What If God was One of Us? Preached for Wollaston Congregational Church On December 20th, 2020 Scripture: John 1:1-18 Some years ago … I know, I begin so many of my stories this way …. I was a student intern in a church. And in this church, my responsibility was the leadership of the small youth group. And, you know the story, you’ve heard it before … the youth were not so happy about this situation because their beloved leader, Rev. Jess, had been taken away from them. Rev. Jess had been diagnosed with very serious cancer and had to resign her from her position abruptly. Both the Rev and her son, Josh, who was a mainstay of the youth group, had gone. And with Josh gone, Josh’s best friend had also left. And so, this little youth group was decimated and disappointed in this student pastor who was supposed to figure out a way for them to grieve the loss of Rev. Jess and Josh. The youth didn’t say much about the situation, but their facial expressions and apathy told the story. This is a stage in life where young people are already questioning the assumptions of their childhood faith. One of the boys, Jonny, had reached a conclusion: God does not exist. God had not saved his aunt, who had died the previous year. And now God was not saving Rev. Jess. His response, when I invited the youth to write down their prayers on slips of paper, was to submit blank slip of paper. Jonny had nothing to say to God. Atheism was he refuge. Jonny was silent in a way that only a teenaged boy can be silent. His parents were worried about him. His mom who helped out with the youth group tried to push him to participate more. But still he said nothing, silently communicating – loud and clear – that so long as my questions presupposed the existence of God he had nothing to say. Until one day, I played a popular song for the group, I’m sure you’ve heard it … What if God was One of Us by Joan Osborne. “What if God was one of us? Just a slob like one of us Just a stranger on the bus Tryin' to make his way home?…” (Joan Osborne) When the song was over I asked the group … what do you think? How would you respond to the question: What if God was one of us, just a stranger on the bus? “No!” Jonny spoke! I tried to hide my surprise. “What do you mean, Jonny, why not?” “No!” he repeated “God can’t be one of us … God is separate. God is different. It just can’t be another person, certainly not a slobby person on a bus. That just isn’t right.” Jonny, the atheist, had discovered the scandal of the incarnation. And this is how the gospel of John begins. We call John’s origin story “the prologue.” This poetic book, quite different from the other gospels is not a narrative telling of Jesus of Nazareth’s life. It is a reflection of Jesus the Christ, now ascended to the Father. The one whom Fr. Richard Rohr calls “The Universal Christ.” This gospel is full of signs and symbols. And John begins with the scandal of the incarnation. “The Word became flesh.” Word. The Word had been with the Godhead since the beginning. The Word was how the world had been spoken into being. And now the Word was the one thing the Godhead wanted to say to humanity. This is how the Word came to us. The Word became flesh, and moved (as Eugene Peterson says in the Message translation) into the neighborhood. The high and holy being who had ushered in the entire cosmos, became contained in an infant. And with that flesh, the Word had become a person who could hurt, who could feel hunger and thirst, who could grieve and despair, who could stink. The Word had become a person who could fall in love, write a symphony, invent a vaccine, perform a transformative dance, grow a garden, or tend to and care for others. And the Word had become a person who could hate, kill, cheat and lie. The Word had become a person who could feel jealousy and pain, a person who could respond to others with kindness or indifference. And with all these attributes of being human, the Word could also experience what it meant to belong to the entire body of humanity. And by being in the flesh, the Word could know what it meant to feel the pain of any one part of that body as though it was his own. And so, it’s not surprising that Jonny said “No!” I think most of us, if we are honest, want to say “no!” too. Because, to embrace God as one of us, a stranger on the bus, would sometimes just hurt much too much. Enter “Sweet honey in the Rock.” Dr. Bernice Johnson Reagon was the lead singer and founder member of Sweet Honey. Her voice is mellifluous. One artist who worked with the group describes the “color of her voice” as “snow on a peach.” Reagon was the daughter of a Baptist minister, and like so many Africa American musicians she learned to sing in church. She was a founding member of the Freedom Singers, who brought music to the non-violent student civil rights movement (SNCC). At mass meetings, the singing was done in a congregational style. She says “There weren’t soloists; there were song leaders.” Song leaders began a song, but “the minute you started… the song was expanded by the voices of everyone present.” The effect was powerful and empowering. [1] In an interview with NPR, Reagon said she knew that “gospel hymns were going to be a strong foundation for the civil rights movement's many freedom songs, because most of the black activists already knew them and it was quick and easy to replace the word ‘Jesus’ with ‘freedom.’” [2] According to the movie, “Sweet Honey in the Rock: Raise Your Voice”, attending a Sweet Honey concert is an experience. The group includes a sign language interpreter, because they believe that deaf people should be able to enjoy their music too. The interpreter’s job is a little complicated, because much of the music the group sings is without words. Beat bops, hums and harmonies. The interpreter moves her hands, arms and body to express what the music is saying. During concerts the house lights are not dimmed. Reagon wants to see her audience, to talk with them. They travel the United States, drawing audiences whom they teach to sing songs of freedom for all humanity. Sweet Honey in the Rock concerts are not performances, they are events of communal singing. You are not allowed to hide in the back, or stand still while others are dancing and moving with the beat. The rhythms and melodies are infectious. Members of the audience are taught the harmonies, they are given their parts. They are expected to move their bodies. The Sweet Honey singers do not only sing with their voices, they sing with their whole selves. The music is a product of their bodies, the sound comes from deep within, and their hands, arms- legs, faces, heads - move with the rhythms and the beat. Sweet Honey in the Rock reminds us that music inhabits our bodies. And music binds our bodies as one. Their goal is to connect the audience with the music, viscerally, and so to connect them with one another. And having connected them with one another, it connects them all with the truths the women sing. A most poignant case is Ella’s Song: “We Who Believe in Freedom …” The women take the words of civil rights activist Ella Baker to make their song “We who believe in freedom cannot rest until it comes We who believe in freedom cannot rest until it comes Until the killing of black men, black mother’s sons Is as important as the killing of white men, white mother’s sons.” [3] The singers hone in on the scandal of incarnation. They sing with their bodies, they sing about bodies, specific bodies: black bodies, white bodies, all colors of bodies. During the movie, one of the Sweet Honey singers watches on as her son prepares for his Prom. He is a handsome boy and she reflects on the fact that he was only four when she started out with the band. She says that she worries about him, as a young black man. What assumptions will be made about him by police and others? And at the same time she knows she needs to let him go. This is so hard. Sweet Honey in the Rock hold me accountable, me, the mother of a white son. They call me to recognize that when one body hurts we all hurt. I do not have to worry very much about my white son’s body. He can come and go freely. When he gets into a fix the police will believe his story. He can go for a drive, a hike, a run, without fearing for his life. This is not so, for the sons of my black sisters. And so the question is, how can I rest, while black mothers do not enjoy the freedom from worry that I enjoy? How can we rest, when any time, any day, God could be any one of us. And so we recall, the Word became flesh. He moved into the neighborhood: my neighborhood, your neighborhood, a black neighborhood, an immigrant neighborhood. What if God was one of us, just a stranger on the bus, just trying to make his way home? May all God’s people say, Amen [1] https://snccdigital.org/inside-sncc/sncc-national-office/freedom-singers/ [2] https://www.npr.org/2018/01/16/577690049/we-who-believe-in-freedom-shall-not-rest [3] https://www.childrensdefense.org/child-watch-columns/health/2014/ella-baker-my-civil-rights-generations-fundi/ Until the killing of Black men, Black mothers’ sons, becomes as important to the rest of the country as the killing of a White mother’s son—we who believe in freedom cannot rest until this happens. –Ella Baker
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