Sermon Archive

I'm wondering if anyone else here remembers learning, in about 5th grade, how to write your address the long way, the way that went beyond US postal requirements. My address was: 88 Fairmont Avenue, town of Hastings on Hudson, Westchester County, New York State, Mid-Atlantic Region, United States of America, Continent of North America, Northern and Western Hemisphere, the World, the Solar System, The Milky Way Galaxy, the Universe. I remember the feeling of satisfaction that came from listing each line. I also remember that feeling of awe when I looked at my address and thought: what does it mean to live where I live? What does it mean, that I live on the planet earth in this vast universe, that I live in the Western rather than the Eastern Hemisphere, North America rather than Africa, the United States rather than Japan, New York rather than North Dakota, Hastings-on-Hudson rather than Yonkers? Fairmont Avenue rather than Warburton, near the railroad tracks?

I've been thinking about my address again recently. What does it mean that I live on the planet earth in this vast universe, the Northern rather than the Southern hemisphere, North America rather than Asia, the United States rather than Zambia, Afghanistan, Guatemala, or Iraq? New York rather than Florida, Brooklyn - where I could see the towers coming into work - rather than Cleveland? And I realize, now, there's a line in my address I wasn't aware of in fifth grade. It comes after North America, after the Northern and Western Hemisphere, and before the World, but just before. That line is the American Empire.

Most of us who are Americans don't think of ourselves as living in an empire. When we think of empires, we think of the British, those emperors of the last century who created the nation of Iraq. Or we think of the Roman Empire, the empire where Paul lived, and Jesus, and those Philippians who first heard Paul's letter that we read today. We don't claim to be an empire, and the US doesn't do many of the things those empires did. Although we have troops all over the world, we don't directly govern many places. We don't collect taxes from the French or the Chileans or the Senegalese - the way that Rome collected taxes from its subjects. We don't ask the Canadians or Japanese to venerate George W. Bush.

But whether we call America an empire or not, we have power and wealth beyond the wildest dreams of any British King or Roman Cesar. Paul Kennedy, a Yale professor, wrote recently (1) that each year we spend more on our military than the next 9 countries combined; we're responsible for 40% of the world's defense spending. Aside from our huge stockpiles of nuclear weapons, we have far more and bigger aircraft carriers, bombers, submarines, battleships - you name it - than any competitor. As he put it, "Nothing has ever existed like this disparity of power." More amazing, our defense spending is less than 4% of our national income. That's a lot of money, but as Robert Samuelson, writing in Newsweek, put it, "the United States has become so wealthy it can wage war almost with pocket change," that in a world where a billion people live on less than a dollar a day, and billions more on not much more. Why we're so rich while others are so poor is a complicated question, but ultimately we're bound together, in one economy. Think of it: the coffee we drink, the cars we drive, the clothing we wear, the food we eat, the oil and gas we use - the work is done everywhere, the stuff comes from all over, but much (not all) of the wealth lands here. Now, there are people here, in the heart of the empire, who don't have enough to eat, and we've learned that all that military might doesn't necessarily keep us safe. And our empire - if you'll concede the word for the moment - also does good. But we're still left with the question: what does it mean to live in the American Empire? What does it mean for us as Christians?

Let's go back to scripture, and back to the Roman Empire. Paul is writing from a jail under Roman guard - we don't know where - to the church in Philippi. Philippi was a small city, on the main road between Rome and the East. Roman troops often passed through and soldiers settled there; it was a colonial town. Paul is urging the Philippians to hold fast and live in a manner worthy of the gospel; as he put it, to "let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus." He then quotes a hymn they may have known, a hymn that tells of what we call the humiliation of Christ - his coming in human likeness and his death on a cross - and of his exaltation, when "God gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father."

Some of us cringe at these words. Christians have often pointed to these words to say, "See! Every tongue should confess Christ and every knee should bend: including all those Muslims, Hindus, Jews, Atheists, Agnostics, Zorastrians, Buhddists, etc. and if they don't they'll go to hell." It's a passage we associate with missionaries of European empires, and with evangelicals who champion American might. But for Paul and the Philippian church these words would have had a different twist. In the Roman Empire, it was expected that every knee should bend at the name of the Emperor and every tongue confess he was the divinely sanctioned ruler of the world, if not divine himself. People were welcome to worship other Gods, but it was the Emperor - and the name of Rome - that was above every name, and folks were expected to behave accordingly. For Christians to insist that knees should bend to Jesus only, and tongues confess him as Lord, was subversive. It was also what we'd call intolerant, but it was mainly subversive. And Christians who refused to participate in the Roman cult got in trouble.

And you're thinking, what does this have to do with living in the American Empire? Not even fans confess George W. as Lord. No one expects us to put his name, or the name of America, above that of God in Christ. And I would agree that no one is asking us to make an explicit confession of faith in the President or in the American way of life. But don't we quietly venerate it? By being so comfortable with our power, our wealth; so indifferent, in fact if not theory, to the rest of the world? I'll speak for myself (you're not supposed to give personal examples...). I drink a lot of coffee, and I recently learned that world coffee prices are at their lowest ever - farmers get about 24 cents a pound. Millions of people around the world are facing ruin and sliding into destitution. Nestle and Sara Lee and Borden are enjoying record profits. But I've been thinking - great! Chock full 'o Nuts is down to $2.59 a can! Now, I know I'm not the only Christian who hasn't been paying attention. Who and what are we confessing?

Paul has some ideas about what confession in Christ looks like. He tells the Philippians, "in humility, regard others as better than yourselves." Let each of you, he says, look not to your own interests but to the interests of others. If we did that - and let's assume Paul's going overboard, we only need to regard others as equal to ourselves - if we did that, what would we be doing about Iraq? We're getting ready to start a war. To start a war in a country where one and a half million people have died in the past 10 years because of economic sanctions. Where people are already starving and have no medical care, in a region that's a tinderbox: if we truly confessed Christ and looked to the interests of others would we go along with this? Perhaps, and I'm sure some of us believe we should go to war. But either way, pro-war or anti-war or something in between, we'd be less quiet about it. Virtually all religious leaders have spoken out against war in Iraq, Richard Land of the Southern Baptist Convention being the main exception. The National Council of Churches, the World Council of Churches, the Vatican, the American Bishops, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Moderator of our denomination and our Stated Clerk have all signed letters. But does your person-in-the-street - let alone the President - even know what Christians are saying? Who are we confessing?