Swords into plowshares

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Clare L. Hickman

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Ferndale

November 30, 2019—Advent 1A

Isaiah 2:1-5; Matthew 24:36-44

 

           Following that clarion call from Isaiah, Christian theologian Jim Limburg once said that the joyful sound of Christmas in the culture might be jingle-bells, but the joyful sound of Advent in the Bible is the ringing of hammer on anvil, as swords are beaten into plowshares.[i]

          Swords beaten into plowshares. Imagine that! Instruments of death transformed into tools for sustenance and life. Now THAT’s good news! That’s something that promises all kinds of salvation to people across the earth. People who live in fear. People who have been enslaved. People who wonder how they can protect their children, how they can feed their children, how they can give their children any kind of future.

          In God’s world, swords would be beaten into plowshares. If we followed God’s dreams, we would do everything we possibly could to put more focus on feeding ourselves (by which I mean everyone in the community, everyone in the country, everyone on the planet) than arming ourselves.

In God’s world, that is, we would be free to cast aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.

Now, a word about darkness. Darkness, I must say, is not always a bad thing. After all, the darkness of night is where so many of us rest and recuperate, finding time to sleep and recharge for the work of the next day. And the darkness of the womb is where life takes root and grows; the darkness of earth is where life germinates and gets ready to burst forth.

Darkness is not synonymous with scary and evil. But because we also cannot see well in the dark, and that makes us fear the unknown … and because the dark of winter also brings cold and deprivation while everything is germinating… because of that, when Paul speaks of the works of darkness, he is speaking of all the things that divide and destroy us. He speaks of violence; and he speaks of the fear, ignorance and despair that lead so often to violence. All these are instruments of death. All these have no place in God’s kingdom, until they have been hammered into means of sustenance and life.

          The swords aren’t just a metaphor though. In God’s world, protection doesn’t come from arming yourself … it comes from doing whatever possible to persuade everyone to beat their swords into plowshares. It’s rooted in a focus on sustenance and shared prosperity. So that fewer people hunger. So that there is less need, less fear, less suffering, less desperation.

Which sounds great, but it comes with serious vulnerability. What happens when we experience a legitimate threat? What happens when a weapon is the most logical, fairest, perhaps even the safest way to respond? In those moments, how do we take our faith seriously? If we listen for the voice of God, what do we hear? What if it is this passage of Isaiah? Or Jesus challenging us to love our enemies  … or telling Peter to put down his sword when the soldiers come to arrest him … or if we think of him on the cross, having submitted to terrible pain and death rather than allow his followers to take up arms and return violence for violence … does that change things?

No-one ever said that being a Christian would be easy. That it wouldn’t come into conflict with the values of your family, your community, your country. That it would never run counter to your own instinct for self-preservation.

Okay, lots of preachers never say that. It’s easier to soft pedal, and let people coast along and not need to wrestle with any contradiction there might be between the teachings of Jesus and the values of their world. Problem is, that just lets folks keep living in semi-darkness. Which means they may not have to struggle, but they also don’t get clothed in that armor of light.

It’s like being in a relationship, and there’s a problem that you just don’t want to talk about. You know it will be awkward; you’re guessing it will cause pain to the other person; you’re afraid they will be angry with you. And so you let it drag on, avoiding the disruption and work of dealing with it, but suffering the half-life that brings about.

But if you would actually face into it, and be willing to take the risk and shoulder the difficulties that might come in the short term, there are such incredible gains to be had in the longer term!

Our faith life should be like that. We have to be willing to engage scripture, to welcome Jesus, and be ready for the conflict that might bring with the way we are living our lives. Because man oh man, most of us are hip deep in the works of darkness! And yeah, we sort of want to cast them away, but we sort of don’t want to either.

Like Lent, Advent is a great time to think about which parts of your life you want to invite Jesus into more deeply. Or perhaps there are parts of your life you’ve shut Jesus out of completely. Maybe because you’re ashamed. Or afraid. Or because you think (hope, insist) that this particular thing is none of his business.

The good news is, the challenging news is, it’s ALL his business. Every last bit of you and your life. And he wants to transform all of the dangerous, destructive parts into things that bring forth life instead.

When you have been hurt so badly, he will hold you while you cry and listen to you while you rage, but then breathe forgiveness into you so powerfully that it clears away the poison of revenge.

When you disagree with someone, he will tell you stories of clashes he had with the authorities, and teach you ways to continue the conversation so they might hear what you say … and you might hear what they say … and wisdom will increase. Miracle of miracles, LOVE might just increase.

And when you are afraid, when you face the unknown, when you perceive a threat to yourself or your way of life, he will lead you to the Garden of Gethsemane, and he will pray with you as you pour out the depths of your soul. And you will be united to him in your fear and desperation, but then you will also be united to the courage he reached in that Garden, when he wept and prayed and faced his death. That courage will lift you up, and it will carry you forth into God’s world.

In your darkest days, Jesus is there, longing to fill you with the kind of power that generates hope in the midst of despair. Longing to fill us with the courage, the clear-sightedness, and the radical love that will risk absolutely everything to bridge the divisions that so often lead to destruction. That’s the presence of Christ that unites and sustains us. That is the armor of light. And that is the new outfit that might just be under your tree this Christmas. May it be so, Amen.

 


[i] Sermon Brainwave podcast, #693, “First Sunday of Advent” posted November 23, 2019.

Clare Hickman