A sermon preached at Andrews Presbyterian Church on August 17, 2014
CHANGING
OUR MINDS
Ruth 1,
Matthew 15:10-28
I had intended to preach something
different this morning, but the events of the week have tugged at me all
week. The death of Robin Williams was
big news, and brought to the forefront discussions about depression and mental
health, and that is a good thing. The
terrorist group, Boko Haram, kidnapped 100 men and boys in Nigeria, adding to
the 200 girls kidnapped earlier in the summer.
The kidnapping of two Amish girls in northern New York. The spread of the Ebola virus. The discovery of 35 men and boys in a
shipping container in Great Britain, dehydrated and suffering from
hypothermia. The continuing wars in Gaza
and Israel, and Syria, and Ukraine/Russia.
The humanitarian action by US forces for the Yazidi people in northern
Iraq. The list goes on and on.
But what has really captured my
attention is the situation in Ferguson, Missouri, where one week ago, 18 year
old Michael Brown was shot and killed by a police officer, and the continuing
protests and police actions this week.
Once again, a discussion about racism has begun, with sides being taken
and vociferously defended. There are
those who insist that racism no longer exists in our country. There are those who loudly proclaim their
racism and insist on perpetuating it.
And there are those all along the spectrum in between. There are instances of racism that seem
inconsequential, small, unintended, thoughtless. But there are also those instances that are
unbelievable to many of us, those that incite strong reactions, that are easily
labeled evil. And there is everything in
between.
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Students at Howard University
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There has been lots of discussion this
week in the press about racism. But more
importantly to me, there has been much discussion among my colleagues about
racism, and about our response as Christians to it. To be honest, while I think this discussion
is important among all people and especially people of faith, I didn’t want to
preach this sermon, because racism is such a loaded subject in our society,
fraught with emotional and political baggage.
Because despite all our protestations to the contrary, our country is
still divided by racism. To be clear,
this condition does not just exist between blacks and whites, but also between
whites and Mexicans, between black and Asians, and between many other ethnic groups. Interestingly enough, I discovered in New
Mexico that there exists racism between the Hispanic people - Spanish, who
originally settled NM - and other, more recently arrived Hispanic folks, especially
those from Mexico. This week, however, my
attention was focused on the continuing conversation about the racism that
still exists between black and white people in our country.
The reason that this event and the
discussions that follow make me uncomfortable is that if I am honest with
myself, I know that there exists within me some part that is racist. An example – when we lived in NY, we lived in
a small village - suburb, if you will – that was predominately white. It was settled by farmers, and became the
headquarters for Xerox, where many people in the village worked. In addition, the headquarters and factories
for Kodak were just across the bay, and many folks from our village worked
there, too. It was an upper middle class
village – in fact I would describe it as being at the top of the upper middle
class. There were few minorities there,
so much so that you really noticed if you ran into a person of a different
race. Many of the “minority” people
there were Asian, which only helped to perpetuate the stereotype of Asian
people being better at math, etc. City
workers were white. People in the
service professions were white. Most of
those who lived in the one small public housing complex were white. So I became unaccustomed to see anyone who
was a minority in the village.
One winter night when I was on the way
home from church in the dark, I stopped at the light at the four corners in the
village. Walking toward me on the
sidewalk, minding his own business, doing nothing but making his way to
wherever he was going, was a young black man.
My first thought, my very first thought was “What is he doing
here?” I didn’t mean what is he doing
out in the zero temperatures or what is he doing out so late – because it
wasn’t late. I meant what is he, a young
black man, doing walking down our sidewalk.
I was immediately ashamed of myself, and acutely aware of my own
deep-seated racism.
I have known many folks who have
experienced racism, probably more often than I know. I have a friend who is a black man who has
been stopped just because he was in a nice neighborhood driving a nice
car. I had a friend, very fair-skinned,
with a son from South America, who experienced racial slurs and sexual comments
because it was assumed she was in a relationship with a “Mexican” man. I know people who, when black workers who
experienced racism in the workplace and dared to speak out about it, wondered
where else “those people” would get a job and said "that they should be thankful that
they had a job". Even my own family has
experienced racism to some small degree.
I found myself wondering, as I read
Ruth this week, what her experience was when she went to Bethlehem with
Naomi. Ruth was from Moab, and Moab was
a place that incited passionate feelings in most Israelites. Those from Moab were unclean. They worshipped foreign gods. They intermarried. They were to be avoided at all costs. Israel was in constant conflict with Moab. Ruth, at the end of Chapter 1, is identified
as “Ruth the Moabite.”
I found myself wondering if part of
the reason Naomi ordered her daughters-in-law to return to their own families
is that she knew that they would face racism in Bethlehem, and she feared for
them. I wondered at Ruth’s insistence
that she accompany Naomi, knowing what her reception in Bethlehem might
be. And I was captivated by the depth of
the relationship between Naomi and Ruth, that Ruth would willingly put herself
in that situation.
And then there is the story from
Matthew about Jesus and the Canaanite woman.
It is not the most flattering depiction of Jesus; in fact, it might be
described as one of the most disturbing.
Canaanites were also enemies of Israel, and unclean. The people of Israel were to avoid them at
all costs. So when the Canaanite woman approaches Jesus, he doesn’t see a woman in need; he sees a woman to avoid, a
woman to scorn, a woman that is less than because of her race. He responds with the most disturbingly human
remarks he makes in scripture. “I was
sent only the lost sheep of Israel,” he says mildly. He next responds a bit more harshly: “It is
not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.” People of faith have tried for centuries to
explain Jesus’ harsh words, but the fact remains that they are shocking and
uncharacteristic.
But the Canaanite woman challenges
him, much as this week’s events and discussions challenge us. She engages him in conversation and forces
him to rethink his position. She makes
him see her, REALLY SEE her. And Jesus’
mind is changed.
Much the same happens to Ruth. We don’t know what happens when she enters
Bethlehem. What we do know is that
throughout the story she is described as “Ruth the Moabite,” as if to remind us
that she is NOT an Israelite, but by the end of the story, the women are saying, “For your daughter-in-law, who loves you and who is better to you
than seven sons……...”
It’s
interesting that in both stories, what changes the minds of those who hold
prejudices is the faithfulness and love of those who are “other.” Jesus is changed by the Canaanite woman’s
persistence and love for her daughter.
The people of Bethlehem are changed by Ruth’s devotion and love for
Naomi. Love and relationship are key
here.
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| Photo by David Carson. St. Louis Dispatch. |
What’s
also interesting is what Jesus is saying to the disciples just before he
encounters the Canaanite woman: “Are you still so dull?” Jesus asked them. “Don’t you see that whatever enters the mouth goes into the stomach
and then out of the body? But the things that come out of a person’s mouth come from the heart, and these defile them. For out of the heart
come evil thoughts—murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false testimony,
slander. These
are what defile a person; but eating with unwashed hands does not defile them.” If what comes out of the mouth is from the
heart and can defile them, then conversely, if what comes out of the mouth is
good, it shows us that they are good.
So what do we learn from these
stories? We learn that when one
continues to say something over and over again, perhaps they feel that have not
been heard. We learn that insistence on
being heard can be life changing for those who need to listen. We learn that behavior is a much better
indicator of character than words. We
learn that minds can be changed, even Jesus’.
What can we
do? First and foremost, we can be like
Jesus. We can pay attention when someone
continues to say what their reality is over and over again, and not reject
them. When people say they experience
racism, pay attention. We can hear the fear of black parents who fear when their
children leave the house. We can understand
the horror of having to teach children of color that when they are stopped by
police, they must keep their hands where they can be seen and never ask questions
or talk back and that they must suffer the indignity of a search even when there is no
reason for it. Hear their experience and
their feelings. We can affirm and bless
others’ experience even if it isn’t the same as we have experienced.
We can be open to changing our minds like Jesus was. We can learn to see the individual instead of
the “other.” When I was in college, I
had a friend who grew up in El Paso. She
was in the habit of calling Mexican-American people wetbacks. She had several friends from high school who
were Mexican-American. After hearing her
talk about “wetbacks” so often, I finally asked her one day how her
Mexican-American friends felt about the term.
She had never honestly thought about it.
For her, those “wetbacks” were the other, totally unrelated to her
friends from high school.
We can be like the Canaanite woman,
and persistently say what we know to be true:
that ALL of us are God’s children, deserving of respect and love. We can choose not to perpetuate stereotypes –
all Asians are good at math, all black men are thugs, all Mexicans are
wetbacks. We can choose to proclaim that
in each person is the image of God. That
we are to love one another as Christ has loved us. We can claim God’s blessing for each
person, and not just for those who are most like us.
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Photo by Laurie Skrivan.
St. Louis Dispatch |
We can learn to say what we know to be true, and to challenge
others even in the face of ridicule and the possibility of anger or
dismissal. We can bear witness for
others when they are unable to do so for themselves. We can gently challenge people when they
speak from stereotypes and prejudice. We
can speak up when racist jokes are made.
We can intervene when we see acts of racism. We can do our best to be
consistent in our own actions and words, so that our words do not defile, but
build up.
And perhaps most importantly, we can like Ruth and the
Canaanite woman: we can seek to be in relationship with those who are
different, who don’t have the same experience as we do, who perhaps are even hostile
to us. Because it is relationship that
changes minds. It only takes an
encounter with one person who is different to help us see others in a
different light, to begin to understand their reality and their
experience. It only takes a relationship
with one person who challenges our understanding to crack open our hearts so
that we might be made whole.
Not By The Sword is a book published in 2012 about a Jewish
cantor, now a rabbi, in Nebraska who was threatened by the Grand Dragon of the
KKK. The story evolves as the young man,
Larry Trapp, continues to threaten Cantor Michael Weisser and his family with
phone calls and mailings of Nazi propaganda.
Instead of responding with fear or hatred, Cantor Weisser called him
each week and left a positive message on his answering machine. One night Mr. Trapp answered, and Weisser made an offer to
Mr. Trapp, who was disabled – a ride to the grocery store. While Mr. Trapp did not accept, he did begin
a conversation with Mr. Weisser, which led to him leaving the KKK with the help
of the Weissers. He moved into their
home so they could care for him, and renounced all his previous ties, making
apologies to many that he had threatened or harmed. He died less than a year later.
It all began with a relationship. I don’t know how they did it. I can’t imagine inviting someone who
threatened me and my family into my home.
When I think about the racism we have encountered, it makes me furious. How do you develop a relationship with people
who consciously - or unconsciously - do harm? How do
you initiate a conversation with someone who perpetuates racism? How do you take that risk?
It’s not easy. But God
did not call us to a life that is easy.
Being a person of faith is hard. We’re
called to be open-minded and to be willing to change our minds. We are called out into places we would rather
not go. We are called to challenge the –isms
that are expressed in our culture, even when it is uncomfortable or frightens
us. We are called to stand up to
injustice and to stand with those who experience it. We are called to relationships that challenge
us and change us and enrich us.
It is not easy. But we
are not called to a life of ease. We are
called to a life of discipleship, following One who showed us the way to
be in relationship with each other and with God. And even when he got it wrong, Jesus paid
attention and changed his mind. May it
be so for us. Amen.
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