Being Peacemakers:
Bearers of wholeness in a world of brokenness

Sermon Preached by Dr. Stephen Martin
St Paul's Anglican Church, Rondebosch
9 April 2000

Readings: Ps. 51:10-17; Jer. 31:27-34; John 12:20-33

Introduction: broken world, broken people

It doesn't take more than a glance at a newspaper to confirm the fact that we live in a broken and violent world, torn apart by wars and rumours of wars.

Nor does it take more than a glance around to confirm the fact that we live in a broken and violent society, with a legacy that continues to impact upon our daily lives, regardless of who we are or where we live. The violence of apartheid which dehumanised all South Africans, whether victim, perpetrator or beneficiary, has been made plain even to those who lived behind high walls in comfortable suburbs through the work of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. And the criminal culture that found fertile soil in the repressiveness of the old regime continues to terrorise us.

Even closer to home is the brokenness and violence that characterises our relationships, whether with the person driving in the car in front of us, or with our life-partner. Indeed, in a country where one in two South African women will be raped at some point in her life-and in a staggering number of cases by a spouse or family member-the pervasiveness of violence and its incursion into every part of our lives cannot be in doubt.

And we are broken and divided ourselves. The weight of our own inner tension and violence plays itself into all the other parts of our lives. Every resolution to think or live differently is met by failure. Violence begets violence, as victims call for vengeance.

Finally there is the violence that we perpetrate on the earth, with our idolatrous pursuit of scientific and technological progress, and economic growth, at any cost. Indeed, we have turned the green garden of creation into a desolate, grey wasteland.

In the midst of violence we cry out for peace. In the words of our Psalm today, we long for deliverance from bloodshed. We crave after a clean heart and a right spirit, for a heart that is free of violence and destructive desires, for an end to the seemingly endless cycle of violence, victimisation and retribution.

From judgement to new covenant: Jeremiah 31

The ancient people of Judah also lived in a violent world of almost constant wars. For two hundred years, they had lived a tenuous existence amidst the wars, invasions and counter-invasions of the Ancient Near East, surviving by playing the power games of the nations around them.

But now, in Jeremiah's time, the empire was coming. And Judah could not forestall its inevitable demise any longer.

In the year 598 BCE, the long-dreaded invasion happened. Within twelve years the land would be laid waste, its inhabitants carried off as slaves. The walls of the city of Jerusalem-the walls which they believed would protect them from the danger of foreign armies, would be reduced to rubble.

While once they believed God had planted them in the land, now they were a people "plucked up and broken down".

For Jeremiah, the people of Judah were living out the consequences of disobedience to the law of God. Reading his prophecies one finds an almost constant litany of accusation and betrayal, particularly of the political and religious establishment.

Jeremiah called the leaders "scoundrels... [who had] become rich and fat. They do not judge with justice, the cause of the orphan, to make it prosper, and they do not defend the rights of the needy." (5:26-28) They had perpetrated violence and injustice in the name of state security. They had amassed wealth and resources and forgotten about God's command to honour the poor and the stranger in their midst.

They raised up prophets for themselves who would tell them precisely what they needed to hear. Their prophets cried "peace, peace; but there was no peace".

The heart of Jeremiah's diagnosis of their condition was their relationship with God. For in trusting their foreign alliances, whether with Egypt or Assyria, they had placed their trust in foreign gods.

"Don't worry about Yahweh", the priests and politicians said. "More chariots! More weapons! Higher walls! Sound fiscal policies! These will keep us safe. Some people will be sacrificed for the good of the nation, but that can't be helped. Stability is the thing! And if our policies fail, well let's just make sure we are in the good with the winning side. Who needs Yahweh anyway, when you've got Egypt or Assyria or America to take care of you?"

But violence is never truly resolved by military means. And security is never truly attained by building higher walls-then or now. These only serve to perpetuate the cycle, or spiral of violence. And the cries of the poor cannot be silenced by state repression. History says to the rulers of each age: One day you "rise from your habitual feast to find yourself staring down the throat of the beast they call the revolution" (Bruce Cockburn).

You see, it is idolatry that is at the root of violence and injustice. It always has been. Idolatry is turning our backs on our covenant creator-God, in favour of gods which will eventually betray us.

We sacrifice our children to the gods of materialism and militarism. We sacrifice the earth to the gods of economic growth and technological development. We sacrifice our relationships to the god of the phallus. We sacrifice ourselves. And future generations reap the fruit.

Peace as the cessation of hostilities is no peace at all. It is simply a pause to clean up our dead and treat our wounded before the next battle. This kind of peace, which is the absence of conflict rather than the presence of wholeness, simply offers more of the same.

But we don't need "more of the same", but a new start. For the Bible's diagnosis on the problem of violence goes to its roots in broken covenants, in misplaced trust, in misdirected loyalty.

The gospel meets us at our point of despair, when we are broken-down to the point of being willing to let go our trust in idols. It offers us a message of hope, if we have ears to hear.

Hope begins with a promise. In verse 27 of our reading, Yahweh says "The days are coming when I will sow the house of Israel and the house of Judah with the seed of humans and the seed of animals..."

The image is a counter to the "plucking up" and "carrying off" which is God's judgement. God is pledging to bring fullness back to the broken people of Israel. In an arid land, of course, this idea of agricultural fullness is particularly significant. The image also recalls the first garden where God and humans entered into covenant, the garden that God cursed because of human disobedience, the place where violence was born in rebellion against the creator and the creator's good purposes for humankind.

But more than simply a second chance along the way, Yahweh promises the people a new heart. For the biblical worldview, it is from the human heart that human actions spring. It is the human heart where violence takes root. And it is in the human heart where the healing begins. Yahweh promises a new heart based on the forgiveness of sins.

This was the new start for which the Psalmist longed. And so the passage we read from Jeremiah is the answer to our Psalm today. A clean heart and a steadfast spirit comes through God making a new covenant.

This new covenant however is not simply a matter of pronouncement. It does not come without pain, without self-giving. Indeed, the first pain is experienced by Yahweh. For the seed with which the land is planted is also the seed of which Jesus speaks in the Gospel.

In the New Testament God undertakes to be the seed that falls to the earth and dies in order to bring fullness to God's creation again.

As Christians, we confess that in the death of Jesus Christ, all the pain of the world, all the violence, all the injustice, is summed up. And in his resurrection we see tangible evidence of newness.

As we celebrate in the Eucharist, it is in this grain of wheat falling to earth that our hope for an end to violence is placed. It is in this death that we receive wholeness; it is in this death that the people of God are "filled out" again. It is in the act of trust and solidarity represented in the Eucharist-for we all share in his death-that the problem of violence and brokenness begins to be addressed. Here we begin anew. Here the world starts again.

It is not in the cessation of hostilities or the absence of conflict, but in the presence-the real presence-of wholeness that peace is to be found. This is biblical peace, captured in a Hebrew word: "shalom". Shalom is not earned, it is a gift, a blessing from our covenant God. But it is also a call to participate in the transformation of God's broken world.

"Falling to Earth": healing in brokenness

As recipients of the promise of healing, we are empowered to be bearers of this promise to a violent and violated creation. "Blessed are the peacemakers", said Jesus. But peacemakers are not those who stand back and simply diagnose the problems of the world, who give easy answers to situations of conflict. Peacemakers are those who follow Jesus' way of peace. "Unless a grain of wheat falls to earth and dies, it remains alone. But if it falls to the ground it bears much fruit."

One of the great lies which made its way around the old South Africa was that Christians are called to be above the fray, and that being a peacemaker means removing oneself from the conflict. How wrong this was. To be a peacemaker is to be a facilitator of wholeness. Being facilitators of wholeness means involvement. It means placing ourselves in the line of fire, putting ourselves at risk for the sake of the gospel, losing and gaining our lives, as Jesus said in our gospel today.

The question remains, however: what does it mean for us, here at this Parish, in southern Africa, at the beginning of the third Millennium, to be bearers of God's promise of wholeness to creation? What does it mean to be peacemakers?

First, we must address the question in terms of where we are as individual persons. Have we got in touch with the root of violence in ourselves, with our own deep woundedness out of which we so often act-or fail to act? This is, quite literally, the heart of the "matter" and a crucial dimension for any transforming action. I suggest that the Eucharist can be one place where we can reflect on this.

Second, we can address this question in terms of the various responsibilities God has given us as individual persons. As violence and brokenness characterises all areas of life-the office, the environment, the home, the university, the church-so God has called and equipped us as accountants, gardeners, household managers, students, and priests to bring wholeness into our particular area of life and work. What does it mean to seek the peace, the wholeness, the shalom of God in the business world? In the lecture hall? On the construction site? I cannot answer these questions, and neither should I. They are for each of us to wrestle with, in prayer and scripture reading-and with other Christians.

Third, we can address this question in terms of the parish and what the parish does as a whole community. I'm glad to see that the parish is committed to being a bearer of God's wholeness in the new vision and mission. And I'm glad to see the new vision and mission of the parish as being sensitive to ministering in the sites of violence in our community. We are assessing the considerable resources that God has given us as a parish. But have we identified clearly the sites of violence in which we can minister, or support those who do? Have we taken, for instance, a serious look at domestic abuse in our community? Have we considered how we can strengthen the covenants that are failing in this context where fear and mistrust reign?

I believe we can do even more to be facilitators of wholeness, bearers of God's shalom in Rondebosch, and in the greater Cape Town area.

I'd like to finish with a comment on the title of this message. I was asked to speak on "The unbearable lightness of being peacemakers". But "the lightness of being peacemakers" is not "unbearable" at all. God's grace is with us, and we have each other.

To be bearers of wholeness in a broken and violent world: that is the calling of us as God's people. May God give us the grace to act as such this week, and from now on.