From Ghoulies and Ghosties: Good Lord Deliver Us

October 30, 2005 (Twenty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost; Proper 26)

By The Very Rev. Terry White, Dean

• Micah 3:5-12
• Psalm 43
• 1 Thessalonians 2:9-13,17-20
• Matthew 23:1-12

(From The Lectionary Page)

"From ghoulies, and ghosties, and long legged beasties, and things that go bump in the night, Good Lord, deliver us."

That is a paraphrase of an English litany hundreds of years old.

It is the time of year, in fact the very day itself, when we delight in what scares us. There are temporarily scary things, directly related to our age.
• In youth, an unfamiliar noise, the space under our bed, and the hours of darkness can make us afraid.
• In adolescence, the first day of high school, a term paper, the home coming dance, and gym class (especially tumbling) can send shivers up and down our spine.
• At any age dating is a scary thing.

As we grow older, we deal with scary things differently.
• We throw money at some fears using wrinkle creams and sports vehicles to help us deny the natural aging process.
• Some of us are afraid to be without money, and we all are afraid to be without love.

But being scared can also be great entertainment.
Halloween is surprisingly close to Christmas as the holiday which generates the most sales in decorations for home and self.
The popularity of haunted houses and the money invested in them proves that scaring people can be good business.
Every amusement park knows that the most popular attraction is the roller coaster which now goes up and down, over and around.

Some scary things are imagined. Others have a basis in reality.

A few years ago, just a couple of weeks before Halloween, on a Sunday afternoon, a church in a community near where we were living hosted a meeting to discuss hate groups. The pastor gave the following account of this meeting:

As we began to listen to our speaker two young men with a huge red, white and black flag walked up the lawn and started walking around the church. The flag was bearing the logo of the World Wide Church of the Creator, the same group that mass murderer Benjamin Smith belonged to.

I got up from my chair, crossed the room, locked the doors and called the police. While the police could keep the men and their flag off church property, the hate group did have the right to march on the side walk and parkway.

A few minutes before we finished our meeting, the local police chief arrived, hugged me and said how sorry he was. He said he knew one of the protesters, a senior in high school, was very troubled and needed our prayers.

We stopped talking and we prayed. We prayed for ourselves to be strong in the face of evil and we prayed for the young men who stalked our meeting. Each person in that room had gone through their own fear as we watched these young men grin and wave at us, right outside of the windows that line our fellowship hall. We thought about going into the sanctuary but decided we had to stay in full view. We would remain strong and not be obviously intimidated.”

But I find that reading this account now several years later, I can still sense the intimidation.

Our opening hymn comes from the continental reformation, Luther’s A Mighty Fortress is our God. “For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe, his craft and power are great, and armed with cruel hate, on earth is not his equal.” Luther goes on to claim the power of Christ for this battle with evil, and though this world with devils filled should threaten to undo us, we will not fear. Now while some scholars suggest that included in Luther’s list of devils were the Bishop of Rome and certain wobbly Anglican in England, we can relate to the existence of evil and the age-old debate among the faithful of how best to fight such evil.

I find that when I talk about our parish’s mission as a part of the stewardship canvass, or when I pray for the mission of our parish, I do not think about dealing with evil. Not to be preoccupied with evil is clearly a healthy thing, but resisting evil is the second promise of the Baptismal Covenant. I guess I often think about resisting the evil of lying on my taxes or the evil of making a wise crack at the expense of someone who treats me poorly. Also, there is a definite attitude that enlightened people don’t think or speak in terms of devils or evil. And then we come across a hateful man who enlists teenagers to become disciples of hatred and death. Or a group of people, having heard it said from that pulpit that God condemns homosexuality, foster hate and encourage violence and claim divine sanction.

The Rev’d Duncan Gray was rector of St. Peter’s Church in Oxford, Mississippi, in 1962 when the first African American student was admitted to the University of Mississippi under the order of a federal judge. Father Gray preached in favor of the court’s decision, and stood up to a rampaging mob during a night of murderous mayhem that terrorized the campus and city. He faced intense opposition within the parish. He lost parishioners. He lost friends. He did not lose himself. In recalling those times where evil could be felt, Father Gray said that he was bolstered by the “radicalism of liturgy.” [The Lord Be With You, Will Campbell and Duncan Gray.]

We come here to be changed. We kneel before this altar to be transformed. Radically changed. That is in contrast to how I often think of gradually building up right attitudes, learning over time how to be Christ-like in dealing with every day, but rather safe issues. And then white supremacists arrive, and I find myself lacking in nerve. I question why I should get involved, and easily justify that it is better for me to be quiet, stay in the background, and lend my support from distance.

Two weeks ago the cathedral hosted a gathering focusing on hate crimes, as this was about the time seven years ago that Matthew Shepard, a young college student, was taken out into the Wyoming countryside and murdered because he was gay. Matthew was an Episcopalian, and I welcomed the gathering to this, his church. The following week, a person phoned in an attempt intimidate and cause me to think twice before speaking at or allowing such a gathering again. But evil must be confronted.

A few moments ago we sang “Awake my soul stretch every nerve and press with vigor on.” If you and I are to live out our baptismal promise to persevere in resisting evil, that means not only to resist temptations to act ungodly, but it also means that we resist the evil visited upon us.

Last week Rosa Parks died. By refusing to give up her seat and go the back of a bus, evil was resisted. When she asked the police officer called to arrest her, she asked him why her people were treated this way. He said that he didn’t know, but the law was the law. Rosa’s resistance was a small step on a journey still taking place, but what a step. Because of her, buses are less scary now. But there are so many more frightening places still in need of such a witness, a first step, a clear act, whereby evil is resisted. And let us be clear: some of the scariest places around have a cross affixed over the door.

My friends, on All Hallow’s Eve, I long for the innocence of ghoulies and ghosties and things that go bump in the night. When a child is afraid of the dark, a parent says, "Don’t be afraid. There’s nothing here in the dark that isn’t here in the daylight, too." I didn’t find that comforting as a child, and in fact, that’s precisely what I am afraid of now. The evils of hatred and intolerance hide best in open view, in the daylight.

May the Light of Christ expose hatred in all its forms. May this Eucharist--the radicalism of Liturgy--strengthen us to be firm and resolute in meeting evil. Ours is a heavenly race. May our zeal for God’s ways bring us to the joy of heaven. Amen.