Somewhere Over the Rainbow Deuteronomy 34:1-8

Well, amidst the craziness and turmoil of these times, Opening Day for the 2020 Major League Baseball season occurs this weekend. One might think I’d be delighted to take in Red Sox games and enjoy even a pandemic-shortened season. I mean, baseball is baseball. Beach volleyball will only go so far. I shouldn’t complain, though, the 21st century has been abundantly generous to Boston professional franchises and fans. For two decades, we have enjoyed titles and championships nearly every year in one sport or another—Red Sox (2004, 2007, 2013, 2018), Patriots (2002, 2004, 2005, 2015, 2017, 2019), Celtics (2008), Bruins (2011), while the New England Revolution soccer team has successfully lost the championship game five times (2002, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2014), which means anyone under twenty has been eagerly awaiting their chance to sit at a sports bar and cheer on their favorite team. Unfortunately, this year the bars are closed and the teams stink. Even if the world gets vaccinated overnight and rowdy, raucous crowds become something other than a show of partisan defiance, the Red Sox are still fielding what amounts to a Minor League team, the Patriots have devolved into a fallen empire, the Celtics are in a Disney bubble trying to complete last season, while the forlorn Bruins had their championship run knee-capped by the coronavirus. And the Revolution? They’re just hoping they won’t completely suck. The annual Duck Boat parade we fans have grown accustomed to has finally capsized in the Charles! The glory years are over. The

1 pandemic moratorium, one might say, comes as a blessing in disguise. Obviously, we’ve known better days…and seasons. In 2020, New Englanders are mired in misery, strangely familiar. We’ve been here before. The Northeast was the region most impacted by the 1918 pandemic and Great Depression (the parallels between the first quarters of the 20th and 21st centuries are eerily striking). Our ancestral fatalism is returning to its rightful place. Born from 400 years of Puritan-inspired hardship, from stony fields and ocean storms, we’ve never expected too much out of life. Hardship is our default setting; the worst, a mere custom. The feckless and rosy optimism of lightweight platitudes has never seemed authentic to those whose lives are forged through the crucible of long winters and fickle springs, encamped in depressed mill towns and rural backwoods. Yankees (not the Bronx type) are used to harsh hits of reality—even coming up short when odds lie in our favor. We celebrate with the best, but we know the pendulum eventually swings back. “Hope springs eternal,” a merry old English Pope once wrote, but here in New England a more familiar proverb is, “winter’s coming early this year.” I jest, of course, yet in some ways, I don’t. We aren’t naïve about how life can turn, nor are we dreamy idealists for the most part. We tend to feast on skepticism to bulk us up for when the chill of reality sets in. Even religious faith is commonly hedged by a measure of agnosticism and prudence. A part of living faithfully, for many, is living fatefully, recognizing not everything one wishes for comes true. Not every dream is fulfilled. Not every prayer is answered in the way

2 one expects. Hence, faith retreats from the presumption of life’s good fortune toward a hope for the mercy of God’s grace, heeding 18th century revivalist Jonathan Edwards’ stern warning: “There is nothing that keeps wicked men at any one moment out of hell, but the mere pleasure of God.” It may not be something we swear by, but we live like we do. However, I won’t overstate the case. The present outlook among most is not all rooted in Catholic guilt and Protestant gloom— as if the pandemic is some sort of divine plague or retribution. Most view it as akin to dealing with a hurricane: you button down the hatches, make sure there’s enough supplies, and wait it out. That’s why we’ve done so well over these past several months. We expect there will be loss and , but there’s always a reason to look forward to the future when this, too, shall pass. “Wait ‘til next year” isn’t merely a cliché for non-title seasons in Beantown, it’s a common outlook gained from seeing how life frequently plays out. All parties must come to an end, but then hardship resolves to happier times. It’s like a pendulum swing. We know that. Although right now we may feel like everything is a bit of a nightmare, what keeps us going forward is the notion that things eventually will be worked out promising a better day. It might be a maelstrom in the present, but somewhere over the rainbow skies are blue…even for the Red Sox. For as long as I can remember, I’ve believed in the trajectory of hope. Maybe it comes from the song made famous by Judy Garland in The Wizard of Oz. My favorite version of it was sung by Eva Cassidy, a folk singer who died much too early of cancer in 1996. Perhaps, for that reason, it’s not been difficult for me to associate the

3 dream of a world over the rainbow with the Christian message of life beyond death, though, in Eva Cassidy’s view, it was more likely to embracing hope amidst the disappointments and sorrows of life. In the beloved story, Dorothy Gale wanted something more than her small Kansas barnyard life—a wanderlust that took her to the land of Oz, though it was merely in a dream. Yet, represents all sorts of yearnings in people, who look beyond their present situation to envision a more perfect one. If hope becomes a deeply held desire, it’s not unlike the of faith reflected in the inspiring words of Hebrews 11:

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Indeed, by faith our ancestors received approval…All of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them. They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland… (Hebrews 11:1-2, 13-14)

That’s what hope is—a yearning for a better place or state of being. Biblically, hope is based on the belief that God will make good come to pass even when humans won’t. It is a deeply-held spiritual belief that God acts even if humans can’t. The dream’s fulfillment is what compels one to move forward, never finding satisfaction in the status quo, but seeking a better place, a better state. Hope is much more than optimism; it’s what sufferers sense, when God is their only strength, whereas optimism is what most feel when they think good fortune will eventually come their way. The difference being, those who hope typically don’t see better times come their way without divine help. They depend more than others on the power that transcends their world.

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This is a fertile moment for each of us to explore what hope means in our own personal lives, as well in the broader experience and context of our diverse society and world. If you have issues related to health or aging, a better place or state of being will likely mean a from pain, anxiety, confusion, or weariness. That’s what you hope for. If you are concerned about the welfare of your children, a better place or state of being will be a future time when they are doing well on their own and your worries and daily support will diminish. That’s what you hope for. If you are perplexed about your finances or employment, then blue skies over the rainbow will likely be solvency and security. If you are struggling with addiction, depression, or lingering loss, hope is best sensed in imagining when you are buoyant and refreshed with energy to finally embrace each day. More immediate for all of us, though, is finding our way through the present pandemic safely and, hopefully, well. That’s what we all hope for. However, God may bring meaning into this particular moment through something much greater than our personal concerns and wellbeing. Jesse Zink, in an article published this week in The Christian Century, offers a timely word:

Part of the difference of this time…is that the pandemic is eschatological time. As a citizen, I am called to live now in a new way—socially distant— that will one day succeed, even if it is painful and difficult now. To do so, I need to give up many common habits and patterns of life and relationship—no matter how appealing they may be—because I know they will not curtail the spread of this virus and reduce its devastation. The fundamental eschatological virtue is hope, the belief expressed in confident action that God will act to transform our world…Eschatological living not only gives Christians hope for the future, it also allows us to cast a critical eye on the way we live now. If we know how God will act to fulfill all things, we are called to live now like we believe the future will one day

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be. It is a future of new creation, right relationship, and the overthrow of oppressive regimes. [emphasis mine]1

Eschatological living—what would that mean to any of us? How might we live into the new creation of who we could be, inspired by the assurance that God is at work within us, individually, and within our society and world, as well. What would we hope for in a new creation? What is that place where we could be—the blue skies we imagine lying beyond the rainbow? Could we be on the cusp of a new era for humankind, not merely in U.S. history? Is this a transforming moment that will alter the landscape of our lives? Where do we see the divine hand acting? The pandemic has shut the world down where we can focus more acutely on some of the great injustices we are plagued by (racial, social, medical, educational, gender-related, religious, economic, etc.)—injustices that must be addressed, in addition to the climatological changes that must be overcome. If not now, then when? Will we see these wrongs any more clearly than we do right now? This pandemic has been a test of our ability to work together to address common problems and where do we stand with that? Some are responding well, but we could do so much more. Should we not hope for this? Is it not wise to follow the rainbow leading us to a brighter future than to wallow in worry about the maelstrom we’re currently in? I, for one, believe we may well be a unique generation that is standing on the summit of our own Mount Nebo overlooking the promised land. We’re not there yet, and to this point we’ve only

1 Jesse Zink, “What Christian Hope Looks Like During a Pandemic,” www.christiancentury.org, July 16, 2020. 6 known the wilderness. But we’re beginning to see what a land of promise could bring for everyone in this diverse and gifted country, at every station of life. The younger generation who has better vision can see it more clearly and broadly than can the elders. We must remember, Moses didn’t get to live his dream, but he got to see its promise and potential. He also had his critics who fought him every step of the way—some who wanted to mutiny over his leadership, many who wanted to go back to Egypt because it was familiar. But all these opponents were thwarted in time because that wasn’t where God was leading. Returning to the past would only be a futile quest because that world no longer existed. The Israelites would not become great again by returning to slavery under Pharaoh. Besides, as God would make clear, the Red Sea doesn’t part both ways! Last Friday, I thought about this story of Moses on Mount Nebo when I heard the news that both the Rev. C.T. Vivian and Rep. John Lewis died. These were two architects and soldiers of the Civil Rights movement, who devoted their entire lives to racial justice and equality. Their deaths on the same day, July 17, hauntingly echo July 4, 1826, when both John Adams and Thomas Jefferson came to their own mountaintop, fifty years to the day after signing the Declaration of Independence. These are bigger-than-life moments of generational passing that warrant special attention. The difference, though, is that these two Founders of our nation didn’t seek freedom for anyone other than tax-paying white men like them. It took later generations to our present day to press for freedom for all people—to ensure all people were created equal, with rights protected by the Constitution.

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That goal and quest is, in so many ways, far more magnanimous and noble than what the first generation of Americans ever achieved. Vivian and Lewis were revolutionaries in their own right, but soldiers for a cause that did not bear weapons. They were only human, but what they represent, what they were driven by, was a dream that can be truly stated as divine and messianic—one Martin Luther King, Jr. articulated and one that Jesus of Nazareth proclaimed: one that brings good news to the poor, release and deliverance for the captives; one that opens the eyes of those who are blind and frees those who are oppressed. Not even the U.S. Constitution is so aspirational and grand! What we have witnessed unfold in this time is more closely aligned to the biblical narrative than our storied history for independence from the British crown. People like C.T. Vivian and John Lewis are the truly great ones who have stood among us! The headlines of these past few months mirror those of a half- century ago. When Dr. King concluded his mission on the night before his death, he was standing on that metaphorical mountaintop, overlooking the “promised land.” In his last public sermon, the words he offered eloquently reverberate midst the harsh reality of our times:

The nation is sick. Trouble is in the land. Confusion all around…But I know, somehow, that only when it is dark enough, can you see the stars. And I see God working in this period of the twentieth century in a way that men [and women], in some strange way, are responding—something is happening in our world. The masses of people are rising up. And wherever they are assembled today, whether they are in Johannesburg, South Africa; Nairobi, Kenya; Accra, Ghana; New York City; Atlanta, Georgia; Jackson, Mississippi, or Memphis, Tennessee—the cry is always the same—“We want to be free.”

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And another reason that I’m happy to live in this period is that we have been forced to a point where we’re going to have to grapple with the problems that men [and women] have been trying to grapple with through history; but the demands didn’t force them to do it. Survival demands that we grapple with them…

And that’s what this whole thing is about. We aren’t engaged in any negative protest and in any negative arguments with anybody. We are saying that we are determined to be [treated as human]. We are determined to be people. We are saying that we are God’s children. And that we don’t have to live like we are forced to live…

It's alright to talk about “long, white robes over yonder,” in all of its symbolism. But ultimately people want some suits and dresses and shoes to wear down here. It’s alright to talk about “streets flowing with milk and honey,” but God has commanded us t be concerned about the slums down here, and his children who can’t eat three square meals a day. It’s alright to talk about the new Jerusalem, but one day, God’s preacher must talk about the New York, the new Atlanta, the new Philadelphia, the new Los Angeles, the new Memphis, Tennessee. This is what we have to do…

Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to that promised land. And I’m happy tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord. 2

Friends, this is the significance of the time in which we live—a Kairos moment of opportunity and transforming change. Historians will someday write of this period as they have of other turning points, i.e., when a passing generation heralds a new day and . Yes, it may not come immediately, it may storm for a while, but we will come to see the rainbow emerge once the storm clouds give way.

2 Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., “I See the Promised Land,” delivered in Memphis, TN, April 3, 1968. www.ucc.org 9

Some of us have noticed the changing skies. It’s time to look for the colors that reflect the sun’s coming. It’s time to look forward to God’s fulfilled promise. For this is coming in God’s time—Kairos time—when the new creation will arrive! A “promised land” is being turned now into a land of fulfilled promise! May we, in this generation, from our mountaintops or deep in the valley below, be the ones to hope, to see the promised land and to catch sight of this divine arc of justice and mercy casting its vivid, wondrous hues and radiant colors all across our native and ancestral lands.

The Rev. Dr. Paul C. Hayes Noank Baptist Church, Noank CT 26 July 2020

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