“When Souls Are Weary”
a sermon by Kyndall Rae Rothaus,
concerning 2 Thessalonians 3:6-13
for Lake Shore Baptist Church, Waco,
on November 13, 2016
You’ve probably heard Natasha’s story by now—the Baylor student who was walking to class on
Wednesday when a white male shoved her off the sidewalk saying, “No niggers allowed on the
sidewalk.” When a bystander confronted the man, he replied, “What? I’m just trying to make
America great again.”
Sadly, this is only one story among thousands from the last four days. A clergy colleague of
mine has a congregant who went to the store to pick up photos of his multi-racial family. The
clerk told him she couldn’t wait until January when she doesn’t have to serve people like him
anymore. I’ve seen a picture of Ku Klux Klan members celebrating the election results on a
bridge in North Carolina. I’ve seen a Nazi flag raised proudly over a home in San Francisco. I
saw a sign that said, “Can’t wait until your marriage is overturned by a real president. Gay
families = burn in hell.” I’ve seen graffiti that said, “Black lives don’t matter, and neither do your
votes.” I’ve already heard countless stories about people who are scared to leave their homes and
people who have been physically threatened. I could go on and on and on and on . . . I’ve heard
the word nigger more times in the last four days than the last three decades combined.
It’s important to know that the ugly stories aren’t the only stories. For example, part two to
Natasha’s story is that hundreds of people showed up on Thursday to walk with her to class in
support and solidarity. There are a lot of people rising up to meet the present challenges with
integrity, strength, and love.
But it is vitally important that we do not rush past the ugly stories. I want to address the angst,
grief, fear, and dismay so many of us are feeling. Before I do, I need to make it clear: this is not a
partisan sermon. I am not speaking on behalf of Democrats, or liberals, on behalf of politics or
party platforms. I am speaking today only on behalf of humanity.
People across party lines are frightened and deeply disturbed by the sudden rise of hate crimes
and racial slurs. People of various political persuasions understand that we have just elected into
our highest office a man whose rhetoric and carelessness is granting license to prejudice and
hate, violence and sexism. Intellectual dishonesty, flagrant deceit, and unchecked greed have
been not only excused but applauded.
I would never preach a sermon based on my personal, partisan disappointment with election
results. That’s not only bad form, it’s contrary to basic Baptist principles about religious
freedom, and in my view, unethical. But I cannot be silent in the face of our current horror, of
waking up to the reality that as a nation we gave bigotry not only a pass but a permission slip and
a victory. To be silent would not only be bad form, it would be contrary to basic Baptist
practices of dissent, and, in my view, hugely unethical.
To be clear, I do support the peaceful transfer of power. But when leaders misuse power, we
cannot sit idly by. To fail to obstruct injustice is a misuse of our power.
In the letter to the church of the Thessalonians, the people are encouraged to keep away from
believers who are living in idleness rather than living in fidelity to the tradition. “Anyone
unwilling to work should not eat,” or, in other words, everyone is expected to do his or her part
in the body of Christ.
It’s been explained to me that the shock some of us white folks are feeling about the state of
things in our country post-Tuesday is not a shock to many of our black neighbors, our Muslim
friends, and other minorities. They tell me this is old news to them. The difference is that now
it’s just obvious to more of us than before. If we feel hurt, betrayed, frightened, or disappointed,
that’s a small taste of what they’ve been feeling for years.
One part of the body of Christ has been desperately trying to get the other part to understand that
we haven’t been pulling our weight. The load hasn’t been even. Some of us have been idle.
We’ve had the luxury of thinking it’s not that bad. We haven’t been worried about getting shot
by the police or banned from the country due to our beliefs or denied basic rights and services
because of our sexual orientation, and so we haven’t had to pay close attention to whether things
are getting better or worse. Our day-to-day lives have essentially remained the same.
But whole parts of our body are bleeding, and if we don’t bind up their wounds, we’re not just
failing Christ, we’re amputating our own limbs. If we don’t listen to the people who are crying,
it’s like ignoring the warning signs in your body that something is wrong, terribly wrong.
Shockingly I have heard some people dismiss the hurt and fear of others by saying, “This is how
we felt when Obama won.”
No, it isn’t. This is not about party loss or party victory. This is not about conservative values
versus progressive values. This is not about Republican, Democrat, Libertarian, or Green Party.
This is about racism, prejudice, bigotry, and violence. Period.
Full stop.
Do not insert other factors. All that idle debate is just another way to drown out the cries of the
oppressed.
Unless an election has literally increased your likelihood of being assaulted, deported, banned,
physically threatened, openly despised, or targeted for hate crimes, then you have no idea how
people are feeling, and it is a dangerous act of ignorance to assume that you do.
The Scripture passage says, “We hear that some of you are living in idleness, mere busybodies,
not doing any work,” which is a line that always trips me up. I tend to think of idleness as
laziness, couch potato style. But a busybody I think of that as active, and, well, busy. A meddler,
a worrywart, someone who is frenetic and hurried.
The Bible says an idler is the same thing as a busybody. There are as many ways to be idle as
there are ways to be busy. Too often we’re real busy avoiding the actual work God has called us
to do. We spend more time talking than listening or spouting opinions than caring for the hurting.
So how do we know if we’re doing God’s good work, or if we’re just busy with trivial stuff
we’ve convinced ourselves is important? Well, one good marker is that good work usually feels
like a work. I don’t necessarily mean that it’s work in the sense of being grueling or taxing. Good
work can be fun and playful. But good work works on you. It changes you. You feel the rub of
being challenged. It may be fun, but it’s rarely easy or comfortable.
Look, I don’t know how we fix our country—but I do know we make our little congregation a
safe haven for those who are scared. We choose courage in the face of fear. We build bridges; we
tear down walls. We reach out to our neighbors. Lake Shore is important because we are a
beacon of light amidst the shadows of oppression.
We must continue on, practicing compassion, practicing community, generosity, and mercy. We
practice truth-telling. We practice respect. We support one another and we stay open to new
ways of thinking. We prioritize the concerns and experiences of the oppressed.
We choose to have hard conversations. When we’re in positions of power, we commit to deeper
listening and we commit to sharing power. We do not try to talk people out of their pain and fear.
We commit to this particular body of believers, knowing that despite our flaws and blind spots,
our mistakes and inadequacies, we are a community of love, justice, and mercy. We are a people
striving after compassion. We are a family, and we care for one another. We welcome all,
especially those who are hurting, lonely, or afraid.
We welcome those who are disillusioned with church, with Christianity, with institutions and
with government. We welcome those who hold tightly to their hope in church, Christianity,
institutions, and government. We welcome those who have, for good reason, lost their faith.
We pledge to be a symbol to Waco and to the world of radical hospitality to the poor, the
hungry, the Muslim. We refuse to relate to the other from a place of fear. We stand in solidarity
with those who have been cast aside. We will look for Jesus among the least of these and we will
believe until our dying day that God’s love is for everyone, and God’s love knows no bounds.
In the aftermath of this national tragedy in which hatred has been excused, incited, imitated, and
celebrated, we do what we always do after tragedy. We come together. We pool our resources.
We shelter those who face discrimination. We harbor those who are afraid. We show up by the
thousands to walk a single child of God to class if that’s what it takes.
We also refuse to demonize our enemies, as much as we do not understand their hateful
behavior. We continue to believe they are children of God too, with the potential for redemption.
We stand up to bullies, but we do so nonviolently. We seek justice, not revenge, transformation,
not retaliation. We forgive, but we do not forget. We carry the wounds and fears and battle scars
of our friends in our hearts. We do not forget those we have lost to despair, to depression, to
violence, and to suicide. We honor their lives, their voices, their memories, and their pain by
remembering. We do not “move on” as if nothing has happened. We move forward in this life
with grief and even rage rumbling loud. We refuse to suppress anyone’s pain for the sake of
maintaining a false and fragile peace. We give our ailing limbs and broken bones and bleeding
wounds their voices back, because these hurting brothers and sisters are our body. They are us. If
they bleed, we bleed. When you ignore a cut, it gets infected. When you ignore the suffering in
Christ’s body, the body becomes diseased.
Friends, we may feel powerless, like we don’t have control, like the world is spiraling downward
and we can’t do anything to stop it. But in this moment, I want us to remember that we have been
entrusted by God as stewards of the gospel. We are stewards of Christ’s compassion. We possess
the love of God. No one can take that away from us. We cannot be robbed of love; we can only
voluntarily abandon it in favor of hate, despair, or violence.
So let us re-commit ourselves to this body of believers—not because church is perfect, but
because we need one another in the days and years to come. We need your voice, your presence.
We need your love for us. We need your care, your attention, your commitment. And, Kerry
Irons from our Stewardship Committee would like me to remind you, we need your money.
In a time when we feel so disillusioned with our fellow humanity, we must consider what it is we
can still believe in. I hope one of the things you can still believe in is us—Lake Shore Baptist
Church. We will disappoint you for sure; that’s church. But we will love you and we will learn
from you, and we’ll do our best to stick together. I hope you can still believe God is love. I hope
you believe courage and fidelity are worth it, even when it feels like you’re losing.
I keep thinking of Christ on the cross, how it seemed to all his followers that all was lost, that
evil had won, that God was done with the world, that humanity had been abandoned. Even Christ
himself felt it. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Christ groans when we groan.
Christ shares in our agony. Christ knows the bitter, vinegar taste of despair.
To trust God when times are dark doesn’t mean we trust everything will be okay. Many things
are not okay. To trust means we believe in the way of Jesus, even when it looks like certain
death. This is not the first time the gospel has been sold for thirty pieces of silver, and it won’t be
the last. But there has never been a betrayal that has kept God away or killed off God’s love. I’m
not saying it’s going to be easy, or that there’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m only saying we are
stewards of love. Fear doesn’t belong to us. We can acknowledge fear, but we don’t have to be
controlled, defined, or paralyzed by it. We have love on our side. We have love in our hands, in
our hearts, in our friendships with one another. WE HAVE LOVE.
So do not be idle. Do your part in the work of love.
I know you have every reason to be tired and weary and ready to give up, but when the Bible
says, “Don’t be weary of doing what is right,” God is not asking you to be the energizer bunny of
righteous living. That’s not the point. In fact, if you are chronically weary, that could be a sign
it’s time to try a new approach.
Legend has it that when someone asked Rosa Parks why she sat down on the bus, she said, “I sat
down because I was tired.” Parker Palmer says, “She did not mean that her feet were tired. She
meant that her soul was tired, her heart was tired, her whole being was tired of playing by racist
rules, of denying her soul’s claim to selfhood.” So, you see, she started a revolution at the height
of her weariness. She helped propel a movement by a sitting down, and there’s something
blessedly relieving about that, because there are times when you march on, and there are times
when you just can’t march anymore, but that doesn’t mean you’ve given up. Sometimes when
the night is darkest and you are at your weariest you dream new dreams.
There is a vast difference between closing your eyes to shut out people’s pain and closing your
eyes to recover your imagination. One is idleness and busy work. The other is love hard at work.
I hope that in the midst of despair and setbacks, we will always choose fidelity. I hope we will be
good and worthy stewards of the love that has been entrusted to us, that we will be good and
worthy stewards of this name we bear—the church. I hope that we will be a beacon of light, and
I hope that each of you will consider what your part in the work really is. You may have to give
up some busy work before you find your true work, but whoever you are, whatever your gifts,
whatever your quirks, whatever your limits, whatever your history, there is a place for you in the
body of Christ.
During the Civil Rights movement, the black activist Fannie Lou Hamer once said, “I do
remember, one time, a man came to me after the students began to work in Mississippi, and he
said the white people were getting tired and they were getting tense and anything might happen.
Well, I asked him, ‘How long he thinks we had been getting tired?’ … All my life I’ve been sick
and tired. Now I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.”
Friends, if you’re sick, if you’re tired, if you’re weary, you’re in good company. Don’t give up
on doing what is right, not because you’re so confident good will always win, but because the
rest of the body is counting on you to show up. For we are pilgrims on a journey, we are travelers
on a road. We are here to help each other walk the mile and bear the load. I will hold the Christlight for you in the nighttime of your fear, I will hold my hand out to you, speak the peace you
long to hear. I will weep when you are weeping. When you laugh, I’ll laugh with you. I will
share your joy and sorrow till we’ve seen this journey through. Amen.