Breaking Down the Walls of Privilege (Tom Trenney)
February 14, 2021
Breaking Down the Walls of Privilege
a sermon by Tom Trenney
inspired by Ephesians 2:14 and Isaiah 11:6-9
The wolf shall live with the lamb,
the leopard shall lie down with the kid,
the calf and the young lion, and the fatling together,
and a little child shall lead them.
I don’t know about you, but it’s hard for me to imagine this kind of peaceable kingdom that Isaiah envisions. For those of you who know me, you will undoubtedly agree with my confession that I’m not exactly an ‘animal person.’ I would struggle to find peace lying down with a dog or cat, let alone a wolf or a lion. If you would have seen me when we spotted a mouse in our house a few months ago, you would understand how ridiculous it is for me to envision any kind of serenity if I spotted a leopard in the living room! Now don’t get me wrong—I have nothing against animals! I’d be fine if the animals all got together and had a peaceable kingdom of their own—assuming there was a “big, beautiful” wall or at least an invisible fence between me and them! It’s hard for me to imagine being part of Isaiah’s vision of this furry, four-legged peaceable kingdom. It's much easier for me to identify with Woody Allen's interpretation of this prophesy, " The lion may well lie down with the lamb, but the lamb won’t get much sleep…”
Literally speaking, I have spent many restless nights anxiously counting mice instead of sheep! And, metaphorically speaking, we all spend many sleepless nights counting the lions and wolves that threaten our picture of peace. We know, each in our own way, what it is like to feel vulnerable to others who have more power or influence or position or wealth or talent than we do. And though there may not have been any actual wolves roaming around the manger, Jesus- -the little child sent to lead us-- was certainly no stranger to being threatened by those who coveted power and influence-- beginning with King Herod on Christmas day and ending with Pontius Pilate on Good Friday.
As much as we’d prefer to think of ourselves as the sweet lambs of this world, if we’re honest, even the most loving, thoughtful, caring, enlightened among us can count the sheep whom we've threatened--often unintentionally-- by our neglect, or our silence, or our selfishness—by abusing whatever privilege we’ve been given-- power, or position, or wealth, or talent. But what is most amazing about God’s peaceable kingdom is that it matters far less whether we are a lion or a lamb. What really matters is the child who leads us. What really matters is that ours is God of the sheep and the wolves. What really matters is that this holy child sees beyond our differences and longs to be our peace. Isaiah’s vision (and God’s dream) is not realized until the wolf and the lamb lie down together; until the wolves no longer hunger and the lambs no longer fear; until we break down the dividing wall and become one.
The challenges of our divided world can seem too big for us. It can feel like we are but one lamb in a wood of wolves. But, my friends, Jesus came to show us how to be a lamb in a wood of wolves. When fear came his way, he kept the faith. When hate came his way, he loved. When the entitled challenged him, he humbled himself. When despair came, he had hope. When a stranger came, he was her friend. The challenges of the world can seem too big for us, and we can start to feel like there is precious little we can do. But, my friends, the little we can do is precious. When Jesus said, “Feed my sheep,” he wasn’t asking powerful politicians and institutions to solve the problems of hunger and homelessness. Jesus was asking us to simply welcome the hungry to sit beside us at our table and to welcome the homeless to rest beside us in our home.
Jesus broke down the religious and cultural walls of his time and welcomed everyone to the table—not just a privileged few. You remember the stories: Jesus sat between the leper and the tax collector, between the prostitute and the zealot, between the fisherman and the wealthy woman, between the Pharisee and the Sadducee. If Jesus were here today, I would imagine we would find him sitting between an undocumented migrant worker and a registered sex offender, between an HIV-positive drug addict and a Syrian refugee, between a corrupt televangelist and an abusive bishop, between an adult film actress and a bigoted politician, between a pregnant teen mother and an alcoholic father, between a Vietnam Veteran and a Holocaust survivor, between a grieving widow and a cheating husband, and between an abandoned child and an abusive parent. If Jesus were here with us today, whom would he see beside us at our table?
My husband and I have recently been certified as foster parents in the state of Nebraska. We are thankful, indeed, to now have the opportunity to help take care of children who might otherwise not have a safe place to call home. As Brent and I attended the classes and heard several case studies about the traumatic situations that lead children to foster care, our hearts would break again and again. We were humbled to realize that, while we can’t, by ourselves, cure hunger and homelessness, we can open our home and share our food to cure the hunger and homelessness of at least one precious, little child for at least one day at a time.
It is worth mentioning how grateful Brent and I are that we are now allowed to help! Remember, it was just a few years ago that there was a ‘big, beautiful’ wall that prevented our marriage from being legally recognized, and that same wall prevented us from opening our home to children in need. We are grateful to be on this planet at a time where this wall has been broken down—not by a radical act of violence or malice by a few bad people, but through countless acts of grace and love by so many good people, including many of you. Thank you!
A few weeks ago we hosted our first three foster children—two four-year-old twin girls and their three-year old brother. We had lots of food we’d hoped they might like to eat. We had many toys we hoped they might like to play with. We had beds made that we hoped would be comfortable for them to rest. We had hope that for this time our house might feel like home to them…
However, even as we looked forward to meeting our new friends, we could not help but think how scared those three must have been: to be driven to a strange neighborhood, to walk up to a door of a house they have never seen before, and to meet people who are complete strangers whom they are immediately asked to and to rely on. Brent and I were the strangers on the other side of what must have seemed like a big and high wall. Though the children were strangers to us, too, Brent and I were the privileged strangers who had the privilege to break down the wall, to open the door, and to set an extra place at the table. Brent and I had never been on their side of that kind of wall; we had not experienced even for a moment a life without an address, a day without food, or a night with no place to lay our head. But, Brent and I had also never fully experienced or understood the extent of our privilege on our side of the wall until we had this opportunity to open our door to those three beautiful children. We had such a wonderful time with them, and we will never forget them.
As an aside, I can’t help but share the first question we were asked after they met us. One of the twins asked us two brand new, first-time foster dads a most poignant and telling question: Where’s the girl that lives here? Though we paled in comparison, we did our best, nonetheless, to help brush their hair, wipe their hands and faces, and make them meals as our mothers had so graciously done for us. After we tucked them in and read bedtime stories and sang them lullabies that first night, Brent and I couldn’t help but have tears in our eyes, thinking of all the days and months and years that had gone by when these three children (and so many others like them) were sleeping on the street or in a car or in a homeless shelter while we had empty beds and extra bathrooms and empty chairs and more food than we could ever need every single night at our dinner table. It wasn’t until those children opened our eyes that we saw, fully, the wall of privilege that we had built around our home—a wall that had been invisible to us on our side. It wasn’t until those six little feet crossed the welcome mat that we realized how long we’d abused our privilege and neglected to break down its wall. We welcomed those first three guests, hoping that for this time our house might feel like home to them…but, what ended up happening was that, for the first time, we experienced our house as a gift from God that we had the privilege to share. I don’t think it was a coincidence that the next morning in worship we sang these words: “No more a stranger or a guest, but like a child at home.”
Our visit with these children made me think about our church’s experience with its visitors. Every Sunday, strangers summon the courage to walk through these doors, crossing over the ‘big, beautiful wall’ that separates our sanctuary from their world. How do we invite them in?—as strangers in our church, as a guest in our church, or as a child at home in their church? We who gather in this congregation each week have come to feel at home here, and though we are strangers to the guests who come into this place, we are the privileged strangers who have already come to know this sanctuary as home and to know these people as family. When we break down the wall and truly welcome the stranger to be a child at home with us here, we will be transformed! We will stop expecting the church to provide what we need and begin to understand the privilege we have to set this holy table for Christ’s hungry, thirsty world. We will begin to understand the privilege we have to open these doors that every person among us may be “no more a stranger or a guest, but like a child at home.”
If Jesus were here today, whom would he see beside us at this table? Well, he would see the descendants of those who were forced to ride in the back of our buses sitting in the pew beside the descendants of those who shoved them to the back of those buses. He would see the descendants of those who have come to our country from foreign lands praying beside the descendants of those whom they persecuted when they arrived here. He would see the descendants of those who would have rejoiced to see Pastor Barb and Pastor Jen and Pastor Jeanne standing in the pulpit beside the descendants of those who argued that no woman should ever have a voice in the church. He would see the descendants of those who argued that marriage is intended only for a man and a woman sharing the sacraments with the descendants of those who would have rejoiced the day I vowed to love my husband for as long as we both shall live.
For Christ is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall between us.
My friends, Jesus Christ does not build walls. Christians build walls. Faith does not build walls. Fear builds walls. Love does not build walls. Hate builds walls. Understanding does not build walls. Ignorance builds walls. Need does not build walls. Privilege builds walls.
In Christ “there is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; (the Tom Trenney translation goes on:) there is no longer black or white; there is no longer gay or straight; there is no longer Republican or Democrat; there is no longer American or foreigner, for all of us are one in Christ Jesus.”
The wolf shall live with the lamb,
the leopard shall lie down with the kid,
the calf and the young lion, and the fatling together,
because a little child still leads us; a little child who gave up all his God-given privilege to break down every wall that could separate us; even the walls of death.
Hear the good news: For Christ is our peace, and, when we love one another in Christ, there is no stranger; there is no guest. We are all but like a child at home.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
