Sermon by:
The Rev. Pamela Dolan
“Here and Now: A Moment that Matters“
A Sermon for All Saints’ Sunday
Nov 3, 2024
In an introduction to the book All We Can Save: Truth, Courage, and Solutions for the Climate Crisis, Ayana Elizabeth Johnson wrote, “It is a magnificent thing to be alive in a moment that matters so much.”[i]
I have to tell you, I sat with this sentence for a long time. Really? Does she mean this time, right now? This time when we are living through multiple potentially existential crises, from the accelerating climate emergency, to the unraveling of institutions that have been the foundation of our society, to an escalating war in the Middle East and desperate humanitarian tragedies unfolding before our eyes in Gaza and Sudan? I couldn’t decide if it was privilege or cluelessness that would lead someone to say that this time, right now, is a magnificent time to be alive. But I knew this writer to be neither clueless nor blinded by privilege, so I tried to think of what truth I could find in these words.
And then I stepped back a little and asked myself, when would it have been a better time to be alive? As a woman, I could hardly have chosen a more opportune moment to be born than the second half of the twentieth century. I have had access to some of the best educational institutions in the world and gained entrance into a profession that was exclusively the domain of men not too long ago. I have never wanted for food, or clean water, or a roof over my head and I have benefited immensely from modern medicine. There is no question that, looked at in historical terms, I have led a life of extraordinary privilege, as have most of us in this room, and yet, I still instinctively recoiled from calling this a “magnificent time” to be alive.
And then I stepped back a little more, gaining a bit more distance from my worries and anxieties, and I decided to spend some time thinking about the communion of saints, that great cloud of witnesses. And I realized that every single saint whose example I most admire lived in a time of crisis and every single one of them, with God’s help, rose to the occasion and met the moment with wisdom and courage. I’ll share just a few examples:
In the Middle Ages, when the Catholic Church was the center of earthly power and was increasingly corrupt, decadent, and oppressive, a friar named Francis devoted his life to reforming that church, rebuilding it spiritually by reminding people of the Gospel values that were its origins. He gave up wealth and a life of ease and embraced voluntary poverty and the simple life, inspiring generations of Christians to consider new and meaningful ways to put our faith into practice, including through the care of creation.
During the 1930’s and Hitler’s rise to power, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor and theologian, became increasingly vocal in speaking out against the growing threat of authoritarianism and a racist ideology that he recognized as antithetical to the Gospel of Christ. He engaged in the resistance movement and was ultimately executed by the Nazis in 1945, just before the end of the war. Bonhoeffer famously said that “Silence in the face of evil is itself evil; God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.” His writings have inspired generations of Christians and others who believe in the ability of people to choose costly discipleship, putting the struggle against hatred and tyranny ahead of their own self-interest.
In my lifetime, Archbishop Oscar Romero stood up to the military government of El Salvador, giving sermons and speeches that named both the victims and the perpetrators of state-sponsored violence. He prophetically said, “I do not believe in death without resurrection. If they kill me, I will rise again in the people of El Salvador.” And that is exactly what happened: on March 23, 1980, he was assassinated while presiding at the Eucharist. And yet his example of joyfully finding God in the poor and fearlessly promoting human dignity for all people continues to animate liberation movements around the world to this very day.
There are many others I could cite, including many women–Teresa of Avila, Dorothy Day, and Pauli Murray, again to name just a few. What these saints have in common is their uncompromising commitment to the truth, a truth they knew to be grounded in Christ, who is truth. They spoke truth to power, whatever the consequences might be. They possessed a boundless compassion for all who were oppressed, whether through violence, or poverty, or social and political marginalization. They were willing to follow Jesus to places where people were suffering and afraid, and to offer hope and liberation. In fact, like Jesus, these saints were unafraid to go even to the grave, if that was where their witness was needed. Their solidarity was expressed both in words and in actions, and it met the specific challenges of the times in which they lived.
If you didn’t hear the sermon preached yesterday by our new Presiding Bishop, Sean Rowe, I commend it to you. In his no-nonsense way, he articulated the idea I am fumbling around up here trying to put into words, the idea that God has put us here, in this place and time, for a reason and with a purpose. Bishop Rowe finds evidence of that purpose in the Lazarus story from today’s Gospel. He pointed out that by showing up at the grave, even four days after the death of his friend, Jesus was proclaiming to all who saw him that God’s kingdom is here, upon us and within us. There is nowhere we can go that God cannot reach us, not even the tomb.
Furthermore, Bishop Rowe pointed out, in this story Jesus gives everyone gathered by that tomb work to do. Jesus asked, no commanded, people to roll away the stone. And that is our work, too. To go where Jesus asks us to go and do what Jesus asks us to do, even if it seems hard or impossible. We all have stones to roll away—stones that settle on our hearts, restricting our ability to love as profoundly and profligately as God created us to love. So Jesus asks us to roll away stones, not from long ago in another place, but the stones that get in our way here and now.
And then, having called his friend out from the grave, Jesus says to the people gathered there, “Unbind him and let him go.”
Unbind him. Oh friends, we have much unbinding to do, as a church and as a country and even as a community. We are bound by fear, by division, by anxiety. We are bound up in ways of being in the world that aren’t working, for us or for our planet. We are bound to old ways of thinking that aren’t going to solve the new problems and challenges we face. And until all of us are unbound from bigotry and prejudice, from racism and homophobia and transphobia, from antisemitism and islamophobia—until every one of us is freed from those chains, then truly none of us is free.
The kingdom of God is here, now. The love of God reaches into our deepest, darkest places, and yearns to set us free. And God, in God’s infinite and mysterious wisdom, wants us to do the work, wants us to be as liberating and loving and life-giving as the saints of God are all called to be.
Which brings us back to that quote about it being a magnificent time to be alive. As a conclusion, I’d like to share a bit more that paragraph with you. And I hope it brings you some sense of resolve and hope for the days ahead, whatever they may hold. Johnson writes,
“Let’s move forward with love, not conquest; humility, not righteousness; generous curiosity, not hardened assumptions.It is a magnificent thing to be alive in a moment that matters so much. Let’s proceed with broken-open hearts, seeking truth, summoning courage, and focused on solutions.” In other words, let’s be like the saints, answering God’s call in our time and in our place, boldly proclaiming the Good News of God’s liberating love through word and example. Amen.
[i] I found this quote first in Brian D. McLaren’s book, Life after Doom: Wisdom and Courage for a World Falling Apart. Some of the themes in this sermon were also inspired by my reading of his book, especially Chapter 18.
