Look Toward the Heavens: The Art of He Qi

Life is too short.
Art is long.
Life is also too hard and suffering for me,
but still I would like to share my gladness
with people around the world.
We are living in a time where there is much violence.
There is little peace.
We need to listen to the voice of heaven.---He Qi


His paintings look like stainglass windows. I first noticed He Qi’s paintings on a number of books I bought on postcolonial readings of the Bible. I was drawn to the brilliant colors and the non-Western depictions of biblical scenes. Recently I purchased a book of his paintings entitled Look Toward the Heavens.

He Qi’s (pronounced huh-cheee) art is bright, colorful, energetic, biblical, and inspiring. His paintings are a mixture of Picasso’s cubism, Marc Chagall’s playfulness with images, and Van Gogh’s brilliant colors with an Asian twist. An inner experience one feels from observing his work is one of peace.

He Qi’s first painting was of Chairman Mao. During the Cultural Revolution he was sent into the fields to perform hard physical labor. After winning a painting competition he was relieved of field work. He was mentored by Nu Sibai, an artist and educator in China. His teacher had him painting Renaissance works in the evening, while he painted Chairman Mao during the day. In the later years of the Cultural Revolution He went to Tibet and worked restoring temple walls that had been destroyed.

In 1993 He wrote his dissertation from Nanjing Art Institute while he was studying medieval art at Hamburg Art Institute in Germany. He was the first person from mainland China after the Cultural Revolution to receive a Ph.D in religious art. Asked why he paints only Bible scenes He Qi says, “There are two ways one may become a Christian in China. One is through parents and grandparents and their teaching. The other is a journey to find peace and truth. I found both in the Gospel message.”

He Qi’s paintings communicate the peace and truth of God. One example is his painting Peace Be Still (above) a depiction of Christ stilling the storm. The turbulent, serpentine waters contrast with the peaceful, horizontal lines running through Jesus and the rowing disciples that provide stability amid the storm. Above Christ’s head is the dove of peace with extended olive branch. Christ’s command "Peace, Be Still" is the voice from heaven to which we need to listen in a world of churning violence.

He Qi has found the peace and truth of the gospel he paints so brilliantly and exhibits in his life.

He Qi was professor at NanjingUnion Theological Seminary. Currently he is artist-in-residence at Yale and is working on the He Qi World Bible.

A Peaceable Mission: a sermon on John 20:19-22

At first it sounds like a simple greeting. Shlamaa. The Aramaic word was used as a greeting among the Jews, kind of like good day or God bless you. Shlamaa would have been heard as Jews greeted one another on the dusty streets or in the crowded marketplace. Shlamaa. But, coming from the lips of the risen Christ, who bears in his resurrection body the wounds of crucifixion, this greeting takes on a deeper meaning. With this word Shlamaa still ringing in their ears the disciples are sent out into the world by the risen Christ.

The sun has just set behind the purple hills. It’s the first day of the week. The disciples cringe behind the wooden door of a whitewashed house. It’s locked up tight like a sealed tomb. The lock that holds the door shut has a name---Fear. You can see fear reflected in the wide eyes of the disciples. Their shadows dance on the walls from the light of the oil lamp. The disciples fear what lies outside that wooden door. Outside that locked door are those who had a hand in crucifying Jesus. Those same hands could just as easily grab them by the scruff of the neck and haul them off to the cold stone halls of a Roman court. The sun could arise on a new day with each of the disciples nailed to a wooden pole. The world outside that locked door has become a dangerous place.

The locked door is no barrier for the risen Christ. Christ appears in the midst of the disciples. The first word from his lips is meant to calm their fears. Shlamaa. Peace be with you. Then, Christ shows the disciples his hands and his side, wounds from his enemies. These wounds aren’t just signs that Jesus isn’t just some apparition. They’re signs of a strange kind of shlamaa. The piercings mark the risen Christ as the same person who had endured the cross without retaliating. He could have called down the armies of heaven against the Romans. Instead, his last words were the salve of forgiveness.

The disciples leap and shout for joy when they recognize Jesus. Then, Jesus speaks again. He repeats his greeting, Shlamaa, as if it meant more than good evening. Coming from the crucified-and-living, peaceful-and-forgiving Christ the word Shlamaa is far more than a mere greeting. His greeting sparks memories in the disciples. Before his crucifixion Jesus had promised the disciples that they wouldn’t be left like orphans. They had no need to fear. Jesus would send them the Holy Spirit. He promised, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid” (John 14:27). Jesus went on to say, “I have said this to you, so that in me you may have peace” (John 16:33). Jesus had promised to leave them with his Spirit of peace. Now, the risen Christ has come to the fearful disciples to keep his promise.

Christ’s promise of peace isn’t just to calm their unsettled hearts. It’s the key that unlocks the door bolted by fear and leads the disciples out into the world as apostles, sent ones. Following his greeting of peace Jesus sends the disciples forth: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” This is Christ’s missionary charge to the disciples. As God had sent Jesus to speak the prophetic word and the good news, as God had sent Jesus to heal and forgive, as God had sent Jesus to show the way to new life and shalom, so Christ sent the disciples into the world. Then, Christ breathed on the disciples his very Spirit with the commission to be a forgiving people.

The risen Christ speaks words of peace and mission to his disciples---Shlamaa, I send you. If Christ has no problem living and speaking of peace and mission with the very same breath, why has the church separated the two? Why does the church speak out of two sides of its mouth in order to address peace and mission? Peace and mission were united in the one risen body of Christ. They came from the one breath of Christ’s Spirit. Why, then, is there such a divide in the church over peace and mission?

To be honest, there is a sharp division in the church between peace and mission. It is a real, but unnecessary division. Peace and mission have become two polar opposites, creating separate camps within the church. Somewhere along the line the church has divided itself into subcultures of peace-and-justice-people and mission- and evangelism-people. And the division between these groups tends to feed off stereotypes of one another. You know these stereotypes. The stereotype of the Christian involved in peace and justice sounds like this. Those peace people are just a bunch of bleeding heart liberals. They’re just too worldly. They’re more concerned about changing society than serving Christ and saving souls. They distort the Bible or ignore it altogether. They put peace issues above God. I can just hear them groaning when mission and evangelism are even mentioned.

On the other hand, the stereotype of mission-people sounds something like this. Those people who get all fired up about mission and evangelism could care less about the state of our world. They’re just a bunch of bible-thumping, narrow-minded conservatives, who think they have a corner on the truth. I can just hear them sneering at the very mention of peace and justice.

Peace and justice aren’t simply liberal causes. They’re integral to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Mission and evangelism aren’t simply practices for conservative Christians. They express God’s heart for the world. Stereotypes only serve to label, denigrate, and place others at a distance from us. They create a pseudo sense of detachment from critical issues the church must engage in together.

Peace and mission have been separated to the detriment of both. Without peace and justice the work of mission and evangelism can easily become a form of spiritual escapism from the world’s problems, personal salvation without social transformation, saving the soul but not the embodied lives of the people themselves. The church has a dark legacy of mission and evangelism practiced without concern for issues of peace and justice. The religious underpinnings of founding of America and the heyday of the worldwide mission movement of the 1800’s were clearly tied to the concept of “manifest destiny” within Western culture. Manifest destiny began as a worldview that understood white, Europeans to be the most advanced and civilized of the peoples of the earth. White Europeans felt they had been called by God to save the souls of savages and impart their culture to uncivilized peoples. Missionaries often followed the military conquest and colonization of nations. They brought with them a Westernized version of Christianity. Christianity and conquest joined hands.

It’s this problematic legacy of mission that seems to have been forgotten by some evangelical Christians who see the military occupation of Iraq by the United States as “open season” for going over and converting Muslims. It smacks of the old alliances of church and state. Let the state conquer their land and control their bodies. We’ll convert their souls. This is mission and evangelism separated from peace and justice.

At the same time, without mission and evangelism the work of peace and justice can become simply another form of secular humanism, social change grounded in human effort, detached from the good news of God’s grace and coming reign. Some forms of liberal Christian peace and justice work lose the connection between spirituality and activism. Some liberal Christians present peacemaking in terms of partisan politics, rather than grounding it in God’s mission to the world. Peace and mission need each other to form a more holistic and authentic gospel.

There have been those instances when peace and justice were wedded to mission and evangelism. The period of the Great Awakenings in England in the 1700’s was both intensely missionary, evangelistic, and concerned about addressing social injustices. There was a fervor to “preach the gospel to every creature.” At the same time, Evangelicals established orphanages, hospitals, famine relief, soup kitchens, and worked for prison reform. It’s important to remember that the church institution of Sunday School, created by Robert Raikes in Gloucester, England, was started during this period not only with a deep concern to teach the Bible, but also to care for the needs of impoverished children. Sunday School was held on a day when they were not working in the factories.

Today, Evangelicals for Social Action, seeks to bring together the gospel with peace and social justice. This organization witnesses to Evangelicals of the vital link between social responsibility and evangelism. The Maryknoll sisters, a Catholic missionary order, stands at the forefront of linking mission to peace and justice around the world. Orbis Press, a publication of Maryknoll, publishes some of the most progressive thought on interfaith dialogue and radical peace and justice. Peace and mission can be reconciled within the church.

Even with this hope, I recognize that reconciliation is not always an easy matter. It is hard bringing together people who are at odds with one another. Even though the risen Christ commissioned the disciples to be a forgiving people and sent them forth into the world, forgiveness was not going to be easy. There was a fearful and dangerous world beyond those doors. And there was always the potential for anger and violence between the disciples and those who had crucified their beloved leader. The mission of forgiveness and reconciliation between opposing groups is not always an easy road to take. Even between peace-people and mission-people.

I am reminded of the difficulty involved in reconciling estranged peoples in a story of Lawrence Hart, Cheyenne peace chief and Mennonite pastor. Lawrence’s role model is White Antelope, a Cheyenne peace chief from the 1800’s. White Antelope followed the teachings of Sweet Medicine who said that chiefs are to be peacemakers. “They are not to engage in controversy or use any violence. And peace chiefs are to do that no matter what the cost.” White Antelope was one of the first to be shot at the massacre of Sand Creek in the Colorado Territory in 1860 along with innocent women, children, and infants. Parts of their bodies were paraded through Denver. Lawrence bears the wounds of his ancestors. One way he works to heal these wounds has been to obtain the remains of his ancestors and other tribes on display in museums and to return them to their people for burial. The project is called Return to the Earth.

Bearing the wounds of this violent history of whites against Native Americans Lawrence tells the story of an incident in which reconciliation was particularly difficult. It was on a day when a tragedy was being re-enacted. The massacre at Washita River took place at dawn in November of 1868. Colonel Custer and 800 troops from the 7th U.S. Cavalry attacked the peaceful Cheyenne village on the banks of the Washita. The people of Cheyenne planned a centennial observance of their town’s history and wanted the Cheyenne people to play a part in a re-enactment. The Cheyenne agreed to participate, if the bones of a Cheyenne victim on display in their museum would be properly buried as part of the commemoration.

As the bugle sounded, Lawrence heard some commotion to his right. When he looked over he saw a small detachment of troops. It turned out that they were members of the Grand Army of the Republic, the grandsons of the 7th Calvary. He hadn’t known they were coming. They were dressed in authentic 7th Calvary uniforms, on horses, and firing blank cartridges from their rifles. He detested their presence. And he didn’t appreciate that they were shooting at his people, once again, 100 years later, and especially shooting at his own biological children. When the re-enactment ended it was time to bury the bones of the Cheyenne killed in the original battle. The soldiers saluted the coffin. Hart was furious. “How dare they do that? How dare they salute one that their grandfathers had killed.” Then, one of the Cheyenne women, following tradition, took a beautiful blanket from her shoulders and placed it on the coffin.

It was also tradition to give a coffin covering to someone at the burial. The chiefs consulted and told Hart who they wanted to receive the blanket----the captain of the regiment. “Why are they doing this?” thought Hart. He obeyed his elders. Lawrence called the captain forward and placed the blanket on the shoulders of a grandson of the original soldiers from the massacre at the Washita.

Later the captain thanked Lawrence and took off an oval pin from his uniform, a pin worn originally by members of the 7th Calvary. It was a “Garryowen pin.” “Garryowen was the name of the music played to signal an attack. It was played that morning 100 years ago. The captain told Lawrence, “I want you to take this pin on behalf of the Cheyenne people, with the assurance that never again will your people hear Garryowen.”

Can you hear the wind of the Spirit blowing across the Washita River? Listen. The Spirit of Christ still breathes the word…. “peace.”

With the marks of a nonviolent struggle on his hands and feet, Christ breathed his peaceable Spirit upon his disciples. Christ blew his sweet breath, the presence of his Holy Spirit upon them, like God breathed upon the first human, as a new creation. This was the Pentecost of John’s gospel, whereby the disciples were sent into the world as missionaries. Christ’s breath, the same breath that breathed the words of peace, empowered a new community and sent them out into the world, breaking through the doors locked by fear. Peace and mission come to us from the same source, the same breath of the risen Christ.

We, who have heard Christ’s words of peace and have felt the breath of his Spirit in our gatherings, have been sent into the world. We have been sent just as Jesus was sent with the Spirit of peace, reconciliation, and forgiveness. We go forth with more than a greeting, more than an inner peace to calm our fears. We go forth with an empowerment by Christ’s fiery Spirit. We go forth to share God’s healing, forgiving grace, and to be a new community on a peaceable mission to divided and violent world.

God is Our Ever Present Help: a sermon on Psalm 46

Ein feste burg is unser Gott. A Mighty Fortress is our God. In 1529, when the Protestant cause of the Reformation was wavering in the balance, Martin Luther wrote the hymn A Mighty Fortress is our God. His song was based upon Psalm 46, a hymn of God's enduring power. This psalm has provided assurance and comfort for many from generation to generation who have faced crises and struggles. It is a psalm I have often read to people when they are in the hospital enduring sickness or facing death. In powerful poetic images the psalm extols confidence in God, our refuge and strength in times of trouble. Luther has captured well the psalm's image of God as a mighty fortress.

Psalm 46 is a psalm of Zion, the city where it was believed that God dwelt and from where God rule. It was the place of the temple and Israel's military stronghold. But, this Psalm of Zion does not extol the security and strength of the city itself. The psalm reminds us that it is God in the city and not the king in the palace, nor the priests in the temple, who brings security, order, and peace to the world. Neither church nor state is our refuge and strength. God alone is our ever present help.

The psalm is structured in three parts. Verses 1-3 assure us not to fear, even when all of creation is collapsing around us. Verses 4-7 proclaim God's presence in Zion's midst, even when surrounded by conflict and catastrophe. In verses 8,11 God calls for peace among the nations. Each section of the psalm contains a confession of confidence in God, a reassuring refrain reminding us that God is with us and is our refuge and our strength.

God is our power when the world quakes. Psalm 46 opens with the assurance that God is our refuge and our strength, an everpresent help in times of trouble. There is no need to fear, even in the midst of cosmic cataclysm. The psalmist seems to paint a graphic picture of a catastrophic earthquake. Earthquakes are so powerful they would cause anyone to fear. I was scared out of my wits during the big earthquake in California in 1971. It measured 7.1 on the Richter scale. One morning I woke to a deep rumbling in the earth. My bed was bouncing across the wood floor. I could hear the house was creaking and moaning. Books were flying off the shelf. My mother was banging on my bedroom yelling at me to get out of the house. It was like waking to a nightmare. I prayed to God in fear. It literally felt like the end of the world.

There are times when the ground beneath us shakes and quakes and it feels like the end of our world. Figuratively speaking, the ground on which we stand may be understood as those things which provide us with what appears to be unshakable “security," our impenetrable nation, our clean bill of health, our steady job, our home sweet home, our friends and family, our social security payments, our retirement fund. These things make us feel safe and secure in the world. Then, something happens unexpectedly, like September 11 and we feel the insecurity that so many nations have felt under our military power and our own terrorism through nuclear threat. Or what happens to us to shake our security may not be something that can be measured on the Richter scale, but it may feel like a 7.1 quake in the soul. In a serious tone your child's teacher says, "I caught your child cheating on the exam." The boss calls you into the office and with eyes to the floor says, "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to lay you off." The letter reads, "Your Medicare benefits have been cut." The doctor walks into the room with a file and some x-rays and states rather stoically, "The test says its a malignant tumor.” Dark clouds gather overhead and we shiver. Waves of mortality and breakers of insecurity crash on our shore and we tremble. The mountains of our strength rock and reel and we shake in fear.

Sometimes the shaking of our securities may occur through a loss or change which may on the surface seem common or insignificant. It doesn't always take a major crisis to cause the ground beneath us to quake. One of the earliest memories of renowned theologian Teilhard de Chardin was of his hair being cut by his mother in front of the fireplace. The young Teilhard watched in horror as a lock of his hair fell into the fire, blackened and burned. To him, a part of himself had turned into nothing. For the first time in his life he understood that he was not indestructible. His young mind needed something permanent and imperishable to provide him with a refuge from the transitoriness of life. So he fixed his attention on iron. He soon discovered iron would rust. So, he turned to rocks, something stable. As Teilhard matured he realized there was no imperishable substance which offered a refuge from a world which decays and crumbles. This was the beginning of a spiritual pilgrimage for Teilhard to search for that Rock and Refuge which stands strong in a world which shakes and falls apart.

The psalmist assures us that God is our refuge and our strength. God is everpresent when our bodies fail us, our years pass into nothingness, and the vibrancy of life fades into faint memories. God is a mighty fortress where we can flee when our faith is being attacked by the swords of doubt and spears of misfortune. God is the Rock upon which we stand when the quicksand of human troubles would pull us under. God is our strength when life has wrung from us the last drop of energy we need just to make it through another day. God is with us. God is our refuge and our strength, an everpresent help in times of trouble.

God is our presence when cities and nations rage. The psalmist pictures the nations round about Zion as being in an uproar. Kingdoms totter. The earth melts like a wax candle. The world of politics and policies, of economics and ecology is teetering on the brink of disaster. You don't have to live in ancient land of Jerusalem to understand what this is like. Those of us old enough to have lived through a World War and the Depression know how nations and economies can stagger like drunken men.
We have seen rulers deposed and assassinated and allied countries in conflict. We have watched as the rule of presidents, congressional leaders, and even church leaders have stumbled and fallen. Many of us have watched the slow decay of our inner cities. White flight to the suburbs, segregation of races, unemployment, gangs, and violence flow like sewage through the streets and alleys. We have tasted the bitter waters of pollution from industry without conscience and smelled the fumes of a world burning up its resources without limits. Gazing at a world melting into oblivion we long for the city of God, whose foundations are sure.

It was St. Augustine who so eloquently wrote of The City of God, which he contrasted to the earthly city of humanity. For the psalmist the city of God is both the present earthly Jerusalem and the ideal, heavenly Jerusalem. In contrast to the world, where the "waters roar and foam," a peaceful river makes glad the city of God. God is in the midst of the city. It is God who makes its streets secure. When all we see are cul de sacs of injustice and dead end streets of beaurocracy, the vision of the city of God opens our eyes to God's presence on the highways and byways of our earthly cities.

To look at our world, our nations, our cities, with an eye only on the earthly, human city is to overlook the presence of God in the world. It can only lead to despair. We can catch glimpses of the city of God within our earthly cities. The city of God is where justice weighs heavy in the scales, righteousness rules the city council, the weak are made strong, the wounded are healed, the hungry are given their just desserts, and persons are not judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. The city of God is governed by what Michael Lerner calls the "politics of meaning, II a reconstruction of "the world in a way which takes seriously the uniqueness and preciousness of every human being and our connection to a higher ethical and spiritual purpose that gives meaning to our lives." A river of life flows in the midst of this city. It quenches the thirst of those panting for purpose and joy in living.

The spires of God's city reach into the heavens, while its foundation is rooted in the earth. God is its maker and builder. Each new day which dawns illuminates the presence of God within this city, who roams its streets with sleeves rolled up and is hard at work securing its unstable walls, filling in the potholes of inequity, and checking the flow of its lifegiving waters. God is working at building a new Jerusalem, a new Dallas. So, even though the nations rage and the cities seem to be crumbling around us, God is with us. God is our refuge and our strength, an everpresent help in times of trouble.

God is our peace when strife and warfare blares its noise. In the final section of the psalm the poet invites us to come and see the things God has done upon the earth while the nations rage and their cities crumble. Ashes as Ground zero in New York City, the flames of the L.A. riots, the smoldering ruins of Sarajevo, the bomb infested fields of Southeast Asia tell the tale of human folly. Our flood of handguns, stockpiles of nuclear weapons, and reliance upon military security bears witness to our insecurity and our trust in human power to save us. Across the silent fields of Vietnam, through the ruins of Kosovo, beyond the sands of Kuwait, throughout the noisy halls of the Pentagon, God is shouting, "Be still and know that I am God! It is my reign of peace which shall rule the nations. I will be exalted above the earth and it is my kingdom which is to come on earth as in heaven.”

We have often taken the words "Be still and know that I am God" out of context and used it as a call to quiet meditation. Rather, it is God's command to cease war, to stop the violence and destruction. "Stop the wars, then you will know I am God." To know God is to end our strife and warfare. For God is the one who makes wars to cease to the ends of the earth. God snaps the M-1 rifle in two. God smashes the scud missile. God sets fire to the armored tanks. "Be still," says God. "Stop your fighting and know I am God."

The cry for a world without war and violence is not just the yelling of some radical protesters with their signs waving or the whispering of a minority of Mennonites. It is the roar of God above the raging nations. Be still! Stop the war and violence! You have heard this voice crying out, haven It you? You have heard it in the words of the prophets Isaiah and Micah, who proclaimed a day when swords will be beaten into plowshares, nation will not lift up sword against nation, nor will they learn war any more (Isaiah 2:4, Micah 4:3). God's voice echoed in words of Hosea who spoke of a day when weapons and war will be abolished from the land (Hosea 2: 18). The advent angels chime in at the birth of the Prince of Peace, "Peace on earth. Good will to all." You have heard this same cry in the voice of Jesus, who said, "Blessed are the peacemakers," and "Love your enemies." God's voice continued to ring in the words of Anabaptist Conrad Grebel, who reminded us that the sword and killing had ceased with the true Christian. The call for peace could be heard in the words of A.J. Muste when he said, "There is no way to peace. Peace is the way" or Mahatma Ghandi, who said, "My religion is based on truth and non-violence. Truth is my God and non~violence is the means to reach God." God still cries out to a warring world, "Be still, stop the war and violence, and know that I am God."

Even when creation trembles, foundations shake, nations rage, kingdoms totter, cities crumble, warfare blares, God is with us. God is our refuge and our strength, an everpresent help in times of trouble. This truth is worth singing. The psalmist proclaimed this truth in a song. Martin Luther penned a hymn so the truth of this psalm would ring from the rafters. Let us sing with our lives the truth of God, a mighty fortress, our refuge and our strength, an everpresent help in times of trouble.



A New Psalm 46
written by Leo Hartshorn

We need not be afraid,
though oil spills blacken the seas
and volcanoes spit ash into the skies,
though the ground beneath our lives
shakes and cracks,
though tornadoes of tragedy
rip up the roots of our world,
though the seas of chaos
engulf us beneath their waves.

God is our everpresent help.
God is our refuge and our strength.

The peaceful streams of God's presence
water the roots of our spirits
and flood the streets of our cities with joy.
God is always with us,
and comes to us in hours of darkness
as the dawning of a new day. Presidents and kings may cause
their petty skirmishes.
Dictators and regimes may topple
to the ground. But, when God speaks with hot breath the icy world melts.

God is our everpresent help.
God is our refuge and our strength.

Take a good look
off into God's future
and see the new world
made by divine hands.
That ol’ Peacemaker
has called a halt to all wars.
See, the rifles snap over God's knee.
Behold, God smashes
stockpiles of nuclear weapons with a mighty fist
and puts the match to a fleet of stealth bombers.
God shouts over the noise of battle,
“ Stop the fighting!
When the world obeys,
they will know me
as the God I am,
Lover of justice and peace.
When the world finally ceases
its warring ways,
then they will know,
I am their refuge and their strength.
I will be exalted
over all the earth.

God is our everpresent help.
God is our refuge and our strength.

On Preaching Peace

(Christ) came and proclaimed peace…. Ephesians 2:17

Peace and justice are essential to the reconciling gospel. And preaching is a significant form of communicating the gospel within the life of the church. Within most Anabaptist-Mennonite churches the worship service is centered around the proclamation of the Word. Preachers often spend a significant amount of their time during the week in sermon preparation. So, it becomes imperative that pastors, and others with responsibility for proclaiming the Word, reflect on the nature of preaching peace and justice.

First, preaching peace and justice is more than preaching on peace and justice. Preaching on peace for Peace Sunday or during a crisis of war is well and good, but preaching peace and justice calls for a consistent and comprehensive understanding and practice. Any preacher can tell you that preaching involves more than standing at the pulpit on a particular Sunday morning and talking for twenty minutes. It involves an ongoing practice of interpreting texts, structuring the sermon, considering the liturgical, congregational, and social contexts, using language creatively, and communicating with mind, passion, voice, and body. In the same way, preaching peace and justice is far more than occasionally addressing peace and justice as topics. It is an ongoing discipline integrated consistently into a perennial practice.

Preaching peace and justice is a comprehensive enterprise. It entails a wide range of skills and disciplines, including biblical interpretation, use of language and illustrations, and addressing liturgical, ecclesial, social, and political contexts. How does a preacher interpret and proclaim problematic texts concerning slavery, women’s roles, or negative depictions of the Jewish people? Do the language, stories, and illustrations in the sermon reinforce gender, racial, or class stereotypes or present marginalized groups in a positive light? How do prayers, readings, offering, hymns, as well as sermon, proclaim peace and justice? How does the preacher speak to poverty, injustice, domestic violence, war, racism, and sexism in ways the congregation will listen? Developing skills and disciplines that address these and other questions form preaching into a practice that engenders peace and justice.

Second, if we understand peace and justice to be essential to the gospel, we will seek to ground peace and justice in scripture and Christian theology. Many Christians do not see the connection between faith and politics nor peace and justice with the gospel. Any talk of peace and justice is initially heard as a form of partisan politics. Grounding peace and justice clearly in biblical texts and Christian theology through the continuing practices of teaching and preaching helps to create the awareness of peace and justice as integral to the Christian faith and message. A comprehensive study of those biblical texts that address peace and justice, and even problematic ones, within the Hebrew and Christian scriptures are important preparation for preaching on peace and justice. There may be some interpreters who might benefit from utilizing emancipatory methodologies of biblical interpretation, such as those found in feminist, African-American/womanist, Latino/mujerista, liberationist, political, and postcolonial readings of the Bible alongside traditional male, Eurocentric interpretive approaches. Or interpreters might simply ask how a particular text or interpretation can support gender, racial, class, and social equality.

An exploration of the implications of Christian theology for social issues might provide a rich supply of sermons on peace and justice. What does the Eucharist or Lord’s Supper have to say to hunger in the world? Does the Christian practice of hospitality address our attitudes and practices towards immigrants and strangers? Can the catholicity or universality of the church speak to issues such as nationalism and war?

Third, it is important to recognize that preaching itself is an act of nonviolent resistance. The apostle Paul went from voicing violent threats against followers of Jesus to proclaiming Christ’s nonviolent cross as the way of salvation. He understood that the principalities and powers of this world are resisted by “proclaiming the gospel of peace” (Ephesians 2:17). Rather than confronting the powers with violent weapons of human warfare, Paul tells the church to take up the “sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God” (Ephesians 6:17). Preaching is a rhetorical alternative to violent domination. It is a practice of nonviolence.

As a nonviolent practice preaching should avoid the rhetorical violence of castigating moralism. Pointing the finger and accusing the congregation for breaking God’s commandments or for being racist, sexist, and warmongers will probably not, in the words of Andrew Carnegie, “win friends and influence people.” Moralizing places all the power of change within the realm of human effort. It is command without empowerment. Do this and don’t do that. Being prophetic does not necessarily mean replacing God’s power and grace with human works. The preacher can proclaim a gospel of power and grace, while at the same time calling the church to a vision and practice of peace and justice. Preachers of peace and justice can proclaim the God who has the power not only to transform individuals, but also institutions and social systems. Prophetic preaching can be hopeful. Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech, which grew out of his African-American preaching tradition, addressed racism in America with a hopeful and inspiring vision.

Fourth, preaching peace and justice calls for awareness of our social context. Preaching must always be contextual. In order to connect the good news with peace and justice the preacher should be to some extent informed about what is going on locally, nationally, and globally in peace and justice. The context will form the particular shape of the sermon. What does the gospel of peace have to say to a congregation living during a war? What shape will a sermon on justice take in a highly segregated suburban community? How will the awareness of the increasing gap between the rich and the poor in the U.S. impact a sermon on the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus? Context will shape the sermon, stories, illustrations, and ethical implications.

Preaching peace and justice is more than preaching on peace and justice. It is a comprehensive, nonviolent practice of resistance and ecclesial formation that connects our faith to a world in need of spiritual transformation.

_________________________________

Annotated Bibliography

Books

Ronald J. Allen and Clark M. Williamson, Interpreting Difficult Texts: Anti-Judaism and Christian Preaching Trinity Press International, 1989.

An examination of difficult New Testament texts reflecting anti-Judaism is provided for preachers.

Ronald J. Allen and Clark M. Williamson, Preaching the Gospels Without Blaming the Jews: A Lectionary Commentary Westminster John Knox Press, 2004.

The authors provide a thorough examination of lectionary texts that are anti-Judaism.

Kathy Black, A Healing Homiletic: Preaching and Disability Abingdon, 1996.

Black provides important hermeneutical insights for preaching justly about disabilities from biblical texts.

Walter J. Burghardt, S.J., Preaching the Just Word Yale University Press, 1996.

This Catholic theologian offers insights on preaching on peace and justice grounded in the Bible and Catholic social teaching.

Charles L. Campbell, The Word Before the Powers: An Ethic of Preaching Westminster John Knox Press, 2002.

Following William Stringfellow and Walter Wink’s theological lead, Campbell encourages preachers to challenge the powers by forming communities of resistance through practicing what we preach.

James M. Childs, Jr. Preaching Justice: The Ethical Vocation of Word and Sacrament Ministry Trinity Press International 2000.

The author sets forth a biblical and theological foundation for preaching on justice as the heart of the church’s mission and witness.

R. Scott Colglazier, ed., Yes to Peace: Sermons on the Shalom of God Chalice Press, 2001.

These sermons speak to global peace and include several discussion questions.

James W. Crawford, Worthy to Raise Issues: Preaching and Public Responsibility Pilgrim Press, 1991.

This book is a collection of 12 sermons by James Crawford addressing such issues as political power, economic and social justice.

Justo L. Gonzalez and Catherine G. Gonzalez, The Liberating Pulpit Abingdon Press, 1994.

Written from a liberation theological perspective, the authors address hermeneutical issues in service of the poor and oppressed.

James H. Harris, Preaching Liberation Fortress Press, 1995.

Written from an African-American liberation perspective, Harris addresses biblical, theological, hermeneutical, and methodological issues in preaching for human emancipation.

Leo Hartshorn, Interpretation and Preaching as Communal and Dialogical Practices: An Anabaptist Perspective. Edwin Mellen Press, 2006.

This book was my doctoral dissertation. It seeks to construct an inclusive, emancipatory model of (Ana)baptist preaching through an examination of Anabaptist, theological, and homiletical sources.

Dieter T. Hessel, For Creation’s Sake: Preaching Ecology and Justice Presbyterian Pub. Corp., 1985.

Dieter T. Hessel, ed., Social Themes of the Christian Year: A Commentary on the Lectionary Geneva Press, 1983.

Here is a helpful resource for preaching on social issues throughout the Christian year.

Howard Clark Kee and Irvin J. Borowsky, eds., Removing Anti-Judaism from the Pulpit Continuum, 1996.

The authors of these essays examine historical and interpretive issues for approaching anti-Judaism in biblical texts and preaching.

Stan L. Lequire, ed., The Best Preaching on Earth: Sermons for Creation Judson Press, 1996.

This collection of sermons provides a wide range of sample sermons on creation care.

John S. McClure and Nancy J. Ramsay, eds., Telling the Truth: Preaching About Sexual and Domestic Violence United Church Press, 1998.

This collection of essays provides theological and ethical grounding, with sermon samples, for preaching on sexual and domestic violence. Includes an interesting essay on “Preaching as Nonviolent Resistance.”

Jennifer M. Philips, Preaching Creation: Throughout the Christian Year Cowley Pub., 2000.

This resource addresses environmental issues connected to the lectionary texts through the cycle of years A, B, and C on the Christian calendar.

Andre Resner, Jr., ed., Just Preaching: Prophetic Voices for Economic Justice Chalice Press, 2003.

Resner has collected 32 essays and prophetic sermons that address poverty and economic justice.

Ron J. Sider and Daniel J. Brubaker, Preaching on Peace Fortress Press, 1971.

This somewhat dated collection of sermons from a wide variety of denominational perspectives seeks to address the problem of nuclear weapons.

Christine M. Smith, Preaching as Weeping, Confession, and Resistance: Radical Responses to Radical Evil Westminster John Knox Press, 1992.

Smith presents preaching as a means to grapple with the evils of handicappism, ageism, heterosexism, sexism, white racism, and classism.

Christine Smith, ed., Preaching Justice: Ethnic and Cultural Perspectives United Church Press, 1998.

Contributors to this collection of essays write on transformative preaching on justice from eight diverse ethnic, racial, and cultural backgrounds.

Arthur Van Seters, ed., Preaching as a Social Act: Theology and Practice Abingdon, 1988.

This collection of essays lays a groundwork for preaching on social issues by speaking to the social nature, context, and function of preaching.

J. Philip Wogaman, Speaking the Truth in Love: Prophetic Preaching to a Broken World Westminster John Knox Press, 1998.

Wogaman discusses the biblical and theological grounding of prophetic preaching, the pastoral and liturgical context, moral decision making, how to discuss social issues from the pulpit, and responding to criticism.

Web sites

Preaching the Just Word: http://www.georgetown.edu/centers/woodstock/pjw.htm

Preaching Peace: http://preachingpeace.org