Sermon given by Rev. Frank Clarkson, February 2, 2020
“May nothing evil cross this door,” we just sang. And this is a prayer, a hope, isn’t it, more than a command? We understand there’s trouble in our world, there’s danger; and we long for goodness and peace, so we sing, “and, though these sheltering walls are thin, may they be strong to keep hate out and hold love in.”
Our worship theme for February is “evil.” And I wonder what you think about evil. Some of us would rather not think about it. We want to push it away, to keep it out there. May nothing evil cross this door. It’s a scary and uncertain enough world already, right?
But it’s good to consider evil. Because what we push away, what we refuse to deal with, it can have power over us. And I sense that evil is not just out there, it’s in here, too. That each of us, as much as we mean well, as much as we may try to do good, we have the potential to do things that are hurtful and harmful. So we need to be in touch with our shadow side, as well as with our light.
So, about evil—do you believe there’s free-floating evil, out in the world? That you can catch it, like a cold, if you’re not careful, or unlucky? Do you believe in evil personified? Do you think there’s a devil, who’s goes around tempting us, or that there are evil spirits around us, trying to cause trouble? And are there evil people?
Since the beginning of time, people have wondered why bad things happen, and why people do bad things. I don’t believe everything happens for a reason. Boiled down sometimes my theology is like that bumper sticker: stuff happens. Stuff happens, and then we have to choose how are we going to respond. With fear, or with love? And that’s where we meet the Holy—in our response, and in our broken-open hearts.
Too often, people under pressure look for somewhere to cast the blame. Salem, Massachusetts, is famous for its witch trials back in the late 17th century, but over in what’s now North Andover, it also happened there, where more people were accused of being witches, and more were arrested, than in any other New England town. In fearful and anxious times, people don’t always respond well. Here in Massachusetts innocent people were accused, some of them found guilty and executed because folks were afraid and looking for someone to blame.
I don’t believe in the devil, or in free-floating evil. I see these as human inventions, as ways to project our fears onto something else, onto someone else. Which we should be outgrowing by now, in the 21st century! But it feels good to say the evil is all out there, to keep it at a safe distance. And if we do this, it becomes easy to vilify those who are different, to deny their humanity. Once you call someone evil, you can justify doing anything to them, in the name of order, of safety, for the good of the church or the nation.
These days we see and hear so many messages—from the media, from friends and family, from preachers and politicians. And we can’t help but be influenced by these messages. Over the past few years, hate crimes are up in our country, and I have to believe that our President’s angry and divisive rhetoric is at least partly to blame—that he has demonized some people and inflamed others, has given them permission to act on their prejudices and fears. Whether intentional or not, in this way he has helped to unleash evil in our land.
As people of faith, aren’t we called to speak up for what is right, and speak out about what is wrong? At the same time, we need to be careful not to demonize those we oppose. Do you remember when a reporter recently asked Nancy Pelosi if she hated the president? She was walking off a stage and stopped in her tracks, and she said, “I don’t hate anybody. I was raised Catholic, and we don’t hate anybody.” I loved that moment; that she articulated how her faith informs her values, and how she lives. She said, “I pray for the President all the time.”
In his sermon on the mount, Jesus said, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:43-44). This isn’t easy. But it’s how we become better people, it’s how we help build the common good, it’s how we heal rather than harm. And the stakes are high these days.
It’s sobering to realize that it’s often well-meaning people who do evil in the name of good. I have to trust that US border patrol agents are mostly good people who believe they are keeping the country safe and enforcing its laws. And then they are tasked with putting children into cages, and not letting asylum seekers cross the border. Which certainly looks like evil to me. When a group of people start to possess a sense of sureness, about their religion, their nation, the rightness of their cause, it’s time to watch out—because that’s often the start of actions that will be oppressive and harmful to others.
So we should be careful when we find ourselves feeling self-righteous. We would do well to look past our good intentions to the impact of our actions on others. We need to have the courage to look inside our own hearts and souls, and make an honest accounting of what we find there. Those of who have done some work around race and our culture of white supremacy, you know how uncomfortable this can be, and how liberating.
The invitation is to look inside, and do your own work. And is there anyone among us who couldn’t use a little work? This isn’t for the faint of heart, or for those who aren’t willing to risk being changed. But isn’t that why you’re here—in this church and on this earth? To be renewed, transformed, awakened, come more alive? Exploring your own shadow side can allow you, as John O’Donohue wrote, to no longer be “haunted by ghost-structures of old damage.” Doing this work can help you to be free.
This morning we heard David Whyte’s poem about the intensity of the examined life. Hear again his insistent call:
I want to know
if you know
how to melt into that fierce heat of living
falling toward
the center of your longing. I want to know
if you are willing
to live, day by day, with the consequence of love
and the bitter
unwanted passion of your sure defeat.
This work of looking inside, of facing your own shadow, it will feel like defeat sometimes. And it will be liberating sometimes. And what’s the alternative? You don’t want to go through your days hiding, not being in touch with what is real, do you? You don’t want to go through life unaware of your impact on others, making messes and doing harm, do you?
We each have parts of ourselves that we don’t often show, that we would like to pretend don’t exist, because we’re ashamed or embarrassed by our rough edges. But unless we get in touch with and acknowledge that shadow side, it can come out in unhelpful ways that cause us to do harm. Folk singer Greg Brown has a song about this, called, “I Don’t Know that Guy.” Here are a couple of verses:
Me, I'm happy-go-lucky--
always ready to grin.
I ain't afraid of loving you--
ain't fascinated with sin.
So who's this fellow in my shoes--
making you cry?
I don't know that guy.
I've heard him complainin',
'bout piddly little stuff.
I've watched him do nothin',
and say he can't get enough.
He'll blame his Momma and Daddy,
for the world passin' by.
And I don't know that guy.
The spiritual work we are engaged in, this work of growing up, of being more mindful and self-aware; it requires getting to know yourself, your light and your shadow. So you don’t one day find yourself saying “I don’t know that guy.”
It’s a life long project, this work of becoming. And it is a fierce embrace. Some of it you do alone, and some of it you do with others. My prayer is that we will lean into that fierce heat of living, that we will live, day by day, with the consequence of love, and that this will be our song:
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me,
I once was lost, but now am found, was blind but now I see.
Amen.