Pastor Maggie's homily from February 22, based on Luke 6:27-38.
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I want to make sure we have plenty of time for our learning exercise, but I do have a few brief words to share—things I learned from Diana Butler Bass’s newsletter this week[i]. Are you all familiar with the words that are on the Holocaust museum in Washington DC? It’s a poem you probably have heard going around lately:
First they came for the Communists
And I did not speak out because I was not a Communist
Then they came for the Socialists
And I did not speak out because I was not a Socialist
Then they came for the trade unionists
And I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist
Then they came for the Jews
And I did not speak out because I was not a Jew
Then they came for me
And there was no one left to speak out for me.
Those words were written by German Lutheran pastor Martin Niemöller…who was a Nazi. In the 1920s and 30s he spoke out against and worked for the end of the Weimar Republic, which he thought was weak and dishonored what it meant to be German. He actively worked for a political movement that went after communists, socialists, workers, jews—anyone he felt had undermined the German nation, and in 1933 he voted in the election that handed the nation to Hitler.
And then Hitler started interfering with the church, and Niemöller began to wake up. He realized they were coming for him too. He began speaking out, and in 1937 was arrested and spent the next 7 years in prison camps, including Dachau.
Niemöller’s recent biographer, Matthew Hokenos, has this to say about him:
It is tempting for admirers to rationalize Neimöller’s earlier years by speaking in terms of a clean break between a young, imprudent man, on the one hand, and a mature, wiser man, on the other. But Niemöller was a 41-year-old father of six with two decades of professional experience when he applauded Hitler’s ascension to power. He was a middle-aged man who had read Mein Kampf and knew very well what Hitler stood for. And even after he watched Hitler abolish the national parliament, ban political parties and trade unions, and persecute his opponents, Niemöller refused to distance himself from radical nationalism and anti-Semitism—even on occasion after 1945.
Once the legend is stripped away, Niemöller necessarily disappoints us. But the imperfection of his moral compass makes him all the more relevant today. This middle-class, conservative Protestant, who harbored ingrained prejudices against those not like him, did something excruciatingly difficult and uncommon for someone of his background: he changed his mind.
He changed his mind. Our culture is hostile to changing your mind. In our political discourse, changing your mind is viewed as weak instead of wise. Yet, every day when I read Heather Cox Richardson’s news summary, it is full of people waking up. People who didn’t know the far-right machine was going to come for them too. People who thought they were safe. People who didn’t know that none of us are safe if some of us are under threat.
The Deep Canvassing technique we’re going to be learning about this evening isn’t effective with people who are unchangeable, but it is very effective with people who are awakening to their conflicting feelings. It’s for people who are stuck in cognitive dissonance—cognitive dissonance like “the empire I voted for is hurting me.” I know we all have people in our lives who are struggling with this. In order for that dissonance to be transformed into healthy action, it needs to be noticed and heard.
Jesus says to us, “Love your enemies; do good to those who hate you; bless those who curse you; pray for those who mistreat you—that’s how people will know you belong to me.” Gosh is that a tall order. Why’d you have to go and say that, Jesus?
I believe following Jesus in this moment in history means alchemizing our judgement and condemnation into compassion and mercy for the people who are just now waking up. Those folks need us to turn the other cheek. They need our prayers and blessings. They need our love. Mennonite pastor and counselor David W. Augsburger says, “Being heard is so close to being loved that for the average person, they are almost indistinguishable.”[ii] We can do something. We can deeply listen and offer compassion.
My hope is that in practicing our ability to deeply listen to people who are waking up—in having conversations based in feelings instead of arguing about facts—we can help them process some of what is keeping them frozen and beholden to an empire that wants to destroy us all. My hope is that we can turn those we would name as enemies into allies in the work ahead. May it be so. Amen.
[ii] Caring Enough to Hear and Be Heard: How to Hear and How to Be Heard in Equal Communication