Sermon: The God of Shalom

Last fall I was asked to preach my third sermon, on the topic of justice. For several reasons, it was my hardest and most challenging sermon yet. I'll post separately on the process, but first, the sermon:

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The God of Shalom

Amos 5:14-15, 21-24

5:14 Seek good and not evil, that you may live; and so the Lord, the God of hosts, will be with you, just as you have said. 15 Hate evil and love good, and establish justice in the gate; it may be that the Lord, the God of hosts, will be gracious to the remnant of Joseph....21 I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. 22 Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them; and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals I will not look upon. 23 Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps. 24 But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. (NRSV)

“Let justice flow like a mighty river, righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” These words, plucked from the book of Amos, are powerful, compelling words. They paint a majestic picture of justice and righteousness as powerful forces at work in our world. They inspire rich images of redemption, reconciliation, and restoration. They are the rallying cry for a World Made Right.

Unfortunately, it’s easy to overlook the fact that a rallying cry implies a battle of sorts. And fighting injustice is no small skirmish. It’s a full-on war against the powers in our world that seek to oppress, exploit and degrade. Systemic injustice runs rampant in our world. Hunger, poverty and slavery abound. Children, women and men are used and abused in the pursuit of money, material possessions and power. Even the earth itself – God’s good creation – suffers at the hands of injustice.

The great battle for justice wasn’t so hard for me to imagine as a child. There was one time when my parents took me to the Smithsonian Museum and as we were walking along the Mall in Washington DC, we came upon a group of demonstrators. They were from the middle east and I’ve long since forgotten the details of their stories. But what I remembered so vividly were the poster-sized photographs they had on display of people from their home country – pictures of men and women with the scars of torture all over their bodies – people who had been mutilated by their government.

Seized with compassion, my imagination jumped into overdrive as I began plotting a way to stop this injustice.