He Has Told You, O Mortal, What Is Good
[RCL] Micah 6:1-8; Psalm 15; 1
Corinthians 1:18-31; Matthew 5:1-12
“O my people, what have I done to you? In what have I wearied
you? Answer me!” Micah’s lament, placed in the mouth of God by the visionary
prophet, echoes through the eons of humanity’s infidelity. The question is
asked of every generation because we continue to turn to idols that seduce us
into thinking we are wearied of our Creator. We repeatedly forget whose we are;
thus empires fall, nations are mired in violence, and individuals—while
professing to be faithful—persist in creating their own idols of power, money,
weapons, and competitions that hinge on who will do more harm to the other.
It is not as if we don’t know. We don’t have that excuse.
Micah himself gives us a succinct and profound rule for living as children of
our God: he urges us to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with our
God. Today, as in the time of the prophet, justice continues to be elusive. It
is bought by the rich in courts that preserve those who have money and punish
those who are poor and unprotected. The few who truly do justice are called
fools and radicals and are even forbidden in many cases from feeding the hungry
and from giving shelter to refugees.
Lovingkindness and mercy are laughed at. They are for the
weak, for those who, in derision, are called bleeding hearts. Millions are
being spent on weapons that kill people and destroy cities because mercy is no
longer a virtue but an enemy of power.
And humility has become alien in a world where people are
strutting about armed to the hilt, threatening with violence and death those
who do practice humility.
From the time of creation, these virtues have been eroding, a
process that would lead to the cross, as St. Paul is reminding the Corinthians
and us. Those who despise justice, mercy, and humility laugh at the weakness of
the Cross; for them, it is foolishness. Others think that a powerful savior
cannot, and should not, succumb to such weakness as death on the Cross; they
find the Cross a scandal and turn their backs on him who loves them. Again, it
is not as if we don’t know. St. Paul cried out as powerfully as Micah that “God’s
foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than
human strength.” Following the example of the Lord Jesus Christ whom he loved
above all else, a redeemed Paul proved with his life and death that God’s
weakness is stronger than human strength. Think of the millions of Romans who
lived during Paul’s lifetime. How many can we remember? Yes, history reminds us
of Nero, but we remember him only for his evil and cruelty. Who else is
remembered? They have become as dust. By contrast, Paul has never been
forgotten, because he insisted on proclaiming God’s weakness on the Cross, and
by doing so changed all of history and our own lives.
It is not as if we don’t know what is of value in the eyes of
God; we do. It is not as if we have not been told again and again that the Word
is always with us, the living Word of God who walked the rough terrain of
Palestine proclaiming a kingdom of justice and love. He gathered his disciples
up on the mountain and he “taught them, saying: ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit.’”
Here again is that powerful call of Micah to walk humbly with our God. To that,
Jesus adds a promise of the hope he preached everywhere he went. The kingdom of
God belongs to the humble, not to the powerful and strong. In that lesson that
we call the Beatitudes, he continues his blessings on those who hunger and
thirst for righteousness—stronger even than Micah’s plea for justice—as strong
as our need for nourishment and water. He promises that those who do justice
will not remain unsatisfied in their hunger and thirst. Jesus promised to his
disciples and those who today give shelter to the persecuted, who go out in the
desert to offer water and food to migrants and refugees, he promises that the
mercy they are showing will be rewarded with mercy by a loving Creator.
So much fear is running madly through this land and through
so many other lands. Courage has flown. Our strength and our courage come only
from the one who created us and who loves us. This is the true Epiphany: Fear
is dispelled only by love and mercy. Yes, we are not immune to slander and to
danger. But we are children of God, and as such, we are allowed to live and act
only as peacemakers. We are not immune to persecution. He who never told an
untruth promised us that even then—when we are reviled and lied about—even then
we are to rejoice and be glad. It is then that we join the great crowd of
prophets and saints and all who dwell in that blessed crowd of unknowing. This,
too, is an Epiphany. How seductive it is to live our easy lives, to be praised
and admired. But we are called to the danger of proclaiming and doing justice,
to the foolishness of showing kindness even when that is not the proper thing
to do; we are called to show humility by obeying a God who shows us the way of
Christ which is difficult but, ultimately, is the only way that leads to light
and to life. This is our true Epiphany. Together with the Psalmist, we ask:
Lord, who may dwell in your
tabernacle?
Who may abide upon your holy hill?
Whoever leads a blameless life and
does what is right,
who speaks the truth from his heart.
All this is possible only through Christ, “the power of God
and the wisdom of God.” Amen.
Katerina Whitley lives and writes in Boone, N.C., where she leads retreats, holds writing workshops, and teaches the Word. She may be reached at katsarkakk@gmail.com.
