Gateways, Glory, and the Gospel in the Midst of Empire: Psalm 24 and Mark 6:14-29

Airports and Airlines. 

They can be the glory of expedited domestic and international travel. They can also be the symbols of some of our more stressful and anxious moments. 

For my recent trip to the 223rd General Assembly in St. Louis, it was the latter.  It all began when I was the last to be dropped off at Terminal F by a local shuttle service. When the driver handed me my bag, I froze as I noticed- it wasn’t my bag.  

“Where’s my bag?" 

"I must have given it to the gentleman at…Terminal A." 

Yes, the terminal a half mile before mine. 

In what I believe was my fastest mile pace to date, I hauled to Terminal A just in time to intercept my bag from being checked by the gentleman who was unaware he had the wrong luggage and headed to Florida.   

Then it got worse- like I was living out the children’s story, Alexander’s Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day,  

Because some days are like this- especially at the Philadelphia Int'l Airport. 

My flight was canceled at 11 p.m. because of computer glitches that failed to schedule a flight crew. My bags were lost only 90 minutes later to be found.  The hotel offered by airline was in Bala Cynwd.  No restaurants were open for post-stress snack. I missed the General Assembly’s opening worship. Then, just as my rescheduled morning flight was about to touchdown in St. Louis, I could have dangled my legs out the window and touched the ground, the plane made a quick re-ascent as an unexpected plane was on our landing strip.  

I was never getting to my destination.  

Needless to say, I eventually made it. As my Lyft driver drove down the highway, I saw the St. Louis Arch that welcomes you into the city. Then I breathed.  

The Arch stands 630 feet high and is a beautiful feat of architecture adjacent to the Mississippi River. Originally designed as a symbol of America’s gateway to glory through Westward expansion, each morning as I ran by the monument I could not help but wonder if there was another side to the story of America’s quest for glory and expansion? What about the Native Americans who had lived on that land long before we arrived? What about Africans who would be enslaved on these lands? Is the Arch really a symbol of glory and a gateway of hope for all? Depends on whom you ask.  And in the shadows of this Arch are both a historic courthouse and an old Christian cathedral.  

Which begged more questions, hence snapping this photo. 

Where is the church in the midst of it all? 

Whose glory do we pursue? 

What kind of gateway are we daring to open? 

Are we a gateway to the glory of empire or the glory of God and the kingdom on earth as it is in heaven? 

These were also some of the questions raised in their own way by the faithful gathered for the General Assembly.  This was also the question posed by Psalm 24 that called us into worship this morning- fling wide you gates so the King of Glory may come in. 

Now for some context. The people of God were called out of Egypt to be an alternative community to Pharaoh and his empire and gifted by Yahweh with their own rituals, laws, and sacred practices that hinged on the worship of God who will be who God will be.  And who will this God be? One who cares for the poor and oppressed, widows and orphans, hungry and enslaved, and all who look for refuge and safety from emperors, empires, and their own expansive quests for glory. This God was also calling out a people to fling wide their gates to this God’s glory and become an archway of jubilee for those so often exploited by the Pharaohs of every generation.  This is why the Psalmist writes, “who shall stand in God’s holy place? Those with clean hands and pure hearts and who do not lift up their souls to what is false.” 

I could go on. But the lectionary story to be engaged this morning comes to us from the Gospel of Mark Chapter 6, with the likes of Psalm 24 as backdrop for the events leading to the rather gruesome beheading of John the Baptist.  

Arch of (in)Justice: Reflections on a Pilgrimage to St. Louis for #GA223

Last week, my days were spent with over 1,000 Presbyterians from around the country who gathered in St. Louis for the 223rd General Assembly.

For those unfamiliar, the General Assembly is the national gathering of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). Commissioners and delegates representing over 9,000 churches, 170 presbyteries, and 16 synods nation-wide worship, study, discern, and decide on theological positions, business items, budgets, investments, and public witness related to a wide range of social issues. The Assembly is also a chance to (re)connect with friends and colleagues, some whom I only see every two years at the event. In many ways, after perusing the schedule and overtures to be discussed, I presumed this year would predominantly be about networking. 

I did not expect #GA223 to erupt into a week-long revival and participation in God’s justice. 

More on that in a moment. 

First, the Gateway Arch in St. Louis. 

On one of my morning runs (yes, I am that guy now... never intended to become that guy; used to loathe that guy), I paused and snapped the picture above of this 630 foot national landmark. Because, you know, instagram.  Intended as a symbol for westward expansion and a “gateway" to American glory, the arch casts a shadow over an old cathedral and a historic courthouse along the Mississippi River. What makes for a beautiful picture on a sunrise run also serves as a (unintended) reminder of how the church and state were (are) bedfellows in these expansive quests for glory at the expense of Native Americans whose land we stole and people we displaced and killed. 

The arch indeed casts a shadow upon both church and state, which sadly lingers still.

Then I returned from my run and landed on Psalm 24:

“Lift up your heads, O gates!
and be lifted up, O ancient doors!
that the king of glory may come in.” 

What would the psalter have to say for this icon of empire? What about the church?

Whose glory do we usher in through our religious and political gateways? At what cost? 

Back to General Assembly. 

The week at #GA223 was both a reflection on and praxis of the kin-dom of God. We talked to great lengths about the infinite scope of God’s grace and the wideness of Christ’s embrace. As we discerned and decided together, we also committed to following our words with our feet, our statements with our activism, and our worship with our public witness. Yes, even a march down the St. Louis streets took place as we advocated for #endcashbail (see below). Say what you will about organized religion and the decline of the mainline church, Presbyterians demonstrated in St. Louis that we are indeed a called, sent, and resurrecting people committed to more than institutional preservation. We are disciples gathered and scatterered to engage our time and place(s) with relevant and liberating incarnations of the gospel.  

Sure, there were decisions made and voices lifted of which we may have disagreed. It must be said, not all of the actions taken were/are unanimously received with a sense of jubilee; neither were we lured by a belief that the church has arrived once and for all at what it means to be a provisional demonstration of what God intends for all of humanity and the created world.

Certainly not. 

Yet, as we worshipped and marched, fellowshipped and debated, elevated concerns for the incarcerated and victims of abuse, responded to ongoing realities of racism and the discrimination of LGBTQIA+ persons, exposed the exploitation of creation and prayed for nations torn by war, and even called out the realities of American empire that marginalizes people looking for refuge, there was an energy in the convention center within the shadows of an Arch that dared us to lean into the stirring of God's Spirit. It was evident, something new and different and faithful and messy and maybe a bit controversial was emerging from this body of believers; we were being reformed and still reforming. 

We were becoming all the more aware of the shadows cast by archways of despair, confessing our own past and present complicity in oppression; we were also being attentive to the echoes of Scripture, which dare us to live into the sacred story as we fling open the gateways to God’s kin-dom of justice and peace, reconciliation and liberation, and a concern for our neighbors most vulnerable to imperial pursuits of vain glory and expansive conquests of power. All this because we affirm this to be gospel work; this is discipleship; this is the Way of Jesus as guided by the Holy Spirit. 

And this, as mentioned, was not what I was expecting at this particular Assembly. 

As we continue to live in the past and present shadows of empire, with stories of struggle breaking every minute, I pray what we were a part of last week would move all of us to increased public witness of the Gospel between St. Louis and Baltimore, near and far, here, there, and everywhere.  May we move beyond these shadows cast and through the gateways of God’s kin-dom. May we even usher in others who have been relegated to the margins for too long.

May we also be reminded that death and despair have not the last word; God is doing something new and we are being invited to come along for the ride- together as the kindom of God. 

Lift up your heads, O church!

Be lifted up, O ancient people. 

That the Spirit of the Living God may come in

to open a gateway to justice

an arch of hope

for all who bear the sacred image,

creation that lingers for liberation. 

Here are just a few of the ways our the priestly institutional church participated in the prophetic movement of the gospel. As Rev. Cedric Portis, pastor of Third Presbyterian Church noted in worship, the Spirit is thawing out the frozen chosen. You can also check out a summary of actions the Presbytery of Philadelphia developed, aware there is much more left to say…and do.