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by Ken Sehested

This article, written in May 1995 to interpret the Baptist Peace Fellowship of North America’s “Statement on Justice and Sexual Orientation,” was first printed in the Spring/Summer 1995 issue of Baptist Peacemaker, the BPFNA's quarterly journal. An edited version of this article was reprinted in Walter Wink’s book, Homosexuality and Christian Faith: Questions of Conscience for the Churches, Fortress Press, 1999.

      Culturally speaking, nothing seems to divide people more than the question of sexual orientation. At the center of this cultural wrestling match are the Christian churches. Much of the rationale for condemning homosexual behavior, even in secular institutions, is anchored in appeal to the Bible. Even the language of jurisprudence is affected by biblical tradition, with so-called “sodomy laws” criminalizing homosexual activity.

      We Baptists are on the verge of devouring ourselves in this dispute. But we’re not alone: virtually every mainline Protestant body along with the Roman Catholic church is embroiled in the controversy at the highest levels. Though the debate is less widespread within the “evangelical” side of the Protestant spectrum, the topic is sufficiently threatening to prompt preemptive maneuvers, as with the Southern Baptist Convention’s recent constitutional amendment—the first in its 150-year history—prohibiting membership to congregations which condone homosexuality. (Voting “messengers” to this year’s convention must attest to that article of faith with their signature during registration.)

      In the public arena, “the gay agenda” has replaced the “communist threat” as the battering ram of reactionary politics. Instead of a commie behind every bush, there’s now a queer in every classroom, in every congressional committee room, in every battleship wardroom. Many have predicted that questions around sexual orientation will divide churches more severely than at any time since the debate over slavery a century and a half ago.

      We find ourselves in the midst of a major public controversy. And my heart is heavier than it’s ever been. Why such anxiety? There have been other controversies. We took a very public stand against a very popular war in the Persian Gulf. We’ve engaged in acts of civil disobedience when convinced that holy obedience was at stake. There have been overseas trips involving a level of physical danger. So why the fearful heart now?

      Because this subject is different. Simply raising the subject of homosexuality for discussion dredges up some of the most volatile passions in the human soul. Baptist journals that have rarely mentioned the BPFNA in 11 years now devote full editorials to our actions for gay and lesbian justice. Long-term friends threaten disaffiliation.

      I’ve had nightmarish visions of 11 years of patient network building run aground and splintered, not to mention ambitious new plans for the future. It’s not so much the withdrawal of financial support from the American Baptist Churches that poses a danger. From the beginning, we chose to develop a financial base of member support rather than rely on institutional funding. More threatening is the prospect of losing the confidence of mainstream Baptist leaders around the world with whom we work.

      Given the tension often accompanying the question of sexual orientation, and the admittedly tenuous nature of our organization, it’s fair to ask, “Why did the BPFNA board choose to wade into these troubled waters?” We have been interrogated both by those with principled convictions and those with pragmatic considerations. The latter warn us that we can’t take on every issue; that we will lose the solid core of our constituency for involvement on issues of broader consensus.

      Each of these objections, and a few more, have been mental wrestling partners worthy of Jacob’s angel at the Jabbok. Each has had not just one but several nights to work me over. Moreover, my personal passion rests in other arenas. Domestically, our cities are being wrecked by violence, often with racial overtones. Virtually every leading social indicator of human health in the African American community is lower now than when in the U.S. riots scorched our conscience a generation ago. Our addiction to guns needs attention from communities of faith. Fully one-fifth of U.S. children live in poverty.

      The struggle of Cuba to be free of U.S. imperial designs has a grip on my imagination. Additionally, we have privileged conversation with Baptists in a dozen countries involved in leadership to mediate civil strife and in movements of nonviolent resistance to injustice.

      Isn’t all this at risk when you address the question of justice in relation to sexual orientation? Yes. Aren’t you in danger of losing your credibility across the board for the sake of this one point of attention? Could be. And what about your efforts to show the connection between biblical faith and matters of justice and peace? Aren’t you in danger of undermining that influence when you take a position in apparent opposition to that of the Bible? That is a possibility.

      Then why take the risk? Don’t all these other involvements stretch your resources and threaten your existence enough, without adding the most volatile issue of all?

Why Take the Risk?

      My response to this composite portrait of actual questions is three-fold. First, this is, simply, the right thing to do. Matters of justice cannot be segregated. Of course we have to make choices, live within time and resource limitations. Often the hardest thing about our work is deciding what not to do, for there are so many points at which we could make a difference. Many of us, myself included, have resisted for too long speaking out on matters of simple human and civil rights for gay/lesbian people.

      And while we can never be free of the need to make calculated choices, there comes a point when such calculation becomes compromise. After long hours of sometimes painful discussion, the BPFNA board has become convinced that the time for us is now. We hope our members and readers will join us in active and public opposition to gay-bashing—or, at least not abandon our larger mission in disputing our discernment at this one point.

      Second, we have a ready-made opportunity to practice our calling as reconcilers within our own household. Gay and lesbian brothers and sisters are among our fellowship. We have listened to their stories. We know something of their pain. To continue formal silence in this regard would involve us in a profound level of hypocrisy.

      Nonviolence is more than refusing to shoot someone. Nor is it to be confused with passivity or with sectarian withdrawal (in the name of moral purity). Rather it involves a commitment to willingly enter a situation of conflict, to absorb the assault (in this case, mostly of the verbal and emotional variety) without resort to revenge, to listen with empathy to the “enemy,” which involves the willingness to have your mind changed. In occasions like ours, no amount of voting will bring healing. Parliamentary procedure must give way to the discipline of reconciliation.

      Finally, there is no way to dodge the question of biblical authority. Although homophobia is a virulent force within the church as well as the larger culture, and although appeals to “biblical authority” often mask prejudice, there are those for whom genuine fidelity to Scripture is at stake. It also is for me.

What the Bible Does, and Does Not, Say

      Homosexual behavior is mentioned in seven texts, four in Hebrew Scripture, three in the New Testament. The first text, Genesis 19, is the most common text of reference. It’s the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, of Lot and the visit of the three angels. (The second of seven texts, in Judges 19:22-25, is a parallel retelling of this story.)

      The narrative is familiar. The angels approach Sodom, when they encounter Lot sitting in the gate of the city, and accept his invitation of hospitality. After a meal, “the men of the city. . . both young and old, all the people to the last man” come banging on the door.

      The Sodomites demand to see the newly-arrived guests, demanding to “know” them. Lot refuses, offering to send out his two virgin daughters instead. Just as the crowd gets unruly, the angels rescue Lot from their midst, shut the door and strike the mob blind. Lot and his kin are commanded to leave immediately because of the impending destruction. They flee, instructed not to look back. Brimstone and fire rain over the cities. But in the escape, Lot’s wife looks back and turns into a pillar of salt.

      Three things are especially important here. First, Sodom and Gomorrah are already under sentence. In chapter 19, the heavenly messengers reveal that their mission is to destroy the cities. They want Abraham to know so that “he may charge his children and his household after him to keep the way of the Lord by doing righteousness and justice” (v. 19). The condemned cities obviously have not done so. Second, the context does make clear that the men of Sodom have sexual intentions with regard to the guests in Lot’s house. But the intention is not so much homosexual activity as it is rape. And the principle impulse in rape—whether homosexual or heterosexual—is not about sex. It is about power. Homosexual rape was a common form of humiliation and domination committed against defeated armies in the ancient world, as it is in modern prisons today.

      Third, you would assume that if Sodom and Gomorrah’s sin was homosexual activity, other authors in the Bible would make that connection. But nowhere does that happen! Listen to Ezekiel: “This was the guilt of your sister Sodom: she and her daughters had pride, excess of food, and prosperous ease, but did not aid the poor and needy. They were haughty and did abominable things before me” (16:49-50).

      Amos warns that Israel will be overthrown just as God overthrew Sodom and Gomorrah (4:11) and for the same general reason: the poor are oppressed and the needy are crushed (4:1). Also in Isaiah: the people of Jerusalem and Judah “proclaim their sin like Sodom” (3:9). The charge? “Your hands are full of blood” (1:15); “the spoil of the poor is in your houses” and for “grinding the face of the poor” (3:14, 15). Indeed, “the daughters of Zion are haughty” and are “glancing wantonly with their eyes” (3:16). Also in Zephaniah: “Moab shall become like Sodom, and the Ammonites like Gomorrah” (2:9), for these have filled houses “with violence and fraud” (1:9).

      The only New Testament reference to Sodom and Gomorrah comes from Jesus, who predicts a similar judgment in his own day (Matthew 10:14-15). Who will receive it, and why? Those towns which do not provide welcome and sustenance to his appointed missionaries who are to travel the countryside preaching and healing.

      In all these references to the sin of Sodom and Gomorrah, the issue is wantonness. It is about domination of others, about malignant power, about God’s intended shalom—harmony, right-relatedness. In each, God-relatedness and just relations among God’s creatures are intimately linked. Spiritual realities and socio-economic realities are mirror images.

      The second pair of texts in the Old Testament that mention homosexual behavior, in Leviticus (18:22 and 20:13), are nearly identical commands forbidding a man to lie with another man “as with a woman.” Both judge such activity (as in Genesis 19) as an “abomination.” Note here that the word “abomination” is not a moral/ethical term. Rather, it is always used to indicate a serious breach of ritual purity law. Other “abominations” before God include eating pork, misusing incense and intercourse during menstruation. These and many other prohibitions are connected to questions of what is clean and what is unclean in the eyes of God. The issue of clean and unclean becomes important in the final section of this article.

      The dilemma in making this Levitical text normative for faith is what we do with other prohibitions in this same material. Wearing garments made of two different materials is also prohibited, as are sowing a field with two kinds of seed, cutting one’s hair where it meets the temple of a human face—among a host of other commands, commands which the church has never declared normative.

      The remaining three biblical references to homosexual activity appear in the Pauline letters. The Gospels, oddly enough, are utterly silent at this point. “Sodomites” are mentioned in lists of “wrongdoers” (1 Corinthians 6:9-10) and “the lawless and disobedient” (1 Timothy 1:9-10). In both these listings, however, there is considerable evidence that the language used indicates a condemnation of pederasty—the sexual and/or economic exploitation of children, particularly young boys—rather than against homosexual activity per se. In a similar way, Paul’s description of women who “exchanged natural relations for unnatural” and of “men committing shameless acts with men” (Romans 1:26-27) is set within a larger context of idolatry. Pagan temple cult prostitution, using adult men and women as well as young boys, was common in that day.

      Even if you discount these contextual factors, even if you disregard all alternative explanations set out above, there’s still a major issue of consistency in our notions of biblical authority. The preface for that issue has been mentioned: what about all those other prohibitions? The Bible prohibits gluttony at least as many times, even calling it a form of idolatry at one point (Philippians 3:19). Some 60 percent of the U.S. population is overweight, a percentage I would guess to be reflective of churchgoers. All but a tiny handful, who have biological disorders, are clearly gluttonous. Why not exclude these from our congregations? More caustic for us, especially we Baptists, is the Bible’s repeated authorization for the institution of slavery. This year marks the 150th anniversary of the split among white Baptists in the U.S. over the issue of whether missionaries could also be slave holders. It’s right there in the Bible, in simple language: “Slaves, obey your masters” (Ephesians 6:5).

      The apparent disparity between biblical teaching on sexual morality and modern standards of church discipline is nowhere more evident than on the issue of divorce. Nowadays, divorce and remarriage are rarely cause for expulsion from the congregation. This is true (even in the more morally-strict evangelical circles) even though Jesus clearly asserts the charge of adultery (Matthew 5:31-32, Luke 16:18, Mark 10:11-12).

      The simple language of Scripture prohibits women wearing gold jewelry, braiding their hair and wearing expensive clothing (1 Peter 3:3). In other words, gold wedding bands are a sign of apostasy! And not only are women to be silent in church (1 Corinthians 14:34), they also are to have their heads covered and their faces veiled (11:5-6).

      Fasting is everywhere a discipline in Scripture, but almost never in our churches. Paul warned the church at Corinth to “not forbid speaking in tongues.” Rarely is such behavior sanctioned in our churches. In that same letter, he urges the unmarried to remain that way, judging it “better.” “Do not seek marriage” is his plain advice. (Except if you can’t control your passion—implying that the New Testament foundation for marriage is uncontrollable sexual appetite.) He hedged, of course, noting that “I have no command of the Lord” (1 Corinthians 7:25). Does that mean this part of Scripture is not divinely inspired? Taken together with Jesus’ teaching that disciples will renounce biological family ties, where does this leave the “family values” movement?

      The only time Jesus explicitly names the kinds of folk who are headed for eternal damnation, the only ones on the list are those who did not provide food for the hungry or drink for the thirsty, did not welcome strangers or provide clothing to the naked, did not visit prisoners. Maybe the Southern Baptist Convention should indicate that question on its messenger registration cards and ask for a signed attestation. These and dozens of other plain stipulations are routinely overlooked by even the most ardent defenders of biblical authority.

       The interpretive layers in these questions are as subtle as they are many. I am convinced, however, that Scripture does have within its text an insight which helps us deal with these questions, a narrative relevant to questions of sexual orientation and biblical fidelity.

The Jerusalem Protocol

      The story in Acts 10 is almost as familiar as that of Genesis 19. Beginning here and moving on through chapter 15 is the narrative accounting the struggle of the early Christian community as it moved from a parochial to a universal mission. The key characters of chapter 10 are Cornelius, a God-fearing Gentile, and Peter. First, Cornelius has a vision from God telling him to locate Peter. Peter likewise has a vision, of animals descending from heaven on a sheet. He’s instructed to eat them; but these are unclean and compliance would be an “abomination” according to the Bible. His refusal is met with this rebuke: “What God has made clean, you must not call common or profane.”

      All of this is visionary preparation for Peter’s being willing to commit an abomination—to associate with Cornelius, a profane, unclean Gentile who by definition is a religious pervert—at the prompting of a “holy angel” which is identified later in the chapter as the Holy Spirit.

      In subsequent chapters this theological confusion over what is and is not the divinely inspired Word of God is eclipsed by a bevy of stories about the trials of early Christian missionary work: of the journeys of Paul and Barnabas, tales of persecution and imprisonment, the martyrdom of James. Chapter 15 hints at the coming doctrinal debate in the church with a report that certain Jewish Christians from Judea were insisting on the fundamentals of the faith: circumcision for the newly-converted Gentile believers and, by implication, accountability to the law of Moses. They were insisting on the authority of the Bible.

      Then comes the fight on the floor of the convention in Jerusalem. Missionary stories of revival breaking out among the (religiously perverted) Gentiles are told with jubilation. But some of the fundamentalists are upset that these converts are not being required to believe the Bible is literally true. The missionaries have gone soft on the “law of Moses.”

      The more conservative leaders argue that you either believe all of the Bible or none of it. Either it’s authoritative or it’s not. And the Bible (the “law of Moses”) commands circumcision—the texts are plain, their meaning is indisputable.

      Finally, Peter stood up and said, in effect: “I know what the Bible says. What I’m telling you is that I’ve seen indisputable evidence of the work of the Holy Spirit in the lives of these Gentile-perverts. God has cleansed their hearts by faith and has made no distinction between them and us. We don’t exactly have a perfect track record when it comes to being faithful to the Bible ourselves.”

      Peter was on to something important. His was a precedent-setting theological argument: clear evidence of the presence of the Holy Spirit—evidence attested to in the Bible—overrules any particular regulation. The regulations, in other words, are in service to the Spirit, not the other way around. I call it the “Jerusalem Protocol.” The idea is ancient and deeply biblical: “The only thing that counts is faith working through love,” according to Paul (Galatians 5:6). Fidelity to the Bible, to paraphrase Jesus, can be summarized in two intertwined statements: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind” and “your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:37-40).

      Is homosexuality compatible with Christian faith? Is heterosexuality compatible with Christian faith?  Uncircumcised, or circumcised? Neither question, I would suggest, is relevant. To quote sacred Scripture, "We believe that we will be saved through the grace of the Lord Jesus, just as they will" (Acts 15:11).

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©Ken Sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org

Ken Sehested

{This material was presented at the 11-13 December 2014 Christian Peace Circle retreat for leaders from various peace organizations in the US, held at Stony Point Center, Stony Point, N.Y.}

         The overall theme for this retreat is “Fear Not! The nonviolent war cry of the people of God.” The admonition to “fear not”—don’t be afraid, be still, take courage, be of good cheer—is a constant one throughout Scripture. It is always spoken in the context of danger and dread, typically against overwhelming odds, when things look like they couldn’t get any worse.

         The very first mention of God’s name in Scripture is uttered in the story in Exodus where the Hebrew people cry out because of the misery of their oppression. In the story of the calling of Moses, the text says “Then the Lord said, 'I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt; I have heard their cry on account of their taskmasters. Indeed, I know their sufferings. . . .' {Exodus 3:7} Shortly after that, Moses incredulously asks: “OK, so I’m supposed to go to Pharaoh and say “let my people go”? And just who exactly should I say is demanding this? Then the One whose name can never be spoken and never be tamed replies, “I am who I am,” or it can be translated “I will be who I will be.” [3:14. Karen Armstrong suggests it could also be rendered “Never mind who I am!”]

         A pattern is set with this narrative: The earth’s cries of distress mobilize the attention of Heaven. (If you miss this interpretive move, everything that follows will be off course.)

         When the escaping Hebrews were caught between the Red Sea ahead and Pharaoh’s army behind, Moses said to the people, "Do not be afraid, stand firm, and see the deliverance that the Lord will accomplish for you today; for the Egyptians whom you see today you shall never see again. {Exodus 20:20}

         In one of the great comfort texts in the Psalms is from chapter 46:  “though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult. . . . [Though] the nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter; God’s voice is heard and the nations melt. . . . [For God] makes wars cease to the end of the earth; God breaks the bow, and shatters the spear; God burns the shields with fire.  "Be still, and know that I am God!”

         In repeated occasions in the Gospels, Jesus told his disciples, “Fear not.” One line from John puts it this way: “In the world you face persecution. But take courage [be of good cheer]; I have conquered the world!” {16:33}

         In John the Revelator’s fantastic, frightening vision he saw the Promised One, who said “Do not be afraid; I am the first and the last, and the living one. I was dead, and see, I am alive forever and ever; and I have the keys of Death and of Hades." {Revelation 1:17-18}

         Later in Revelation is one of the most visually riveting stories in all the Bible, about a dragon pursuing a woman about to give birth. “Then from his mouth the serpent poured water like a river after the woman, to sweep her away with the flood. But the earth came to the help of the woman; it opened its mouth and swallowed the river that the dragon had poured from his mouth. Then the dragon was angry with the woman, and went off to make war on the rest of her children, those who keep the commandments of God and hold the testimony of Jesus. {12:1-17} And the war goes on.

         The exhortation to fear not is anything but a recommendation to passivity or acquiescence in the presence of oppression. Many of you know Walter Wink’s pioneering exegetical work on Jesus’ teachings about turning the other cheek, going the second mile, and offering both your coat and your shirt. They are not recommendations to indifference or stoicism. They do not imply submission to injustice. Rather, they are forms of creative resistance to violation and abuse by means that do not further deepen the spiral of violence. In other words, the work of active, sometimes militant, nonviolent resistance. These, along with the rigorous and proactive work of building a culture of peace, rooted in justice and mediated in mercy, are the prerequisites for our participation in the promised Reign of God, in our quest for the Beloved Community. A new heaven; a new earth.

         Rabbi Yochanan said: The Holy One, blessed-be-He, declared: “I will not enter the heavenly Jerusalem until I enter the earthly Jerusalem." {Talmud, Taanit 5a}.

         I have three goals in mind for these days together.

         First, that when we leave we will each have a deeper understanding of the way spiritual formation and prophetic action are connected. Not connected with duck tape or super glue, not a cut-and-paste overlay on our political analyses, but actually grow one from the other as a singular dynamic process. Prayer and care. for shorthand: “Prayer” being all the ways we seek to enter into the mystery of God’s purposes, the assurance of Christ’s presence, and the prompting of the Holy Spirit’s agitation and animation. Prayer, in the largest sense of the word, is how we stay in touch with what Yoder calls “the grain of the universe.”

         “Care,” in the largest sense of the word and in a myriad of fashions and functions, involves our persistent and attentive presence in the world’s broken places. Prayer is what we do to be reminded of who we are, to Whom we belong and to Whose purposes we have been called. Any praying worth the name comes with its own built-in generator. The deeper we move into God, the more sensitive our antennae to the cries of the world will become. But moving into compassionate proximity to the world’s pain will knock you off your feet. (“Tribulation” is the biblical word.) To recover, you will need to deepen your prayer life, which will then steel you for further engagement and more tribulation . . . and on and on the cycle grows, to the point where the process is as integrated as breathing in and breathing out. Prayer and care.

         The second goal I have in mind is that we will leave having learned from each others' experiences. What are the concrete ways we can be the midwives to constituencies and congregations awakening to their true vocation in the ministry of reconciliation? How can we become effective pastors? The prophets are already out there; but they often feel isolated, alone and discouraged. Our job is to find them, nurture them, help find relevant resources and link them with others in a larger community of conviction. When that happens, imagination and power are not simply repackaged—they are created. How do we do that? What’s working. What’s not working? What might work?

         The third and final goal I have in mind is that we simply take this opportunity to relish each others' presence. There is a roomful of delight in the circle. Soak it in. Spend time catching up with those you haven’t seen in a while. Spend time getting to know those whose paths you haven’t crossed until now. The Hasidim have a saying: “In paradise we will all be judged according to the permitted pleasures we failed to enjoy.” Accept the luxury of the next 36 hours’ worth of simply enjoying each others' presence.

§ § §

         To accomplish these goals, the first thing we need to do is to mentally and emotionally unpack. I suspect every one in this room had to work at least one very long day in order to clear enough space to come here. There is a certain level of weariness that we often carry. No doubt there are things you just had to get done before coming here—but you didn’t make it. So you’ve already shifted those agenda items on to the already crowded to-do list for when you return home.

         There are so many tragedies unfolding in our cities, in our nation, in the larger world and to the earth itself. The recent accounting of US-sponsored torture programs is only the latest of a large and long list. Some of what weighs on us is large and public; but we also have relentless small and personal sorrows and concerns. One of the things we don’t do very well is dealing with our disconsolations—figuring out how to prevent our pain and sorrow and disappointment and anger from driving our work and ruining our rest.

         I’m going to play a recording of Roberta Flack and Donnie Hathaway’s rendition of the old hymn, “Come Ye Disconsolate.” Then the floor will be open. This is where our liturgy begins. You are invited to lay down your sorrow, to acknowledge your failures, to name the disasters, speaking them aloud if you are willing, silently if they are still too tender to mention. We’ll spend the time we have left in holding open space for saying what is tearing at our personal and communal seams. This will prepare us for our evening vespers to come; and we will be able to start afresh in the morning.

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©Ken Sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org

by Ken Sehested

Text: Proverbs 8
Sunday, 6 June 2004
Circle of Mercy Congregation

I think it was last Monday, or maybe Tuesday. Nancy was ready to start putting this Sunday’s service together, and she asked if I had decided on a text and theme.

“Wisdom,” I said. “Proverbs 8.”

“Wisdom?” she asked with a barely-disguised look of incredulity. “You got some, do you?” she replied. (Nancy is one of those people who can sound pleasant when she’s actually being sarcastic.)

“No,” I said, “but maybe if I do a sermon on the topic I’ll discover a little.”

Then I sat down to do some research, and the first insight I came across was this quote from the ancient Greek playwright Sophocles: “Much wisdom often goes with brevity of speech.”

So I immediately thought to myself: “Well, there’s my solution. We’ll read the text from Proverbs; then I’ll get up and quote Sophocles, and say “Here endeth the lesson,” and sit down.

There are times when the most appropriate Sunday sermon should go something like that. But I realized that if I actually played out this scenario, I might leave you thinking that I know something about wisdom.

There have been times when I thought I had some wisdom. But mostly when I was younger and had more hair. What’s that old line from the Bob Dylan song: “I was so much older then; I’m younger than that now.”

I’m so much younger now.

“But wait,” I say to myself. “Didn’t I just win an award for a sermon I did? Didn’t they fly me across the country, to preach it to their annual gathering. I know they scheduled me for 8:30 on a Saturday morning; but, hey, they actually gave me a cash prize for the thing. Must be worth something.”

But then my friend J.R., from Indiana, wrote to congratulate me. J.R. often puts the phrase “from that old Mennonite guy in Goshen” in the subject line of his e-mail notes. And he and Nancy must have gone through the same “advanced training in sarcasm” program, cause he said: “Winning a prize for preaching the Gospel must be a real exercise in Christian humility!” Then I had to confront the puzzling fact that it was a group of Baptists—Southern Baptists, in fact—who presented the award. Moreover, it was an award given by the Baptist History and Heritage Society. And we all know how interested Baptists are in history.

The group did look a little shell-shocked when I finished; but listening to sermons on history early on a Saturday morning can do that to anyone. But I am glad that I got my plaque and my check the day before.

So much for wisdom. I was so much older then. I’m younger than that now.

I probably feel less wise at this period in my life than at any other time. The times in which we live appear to me darker, less transparent, with fewer reasons for optimism than any I can recall.

This experience of feeling very unwise doesn’t mean I can’t still spot the presence of foolishness. Here are a few examples from just the past week or so:

•You may have missed the news that MTV declined to air advertisements for Super Size Me, a documentary about a man who eats nothing but McDonald's food for a month, because it was determined that the ads unjustly disparage fast food.

•In his recent speech outlining a 5-point plan for Iraq, President Bush promised to build the country a brand new prison system. (You have to keep in mind that 1 out of every 75 males in the U.S. were in prison last year. Our per capita prison population is greater than any country in the world, including those mean ol’ countries like China and, yes, Iraq under Saddam Hussein.)

• Speaking of Iraq, we just learned that yet another person on the CIA’s payroll will become the new Iraqi prime minister of the Iraqi government on June 30, which is promised full sovereignty even though it won’t have any say over the 130,000 U.S. troops occupying the country. (You have to keep in mind that Saddam Hussein once wrote that he originally came into power “on the coattails of the CIA.”)

•And speaking of American troops: This week the Asheville Citizen-Times editorialized about the need for a thorough public discussion on the need for a military draft, saying that our armed forces are simply overworked and tired. But instead of discussing how we can get a bigger army, shouldn’t we be discussing why the U.S. currently has military bases or related commitments in 131 countries around the world?

•And speaking of foreign military engagements: Former President Ronald Reagan died yesterday. A chorus of commentators praise his legacy, saying he was the one who “made America feel good about itself” again. I’m not sure “feeling good” about ourselves is the way to wisdom, particularly at the behest of one who engineered U.S. sponsorship of several bloody wars in Central America during his presidency, wars which resulted in the deaths of well over a half-million people, and who ran up national debt greater than the cumulative national debts of every previous American president.

Maybe we were all so much older then; and we’re younger than that now.

Tim and Amy’s friend, the Jesuit priest Daniel Berrigan, has a good line that describes the way I feel about the times in which we live. He said “It’s like pulling a piano across a plowed field.”

I should hasten to tell you, though, that the general lack-of-wisdom feeling I have is not the same thing as pessimism—or, even worse—cynicism. Cynicism may be the greatest temptation for people like ourselves, who’ve been captured at some point or other with dreams of lions and lambs living together in peace, of new heavens and new earths being born. These hopeful dreams won’t let us go even when we consciously try to shake them off. The prophet Zachariah has a great line about this experience. He talked about being a “prisoner of hope.” In fact, the reason we feel so terrible sometimes is precisely because hope won’t let go of us, even though things seem so desperate, so dark, even though we have so much evidence to support a pessimistic outlook.

There’s nothing the folk who are now seemingly in total control of events want more than for us to become cynical, to give up, to close our eyes and ears to anything but the most immediate and personal concerns. Cynical people are so much easier to control and manipulate. Don’t vote: it doesn’t really matter. Don’t get involved: nothing will change. Don’t take any risks: you’ll only get burned.

For what is cynicism, after all, but an extreme form of self-centeredness and narcissism. So, instead of facing reality, we substitute reality TV.

But there is neither wisdom nor hope in vicarious living.

As blue-collar philosopher Eric Hoffer once wrote: Wisdom bursts into our consciousness only when it sinks its teeth and nails into us.

I suspect I’m not alone in this room with my uneasy sense of being less-than-wise, of being not exactly up to the challenges we face, of feeling more than a little overwhelmed by the sometimes-despairing circumstances we encounter.

We all were so much older then; we’re younger than that now.

If wisdom has raised her voice, I must be going deaf; if she’s standing beside the gates, waving to get my attention, I must be preoccupied. If she’s calling out, I must need a hearing aid.

But wait a minute. Wait just one minute. I don’t for a second take back anything I’ve just said. But there’s more to be said.

Just last week a friend wrote to ask me if I’d be willing to write a couple sentences of endorsement for a new book he’s written, one that tells stories of hopeful engagement, stories that are often overlooked or undervalued. I put him off for a long time, fearing that I wouldn’t have anything very convincing to say. But I was finally embarrassed enough to at least sit down and peruse some of his chapters. And when I finished, I found myself typing out the following lines:

In recent days friends in Latin America, Africa and Asia—each of whom face more daily repression than I’ll know in a lifetime—have reminded me of a typically-American luxury. Not big cars, 401-K accounts or other gluttonous habits. But of despair, of a romantic penchant for hopelessness, our woeful nothing-can-be-done whining. It’s what a corrupt political process depends on more than anything else. This book is an antidote to such self-absorption.

And then during the research for this sermon my mind began going around the Circle that gathers here week after week. I began seeing each of your faces. I began thinking

•I think of Tom Burnet’s work of providing ecological stewardship of water resources;

•of Colleen and Amy and Greg Yost’s persistent devotion to raising children with counter-cultural values;

•of Mary Anne’s work in helping people invest their money according to their values.

•I think of Terri and Greg Clemons and Dale and Marc Mullinax and Missy’s passionate work helping students see the world in different ways;

•of Joyce’s collection of the nearly-forgotten  stories of African-American congregations;

•of Sara and Kathleen and Blan and Susan and Tim and Kiran and Tom Preston’s healing ministries, of mind and body, particularly with people who lack adequate access to health care.

•I think of Kim and Stan who, among many other things, bring music to a world reluctant to sing and who will soon be traveling again to Cuba and renewing the protest against our nation’s repressive policies;

•of our prophets-without-porfolio, Louis and Bud and Bill, who may have retired from full-time employment but hardy from active promotion of the things that make for peace;

•of Jim and Kaki, of Linda and Carol’s community-building labors on behalf nonprofit organizations devoted to the common good;

–I think of our students, of Anthony and Sophie and Caitlin, who find unique and creative ways to say no to the conforming habits of peer pressure, and yes to intellectual curiosity; of Rachel’s post-graduate determination to be true to her calling as a disciple of hope rather than simply a consumer of goods and services;

–of Robert and Jerene and Nancy’s pastoral presence with people in prison and in hospitals; of Mark Siler’s work giving shape to an incredibly hopeful cross-racial movement advocating for justice in Asheville;

–of Carolyn and Jean’s social advocacy for those living on the margins.

–I think of Will and Anna, of Leigh and Joy, of Jody and Isabel, of Sam and Bethany, who endure the daily pounding of self-doubt and fearfulness which always accompany the process of growing up.

–And who have I left out? Oh, yes, Chip . . . Chip, who lives with the self-consciousness of being the tallest person in nearly every crowd; Chip, who has the grave misfortune of being a truck driver in a room full of liberal arts graduates. Chip, who, like me, has the misfortune of being the ugliest one at the table when the family gathers for dinner. Chip, who alone is for me the embodiment of this text: “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” Which reminds me of a button I have at home. It has this seemingly innocuous but actually revolutionary statement: “The meek are getting ready.” So get us ready, Chip. Teach us about inheriting the earth.

THIS IS WHERE I FIND WISDOM. And hope. And faith. And reason enough to keep going despite the frequent temptation to simply sleep in.

It is the wisdom of this Circle which raises its voice, which stands at the gate, which is more precious than choice gold or precious silver.

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©Ken Sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org