Thing one: Pilgrims in a Strange Land
The word is fraught with meaning in
America. Our origin story centers on a group of people that we fondly remember as
our “pilgrim” forefathers. There were other European explorers who adventured
their way to the North American continent in those days, but as school children
we were taught that the landing on Plymouth Rock in 1642 is the genesis of the story
of America. We know they came to escape religious persecution, we laud their
search for freedom to practice their faith in the manner they chose. We
remember them as the forefathers of our nation. However, that is not what made
them “pilgrims.”
They came looking for a place that
they could call home. They had been chased from country to country, never
finding the welcome they desired, never having the opportunity to put down
roots and build a world according to their designs. They had a particular
vision of how the world should be, and in what they called “the New World” they
saw an opportunity to realize that vision. They believed they were building the
Kingdom of God on earth. That’s not what it means to be a pilgrim either.
The first community of disciples were
pilgrims. The resurrection gave them a radical new vision of life and hope and
faith and love, and now they had to make their way in a world that looked
nothing like it. They were little more than another religious cult. They had no
concrete power or status or institutional authority, no weapons or tools to
bend the world to their will. That was not their mission anyway. Their purpose
was to preach the good news of the resurrection so that God would transform
hearts and minds and, in time, lives. And then the world.
In fact, they didn’t call themselves
“the church” or even “a church.” They called themselves The Way. They were
a movement, blown by the Spirit into and throughout the world. It seems to have
worked. The book of Acts records the tremendous growth of the early church. The
persecution of Christianity by the empire indicates that they became a force to
be reckoned with. As Diana Butler-Bass notes:
They exercised an alternative power to that of empire – the power of neighborly love, the power of nonviolence. The more the Romans used imperial power against them, the more people noticed, listened to their message, and joined their communities.[1]
They knew how the world saw them, how
it feared them, how it fought against them. They knew they didn’t belong to the world. They lived
as pilgrims, temporary residents, aliens, exiles. They did not live as the
world lived or believe as the world believed, and accordingly they were treated
with neglect and persecution. They considered it a great blessing.
It took more than three centuries for things
to change. But it did. In the fourth century, Rome decided that if you can’t
beat them, you might as well join them. In 325 CE the emperor Constantine, a new devotee of the Christian faith, gathered
Christian leaders to a town called Nicaea and instructed them to produce a
standardized statement of doctrine, a creed. From that foundation a church was built,
an institution of the world. The Roman Empire became the Holy Roman Empire, keeper
and enforcer of Christianity. Jesus was enthroned in the kingdom of the world,
and the pilgrim identity of the faithful was lost.
Having gained power and status, the
church has sought and fought to retain it ever since. That is what God wants
for the church and for the world, right? That all of life should be an
extension of religion, or vice versa. That’s how it was in the glory days of
the kingdom, and that is the promise we are waiting to see fulfilled – that we
should see the church vindicated while the unfaithful burn for their
infidelity. The fact that it is not that way is a constant source of
frustration and disappointment, especially in this country.
Lacking the status of a state-sanctioned
religion, the American Christian Church fancies itself a constant victim of
persecution, surrounded by a world full of threats. Christians, especially older
white Christians, grieve for the loss of the status of the church and the significance
of its traditions, feeling, for example, that their very livelihood could be
taken from them if they “didn’t believe in homosexuality.” They deem social change
as a personal threat against their religious freedom, and they extrapolate
their own fears into a war against themselves and their faith. They are egged
on by church leaders who feel their worldly power diminishing and will do
anything, demand everything, make any alliance, to survive.
Doctrinal adherence as a primary proof
of faithfulness is a sign of a body struggling to hold on to power. Defining freedom
according to the ability to impose its doctrine on the world (or the fear that
it will be imposed on you) is a sign of a body struggling to hold on to power. There
is a widespread assumption among Christians that America was founded as a
Christian nation, which is not true and mocks the experience of early colonists
running from nations that sought to impose a singular doctrine and religion on
its citizens.
This is not the life or the work of
pilgrims.
Jesus came into the world preaching,
“The Kingdom of God is at hand.” (Mark 1:15 NRSV) The word Kingdom has been the
bane of the community of faith ever since. First we share an intentional
misunderstanding and misinterpretation of the word itself. Properly heard, the
word denotes activity rather than structure, as in “God’s reign,” or “God’s
rule.” God’s mission. Moreover, our pursuit of a worldly Christian Kingdom displays
our ignorance of the actual preaching, teaching and work of Jesus himself, who
stood against worldly power and authorities and called his followers to lives
in pursuit of justice, advocating for the powerless and oppressed, serving the
neediest by standing with and for them. The empire we covet is the empire that
crucified Jesus, at the behest of religious leaders who were powerless to act
for themselves. As the Reverend Daniel D Brereton says, “Christianity was never supposed to be
about dominating society, but uplifting it - and you can't lift if you're
already on top.”[2]
The fullness of the Kingdom of God is
revealed at the climactic moment of Jesus’ ministry. Facing imperial power in
the person of Pontius Pilate, he was challenged to either show his power or
submit willfully to the world’s power. He choose neither. “My kingdom is not
from this world,” he replies to Pilate. And lest that statement be treated as
mere spiritual metaphor, he clarified the point. “If my kingdom were from this
world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the
Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” (John 18:36 NRSV) If faith
was all about world dominance, about getting our way and imposing our doctrine,
that would have been the moment to begin. Instead Jesus chose to go to his
cross, signaling the upside-down reality of God’s rule: he is only a pilgrim in
this world, and we should be too.
What is the draw of our grasping for
worldly power? There are probably several answers to that question. But in
these days of pandemic and social disorder, one seems particularly clear. We do
not like to suffer, and we are living in days of great suffering. Power
protects people from suffering, and because God probably does not want us to
suffer, he must want us to seize power. The constant turn of history, the
never-ending flow of chance and change is terrifying. Grasping for power is a
classic symptom of fear, and we have empty, needy hands. The events of 2020 are
merely the final straw breaking the back of generations of watching the powerful
and seemingly indispensable church of our childhood die. What we miss in the
turmoil of our grief is the hard truth: the church of our childhood – that
dominant, permanent, comfortable edifice of the world - was never meant
to be.
Jesus called his followers to be
pilgrims in the world. “I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of
wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals …” (Luke 10:3-4 NRSV) Our calling is
not to build, to establish, to preserve. We are merely passing through this
place and time, preaching an impending Kingdom that is not of this world but
surely coming to be in it. We are signs of what God is building – why would we
be invested in building things of our own? So we make our way now, travelers
without roots, pilgrims all, living out our mission in a strange and hostile
place because this is where and when we were sent to be. No matter what may
happen.
Because things always happen.
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