There is a sermon you probably won’t hear in church tomorrow, and that’s a shame, because it’s a sermon that needs to be preached from every pulpit in this nation, from coast to coast, from North to South, from city to city, from the highest mountain to the lowest valley, until we understand and our leaders finally listen.
It’s the sermon that says that a society that claims to value life and freedom but brushes off death as casually as it puts on a new coat, is a society that has shaken off all semblance of morality and justice, and values nothing but power. It’s the sermon that says that our nation has come unmoored. It’s the sermon that says our guns have become an idol, the NRA has become the priesthood of a false religion, and our government has been bought lock, stock and barrel.
It’s the sermon that says “In Christ’s name, enough.”
Seventeen students died at Parkland school in Florida earlier this week. Add those to the 58 murdered at the Las Vegas Strip last October, to the 49 mowed down at the Pulse Night Club, the 20 first- and second-graders at Sandy Hook Elementary School. Remember the 33 college students killed at Virginia Tech in 2007? How about the 15 killed at Columbine High School in 1999? That number seemed so large at the time; now it almost seems like it’s barely worth mentioning. There have been so many mass shootings in America that it’s almost impossible to remember a time when they weren’t routine, when Aurora, Colo. (2012, 12 dead); Jonesboro, Ark. (1998, 5 dead); and Erie, Pa. (1998, 1 dead), would be burned into our psyches forever.
Why do we tolerate this?
A long time ago the Phonecians worshiped a god name Moloch. Moloch wasn’t a genteel god who liked to collect baubles, hear a few rhyming prayers and let people go about their business. He was a god of power. His priests promised the people wealth and good crops, military might and protection from their enemies. If you followed Moloch, you didn’t have anything to worry about when other people came into your country and tried to take your place, they promised. You didn’t need to be afraid of thieves, or home intruders or any threat to your well-being. If you worshiped Moloch, he had your back. All he wanted was your children.
Moloch was a right bastard of a god, but the Phonecians trusted him. There are remnants of their architecture, their literature and their art. The Israelites, when they came to the land, were appalled at what they found, and did their best to eradicate all trace of Moloch and the other gods of his ilk. The ruins we’ve found indicate that he had a tremendous appetite for the blood of humans, especially children.
The stories that his priests told are the same ones the NRA tells today about guns. There’s a lot to be afraid of, but if you have a gun, you’ll be safe. There’s no need to worry about immigrants, inner-city gangs or even your own elected officials if you’re armed enough. The bigger the gun, the better off you are, so why not own the kind of hardware professional troops use in combat zones? And if someone comes to town and massacres a dozen or more children? Well, that’s just the price of being free. Anyone who opposes the exaltation of firearms is someone who hates freedom.
The Israelites didn’t get rid of Moloch. He just hung around a while and opened shop under a new name with a new priesthood.
Our national religion makes a big deal about guns, and it’s managed to convince a number of people that our embrace of gun culture is something that squares well with Christianity.
It does not.
The NRA and its acolytes spread an atmosphere of fear. There are bad people out there, and no one is coming to help you. The only way to stop them is if you are armed yourself. If they are armed, you need to be too. Put guns into every church, into every store, into every school. Fire first, and don’t back down. When everyone is afraid and everyone has guns, and everyone is on edge, then we will know peace.
Jesus warns that those who live by violence will die violently, and he tells his disciples to put away weapons of violence. Rater than fearing the alien, the outsider or the stranger, he encourages us to take the risk, welcome them, and befriend them.
This is a message the church needs to shout, and that it needs to live out as loudly as it can. I don’t expect to hear it.
This Sunday, most churches are going to offer noting more than an anodyne prayer for the latest victims of the latest horror show. Some will offer even less. There may be a few churches that collect an offering, but that’s as far as it will go.
Six years ago, Trayvon Marin was murdered by a vigilante who stalked the teen to the point that he feared for his life and felt the only chance he had was to fight back. (Zimmerman, who was armed, shot Martin and killed him.) Few churches said anything about it that Sunday; my own pastor made a throwaway comment about it in the beginning of the sermon where pastors usually use their bad one-liners as warm-up material, and seemed surprised that anyone responded negatively.
The truth is, we live in times that are marked right now by profound spiritual darkness. Our federal government has embarked on a relentless campaign against immigrants of color, it has placed abusive and racist men in positions of power, and it is led by a man of vulgar appetites with no regard for the truth, nor for justice. The church in America can choose either to embrace this darkness and call it “light”; to focus on “”spiritual things” like truth, morality and principles of clean living; or it can call out evil in high places.
The NRA’s tireless advocacy to sell more guns is one place we can start. The casual acquiescence of our leaders to the NRA’s culture of death is a second.
It’s a sermon our country needs to hear. Let’s start preaching it.