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Requiem: A Sermon After The VT Shootings

Note:  I am posting this sermon at the request of my pastor, Grover Pinson at Windsor Park Baptist Church.  Grover extended me the privilege of preaching to our congregation the Sunday after the tragedy at Virginia Tech.   

Fighting Back Like A Christian
Ephesians 6.16
A Sermon Preached at Windsor Park Baptist Church, Corpus Christi, Texas, on the Sunday following the Virginia Tech Shootings
 
INTRODUCTION
            At first glance, this might seem a peculiar – even a bad – text to select on this particular Sunday.  We all watched in horror last Monday as news reports trickled in, describing how Seung-hui Cho, a 23 student at Virginia Tech, entered a class building armed with a. 22-caliber semi-automatic pistol and a 9mm. Glock and began blazing away.   By the time he turned the weapon on himself, thirty-two of his professors and classmates lay dead in the worst mass killing in recent American history.
            And don’t let the chronological mists create an artificial gap between that story and this text.  The Roman sword in the first century world was the state-of-the-art weapon of mass destruction.  The text tells Christians, in effect, to take up the semi-automatic of the Spirit.  The Bible here becomes the Glock of God! 
            In light of all of this, you might well ask, “How dare he read that passage?”
            But really, this only invites a series of larger questions.
            Paul originally chose as his metaphor for the Christian life the full battle-rattle the empyreal storm troopers of the Roman police state.  Modern refinement makes us uncomfortable with that kind of talk.  Back in 1984 the United Methodist Church voted to remove  “Onward Christian Soldiers” from its hymnal.  They had to recant due to a backlash from the pews, but their original argument was that the worship of the Prince of Peace should not employ the language of war.  Even we Baptists, always less squeamish than our Wesleyan brethren, have stopped having “Sword Drill” in favor of the cuddlier “Bible Drill.”
            Yet here is a text which bristles with ordnance like the display racks at a weekend gun show.  It reads like an EBay ad aimed at gimme-cap-clad rednecks.  How dare I read that passage?  Perhaps the better question is, “How dare Paul write that passage?”
            But, again, we’ve only pushed the issue back an additional step.  We might well ask why the church chose to include it in our Bible?  After all, not everything Paul wrote was divinely inspired Scripture.  As far as we can tell, he penned at least two letters to the church in Corinth which nobody thought to archive.  I’m sure that at some point he wrote out a grocery list for Luke to fill while Paul was under house arrest in Rome.  Yet this passage winds up on the pages of our sacred book.
          It didn’t have to, you know.  Debates over the canon are nothing new.  Unlike holy writings which claim to have come directly from the mouth of an angel, or to have been transcribed whole from golden tablets, the books in our Bible had to win their spurs, had to rise to the top of the list in a crowded field of early Christian writings.  The ancient rabbis debated over some books in the Old Testament.  The Song of solomon was up for grabs for a while and if you wonder why, just read it in “The Message.”  They wondered if Esther should make it in because the name of God appears nowhere in the whole story.  Martin Luther wanted James and the Revelation voted off the island.  He thought James preached works salvation and scouted it as “a right strawey epistle.”  Of the last book in the Bible, he said that a revelation ought to reveal and this one only confuses.  Nothing new here. 
That’s why, by the way, you should never be troubled when you go to Barnes & Noble’s religion section and see these lurid paperbacks with titles like Who Changed the Bible? or The Hidden Gospels.  It is no big secret that certain writings didn’t make the cut.  It isn’t as if there was a conspiracy of guys who met in secret and then deleted all the emails before Congress found out.  All this is a part of our history.  Great scholars and  theologians, and great servants of Christ, debated loud and long over the canon of Scripture.  In the early days it was sort of like a reality show, “Athanasian Idol,” perhaps, in which the churches voted and experts advised as to which letter or gospel should advance to the next round.  If you dust this text for fingerprints you will find that it has passed through the hands – and the hearts – of some of our greatest spiritual leaders.
            How could these early followers of the Lamb endorse such an inappropriate picture the ideal Christian?  How could they picture the fully-equipped saint as an Islamic suicide bomber, bulky and burly beneath his IED, waiting to wreak havoc in a sidewalk café?  Why would they imagine the mature saint as a street gang thug strapped with is nine and looking to bust off a few caps?
            How dare I read this passage?  How dare Paul write it?  Maybe the question should be, “How dare the Church embrace that passage?”
            Now, before you prepare to stone me for questioning the authority Bible, consider the only other alternative.  If this text is inspired, consider One who inspired it and the One who spoke it. How can the God who, we have it on good authority from elsewhere in this same sacred Book,  is love give us such a violent vision what it means to follow his Son?
            How dare I read this passage?  How dare Paul write this passage?  How dare the Church embrace that passage?  Let’s try the ultimate question: “How dare God inspire that passage?”
            It might help to place the passage in historical context.  Paul wrote Ephesians at the same time as Colossians: while he was held a prisoner in Rome.  Tradition, based on hints in the Bible, holds that he spent his days chained, manacled, handcuffed to a Roman soldier (Col 4.18), the living embodiment of his own oppression.  Paul writes as innocent man deprived his civil rights Caesar’s homeland security, manacled to a Marine in a cell at Gitmo with the write of habeas corpus suspended.  Under the circumstances, he is the last guy inclined idealize Roman military might.
            Instead, what he offers is an alternative form of warfare, an entirely different response based on an entirely different reality, an alternative kingdom which rivals Rome.  Accordingly, he warns that those weapons that are the state-of-the-art standard issue for the world are no match for the panoply of Christian warfare. 
            We have seen this week what human weaponry can do, what tragedy it can inflict.  This has had predictable consequences.  The stench of cordite still hung in the hallways at Virginia Tech as the cable news pundits began debating the need for gun control.  You know the arguments.  One side says, “We have to take away all the guns so the bad guys won’t have them.”  The other side says, “We have to give everyone guns to that the bad guys aren’t the only ones who have them.”
            For Christians, however, the question is not whether need to get hold weapons Cho used or whether need to take those weapons away from others.  This text tells us that we need to understand that our fight involves completely different weapons, and we need to start using them!
            Seen in that light, the real question today is not, How dare I read this passage?  Or, How dare Paul write this passage?  Or, How dare the Church embrace that passage?  Or even, “How dare God inspire that passage?”  The real question is, “How can we dare to live this passage?” 
            And that is important, because I am convinced that this text – in light of the Gospel as a whole – can tell us two things about the Virginia Tech tragedy which no other source can:  why it happened, and how we should respond.
·        WHY IT HAPPENED
“…the flaming arrows of the evil one.”

            Paul tells us that our enemy is not other people, but “the evil one.”  If there was any doubt about this point, verse 12 makes it clear.  But our society has a hard time understanding evil because we’ve denied the existence of the Evil one!  We don’t believe in a Redeemer, so we have no choice but to deny our need for redemption.  

            At a memorial service for the Virginia Tech victims held at a local university last week, a woman sang the moving hymn “Amazing Grace.”  She had a lovely voice and did a great job, but she got the words wrong at one point.  You know the words.  Say them with me,

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,That saved a – what comes next? – wretch like me.

But she didn’t sing “wretch.”  She sang “soul.”  Now, I don’t know why she did that.  Maybe she just made a mistake.  Maybe she didn’t grow up a Baptist and learn this song when she was still on the cradle roll.  But I suspect she did it on purpose, because we no longer like to think of ourselves or anyone else as being “wretches.”

            But because I did grow up a Baptist, because I did learn that song while I was still on the cradle roll, I know that the wording matters.  Because John Newton, who composed the lyrics, was indeed a wretch!  He was a drunkard, a profane man, and, worst of all, a slaver.  He was captain of a slave ship which put into ports on the coast of Africa and bartered for the bodies and souls of men and women, tearing them away from their lives and history and taking them to die in South American gold mines or the swamps of sugar cane plantations in the Caribbean.  Even those who survived did so only to begat generations into the same servitude until even today African Americans suffer the lingering legacy of John Newton’s wretched behavior.

            That is why, when John Newton found Jesus – or, more accurately, when Jesus found John Newton – he was amazed by the grace shown to him.  You see, it isn’t grace if you aren’t a wretch, and if you don’t know you are wretched, you won’t be amazed.  But once be amazed at the grace that conquers your wretchedness, and you are less amazed and more gracious when you encounter the wretchedness of others.
            In the same way, what happened last Monday was ultimately an act of the Evil One! And this is important, because it reminds me that no human being is ever my ultimate enemy.  Once we realize this, it becomes possible to forgive.  You see, we think we have to fight people with their own weapons because we think it is people whom we are fighting.  Would I, a Christian, shoot someone who was shooting at me?  Or hit someone who had hurt me?  Or attempt to out-gossip the office gossip?  Or, even in the church, turn to politics instead of prayer to accomplish my goals?  Only if I think I am fighting people instead of the devil who is harming them!  Once realize the real enemy it becomes possible for me to forgive, because I can understand that this person has been beaten by the same devil I struggle against.
 

·        HOW TO RESPOND
“…the shield of the faith…”
 

            Our translation says “the shield of faith,” but Paul actually writes, “the shield of the faith.”  The definite article is important.  It tells us that what is involved here is not some general feeling, some vague idea or personal construct.  That “the” means we are dealing with an objective reality exterior to ourselves.  Just a few verses earlier, in Ephesians 4.13, Paul writes of our need to come to “the unity of the faith.”  Clearly, then, this faith is a single thing, exterior to myself, which I must embrace and to which I must conform my belief and my actions.

            What is “the” faith?  Well, it is our story – the story of Christ’s birth, life, death, burial, and resurrection.  Think for a moment about the kind of story that is.  Almost every morning I recite the Apostles’ Creed.  That ancient confession contains a long section summarizing the life of Jesus, and I have noticed that it has a definite downward movement.  Consider it with me for a moment.  “I believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ his only son our Lord,” and here the steep drop begins:

            Who was conceived by the Holy Ghost: he leaves unbounded deity for the            confines of flesh.

Born of the virgin Mary:  now he enters humanity in the stench of a cow stall.Suffered under Pontius Pilate:  his whole thirty-three years marked by the unjust taxation which robbed the craftsman’s poverty through unjust taxation and second-mile conscription until this finally culminates as he stands, beaten without trial, mocked without mercy, face-to-face with the man who embodies Roman tyranny.Was crucified, died, and was buried.  And it doesn’t end there!  Just when you hope you’ve hit rock bottom the very bedrock of the planet splits, the earth’s crust opens and the Lord’s downward momentum carries him deeper than the grave itself as we read,He descended into Hell.  But then, like a ball spiked downward so hard that it must rebound with equal force, the direction suddenly reverses.  Baseball players say the best pitch to hit take downtown is a fastball, because the more force it comes in with, the more force it has when it leaves the hickory.  When Our Lord’s long drop finally slams against the final depths, his glory rebounds all the higher.  He rockets to glory as the creed continues,He ascended to the right hand of God the Father whence he shall come again to judge the living and the dead!
 
            Skeptics would argue that this tragedy proves God is not there, or that God doesn’t care.  Either he is not God or he is not good.  And we must allow the logic of this objection. . .if we are living a story which has good as its goal.  But we aren’t!  We are living a story which has glory as its goal, and our story teaches us that it is precisely in suffering that glory finds fuel to soar.  The Christian faith has never been about the avoidance of suffering.  It is instead the story of how Christ suffered, and turned sorrow into triumph. 

            So it becomes crucial, in the face of last Monday’s horror, that we cling all that much harder to our faith, THE faith: the story that God can and will bring victory.  This does not lessen the grief of those directly infected; but it does give it purpose.  God was not glorified by what Seung-hui Cho did, but he will get glory from it.  God was not the instigator of that outrage, but he will be the completor. 
            Let go of that, let go of our story, and this senseless act unleashes unredeemed unredeemable sorrow.  Cling to it, take it up as a shield against hell’s own fire, and meaning emerges from chaos.
 

CONCLUSION
            As a final thought, I want to note that the shield of faith is used in community; our warfare is not single combat.  Paul refers here to the shield of the Roman legionnaire, but the Romans never invented anything; they stole and improved.  Their military gear and tactics are largely based on their Greek predecessors.  And, since the movie “300” was released, everyone knows who were the greatest warriors among the Greeks:  the Spartans. 

            The Geek hoplite was essentially a citizen-soldier, like the Minute Men of the American Revolution.  Sparta fielded the western world’s first standing army of professional soldiers.  There was a ritual performed as a Spartan marched away to battle.  His wife would hand him his shield and say, Ή τάν ή Επί τς, which being interpreted is “With this or on this.”  In other words, a Spartan warrior had two choices:  return from battle carrying his shield, or being carried on it as his funeral beir.  (A cuddly bunch, those Spartan women.  Valentine’s Day must’ve been a unique holiday for them.)
            In fact, if a Spartan returned from combat without his aspis, his shield, it meant an automatic death-sentence.  He could lose his batting helmet, chest-protector, shin guards, even his Louisville Slugger, but ditch the shield and die on sight.  Now why would the Spartans make such a law?
            You see, the Greeks fought in a formation called the phalanx, a solid wall of interlocked shields.  In the phalanx, my shield, slung on my left arm, covered the left side of my body, leaving my right arm free for sword and spear, but also leaving it vulnerable. This meant that the man on my right protected not only his own body, but half of mine.  If I threw away my shield – presumably the better to run away – I exposed not only myself, but my comrade.
            Worse still, since the phalanx was one unit, a single breech allowed the enemy to pour through and roll up my lines like Jackson chasing the Yankees at Chancelorsville.  If I ditched my shield, I threw open the gate for the enemy to march all the way to Sparta – to the defenseless wife who charged me never to abandon my shield.
            The point here is that you can’t be a private Christian.  Your faith is no good to you all by yourself, no good to anyone else.  We serve Christ in the phalanx of the local body, and if I let events or social pressure or the pseudo-intellectual attacks of the cultural elite frighten me into tossing away my faith, I expose all my brothers and sisters to danger. 
            So grasp the faith.  That may mean a couple of things to you today.  It may mean deciding to take up “the faith,” the story.  It may mean saying, “I will quit living the story I have been living – the story of self-seeking which has no answer when self is vulnerable to death, or the story of sickly sentiment which tries to forget a world where the innocent die violent deaths, or the fake Christian story where Jesus died so I could get a good parking spot at the mall.  I choose instead to live the story of Jesus, the story where suffering becomes central in the quest for God’s glory.”
            Grasping the faith might mean you choose to unite with a visible company of Christian soldiers in a local church.  It might mean saying, “I will find my place in the phalanx of the faithful, and I will accept my responsibility to defend my fellow saints.”
            Pick up your shield and pray a solemn supplication that the Lord never allow Satan’s ruffians to rip it from your grasp.  If, in the fatigue and fog of battle you feel your grip beginning to weaken, I promise you will feel, covering your trembling fingers, the strong, though scarred hand of One who held on until the end.
           

 

 

One Response to “Requiem: A Sermon After The VT Shootings”

  1. Esmie says:

    Doug,

    ((Applause))–I had the privilege of hearing your God-inspired sermon Sunday morning among a small but sweet congregation and savored the melody of His words spoken through the lips of one who clearly loves Him. Your sermon struck many chords in my humble and unrefined ears…words I sorely needed to hear. Thanks for the message.
    It blessed me.

    esmie

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