“Mattering”
Isaiah 42:5-10; Matthew 5:14-16
Rev. Dr. Deborah L. Clark
July 16, 2017
“What you do matters.” You’ve heard me say these words before. I say them so often because I need to hear them. I say them so often because they point to a truth central to my faith: God chooses to work through us to heal our world. God needs us.
I’ve been saying this line even more often than usual in this past year, almost as a mantra. The problems we see around us feel so overwhelming. Global climate change is daunting enough when everyone is working together and seems nearly impossible to tackle when we are not. The gap between wealth and poverty is growing, creating a dangerous mix of despair and rage. Trust in our government is at a historic low, and division in our nation is reaching a distressing high.
In the face of the overwhelming challenges, it is easy to fall into despair and close ourselves off. The temptation is very real, and it is poisonous–both for ourselves and for our world. When we narrow our circle of concern, we constrain our own potential for joy and meaning. When we choose not to speak up, we allow hate and greed to win. My mantra has a particular urgency these days.
“What you do matters.” There is plenty of biblical support to back up these words. Our reading from Isaiah is one of many examples of Hebrew Bible prophets calling us to act boldly–releasing prisoners from the dungeons, taking the homeless into our homes, letting justice roll down like water. Our gospel text about letting our light shine is one of many times Jesus calls us to trust our actions make a difference. He talks about the power of even a mustard seed of faith to move a mountain. He teaches that loving your neighbor as yourself is not about how you feel but about what you do. He challenges us to see the sacred in every person in need, and to help even when we can’t see the big picture. “What you do matters” has strong biblical underpinnings.
A month ago, the news feed on my cell phone awakened me to a bitter irony inherent in my mantra. A supposedly Christian man had just plowed a van into a group of Muslim worshipper outside the Finsbury Park mosque near London. Reading that story reminded me of what happened a month before, when a supposedly Muslim man ignited a suicide bomb outside a venue in Manchester, England, filled with kids going to their first concert. Earlier that week, I had joined with friends at Plymouth Church ringing their bell to commemorate the one-year anniversary of the worst mass shooting in our nation’s history–at Latin night at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando. In between, there have been too many others: individuals with a variety of motives and a shared goal of leaving a legacy of destruction, grief and fear.
Over and over, my mantra has been proven right, but with an awful twist. It doesn’t take much for one individual to make a huge impact in our world–if by impact we mean death and destruction, hate and terror.
We know that the individuals weren’t really acting alone. In some cases they acted on behalf of hate-filled groups, or sometimes inspired by hate-filled groups. They were enabled by bomb-making instructions on the web and easy access to weapons. They were empowered by the endless news coverage given to perpetrators of mass murder. They may have wanted to believe the impact they made was theirs alone, that they were big and important and powerful, but really they are pawns of larger forces of hatred and destruction.
The bitter irony of my mantra has stayed with me. “What you do matters” has a shadow side–and sometimes that shadow looms large. Our deep-seated human need to know we matter can find expression in so many different ways. It can lead us to acts of selfless courage, like the American EMT working in Mosul. It can also motivate horrifying acts of terror and destruction, twisted efforts to make a lasting mark on the world. At a time when we so desperately need examples to assure us that each one of us can make a difference, why are the most vivid ones about destruction and death rather than healing and new life?
I was stuck on that question, until a phone conversation helped me reframe and reclaim my mantra. Open Spirit has been working on new mission and vision statements, a challenging process for a complex, multi-layered organization. In one draft of our vision statement, we talked about being a source of hope and healing in our broken world. One person suggested replacing “broken” with “fragile.” I liked it–our fragile world, in need of our care.
On the phone one day, I asked Bette Norton what she thought of the phrase. “No,” she said. “I feel the world is divided in thought, but not broken or fragile. We are not weak; if anything we are stronger than ever. People are finding their voices.” She went on to describe what she has seen and experienced in this last year. She has seen communities coming together, claiming strength we didn’t know we had.
As she spoke, I began to think about what I have seen, not just on the news but here on our campus, in Framingham, in Boston. I thought about our iftar last month, when forty people from many faith traditions gathered in Edwards Hall to celebrate with our Muslim friends as they broke their fast. It was an act of hospitality, an act of solidarity.
I thought about two black beans and rice dinners recently held in the hall at St. Stevens Catholic Church in downtown Framingham. Folks came from area churches and synagogues and sat with people we didn’t know. The conversations were awkward, because at any given table there were people who spoke English, Spanish and Portuguese. The bi- and tri-lingual folks in the group worked extra hard, but they didn’t mind. When the meals were over we talked as a group, hearing about the fear our immigrant neighbors are experiencing, together planning strategies to help keep each other safe.
I thought about the Science March Jenny Allen and I attended back in April. Scientists and teachers, activists and people who had never attended a rally before, secular and religious and everyone in between–we came together to say no to denial of climate change and yes to using curiosity and intellect to face challenges head on.
Bette’s conviction in that phone conversation shifted my perception. Yes, we have seen the destructive potential of cowardly individuals inspired by hate. And we have seen the creative potential of communities coming together to claim our power. The conversation prompted me to rethink two aspects of my mantra: the pronoun and the tone.
What if I were to shift the pronoun in my mantra from “you” to “we”? “What we do matters.”
A closer look at our biblical texts supports that shift. Isaiah refers to a servant of God who is called to bring light and hope to the world. There is scholarly debate about who Isaiah thought this servant was. Some say he was predicting Jesus. Some say it was a reference to Cyrus of Persia, who would ultimately release the people from exile in Babylon. Others argue that it was not an individual but the whole Hebrew people, called as a community to be light to the nations. Imagine, if that is what Isaiah meant, the power his words would have had. He was speaking to a down-trodden, discouraged people, languishing in exile. You may feel small and powerless, he said to them, but God intends for you to be a source of hope and liberation for our world.
Jesus’ words in Matthew’s gospel suggest he shares that interpretation of Isaiah’s words. “You are the light of the world.” We can’t tell from the English translation, but the “you” in this passage is plural. Jesus isn’t telling me to show off my good works so everyone can see how bright I can shine. Jesus is telling all those ordinary people who gathered on that mountain that together they were light for the world. Jesus is telling us–these ordinary people gathered in this room today–that together we are light for our world. What we do matters.
The second shift I will make in my mantra is my tone. Yes, in this troubled world there is urgency. What we do matters–we need to get busy! My conversation with Bette prompts me to add joy to the urgency. These words are not just a call to action; they are a promise that God is at work in and through and beyond us. When we come together, God’s spirit inspires us to courage, blesses us with new ideas and new friends, and makes us stronger than we could ever be on our own.
At the heart of Jesus’ teachings is his promise that the basiliea–the realm, the kin-dom– of God’s love is at hand. This realm isn’t some far-off vision of a perfect world. When we come together, when we listen and learn and care for one another, we are part of the kin-dom breaking in. The kin-dom of God is breaking in–in a gathering in Edwards Hall, in a meal at St. Stephens, in a rally on Boston Common. The kin-dom of God is breaking in–right here in this room, this afternoon as we gather to share worship and lunch with our kin at Worcester Fellowship. The kin-dom of God is breaking in, and we are part of it!
So, my friends, I will repeat my mantra one more time, with a new pronoun and with joy added to the urgency. What we do matters! Thanks be to God! Amen.