach safety. First responders rushed toward death in hopes of saving even a few lives.
Before we had launched the war on Iraq, on that first anniversary, we as a nation were facing a choice: we could act in self-righteous violence (like the attackers in planes) or we could respond with the strength of love – not to condone violence but to refuse to be engulfed by it or to succumb to its temptation. We could at the same time protect ourselves and forgive. We could end the cycle of violence by refusing to participate in it. We could be heroes like those who acted in love. We all know which choice we eventually made. I wonder what today’s world would be like if we had made another choice.
This weekend the United Church of Christ is meeting in General Synod and Rev. Dr. Cheryl Linday is preaching one of the central sermons. Her sermon describes the way in which prophets (in ancient and modern times) invite us imagine a future defined by a loving God. (We think of prophets as predicting the future, but she reminds us that prophets speak instead of consequences of present actions. If you…, then…) Rev. Linday also invites us as a church to imagine a different way of being. What if we created a culture of love? What if we created a culture of justice? What if we created a culture where everyone thrived, without fear?
That enterprise is just what the first followers of Jesus were up to. They lived in horrific times and at the same time they lived in communities of love and support. They imagined a better way and they lived it into reality.
What would we live into reality in our time if we could?
A world in which PRIDE was a given because we were genuinely proud of every person. A world in which who we loved and how we identified was celebrated in the full richness of human variety.
A world in which our community fund was unnecessary because those who worked made a living wage and those unable to work were fully supported by our community. Housing was affordable and available for everyone. No one was hungry. No one lacked health care. No one was alone or afraid.
A world in which varieties of opinions were respected and debate was encouraged, but without rancor or name-calling.
A world in which the earth was treasured and cared for so she could care for us.
A world in which those who grieve were held close until they found life again.
A world in which those who are ill found healing, and those who were dying were treasured and carried through into the next life with joy.
Our spiritual ancestors lived in a difficult world – as do we. They ALSO lived in a world of their own making in which love and compassion overcame fear and community surrounded each person with support and care. I wonder what we have the strength to imagine. And if we dare.