"They tried to bury us. They forgot we were seeds" Sermon for Sunday 21 March 2021, 5th Sunday in Lent
"They tried to bury us. They forgot we were seeds."
Sermon for Sunday 21 March 2021
5th Sunday in Lent
Pastor Carrie Ballenger
Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, Jerusalem
Sermon for
Sunday 21 March 2021
Lutheran
Church of the Redeemer, Jerusalem
The Rev.
Carrie Ballenger
5th
Sunday in Lent
John 12:20-33
Let the words
of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable unto you, O Lord, my
strength and my redeemer. Amen.
“They tried to bury us. They didn’t know we were
seeds.”
In recent years, this phrase has become popular among those
protesting for liberation in many locations and amid various struggles. In
2013, it was used in response to the Ayotzinapa 43 — 43 students who were “disappeared”
in Iguala, Mexico. In 2018, the phrase appeared again as Americans became aware
of the ongoing situation at the US-Mexico border, where children and parents
were being separated from one another and housed like animals in cages. At
other times, this phrase (or a variation of it) has been used in advocacy for
gay rights, Middle East peace, awareness of the Armenian genocide, and as a
motto for black graduates of Harvard Medical School.
You might have seen this phrase printed on a poster or
as an internet meme, usually cited as a “traditional Mexican proverb.” That’s a
nice story, and indeed the image of oppressed people as seeds that cannot be
buried has probably arisen in many cultures. However, the modern origin of this
phrase is most likely traced to a Greek poet, Dinos Christianopoulos, who in
1978 wrote a short poem which included the phrase (in English translation):
“What didn’t you do to bury me
But you forgot that I was a seed”
It’s actually very appropriate that this bit of poetry
has been adopted by liberation movements of all kinds, as the poet himself was a
gay man who was unjustly excluded from Greek literary society for his sexual identity.
When finally, in his old age, the Greek Ministry of Culture tried to bestow on
him the highest national prize for his work, Christianopoulos refused to
receive it. He replied that he was against all such awards, as they “diminish
human dignity.”
“What didn’t you do to bury me
But you forgot I was a seed.”
Perhaps it’s not surprising that so many have taken this
poet’s words and adapted them for their own liberation struggles. These words speak
a truth that we know all too well: that the powers and principalities of the
world often try to bury our voices, our truths, our rights, our identities—but somewhere,
inside us, exists a seed. In each of us lies a seed of hope, of protest, of promise.
This is the seed of life, life that comes from God, life that belongs to God,
and life that is created in the image of God. This seed will not lie
dormant forever, but will always rise! Amen.
This week, as I have watched the news from the United
States about the terrible attack on members of the Asian-American community there,
and as I hear in this country the rhetoric of fear of others being ramped up in
advance of the next election, this phrase once again comes to my mind: “They
tried to bury us. They forgot we were seeds.” In fact, I’ve been wishing protesters
would adopt a more direct translation of Dinos Christianopoulos’ poem: “What DIDN’T
you do to bury me.”
Seriously, what DIDN’T the world do to try and bury
the voices of the oppressed, the occupied, the disabled, the non-white, the
female-bodied, the poor? What HASN’T been done to bury the bodies and lives and identities of
those who don’t fit into the accepted norm? But they (or maybe I should say “we”)
forget. We forget that they are seeds. We forgot that we are seeds.
In the Gospel lesson for today, we are told that some
Greeks came to see Jesus. They first went to Philip, because he most likely spoke
Greek. Then Philip went to Andrew, and together they went to Jesus to make the
request for an audience.
And why do you suppose the Greeks wanted to see Jesus?
It’s likely they had heard of his teaching and healing ministry. They must have
known of his miracles, of his radical welcome of those who were considered
outsiders because of religion, race, gender, illness, or role in society. I
imagine that among the Greeks that came to see Jesus that day were those looking
for healing, for philosophical answers, for peace, for welcome, for truth. Certainly,
they were looking for life.
Therefore it must have been very strange when what they
heard from Jesus was:
“The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.
Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Those who
love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep
it for eternal life.”
These are hardly the words of a self-help guru. This
is not the message of someone selling you a magic pill, a miracle exercise
program, or the secret to eternal youth and a prosperous life. They came
looking for life, and Jesus talks about being buried. He talks about dying. He
talks about sacrifice. He talks about taking risks—for the sake of others. For
the sake of life.
That’s a hard sell, both in 1st century Palestine
and today.
This week, as I reflected on these words of Jesus, spoken
just before he went to the cross for the sake of us all, a few images of dying
and rising came to mind.
First, I noted that March 16 marked the 18th
anniversary of the death of American activist Rachel Corrie. Rachel was a
member of the International Solidarity Movement, which worked for the
liberation of the Palestinian people during the height of the Second Intifada. Attempting
to protect the home of friends from being demolished in Gaza, she stood in
front of a bulldozer with a bullhorn, loudly pleading for the driver to stop.
The bulldozer instead drove forward, crushing her to death. She was just 23
years old.
That was in 2003, and while the situation in Palestine
and Israel has not improved much in 18 years, I was so moved to see Rachel’s
face showing up in my social media feeds again this week. I remember the day of
her death well, and while I’m still so very sorry that she was unjustly and brutally killed, I’m also
very glad that her willingness to speak out for justice, even at great risk to
her own self, is still remembered today. Through her bold witness--and yes, through her death--Rachel has
inspired countless people, young and old, to become involved in the ongoing
struggle for a just peace in Palestine and Israel.
“Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls
into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it
bears much fruit.”
“They tried to bury us. They didn’t know we were seeds.”
The other thought that kept stirring within me as I
considered Jesus’ words on dying and rising this week was my own experience as
a divorced person. I didn’t talk about the end of my marriage with many people
while it was happening, so when it became public it came as a surprise to some.
Many folks reached out to me with expressions of love and concern on the day
that it was announced, and most said something along the lines of “I’m so
sorry.”
I struggled with how to respond because for me, that specific
moment, the signing of the papers and the legal end of things, was not an “I’m
sorry” moment. I didn’t know how to say that to people. But a friend, who was
also divorced, gave me the words I didn’t have. She said, “What people don’t understand
is that often, the moment when things end is not the wound, it is the healing. The
wound was present in the months or years that came before. So what looks like
the end to many, is actually a beginning. It is new life. It is your rising.”
They tried to bury us. They didn’t know we were seeds.
Friends, today is the last Sunday in Lent, the last time we
will gather before we are together on Palm Sunday to enter into the story of
Jesus’ arrest and crucifixion. This time last year, we were not allowed to meet
at all for Holy Week. Instead, we were in our homes, beginning the first weeks
of what would become an entire year of trying NOT to die. Of trying to protect
ourselves, and our loved ones, and our communities, from a virus which we were
just beginning to understand.
Then, as now, I found it difficult to grapple with
Jesus’ words about dying and rising, about being buried and finding new life. I
remember thinking that all I wanted to do was live. All I wanted to do was keep
everyone around me alive. Today, I am as serious as ever about doing the right
thing to protect myself, my loved ones, and my neighbors from COVID.
But maybe we need to hear these words from Jesus about dying and rising now more
than ever. Maybe, after a year when we have all been hyper-focused on avoiding
death, we need to be reminded that “not-dying” is not the same as “living.” Now,
one year in to this massive global shift, it seems to me that we need more than
ever to follow closely in the footsteps of the one who showed us that sometimes,
things need to end. Sometimes things need to be buried--in our selves and in our societies--so that we can
experience life, and life abundant.
Certainly there are some things that need to be put in
the ground right now, yesterday in fact: White supremacy. Greed and hunger for
power over others. Hatred of those who are different. Patriarchy. Violence or exclusion enacted
in the name of God. And the list goes on.
For some, the burial of these things will feel like a
death. It will feel like the end of the world.
But as we have seen, as we have experienced, as Jesus
has taught us, what looks or feels like the end is often actually the beginning. What
looks like death is, in fact, a rising up.
Jesus said, “The hour has come.”
Dear friends in Christ, the hour has come--to glorify God. To make a change. To live.
As we approach the end of our Lenten pilgrimage, and enter into the brutal, beautiful story of Jesus’ dying and rising for our sake, I pray that each of us will be filled with a renewed understanding of what it truly means to live.
Let us live, not merely avoiding death, but speaking, and
standing, and loving boldly, so that the God-given seed of hope and promise in every
person is able to rise, and grow, and flourish, to bless the world.
Let us pray:
Come to our aid, Lord God, that we may walk
courageously with that love with which, out of love for the world, your Son
handed himself over to death; who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy
Spirit, on God, for ever and ever. Amen.
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