Proper 11, Year B
TEXT: Ephesians 2:11-22
So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling-place for God. (Ephesians 2:19-22)
There is a story that comes out of Poland from many years back. From the Second World War, in fact—at a time when the nation was, by and large, still devoutly religious.
In a particular village there was a man who was well known for his compassion toward others, and who was deeply loved because of it. He was not a particularly wealthy man, nor was he a native of the village, nor did he attend the local church. He was not even baptized. Yet, within this place that he had adopted as his home, he was known for his friendliness and good works. If a stranger came to the village and needed a place to stay, this man would offer a cot in his small house. If a family ran out of food, he was among the first to offer a loaf of bread or some flour from his own meagre supplies. If someone was in trouble with the authorities, or if the Germans (or, later, the Russians), were performing a sweep of the village to collect up the young men for imprisonment, or to conscript them into the army (or worse), he would help conceal the prospective victims. He was loved very much by the villagers on account of all these things and many more.
Eventually, the man died. The grieving villagers prepared his body for burial and proceeded to the church where they asked the priest to conduct a funeral service and to bury the man in the church cemetery.
The priest, who knew and loved the man as much as they did, told them that he would gladly conduct the funeral service, but that he could not bury an unbaptized person inside the church cemetery.
“I cannot bury him in our cemetery,” the priest explained. “It is hallowed ground. He must go where those who are not baptized are buried. Those are the rules of the church and I cannot change them.”
The villagers appealed even more earnestly to the priest, saying that the man was a good person and surely loved by God as much as any of the baptized, perhaps even more on account of all the good that he had done. The priest agreed with them regarding the virtues of the man, but sadly insisted that the rules of the faith were clear and could not be broken. Then he came up with a compromise.
“In recognition of your love for him, and of his love for all of God’s people in this village,” he said, “I will bury him on church land, near to those who have gone before him—those whom he has loved. But it will have to be beyond the fence that surrounds the consecrated ground of our cemetery.”
And so, on the appointed day a grave was prepared just outside the fence that surrounded the church cemetery, and the body of the man was processed by all the villagers to the site where the priest conducted the ceremony. Then the grave was filled in and a headstone was set in place.
Sometime during the night, a remarkable thing happened—something that became apparent when the priest arrived at the church the next morning. The fence that surrounded the cemetery had been moved so that it now took in the grave in which the man had been buried. Even in death, his friends had found a way to embrace him.
For me, this story captures something of what Jesus was all about; something of what the good news is all about … namely, inclusivity.
As the villagers expanded the fence to include the grave of the one whom they so dearly loved, so God—through Christ Jesus—expands the boundaries of the sacred to include both those whom the ordinances of religion would exclude and those whom the ways of this world would exclude.
Robert Frost once wrote, “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.” That’s good news for us, isn’t it? Because we live in a world of walls. Dividing walls are everywhere we look. Barricades. Checkpoints. Border walls. Prison walls. Cultures. Religions. Ideologies.
Consider our everyday language. How often we call others “those people”, or use the term “they”, and “their kind” in our conversations.
“Those people come over to our country and …”
“They just don’t appreciate hard work …”
“Their kind always have their hand out …”
Who are “they”?
Often, they are the newcomers in our midst. People from another place. People with accents, or who don’t speak our language. People with a different shade of skin, different customs of religion and food, and different ways of being family.
But often, too, “they” don’t come from another country. Perhaps they are indigenous persons. Or descendants of settlers.
Perhaps they live in a different part of town. Perhaps they have no home to live in at all. Perhaps they are the addicted ones. Or have a mental illness. Perhaps they are minimum-wage earners who must choose between groceries or rent.
Whoever “they” are, they are different than us. Perhaps they are members of the 2SLGBTQI+ community. Perhaps they are conservatives or liberals. Catholics or fundamentalists. Oilfield workers or environmentalists. Animal rights activists or rodeo cowboys. Boomers. Millennials. Generation Z.
Perhaps they are naturists. Or perhaps they think “casual” means loosening one’s tie when the weather is hot.
The walls that we erect take many forms. Some pertain to our culture. Some to our way of life and of earning a living. Some are related to what we believe to be true about God or about Jesus.
We persist in building walls to keep away those who don’t share our understanding, who refuse to do things “our way.”
I think that’s why the Christian religion has so many denominations. I believe that’s the reason Jesus cried out when he looked upon Jerusalem, saying, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you, desolate” (Matt 23:37-38).
Consider today’s epistle reading. We are all in need of the reconciliation spoken of by the apostle Paul. We are all in need of a fresh look at just who we are in the eyes of God, and where we fit into the family of God. The key message in the entire letter to the Ephesians—the very heart of the epistle—comes from a section that speaks of the benefits offered to both Gentiles and Jews through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ:
For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us. He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, so that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it. So he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near; for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father. (Eph. 2:14-18)
Here, Paul alludes to a prophecy from Isaiah (57:18-19). The prophet says that God notices that his faithless people are suffering from their infidelities, that they are exhausted from their rebelliousness against him. God saw their ways (Is. 57:18) and withdrew from them, but now has mercy on them.
“Peace, peace to the far off and to the near,” the prophet declares.
God, through the prophet, was addressing the Jews in exile (the “far off”). But Paul applies the image to gentiles who have accepted the gospel message. Just as blood sacrifice reconciled the Jewish community in covenant to God, so the blood of Christ has reconciled us to each other and to God, building us into one spiritual house wherein God may dwell.
The rituals and regulations of the Law that were given as a covenant with the people of Israel are by no means cancelled for them. But they no longer separate “the chosen” from the unchosen.
In Christ Jesus, all are made one—Jews and Gentiles alike. For, through Christ, all have access to the Father by one Spirit. The barriers of hostility, the walls of division, are broken down. God has seen our human condition and come to our aid in Christ, in whom God has made “one new humanity in place of the two.” A new creation has occurred. A new people of God has been made from those who formerly were enemies.
Race, gender, culture, biblical knowledge, political stance, heritage … these have no part in our salvation, for all are chosen by God and all are loved by him. God longs to gather all people together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and in Christ God has acted to do so.
That, my friends, is why the good news is good news.