A note from the Chaplain: this sermon was preached a week following the death of Archbishop Desmond Tutu, and a day after his funeral. This is my meager attempt at reflecting on his life.

Second Sunday After Christmas, Year C

Jeremiah 31:7-14; Psalm 84:1-8;

Ephesians 1:3-6,15-19a; Matthew 2:1-12

The Rev. Charlie Bauer

Bruton Parish Church, Williamsburg, VA

January 2, 2022

 

I have spent much of the last week pondering the life, legacy, and ministry of Desmond Tutu, who died last Sunday. Tutu was, of course, the prominent South African Anglican priest, bishop, then Archbishop of Cape Town, though he is best known in a more public role. His fight against the apartheid regime that long divided South Africa earned him acclaim, and he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts. When he was elected Archbishop, he was not legally allowed to live in the residence set aside for that position - though that didn’t stop him from just moving in anyway.[1] 

 

And we find ourselves contrasting this remarkable life here on the Second Sunday after Christmas with the story of King Herod and his attempts to seek out the infant Jesus. The oppressor and the fighter of oppression. In our Biblical story, we are set up to see Herod against the wise men who have traveled a great journey seeking out this newborn king. Herod felt threatened by this seeming competition, as one would expect, though he could only think of power in earthly terms, never imagining that this King, born far removed from any semblance of human power, could possibly be a divine king. 

 

Herod is not remembered today for his desire for violent action - though that’s obviously bad - but because he could not, or would not, see God when God was made flesh right in front of him. So why do we remember Herod at all? Do we really need a villain in this story? 

 

“Forgiving is not forgetting; it’s actually remembering - remembering and not using your right to hit back. It’s a second chance for a new beginning. And the remembering part is particularly important. Especially if you don’t want to repeat what happened.”[2] These words from Desmond Tutu reflect his time leading South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission, but might help us grasp a better understanding of God’s own grace towards us all. We don’t ask God to look the other way, we yearn for a God who sees us for who we are and loves us anyway. 

 

I could fill many a sermon with stories about the man known simply as the Arch, but those stories are told better elsewhere, and I encourage you to spend some time seeking them out.[3] But I cannot help but share my own personal stories of a man who, despite his worldwide prominence, lived a humble life loving everyday, ordinary people, which might be the most Christ-like quality he exhibited.

 

I had two encounters with Desmond Tutu, and appropriately for him, both centered on the Eucharist, and each of these encounters offers us a challenge to uphold. He was remarkable for his faith in prayer, celebrating the Eucharist – as he did daily - at times in airport waiting areas, and would slip out of meals without needing to look at a clock because he instinctively knew it was time for his regular cycle of prayer. My first meeting was in seminary; he attended, unannounced, our weekly community Eucharist. On our way out of the chapel, I figured this was my best chance to meet him, so I approached him in hopes of a handshake and a quick word. Instead, he met my earthly expectation with a spiritual heart, and without saying a word he offered me God’s blessing. 

 

Imagine that, walking through life, meeting the Christ in each individual you meet, seeking out shared goodness? Our first challenge: seeing one another as a blessing, yes, but being the embodiment of God’s blessing to one another. 

 

A year later, I myself was in Cape Town on a travel seminar studying Tutu’s life, and we again joined with the Arch himself in the context of the Eucharist, this time one in which he presided. This was not a special event, but the weekly Friday morning worship that anyone could attend - when his health and travel schedule allowed it, he was there without fail. Besides just sharing a small chapel with Desmond Tutu, which was memorable enough, when we joined in the Eucharistic Prayer, he prayed not only in English, but in the language of his birth, Xhosa, and in Afrikaans. The current Archbishop of Cape Town replicated this practice just yesterday at Desmond Tutu’s own Requiem Eucharist. 

 

The power of this prayer offered in languages I did not know would not strike me until this week: Xhosa, one of the native tribal languages of a people long oppressed by colonizers, and English and Afrikaans, the languages of those same oppressors, coming together to offer us all nothing less than the Body and Blood of Jesus. Not forgetting but choosing a new beginning, God offered for us all. 

 

We tell this story of Herod and wise men and a star, and we are rightfully enthralled by the drama - how dare Herod seek out the infant Jesus with such ill intent - an intent made clear if we keep reading in Matthew’s Gospel. How wonderful are the Magi who travel from places unknown and recognize what Herod could not, that this child was not merely some earthly king for a specific place and people, but one for us all. How glorious is Mary, and Joseph alongside her, courageously standing up against earthly threats to protect God in God’s greatest vulnerability. 

 

But in the end, this is a story about God, and God alone. In the person of Jesus Christ, we are given a God who knows us, and knows what it is like to be us. We are given someone who can knit us together even in our greatest attempts to divide and hate and oppress. That we hear this story and remember these words in the context of the Eucharist, that sustaining food given for us all even as God remembers the entirety of our souls, well, this is the perfect setting. And I recognize the irony of speaking so much about this holy meal that, on this day, we cannot physically share, as we are joined together in the safety of this virtual space even when we would all much rather come together.[4] Yet we are offered great comfort here again through these words, that nothing can separate us from the love of God, not even the hard divide of a computer screen. The meal we will soon share, we share with you, even now. 

 

Our opening prayer for this the Second Sunday of Christmas speaks of “God, who wonderfully created, and yet more wonderfully restored, the dignity of human nature.”[5] That embodies the lifelong work of Desmond Tutu, and it is equally our calling on this day, to reflect what God manages to do in the face of great danger and oppression in Jesus’ own day. 

 

We remember and tell Desmond Tutu’s story not to worship a man, but to help point us more clearly toward that same God who guides us and loves us all today. Blessed Desmond, help us even now to follow that guiding star, Jesus who you knew and know so well, that we might seek out and to embody God’s blessing in all we encounter, and that we might too knit together the oppressor and the oppressed into something more wonderful than any human could ever imagine. 

[1] https://www.nytimes.com/1987/10/11/world/tutu-and-white-rule-deep-sadness-and-pain.html: “He moved to Bishopscourt after his investiture as archbishop in September 1986 and dared the white authorities to evict him for violating the technical laws of residential segregation in Cape Town. The authorities have not challenged his residence there.” A petition process existed, but Tutu refused to utilize it.

[2] Original source unknown, though this quote is widely used: https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/145018-forgiving-is-not-forgetting-its-actually-remembering--remembering-and-not-using. For another examination on forgiveness, see: https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2014/mar/22/archbishop-desmond-tutu-sorry-hard-to-say.

[3] A possible starting point: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2021/dec/26/the-most-rev-desmond-tutu-obituary.

[4] Due to a significant surge in Covid-19 cases and positivity rates, Bruton suspended in-person worship for this Sunday, opting to gather virtually for the safety of all.

[5] Book of Common Prayer, 219.