June 30, 2024 Sermon Text

LAKEWOOD UNITED CHURCH OF CHRIST

2601 54th Avenue South  St. Petersburg, FL  33712

On land originally inhabited by the Tocabaga

727-867-7961

lakewooducc.org

lakewooducc@gmail.com

Date: June 30, 2024

Scripture Lesson:

Sermon:

Pastor:  Rev. Kim P. Wells

‘The Third of May 1808’ also known as ‘The Executions,’ is a painting by Francisco Goya, and considered one of the first paintings of the modern era.  This painting inspired the peace sign graphic and Picasso’s ‘Guernica.’  The painting is large: 106 x 137 inches.  It is on display in the Prado Museum of Madrid.  This painting is on the short list of highlights in the museum; one of the premiere art collections in the world.  

In the painting, Goya depicts the city of Madrid in the background in predawn light.  In the foreground, on the right, there is a rigidly poised line up of French soldiers portrayed from behind.  We don’t see their faces.  Their guns are aimed at a line up of what look to be townspeople.  It’s a firing squad.  There are a few dead bodies on the ground in the foreground.  Slightly off to the left, drawing the eye, is one figure, standing with arms wide open, a laborer, clad in white and yellow, illuminated by a lantern. The figure has clear religious overtones including a wound in the palm of one hand.  He is one in a long line of peasants lined up to be killed.

The scene depicts an historical occurrence.  In 1807 Napoleon of France conspired with the King of Spain to take over Portugal.  It was actually a ruse.  Napoleon wanted Spain.  He took over Spain and installed his brother as King.  In May of 1808, hundreds of Spanish civilians rebelled against the French incursion.  And on May 3, the rebels were rounded up and shot by French soldiers. 

Goya painted ‘The Third of May 1808’ in 1814 after the final expulsion of the French and the return of King Ferdinand VII to the throne of Spain.  

And there is another painting of a firing squad in the Prado Museum.  This one painted years later in 1888:  ‘Execution of Torrijos and His Companions on the Beach at Malaga’ by Antonio Gisbert Perez.  In this painting, there is a group of 16 men lined up on the beach.  They seem to be diverse – some well dressed.  Others peasants.  Some are blindfolded.  They are attended by 3 priests or monks.  Four bodies are laying shot dead in the sand in the foreground of the painting.  This time it is the Spanish army that is lined up in row upon row behind them.  The sky is gray.  Ominous clouds and roiling seas provide the background.  It is an emotional scene  – rage, pride, resignation, love, concern, dejection  – all come across from the figures lined up about to be killed by the military firing squad.

This painting also depicts an historical occurrence.  Torrijos, the main figure in the execution line up, was a leader in the movement against the absolutism of the Spanish monarch.  He helped lead a rebellion and then was exiled to England.  He returned to Spain to continue the conflict with the absolutist monarchists.  He and 48 companions sailed to Spain and were captured and shot on the beach.  No trial.  No due process.  Summarily executed.  

The execution was ordered by none other than Spanish King Ferdinand VII, the king restored to the throne after the invasion of Napoleon.  The painting ‘The Third of May’ portrays the sacrifice of the common people in their efforts to oust Napoleon and restore King Ferdinand VII.  The Torrijos painting commemorates efforts to oust the Spanish authoritarian dictator King Ferdinand VII. 

Both paintings portray man’s inhumanity to man and I say man because there are no women in these paintings.  As a species, we seem to do the same thing, over and over and over again.   We kill in the cause of liberty.  Only to gain the liberty to kill.  Again.  And again.  And again.  And it continues today, the world over.  

There were several sermon requests this summer about how to deal with the stress and pressure of our current historical moment.  These are, as we heard from Sweet Honey in the Rock before the service began, ‘Trying Times.’  And the presidential debate Thursday night made that clear in bold, capital letters.  But the paintings remind us that there have always been trying times.  Always been attacks on freedom and liberty.  Always been hostile take overs.  And rebellions.  There have always been threats to homeland, livelihood, and well being. 

Jesus, too lived in trying times.  His country was under the thumb of the Romans.  Being squeezed financially through taxation.  Forced into labor.  Deprived of full liberty.  The people of Palestine were not flourishing in the first century CE.  Which of course, is why the Messiah came at that time.  Because things were not good.  And things are not good there now.  

And one of the things we see in the ministry of Jesus is a rebellion against all the forces that sap and diminish life.  In the story we heard this morning of the healings, people expect Jesus to rush to the side of the synagogue leader’s daughter because he is a prominent person in the community.  He is a higher up.  Patriarchy dictates that he be served immediately.  But Jesus engages with the crowd.  He has an encounter with another person who needs healing.  The woman with the flow of blood.  A nobody.  Women were already considered of less value than men in the cultural system.  They were at best second class.  Not worthy of attention or note.  And this woman is bleeding which makes her unclean.  Untouchable.  And she has been bleeding for 12 years, the entire lifespan of the daughter of the synagogue official who is dying. This means that for 12 years the woman with the flow of blood has been an outcast, shunned, marginalized, ignored, and isolated as well as experiencing the pain and hygiene problems associated with the constant bleeding.  She is worthless to the community.  And she touches just the hem of Jesus’ cloak and is healed.  His healing power is for all.  And he knows that something has happened.  And he exposes the healing.  Maybe he wants people to know this woman is no longer unclean.  She has been restored.  She is part of the community again.  Maybe this shows us that the love of God extends to all, not just the rich, respectable, and highly regarded, but to the least and the lost.  Jesus doesn’t play favorites.  The gospel, the good news, is for all people, not just for some people.  

Then Jesus and his friends get to the house of the leader of the synagogue and are told that the 12 year old child has died.  The implication is that the diversion with the woman with the flow of blood has prevented the saving of the official’s daughter.  But Jesus restores the daughter to life as well.  

There is no limitation, no restriction, no short supply of the healing power of Divine Love.  The gospel is not a zero sum game.  Because someone receives something it does not mean that someone else is deprived.    

Living in difficult times, confronted by the needs of the crowds, the officials, the religious leaders, those made poor, those forgotten and outcast, those considered different, less than, and under an oppressive authoritarian governmental system trying to extract whatever it could from the people, here is Jesus.  Offering healing, community, belonging, welcome, to all.  Embodying the unconditional universal love of God.  Jesus will not let the forces of the society and the people around him construct or control his reality.

So in the gospel of John, we are told of Jesus saying, “I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.”  (15:11)

We are also told in the gospels not just that Jesus healed and fed and forgave everyone and restored them to community.  But he had a reputation for, well, partying.  In the gospel of Matthew, we’re told, “‘Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’”  (11:19)   The tax collectors were rich people who were known for taking advantage of others.  Finally, the leaders, those in power, those benefitting from the subjugation of the people, those who want control, cannot stand it that Jesus is having fun.  Enjoying life.  Taking delight in being alive.  Counting it all joy as we are told in the letter of James.  The power brokers cannot stand this threat.  They cannot stand that Jesus is promising people joy, an appreciation of the awe and delights of being alive.  This is something that cannot be used to control people or oppress them or manipulate them.  It is pure.  And boundless.

Andrew Harvey, founder of the Institute of Sacred Activism, says joy is the most important resource you could possibly have, “because joy is the mother of resilience, the mother of courage, the mother of fortitude, the mother of sacred energy, the mother of passion for life.”  [From a promotional email for an Andrew Harvey class.]

Society wants us to feel deprived, deficient, and defensive so that we can be controlled.  But Jesus shows us there is more than enough for everyone.  Not just the higher ups but the people on the fringe, too.  He doesn’t accept this construct of limitation.   Not only does the gospel offer everyone healing, food, and community, the gospel offers everyone joy.

Jesus wants joy, full and free, for everyone.  Joy from nature.  From relationships.  From awe at our next breath.  From the beauty of the sunset.  And the stripes on a snake.  He wants us to experience joy from the arts, music, dance, drama.  From the strokes of paint on a canvas.  Joy.  From the expression on the face of a child.  A great kick in a soccer game.  The produce from a garden.  A great novel.  Joy.  Really, assaulting us.  Every day.  If we will but see it.  Pay attention.  Notice.  

So, what is an antidote to the stress around us?  To our trying times?  To the division in our land?  To the violence of mass shootings and war?  One response is to actively embrace joy.  Make it a priority.  Write it in a journal – how did you experience joy today.  Everyday. 

So while we were in Madrid last month, yes, we went to the Prado and other art museums.  I was with our son, Sterling, who is an artist, a painter.  So he wanted to go to some galleries featuring contemporary artists.  So we went to a side street near the museums and there were several storefront galleries.  Large white rooms with high ceilings.  Art displayed on the walls.  A reception desk with an attendant and some printed information about the exhibits.  

In one gallery, Galleria MPA, there was an installation by an artist, Rogelio Lopez Cuenca.  It featured a screen, like a large tv, and on the screen was a photo of a line up of 5 soldiers guns at the ready with a tan wall topped with barbed wire in the background and palm trees towering over the wall.  In the foreground, in front of the soldiers were two lines of men, seated on the ground, blindfolded, awaiting execution.  We looked at the picture.  I said to Sterling, this is like the paintings we saw in the Prado, ‘The Third of May 1808’ and ‘Torrijos.’  And as we stood there, looking at the image on the screen, it started to pixelate.  To break up, to transform.  We watched this process with interest.  And what appeared was the image of the Goya painting, ‘The Third of May.’  The soldiers lined up guns with pointed at the townspeople.  In the description of the contemporary work, we are told:  “The violence at the center of Goya’s The Third of May 1808 melds with the atrocities of current counter-terrorist action.” 

Friends, the human dynamics of violence, oppression, and domination continue.  As they ever have.  And still, or because of the insanity around us, the gospel of Jesus invites us to embrace the reality of joy.  It’s a radical revolution against the forces that engulf us.  

We close with the words of poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who died on June 29, 1861:   “Why, what is to live?  Not to eat and drink and breathe — but to feel the life in you down all the fibers of being, passionately and joyfully.”  Amen.

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