Texts: Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4 and Psalm 37:1-9

Habakkuk lived in the Kingdom of Judah, and prophesied shortly before the Babylonian captivity. At the beginning of this passage, Habukkuk cries out to God,

Why do you make me see wrong-doing,
why do you countenance oppression?

Bible scholars are not sure if he is denouncing evil and oppression in his own country, like the prophet Jeremiah, or whether he is protesting against the Babylonians

that fierce and fiery nation
who march miles across country
to seize the homes of others....
...dreadful and awesome,
a law and authority to themselves. (Habakkuk 1:6-7)

It is possible that he is speaking out against both -- against the wealthy in his own society who "make a fortune, succeeding by devious means" as well as against the Babylonians who

treat people like fish of the sea....
They haul them all up on their hook,
they catch them in their net,
they sweep them up in their dragnet
and then make merry and rejoice. (Habakkuk 1:14-15)

Habakkuk is dismayed by what he sees in the world around him. He sees the righteous being plundered and displaced by the wicked. He sees the wicked prosper, amassing wealth that they have stolen, that they have wrested by violence. And he is angry in the face of this evil. He cries out to God,

How long, Yahweh, am I to cry for help
while you will not listen;
to cry, 'Violence!' in your ear
while you will not save?

Habakkuk accuses God of complacence. Because God does nothing in the face of evil,

the law loses its grip
and justice never emerges,
...the wicked outwits the upright
and so justice comes out perverted.

Furious at injustice, and frustrated at God's seeming indifference in the face of evil, and helpless to do anything about evil himself, Habakkuk declares his intent to stand vigil, to stand watch against God until God gives him the answer he seeks:

I shall stand at my post,
I shall station myself on my watch-tower,
watching to see what [God] will say to me,
what answer he will make to my complaints.

Habakkuk's image of the watch-tower is a lonely image indeed. Habakkuk stands watch, as it were, against the whole cosmos. He stands watch against the consuming evil he sees around him in the world -- against the rich who entrap the poor and justify their robbery of the weak by perverting the law, against foreign armies who burn farms and villages, raping, enslaving, and murdering all who are unfortunate enough to stand in their path. And he stands watch against an inattentive God, who does nothing thus allowing the wicked to triumph and the innocent to perish.

I think I know what it is like to do time standing post in Habakkuk's watch-tower. This past week I attended the Annual Conference of the Minnesota Coalition of the Homeless, and learned about the economics and politics of homelessness. There's a heartless kind of math going on right now, in our city, in our suburbs, in our state, and across the nation. You see, the profits of land holders and developers and the tax base of politicians depends on maintaining high property values. High property values means higher rents and higher mortgage payments, and it means housing scarcity. The scarcer and more expensive housing is, the richer you can become if you own property. At the same time, employers' profits depend on paying employees as little as they can and still attract enough workers to run their businesses. Many businesses, especially those in the service sector that rely on unskilled labor, are able to pay their employees very little indeed. Incidentally, as long as it is not excessive, owners of these businesses actually benefit from unemployment. As long as there is a pool of desperately poor and unemployed who are willing to work at almost any rate, they can afford to keep wages low, and that increases their profit margin. The poor are caught between the greed of land owners and developers, and between the greed of service-sector employers; as housing prices rise and real wages fall the ranks of the homeless grow while the profits of the wealthy increase. Many of those who work for the lowest wages are the working homeless, people whose income goes to feed and clothe themselves, but who can't possibly make enough to live in an apartment or home.

Simple math. Since the 1970s, the real minimum wage (after adjusting for inflation) has actually fallen 15%. In the same time period, unemployment and underemployment have increased. So has the percentage of people working in "nonstandard" work arrangements: temps, independent contractors, day-laborers and regular part-time employees, who work for low wages, few if any benefits, and no job security. Housing prices have gone up, on the other hand, and the commitment to affordable housing is being cut back. The result in Minnesota: homelessness has doubled in the last ten years. In other parts of the country, the increase in homelessness has been even more dramatic. Simple math. Those who are most hard hit are those who are already most vulnerable: those who face discrimination in the job market because of their race or gender or sexuality or ability; those who have been deprived educational opportunities that are the key to higher paying jobs; those who live with mental illness, or disabilities, or health problems; those who have no family to turn to because of drugs, or alcohol or dysfunction.

The law loses its grip... Justice comes out perverted. Those with the wealth and the power to influence government have relentlessly been attacking the few sources of relief: government housing programs, section 8 vouchers, wage supplements. Under the Reagan-Bush-Clinton regime, American housing policy has become "investment policy," whose aim has been to fatten the coffers of investors rather than aid the poor. A program can't be justified any more unless it increases profits in the private sector. Tax reform is making the taxation system more regressive, cutting taxes for the wealthy and increasing taxes for the poor and the middle class. Simple math. All part of a dreadful equation. Since the late 1970s, the wealthy in America control a growing percentage of the wealth, the gap between rich and poor has widened dramatically.

That fierce and fiery nation who... seize the homes of others... Dreadful and awesome, a law and authority to themselves. [They] treat people like fish of the sea... They haul them all up on their hook, they catch them in their net, they sweep them up in their dragnet and then make merry and rejoice.

The Psalmist writes: "Do not get heated about the wicked.... Refrain from your anger, leave rage aside." But when I hear about a wealthy property development company in Brooklyn Park conspiring with the city behind closed doors to tear down 1,100 units of affordable housing at tax-payer expense instead of renovating the apartments and making them more liveable, I get angry. When I think about tax payer money going to build hockey arenas, tear down affordable apartments in St. Paul, and subsidize the incomes of Minnesota's super-wealthy, I get angry. I think about all the years my partner worked for $6 an hour serving people potatoes at City Center with no benefits and no health care, and I get angry. And then I remember that one of his co-workers, who's supporting her children on that income, got fewer raises than her male co-workers because she moved slowly due to a bad knee, and is still working there with little hope of improving her job situation, I get even angrier. When I hear stories of people living on the edge who get pushed into homelessness by an illness or an accident or the loss of a job, I get angry. When I hear "decent" Christian folks saying they don't want "those people" in their neighborhood, I get angry. Every time I volunteer at St. Stephen's and watch them tell the twenty to thirty men who just lost the lottery that there's no place for them to go, I get angry. That lottery makes me despair these days, when I step outside and feel an autumn chill in the air. When homeless people at the shelter tell me how they'd rather sleep under a bridge because at "Secure Waiting" they're likely to be robbed, raped, harassed or abused, I get angry. When I hear about police going down to the river, and harassing the people living in the make-shift camps where they've been forced to go because there's not enough shelter space or because what shelter space there is is indecent, I get angry. When I remember a story I heard of cops telling homeless men that if they tossed them into the river, no one would know or care, I ...don't have words for what I feel. I want to join Habakkuk in his watch-tower and scream at God: "How long must I cry 'Violence!' in your ear and you will not save?"

The last few months I have struggled to find the right way to be a member of Lyndale Church and also be its secretary. I have struggled because of the proposal before us to establish a satellite emergency homeless shelter. Ever since I started my position as church secretary, I have seen and dealth with homeless people right here in our neighborhood, right here in the shadow of this very building. On a regular basis -- especially during the cold months -- homeless people come here to Lyndale Church in search of some kind of help on a regular basis. They do not come here because we are Lyndale United Church of Christ, they come here because we are a church. Because they hope that here, more than anywhere else they will find compassion. One of the most painful aspects of my job has been to confront and face the reality that nothing I could do to help homeless people as church secretary was enough. Their needs seemed too great, and I simply could not do more than try to be friendly, treat them decently, and be creative. Sometimes I've given them bus passes. Sometimes I've helped them type resumes. Sometimes I've done their income taxes for them. Sometimes I've made phone calls, or let them use the phone. Sometimes I let them raid the fridge or the box of donated food at the back of the sanctuary. (Thank you, those of you who leave food!) Sometimes I end up supervising them as they do some odd job around the church to earn a little money. I often refer them to Cathie or Don, to give them access to our walk-in aid fund. No matter what I do, I feel angry and I feel a twinge of pain that it never seems enough. When St. Stephen's approached Lyndale Church about starting a satellite homeless shelter, I jumped for joy. I thought finally we can do something more significant, something more consistent, something more systematic, something the feels less like turning folks away empty handed. So I have, from the very beginning, from when even most members of the Social Justic Committee seemed pretty doubtful about the proposal, been an impassioned advocate of this proposal. My hearthas been passionately in it from the beginning. It's been hard for me to see how we couldn't do this.

And yet, some members of Lyndale have expressed strong reservations, even opposition to this proposal. And I have been extremely conscious of my role as church secretary. My role, my calling, as church secretary requires that I effectively serve each and every one of you, regardless of your feelings about this or any other proposal before the church. I have feared that my passion could become a barrier to effectively interacting with and serving all of you. I have feared, most of all, that if some of you felt uncomfortable interacting with me, it might affect how you feel about the church as a whole. Now that I'm saying it aloud, I have to admit: what an ego trip!! But I have struggled with those fears, and I have to admit they have often tormented me. The most difficult time for me is during the "prayers of the people" every Sunday, when the only prayer in my heart is that we might be able to establish this homeless shelter. But I can't speak the prayer aloud for fear of how some of you might interpret it.

I agreed to preach this sermon today long before the homeless shelter proposal had come before the congregation. I did not expect to preach about homelessness today. But when I examined the lectionary texts, all but one of them seemed to have something to say about poverty and justice, and God's call to us in the face of injustice. I would have had to betray myself, and my relationship with God, to stand before you today and not preach the sermon that I am preaching right now. And I have struggled over this. I have spent some time in Habakkuk's watch-tower, demanding an answer from God. How can I be an effective servant of a community that is divided over something that I feel such a great passion about? Why do I have to live in this kind of dilemma? Why is there evil, God? Why does this have to even be an issue?

In the text for today, God gave Habakkuk an answer that is not easy, but is something I think I can live with:

Write the vision down,
inscribe it on tablets
to be easily read.
For the vision is for its appointed time,
it hastens towards its end and it will not lie;
although it may take some, wait for it,
for com it certainly will before too long.

You see, anyone whose heart is not upright will succumb,
but the upright will live through faithfulness.

God told Habakkuk to be patient, but to keep the passion. Write the vision down, inscribe it on tablets. Don't just keep the passion to yourself, go ahead and share it. Share it with as many people as possible. Write the vision down... to be easily read. But be prepared to wait. The vision is for its appointed time. The last part is the most difficult part: the upright will live through faithfulness. It's that "living through faithfulness" part that is always the most difficult.

At times I've thought that Habakkuk's watch-tower bears an odd resemblance to Jonah's hut. Remember Jonah, camped outside the walls of Nineveh in his little hut, waiting for God to rain destruction down on the evil Assyrians? Jonah wanted nothing more than to see God destroy the Assyrians, and God told Jonah, "Why should I not be concerned for Nineveh?" (Jonah 4:11) Transforming Nineveh into the City of God requires that we leave the watch-tower, that we leave the hut, and enter into community. Establishing the City of God requires patience and humility as well as passion. It requires a willingness to quiet one's own passions long enough to hear the passions, fears, concerns, needs, and callings of others. It requires a willingness to accept that one's own passions, while important, cannot set the course of the community. It requires the acceptance of the truth that how we do things together is as important as what we do together. I have struggled with this, and I have discovered another passion in my heart besides my passion for justice for the homeless. It is a passion for each of you -- a passion for those of you I see eye to eye with, as well as those of you I don't. I have a passion for this church, this community, and I am here for the long haul. I am here with the recognition that our discernment of our mission as a community is bigger than myself, and that is what makes it worthwhile. I pray that we discern with compassion and care.

In Jesus' name.

Amen.