“The Roots of Violence”
January 9, 1994
Matthew 2: 1-16
On a sunny day like today, I have a feeling that it’s a glorious privilege to belong to the human race. . . at least I think it is. And it’s a glorious privilege to be a part of this community. . . at least I think it is. And it’s a glorious privilege to belong to the Body of Christ. , . at least I think it is. Lately, what I’ve been hearing on the news about random violence – and what I’ve witnessed myself about how people treat each other, in and out of the church, I’ve begun wondering. The problem for me is that being a part of the human race means that everybody is included – and rm not sure that I want to include everybody in my family tree. There used to be an old joke where one person asks another: “As an outsider, what do you think of the human race?’
It is not possible to exclude certain people – we know we are all connected. And it’s also important to understand that all of us have some characteristics that are typified in some of the more objectionable people in the human family. So this morning, I want to introduce you to one of the more objectionable violent people found in Scripture.
His name was Herod, and we run into him at the beginning of the New Testament – and later on when he imprisons and then beheads John the Baptist. We know very little about him except that he’s the ruler – the King of Judea – by order of the Roman Government.
By dint of research, we learned that Herod had a brilliant mind. He was a good administrator, a consummate politician, found favor with Rome, was loyal to the government, and had been awarded the title King of Judea even when he wasn’t of Jewish lineage. He was an Edomite and this made him suspect to the Jewish people.
But let’s not simply write him off as violent or crazy. Or simply say that here is an example of goodness on the scaffold and evil on the throne. Let’s ask ourselves what was the root of his some reason, Herod was never able to say: “By the grace of God, I am what I am.” Or: ‘For this reason, I’ve come into the world. For this I was made.” This uneasiness with his role directly led to his violent nature. Whenever something new, something different, a change was suggested, Herod reacted by being troubled, as the Scripture puts it – and then by becoming violent. (But I’m going beyond the story.)
When the Wise Men came to Herod, we read he was troubled. The introduction of something new is seen as a threat to his role. Isn’t this true of all of us – at some time or another? Whenever we feel insecure in who we are or what we are doing, we become troubled by new data. Our roles become threatened and that’s a difficult burden to carry around.
In 1944, Laurence Olivier began to act in G.B. Shaw’s “Arms and the Man.” The play wasn’t going well and his role as Sergius was one of the weakest parts. In the midst of rehearsal, Olivier threw a tantrum and the director, who happened to be Tyrone Guthrie, said to Olivier: “Do you love Sergius?’ Olivier replied: ‘No, I don’t!” And G-uthrie exclaimed: ‘Well, if you can’t love him, you’ll never be any good in him, will you?’ Not loving the role you’re in is the seedbed for a lot of violence. If I were to ask you if you loved yourself and you were to say, ‘No, I don’t,” that would be the beginning of the end for you as a person.
Learning to love the roles you are given in life – and giving up the terrible burden of trying to be somebody else – that’s the simplicity of the Gospel. Carl Jung wrote of his having to accept the little dot of earth that he was – a clod that is loved by God. We need to learn to love our roles – who we are and what we are doing. For it’s the contempt or the unease we have for our lives, our roles in life, our sense of vocation – that makes us troubled and leads to the burden of violence.
Herod’s identity problem – his self-image problem became more and more evident as he talked with the Wise Men. The Magi, or Wise Men, quickly picked insecurity and envy that Herod showed toward the Christ Child. It always amazes me how we think that we are masking our feelings and others read us so accurately. Herod says that he would like to meet this newborn person. The Wise men accurately interpret this as envy and jealousy and potential violence. Elizabeth O’Conner has rightly noted that whenever a person is envious of another, you can be sure that individual has never fully recognized and accepted himself or herself. Whenever we do not recognize our own unique goodness, we become threatured by others and some kind of violence is sure to follow.
I have heard it said that self-doubt and feelings of inferiority – in other words, low self-esteem – are at the root of all psychological illness. I’m inclined to agree. Until we come to terms with our sense of who we are, we will always remain neurotic and paranoid. In other words, violence will always be a part of our nature until we come to terms with who God made us to be.
Several years ago, Fred Buechner, the author, spoke to us in San Francisco. He shared with us some autobiographical learnings. At one point, he told us about his father’s suicide – the time that his dad did extreme violence to himself. ‘My father,” Buechner said, “committed suicide in the same year that ‘Gone with the Wind’ was published, and he left his suicide note in that book. The note was addressed to my mother: ‘I adore you, I love you,’ it said, ‘And I am no good. Give Freddy my watch. Give Jamie my pear pin. Goodbye.”‘
That/s a sad note, but it contains the clue of why it’s possible to do something violent like committing suicide. “I adore you. I love you. And I am no good!” That’s a lie, but if you believe it, you’re going to be violent. The good news is that you are special to God. The truth we celebrate Sunday by Sunday is that we are important to God. We are good. God loves us – and wants us to welcome him into our hearts.
I have a friend, some of you know him – Steve Chinland – who works in New York City in areas of extreme violence like Harlem and Bedford-Stuyvesant. He had occasion to work with a group of anti-social girls within a school situation. Every day that he met with them, he started off by having them repeat a little three-sentence creed. Each of them shouted out: “I am intelligent. I am beautiful. I am somebody.” Steve said that as they came to believe those words, the violence within them began to lessen. You see, God gives us all those gifts without our having to strive for them or earn them. This is the primal truth that Herod could never accept and therefore his story ends in violence. The slaughter of the innocents, the beheading of John the Baptist, the disintegration of his family.
Which brings me back to where I started. What went wrong with Herod? A number of things, for sure. But at the bottom, I am convinced, it was mostly one thing: Herod thought too little of himself. As I said in the beginning, the conditions that spawn violence are not only within Herod – or the crazies who shoot or maim people. It’s not only an issue for a bunch of girls in Bedford-Stuyvesant. It’s an issue within all of us today. Since I’ve just come back from three days with 2,000 Southern Baptist clergy in Houston who taught me that worshippers ought to be more participatory – and since more of you have been calling out: “Amen! Brother!”, I’m going to invite you to end this sermon by saying out loud Steve Chinland’s creed: “I am intelligent. I am beautiful. I am somebody.”
Maybe. . . maybe. . . we’ve all taken one small step towards a less violent New Year and we can all believe that it’s still a privilege to be part of God’s people, the human race. AMEN.