Epiphany 4 C: Moving Beyond Mending Our Walls
Dear Partner in Preaching,
While reading this passage, I kept thinking of Robert Frost’s poem “Mending Wall” and, in particular, it’s most famous line: “Good walls make good neighbors.” While that line is perhaps well known to many of us, it’s easy to forget that the whole of Frost’s poem is written to challenge that assertion. Two farmers are out for their spring ritual of replacing stones that have fallen from the wall separating their two properties. One, the voice of the poet, keeps wondering why they need walls at all: “My apple trees will never get across / And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.” To which his neighbor responds with the signature line. But the poet isn’t persuaded, “I wonder / If I could put a notion in his head: / ‘Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it / Where there are cows? / But here there are no cows.’”
And then the poet continues, naming a truth that runs before the poet all the way back to Jesus day and from him up to our own heated debates about walled borders:
“‘Before I built a wall I’d ask to know / What I was walling in or walling out, /And to whom I was like to give offence. / Something there is that doesn’t love a wall, / That wants it down.”
Jesus is likely to side with the poet on this one. Indeed, it’s his dislike of walls that gets him in so much trouble during his first sermon and, eventually, will get him strung up on the cross. It may be a puzzle for some of our hearers why Jesus’ sermon provokes such a violent response. But if you pay a little closer attention, the matter quickly becomes clear.
After reading lines from Isaiah promising release and redemption and healing for those who have been cast off by the world, his audience seems well pleased by his words, even proud of the hometown boy made good. But then Jesus presses on. “No,” it’s as if he’s saying, “When I talk about God coming to free the oppressed and bless the poor, I’m talking about God blessing the people you can’t stand, the people you don’t want to be near, the people you think are your enemies.” And so he reminds them of a couple of stories where God blessed not Israel, but Israel’s enemies. And then they’re mad, so boiling mad that they’re ready to get rid of this so-called prophet.
Jesus’ congregation, you see, would agree with the farmer that says, “good walls make good neighbors.” Walls, after all, keep you safe, mark off important boundaries, and keep less-then-desirable things at bay, whether wolves from sheep, a hostile neighbor from your home, or fear-inducing refugees from your homeland. No wonder so many then and now think good walls make good neighbors. My goodness, but one of the central promises from some political candidates is precisely to build a huge wall between this country and our neighbor to the south.
But Jesus disagrees. When you live into your identity as one of God’s beloved children, you see, there’s no more need for walls to keep the enemies out because there are no more enemies. Walls – and with them all of the ways we define, describe, and bracket out the “other” – are antithetical to God’s kingdom purposes.
Look, I know that’s hard to hear. And even harder to live. Indeed, it can feel like pie-in-the-sky sentimentality. After all, we live in a fearful and dangerous world where walls and locks and laws seem absolutely necessary to keep us safe and bring a modicum of peace and order to word. In this life, perhaps good walls really do make good neighbors.
Perhaps. But perhaps we also fall prey too easily to a deep-seated insecurity that marks the human race and prompts us to overestimate risk, to fear those we don’t know instead of welcoming them, and to resort to violence far too quickly when we feel at risk. And even if there are times or circumstances when we’d agree that good walls make good neighbors, can we at least test that proposition before enforcing it. So when I lock the doors to my house at night to keep my family safe, for instance, can I at least do that with a modicum of remorse, knowing this isn’t what God intends or desires. Because here’s the thing – and I know I’ve said this before – the hard thing about the God we know in Jesus is that whenever you and I draw a line between who’s in and who’s out, we will find Jesus on the other side.
If there is one line that sums up the Jesus we discover in Luke’s account, it’s this: God came to redeem everyone. When we focus on “redeem,” it’s good news. When we focus on “everyone,” and call to mind those we believe have done us wrong…or who frighten us…or who are different…or who seem unnatural… that same line is terrifying. In being drawn back into God’s love we lose all claims, you see, to why we deserve something (and presumably others do not), as we recognize that deserving – like walls – simply has no place in the kingdom of God.
We live in a walls-obsessed age, yet our call is to put a notion into the hearts and imaginations of our people, to question whether we need them, whether God wants them, whether we will find our ultimate security in building higher walls or by falling freely into the hands of a merciful and loving God who, time and time again, showed that “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.”
This isn’t an easy message to preach, Dear Partner. Indeed, I would be remiss if I didn’t warn you that this sermon still provokes outrage, which is why I am all the more grateful for your courage in proclaiming it. Blessings on your preaching, your ministry, and your life.
Yours in Christ,
David
Mending Wall
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!’
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbors’.
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
‘Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it
Where there are cows?
But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.’ I could say ‘Elves’ to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me~
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbors.”
“Mending Wall,” by Robert Frost (1914), can be found in The Poetry of Robert Frost: The Collected Poems.
I think you and all the commentary I’ve read today on this passage are spot on, but I’m still wondering why Jesus went from 0 to 60 so quickly. Was it the “Joseph’s boy” comment? Was it the implication – by Jesus – that his hometown wanted his miracles for themselves? Was there something Luke was pushing for his readers in 80 AD?
All three and then maybe more? This is one of those times I would really like to have been there to get the full impact of the encounter and not just someone’s agenda directed telling or gleanings from history.
I can’t claim this as my scholarship or insight, but I just read via Textweek another commentary. The person suggests that the “isn’t this the son of Joseph” line wasn’t so much a ‘my he’s getting way to big for his britches, I remember his snotty nose as a child.’ Instead, it a calling into question Jesus’ parentage, the ‘rumors’ that followed the Holy Family that Joseph is actually an adoptive parent. So they call Jesus basically a bastard. Unfit. I’m not sure I buy the entire argument; I still have a plain reading of “we knew him when he was still in diapers” kind of deal. The author suggests that ‘son of Joseph’ rather than, ‘Jesus, son of Joseph’ takes away his honor, his name and standing. So Jesus responds in essence, ‘yep, I’m an outsider…maybe in ways you can’t or won’t understand…and here are examples of others in our shared history that shows God’s love is not predictable or unearned as you seem to think.’ John the Baptist’s, ‘don’t you think God could raise up from these stones children of Abraham?”
I’ve often wondered why we need to create and keep enemies. We choose to do the easy thing and hold the conflict rather than engage the difficult task of getting to know, as Luke will tell us, who our neighbors are. We pray for the reign of God, yet we choose to keep that reign at arm’s length, even out of sight. Walls help us maintain an identity based on who we are not. I think redefining ourselves as who we are in positive terms begins with those words spoken to the first hearers in Luke’s gospel: “Do not fear.”
David, thank you again. Actually I could thank you most every week for some idea, some spark. Last week I touched on the Luke passage so decided this week to concentrate on 1 Corinthians 13. But what do you say about that oh so over-familiar passage? Your Robert Frost reference did it! The grown up love of this passage is all about how we let the gaps form and the walls fall. It never ceases to amaze me that after over 30 years of preaching, the story can still be new and full of life!
David, I’m still struggling with the idea that there are no enemies. In my son’s confirmation, he is learning of all the tribes the Israelites came across and how God told his people to destroy their enemies, take over their towns and do not intermingle with them. I’m not a Biblical theologian, and I’m not trying to say we should destroy our enemies. However, I don’t believe God is looking for us to throw ourselves to the wolves and say “save me.” We don’t, and never have, live in a society where there are no enemies.
I don’t believe that you’re saying here that we shouldn’t lock our doors when we live in a high crime area, but are you? This is where I’m struggling. If someone is attacking you in wartime, should we lay down our arms and try to make them our friends? I recognize that I’m being a bit over dramatic here, but I’m trying to understand where is the line?
What I get from this is we shouldn’t build walls to keep others out who we may fear. However, I also don’t think God intends for us to let just anyone in. Isn’t that why he gave us laws to guide us? Isn’t that why he gave us intuition? As a mother, if I perceive my son is in danger, I’m not going to give him over to someone who may do him harm and pray that God protects him.
Oh and I’m not a pastor, but my pastor did recommend your blog. My mom and I were just discussing Muslims and refugees yesterday, so your blog was very timely. But I’m still struggling here with balancing the law against faith. And I’m sure there’s a Biblical quote to help me, which is why I’m reaching out. I look forward to your reply.
I’m sorry I’m not David – that reflects my admiration for him. But what strikes me from David’s post is that to take a position of vulnerability is in the direction of God’s realm. The level of vulnerability has to be discerned. We are not all called to risk our lives, we do not all need to hang on a cross. And testing God is not faithful. But do people fleeing gang violence and seeking an opportunity to work really pose a threat to my life? Do I live as though protecting my property, my feelings and my body are all that matter? Or do I risk losses? Broken heart? Disappointment?
These are important questions, Merry. I think the challenge is recognizing both a) God’s hopes and b) our reality, and not giving up the promise of the former as we live in the tension between the two. St. Augustine was one of the first theologians to formulate a “just war” theory, recognizing that although war goes against God’s intentions, it may be necessary, particularly when protecting the innocent. One of the elements of Augustine’s definition of what constituted a just, rather than unjust, war was what he called “agonized participation.” Might we also regret that we have to lock our doors, and work toward a world where we don’t need so many locks/walls, rather than simply accept it? That’s part of what I’m trying to work out. Thanks for sharing your questions and thoughts.
I think ‘perceive’ is part of the issue. My daughter was hit at age 8 by a hit and run driver (15 year old unlicensed kid who hit the gas instead of the brake and panicked). (She recovered fully after weeks in a full body cast) My first reaction was to ‘perceive’ risk from all Hispanic youth. My wife called me on it, and I saw that my grief was generalizing way beyond reality. God does call me to let that kid in, and others like him. So no, I’m not going to give my grandchild to someone who’ll hurt them. But locking out those folk isn’t the answer either. Restraining folk from doing harm is an act of love to everyone. But we either follow Jesus and love our enemies or we confess a different center of life. Our call. BTW – being a good Calvinist, I also confirm total depravity – we’re all of us all screwed up, so we’d better deal with it.
Thank you, David, great insight. Love the Frost poem which is oft misquoted in favor of walling us in. I offer a similar take with the following poem. Preachers are welcome to use it with a note of permission. As an aside: Great work on creating a new Seminary!A Poem a Sunday
Epiphany IV – C
St. Luke 4:21-30
Lines
are fine
they can define
who we are.
We need our walls
our sacred halls
to worship and to pray.
Lines: red, white, black;
we are told
to color within the lines.
‘Do not cut in line!’
It is a sign
of impropriety.
Lines are meant,
to be safely bent
creating boundaries.
A prophet speaks
dark solid lines
are blurred and streaked.
“A foreign widow,
a military Gentile,
and now who will be next?
We have our home.
We are synagogue safe.”
The assembly begins to groan.
“Our own boy
defies the lines,
our sacred narrative.
Is that Joe’s son,
the crazy one?
Send him away, let us live
within our boundaries,
safe and sound.
Others we must fear.
Our lines define
who we are
and when others come too near.
Line-breaker prophet
get out of town.
You are no longer safe.
Your message will bring us down
and destroy
our chosen race.”
Copyright @ A Poem a Sunday – January 26, 2016 – Kenn Storck
May be reprinted or used with permission.
A wonderful, wonderful commentary – bringing gospel to our fears. Thank you!
I like the ending of this week’s passage from The Message…
When the hometown crowd became a wall of hate against him, “Jesus gave them the slip and was on his way.” Isn’t that so much like Jesus? Just when we think we have him figured out and “walled in” he “gives us the slip” and expands our thinking.
Thanks for this. this poem by Frost is one of my favourites. I pray for the day when as people from different denominations and religions we too will reject the line, ‘good fences make neighbors.’
I just read this blog, today being Feb. 5, and had wanted to use the Mending Wall myself in my homily for the Jan. 31 text… it kept coming and coming to me, and I looked it up, wrote it all down and really felt drawn to it… but I thought I was perhaps way off base! So I didn’t use it.
Here, you made me feel much better, thank you! It was the Spirit, obviously, and I should have followed it… I will listen more barvely next time. Lesson learned.
The idea — drawing the line always puts Jesus on the other side of the line — really poked into my soul. I used it in the sermon and have had some great conversations around that idea. Thank you for sharing.
I found this in SPARKNOTES
The speaker may scorn his neighbor’s obstinate wall-building, may observe the activity with humorous detachment, but he himself goes to the wall at all times of the year to mend the damage done by hunters; it is the speaker who contacts the neighbor at wall-mending time to set the annual appointment. Which person, then, is the real wall-builder? The speaker says he sees no need for a wall here, but this implies that there may be a need for a wall elsewhere— “where there are cows,” for example. Yet the speaker must derive something, some use, some satisfaction, out of the exercise of wall-building, or why would he initiate it here? There is something in him that does love a wall, or at least the act of making a wall.