“He shall be our peace”
Joanna Harader
I did something this morning that is a definite no-no in preaching. The text I selected begins with “But.” What this little conjunction tells us, of course, is that the text we are reading is intimately linked with what comes before it. Anytime you read “and,” “therefore,” “but,” you really should back up.
These opening verses of Micah 5 are actually the third in a series of statements that express distress and deliverance. Immediately following the text Claven preached on last week, we have three statements of distress and deliverance: you shall go to Babylon and be rescued; nations will be against you, but you will defeat them; your enemies will put your ruler to shame, but–here’s the part we read this morning–a new, better ruler will come.
This last hope of deliverance, especially, became one that people clung to. The hope for the perfect ruler–we see this expressed elsewhere in the Hebrew scriptures as well. The people hoped for a ruler in the line of King David who would rule with great military power and personal righteousness. A ruler who would enact justice and protect the people. A ruler who was pleasing to the eye, soothing to the ear, and of unquestionable moral integrity.
As you might imagine, this ruler never came. King after king would rise up, only to fall short. And eventually this hope for a great ruler became an expectation for the Messiah–the anointed One of God who would save the people.
And these people, with a history of being oppressed by Egypt and Assyria and Bablyonia and Rome . . . these people clung desperately to the promise of one who would come and deliver them from their oppressors. The people were waiting, were longing, for the one who would bring them peace.
We here at Peace Mennonite Church like the sound of that. With so much war and violence in the Old Testament, we desperately seek out these passages that deal with peace. But I think we have to be honest about the text here. This “peace” that Micah speaks of, this “peace” that the people long for–it is not the “peace” we proclaim in our church name. This peace of Micah’s is a peace that will come through military might.
We began our reading from Micah this morning at chapter 5, verse 2, but if we back up to the end of chapter 4, we see the second of the distress/deliverance prophecies where Micah claims that God says: “I will give you horns of iron; / I will give you hoofs of bronze / and you will break to pieces many nations.”
The people believe they will be at peace when their enemies are defeated. When their nation has the most advanced weapons, the biggest arsenal, the greatest military might.
Here’s Micah’s vision of the rule of the shepherd king: “He will stand and shepherd his flock / in the strength of the LORD, / in the majesty of the name of the LORD his God. / And they will live securely, for then his greatness / will reach to the ends of the earth.”
This is a vision of everyone living happy, care-free lives within secure national borders. The verb translated here as “dwell in security” is the same verb used for “sit” one chapter back: “but they shall sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, and no one shall make them afraid.”
What Micah is talking about here is a type of peace, but I think it is better termed “security.” This peace that the people are looking forward to is a peace of secure borders and economic self sufficiency. It is the peace of political stability and a low crime rate.
It’s the kind of “peace” people are seeking today through the war on terror and tightened immigration laws and loosened gun regulations and the death penalty. We don’t want to have to be afraid of airplanes flying into our office buildings or “bad people” murdering us in our beds. We don’t want to share our vines and fig trees with those who were not born in this country–because then there might not be enough for us.
According to Micah, the people will live securely because the shepherd-king’s “greatness / will reach the ends of the earth.” People will know not to mess with Israel because Israel’s King can defeat anyone who threatens him. Bullies will leave the little kid on the playground alone because the kid’s big brother can beat them up. People will know to leave the U.S. alone because we have the atom bomb and we’re not afraid to use it.
It is the ability of our national leaders to assert power over other national leaders that leads to this “peace as security.” And security is a tempting vision indeed.
We all want a shepherd that will call us together and keep us safe. We all want green pastures and still waters and no wolves. And so it is only natural that we cling to the promise of One who will bring peace and security.
The problem, of course, is that the expectations are too high and the promised One never comes. The people of Judah are eventually defeated and the leaders of the community taken into captivity in Babylon. And after the exile, they ruled themselves for awhile, and then they were ruled by Persia, then Greece, then themselves again, then Rome.
Until finally there is a baby born in a stable in Bethlehem. Did you ever notice what a big deal Luke and Matthew make about Jesus being born in Bethlehem? Luke goes to great pains to explain how it came about that Jesus of Nazareth was actually born in Bethlehem. Matthew doesn’t explain how Jesus came to be born in Bethlehem, but he does say that’s where he was born. And Matthew even goes so far as to quote this prophecy from Micah.
It is important that Matthew and Luke point out Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem, because Jesus fails to meet the Messianic expectations in so many other areas.
As far as we can tell, he was not particularly handsome. He was not wealthy. He was certainly not a king.
And, probably most significantly, Jesus does not bring peace to the people in the way they expect. In his final discourse with the disciples before his arrest, Jesus says to his followers “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives.”
It’s a funny kind of peace that Jesus gives. A peace that does not offer security; that does not assure physical safety. In the months and years following Jesus’ resurrection, his followers do not sit around sipping wine under their fig trees. Most of them, actually, get themselves killed.
And yet we know that people in immanent danger of death can have a certain kind of peace. You may have read some writings of the early Anabaptists, of Deitrich Bonhoeffer, of those who serve with Christian Peacemaker Teams. Maybe you know that Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “If physical death is the price that I must pay to free my white brothers and sisters from a permanent death of the spirit, then nothing can be more redemptive.” Clearly King was not secure, but I would say he was at peace.
It’s a funny kind of peace–this peace that does not rely on keeping outsiders on the outside. All of those people that respectable religious folks feared, those are the people Jesus embraced: Samaritans, women, people with physical handicaps, the mentally ill.
Think of the playground in Jordan where the Catholic, Muslim, and Christian Orthodox kids play together. Where their parents stand back and chat as they watch their children. Would this be a safer, a more peaceful place if there were three separate, walled playgrounds?
This peace that Jesus gives is a funny kind of peace. A peace that is not dependent on military might. Jesus does not stockpile weapons. He does not even try to kick the Romans out of the land of Judah. When the authorities come to arrest Jesus and a disciple draws his sword, Jesus tells him to put the sword away.
I recently heard an interview1 with a young man named John who had served three tours of duty in the Middle East. At the time of the interview, he was in jail for violently attacking his fiancee. When he is not under confinement, John lives in constant fear of loosing his temper and hurting someone–often confining himself to his apartment for days at a time. He feels like his violence is out of his control.
As a child, John was molested and abused before he finally landed in a nurturing adoptive home. In Iraq, John fired 60 millimeter mortar rounds which would destroy houses and other buildings. He told the interviewer: “You see guys with Michael Jordan gym shoes on and you see little kids about 10, 11, 12–these kids could be your kids. Then you see these kids dead. Guys like me, you destroy a house long distance then you see it close up and it’s smoldering. Then you see a pregnant lady there and she’s dead and the baby is still alive.”
John claims that the violence he committed in Iraq was as destructive to him as the violence that was perpetrated against him when he was a child.
John knows that the violence he was part of in Iraq has not brought peace to anyone. It has, instead, followed him back home and seeped deep into the fabric of his everyday life. He cannot forget and he cannot let go. He does not feel threatened by the terrorists; he feels threatened by the violence in himself.
“All who live by the sword will die by the sword,” says Jesus. What you think will lead to peace will in fact only lead to more violence.
As long as we understand peace as safety and security, we will never achieve it. Because no matter how many self-defense classes you take or how many guns you carry, someone could hurt you. No matter how high you build the wall, no matter how many border patrol you post, someone can slip through. No matter how many nuclear weapons you have or how big your army is, someone will have more weapons or a bigger army–or they just won’t care.
A peace that relies on complete security is a peace we can never achieve. And yet Jesus does not say that peace is beyond our grasp. He says, “My peace I give to you.”
It’s a funny kind of peace. A peace that is about opening borders instead of closing them off. A peace that is about turning the other cheek. A peace that is about making people whole rather than making them afraid, about building up relationships instead of armies.
It’s a funny kind of peace. And Jesus is a funny kind of Messiah–not the One we expect, but the one we desperately need.
May we rest in the knowledge that Jesus shall shepherd us in the strength and the love of God. And he shall be our peace.
Amen.
1This American Life. “Life after Death.” July 18, 2008.
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