Sermon Archive

We Christians are into denial and projection as much as anyone else, so we like to think of Christianity – at least Christianity properly interpreted - as gentle and non-violent. We remember that Jesus said to love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. We treasure stories like that of Zacheus, where Jesus changes the heart of a sinner rather than punishing him. We know there’s violence in the Bible, but we tend to think of it as happening in the Old Testament. Sometimes we even fall into the grave theological error of thinking that the Old Testament God – that jealous and vengeful one – is a different God than the one revealed in Jesus Christ. But here we are, smack in the middle of the New Testament, and Paul is recounting – with gusto – the affliction and eternal destruction that are going to befall the enemies of the Thessalonian church. And that enemies list is longer than Nixon’s: it includes all who do not know God and those who do not obey the gospel of the Lord Jesus. And this is one of the milder descriptions of eternal destruction that we have in the New Testament: it doesn’t go into the gory detail, say, that you find in the book of Revelation.

If you cringed – as I did – when we read this passage, it’s with good reason. The belief that Christ will come in flaming fire and wreak vengeance on those who do not know him has been the source of a lot of bad theology and dangerous politics. The most alarming – and a common – interpretation of passages like this is that flaming fire and God’s vengeance will somehow involve nuclear weapons. In 1971, Ronald Reagan made this statement at a political dinner after a coup in Libya. (Now, I should say Reagan was exegeting Ezekiel, not Thessalonians, but I think you’ll see my point):

“That’s a sign that the day of Armageddon isn’t far off ... everything is falling into place. It can’t be long now. Ezekiel says that fire and brimstone will be rained upon the enemies of God’s people. That must mean that they’ll be destroyed by nuclear weapons.”

But long before nuclear weapons, the belief that non-Christians will be damned has fueled crimes against Jews, Muslims, Native Americans, heretical Christians and all sorts of other folks – if they’re all headed for eternal destruction, goes the argument, why wait for Christ to return? Now, the Thessalonian Christians weren’t persecuting anyone – they were too weak and small and isolated. And Paul does make it clear that vengeance belongs to God. But still, the passage rightly makes us uncomfortable. It’s so raw, so primitive, so full of hate. Paul doesn’t say to pray for those who afflict you. Paul doesn’t suggest that the Thessalonians enter into dialogue with their persecutors. Paul assures them that the Lord Jesus will do what they can’t: destroy their enemies. Forever.

Today’s lectionary did not include this stuff about Christ’s return. The ecumenical committee that selected the lectionary cycle of readings we use each Sunday suggests we read up to verse four, where Paul is boasting about the Thessalonian’s faith, and then skip to verse 11, leaving out the grisly parts. And before September 11th, I would have taken their suggestion. (In fact, I probably would have preached on Zaccheus). But now I feel differently. I still think it’s dangerous, but I also feel a glimmer of kinship with those ancient Christians who treasured this letter, and who kept it for us. We don’t know what was happening to them, what those persecutions were. But I’m beginning to understand the comfort they took in Paul’s words. I’m beginning to understand their desire to see God repay with affliction those that afflicted them.

We’d gotten accustomed to not needing God’s justice. September 11th was not the first time we knew grief or suffering. We’ve all had our share: illness, broken relationships, loss of family and friends. And we’ve all faced injustices of one kind or another: if we’re African American, female, an immigrant, poor – we face them daily. But as a nation, for a while now, we’ve been more or less in control. The rest of the world makes a lot of stuff for us cheaply. We have the biggest pile of nuclear weapons. We’ve won – or kind of won – far-off wars with few casualties. And we’ve been able to catch the bad guys – such as Timothy McVeigh. But on September 11th the hijackers came out of the sky in their own flaming fire, and now they are beyond any human justice. And we wonder: even if we bomb Afghanistan until everyone is homeless and millions are starving – something we’re in danger of doing – will that keep us safe? Even if we capture Osama bin Laden and overthrow the Taliban, will that be the end of anthrax letters and security alerts? We’re facing limits. We can’t guarantee our safety or the safety of our loved ones. There are wrongs we can’t right – including wrongs that we’ve done. We’re realizing that we may not even be able to even the score. Who doesn’t hate that? And who doesn’t hate – even if it’s only for a moment, even if it’s only half-conscious – the people who put us in this position, whoever they are?

Jesus tells us to love our enemies, but let’s face it: we usually don’t. Those early Christians had trouble, too. And so visions of God inflicting vengeance on our behalf are tempting, comforting ... and evil. But we don’t have to go there. We can say that Paul got some of it right, and some of it wrong. What Paul got wrong is that people who don’t believe in Jesus are enemies of God. What Paul got wrong is that God’s justice means the eternal destruction of our enemies – or people we think of as enemies. But Paul got something right. What he got right is that God notices those who are afflicted. God has seen the people fall from the World Trade Center. God has seen the children starving in Afghanistan and Iraq. God has seen Kathy Nyguen. And God will relieve their afflictions, and God will bring justice to them. What Paul got right is that whatever justice we are able to accomplish here on earth is not the end of the story. What Paul got right is that Christ will be revealed in glory and bring about God’s perfect justice and perfect mercy. The mystery of what that will look like and when that will happen is beyond the scope of this sermon – and this preacher. But that is our faith. And if we can believe it, even without any concrete evidence, even though it violates every modern and liberal sensibility we have, even though it’s downright weird, we can live in the hope that we will see the goodness of God in the land of the living. We can trust in the love of God, and maybe let go of that hate.

Paul does not take his vision to what we might call it logical conclusion. He doesn’t say: Christ is going to come and fix things, just sit tight. Be content with what you have, you’ll get your reward – another common and unfortunate interpretation of these kinds of passages. Nor does Paul say since Christ is going to destroy your persecutors, you can get a head start. Paul offers a prayer. He asks that God make the church worthy of God’s call. He asks that God fulfill their every good resolve and work of faith, so that Christ may be glorified in them and they in he.