Sermon delivered Sunday, March 6, 2016 (4th Sunday in Lent, Year C) at St. Cuthbert’s Episcopal Church, Oakland, CA, where I am serving as long-term supply priest. Audio only (not video) available below.
(2 Corinthians 5:16-21, Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32)
Jesus is at it again in today’s Gospel reading: answering those self-righteous Pharisees with a parable that gets ‘em right in the gut. “So you’re worried about the fact that I’m eating with ‘sinners,’ are you? Well chew on THIS one for a while!” – and out comes the Prodigal Son, a story that has spoken deeply to the human soul throughout the centuries.
At face value, the message of the parable of the Prodigal Son seems simple, and completely appropriate for the season of Lent: The son repents, the father forgives him. Voila! The God-human relationship illustrated. As the son has sinned and left the father, so we have sinned and left God. As the son realizes the error of his ways and returns to his father, so should we repent and return to God in order to be forgiven of our sins.
But wait just a minute. If we look carefully at the story, it’s not actually that simple. Does the son actually repent? The story tells us that the son “came to himself.” But it’s not entirely clear what that means; whether he actually had a change of heart, or whether the “coming to himself” was him having an “ah ha” moment realizing another way he could continue to continue to make sure he was taken care of at his father’s expense. “How many of my father's hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger!” he thinks. “I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.’” Is this expression of humility genuine, or is he just trying to figure out a way to get himself back in the door in a place where he assumes he will be unwelcome? It’s not like he becomes successful and wealthy and goes home to share the bounty with his father – as is so often the case with children and their parents (and with human beings and God!), he only turns back to the father when he needs something, when he seeks to gain from reestablishing the relationship.
So, we’ve got the problem of whether the son’s repentance is genuine or not, and then the story gets further complicated when the son returns home. The parable tells us that “while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him.” The father runs to him while he was still far off. The son doesn’t even have a chance to make his confession, to grovel before his father and ask for forgiveness, before the father sweeps him into his arms with hugs and kisses. The son hasn’t said a word yet that would indicate that he is repentant, that he is sorry for what he’s done. For all the father knows, the son could be returning home to ask for more money – which, in fact, is sort of what he is doing, since he’s asking for his father to again provide for his needs in the form of food and shelter. But the father still runs toward him and embraces him. He doesn’t stand back, eyeing his son skeptically and asking him a bunch of questions about what he’s done and where he’s been and what has happened to all the money he gave him. He doesn’t lecture him on respect for one’s elders or demand an apology before he extends his hand in peace. His love for his son overtakes any feelings of resentment or being wronged. His love is unconditional, offered without any action required on the part of the son outside of just showing up.
“Now hold on there,” our inner sense of justice cries out. “That’s now how the story’s supposed to go! The sinner is supposed to show sufficient remorse and contrition before forgiveness is granted! God forgives the repentant, but the unrepentant he will burn with unquenchable fire… or something like that, right? I mean, there has to be some consequences for this guy’s actions! How can the father throw a party for this guy after what he’s done? Isn’t that like condoning his actions?”
Conventional religious thinking, in the Judaism of Jesus’s time and in many other religions in various times and contexts, tends to think of God as a just judge, concerned with impartially enforcing the law. In this way of thinking, God is ultimately concerned with “fairness,” with making sure that each person gets what they “deserve.” If they are good, they deserve a reward. If they are bad, they deserve punishment. Our relationship with God becomes some kind of balancing scale where we hope that, at the end, our good deeds outweigh our bad and we get in to heaven by virtue of how the accounting works out in some kind of divine judgment book. The elder son in the parable represents this kind of conventional religious thinking, as do the Pharisees who are so concerned about who Jesus is eating with and spending time with.
But Jesus constantly challenged the notion of God as an impartial calculator, crunching the numbers to determine our fate. Jesus emphasized the image of God as a loving parent, like the father in today’s parable, who is overcome with love for his or her children. That love guides his response to them, that love colors and influences her judgment, that love makes allowances for her children’s shortcomings.
When this kind of love expresses itself, it may not look “fair” to those who are keeping the great accounting sheet of rights and wrongs. It may mean that some people get celebrations and parties and forgiveness and acceptance that they don’t seem to deserve. But Jesus’s message is that God’s love and mercy is not something we can earn by doing or saying or believing the right things. None of us “deserve” God’s love or forgiveness based on our actions, however “good” we might think we have been! God’s acceptance and forgiveness of us is a gift freely given – out of a relationship based in unconditional love, a love that will not leave us if we screw up or disappoint or “squander our inheritance in dissolute living.”
This kind of love is more concerned with transformation than with fairness. This kind of love is willing to break all the rules if it means helping one soul to know they are loved and valued.
Can this kind of love be taken advantage of? Could the forgiven and loved prodigal son, after enjoying the fatted calf at his reunion party, have ripped his father off, stolen his valuables, and pawned them for money? Of course he could have. This kind of love is risky. It makes us vulnerable. It opens us to the possibility of being deeply wronged, or even physically harmed, in certain circumstances. But it also has the power to transform.
The main character of Les Misérables, that great novel by Victor Hugo that has been cinematized numerous times and made into a stage musical, is an example of a kind of “prodigal son” who is transformed by this kind of love.
Jean Valjean is released from prison after serving 19 years for stealing a loaf of bread to feed his family. He has become cynical, hardened, and trusts no one. He has nothing to his name and is let out on the streets with no resources and nowhere to turn for help. As he goes door to door begging, he happens to knock on the local bishop’s door. The bishop takes him in and feeds him and gives him a place to stay. That night, Valjean sneaks out in the middle of the night, stealing the silver place settings from the table. When he is caught and the police drag him to the bishop’s door, they tell the bishop that Valjean has told them that the bishop gave him the silver. The bishop surprises everyone, Valjean most of all, when he confirms Valjean’s story. “That is right,” he tells the police. In the poetic wording of the stage play, he responds, “But my friend, you left so early / surely something slipped your mind / You forgot I gave these also / Would you leave the best behind?” – and proceeds to give Valjean the two silver candlesticks from his fireplace mantle.
According to the law, the right and “fair” thing for the bishop to do would have been to press charges, and for Valjean to go back to prison. But the bishop was more concerned with the transformative power of love than the fair application of the law.
The bishop took a risk by following Jesus’s teachings in Matthew 5:39-40: “Do not resist an evildoer… if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well.” Valjean could have betrayed his trust once again after this incident, or gone on to do harm to others as well. The bishop had no way of knowing what the outcome would be, but he chose trust over fear. He chose forgiveness over retribution. And it changed a man’s life. This risky act of generosity and forgiveness by the bishop transforms Valjean. His hardened shell falls away and reveals a kind, tender man with a heart of compassion, who goes about doing good for the rest of the story. The bishop responded to Valjean’s behavior not by “giving him what he deserved,” but by giving him a second chance.
As much as Lent gets a bad rep as a depressing season where we are told how bad we are, Lent is actually the season of second chances. It’s the season where we are reminded not just of our sins, but of God’s mercy. The joy of the father in the parable of the prodigal son at seeing his son return home is a metaphor for the joy God feels every time we return to him, no matter what we’ve done and no matter what is in our hearts when we do. God welcomes us home not for a stern scolding, but for a great celebration.
And we are called to do the same. If we are truly transformed by the love and forgiveness God has shown to us, we will offer forgiveness as freely as the father in the parable and the bishop in Les Misérables. As Paul reminds us in 2 Corinthians, God has “entrusted the message of reconciliation to us. We are ambassadors for Christ.” We are the ones carrying God’s message to the world, the message that God is ready to throw you a party if you would but show up: no questions asked, no explanations needed. Just come, join us, and feast at that banquet prepared before the foundation of the world. If we are doing our job as Christians, it will also be said of us, “Those folks welcome sinners and eat with them!” Amen.
Showing posts with label relationship with God. Show all posts
Showing posts with label relationship with God. Show all posts
Sunday, March 6, 2016
Sunday, June 28, 2015
Passing the Love of Women: David, Jonathan, and Same-Sex Marriage
Sermon delivered Sunday, June 28, 2015, at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Franklin, TN. 5th Sunday After Pentecost, Proper 8, Year B (2 Samuel 1:1, 17-27)
If you listen to the video, listen all the way to what I said at the announcements after the end of the sermon.
In our readings from the Hebrew Bible over the past few weeks, we have been hearing stories from the life of David. Last week we heard the story of David’s defeat of Goliath and his first introduction to King Saul and his son, Jonathan. Today we read the story of David’s mourning over Saul and Jonathan’s death.
It may come as a surprise to some of you, but readers of 1 and 2 Samuel have long debated whether the relationship between David and Jonathan was more than just friendship. In light of the Supreme Court’s decision on Friday to legalize same-sex marriage throughout the country and the fact that General Convention will be considering changing the canons – that is, our church law – to allow clergy to perform same-sex marriages in states where it is legal – which is now all states – I felt like I couldn’t ignore the “elephant in the room” in our scriptures this Sunday and not address David and Jonathan’s relationship.
Now, I sincerely apologize if this makes some of you uncomfortable or angry. My intention is not to be inflammatory or disrespectful of scripture in any way. I truly believe that the Spirit is speaking through this uncanny series of events – this passage coming up in the lectionary at the exact time as this issue is being considered by both church and state. You all know from hearing me preach for three years that I am a very lectionary-based preacher, as all our clergy are. I always base my sermons on the scriptures for the day, and nothing bothers me more than hearing a preacher get up and preach a sermon that has no connection at all to the scriptures that were just read. So I certainly hope that you do not perceive this sermon in that way. This is truly an attempt to delve more deeply into the scriptures and relate them to our context today, which is what I attempt to do with every sermon I preach.
If you have ever experienced same-sex attraction and are familiar with the story of David and Jonathan, you are likely already aware of the idea that their relationship was romantic. It has been read that way in gay circles for years. But if you have never fallen in love with someone of the same sex, you probably never would have thought to think that David and Jonathan were anything more than close friends. So let me highlight for you the parts of their story that lead some people to think this:
In last week’s reading, we heard this passage about David and Jonathan’s first meeting:
“When David had finished speaking to Saul, the soul of Jonathan was bound to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul. Saul took him that day and would not let him return to his father. Then Jonathan made a covenant with David, because he loved him as his own soul. Jonathan stripped himself of the robe that he was wearing, and gave it to David, and his armor, and even his sword and bow and his belt” (1 Samuel 18:1-4).
This passage is actually one of the scripture options given for use in the liturgy for blessing same-sex unions that General Convention approved in 2012. The intense language in this passage about David and Jonathan’s souls being “bound together” at their first meeting, their making a covenant with one another, Jonathan giving David all his prized possessions, and David moving into Jonathan’s house, are seen by some as an indication that there was more going on here than mere friendship, especially since, as rivals for the throne, David and Jonathan would have had every reason to hate one another.
And in fact, Jonathan’s father Saul does come to hate David. He sees in David a threat to his lineage and is aware that God’s favor has moved from him to David, and he is angry that his son Jonathan will not become king, so he spends the rest of his life trying to kill David. And through it all, Jonathan sticks by David, against the will of his father. He warns David about his father’s murderous plans and reaffirms his covenant with him. In chapter 20 of 1 Samuel, Jonathan says to David:
“‘If I am still alive, show me the faithful love of the Lord; but if I die, never cut off your faithful love from my house, even if the Lord were to cut off every one of the enemies of David from the face of the earth.’” (1 Samuel 20:14-15).
David remains true to this covenant, even taking Jonathan’s son into his own home after Jonathan’s death and giving him all the rights of the royal family that he would have if he were David’s own son.
The scripture tells us that in reiterating and reaffirming this covenant, “Jonathan made David swear again by his love for him; for he loved him as he loved his own life.” (1 Samuel 20:17)
After Jonathan returns home and his father Saul realizes Jonathan is defending David, Saul becomes enraged. The scripture says:
“Then Saul’s anger was kindled against Jonathan. He said to him, ‘You son of a perverse, rebellious woman! Do I not know that you have chosen the son of Jesse to your own shame and to the shame of your mother’s nakedness?’” (1 Samuel 20:30)
As one commentary on this text said, “Many gay men have experienced dinner conversations that sounded very similar to this one.” Although it’s probably not fair to make this direct comparison, since it’s not good scholarship to read modern-day experiences into ancient texts, Saul’s outburst does seem to indicate that there was something physical about David and Jonathan’s relationship, with his reference to the “shame of your mother’s nakedness,” since phrases like this often had sexual connotations in the Hebrew scriptures.
And then, in today’s passage from the Hebrew Bible, David says this as he mourns over the loss of Jonathan:
“I am distressed for you, my brother Jonathan;
greatly beloved were you to me;
your love to me was wonderful,
passing the love of women.” (2 Samuel 1:26)
Given all the other pieces of the puzzle, many have concluded that David’s assertion that Jonathan’s love was better to him than the love of women was not simply an ancient Near Eastern way of saying “Bros before hos, man,” but an expression of the fact that their love was of the same sort as his love for women, but yet of a deeper or more intense nature. (As an aside, if you’re not familiar with the phrase “Bros before hos,” it’s a saying used often by straight men in my generation or younger to express the sentiment that a man’s male friends (bros) should take priority over whatever woman or women he happens to be in relationship with at the moment (who are, not very flatteringly, referred to as “hos” in this expression), since the male friends will always be there for him, while romantic relationships will come and go.)
Ok, so for every scripture passage I’ve quoted here, there are arguments from the other perspective as to why these passages do NOT indicate that David and Jonathan’s relationship was anything more than a friendship. I’ve read the arguments on both sides and I’ve read the entire section of scripture that deals with their relationship myself (if you want to read the whole thing for yourself too, it begins in 1 Samuel, chapter 17 and continues through the first chapter of 2 Samuel). After taking all perspectives into consideration, I find that I can’t deny that there seems to be something more than friendship going on here, but perhaps that’s because I know the difference between a close friendship with someone of the same sex and something more.
I have many close female friends who are dear to me, but a number of years ago, I began to realize that my feelings for one particular friend were different from my feelings for my other friends. Our friendship was particularly close and intense, and I realized that the way I talked about her and behaved toward her was more like the way I’d talked about and behaved toward the guy I dated in high school, the only romantic relationship I’d had so far in my life. Although I was already supportive of my friends who were gay and lesbian, I never thought that I was in that category, until these feelings started emerging. Nothing ever came of them, because she was already in a committed relationship, and I never told her how I felt. And a few years later, God brought my husband into my life and I fell in love with him and we married. Since I take seriously the lifelong, exclusive commitment of marriage, I know I will never be in a romantic relationship with a woman at this point. But I’ve always wondered how my life would have been different if God had given me a woman to love instead of a man.
I’ve never shared this with anyone outside of a few of my closest friends. Most of my family have never heard this story. I’m choosing to share it publicly with you today because unlike our brothers and sisters who are exclusively attracted to members of the same sex, those of us who have discovered we are able to be attracted to members of both sexes are able to “hide,” so to speak. If we happen to fall in love with someone of the opposite sex, we never have to tell anyone that we once felt that way about someone of the same sex. Kenji Yoshino, a civil rights lawyer at Yale, calls this phenomenon “covering” – anything we do to downplay the “different” aspects of ourselves to fit into the mainstream. For me, it was easier to “cover” than it was to be open. But by doing that, I betrayed my brothers and sisters who cannot “cover,” whose differences are a matter of physical appearance or other qualities they cannot otherwise change or hide.
I am by no means trying to make an argument that there were same-sex marriages in biblical times. Our modern-day understanding of same-sex marriage simply did not exist during that time and it is dishonest scholarship to try to read our current social context into ancient times. And we have no way of really knowing whether the relationship between David and Jonathan was more than friendship or not. But on this historic weekend, I wanted to at least open the conversation about the fact that people who deeply love God and seek to honor and follow him with their lives can and do fall in love with people of the same sex, a love that binds their souls to one another.
The Episcopal Church’s Task Force on the Study of Marriage, which has met for the past three years to study the history, theology, and biblical framework surrounding marriage, has concluded that what distinguishes marriage from other more casual forms of relationship is “the commitment to a lifelong, loving, faithful relationship,” and what makes a marriage Christian is the fact that the members of the couple seek to pattern their lives toward each other and toward the community around them as a reflection of the self-giving love of Christ for the church. What makes a marriage holy is that the two people “see in each other the image of God.”
Now, I understand that some of you will insist that the two people in a marriage should be a man and a woman, and I want you to know that my respect for you is not and will not be lessened if that is your view. I was recently talking with my husband, who has mixed and uncertain feelings about same-sex marriage, and we tried very hard to listen to one another and understand why this issue is so emotionally charged for both of us. The light bulb finally went on for me when my husband said, “It’s like suddenly being told all the rules have changed. Everything you thought you knew and understood, everything you’d always been taught was wrong, is suddenly ok.” I could relate to how disorienting and disturbing that feeling is, and that conversation helped me to understand where he was coming from. In a committed relationship, diversity of opinion is what keeps the relationship growing and alive.
It is my hope that we can have these kinds of open conversations with one another in the coming weeks, in the wake of the Supreme Court’s decision and whatever General Convention will decide. I hope you will share your stories honestly and from your hearts. I hope you feel safe enough with the community here to have those conversations. And I hope that we all remember that no matter how different our feelings and opinions are on this issue, we are still brothers and sisters in Christ. We still share a common table and a common faith. We all gather here each week because we love and seek to follow Jesus. And after all, our baptism is the most important “marriage” in any of our lives – when we are “made one” not with any human partner, but with Christ. Each week when we come forward to receive the Eucharist, we reaffirm our commitment to that “love divine, all loves excelling,” that is only found in God. May the foundation of all our relationships, romantic and platonic, be always rooted and grounded in God and God’s infinite love for us.
If you listen to the video, listen all the way to what I said at the announcements after the end of the sermon.
In our readings from the Hebrew Bible over the past few weeks, we have been hearing stories from the life of David. Last week we heard the story of David’s defeat of Goliath and his first introduction to King Saul and his son, Jonathan. Today we read the story of David’s mourning over Saul and Jonathan’s death.
It may come as a surprise to some of you, but readers of 1 and 2 Samuel have long debated whether the relationship between David and Jonathan was more than just friendship. In light of the Supreme Court’s decision on Friday to legalize same-sex marriage throughout the country and the fact that General Convention will be considering changing the canons – that is, our church law – to allow clergy to perform same-sex marriages in states where it is legal – which is now all states – I felt like I couldn’t ignore the “elephant in the room” in our scriptures this Sunday and not address David and Jonathan’s relationship.
Now, I sincerely apologize if this makes some of you uncomfortable or angry. My intention is not to be inflammatory or disrespectful of scripture in any way. I truly believe that the Spirit is speaking through this uncanny series of events – this passage coming up in the lectionary at the exact time as this issue is being considered by both church and state. You all know from hearing me preach for three years that I am a very lectionary-based preacher, as all our clergy are. I always base my sermons on the scriptures for the day, and nothing bothers me more than hearing a preacher get up and preach a sermon that has no connection at all to the scriptures that were just read. So I certainly hope that you do not perceive this sermon in that way. This is truly an attempt to delve more deeply into the scriptures and relate them to our context today, which is what I attempt to do with every sermon I preach.
If you have ever experienced same-sex attraction and are familiar with the story of David and Jonathan, you are likely already aware of the idea that their relationship was romantic. It has been read that way in gay circles for years. But if you have never fallen in love with someone of the same sex, you probably never would have thought to think that David and Jonathan were anything more than close friends. So let me highlight for you the parts of their story that lead some people to think this:
In last week’s reading, we heard this passage about David and Jonathan’s first meeting:
“When David had finished speaking to Saul, the soul of Jonathan was bound to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul. Saul took him that day and would not let him return to his father. Then Jonathan made a covenant with David, because he loved him as his own soul. Jonathan stripped himself of the robe that he was wearing, and gave it to David, and his armor, and even his sword and bow and his belt” (1 Samuel 18:1-4).
This passage is actually one of the scripture options given for use in the liturgy for blessing same-sex unions that General Convention approved in 2012. The intense language in this passage about David and Jonathan’s souls being “bound together” at their first meeting, their making a covenant with one another, Jonathan giving David all his prized possessions, and David moving into Jonathan’s house, are seen by some as an indication that there was more going on here than mere friendship, especially since, as rivals for the throne, David and Jonathan would have had every reason to hate one another.
And in fact, Jonathan’s father Saul does come to hate David. He sees in David a threat to his lineage and is aware that God’s favor has moved from him to David, and he is angry that his son Jonathan will not become king, so he spends the rest of his life trying to kill David. And through it all, Jonathan sticks by David, against the will of his father. He warns David about his father’s murderous plans and reaffirms his covenant with him. In chapter 20 of 1 Samuel, Jonathan says to David:
“‘If I am still alive, show me the faithful love of the Lord; but if I die, never cut off your faithful love from my house, even if the Lord were to cut off every one of the enemies of David from the face of the earth.’” (1 Samuel 20:14-15).
David remains true to this covenant, even taking Jonathan’s son into his own home after Jonathan’s death and giving him all the rights of the royal family that he would have if he were David’s own son.
The scripture tells us that in reiterating and reaffirming this covenant, “Jonathan made David swear again by his love for him; for he loved him as he loved his own life.” (1 Samuel 20:17)
After Jonathan returns home and his father Saul realizes Jonathan is defending David, Saul becomes enraged. The scripture says:
“Then Saul’s anger was kindled against Jonathan. He said to him, ‘You son of a perverse, rebellious woman! Do I not know that you have chosen the son of Jesse to your own shame and to the shame of your mother’s nakedness?’” (1 Samuel 20:30)
As one commentary on this text said, “Many gay men have experienced dinner conversations that sounded very similar to this one.” Although it’s probably not fair to make this direct comparison, since it’s not good scholarship to read modern-day experiences into ancient texts, Saul’s outburst does seem to indicate that there was something physical about David and Jonathan’s relationship, with his reference to the “shame of your mother’s nakedness,” since phrases like this often had sexual connotations in the Hebrew scriptures.
And then, in today’s passage from the Hebrew Bible, David says this as he mourns over the loss of Jonathan:
“I am distressed for you, my brother Jonathan;
greatly beloved were you to me;
your love to me was wonderful,
passing the love of women.” (2 Samuel 1:26)
Given all the other pieces of the puzzle, many have concluded that David’s assertion that Jonathan’s love was better to him than the love of women was not simply an ancient Near Eastern way of saying “Bros before hos, man,” but an expression of the fact that their love was of the same sort as his love for women, but yet of a deeper or more intense nature. (As an aside, if you’re not familiar with the phrase “Bros before hos,” it’s a saying used often by straight men in my generation or younger to express the sentiment that a man’s male friends (bros) should take priority over whatever woman or women he happens to be in relationship with at the moment (who are, not very flatteringly, referred to as “hos” in this expression), since the male friends will always be there for him, while romantic relationships will come and go.)
Ok, so for every scripture passage I’ve quoted here, there are arguments from the other perspective as to why these passages do NOT indicate that David and Jonathan’s relationship was anything more than a friendship. I’ve read the arguments on both sides and I’ve read the entire section of scripture that deals with their relationship myself (if you want to read the whole thing for yourself too, it begins in 1 Samuel, chapter 17 and continues through the first chapter of 2 Samuel). After taking all perspectives into consideration, I find that I can’t deny that there seems to be something more than friendship going on here, but perhaps that’s because I know the difference between a close friendship with someone of the same sex and something more.
I have many close female friends who are dear to me, but a number of years ago, I began to realize that my feelings for one particular friend were different from my feelings for my other friends. Our friendship was particularly close and intense, and I realized that the way I talked about her and behaved toward her was more like the way I’d talked about and behaved toward the guy I dated in high school, the only romantic relationship I’d had so far in my life. Although I was already supportive of my friends who were gay and lesbian, I never thought that I was in that category, until these feelings started emerging. Nothing ever came of them, because she was already in a committed relationship, and I never told her how I felt. And a few years later, God brought my husband into my life and I fell in love with him and we married. Since I take seriously the lifelong, exclusive commitment of marriage, I know I will never be in a romantic relationship with a woman at this point. But I’ve always wondered how my life would have been different if God had given me a woman to love instead of a man.
I’ve never shared this with anyone outside of a few of my closest friends. Most of my family have never heard this story. I’m choosing to share it publicly with you today because unlike our brothers and sisters who are exclusively attracted to members of the same sex, those of us who have discovered we are able to be attracted to members of both sexes are able to “hide,” so to speak. If we happen to fall in love with someone of the opposite sex, we never have to tell anyone that we once felt that way about someone of the same sex. Kenji Yoshino, a civil rights lawyer at Yale, calls this phenomenon “covering” – anything we do to downplay the “different” aspects of ourselves to fit into the mainstream. For me, it was easier to “cover” than it was to be open. But by doing that, I betrayed my brothers and sisters who cannot “cover,” whose differences are a matter of physical appearance or other qualities they cannot otherwise change or hide.
I am by no means trying to make an argument that there were same-sex marriages in biblical times. Our modern-day understanding of same-sex marriage simply did not exist during that time and it is dishonest scholarship to try to read our current social context into ancient times. And we have no way of really knowing whether the relationship between David and Jonathan was more than friendship or not. But on this historic weekend, I wanted to at least open the conversation about the fact that people who deeply love God and seek to honor and follow him with their lives can and do fall in love with people of the same sex, a love that binds their souls to one another.
The Episcopal Church’s Task Force on the Study of Marriage, which has met for the past three years to study the history, theology, and biblical framework surrounding marriage, has concluded that what distinguishes marriage from other more casual forms of relationship is “the commitment to a lifelong, loving, faithful relationship,” and what makes a marriage Christian is the fact that the members of the couple seek to pattern their lives toward each other and toward the community around them as a reflection of the self-giving love of Christ for the church. What makes a marriage holy is that the two people “see in each other the image of God.”
Now, I understand that some of you will insist that the two people in a marriage should be a man and a woman, and I want you to know that my respect for you is not and will not be lessened if that is your view. I was recently talking with my husband, who has mixed and uncertain feelings about same-sex marriage, and we tried very hard to listen to one another and understand why this issue is so emotionally charged for both of us. The light bulb finally went on for me when my husband said, “It’s like suddenly being told all the rules have changed. Everything you thought you knew and understood, everything you’d always been taught was wrong, is suddenly ok.” I could relate to how disorienting and disturbing that feeling is, and that conversation helped me to understand where he was coming from. In a committed relationship, diversity of opinion is what keeps the relationship growing and alive.
It is my hope that we can have these kinds of open conversations with one another in the coming weeks, in the wake of the Supreme Court’s decision and whatever General Convention will decide. I hope you will share your stories honestly and from your hearts. I hope you feel safe enough with the community here to have those conversations. And I hope that we all remember that no matter how different our feelings and opinions are on this issue, we are still brothers and sisters in Christ. We still share a common table and a common faith. We all gather here each week because we love and seek to follow Jesus. And after all, our baptism is the most important “marriage” in any of our lives – when we are “made one” not with any human partner, but with Christ. Each week when we come forward to receive the Eucharist, we reaffirm our commitment to that “love divine, all loves excelling,” that is only found in God. May the foundation of all our relationships, romantic and platonic, be always rooted and grounded in God and God’s infinite love for us.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Shall we receive the good at the hand of God and not receive the bad?
Sermon delivered Sunday, Oct. 7, 2012 (19th Sunday After Pentecost, Proper 22B), at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Franklin, Tenn. (Job 1:1, 2:1-10)
“Shall we receive the good at the hand of God and not receive the bad?” (Job 2:10)
Job’s question is a poignant one, coming from a man who had experienced unspeakable loss. Our lectionary passage leaves out most of the first chapter of Job, which describes the loss of Job’s livestock and the death of his servants and all ten of his children. Then Job is stricken with a painful illness. Things are so bad that his wife comes to the conclusion it would be better to die than to continue to live with the suffering Job is experiencing, and encourages Job to curse God and die.
But Job refuses, continuing to accept God’s sovereignty over his life. “The Lord has given and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21), he says when he learns of the death of his children. “Shall we receive the good at the hand of God and not receive the bad?” he asks (Job 2:10), in response to his wife’s words of anger and despair.
This question could be the “topic sentence” of the entire Book of Job: Are human beings willing to receive the good at the hand of God and not to receive the bad? It is the question that Satan, or “the Accuser,” asks in the heavenly court. “Of course Job is faithful and upright,” he says to God, “It’s easy for people to be faithful and give praise to God when things are going well for them. But what about when things are tough? How much will they love you then?”
The entire “game” that the Accuser plays with Job is an experiment to answer that very question: “Shall we receive the good at the hand of God and not receive the bad?” Will Job continue to be in faithful relationship with God even when his comfortable life is stripped away from him?
Now, before we go any further, let me say a word about the disturbing opening of this story. What kind of God, you might ask, would agree to let all these calamities befall an innocent person just to win a “bet,” if you will, with an unruly angel? Does God also send death and destruction upon us intentionally, just to see if we’ll cave under the pressure? Are the suffering of our lives a result of God making a similar bargain with the Accuser?
In my understanding of God, the answers to those questions are “no” and “no.” It is helpful to understand that the Book of Job was never intended to describe actual events that happened to a real person. Hebrew Bible scholar Rebecca Abts Wright describes the book of Job as the ancient equivalent of a “Dr. Seuss” story, a story meant to illustrate a particular question or topic through creative imagination. The story of Job describes a perfect man with a perfect family in a made up land (no one knows where “the land of Uz” is) with a made-up name (“Job” is not a Semitic or Hebrew name, or a name common to any of the surrounding cultures). This is the ancient Near Eastern equivalent of a story about the Whos down in Whoville. The description of Job is a kind of stereotype of perfection that does not exist completely in real life. But the author of the story posits the existence of this hypothetical “perfect” person to explore a significant theological question: Is it possible to remain faithful to God in the midst of unexplainable suffering, suffering which we have done nothing to deserve?
The story of Job is something like a parable, through which we are invited to consider our own lives of faith. Are we “fair-weather” friends of God, happy to praise him when things are going well, but quick to curse him when they are not? Are we like the seed in Jesus’s parable of the sower (Luke 8:4-15) that was sown on rock, who receive the Word with joy when we first hear it, but when troubles arise, we fall away?
Reading this passage from Job at this particular point in time, I cannot help but think of the response of the Sikh community in Wisconsin to the shootings at their place of worship two months ago. Despite enduring the horror of a violent attack during a worship service and losing six members of their community, the Sikh community has responded with love and compassion, continuing to be at prayer and to encourage one another to remain in chardi kala, a state of optimism and high spirits that is central to the Sikh faith. My friend Valarie Kaur, a third-generation Sikh American from California and a nationally-known interfaith activist, went to Milwaukee to be with the community in the days and weeks after the shootings. She gathered first-hand stories from the people there and began sharing them through op-ed pieces, blog entries, Facebook posts and tweets.
One of the most powerful stories she shared was that of Santokh Singh, a 50-year-old man from India who came to the U.S. to serve the community in Milwaukee as a granthi, a devotional singer who recites prayers from scripture in Sikh worship services. In the attack on the gurdwara in August, he survived two gunshot wounds to the stomach. In reflecting on the shooting, Santokh said, “I have no hate for the gunman. What happened was done by God. How can I wish ill upon the gunman if it is God’s will?”
“The Lord has given and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” (Job 1:21)
In the face of unspeakable loss, the Sikh community in Wisconsin, like Job, has affirmed an acceptance of God’s sovereignty in their lives. “Whatever God gives, we receive with grace,” says a Sikh prayer. Turning to prayer for solace in the days and weeks after the shooting, Sikhs received the gut-wrenching pain of their loss as a gift from God. “One does not turn away a gift, or bury it, or rage against it, but receive it with an open heart,” Valarie wrote in an article for The Washington Post, describing the community’s theological response to the tragedy.
“Shall we receive the good at the hand of God but not receive the bad?” (Job 2:10)
But Job’s acceptance of his fate and his poignant words of faith and trust are not the whole story. In this book of 42 chapters, Job’s strong statements of trust and acceptance of God’s will appear only in the first two chapters. From chapter three onwards, Job begins to lament his loss. He says it would be better if he had never been born, and question God’s justice at allowing such pain to come into his life.
“Truly the thing that I fear comes upon me, and what I dread befalls me,” he says. “I am not at ease, nor am I quiet; I have no rest; but trouble comes” (Job 3:25-26). This is a far cry from the calm acceptance of his fate and peaceful worship and blessing of God that he expressed when he first lost his children and livestock. After the loss has a chance to sink in more deeply, the raw pain seeps out, perhaps even against his will, since Job was a deeply pious man who most likely would have wanted to remain in chardi kala, as the Sikhs would put it, optimistic and faithful despite his sufferings. But the pain was too much.
And it is too much for some members of the Sikh community in Milwaukee as well. Not all members of the community are able to trust that the shootings were a part of God’s will with as much peace and grace as Santokh Singh. Valarie also shared stories of members of the community who continue to see images of their loved ones lying on the floor in pools of blood, who continue to hear the gunshots in their dreams, who cannot sleep at night. The trauma of the shootings strips away their sense of peace and violates their most sacred space.
“Truly the thing that I fear comes upon me, and what I dread befalls me. I am not at ease, nor am I quiet; I have no rest; but trouble comes” (Job 3:25-26).
So what are we to do when we are unable to stay in chardi kala? When the pain and grief are simply too much, when we cannot honestly thank God for this supposed “gift” that he gives?
Well, we can do what Job does. Job expresses his anger, his frustration, his despair, and his pain to God. He does not give in to the temptation to beat himself up, to agree with the unhelpful suggestions of his friends that surely God must be punishing him for some sin he has committed. No, Job maintains his sense of integrity by insisting on his own innocence, and in questioning God’s justice in allowing innocent people to suffer.
But in all this, Job never curses God, as his wife suggests. He still acknowledges that God is in control, even if he doesn’t like it! He makes his complaints about how God is running the world known, and at the end of it all God actually affirms Job’s response over the response of Job’s friends, who support traditional wisdom in saying that God rewards those who are righteous and brings suffering upon those who are wicked. In the last chapter of the book of Job, in a passage you won’t see in the lectionary when we get to this section at the end of October, God scolds Job’s friends, saying, “My wrath is kindled against you, …for you have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has” (Job 42:7).
Accepting God’s will and God’s sovereignty over our lives does not mean denying the feelings of frustration, grief, anger, and despair that well up within us when inexplicable suffering comes to us. With Job, we can say, “The Lord has given and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21), but still cry out in pain. With the Sikh community in Milwaukee, we can say, “Whatever God gives, we receive with grace,” but still acknowledge when the grief is too much to bear – and seek help from friends, family, and professional counselors to get us through. And we can be gentle with ourselves in that place of both/and, of faith and doubt, gratitude and despair, because the important part is that we stay in relationship with God – not that we say nice things about God or always like God and never question God – but that we are in authentic relationship with God – a God who knows something about the depths of inexplicable pain, whose desire to be in authentic relationship with us led him to death on a cross.
“Shall we receive the good at the hand of God and not receive the bad?” (Job 2:10)
Job’s question is a poignant one, coming from a man who had experienced unspeakable loss. Our lectionary passage leaves out most of the first chapter of Job, which describes the loss of Job’s livestock and the death of his servants and all ten of his children. Then Job is stricken with a painful illness. Things are so bad that his wife comes to the conclusion it would be better to die than to continue to live with the suffering Job is experiencing, and encourages Job to curse God and die.
But Job refuses, continuing to accept God’s sovereignty over his life. “The Lord has given and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21), he says when he learns of the death of his children. “Shall we receive the good at the hand of God and not receive the bad?” he asks (Job 2:10), in response to his wife’s words of anger and despair.
This question could be the “topic sentence” of the entire Book of Job: Are human beings willing to receive the good at the hand of God and not to receive the bad? It is the question that Satan, or “the Accuser,” asks in the heavenly court. “Of course Job is faithful and upright,” he says to God, “It’s easy for people to be faithful and give praise to God when things are going well for them. But what about when things are tough? How much will they love you then?”
The entire “game” that the Accuser plays with Job is an experiment to answer that very question: “Shall we receive the good at the hand of God and not receive the bad?” Will Job continue to be in faithful relationship with God even when his comfortable life is stripped away from him?
Now, before we go any further, let me say a word about the disturbing opening of this story. What kind of God, you might ask, would agree to let all these calamities befall an innocent person just to win a “bet,” if you will, with an unruly angel? Does God also send death and destruction upon us intentionally, just to see if we’ll cave under the pressure? Are the suffering of our lives a result of God making a similar bargain with the Accuser?
In my understanding of God, the answers to those questions are “no” and “no.” It is helpful to understand that the Book of Job was never intended to describe actual events that happened to a real person. Hebrew Bible scholar Rebecca Abts Wright describes the book of Job as the ancient equivalent of a “Dr. Seuss” story, a story meant to illustrate a particular question or topic through creative imagination. The story of Job describes a perfect man with a perfect family in a made up land (no one knows where “the land of Uz” is) with a made-up name (“Job” is not a Semitic or Hebrew name, or a name common to any of the surrounding cultures). This is the ancient Near Eastern equivalent of a story about the Whos down in Whoville. The description of Job is a kind of stereotype of perfection that does not exist completely in real life. But the author of the story posits the existence of this hypothetical “perfect” person to explore a significant theological question: Is it possible to remain faithful to God in the midst of unexplainable suffering, suffering which we have done nothing to deserve?
The story of Job is something like a parable, through which we are invited to consider our own lives of faith. Are we “fair-weather” friends of God, happy to praise him when things are going well, but quick to curse him when they are not? Are we like the seed in Jesus’s parable of the sower (Luke 8:4-15) that was sown on rock, who receive the Word with joy when we first hear it, but when troubles arise, we fall away?
Reading this passage from Job at this particular point in time, I cannot help but think of the response of the Sikh community in Wisconsin to the shootings at their place of worship two months ago. Despite enduring the horror of a violent attack during a worship service and losing six members of their community, the Sikh community has responded with love and compassion, continuing to be at prayer and to encourage one another to remain in chardi kala, a state of optimism and high spirits that is central to the Sikh faith. My friend Valarie Kaur, a third-generation Sikh American from California and a nationally-known interfaith activist, went to Milwaukee to be with the community in the days and weeks after the shootings. She gathered first-hand stories from the people there and began sharing them through op-ed pieces, blog entries, Facebook posts and tweets.
One of the most powerful stories she shared was that of Santokh Singh, a 50-year-old man from India who came to the U.S. to serve the community in Milwaukee as a granthi, a devotional singer who recites prayers from scripture in Sikh worship services. In the attack on the gurdwara in August, he survived two gunshot wounds to the stomach. In reflecting on the shooting, Santokh said, “I have no hate for the gunman. What happened was done by God. How can I wish ill upon the gunman if it is God’s will?”
“The Lord has given and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” (Job 1:21)
In the face of unspeakable loss, the Sikh community in Wisconsin, like Job, has affirmed an acceptance of God’s sovereignty in their lives. “Whatever God gives, we receive with grace,” says a Sikh prayer. Turning to prayer for solace in the days and weeks after the shooting, Sikhs received the gut-wrenching pain of their loss as a gift from God. “One does not turn away a gift, or bury it, or rage against it, but receive it with an open heart,” Valarie wrote in an article for The Washington Post, describing the community’s theological response to the tragedy.
“Shall we receive the good at the hand of God but not receive the bad?” (Job 2:10)
But Job’s acceptance of his fate and his poignant words of faith and trust are not the whole story. In this book of 42 chapters, Job’s strong statements of trust and acceptance of God’s will appear only in the first two chapters. From chapter three onwards, Job begins to lament his loss. He says it would be better if he had never been born, and question God’s justice at allowing such pain to come into his life.
“Truly the thing that I fear comes upon me, and what I dread befalls me,” he says. “I am not at ease, nor am I quiet; I have no rest; but trouble comes” (Job 3:25-26). This is a far cry from the calm acceptance of his fate and peaceful worship and blessing of God that he expressed when he first lost his children and livestock. After the loss has a chance to sink in more deeply, the raw pain seeps out, perhaps even against his will, since Job was a deeply pious man who most likely would have wanted to remain in chardi kala, as the Sikhs would put it, optimistic and faithful despite his sufferings. But the pain was too much.
And it is too much for some members of the Sikh community in Milwaukee as well. Not all members of the community are able to trust that the shootings were a part of God’s will with as much peace and grace as Santokh Singh. Valarie also shared stories of members of the community who continue to see images of their loved ones lying on the floor in pools of blood, who continue to hear the gunshots in their dreams, who cannot sleep at night. The trauma of the shootings strips away their sense of peace and violates their most sacred space.
“Truly the thing that I fear comes upon me, and what I dread befalls me. I am not at ease, nor am I quiet; I have no rest; but trouble comes” (Job 3:25-26).
So what are we to do when we are unable to stay in chardi kala? When the pain and grief are simply too much, when we cannot honestly thank God for this supposed “gift” that he gives?
Well, we can do what Job does. Job expresses his anger, his frustration, his despair, and his pain to God. He does not give in to the temptation to beat himself up, to agree with the unhelpful suggestions of his friends that surely God must be punishing him for some sin he has committed. No, Job maintains his sense of integrity by insisting on his own innocence, and in questioning God’s justice in allowing innocent people to suffer.
But in all this, Job never curses God, as his wife suggests. He still acknowledges that God is in control, even if he doesn’t like it! He makes his complaints about how God is running the world known, and at the end of it all God actually affirms Job’s response over the response of Job’s friends, who support traditional wisdom in saying that God rewards those who are righteous and brings suffering upon those who are wicked. In the last chapter of the book of Job, in a passage you won’t see in the lectionary when we get to this section at the end of October, God scolds Job’s friends, saying, “My wrath is kindled against you, …for you have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has” (Job 42:7).
Accepting God’s will and God’s sovereignty over our lives does not mean denying the feelings of frustration, grief, anger, and despair that well up within us when inexplicable suffering comes to us. With Job, we can say, “The Lord has given and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21), but still cry out in pain. With the Sikh community in Milwaukee, we can say, “Whatever God gives, we receive with grace,” but still acknowledge when the grief is too much to bear – and seek help from friends, family, and professional counselors to get us through. And we can be gentle with ourselves in that place of both/and, of faith and doubt, gratitude and despair, because the important part is that we stay in relationship with God – not that we say nice things about God or always like God and never question God – but that we are in authentic relationship with God – a God who knows something about the depths of inexplicable pain, whose desire to be in authentic relationship with us led him to death on a cross.
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