Rev. Melanie Miller

November 25, 2001

First Congregational Church

Chappaqua, New York

Jeremiah 23:1-6, Luke 23:33-43

In today’s gospel lesson we hear some of the most powerful words in the Bible. Jesus says, “Father forgive them for they know not what they do.” As he hangs on a cross dying an excruciating death, as he hangs on a cross for a crime did not commit he speaks these surprising words of forgiveness.

“Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

I don’t know about you, but I have difficulty responding to betrayal and death with words of forgiveness. Any hurt or pain in my life, although significant, is nothing in comparison to pain and anguish of Jesus’ death. And yet, my response resembles nothing like these words.

How about you? Have you ever uttered these words in the midst of pain, betrayal, and seeming death? “God forgive them”.

Even in his darkest hour, Jesus reaches out and offers forgiveness. He offers it not only to the people killing him, but also to the people being killed with him. With compassion and understanding, he offers paradise to the thief on the cross hanging next to him. Jesus is the great shepherd spoken of in our OT lesson; he brings the forsaken and downtrodden back to their fold, they are told ‘you shall not fear any longer or be dismayed nor shall any of you be missing.’

Jesus opens the fold and invites the most unlikely of characters in. Even those who betray, those who hate, those who kill.

Are we capable of the same surprising grace? Are we capable of speaking these words in the midst of death, and violence and hatred? Some people are.

His name was George. I learned the story of George from another minister, this is his story. “I met him at Maranatha Ministry, a halfway shelter for recovering drunks and addicts. No doubt, he had once partaken in his fair share of alcohol, and more. And he was certainly no stranger to drugs. Drugs and booze. They had taken their toll on his 60 year old body. Yet after decades of abuse, finally, somehow, he had somehow stumbled into this place. They asked no questions of him, just loved him. The days passed, slowly, like the flow of blood from an open wound, they passed, one second at a time, one minute turning into the next minute, turning into days, turning into months, turning into years … ‘Easy does it, George, one day at a time.’

“Eventually he became the manager of the men's shelter, the small white-trimmed brick house which sat across from the larger women's house. I would go there and visit him. No matter how drained I was, no matter the garbage that life would bring, no matter the storms of the struggle, George always could find a way to see the rainbow. Wise George, he could always find the goodness, even in the midst of apparent Hell.

“You see, George was well acquainted with Hell. He had lived most of his life there - poor, uneducated, and black - black in a world where blackness held no honor, in a world which had different doors and different seats and different rules and different signs for those who were black. And George, read the signs well. ‘You aren't worth much around here boy.’ George, poor, uneducated, black - he learned to hate himself just as much as all those signs said he should. George had been to Hell.

“Yet somehow, George had managed to escape that Hell. Maybe it was through that good loving, maybe it was because someone had failed to letter a sign correctly, maybe it was simply because he was just sick and tired of being sick and tired. I never knew how he climbed out of the abyss but somehow he escaped and life broke free. And George, wise George, became a friend to fools like me.

“One weekend our small faith community was working on the home of Aunt Hattie, an elderly crippled woman living not far from Maranatha. As we often did, we had invited some of the folks from the shelter to go with us, and George came. George always came.

“The house was a nightmare. Great cobwebs covered the walls, billowing back and forth each time someone walked by. They had been turned dark gray by the exhaust from the single kerosene heater. Filth was everywhere and we actually discovered a family of mice living in the dirty and stained mattress on which Hattie slept.

“George had chosen the kitchen as his area to clean. I walked in and found him sitting there, right in the middle of floor. He had pulled the stove away from the wall and was cleaning something out from under it. I stepped closer for a better look and saw that he was scraping up rat feces. My stomach churned. I thought I would vomit. George must have noted my momentary discomfort because he looked up at me and gave me a big smile. And he then said something that I will never forget. He smiled and he said, ‘Isn't it wonderful.’ Here was a man scraping up rat droppings -- and he smiled and said ‘isn't it wonderful’ with not a bit of sarcasm in his voice. Isn't it wonderful …

“George died a couple of years ago. In a world that had rejected him, in a world which had despised him, in a world which had told him we was a worthless drunk, he died. And he died with no bitterness, no resentment, no need to strike out at those whom had battered him with so much hatred. He died hanging on a cross of contempt, hanging on a cross constructed of well heeled self-righteousness, hanging on a cross reserved for those who will never be worthy. He died between two others - those of us who had built that cross and those of us who simply never saw it.

“And he looked at us, smiled and said, "Isn't it wonderful." Paradise. No condemnation, only love. Isn't it wonderful.”

In a world that rejects, in a world which despises, in a world that proclaims people worthless. Do we live with or without bitterness, resentment, hatred. Do we live like Jesus and George, filled with love and forgiveness, always welcoming people into the circle. Always offering love and peace.

I’m going to ground zero tomorrow. With a group of UCC clergy. We meet at city hall at 7:45 and will travel to the site with a police escort. We’re told to wear comfortable clothes and boots. It’s muddy there from all the water used to douse the fires. Will I remember Jesus words as I view the destruction? Will I remember Jesus words as I see result of hate? Will I remember Jesus words as I walk through the burial ground?

“Father forgive them for they know not what they do.”

The September 11^{th story is the same as Georges story, it’s the same as Jesus’ story, it’s the Matthew Sheperd story, it the crusade story. It’s the story of children being taught to hate. It’s the story of brutal self-righteousness. How many people have died hanging on a cross of contempt, hanging on a cross constructed of self-righteousness, hanging on a cross reserved for those who are seen as unworthy?}

Who builds that cross and do we see it? In a world that rejects, in a world which despises, in a world that proclaims people worthless, in a world where little children are taught to hate, do I live without bitterness, resentment, hatred?

Do I live like Jesus, filled with love and forgiveness, always welcoming people into the circle? Always offering love and peace. Even to the most unlikely characters.