Human Humans [Epiphany 4A - Micah 6:1-8]

 The Rt. Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

Micah 6:1-8

 

Human Humans

St. Andrew’s, Albany

 

The offerings of offerings grew increasingly absurd.  The possibilities: from plausible to impossible to preposterous.  One cannot decipher tone from the written words on a page, but “ten thousands of rivers of oil” does not feel like a serious offer.  It seems like hyperbolic at best, spiteful venom at worst.

 

The sixth chapter of the book of the prophet Micah begins mid-argument – an argument between frustrated mortals and the Immortal One.  And, by the time we reach the sixth verse, maybe it still is.  Displeased with the state of their world, the people call God out.  Life is hard, the world unfair, and God must be, at least partially, to blame. 

 

This blame hurts God’s feelings – and elicits a mournful plea: “What have I done to you?”  And elicits then a strong defense.  In response to the people’s complaints against God, God recalls salvation history, reminds them that God makes good of every bad situation – and always has.  They faced hard times also in the past, and even in the worst of times, God was always with them.  

 

God, being God, seems to win the argument.  And so, either in embarrassed humility or brazen sarcasm, the people ask God for a wish list.  “OK.  We were wrong.  You are always right.  You have done a million good things for us.  Of course, you brought us up out of the land of Egypt; that’s a big one.  What can we possibly do to thank you?”

 

“With what shall I come before the Lord
    and bow myself before God on high?
Shall I come before [God] with burnt offerings,
    with calves a year old?
Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams,

    with ten thousands of rivers of oil?
Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression,
    the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?”

 

From plausible to impossible to preposterous.      

 

With the rhetoric on the verge of spinning out of control, when the people put children on the altar, the prophet steps in.
“[God] has told you, O mortal, what is good”

 

They asked but they already knew.  God already told them.  It was written in the Law.  It was etched onto their hearts.  They knew what God really, really wanted.  They knew, but the impossible seemed more possible than that.  And so instead of opening their hearts to the way of love, they offered to collect a world of rams.  They offered to sacrifice their own children.  Because somehow that seemed easier than what God expected.   

“[God] has told you, O mortal, what is good

What does the Lord require of you

but to do justice and to love kindness
    and to walk humbly with your God?”

 

It wasn’t rams or rivers or human sacrifice that God wanted; it was love.  Just love God and love your neighbor.  Jesus preached this exact message.  But, as you can see, it was around long before the Incarnation.  God has always wanted the same thing of us and for us: love.  So simple.  And yet, so hard that people, and not just these Micah people, would rather do just about anything else.

 

Because love is hard.  It is a choice to wake up every day in this cynical and broken world and choose to love all the people.  It is a choice to live in this world of trouble and pledge your heart to a silent God.  Sometimes it just feels easier to write a check than to bear the burden of true love.

 

And we see that in our world still today.  We like to think we’ve evolved past the primitive horrors of Micah’s poetry. We don’t build literal altars on high hills anymore. But we still sharpen our knives.  Dehumanization is a constant temptation in our times.  The impulse to offer up the lives of others to soothe our own anxieties and appetites hasn't disappeared; it has just been repackaged for our digital age and our modern sensibilities.

 

We live under the oppressive weight of a dehumanization industrial-complex.  Children are used as bait and pawns.  Violence and murder are justified.  Enemies are identified, gutted of their substance and their humanity, and flattened into cardboard cutouts.  The quiet fears and simmering angers of our lives are commodified to fuel news cycles and social media algorithms.  Our souls are data-mined for profit.  Human sacrifice, or perhaps better said, the sacrifice of our shared humanity, is a big business.

 

And it carries a dark satisfaction.  It feeds our ego.  It feels good to crush our enemies.  A solid takedown can earn hundreds of likes on facebook. 

 

But we are not called to live for likes.  We are called to live for our neighbors.  All of them.  Even the broken, the mislead, and the stubborn ones.  Even for the ones we don’t so much like. 

 

And we are not called to live for the writers of history books or for our legacies.  We are called to live like Jesus, the one who commands us to love our enemies.  We are called to follow in the footsteps of same Jesus who forgave his own Imperial executioner.

 

That is why the people offered ten thousands of rivers of oil.  It felt easier to offer a flood of olives than to live the life of devastating love that God requires. 

 

We live in brutal times.  We are a people traumatized by bloodshed and casual cruelty and pervasive irreconciliation.  We have seen too much even as we are trying to see enough to be informed. 

 

And it can feel helpless.  Which can feel hopeless. 

 

During the turbulence of this nation’s 1960’s, Thomas Merton wrote a letter to a discouraged and overwhelmed young peace activist.  Coming out of a season of prominent assassinations in our nation, and going into an intractable war in Vietnam, Merton wrote, "You are not big enough to accuse the whole age effectively, but let us say you are in dissent. You are in no position to issue commands, but you can speak words of hope. Shall this be the substance of your message? Be human in this most inhuman of ages; guard the image of man for it is the image of God."

 

What does the Lord require of you, in this moment, and in every moment?

 

You are called to be the precious human being God created you to be.  You are called to sow seeds of love in the killing fields.  You are called to soak the parched earth with your tears.  Strive for justice.  Fall in love with the hard work of kindness.  Shout mercy even when it sticks in your throat.  Make peace in the oppressive face of violence and division.  Offer your fears and angers and despair and fragile hopes in prayer to the God who heard the cries of the people in ancient Egypt.  Do not let your heart grow callous; instead let it break open in this dangerous world.  

 

Your work is to love.  And love means to seek and serve Christ in all persons.  To respect the dignity of every human being.  And those are radical ideas – ideas that will violate every doctrine of this partisan age. 

 

But it is only love that can save us.  It is the slow, persistent drip of love that will ultimately erode and dismantle the systems of dehumanization that are holding this nation, this world, our people hostage. 

 

And we know that.  God has been telling us that for a long time.  Love God.  Love people.  Simple but not easy.  Simple but also the answer to the question.