Seeing a Great Light: A Sermon on Hope Following the Killing of Alex Pretti

 In the name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Some 2,800 years ago Isaiah wrote: “The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light; on those who lived in a land as dark as death a light has dawned. You have increased their joy and given them great gladness; they rejoice in your presence as those who rejoice at harvest…. For you have broken the yoke that burdened them, the rod laid on their shoulders.”

 This was and is still a message of hope, reminding us that people of faith have always looked to the power of God for transformation. When Isaiah wrote, in the 8^th century BC, foreign armies encroached on the Kingdom of Judah, where Isaiah lived. He interpreted this as God’s judgment for the kingdom’s lack of faithfulness and commitment to justice and righteousness.

 Particularly critical of rulers who neglected to defend the poor and oppressed, in the chapter that follows today’s Isaiah writes: “Woe betide those who enact unjust laws and draft oppressive edicts, depriving the poor of justice, robbing the weakest of my people of their rights, plundering the widow and despoiling the fatherless! What will you do when called to account, when devastation from afar confronts you? To whom will you flee for help, and where will you leave your children so that they do not cower among the prisoners or fall among the slain?”

That’s what the Bible has said, for 2800 years. In our days of social unrest, these words from long ago call us to a better way. I had promised myself that I would not focus on the Minneapolis situation today. But then yesterday federal agents killed Alex Pretti, a 37-year-old American citizen, who worked as an ICU nurse in Minneapolis’ Veterans hospital. The government said he brandished a gun. New York Times analysis of several videos show he was holding a phone. Several agents pinned him the ground after he assisted a woman being pepper sprayed. While beating and kicking him agents discovered his gun, which he had a license to carry. According to the Times, the gun was removed before he was shot in the back as many as 10 times, likely by more than one masked agent. Because he was trying to help a neighbor.

Days earlier, a 5 year old named Liam was detained after returning home from pre-school. He and his father, here legally with an active asylum case, were sent to a detention center in Texas. Days later a 2-year old girl was also detained, only returned to her mother after a judge’s order. A US citizen had his door broken down and was taken away in handcuffs, wearing only shorts, sandals and a blanket, in temperatures like today’s. It turns out the intended arrestee was already in jail.      

 2800 years ago, the prophet Isaiah was confident that God’s chosen—especially the poor, the oppressed, those who pursue justice and righteousness—would be restored to abundance of life. “The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light; on those who lived in a land as dark as death a light has dawned.” He believed it had to, because he believed in God.

800 years later, Matthew, the author of the gospel, drew inspiration from Isaiah’s words. In fact, he quoted them exactly, as we heard this morning. When Matthew wrote, the Roman Empire and its armies were the threat, having attacked its own people, flattening the city of Jerusalem after a conflict with the Jewish and Christian residents. 350,000 people were killed in the siege of 70 AD. The gospel was likely composed around 80 to 90 AD, following Jerusalem’s destruction.

 The first-century historian Josephus described the destruction of Jerusalem: “As the legions charged in, neither persuasion nor threat could check their impetuosity: passion alone was in command… everywhere was slaughter and flight. Most of the victims were peaceful citizens, weak and unarmed, butchered wherever they were caught.” A chilling reminder when people who are oppressed seek liberation, governments can and do turn against their own people. This very church was made famous for our role in such a struggle, 250 years ago.  

In times like these, people will wonder where they can find hope. Matthew’s answer was that this hope would come in Jesus Christ—a messiah, who came to power not by commanding armies or with the machinery of war, but by inspiring fishermen and carpenters, tax collectors and even prostitutes. It was through Jesus and his disciples—as they fished for people, as they broke down barriers, as they cared for the poor, the sick and disabled, that light would shine.

Matthew believed that Isaiah’s vision would come to life through a movement—a grass roots movement of ordinary and imperfect people, people a lot like us—transformed from the inside out by their encounter with the living God. So do I. What’s more, the transformation we hope for comes as we live like Christ lived, feeding the hungry, combating oppression, manifesting the power of love. Sometimes that’s really hard, as we see in the chaos in Minneapolis. But my goodness, what a witness of neighbors we see there as well, thousands and thousands.

 

The Episcopal bishop of Minnesota described the situation writing: “We are mobilizing for revolutionary love. Vast networks of care, compassion, and solidarity, organized by churches to deliver food and supplies to those who cannot leave their homes. People are documenting the violence being used against us in a way that puts their own lives at risk. They are standing guard outside schools and daycares, and at bus stops to protect children from real risks of harm. Others are taking turns watching each others’ kids stuck in online learning because some schools aren’t safe. Health care workers are bravely caring for people in hospitals that are no longer safe, risking being targets of arrest and detention for protecting the patients. A rich web of underground care and hidden love is taking deep root. It’s amazing to think what fruit that might bear when this occupation ends.”

In a podcast last night, Heather Cox Richardson, our 2025 Lantern Service keynote speaker, said: “I suspect when he woke up this morning, Alex Pretti didn’t expect he was going to be written into the history books, and I bet he’d prefer not to have been. But those of us who are still here can continue to carry that torch forward.”

 

Isn’t this exactly who we are called to be, and how we are called to live—as Christians, as followers of Christ, as fishers of people, and as neighbors?

 “The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light; on those who lived in a land as dark as death a light has dawned.” May that day come soon. May we, as the Body of Christ, make it so.

To God be the glory: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

© The Revd Matthew P. Cadwell, PhD

On Freeing Captives and Being the Light: A Sermon After the Minneapolis ICE Shooting

 In the name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

From the Prophet Isaiah: “These are the words of the Lord who is God, who created the heavens and stretched them out, who fashioned the earth and everything that grows in it, giving breath to its people and life to those who walk on it: I the Lord have called you with righteous purpose and taken you by the hand; I have formed you, and destined you to be a light for peoples, a lamp for nations, to open eyes that are blind, to bring captives out of prison, out of the dungeon where they lie in darkness.”

This has been God’s message, God’s hope, God’s dream for humanity from the start: that we would be free. That we would see. That we would live in the light. Even more, that we would be the light, filled by the radiant power of God’s mighty Spirit. This is central to the calling of the people of ancient Israel, as well the disciples of Christ, who share in his baptismal life of transformation—transformation of our souls and our world, from something broken to something alive, from captivity in the darkest dungeon to abundant life in the light and glory of God.

Unfortunately, over the past week, the light has felt especially dim. Many of you know that I am from Minneapolis. I was born there. My parents were born there, as were three of four grandparents. My immigrant ancestors—great-grandparents, two from Sweden and two from Finland, made Minneapolis their home along with many other Scandinavians. Because it was cold? More likely because they could be with others who shared the same language, culture, and religion, while enjoying the incredible freedom and opportunity that this young nation offered.

My Finnish great-grandparents opened the first grocery store in their community. They founded a church across the street from their house for fellow Finnish immigrants as well. My Swedish great-grandparents met in Minneapolis and were married in a Swedish Episcopal Church in 1899. When my great-grandmother died in childbirth, her gravestone was beautifully carved in Swedish, still visible in Minneapolis’ pioneer cemetery. After my great-grandfather remarried, he built a home for his family. A cherished photo from 1909 shows the house with the family of seven outside and an American flag flying from a tall flagpole. Proud of their heritage. Proud to be American, too. The descendants of these immigrants are many, hundreds even. They served in the two world wars, opened a successful bakery, worked in factories and offices. Their great-grandson is vicar of the Old North Church.

Over the past week, the city they and I called home was ground zero for US government action, with officers in battle gear, carrying lethal weapons, wearing masks, overtaking city streets, in search of today’s immigrants. In the process, Renee Good, an American citizen, was shot and killed in her car. I won’t debate justification for the officer’s action. That needs to be investigated. But, usually, there are alternatives to lethal force. The residential streets of Minneapolis are not a war zone. This was about three miles from my great-grandfather’s house, the one that raised the American flag over an immigrant family.

On Friday, a family friend, who is Native American, was questioned by ICE in a Target parking lot. Thankfully she had identification and could prove her citizenship, but now she’s afraid to leave her home. Other Native Americans have been similarly stopped and detained, perhaps because they have darker skin, or a different accent, or insufficient ID. 

Here’s the thing. I don’t carry my passport or birth certificate with me everywhere I go. I lived in Canada for five years, an immigrant there, and I didn’t carry my passport and student visa every day. Because I am white and speak with a midwestern accent (a little less Minnesotan than it was 30 years ago), I am most likely safe. Then again, Renee Good was white, with a midwestern accent, and she was killed, shot by law enforcement three times: first through her windshield and then twice through her open window. The residential streets of Minneapolis are not a war zone. They just aren’t. So how did we come to this? How do we get out?

The America my ancestors immigrated to was not perfect. They settled on land taken from Native Americans by a government that failed to uphold its treaty commitments. The country was founded on an economy that relied on slavery. People of color, including those born here, have long feared the government and their neighbors in ways that I can’t begin to understand. Yet we have always said that at our deepest value we believe that all men, all people, are created equal, endowed by God with certain inalienable rights: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That’s promise that drew my ancestors here, likely many of yours as well. How do we recapture that dream? How do we shine the light and bring the transformation that is so needed, right now?

I don’t know what to do about Washington, except vote, and stay engaged, and be vocal about what’s right and what’s wrong. We might add “Do not be afraid,” as the angels so often urge. Most importantly, I believe we are called to be the light ourselves. That’s the message we hear in Isaiah’s prophecy and it is the message in baptism as well—in Jesus’ baptism and in ours.

My favorite theologian, Frederick Denison Maurice, was an Anglican priest who lived between 1805 and 1872. He spoke of baptism as the sacrament of constant union. In baptism we are united to God in Christ and through him, to the whole human race and even the whole universe. He preached: “Each of us is baptized as a sign that his life is not in himself but in Christ, and Christ gives us His Holy Spirit in baptism to testify that we are united to Him, and are the sons [and daughters] of God in Him, and have power to do the work He gives us to do.” Elsewhere he writes, “Men are told that they are made in the image of God: how could it be that they knew not.  Here is [God’s] express image, not shown in the heavens above, nor in the earth beneath, but in a man.… In [Christ] we find how humanity has been a holy thing, though each man felt himself to be unholy…. In [Christ] it is proved how humanity us meant to have a dwelling with God.”

This is who we are and how we are called to be. God’s express image, with power to do God’s work, while recognizing God’s reflection in our neighbors as well, whatever their background, color, or immigrant status. We are called to recognize God’s reflection in Renee Good, in neighbors who are afraid, in those in desperate search for a better life, just like my immigrant ancestors ages ago. We need to be the light that casts out darkness, frees the captives from dungeons, and helps others to see. Because that is who we are. That is the life of Christ, into which we, too, were baptized.

“These are the words of the LORD who is God, who created the heavens and stretched them out, who fashioned the earth and everything that grows in it, giving breath to its people and life to those who walk on it: I the LORD have called you with righteous purpose and taken you by the hand; I have formed you, and destined you to be a light for peoples, a lamp for nations, to open eyes that are blind, to bring captives out of prison, out of the dungeon where they lie in darkness.”

God needs us to make it so.

To God be the glory: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

© The Revd Matthew P. Cadwell, PhD