Sermon - God and Caesar - Religion and Politics

     As we celebrate the life and vision of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., I am reminded of the story of two old codgers who set out on a hunting trip in the forests surrounding Moose Lake in Maine. As the pilot of the small seaplane let them off on the lakeshore, he reminded them, "Like I said: I'll be back in three days. But remember, this is a small plane. There's room for the two of you and one moose." When, three days later, the pilot returned and taxied to the shore, he was irritated to see between the two old codgers standing there with their rifles, not one but two moose, and huge ones at that. "Look," the pilot said, "I told you, the two of you and ONE moose." The old timers looked at each other in surprise and said, "Funny, the fellah last year didn't complain." The fear of this competition proving greater than all others, the pilot relented. And he grumbled as he helped the old codgers pile both moose into the little plane. The two old timers lay on top of them. The plane took forever to get off the lake. As it sputtered up, it barely cleared the trees on the far shore, and about a quarter of a mile further on, clipped a high pine and crashed, sending pieces of its wings and moose antlers in all directions. It was a horrible mess. Finally one of the old codgers came to, pulled his head out of the moss, spied his companion a short distance away and yelled, "Where are we?" His companion answered, "Oh, about a hundred yards farther than last year."

     Back in the day when the Civil Rights movement was gaining momentum, freedom riders traversed barriers of segregation in public transportation, poor people marched on Washington, Civil Rights and voting rights legislation passed overwhelmingly. The future seemed bright as segregation in public education was outlawed. Progress seemed inevitable. We finally stood on the borders of the Promised Land. But some forty years, later it's fair to ask, "How far have we really come? A hundred yards farther? A hundred miles farther?" However far we have come, we have not yet overcome.

     Last September Hurricane Katrina washed away the veneer of equality, reminding us that of the 37 million Americans living in poverty, a disproportionate 25% are African American. One in every five children lives below the poverty line. Martin Luther King warned against the giant triplets of militarism, racism and materialism. How far have we really come?

     He appeared before us as a preacher, a prophet, a trumpet of conscience sounding a wake-up call. A voice in the wilderness, his words resounded with authority from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, "I have a dream today." Several months after invoking the legacy of Lincoln, he was invited to witness President Johnson sign the Civil Rights Act. In no time he was invited back to the White House to witness President Johnson sign the Voting Rights Act. Under Martin Luther King's leadership, we as a people made real progress in Civil Rights. He bequeathed us an inheritance of morality rooted in justice, of social change rooted in nonviolence. But however far we have come, there can be no denying that the activism of Martin Luther King and the Civil Rights movement - the success of it - was in no small part a result of the commingling of religion with politics. Again, today, morality, religion and politics are back in the news as we have seen the Christian Right preparing its own recipe. They are dishing out a leaner, meaner cuisine. The Civil Rights movement was all about expanding rights and increasing freedom. Today, religion in politics seeks to limit rights and restrict freedom. Whether it's a woman's right to choose, same sex marriage, the imposition of Christian symbols and scriptures on public life, or working to fill the judiciary with socially conservative judges, the Christian Right seeks to limit rather than expand human rights.

     Martin Luther King stood up to the partisan politics of his day and said, "You haven't gone far enough." Leaders of the Christian Right stand up today and say, "You have gone too far." Here we have two recent but very different examples of what can happen when religion and politics mix it up.

     Earlier, we listened to the story Jesus's opponents who tried to trick him by asking a question about the relation between religion and politics. They figured that no matter how Jesus answered the question, he'd end up in hot water. One of them, trying to butter him up, said, "We know that you truly teach the way of God. But we were wondering, is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar, or not?" Jesus answered, "Why are you testing me? Bring me a coin, and let me look at it." And he said, "So whose image and inscription is this?" "Of course it's Caesars," they answered. "Then render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God, the things that are God's." This was the perfect answer. It got him off the hook for a while longer.

     This story is particularly relevant to Lake Street Church because some of us believe that God and Caesar or spirituality and politics should remain forever separate. After all, the doctrine of separation of church and state means just what it says.

     It's true. The law clearly prohibits religious organizations from supporting or opposing a political candidate or political party. Woven into our cultural identity is the separation of God and Caesar, religion and politics, church and state. And this is as it should be. But there are different kinds of politics. There is, for example, a difference between partisan politics and the politics of conscience. When Martin Luther King led the march from Selma to Montgomery--when he spoke out for freedom--when he led the Poor People's march on Washington--when he spoke out against the Vietnam War, he was acting out of a politics of conscience.

     It's certainly true that one can argue the Christian Right also acts out of a politics of conscience. I would suggest otherwise. Whereas the politics of conscience is about connection and compassion, the Christian Right through its politics seeks to impose on all its own version of Biblical theory. The politics of conscience is never the politics of coercion. This being said, both fail. Lacking a grasp of the politics of conscience applies to the Right and the Left.

     There are a lot of people on the Left and Right who believe they are acting out of conscience when what they are really doing is being contentious. The Right is more identified with the Republican Party, the Left more identified with Democrats - but both political parties are beholden to interests that are invested in maintaining the status quo. Both political parties seek power and wealth and want more then anything to hold onto it. But a politics of conscience seeks not power, but truth. It seeks the wealth of compassion and the only demand it makes is that every living being is treated as holy. It requires humility, openness and a willingness to admit that you may be wrong. A politics of conscience cherishes the creation, serves the poor, is rooted in nonviolence and seeks compassion for all. There is a saying in the Sikh religion, "If you can't see God in all, then you can't see God at all." A politics of conscience is the politics of the heart. As Vaclav Havel put it, "Nothing has convinced me that doing what our hearts tell us to do is not the best politics of all."

     It interests me that whether it's the Christian Right of Jerry Falwell or the Christian Left of Jim Wallis, Christians in this culture justify their positions based on what the Bible says. The Bible has a place. But the Bible is not God. Rather than taking positions based on what the Bible says, a politics of conscience takes positions based upon what the heart is saying. A politics of conscience requires the willingness to wrestle with ourselves--to wrestle with God. It's not about knowing what's right or wrong and jamming it down someone's throat. It is the struggle to seek within ourselves that place of deep connection to all of life. It's about finding the connection we already have and opening up in compassion - especially for our enemies.

     On a fairly regular basis someone will come up to me and say, "Lake Street Church should take a stand on this or that issue." It's true sometimes it's important for a church or a spiritual community to take a stand on some issue.

     In the 1930s, as Hitler was consolidating his power in Germany, most Christian churches remained silent out of either fear or apathy. Only a handful of churches, known as the confessing church, stood up in defiance to Hitler. And many in the confessing church paid the price for standing up. But most German Christians remained silent.

     Those in the confessing church believed that silence in the face of Nazism was a betrayal of conscience. It's true, sometimes silence is a betrayal of the heart. On the other hand, sometimes silence is the work of the heart. A politics of conscience is not a program or an ideology. To seek the way of the heart requires the courage to live with uncertainty and ambiguity.

     The night before he was assassinated, Martin Luther King said, "It's nice to live a long life, longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will." Open to the action of the heart, the politics of conscience is rooted in the unquenchable desire to do God's will. No one can ever be 100% certain they are doing God's will. No one. God's will is not a product but a process. It's not an answer. It's a question. I reckon that on some days we do God's will and on other days we don't. But beware of those who tell you they are doing God's will. Beware of those who tell you they know the answer, that they know God's will. In my experience, God often appears as a question.

     Several weeks back, a man and a woman entered the church office. They needed shelter but Hilda's Place was full. They had been referred to another shelter in Chicago but they had no way to get there. They needed food. They needed transportation. We don't have funds for such people. As I stood before them I tried to find something appropriate, something compassionate and caring to say to them. I didn't have an answer. And the question hit me once again, "What does it mean to do God's will?" I don't have a good answer. The only answer available to us is that to do God's will means I must be willing to wrestle with myself.

     I am convinced people often use scriptures not to know God but to defend against God. It's easier to deal with God in our heads than in our hearts. It's easy to dismiss the God in our heads - to say God is an idea. But when the heart opens and we feel connected it doesn't matter what we call it. I call it God. Maybe to do the will of God is not about doing the right thing but about the willingness to struggle within ourselves in order to get ourselves out of the way. And this I believe is what Martin Luther King was talking about when he said, "I just want to do God's will." I just want to get out of the way. Herein lies the essence of the politics of conscience.

     We can change the world only if we are willing to change ourselves. Asked to comment on Jesus's saying, "Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's and unto God the things which are God's," Dorothy Day, the founder of the Catholic Workers movement replied, "If we were to render unto God all the things which are God's, there would be nothing left for Caesar." Perhaps the real question is not about mixing religion and politics but what kind of religion and what kind of politics. And maybe the only right answer is to continue asking the question.

Blessed be