The following was a sermon I gave for a midweek Lenten worship service on February 25. I preached from Psalm 22 and Romans 8:18-25.
I grew up in the Black Church in Michigan, and there was something about this tradition that, as a kid, always left me scratching my head. All of the grown-ups would call each other “Brother,” or “Sister.” And then there were the older woman that wore white and sat right up in the front pews. They were called “Mother.”
I didn’t get why the people called each other these names. Were they related? If they weren’t, then why did they call each other brother and sister? It made no sense to me.
It wasn’t until college, as I was doing a report on black theology, that I finally understood. Especially in the time of Jim Crow, when there was rampant discrimination against African Americans, and when grown adults were called by their first name instead of Mr. or Mrs., there was a sense of dehumanization of people. When they came to church, these adults who had dealt with racism during the week were now treated with dignity. Calling someone “Brother Washington” or “Sister Jones” meant that they were a person of worth and belonged to an institution that believed they mattered. Even more so in the church, they knew they mattered to God
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The church became an alternate world, a place that in many ways was an imagining of what the world could be like, what God’s world could be like. They were dreaming of a future that wasn’t yet present, but they believed it could be, and it eventually became a reality.
In Romans, Paul tells the church in Rome that the sufferings of the present time can’t compare to God’s glory being revealed. You might think Paul is making suffering trivial, but that’s not the case. Paul knew the church in Rome faced challenges. Paul would face suffering in his own life as well. Many of us sitting here tonight have faced suffering. Maybe through the loss of a loved one or an illness, or what we have all collectively gone through here in the Twin Cities and Minnesota. It’s easy to look at the world and think this is all there is: domination, discrimination, and sadness. But just as my ancestors who went to church learned, this is not all there is. In God, there is so much more.
Creation groans. Part of that is because of decay. In a world full of sin and injustice, that can weigh on things and us. But creation is also groaning in hope, in expectation for something new. We wait in hope for God. We wait in hope in the midst of suffering, because we know something is coming. We wait for redemption. We know that in Christ, through his life, death, and resurrection, we are redeemed, and so is all of creation. But we also know that while the things that oppress us are defeated, they are still fighting. And so we wait in hope, living out a future that isn’t here yet, knowing the reign of sin, death, and the devil will be finally defeated.
The Black Church lived in hope that the laws that dehumanized them would end. And those laws did end. But before that all happened, they lived it out in the church.
The church, this church, is called to wait in the hope of God. We wait by living out an alternate way of being to give a taste of the kingdom of God. We wait in hope, knowing the things that oppress us will end. God’s presence is breaking through. In this time that feels like exile, know this hope. Remember our baptisms and know that we are held by God, no matter what. Thanks be to God. Amen.
