The Lord’s Army

“The Lord’s Army”
Eph. 6:10-20 + Pentecost 12 + 23 August 2009
Plymouth United Church of Christ, Milwaukee
D. Ross-Jones

During my Sunday School years we sang a song – one that fell out of favor within many Christian circles long ago, but it was based on this passage from Ephesians.

I may never march in the infantry
Ride in the cavalry
Shoot the artillery.
I may never zoom o’er the enemy
But I’m in the Lord’s Army.

Now what puzzled me about the song at the time wasn’t its blatant war imagery and the social conditioning that accompanies it.  (In fact, if I might be blunt, that’s not what puzzles me the greatest even now.)  It was that as a child, I had absolutely no idea what an infantry, cavalry, or artillery were.  Especially when we would gallop around the room, riding on horses, there seemed to be a great disconnect between the lyrics of the song and what was happening in the world around me.

A cavalry of troops on horses?  Those were old armies, the kind I saw in movies, not like the live video footage on the TV of the first Gulf War, or the photos of Vietnam I grew up with in history books.  Of course I wouldn’t ride in a cavalry: they simply didn’t exist anymore.  So why would we sing about them?

Let us pray,

Eternal God, we thank you for the opportunity to gather together as your community and approach you through your recorded word.  I ask now that the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts here in this place be acceptable in your sight, O God, our strength and our redeemer.  Amen.

“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power.  Put on the whole armor of God so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.”

This passage begins the description of the Armor of God.  It seems strange, right?  Jesus comes as the Prince of Peace, seeks to be a reconciler between humankind and its Creator, he spends his ministry transferring between social classes and even at the end chides his disciple to put his sword away, for the one who lives by the sword will surely die by it.  So here, the text writer pumps us full of war and battle imagery, preparing us for a cosmic battle that we must be prepared to wage.  Failure and loss is not an option, and from the looks of things there’s no diplomatic solution.

Like the song about the Lord’s Army, its easy to say things don’t work like that anymore.  Or its even easier, as some have done, to reframe this verse using peaceful language and images like our very own Angel of Peace in that window, highlighting the softer, reconciler God and avoiding the violence issue altogether, but that insults the text.  (Full disclosure: that’s what I was planning on doing even for this homily today, the appointed Gospel reading from John appealed to me in that way as being easier to deal with than the Ephesians war.)  A deeper look brings out aspects of this biblical call to action for justice and righteousness that is hard to ignore.

I want to acknowledge, also, that warlike imagery is not necessarily the primary image of progressive Christianity.  However I do believe that it is important that we explore this part of our tradition, to recognize and appreciate the myriad images used to approach and represent God and the Christian faith.  This diversity is our greatest strength.

Right off the bat, let’s keep our progressive cred cards in good standing: this text is not calling us to a literal war for souls with the devil.  No one is flocking the church supply shop today to stock up on belts of truth, breastplates of righteousness, or swords of the spirit.  But the imagery of a real, true, life-giving and life-taking cosmic battle raging in the heavenlies was just as faithful, just as important, just as essential to the understanding of the early Hellenistic community to which this letter was originally written as representative government and organization is to our lives today.  These battles permeated the ancient Greek mythology and the other religious movements of the era.  What some now read as an inspired, infallible, divinely-ordained call to war in this passage really represents the cultural understandings of the people at Ephesus.  Writing in this way at the end of the letter, the author is drawing upon the cultural tradition that these cosmic wars are being battled, and that as people in Christ who already are united with Jesus who dwells now in heaven, we have to be prepared to join in this war.  Its simply a given.  To modern ears, the idea of evil in heaven is downright offensive.  To early Greek Christians, the idea of a peaceful heaven is absurd.

So, no, its not time to fight salvation wars against Satan.  But that’s not to say that wars aren’t being waged, and that we shouldn’t be always prepared to battle.  We can dance around it all we want – and I’m guilty of plenty of it – but this life is a violent one.  Each of us, daily, are literally set in battle against, if not cosmic forces, still the most powerful forces millennia of social civilization can throw against us.  Economic forces, forces of social privilege, battles over accessibility and education and health care and the agricultural-industrial complex.

For those who deal with mental illness, the battles of literally living in one’s own head are fought day after day, hour after hour.  And in the church, we have historically had a lock on much warfare in our own name, perpetuated today in the social conditioning and institutional spiritual warfare.

“For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.”

I’ve received a lot of feedback about the story I wrote for the e-newsletter this week.  For those who weren’t able to read it, here’s a summary: walking home from an appointment in Chicago’s Loop earlier this summer, I met a street person named Jay.  It was seemingly simple enough to start: he held up a cardboard sign and wanted simply money for a transit card.  I witnessed the dark side of humanity in Jay’s battle, but I also witnessed the hope of a wounded soul.  In an equally simple gesture, I bought Jay a seven-day bus pass at the neighboring L train station.  When I met Jay on that corner in front of Old Navy and subsequently wrote a blog post, it was simply to process and clear my mind.  (I’m a writer.  That’s what I do.)  When that happened earlier this summer, I received a lot of comments on my Facebook, e-mails in my inbox, comments on my blog.  The responses were varied and all were interesting.

For a few weeks – over a month, actually – I didn’t see Jay again.  There was a relief inside of me, a feeling of release.  Even as much as I want to point to it as a life transforming experience, there’s still a sense of “out of sight, out of mind.”  I still am mindful of all those living on the streets of Chicago, and I’ve been trying to remember to follow the advice of a friend of mine who buys a few coupons for dollar menu items at fast food restaurants to give to the first street people she sees.  Then two weeks ago I went on vacation to New York City and noticed the difference in homelessness presented there versus Chicago.

But just this past Tuesday, as I was walking back to the train after an appointment downtown, there he was again.  Same worn out clothing, same tattered cardboard sign.  I felt a lump growing within my chest when I saw him again.  My brain was telling me to run away, the emotional roller coaster I was putting myself on was too much for it to process.  My heart wanted me to run toward him, to scream of the injustice playing out on the corner of State and Washington, to make people listen, to open their eyes and their hearts.  My feet – well, they were just waiting for the battle between my heart and brain to play out before they asked for directions.

“Therefore take up the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to withstand on that evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm.”

At the beginning of this passage, we are charged to “Be strong” in God, to “clothe ourselves” in this armor.  In the Greek, both of these verbs in their reflexive form call on the reader to do this with a sense of urgency, intentionality.  Doing these things, responding to the battles waging around you do not allow for second guesses.  It’s a “do or do not, there is no try” situation.  We are in Christ, we are with God, and the Spirit works through us, but it is up to us to act.  We must take the initiative ourselves, we must be the change we wish to see.  We must be strong to withstand that which attacks ourselves: our senses, our emotions, our preconceived notions.  We must stand firm for what is right, witnessing to truth and justice in love.  We must put our faith into action, responding to the battles ahead.

A proverb that I have had taped to my computer monitor since college keeps this theology of action front-and-center for me: “When you pray,” it reads, “move your feet.”

There’s also a harkening back to the prophecy recorded by Isaiah here, too.  In the Hebrew Scriptures, God is recorded as being the strength, the might, the ultimate authority.  For the Ephesian people, living in a world of might held in check by the powerfulness of Rome, here the potential strength of the individual and the union of God-with-us and humanity that the letter writer is expressing, the focus is on the believer.  God refuses to be God alone.  Instead, humankind answering God’s call work as agents to bring about a new human condition.  God’s might has been transferred through the agency of Jesus Christ himself; no more is this a lofty battle on high, but one that we respond to as individuals both high and low.

“Stand therefore, and fasten the belt of truth around your waist, and put on the breastplate of righteousness. As shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace.”

I couldn’t walk right up to him on Tuesday.  In the end, a treaty was arranged between my head and heart, and I began walking around the block.  The half block back to Michigan was a time to cool down, to let my body recharge.  As I walked up Michigan to Lake, I saw more people with their cups, standing outside shops.  It was as if I were walking through a surreal reality as I turned the corner and walked back across Lake.  It soon became conditioned to a resolve, however.  I was going to talk to Jay again; I was going to ask him how he was doing and what he needed.  If this was going to be my battle of the day, I was now ready to fight.  I told my brain to shut up, keep my heart and soul in check – here was a chance to demonstrate that “non-anxious presence” they teach us about at school.  I kept passing more and more street people.  Making it back to the battlefield without breaking became the most pressing issue at the moment.

“With all of these, take the shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.”

Earlier in the letter, the writer proclaims that faith is what enables us to harness the power of God.  In faith, all things are possible.  But the juxtaposition of faith and salvation here is what really caught my attention.  Salvation is a free gift of God, released by God seemingly without concern.  In chapter 3, the writer states that “through faith,” Christ dwells in the heart of the believer.  So the metaphor here becomes all the stronger – and reassuring – that as we activate the power of God through faith, we also summon the peace of Christ that is within ourselves, to withstand the forces that push against us.

The gospel of peace reflects Jesus Christ who “is our peace” in chapter 2.  What’s striking about this letter is that, in its entirety, it is not concerned with conquest or victory.  It fails to craft all the typical elements of a war one might consider: battle lines between people aren’t drawn, just the rulers and authorities.  In fact, this is the only place where military imagery is used.  Earlier in the letter, the focus is on personal empowerment through faith in Jesus Christ.  Empowerment through love, reconciliation, the overcoming of barriers.  The celebration is when those barriers are overcome.  This agenda, which one writer has called the “Christ agenda,” is that reconciliation is possible.  That agenda is what controls the imagery, not the other way around as has so regrettably been the case for so many periods through history.

This reconciliation points back to the power of Christ on the cross – another equally violent moment, perpetrated by those who feared the radical inclusion proposed by that Jewish carpenter from Nazareth.  In that scene and in the days that followed, Jesus completed the ultimate reconciliation between Creator and created.  Though these battles wage and we continue to respond to work for the coming Christ agenda, we are not alone.  We work not out of a desire for human justice, but a divine ordinance.  Thanks be to God!

“Pray in the Spirit at all times in every prayer and supplication. To that end keep alert and always persevere in supplication for all the saints.”

I finally made it the last block to Jay, after what felt like an eternity.  (I knew Chicago blocks were big, but these two seemed larger than life!)  I crossed the street, and I stopped in front of Jay.  “Hi there,” I said, with as much enthusiastic confidence I could muster.  He looked at me, as if he was scanning his mental recollection for who I was and why I would possibly be talking to him.  “Hey, how’s it going?” he began.  “Wait – seven-day bus pass!  Thanks so much for that, man!”

I laughed.  It was a laughter of joy, a release.  Still, even right now, I’m amazed at how a simple bus pass can bring about such happiness.  I can’t do anything else but laugh.

We talked for a little bit, I asked him how he was doing.  He was finally able to get a state benefits card through a social worker at an outreach center.  They even let him go to the grocery store with it and buy some food and store in their fridge, so he stops there every day to have a meal and prepare something to take with him as he hits the streets again.  He’s remaining positive that people will start building again and that he’ll be able to work soon.  Really, that’s all Jay wants: is just to work.  He admitted that he felt really embarrassed when he started begging, and that its still hard, but he just didn’t know what to do anymore.  It was a last resort, and he was there.

Before I left, I asked him if there was anything he needed that day.  He said he could really use a bottle of water.  He drank all of them he bought at the grocery store, and as he thumbed around his cup, he didn’t yet have enough change to buy one.  Across the street in the other direction is a Walgreen’s.  I went across and bought him two.  Once again, he responded with such gratitude, offering to give me one bottle of water back because he didn’t want to accept so much.  I firmly told him to keep it – he might not have a chance to get more before tomorrow – and we once again parted ways.

“Pray also for me, so that when I speak, a message may be given to me to make known with boldness the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it boldly, as I must speak.”

Prayer is a central activity for us as Christians.  In fact, prayer is the most violent weapon we have in our supply.  The battles wage around us, but like the Angel of Peace, we respond to that violence in peace.  The forces are deadly and outside of our control, but we keep alert to its actions in the mundane of our lives.

At the end, here, I feel there is a double-meaning to the imagery of the chains.  Traditional scholarship attributes this letter to Paul’s writings, while he was imprisoned in Rome.  In that sense there is a literal meaning to the chains, attached to a ball of weight precluding Paul’s escape.  But I think the chains mean so much more than that, as the weight of these earthly fights drag us down.  Perseverance is so crucial for us, that we continue to bear witness to the One who is peace.  Once again, we return to prayer for strength in resolve.

This armor does not prevent difficulty from reaching us, instead it keeps us emboldened, strengthened, and enabled to continually boldly witness to the gospel even in the midst of such persecution and hardship.  One writer summarizes this ending best, I think, when he writes: “The final call to serious prayer echoes the emphasis with which this segment began: the need to have a grounded and solid spirituality as a basis for living with Christ’s agenda and power in the world rather than with an agenda served up in the media and by those who will not take poverty seriously, but see it only as a threat. Only such spirituality can prevent the image losing its subversive quality and slipping back into the justification for Christian triumphalism and hate. When it is seen as subversive, peace has a chance.”

Soli Deo Gloria.  To God Alone be Glory. Amen.