Acts 1: 6-11
So when they had come together, they asked him, "Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?" He replied, "It is not for you to know the times or periods that have been set by God’s authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth." When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. They said, "Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven."
In the UCC, we might not expect to find inspiration in the form of a Baptist preacher living in South Carolina, but that was precisely what I found when I read a story written by Paul Loeb. He writes that “in Florence, South Carolina, Baptist preacher Bill Cusak had never organized anything more controversial than a revival meeting.” At some point in the mid-1980s, however, he became concerned for his granddaughter’s future. He was worried that a nuclear arms race would destroy her world. In the newspaper, he had read a letter to the editor about this issue written by “a biologist at a local community college.” He met with the biologist and soon they recruited a few others to join their meetings. After awhile, the group began giving presentations at any “church, PTA association, and garden club that would have them.”
Knowing that we have a couple of Rotarians in our church, I was especially interested in reading that this Baptist preacher even went to speak at the Rotary Club, where “he was a longtime member.” He later said, “They kind of treated me like I had the plague.” Still, members of the club slowly began to speak to him about “war and peace issues that the local newspaper reported on, and generally stopped treating him like a pariah.” Loeb notes that over time the pastor’s efforts along with those of his compatriots gradually “changed the town’s culture, making it more hospitable to open discussions of difficult social problems.” Loeb tells this story as an example of what he calls “village politics, using face-to-face networks and existing communities to address larger issues and principles.” I would say it is also an example of evangelism, of bearing witness, of proclaiming the kingdom of God in deed if not explicitly in word.
This is precisely what our text for today is about. The disciples ask the risen Christ, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” I’ve read commentators who think Jesus rejects the disciples talk of this kind of political revolution against the Roman Empire, but Jesus doesn’t actually reject the political implications of the Israelites taking their kingdom back. He instead says (a) you don’t know when it will happen and (b) the onus is on you. You are the one’s who will receive the power of the Holy Spirit to get the job done. You’re the ones who are going to be “my witnesses.”
Jesus then expands upon their parochial notion of kingdom. They’re focused on the kingdom of Israel, but Jesus tells them that they shouldn’t limit themselves to just Israel. They are not only supposed to witness in the archenemy land of Samaria. They are to witness “to the ends of the earth.” The Kingdom of God doesn’t confine itself to national boundaries. It extends everywhere.
For some churches, it might be a radical idea just to think that proclaiming the kingdom of God should extend beyond the walls of the church let alone to the ends of the earth. I say this because churches often fall into the trap of focusing on their own survival needs as an institution while neglecting the survival needs of others outside the church. I think churches need both. Churches need to do the things that help them to stay alive and functioning and vibrant within their own walls, and they also need to reach out. If a church focuses too much on its own needs, there is the danger of insularity. Beyond missing out on the ethical imperative to love one’s neighbor, insularity is a detriment to a church’s continued wellbeing and existence.
Let me give a couple of examples of ways churches can focus on their own needs. In various informal conversations in this church, there has been talk of membership growth. One way to approach membership growth is to think about it in terms of the church’s needs. We need to grow X % in order to survive X number of years from now. We need to have more young families and children. All of that may well be true. Here’s another example common among white churches: maybe a church feels bad about its image. Maybe it feels like their congregation is too white and needs some people of color so that they—the white members—can feel better about themselves. In both of these cases, I think people who are recruited to churches seeking to meet their own needs often sense that they are being treated as a means to an end rather than an end in themselves. Ultimately, that’s counterproductive evangelism. In fact, I don’t even think it should be called evangelism. Evangelism should be about humanizing relationships where one is truly interested in the totality of who someone is—their needs, passions, interests, and talents.
So where can we find opportunities for healthy and productive evangelism? I think the upcoming community forums on Highway 99 are opportunities. These are opportunities for us to meet our neighbors, to find out their needs, desires, concerns. These are opportunities to begin developing relationships. It might even be a place where one could find compatriots who care about having a place to live that is good to the environment and good for working families, a place that has accessible public transportation, vibrant community parks, and affordable housing for working class people.
Our denomination’s call for a national conversation on race might also inspire us to be witnesses through public forums and educational events. Loeb notes that part of what he calls village politics can be dialogue that makes us uncomfortable. He cites Cornel West’s observation that “whites often say they want to hear what’s on the minds of African Americans, Latinos, or other people of color, then complain that they feel psychologically unsafe if the responses they invite sound angry.” In a somewhat similar way, one might ask if this is how a number of white people feel when they see Jeremiah Wright on their living room television set. They like the reconciling Obama who bends over backwards to appease people, but they can’t take the righteous indignation of Wright. Perceptions of Obama and Wright I think partially reflect our country’s racial fault line. After Obama’s speech on race in Philadelphia, Vernon Burton wrote the following in a letter to The New York Times:
“As a black man, I have to admit that it was strange to watch and listen to Senator Obama as he tried to assure white folks that he is not a racist and does not intend to hold them accountable for the plight of the black community. It is ironic that a black man has to convince white people that the blame
of the damage that 300 years of slavery, segregation, and oppression has done will not be laid at their door. Well, Senator Obama is a politician, and we all know that politicians and truth are very often strangers to one another. But to many of us in the black community, the Rev. Jeremiah A. Wright got it right.”
Regardless of how one plans to vote in the next presidential election, the next several months will say a lot about where our nation is in terms of racism. Political scientist Adolph Reed recently made the point that when black candidates run for high level offices they often start off with lots of white support from white voters who like the idea of a black candidate—perhaps because it makes them feel better about themselves—“[but] the closer it comes to the election of a black candidate being a reality, the more likely you’re going to find people finding ostensibly nonracial reasons to bail [out] and to find him unlikable.”
Well, let me end by quoting Obama who quoted Wright and talk about “the audacity of hope.” I found hope this past week in reading the story of a Vietnamese immigrant named Trinh Doung. Trinh went through a long, yet successful, conversion process in not only overcoming his own racism toward other Asian immigrants, but even joining them in their struggles. Trinh came to the United States at the age of six. He lived a life dedicated to pursuing the American dream. In the early 1990s, he was going to school in New York to become a stockbroker when he read in the newspapers about people picketing against sweatshops in Chinatown. He remembered this a few years later when eating in Chinatown and seeing the picketers. He was surprised they didn’t look like what he imagined activists would look like. They didn’t have “nose rings and so forth. Instead, they looked pretty ordinary. Some were forty years old, with little kids.” Trinh took one of their flyers and took it home. A month later he searched for the picket line “to see what it was like.” He ended up going to the headquarters of the activists where he wondered how it was that these people could be there “at nine at night, talking, when they could go home and take care of themselves.” Oddly, for some inexplicable reason, he felt drawn to them.
He went back again later and decided to help them picket. At the time, he recalls that he was “pretty racist.” He said to himself, “The only reason I’m coming down to this picket line is to help these people chant in English.” He honestly thought that. Overtime, however, he changed. One night in particular had a big impact on him. The picketers were talking about whether to risk getting arrested in order to prevent their picket line from being shut down. Some of them “had green cards. Many of them were working in restaurants or garment factories.”
At first Trinh said to himself, “There’s no way I am going to do this, no way I am going to get in trouble.” But, then he witnessed the others deciding to take a stand. They said, “We have to go out there. This is our voice. This picket line is our voice. We have nothing else if we lose it. So we have to take it back, even if they arrest us.” Trinh learned something from this. He learned “something about human strength and determination.” He learned something about the possibility of change. Still, at the time of the discussion, he didn’t want to get arrested. When he went to the picket line, he stood off to the side and watched. He watched as “people put bags over their faces in case they got arrested.” After seeing their dignity and courage, Trinh decided he “couldn’t stand on the sideline any more.” He joined the picket line.
Today, Jesus is calling us from the safety of the sidelines. The Holy Spirit is there waiting to give us the strength that we need. Let us go forth and proclaim the kingdom of God. Let us go forth as witnesses for Christ. Amen.