Poets For Justice

Last week Lawrence Ferlinghetti died: a great poet of the Beat Generation. He was 101; he spent his whole life trying to be a voice for the people, for the poor, and for peace. He always pointed out the gap that existed in the United States between things as they were and things as they could be, between our ideals and our reality. Lawrence Ferlinghetti said, “I believe that art is capable of the total transformation of the world, and of life itself.”

When that gap becomes especially wide, between the way things are and the way they should be, we need the work of lawmakers and politicians; marchers and community organizers; teachers and planners… And we need creative people. The artists, and musicians, and storytellers. We need the poets, to help us see right to the core of the matter— to touch our heart and spark our imagination, to change our perspective in one picture, one sentence, one song, one bold gesture. 

Some people write this kind of poetry with words. Some people write it with their lives. Their actions are like living poetry. They open our eyes and wake us up to the truth. 

A year ago, shortly after Ahmaud Arbery was murdered while out for his daily jog around his neighborhood, a pastor in Florida named Richard Demsick, who is white, decided to take a jog around his neighborhood, covering the same distance… the same number of steps… at the same time of day… With the only difference being that while Ahmaud Arbery was empty-handed, this white pastor decided that HE would carry with him a huge, brand-new flat-screen TV. 

So he did this. He jogged miles around a residential neighborhood, carrying a TV. He filmed himself doing this… he also filmed the many residents of the neighborhood who noticed him. People definitely saw this odd behavior. But did anyone stop him? Did anyone question what he was doing or where he was going? No. People smiled and waved, and said hello, as if he was doing nothing out of the ordinary. No one assumed he was suspicious; no one assumed he was committing a crime (though that might have been reasonable under the circumstances); certainly no one fired shots. [1]

His video, when he shared it later on social media, was viewed over 1.2 million times. It was a living demonstration of the reality of white privilege, and it captured people’s imaginations — it spoke to their heart and their gut. Richard Demsick showed the gap between what should be, and what is. He made some of his fellow white people confront that. He was being a poet for justice. 

Some of you know Harry Murray, a professor at Nazareth College. A few years ago, Professor Murray and a group of 30 other folks were arrested outside the national guard base at Hancock Airport for staging a die-in, and disrupting the flow of government activity at the base. They wanted to show the reality of drone strikes— how these weren’t an abstraction, but were killing civilians in Afghanistan and other countries. The drones launched from this base weren’t harmless; they were instruments of death.

It was a shocking demonstration. It upset people. But professor Murray said, “When my government is killing people, I have a responsibility to say ‘no’ in a nonviolent way, but the strongest way I can.” [2]

He was being a poet for justice. 

In today’s gospel, Jesus plans his own poetic, shocking demonstration at the Temple in Jerusalem— the heart of institutional power. In his day, the spiritual life of the Temple had gotten all tied up with the politics of empire. Some of the religious leaders collaborated with the Roman government in their system of economically oppressing the poor. So in that day the Temple wasn’t just a place to worship; it was also where debt records were stored— for money owed by the farmers and peasants to the wealthy people in power, who just got richer and richer, as the people got poorer and poorer. It’s a pattern that’s still with us now. Like in Texas, where fossil fuel companies profited from high prices for gas and oil after the recent storm, while so many people struggled just to find food and water. Or how this year, 40 million Americans filed for unemployment, but in the pandemic, billionaires have increased their wealth by over 637 billion dollars. [3]

The Spirit of God works to break down oppressive systems like this. Jesus believed that with all his heart. And he embodies that truth in a powerful way —by disrupting the flow of activity in the Temple— overturning the tables of the moneychangers, driving them out with a whip, bringing all this business-as-usual to a crashing halt. 

This is Jesus saying no— saying no in a nonviolent way, but as strongly as he can. 

No to exploiting the poor. 

No to a world where the wealthy have too much, and the poor don’t have enough to get by. No to immense gaps of privilege and power. 

Jesus was being a poet for justice. He tried to wake people up from sleepwalking around, content with things as they are; he tried to open people’s eyes to the way things should be. 

*

Did he succeed? 

We often ask ourselves this, in our own work— whether it’s demonstrating for justice, or trying to make a difference in some other way, through teaching, or ministering, or caring for a family member. 

We wonder if we’re having an effect. 

Sometimes it feels like we’re not, because we don’t see an immediate change. That’s what happened here too. After Jesus’ protest, the moneychangers resumed their work. So by that measure, his protest didn’t succeed. 

Today is the anniversary of Bloody Sunday, when 600 marchers set out to walk the 54 miles from Selma to Montgomery to call for voting rights. It was supposed to be a three-day journey. But they were stopped after 6 blocks by state troopers and a white mob, who met them with tear gas and billy clubs. They were turned back. The march didn’t succeed.

But that day, ABC news interrupted its scheduled programming to show footage of the confrontation, as the marchers faced down this brutality. Thousands of people witnessed what happened, and their eyes were opened. It was a turning point, that led to sit-ins and actions of civil disobedience springing up everywhere in support of the marchers. Two weeks later, the group completed their walk. By the time Dr. King delivered his speech from the steps of the state capitol, the original crowd of 600 people had grown to 25,000.  [4]

Jesus’ actions awakened people. Others were watching what he did, and they were captivated. They started to see the world differently, to see it more truly. They began to realize things could be different— that they HAD to be be different. The numbers of people who believed this just grew and grew. 

Sometimes we don’t see the fruit of our work until a way down the line. 

And because that’s true, it’s really important to be grounded in in that part of ourselves that is always in touch with God. The way Jesus is here. He knew that he was the real temple. The real holy place is inside. Inside every one of us. Lent is always a good reminder of that: this beautiful contemplative season. 

Actually it reminds me of one more brilliant poetic protest. In southern Pennsylvania, a group of nuns joined with local environmental activists in an effort to stop an oil pipeline from tearing up the land around them. To stop construction, the nuns built a chapel right in the way of the bulldozers— so that in order to destroy the earth, the company would also have to destroy a church. 

With their brave a statement, the sisters did something very deep: They re-framed what counts as sacred space. Their creative protest said “the earth is sacred. It should be protected just as carefully as we would protect a religious building of any kind.” They knew our culture tends to forget the holiness all around us in creation. 

Jesus knew that we also tend to forget the holy place WITHIN. The inner temple of the spirit. It’s important to care for that sacred space too, to make time to meet God in the quiet; to listen… to fan the spark of prophetic creativity in each of us. 

***

One line in this Gospel passage really resonates with me this particular year. It’s where Jesus speaks directly to the merchants who are selling doves. He singles them out, and speaks specifically to them— telling them to clear out, and to “stop making God’s house a marketplace!” 

Now, it’s easy to see why Jesus would drive out people changing large sums of money, or looking after all the debt records… people who were obviously exploiting others, or hoarding wealth. He drives out those who wanted to bring sheep and oxen for their sacrifice— this would have been a pretty elaborate purchase. 

But the dove was usually what was brought as a Temple sacrifice by the very poorest people. It was what you could afford to bring as a sacrifice if you had not much at all. If you were close to empty-handed. Remember when Mary and Joseph made their pilgrimage to the temple when Jesus was young? This is what they brought. A pair of doves. Because they were poor! It was all they could afford. A very small, non-glamorous offering to God. 

So Jesus can’t be worried *only* about economic justice, or he wouldn’t spend any time focusing on the people selling doves. They were not in charge of the big sums of money here.  

So what else is going on?  

It seems that in addition to overturning the tables of power, Jesus may also have been interested to overturn some harmful spiritual ideas on their heads. He wanted to turn upside down certain patterns of thinking and believing that all of us sometimes fall into.  

One of the most prominent ones, is thinking that God is transactional. Meaning, that in order for God to love us, we have to give God something— to pay our due, or prove we’re deserving. Everything is an exchange, a give and get. It’s a marketplace idea, but it has infiltrated our spiritual consciousness as well. 

Right now, many of us are weary. We’re still healing from sadness, the fear, and the trauma of the pandemic. Maybe we feel like we don’t have as much to offer this year; that we’re not our highest self, not as energetic as we were a year ago. 

It might seem to us that here it is, this season of Lent, when we’re supposed to be working on ourselves, maybe even becoming prophets— but we feel more like those people coming to the Temple: poor in spirit… lucky if we can manage even a small sort of offering. 

Jesus says, God’s house is not a marketplace. 

You do not have to give God anything elaborate for God to be happy with you.  You do not have to bankrupt yourself emotionally or literally; you don’t have to sacrifice your last ounce of strength, if right now you feel like you are just holding on. 

Just bring yourself — your open mind and heart. That is more than enough. 

Lent isn’t about becoming perfect. Life isn’t about becoming perfect. 

It’s about letting God’s love disrupt our numbness, and Jesus’ hope overturn our despair. It’s about going within, so we can listen for the voices of the prophets around us, and the voice of the Spirit speaking in our own lives as well. Because we are all artists, co-creators with God the Great Artist. We are all a part of that transformation of the world, and of life itself. (As much as we tend to think of “artists” as other people. And prophets too. We say, “that’s not me…” But it is. It’s all of us.) 

Each of us is called to be a poet for justice.

…

There’s so much creativity and courage in this parish. 

I can’t wait to see all the new ways we’ll find to unleash it.