RIC Sunday Sermon—Breck Cogswell (Wartburg Theological Seminary Student)

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be pleasing to you, O God.

Liberation theology is defined as a movement in Christian theology, developed mainly by Latin American Roman Catholics, that emphasizes liberation from social, political, and economic oppression as an anticipation of ultimate salvation.

Liberation theologies expand to proclaim that the God whom we worship has a preferential option for the poor, that wherever humanity draws a line of who is in and who is out, who is worthy and who is not, Jesus always approaches that line to be with exactly the people humanity has cast out. Jesus runs to the margins, to those who have been downtrodden, abused, and hurt by the privileged, the rich, and those in power.

Intermixed with the work of many feminist and queer theologians which center the voices of other groups often silenced by churches, liberation theologies further help us to think clearly about the intersections at which people are most harmed and allow us to focus our attention on uplifting those who are affected by sinful human systems.

Invited to consider intersections of privilege and lack thereof, then, may we consider these questions, paraphrased from the Beatitudes themselves...

Who among us are poor in spirit? Do we throw our pity at them, or do we bring glimpses of God’s realm to them in every way we can, by caring for their full humanity?

Who among us is in mourning? Do we comfort them, or do we force them to hide their grief away for our own sake of “moving on,” comfortability, or convenience?

Who among us are meek? Do we offer them richness and abundance?

Who are hungry and thirsty? Do we give them food and water? Do we tend to their spiritual nourishment? Do we care about their thriving?

Who among us do we find merciful? Do we return that mercy to them, or do we step on, trample, take advantage of their vulnerability and grace?

Perhaps at times, you are on either end of this question. Perhaps you are the mourning, hungry, or trampled. Perhaps you have encountered them.

In the gospel text today, Jesus makes it clear that just as the beatitudes say, those who experience suffering, those who are deemed counter-cultural and without society’s definition of power have a reward in heaven.

Jesus is with the crowd when Jesus speaks these words, but the beginning of this text makes it incredibly clear that these words are especially spoken to the disciples, Jesus’ closest followers and dear friends, an often confused and sometimes misguided bunch of misfits who are finding their place in this mission of radical love. Jesus chooses them.

The disciples, with the crowd, are intentionally invited into a world which flips structures of power and oppression on their heads.

Who are the pure in heart? Do we listen to their understanding of the divine? Do we impose our own limiting ideologies upon them?

Who among us is a peacemaker? Do we name their work? Do we name the work of those in power more because society deems them more worthy of honor?

Who among us has dealt with persecution? Do we honor their stories? Do we honor our OWN stories? Do we take part in co-creating the realm of God that is for them, for us, for ALL people?

On this RIC Sunday, which is marked by the re-commitment of particular congregations’ missions to live into true inclusion and collaboration with God’s people regardless of gender, sexual orientation, race, ethnicity, socio-economic status, ability, age, or other factors, may we remember together this calling to allyship given to the disciples.

The reward in heaven promised in the beatitudes is no reason for the disciples, nor for us not to seek glimpses of God’s kingdom during our lifetimes. Instead, we may ask, how do we follow Jesus to the margins now? How do we return gentleness to the merciful, provide food to the hungry, and offer space for those mourning, persecuted, and disenfranchised?

As we go about wrestling with and answering those questions, may we remember the difference between empathy and pity. May we approach those who are struggling with a sense of their full humanity rather than out of toxic, savioristic charity which seeks to advance our own egos.

True allyship begins with listening to what is needed rather than believing that those in power can properly name it out of pure instinct without relationship.

For as it says in our Micah text for today... what else does the LORD require of you than to heed this instruction, to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with God... this God being. a God of love and relationship and liberation and wholeness, and who is among us right here and now, holding us in love which is expansive in ways we cannot fathom?

The LGBTQ2IA+ community has been told the, often false ,narrative that things will get better, that progress is always coming, and that all we have to do is wait. Though the general pattern for those in same-gender partnerships has come generally into further acceptance, trans and nonbinary persons, especially youth, are at this time in history facing some of the most harmful, aggressive, and targeted legislation our country has ever seen. This legislation disproportionately affects black and brown people, those with disabilities, and so many other intersections of queerness and other marginalized and stigmatized identities.

While an understanding of sexuality has come a long way, our country and many others’ understanding of gender has far to go. It is certainly NOT getting better. In many ways, the world is becoming more dangerous for queer folks just as it is becoming more aware of their existence.

In this mixed climate of progress and devastation for the queer community, then, we must find ways to continue to dream of allyship and advocacy which focuses on the present rather than forcing patience from people being harmed.

Twisting a narrative of coming goodness into a reason for passivity is counter to what Jesus proclaims in the beatitudes.

I’m sure some of you can imagine, and others of us maybe do not have to imagine, that it is easy for folks in this community to get bogged down and become fearful. So, all the more, resistance often looks like naming queer joy as holy and crucial even as the world looks and acts this way towards us. Safe spaces are essential. And there IS joy in our lives as and with members of this community.

Queer joy finds us in the strangest of ways, and echoes through a crowd beyond just those in the community: seeing symbols which affirm that siblings and allies are near is comforting, hearing pronouns proclaimed and respected feels like liberation, representation of our stories in ways that do not over-tokenize us feels like abundance, and for many, communion with churches which celebrate proudly days just like this one is a holy homecoming that is often not expected.

The kingdom of heaven is near, and proclaims that there IS mercy, there IS abundance, there IS comfort, and there IS nourishment... Now. We are invited in. This work is happening. This work is ours. This joy is ours. The spirit is in it. The spirit is with us.

The life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ is queer in and of itself... life and death are not fixed binaries for Jesus, and so, through this queering, neither are life and death for us.

Suffering and joy can coexist, life and death can coexist, and naming both, allowing both, is a very Lutheran, very queer both/and, indeed, which we are welcomed into with our full humanity, laid out before God.

This framework is an invitation to creativity, imagination, and seeing one another in wholeness. Blessings be with us all as we further recognize imago dei, the image of God, in the complexities of our shared humanity.

Thanks be to God for that invitation. Happy RIC Sunday, beloveds!