Sermon by the Rev. Andrew Klatte to the Second Annual Conference of the American Friends of the Episcopal Church of Sudan
Feast of the Martyrs of the Sudan
Book of Wisdom 3: 1-9
Psalm 116:10-17
Letter to Hebrews 10:32-39
Matthew 24:9-14
May these words be in the name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
Today, we conclude the Second Annual conference of the American Friends of The Episcopal Church in Sudan. It is only fitting that we end our days together in a celebration. We are not only celebrating the Holy Eucharist, we are also celebrating the interconnectedness of the American Episcopal Church and the Episcopal Church of Sudan. As Paul told us, we are one body sharing the love of Christ. It is only right that we conclude by sharing the body and blood of Christ together, as one family.
Today, we are also celebrating the Feast of the Martyrs of Sudan. This liturgy was arranged by our host, Father Jerry Drino. It is a beautiful liturgy that helps us to remember not only the many people of faith who died in Sudan but the many thousands of people who have given their lives for Christ. This is a time for us not only to remember our brothers and sisters who died, but this is also a time for us to celebrate. I say celebrate because, through these martyrs of Sudan and martyrs from our Christian past, we are offered justice, peace, and hope.
In today’s gospel reading from Matthew, Jesus gives his disciples a series of signs to look for as an indication of his returning. It is through this series of end time predictions that Jesus leaves his disciples with hope: the one that endures to the end will be saved and the good news of the kingdom will be spread throughout the world as a testimony to all nations. We heard today a series of what signs we should be looking for: persecutions and killing of Christians throughout the world, Christians turning away from their faith, following false leaders, even betraying their former brothers and sisters in Christ—self- absorbed people who are doing deeds of wickedness against each other rather than acts of love. Obviously, we have all seen these signs and perhaps we have even noticed them increasing in frequency. But we were told this morning in the gospel reading by Jesus that this is only the beginning. I suppose that we could see this as the “bad news” portion of today’s sermon. But today’s gospel is full of “good news” too. The good news that we heard this morning is that God’s voice cannot and will not be silenced. As our brothers and sisters from Sudan have taught us: God cannot be defeated. In our persecutions, in our betrayal, even as we witness evil acts of wickedness, there is hope. In today’s celebration of the Feast of the Martyrs of Sudan, we are celebrating hope. Because, as we all die with Christ, we are raised with Christ in his resurrection.
That, my brothers and sisters, is why there is hope. God has sent us holy women, holy men--people of God--and prophets to show us the way and to let us know that that there is hope. They can kill the body but they cannot kill the hope; they can persecute us, but they cannot suppress the hope; they can turn us against one another, but they cannot take away from us our hope. Millions of our sisters and brothers in the Sudan have been killed and thousands of buildings burned and destroyed including hundreds of our churches, but the Church, full of hope and justice, will continue on in the spirit of these saints and martyrs, who have been buried with Christ in his death and have been raised with Christ in his resurrection.
My sisters and brothers in Christ, as we pray for all who have been persecuted and killed for their faith, we can hear them cry out that in their death there is hope for us all.
My first trip to Sudan was about eight years ago. It was during this first trip for me that I witnessed many terrible things: water that was contaminated; people nearly starving; many people--old and young--very sick. But I did see one thing that was a bit confusing for me. Our group (that included Nancy Frank and Richard Parkins) in the midst of all the despair -- in the middle of this forgotten world of Sudan—our group saw hope. It was this hope in the midst of devastation that made us all realize that we had to do something. If these Christians were willing to die for their faith, we had an obligation to return to the United States and to tell their story. It was this hope-- in the middle of terrible injustice-- that helps me dedicate my life to help our sisters and brothers there.
I like to tell the story of the time during this first trip to Sudan eight years ago. We were at a community meeting and, as is the practice there, our group had to get up and tell everyone who we were, and how we were going to help when we returned home. My traveling companions were mostly professional church people and they told the group how they were going to write reports and talk with other church officials about what was going on in the Sudan. When it came to be my turn, I stood there and told the group that I was only a lay person-- not working in a Church or for a Church agency-- but just a lay person, and I promised them that all I could do was to come home and tell their story. I have been honored to tell their story to just about anyone who would listen.
The point I tried to tell to anyone that would listen to me was this: yes, things were bad there, but to understand the whole story of Sudan, you have to understand the hope that is in the hearts of people there. How else can there be 10,000 hymns, if there is not hope. It is the hope that we hear in these hymns. It is the hope that we hear as we prayed with Bishop Nathaniel in the evening around the campfire. I believe that it is this hope that makes us, from the United States, leave our families for weeks and live mud huts. When I tell my friends the reason I go to Sudan, I tell them that it is because of the hope that I see there. In their persecutions, in their displacements, in their separated families, we are reminded that the good news of God in Christ will be proclaimed; even in death, God cannot be defeated.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer a German theologian, who was executed during World War II, took serious the fact that as Christians we are all baptized into the death of Christ. It is only through dying with Christ that we are raised in new life in him. Bonhoeffer died because he freely chose to surrender his own life, and to suffer with all the victims of injustice. Bonhoeffer knew he could not stand by and do nothing in the face of this immense evil that was happening on the continent of Europe. To do nothing in the mind of Bonhoeffer was not only irresponsible but also un-Christian. Bonhoeffer’s and all the martyr’s examples are a challenge to us-- all of us who are bystanders in the face of injustice-- to take up the cross and face evil directly. The challenge for us as members of Christ’s Church is that we are being called to be faithful in our witness to Christ-- even though we will be handed over to be tortured and perhaps even put to death. We will be hated by all nations. But, as Christians, we are to be faithful in fighting injustice-- to spread the good news of God in Christ Jesus and to love all, even those who are torturing us.
I spent 4 1/2 weeks in the Gulf area of Mississippi shortly after Katrina devastated that area this summer. I was there to provide disaster mental health counseling to victims of these storms. The hardest thing for me was to talk with folks who had lost all hope. The hope that characterizes true martyrs is not shallow optimism, but a way of expressing confidence in God, despite the circumstances that surround them. It is said that on the morning of the execution of Bonhoeffer, he was seen kneeling on the floor of his cell in prayer. It was said by some who witnessed the execution that they had not ever seen a man die so entirely submissive to the will of God. He understood that by his dying, hope would remain.
Surely this is the hope we need to rediscover for our times: the hope that will heal Sudan; the hope that will unite north with south; the hope that the killing will stop in Darfur; the hope that will save the world; the hope that we will be raised with Christ. This is why we celebrate this feast day for the martyrs in Sudan. These true martyrs--martyrs who did not seek death as a way to paradise, but who lived for justice and peace—these true martyrs died in the confidence that God would bring healing, reconciliation, and salvation out of suffering. These martyrs were people like us-- ordinary people made extraordinary by the Holy Spirit. Their example is not meant to overwhelm us or to make us feel guilty, but their death serves as a call to us to be faithful and to have hope. Recognizing that whatever happens to us, we are always in the hands of God--the father of our Lord Jesus Christ-- who loved us and gave himself for us that we may have life in the fullest, even in death.
So, as we close out this second national conference of the American Friends of The Episcopal Church in Sudan, let us remember this time together as a time of hope. Let us not forget all who died in the faith. Let us not forget our sisters and brothers in the Sudan who are facing hardship as they begin to put together their lives during this fragile peace. Let us not forget our sisters and brothers who are being martyred in Darfur. Let this time that we have shared together, be a time of gathering light in the darkness of this world. Our collect this morning called for us to be steadfast in our faith in Jesus Christ, who can not be defeated; we think of and pray for the good and humble women and men who bear witness to their faith during these times of tribulation. Let our time together be a time of remembering their joy and an offering to us a reason for hope. We read in this morning’s gospel that we are to be given a great hope.
May the memory of the Sudanese Martyrs be one that strengthens our resolve and capacity to work untiringly for justice and peace in Sudan, and to celebrate with hope that even in death we will lift the cup of salvation and call upon the name of the Lord our God--The God who will not abandon us--even in death.
Amen.