With A Heavy Heart

Psalm 130
Psalm 40

This week I got the bulletin done early, and was well on my way to having a sermon completed early. Then on Wednesday night, it happened. The news of 9 people murdered and one left to tell and child who played dead, at a church, by one who had been welcomed in, hit the news.

And I wrestled. And I prayed. And I read. And I listened, and I prayed. And I worried that I will sound like a broken record and that you might be angry if I dare preach what I was afraid I was called to preach. And I prayed some more.

As I debated what to do – do I go with what I have, or do I start from scratch – I remembered something. We’re taught that preaching is contextual. After all, it was one of the consummate Reformed theologians, Karl Barth, who said one should read the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other. Our experience is to be interpreted in light of our faith. Our faith is to be interpreted in light of life. There are inexorable connections between life as we know it and the words of scripture. We cannot deny them. We cannot ignore them. We cannot claim those connections on the one hand, and dismiss them with the other. The Bible speaks to us in ways that comfort and in ways that discomfit. And so this week, with the news of people murdered in church in the name of evil, I changed direction.

We have been working through the psalms for a few weeks, a very brief visit to the psalms, but representative of the style and content of different psalms. Psalms speak directly to the circumstances of life. Sometimes it seems as if the psalmist took the words right out of our mouths. They contain all the emotions a person of faith, things that WE might and do experience as we seek meaning for the things that happen to us and in the world. There are psalms that praise exuberantly. There are psalms that are reflective and prayerful. There are psalms that acknowledge the reality of sin, our own and that of others. There are psalms of lament, and psalms of thanksgiving, psalms that quietly proclaim thanksgiving that God has heard our prayers.

This week, I have found myself thoroughly back in the throes of despair and lament. I feel I am crying from the depths, wanting God to hear, desperately hoping that God will hear my voice, OUR voices, our cries of pain. Voices that are tired of violence and hatred. Voices that cry at the reality and injustice of racism. Voices that are afraid to admit that we do indeed have a problem. Voices that wish things were different, that we could just see some sign of change, of progress.

Because the truth is, no matter how difficult it is to hear or how uncomfortable it is to admit it to ourselves, there is something wrong. There is an epidemic of hatred and shrill voices and racism and denial of racism that is flooding through our country. This sin is not only personal, but also corporate, systemic and REAL. And as people of faith, we must face the ugly truth. We have sinned. We have, consciously or unconsciously, contributed to the ways things are and have been.

The psalmist calls us to the same honesty that we see in the psalms. The same exuberant expressions of praise, and the heartfelt lament we feel and a deep acknowledgement of our sin.

“Let your ears be attentive to my cries for mercy. If you, O Lord, kept a record of sins, Lord, who could stand?”

We call out to God not just about the evil and wrongs done TO us, but also those done BY us. Because psalms are all about honest communication with God. Psalms are all about laying our souls bare – the good, the bad, and the ugly.

And so today, as people of faith, let’s do that. Let’s cry out about the evil done in Charleston this week and the lives lost and the shock and grief that overwhelm. Let’s cry out in weariness that we are again faced with violence, and the reality of racism. Let’s confess to our own denial, and ignorance, and reluctance to act. Let’s cry out about our unease and our discomfort. Let’s even cry out that we’re not sure we believe that racism and violence are endemic or that we are part of the problem.

Honesty is demanded. But lament isn’t just a benign acknowledgement of reality. It isn’t a “poor me” kind of prayer. A lament demands action from God – “out of the depths I cry to you.” A lament contains an expectation that God will act – “I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits……I wait for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning….” And when we demand action, and when we expect God to act, we have to KNOW that God calls us to be part of that action. We will be called to self examination. We will be called to confession. We expect that God will change us, and that God will change the world. It won’t be easy. It won’t be comfortable. But it never is when God is making all things new.

I grew up here in Texas, in the heart of the south. We just celebrated Juneteenth on Friday. I always thought that Juneteenth was a celebration begun in the African American communities celebrating emancipation, two years after Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation, and two months after the surrender at Appomattox, because they had not received word of it. But that’s not exactly what happened. It turns out that slave owners in Texas didn’t want to give up their slaves. June 19 is when the US Army took possession of Galveston Island, and began the months long battle, literally, to force slave owners to free their slaves. This battle took hundreds more lives, predominately those of black freedmen.

I remember a conversation I had when I lived in Kansas with two other pastors from Texas, one of whom might described as conservative and one a bit more moderate, who are about a generation older than I. We were talking about growing up in Texas and both of them talked about how racist Texas is. I was dumbfounded. At that time, in my early thirties, I didn’t believe that I had grown up in a racist place, at least not a racist as those other racist states. My parents never used racial epithets, and I don’t remember my grandparents doing it either. My great-aunt and uncle had a close relationship with the black community in east Texas, but one of those close relationships was with the woman who cleaned their homes and received food grown in the garden and hand-me-down clothes from them. I went to school with black kids. I had black friends. But schools in Bryan, where I grew up weren’t desegregated until shortly before we moved there as I began middle school.

I have in my house a wash stand that was my grandmother’s.   As we were packing up and clearing out her house after she died, her oldest friend came by. We had been wondering where the wash stand had come from.

We were told that it came from the slave quarters on the farm where she grew up. She didn’t live with slaves, but it is likely her parents and grandparents did. I have wondered why she kept it; it’s not really anything special – very rustic and obviously made with whatever materials could be gathered. Perhaps that stand not only reminded her of her family and heritage, but also of the people who made it, those who were slaves.

There are colloquialisms –“nigger rigged”, and subtle ways of thinking that are ingrained into me that have taken years to see and and to face and to change. Racism is woven like threads into the tapestry my life, in the state and nation I grew up in. It is woven through all of my experiences so well that I can only just now begin to separate those threads from the others.

It has become perfectly clear to me, as I have raised my children, both of whom are biracial, that racism is alive and well, even here in Andrews. The racism we have encountered here and in Roswell is overt sometimes – kids can be meant to one another – and sometimes more subtle – in the ways adults treat and respond to our children. I am ashamed and appalled when I witness these events. I am enraged that it happens to my children. I don’t understand what it feels like completely as I have never personally experienced it, but I see what it does to my children and my friends and my colleagues who are people of color.

It would be easy to be stuck in lament that is just a cry for help. It would be easy to give in to the apathy that says nothing is really ever going to change. But that’s not who God is. And if we are going to lament, and we do, then we must be ready for God to do something in us and among us. We need to be ready to listen to people of color and to hear their experience and pain. We must be ready to speak out against acts and words of racism we see. We must not ignore that it exists, or our part in it.

It may take a loooonnggg time.

                       The psalmist says “I waited and waited and waited for the Lord,                                                                       finally, he heard my cry and turned to me.”

It will require new understanding and change.

“Sacrifice and offering you did not desire, but my ears you have opened,

 burnt offerings and sin offerings you did not require. 

 Then I said, “Here I am, I have come—it is written about me in the scroll. 

 I desire to do your will, my God; your law is within my heart.”

The good news is that our God is steadfast. Our God never leaves us – any of us. God has been present throughout the ages -when the Israelites were enslaved and when they were also the oppressors; as people have been enslaved throughout history; were in our own nation; as they continue to be through human trafficking and other means. God has not given up on us. God has not given up on providing justice for those who suffered and continue to suffer the ravages of racism. God leads us forward, God challenges us, God forces us to face our sin and shortcomings, but God never leaves us. God has not given up on us.

I waited patiently for the Lord;

he turned to me and heard my cry.

He lifted me out of the slimy pit,

out of the mud and mire;

he set my feet on a rock

and gave me a firm place to stand.

He put a new song in my mouth,

a hymn of praise to our God.

Many will see and fear the Lord

and put their trust in him.

 

Blessed i

s the one

who trusts in the Lord,

who does not look to the proud,

to those who turn aside to false gods.

Many, Lord my God,

are the wonders you have done,

the things you planned for us.

None can compare with you;

were I to speak and tell of your deeds,

they would be too many to declare.

 Sacrifice and offering you did not desire—

but my ears you have opened—

burnt offerings and sin offerings you did not require.

Then I said, “Here I am, I have come—

it is written about me in the scroll.

 I desire to do your will, my God;

your law is within my heart.”

 I proclaim your saving acts in the great assembly;

I do not seal my lips, Lord,

as you know.

 I do not hide your righteousness in my heart;

I speak of your faithfulness and your saving help.

I do not conceal your love and your faithfulness

from the great assembly.

The good news is that even as we lament, we are able to look to the future because we know the God who created all of us in his image. We know his steadfast love. We know just how much he loved us when we remember Jesus Christ and his love even for the least of these.

Paul writes in the 8th chapter of Romans:

 What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?  He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?  Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies.  Who then is the one who condemns? No one. Christ Jesus who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us.  Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?  No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.  For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,  neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

This is the assurance we have – that NOTHING can separate us from the love of God. That gives us courage and strength to live into our calling. May it be so. Amen.

Shake, Rattle, and Roll!

An Easter Sermon

Matthew 28:1-10

After the Sabbath, as the first day was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb.  And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it.  His appearance was like lightening, and his clothing white as snow.  For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men.  But the angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified.  He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, 'He has been raised from the dead, and is indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.'  This is my message for you."  So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples.  Suddenly Jesus met them and said, "Greetings!"  And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him.  Then Jesus said to them, "Do not be afraid. Go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me."

They come early, these two Marys – at dawn, Matthew says.  They come not to anoint him, as in the gospels of Mark and Luke.  They don’t worry about who will remove the stone covering the tomb.  Rather they come to see!  The two Marys go to see the tomb as the day is dawning. 

And they don’t tremble in fear, these two Marys.  They are curious, perhaps even anticipating.  You see, the group of women which includes the two Marys has been providing for Jesus.  They have been part of the inner circle, along with the disciples.  They have been providing for Jesus as the angels provided for Jesus after the temptations in the wilderness.  They have been providing for Jesus in the same way as Peter’s mother-in-law did after Jesus raised her from her sickbed.  They have been providing for Jesus like the sheep in the parable care for those who are hungry or thirsty, sick or in prison, naked, or even strangers.  They have been emulating Jesus, who came not to be served, but to serve.

They’ve been part of his entourage, and so they’ve heard him talk about his death and resurrection many times.  They’ve heard him say he will be raised after three days.  They’ve heard the promises, they’ve seen the crucifixion, and now they come to the tomb to see what has happened, to understand what Jesus meant.  They’re not sure what to expect, but they come in hope and joy. 

And they are not disappointed.  They feel the earth quake and roll under their feet, just as it did when Jesus died, when rocks broke open and the temple curtain was torn in two.  They see an angel of the Lord roll the stone back from the tomb, just as they had watched Joseph of Arimathea roll it over the opening to the tomb three days earlier.  They see the guards at the tomb, who are seized with fear, fall to the ground like they are dead.  And then the angel speaks to them, reassuring them, inviting them to look into the tomb, telling them that the promises have been fulfilled and that Jesus has been raised from the dead. 

As they look into the tomb, they realize that what Jesus said has come to be.  The tomb is empty, just as he said.  And they are amazed and they are filled with joy, even a little bit afraid and awestruck.  And then the angel gives them a job to do:  run to tell the disciples what the angel has said – “He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.”

So they turn to do what they are told.  They turn away from the tomb, leaving to go find the disciples and give them the good news.  And then the real seismic shift occurs: they meet Jesus on the way.  They practically run into him.  They touch him, and it becomes real.  He’s not a ghost.  He really had been raised from the dead.  They knew it in their heads, but now they know it in their hearts. 

Here’s the irony of Easter:  we think the most important part of the story is the empty tomb.  It is important, but what is paramount in this story is that it is only when they turn away from the tomb that the women meet the risen Christ.  They fall at his feet and clasp them, and worship him right there on the path.  I suspect they would have liked to stay there, but he sends them on their way.  He tells them to go out and tell the story. 

In each of the gospels, Jesus meets his followers after he has been raised.  Some believe and some doubt.  Some are afraid and some are filled with joy.  Some do not recognize him, and Jesus reveals himself to them.  He meets them on the path. He goes to them in the upper room where they are hiding.  He goes to find them at the Sea of Galilee after they have gone back to work.  He sends them to preach the good news.  He sends them to baptize in his name.  He tells them to feed his sheep. 

The resurrection does not end at the empty tomb..  Resurrection is not a one time event confined to an empty tomb.  It’s not that God did something amazing this one time. It’s not just one day a year.  It’s at the heart of who we are as a people – Easter people.  We cannot just keep looking at the tomb.  We have to turn around and head out into the world, where we will encounter Jesus along the way.

If we confine resurrection to one day a year, we miss out on the earthshaking truth that God wants to make us new.  Jesus’ resurrection is a sign of transformation, not just ours but the world’s.  Jesus’ resurrection is the sign of a new era, a time when God’s grace is breaking through, here on earth as it is in heaven. 

That transformation, like our own, happens bit by bit, step by step, day by day, moment by moment… God’s transformation of the world and of our lives will shake us and frighten us.  We will want it to make sense, but it probably won’t, because God’s ways are not our ways.  We will want to hold on to the moments of revelation with both hands, but they will get distorted in our minds, and God is making himself know in new ways, anyway.  We may want to tell the story in a few easy sound bites or in pithy platitudes, but God’s story is broader and deeper than sound bites or platitudes.  This work of transformation is scary and it is risky, but it is the journey Jesus sends us on.

The good news is that the tomb is already empty. Jesus has gone on ahead of us.  Jesus makes the way for us.  His resurrection is not confined to a moment two thousand years ago.  It is happening even now.  We are Easter people, people of the resurrection, trusting God to make all things new, even us. Let us continue on the journey with hope and joy.

The Lord is risen!  He is risen indeed!

On a Day in September

National September 11 Memorial and Museum

Today is a significant day for our nation.  We remember the events of September 11, when terrorists attacked the Pentagon, the Twin Towers in Manhattan, and another plane that crashed in Pennsylvania.

There is another memory I have that is inextricably intertwined with the terrorist attacks.  Each year, when September 11 rolls around, I remember.

In the days following the attacks, my husband and I received the first phone call from the woman who is our oldest son's birth mother -T.   It was a moment in time that joined our past of hoping to adopt with the future of parenting a child.  That moment, and the days that followed created memories that are both sweet and difficult to think about.

The memory of that conversation is sweet because it marks the beginning of the story about how my husband and I became parents of our oldest child; not some imagined, hoped for child, but the one that lives with us now.  It is sweet because that first conversation marked the beginning of a relationship with someone I felt I had known forever - our son's first mother - T.  Meeting T for the first time, going to the hospital for the birth, seeing our son for the first time - these are some of my most cherished memories.

It is difficult to remember other things.  The reality of T's circumstances, those that made her decide to place her son for adoption, are hard to think about.  It is hard to remember the several times she changed her mind about placing him with us, and then changed it back again.  It is difficult to remember her grief and loss, even in the midst of making the best decision she could.  It is sad that our relationship with T has grown distant over the years.   As time has gone on, our primary contact with our son's birth family has been through email with T's parents, and they have not responded to those most recently sent.  It is hard because I know that T's life has not turned out the way she hoped, or that we had hoped for her.

+++++++++++

Our oldest son as an infant

You discover early on that there is a lot of "hurry up and wait" in the adoption process.  There are forms that need be filled out to meet a deadline.  Then you wait.  You prepare a letter that will be given to birth parents looking for the right family for their child.  Then you wait for it to be approved.  That letter/information is shared.  And you wait for the social worker to call.............. on and on and on. We attended the first meeting and training in December 1999.  T called us in September 2001.

Early in October 2001, after many conversations with T, we drove from our home to T's - over 2000 miles round trip.  We arrived one evening, and waited anxiously to meet her.  When she arrived, we loaded into the car to meet with representatives from the agency - a 1.5 hour drive away.  As we drove, we talked like old friends becoming reacquainted. We spent several hours talking and signing papers, then drove T back home.  We were exhausted but elated when we headed back home the next day.

At the end of November, after much anticipation and planning and gathering of baby things, we were on our way back for our son's birth.  We had the luxury of knowing the exact date of our son's birth beforehand, as the doctor scheduled a cesarean section for T.  We arrived the night before, and went to the hospital mid-morning to discover that our son had just arrived.  We had the joy of watching him as the nurses weighed and measured him, bathed and dressed him in the hospital nursery.  Then we were fortunate enough to be able to spend some time with him and feed him while T recovered from surgery.  As soon as we could, we gathered with T and her family in her room to take turns holding him and changing diapers, feeding him and burping him, and just marveling at his beauty.

In the days that followed, we spent time together with T and her family and the baby, and together chose a name for our son.  Both T and the baby ended up staying in the hospital, which delayed the signing of relinquishment papers.  While in the hospital, T's postpartum hormones arrived and her milk came in.  In the midst of hormones and the emotions of the situation, T had a change of heart.  It was the first of two times she changed her mind.  She left the hospital with the baby, and we didn't know what would happen.

The next day, she called and said she had definitely decided she wanted us to parent him.  We stayed in town with the baby, visiting with T until it was time to get on the plane home.  There is waiting period after birth parents sign relinquishment papers before they are finalized, and the waiting period had not yet expired.  We offered to stay until that waiting period ended in case T needed more time, but she insisted she was fine. We arrived home and had barely gotten settled in when the social worker called and said T had again changed her mind.  It was the last day of the waiting period.

We were heartbroken, but knew that it was her decision.  We made plans to go back to T's home to return the baby to her. With two hours left before the waiting period was over, T once again decided that she wanted us to parent her son.

In the days and weeks to come, T and I talked several times a week.  When we knew we were moving, T was among the first to know.  We sent pictures; T and her family sent birthday presents and Christmas presents.  She seemed to be getting her life on track, attending school and making plans.  We were excited for her, and we looked forward to the day when our so was old enough to talk to her on the phone.

However, as the years passed, contact with T became less frequent.  When we were unable to reach her, we exchanged an email with her parents, and found that she had been having a difficult time since the baby was born.  She had struggled with depression and substance abuse.  Her parents told us she no longer had a reliable phone number or address, but that we could contact her through them. We have heard from her on occasion, and continue to send updates and pictures.  We have not heard from her parents in about six months.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Most days I am occupied with the normal activities of a busy family.  But each September, I remember that phone call, and I remember my son's first mother.  I wonder how she is doing.  I wonder if we'll ever talk to her again.  I wonder if she'd like to talk to our son, and if he'll ever have the opportunity to talk to her.  I hope so.

My husband and I now have two sons, both of whom were adopted.  Our youngest will never have contact with his first mother, and I grieve that situation, too.   When you adopt children, you also adopt their first parents whether they can be an active part of your life or not.

I'd like to think I've become more compassionate through the process of adopting my children.  I know that I can't begin to comprehend what it is like to make the decision to place your child for adoption.  I know that I can't begin to understand what's it like to have your parental rights terminated by the court because you cannot parent your child.  I know that loss and grief are a part of every adoption, as is joy.  And there is always love.

That first phone call from T is for me and my husband one of those "Where were you when ...........?" moments.  It was a moment that changed our lives forever, in ways we thought we understood, but couldn't begin to imagine.   And it all began with a phone call one day in September.

Changing our Minds

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. 

Students at Howard University
#HandsUpDontShoot

          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.

 

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.

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.

Sermon for World Communion Sunday 2013

“What Is It?”

Exodus 16

It had only been six weeks since they left Egypt – six long weeks.  They had

been chased by Pharaoh’s army, who were eventually vanquished by God in the Red Sea.  They had been thirsty, and God had provided water. 

After that brief respite in the oasis of Elim, they were on the move again, in the desert of Sin, on the Sinai Peninsula – a place where there was little food to be found.  They are hungry, and they are “murmuring” against Moses and Aaron for taking them on the journey.  They are looking back through rose-colored glasses at their time in Egypt, wishing for what they had there, conveniently forgetting about the slavery that oppressed them.

The murmuring takes the form it usually does when one feels like a bad decision has been made:

“I wish I hadn’t moved.”

“It was so much better when….”

“Remember what it was like back then?”

“I can’t believe you brought us here!”

“It would have been better if we’d never done that.”

It’s murmuring based on fear: fear of what’s to come, fear of not having what you need, fear that you trusted the wrong people, fear that you made a bad decision.  Fear is a survival mechanism, and the Hebrews were definitely in survival mode.

After six weeks, the food is gone and they’re hungry, and they are wondering where they will find their next meal.  Or more specifically – what Moses and Aaron are going to do about their next meal. 

God hears them, and responds to them, telling Moses that bread will rain down from heaven for them.  Moses and Aaron tell the people that God has heard their grumbling and will provide for them, but that there are specific instructions about how to gather this heavenly bread:  gather only what you need, except on the sixth day when you may gather twice as much so you can enjoy Sabbath rest.

When they awakened the next day, they found the ground covered with thin flakes, and they asked, “What is it?”  The word manna, in aramaic, literally means "What is it?"

If we are honest, we can recognize ourselves in the story.  We sometimes look back through rose-colored glasses and imagine that things were so much better back then.  We try to look forward, but we’re not sure where we’re going or what it will be like when we get there.  We’re afraid that we won’t have what we need.  We murmur.  We don’t always recognize the gifts of God when they arrive.

And yet, we know this story reveals good news.   What is the good news? 

 

What is it?  It is God’s presence, even in the midst of wandering and hardship.

What is it?  It is God hearing our murmuring, our concerns, our fears, and responding in love instead of anger.

What is it?  It is Moses and Aaron, faithful leaders, relaying the message of God.

What is it?  It is God providing for our most basic needs on a daily basis.

What is it?  It is the gift of enough – not too little and not too much.

What is it?  It is the gift of instruction and guidance.

What is it?  It is a warning against grasping for too much or hoarding for the future.

What is it?  It is the gift of Sabbath, even in the midst of trials, and the rest from our labors, our worries, and our fears.

What is it?  It is God hoping for our trust.

What is it?  It is the story of the growing relationship between God and the people of God.

What is it?  It is being surprised by God’s grace and abundant love.

When we come to the table, we may ask or be asked, “What is it?”  What does this mean?  There are many answers to that question.  Here are a few:

·        It is the sign and seal of eating and drinking in communion with the

crucified and risen Lord.
·        It is a sacrament – the ordinary made holy.
·        It is the gathering of the people of God at the heavenly banquet.
·        It is celebrated by all Christians and unites us with Christians around the world and throughout the ages. 
·        It is the real presence of Christ. 
·        It calls to mind the last supper when Jesus commended the breading of bread and the sharing of the cup to remember and proclaim his death.

These are truths regarding the Lord’s Supper, and there are other truths not stated here.

But at its most basic, when we speak of communion, the answer to the question “What is it?” is this:

Holy  Communion is a sign of God’s presence and God’s provision, of God’s grace and God’s love.

Just as the manna was for those first people of God.

May it be so.

Amen.