The Preaching Task: Prophet or Pastor

 This week, the role of the preacher in American society has become a topic of conversation.  It's not that I don't think about this.  As a preacher in a congregation, I think about this all the time.  Every Sunday.  Actually, every Monday when I start thinking about next Sunday and the work I will attempt to do to convey a message to the people in my church.  I also think about the fact that I mostly preach to the choir, as they say. The people who come are the people who come.  I do not see guests every week.  I often wonder if my preaching has something to do with that. No one is inviting anyone to come and hear the Word here. But that's the ego talking.  There is a more pressing situation, though.  At the present moment, the voices of those who are  proclaiming violence, discrimination, fear, and exclusion are loud and boastful and arrogant and rude. They are emboldened by the election results.  Right now, a lot is happening that is causing fear and even panic. The inauguration and the executive activity this week provokes response.  So, do we give one or not? And to whom are we responding?  I don't have millions of followers or a popular podcast. It makes me wonder if what I say, which is what I do, matters?       

On Tuesday, the Bishop of the Episcopal diocese of Washington DC, preached a message at the inauguration prayer service, in which she implored the President to show mercy to particular people: people who identify with the LGBTQ+ community and immigrants, especially undocumented people who live and work here, whose children are citizens who go to school here. She asked him to be merciful and to create safety and possibility for people who seek asylum from violence and poverty.  It was a bold public message directed to the President of the United States.  In the tradition of Moses to Pharaoh, Nathan to David, Elijah to Ahab, Jesus to Pilate, Paul to Caesar,  Bishop Budde spoke the gospel to the president. He didn't like it very much.  She may become a target of his ire.  He may endanger her life. She counted the cost of her speech and her silence and choose to use her office as Bishop and preacher to appeal for mercy. I think that is the role of the preacher in society today.  To know the gospel is good news for those who suffer and to find a way to announce it publicly, which carries risk.  But, how do we preach publicly? I don't think congregations most congregations are public institutions.  They are mostly perceived as private religious social clubs for members.  I have been asked if someone could bring their extended family to Sunday morning worship, if they are not members. Consider your own faith community. How "public" is it? And, who does the gospel comfort and confront every week?  Are any leaders with power addressed?  Who is listening? This begs a larger question: 

How do any of us get heard?  How do those of us with the role of preacher address these very real, concrete public matters?  Do we avoid the partisan divides and any topic related?  Do we avoid naming names or calling anyone out?  Do we avoid ethics altogether, because of diverse opinions? What is the cost?  If we are not making meaning, wrestling with the truth of these matters, what happens?  Who is making meaning?  But, if we tell the truth, won't we create uncomfortable tension in our congregations?  How do we walk the tight rope of the prophetic and pastoral way?  I suspect most pastors prefer a non-confrontational, comforting path, that keeps and protects the "flock", the gathered community.  Take the path of least resistance.  Others, I think feel compelled to the prophetic task of demanding justice and righteousness. But they are concerned about members of their congregations who would take offense.  What about God's word, God's justice offends?  Is it offensive to summon people to love their neighbor?  Perhaps, when the neighbor is someone I have perceived as foreigner, other, unacceptable, prejudically unworthy.  

I wonder what role race has played in the development of preaching? Is Black preaching more prophetic, more confrontational, more political?  Are white preachers more likely to avoid stirring up conflict  or creating tension because we benefit from the world as it is?  As a white person I have to take seriously how race affects me.  What have I internalized? I think the sense of powerlessness I feel in the current social landscape is an indication. Silence and avoidance are essential practices of those who are taught not to disrupt the present systems and structures that create conditions of suffering and death. I have been taught to play it safe, to be nice, to avoid criticism.  But, what is the cost?           

I guess when I think about it, what's at stake for me in the preaching office is my vocational identity as a called and ordained minister of Word and Sacrament in my faith tradition, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.  I want to be faithful, humble, and wise.  I want to announce the gospel, the good news of God revealed in Christ. And, I believe this calling extends beyond my congregation. This news is for everyone.  For all people. For the neighbor. For the nations. I have a responsibility to speak.  It is the yoke, and why preachers where a stole as a symbol of that yoke. There are times and seasons and moments when it has been clear to me that I need to take a risk and speak a word of uncomfortable truth.  I had to preach compassion, forgiveness, and awareness of unconscious bias after 9/11.  I've has to preach against white supremacy and systemic racism and police brutality and sexual harassment, and gender discrimination. I've had to preach against war and against environmental destruction.  I've had to preach against anti-immigrant rhetoric and propaganda curated to turn neighbor against neighbor. I've had to preach a more excellent way, a bigger table, a generous kinship, a hopeful newness. I have to preach a death and resurrection story.  It is a story that is better, a word that is worth repeating again and again.           

It is an inclusive Word of forgiveness, mercy, and welcome.  It is a word of universal religion-less love that transcends our perpetual tribalism.  This news declares all human beings, every living thing as sacred and imbued with the life and breath of God. This news is a liberating word of salvation that demands the oppressed go free. It is not merely a word of comfort to the individual soul.  It is also a word of corporate and national repentance, that is a word that is meant to transform us, challenge and change us, form us into a particular people. Jesus Christ has become that Word, the embodiment of divine love, truth, fidelity.  It is, therefore, a political word because it has to do with the ways we organize and govern ourselves as human communities and as nations.  It is anti-imperial and agricultural.  This Word is committed to a particular food ethics related to physical and social well being. Everyone is welcome at the table. Physical touch, healing, restorative practices, listening, eating, celebrating, resting, praying, walking, inviting, and following are anticipated actions that naturally emerge from the principle of love that is the heart, mind, body, and soul of this message.  

This weekend, I am not preaching in my congregation.  If I were, I would say only this:  Jesus of Nazareth preached a message of solidarity with the poor and the oppressed and he was chased out of the synagogue, conspired against by forces of power, and executed on a Roman cross outside of the city of Jerusalem as an anti-imperial, seditious rebel.  It is no surprise that the reorienting message of merciful justice created tension in Washington. Real lives are at stake and the rulers are indifferent at best, and violently antogonistic at worst. Preachers, who exercise courage this weekend, have to consider the costs: the costs if they do tell the truth and the cost if they don't. The cost if they name aloud what people are thinking and feeling right now about American politics.  The cost of insisting that the church's role includes advocacy for and solidarity with the poor.  The cost of entering the public square to announce Jubilee justice, the promise of debt forgiveness and economic equality.  The cost of telling elected officials that they have a moral responsibility to lead with compassion and humility, to use their power for the common good of all, and to exercise wisdom and good judgment when decisions effect peoples' lives.