Sermon delivered Sunday, July 19, 2015 (8th Sunday After Pentecost, Proper 11, Year B), at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Franklin, TN.
(Mark 6:30-34, 53-56)
"Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while."
This is what Jesus says to the disciples in today’s Gospel reading. As Jesus’s reputation had grown, their ministry had gotten overwhelming. More and more people were seeking Jesus out, for spiritual advice, for healing, and probably many were coming just to gawk at this miracle-worker. The scriptures tell us that “many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat.”
I’m sure many of you know that feeling. That feeling of pressure, anxiety – of suffocation, almost – when you realize that you have more to do than can possibly be done. When you’re cranky and irritable and your stomach growls and suddenly you realize you’ve been working so hard you forgot to eat lunch. I know I’ve been there. It’s one of the reasons my husband always reminds me, particularly on Sundays, not to forget to schedule time to eat!
As 21st century American churchgoers, we have two strikes against us when it comes to avoiding that frenzied feeling. The first is our secular work culture, which values productivity above all else, where our worth is measured by how much we can get done, how much money we can make, how many reports we can process in an hour. If that wasn’t bad enough, those of us who seek to be good Christians have the added pressure of a church culture that teaches us that we should always put others before ourselves, that holds up an ideal of “selflessness” and often denigrates any focus on oneself as “selfish” and somehow inherently sinful. This double-whammy of pressure makes it very difficult for most of us to attend to our own needs. Not only should we be accomplishing as much as possible in our work and our ministries, but we shouldn’t give much thought or attention to ourselves, because God has told us not to. I’m sure many of you are familiar with scripture passages like these:
From Philippians chapter 2: “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others.” (Philippians 2:3-4)
Or this one, from 1 Corinthians, chapter 1: “Do not seek your own advantage, but that of others.” (1 Corinthians 1:24)
Or the words of Jesus in the Gospels, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” (Matthew 16:24)
In looking up some of these passages online, I found many articles from Christian websites advocating for just the kind of self-denigration I’m speaking of here. One article unequivocally stated, “Self-centeredness and self-love are totally antithetical to the teachings of Scripture.”
Certainly, following Jesus requires a kind of “dying to self,” as the biblical metaphor puts it, a relinquishing of control and the sinful desires that drive us to seek our own gain at the expense of others. But is self-love the same thing as self-centeredness? Unfortunately, the church has all too often assumed that it is, and this has led us to a church culture in which we are not expected to take care of ourselves, in which it is more highly valued for us to sacrifice our very well-being – emotionally, physically, and spiritually – in our desire to serve others than it is to tend to our own health. This overemphasis on serving others, coupled with the Christian metaphors about sacrifice and dying to self, have led to a religious context in which the goal is the flourishing of others at the expense of self, rather than the flourishing of all people, including ourselves.
But I do not believe Jesus ever taught that our call to care for others meant that we should neglect to care for ourselves. This passage from Mark’s Gospel is just one of many places where Jesus encourages the disciples to “come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while,” and perhaps an even stronger testimony to his endorsement of self-care is that he modeled this behavior himself. The scriptures tell us that Jesus “often withdrew to deserted places and prayed” (Luke 5:16).
Both Jesus’s instruction to the disciples to find quiet time alone for prayer and rest and his own claiming of this time for himself come in the context of overwhelming need. When the crowds are pressing in on him, when everyone is clamoring for his attention, Jesus doesn’t try to solve everyone’s problems or cure everyone’s illnesses. Instead, he takes the time he needs for himself and encourages the disciples to do so as well, despite the endless stream of people seeking them out and waiting for them wherever they go. It is precisely the times when it would have been most difficult for them to take a break that Jesus does so and encourages his disciples to do the same. He doesn’t say, “Well, after all these crowds have dispersed, when we’ve taken care of all their needs, then we can rest and take care of our own.” He doesn’t say this because he knows a fundamental truth of the human experience that is becoming more and more recognized today – that we can only love others as much as we love ourselves. That we can only take care of others to the extent that we are able to take care of ourselves. That we only have something to give when we have taken the time to receive, to refresh and renew our own health, emotionally, physically, and spiritually.
This is why we are seeing an increasing emphasis in the church on things like silent retreats and sabbaticals. Contrary to the old model of clergy being expected to be available to everyone 24 hours a day, seminaries are now teaching clergy the importance of self-care, and encouraging us to support it among our parishioners as well. We are encouraged to take time for ourselves and to model for you the importance of doing the same in your own lives. So as we all bid farewell to Monna last Sunday as she began her three-month sabbatical, I hope it got you all thinking about the value of rest, retreat, renewal, and reflection in your own lives. The concept of sabbatical time away from work is becoming more popular, not just in academic and church contexts, but across a variety of fields. Many companies now offer employees sabbatical leave time because they realize that their employees are actually MORE productive and have more to give to the company when they take the time to care for themselves than they are when they sacrifice their own health for the sake of their work. The airline industry has reminded us of the essential wisdom of this truth in their safety videos that instruct us to put our own oxygen mask on first before assisting others. This is not a matter of valuing our own lives more highly than others, but a practical matter of survival. If we cannot breathe ourselves, we cannot expect to help others to breathe either.
But there is a flip side to this truth as well. Just as we cannot help others unless we first help ourselves, we also cannot help ourselves unless we also help others as well. It is not a matter of either/or, but a matter of both/and. It is no better to help ourselves at the expense of others than it is to help others at the expense of ourselves. As leaders of movements for human liberation across the globe have noted, our freedom is inextricably bound to the freedom of others. We cannot be free while our brothers and sisters are in chains. We cannot truly live while our brothers and sisters are dying. We cannot morally put our own oxygen mask on and then neglect to help others with theirs.
Lilla Watson, a spokewoman for an activist group of Aboriginal people in Australia in the 1970s, once famously said to those seeking to aid her community, “If you have come here to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.” The scriptures put it this way, in 1 Corinthians, chapter 12: “If one member [of the body of Christ] suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.” (1 Corinthians 12:26) We are part and parcel of one another in the body of Christ. What we do affects one another, and as such our salvation is always ultimately communal rather than individual in nature. We can’t reach the kingdom of God without being willing to bring all of God’s children along with us.
Nashville singer-songwriter Tom Kimmel co-wrote a song with Danish songwriter Klaus Caprani that captures this truth. The title of the song is, “No One Gets to Heaven (If Anybody Else is Left Behind),” and it goes like this:
“Last night I dreamed my daddy woke me up and took me by the hand
And walked me down the hill and through the woods to where a little chapel stands
And everyone we knew was there, and they all seemed so happy we came by
The deacon shook our hands and then he led us to our seat beside the aisle
The preacher started talkin’ and everybody leaned in close
He said there is a light in the dark when we need it the most
And there is a way through this world if we keep this in mind:
No one gets to heaven if anybody else is left behind.
No one gets to heaven if anyone is lost along the way
And it’s so easy to doubt it, so now let us join hands and pray
We’ll meet on that beautiful shore in the sweet by and by
And no one gets to heaven if anybody else is left behind.”
Our liberation is bound up with others’ liberation. It is important to remember this precisely during those times when we want to focus solely on ourselves. Sometimes when we are awakened to our need to care for ourselves, we can be tempted to walk away from all other commitments and focus only on ourselves. When things get difficult, we think, “I just can’t handle this anymore; I’ve got to take care of myself.” Although that certainly may be true for a time, and given how serious the imbalance of focusing on others verses yourself has been, you may need a considerable amount of time to focus only on yourself. But even in those times, it’s important to remember that in order to be true to the Gospel and our calling as Christians, we must at some point return to the service of others, using the care and love that has healed us to heal others. Because our healing is bound up with others’ healing. Our liberation is bound up with others’ liberation. No one gets to heaven if anybody else is left behind.
Showing posts with label solidarity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label solidarity. Show all posts
Sunday, July 19, 2015
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, September 1, 2013
Seeing with "kingdom eyes"
Sermon delivered Sunday, Sept. 1, 2013 (15 Pentecost, Year C, Proper 17), at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Franklin, TN (Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16; Luke 14:1, 7-14).
Both our readings from the New Testament today focus on the themes of hospitality and solidarity with both neighbors and strangers.
The author of the letter to the Hebrews encourages us to “let mutual love continue,” and reminds us “not to neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” We are also encouraged to “remember those who are in prison, as though [we] were in prison with them; those who are being tortured, as though [we ourselves] were being tortured.” In the Gospel passage from Luke, Jesus encourages us to choose humility over arrogance, and to invite and include the most vulnerable and marginalized members of society in our community gatherings.
We should give to others and extend hospitality not only when we can expect to receive it in return, but even when we know the recipients cannot reciprocate. For in doing so, we mirror God’s love to us – God gives to us freely, despite the inability of human beings to “repay” God for the gift of our life.
And we also offer a foretaste of that kingdom to come where all people will stand equal as children of God, where we will treat one another with love and respect not out of a desire to receive anything in return, not out of an attempt to lift ourselves up, but out of a recognition that we are all brothers and sisters in the family of God. With our worldly eyes, we see inequalities, separateness, and divisions, but with kingdom eyes, we will be able to see the oneness of humanity and the equal value of every human being.
Our faith gives us the opportunity to see with kingdom eyes now; we don’t have to wait for the kingdom to come. In the Lord’s Prayer, we pray for God’s will to be done “on earth as it is in heaven.” As we strive to live out our faith and follow the teachings of Jesus, God will use us to bring a glimpse of that kingdom to the world here and now, on earth as it is in heaven.
Because our natural tendencies as human beings can be so contrary to kingdom values, in order to do this, we must be intentional about our behavior. We must choose to see with kingdom eyes. We must choose to offer hospitality to strangers and neighbors alike – to push against our natural inclinations to speak only to those people we already know, to invite only our friends to our parties, and instead, choose to see the stranger as a brother and a friend.
The letter to the Hebrews tells us that we should “remember those who are in prison, as though [we] were in prison with them; those who are being tortured, as though [we ourselves] were being tortured.” The kingdom reality is that all Christians are one body in Christ, and when one member suffers, the whole body suffers with it. The kingdom reality is that all people – Christians and non-Christians alike – are God’s children and thus part of the greater family of God. When one of us is hurting, we all hurt. But so often, we don’t even know that one of us is hurting, because we don’t know one another. We see each other with worldly eyes, as “other,” as “different,” as “stranger,” as a statistic rather than a human being, and our empathy fades. But if we take the time to get to know one another as fellow human beings, as brothers and sisters in the family of God, we begin to hurt when others hurt, to care when our brothers and sisters are in prison, or tortured, or murdered, or deported, or slandered. When we know one another, when we hear one another’s stories, we can begin to see with kingdom eyes – we can recognize one another as a brother or a sister.
Allow me to share an example of this with you from my own life. Shortly after 9/11, I heard that a Sikh man had been murdered at a gas station in Arizona. I had never heard of Sikhism, and when my religion professor explained that Sikh men wear turbans and beards as part of their religious faith and that this man had been mistaken for a “terrorist” because his shooter thought he looked like Osama bin Laden, I shook my head at what sounded like an awful situation, but it quickly faded to the back of my mind. Two years later, I happened to be at a conference where a young Sikh woman presented a collection of video footage of interviews with the relatives of this man, as well as interviews with other people who had experienced discrimination and hate crimes in the weeks and months after 9/11. As I listened to story after story of people who had been yelled at, beaten, shot, and killed simply because of the way they looked, I felt like the Apostle Paul when the scales fell from his eyes at his conversion experience (Acts 9:18). I had had no idea about what had been happening to the Sikh community, the Muslim community, the Hispanic community – really, anyone with brown skin – in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, because I didn’t know them. Our paths never crossed, and so I had never heard their stories. I had been seeing with worldly eyes rather than with kingdom eyes. I hadn’t known that my brothers and sisters were suffering.
After the screening, I introduced myself to the woman who had shown the footage, whose name was Valarie Kaur. Her goal was to take this footage, which she had collected for a project as a college student in the year after 9/11, and turn it into a feature-length documentary film. I offered to help in whatever way I could, and eventually became the film’s communications director through a second stage of production and its eventual national tour. It was my work with that film that made me so sensitive to the shootings that happened last August at the Sikh temple in Wisconsin, that motivated me to buy those sympathy cards for you all to sign and to take a group of you to visit the gurdwara here in Nashville.
In the middle of the film, which we titled “Divided We Fall,” there is a scene where a college-aged Valarie and her 18-year-old turbaned cousin Sonny, who was her cameraman for the project, discuss what the turban means to them as Sikhs. When it is Valarie’s turn, she says, “I see somebody with a turban, and I say, ‘There’s a sadar, he’s a Sikh man. He’s like my uncle, he’s like my brother, he’s like my grandfather. I know him. We come from the same place. He probably speaks Punjabi. He says the same prayers that I do.” She looks down, with a pensive look on her face. Her cousin pauses, then asks, “Why are we making this documentary?” Valarie looks away thoughtfully, smiles, then looks directly into the camera and says, “So other people don’t look at the turban and see fear, hatred, something laughable, something less than human… so that other people don’t look at the turban and see an enemy where I see a brother.”
I wonder if that isn’t why Jesus asked us to invite “the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind,” to our luncheons and dinners – so that we wouldn’t look at them and see something laughable, something less than human – so that we wouldn’t look at them and see fear where Jesus sees a brother. So that, as we ate together, we could hear their stories, stories that would make us human to one another, stories that would allow us to see each other with kingdom eyes, as brothers and sisters in the family of God.
This is what we’re about as a church whenever we go to Church in the Yard and listen to the stories of people who are experiencing homelessness, or when we sit down at Spring Street to share a meal with our African-American neighbors, or when we visit the mosque or gurdwara and share tea with Muslims and Sikhs. We are intentionally connecting and building relationships with people we might not otherwise get to know. We are pushing back against the default mode of society that keeps us apart in separate circles of community that never touch one another. We are choosing to see one another with kingdom eyes, so that we will know when one of our brothers and sisters is suffering and remember them as if we were suffering ourselves.
Jesus says that if we show hospitality to those whom society separates from us, we will be blessed, and will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous. But, as I’m sure anyone who has participated in any of the ministries I just mentioned could tell you, the blessings are also available here and now. Because as we extend hospitality to both neighbors and strangers, we discover that there are no strangers in the kingdom of God, and we are able to touch a glimpse of the kingdom, breaking in to our everyday lives, on earth as it is in heaven.
Both our readings from the New Testament today focus on the themes of hospitality and solidarity with both neighbors and strangers.
The author of the letter to the Hebrews encourages us to “let mutual love continue,” and reminds us “not to neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” We are also encouraged to “remember those who are in prison, as though [we] were in prison with them; those who are being tortured, as though [we ourselves] were being tortured.” In the Gospel passage from Luke, Jesus encourages us to choose humility over arrogance, and to invite and include the most vulnerable and marginalized members of society in our community gatherings.
We should give to others and extend hospitality not only when we can expect to receive it in return, but even when we know the recipients cannot reciprocate. For in doing so, we mirror God’s love to us – God gives to us freely, despite the inability of human beings to “repay” God for the gift of our life.
And we also offer a foretaste of that kingdom to come where all people will stand equal as children of God, where we will treat one another with love and respect not out of a desire to receive anything in return, not out of an attempt to lift ourselves up, but out of a recognition that we are all brothers and sisters in the family of God. With our worldly eyes, we see inequalities, separateness, and divisions, but with kingdom eyes, we will be able to see the oneness of humanity and the equal value of every human being.
Our faith gives us the opportunity to see with kingdom eyes now; we don’t have to wait for the kingdom to come. In the Lord’s Prayer, we pray for God’s will to be done “on earth as it is in heaven.” As we strive to live out our faith and follow the teachings of Jesus, God will use us to bring a glimpse of that kingdom to the world here and now, on earth as it is in heaven.
Because our natural tendencies as human beings can be so contrary to kingdom values, in order to do this, we must be intentional about our behavior. We must choose to see with kingdom eyes. We must choose to offer hospitality to strangers and neighbors alike – to push against our natural inclinations to speak only to those people we already know, to invite only our friends to our parties, and instead, choose to see the stranger as a brother and a friend.
The letter to the Hebrews tells us that we should “remember those who are in prison, as though [we] were in prison with them; those who are being tortured, as though [we ourselves] were being tortured.” The kingdom reality is that all Christians are one body in Christ, and when one member suffers, the whole body suffers with it. The kingdom reality is that all people – Christians and non-Christians alike – are God’s children and thus part of the greater family of God. When one of us is hurting, we all hurt. But so often, we don’t even know that one of us is hurting, because we don’t know one another. We see each other with worldly eyes, as “other,” as “different,” as “stranger,” as a statistic rather than a human being, and our empathy fades. But if we take the time to get to know one another as fellow human beings, as brothers and sisters in the family of God, we begin to hurt when others hurt, to care when our brothers and sisters are in prison, or tortured, or murdered, or deported, or slandered. When we know one another, when we hear one another’s stories, we can begin to see with kingdom eyes – we can recognize one another as a brother or a sister.
Allow me to share an example of this with you from my own life. Shortly after 9/11, I heard that a Sikh man had been murdered at a gas station in Arizona. I had never heard of Sikhism, and when my religion professor explained that Sikh men wear turbans and beards as part of their religious faith and that this man had been mistaken for a “terrorist” because his shooter thought he looked like Osama bin Laden, I shook my head at what sounded like an awful situation, but it quickly faded to the back of my mind. Two years later, I happened to be at a conference where a young Sikh woman presented a collection of video footage of interviews with the relatives of this man, as well as interviews with other people who had experienced discrimination and hate crimes in the weeks and months after 9/11. As I listened to story after story of people who had been yelled at, beaten, shot, and killed simply because of the way they looked, I felt like the Apostle Paul when the scales fell from his eyes at his conversion experience (Acts 9:18). I had had no idea about what had been happening to the Sikh community, the Muslim community, the Hispanic community – really, anyone with brown skin – in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, because I didn’t know them. Our paths never crossed, and so I had never heard their stories. I had been seeing with worldly eyes rather than with kingdom eyes. I hadn’t known that my brothers and sisters were suffering.
After the screening, I introduced myself to the woman who had shown the footage, whose name was Valarie Kaur. Her goal was to take this footage, which she had collected for a project as a college student in the year after 9/11, and turn it into a feature-length documentary film. I offered to help in whatever way I could, and eventually became the film’s communications director through a second stage of production and its eventual national tour. It was my work with that film that made me so sensitive to the shootings that happened last August at the Sikh temple in Wisconsin, that motivated me to buy those sympathy cards for you all to sign and to take a group of you to visit the gurdwara here in Nashville.
In the middle of the film, which we titled “Divided We Fall,” there is a scene where a college-aged Valarie and her 18-year-old turbaned cousin Sonny, who was her cameraman for the project, discuss what the turban means to them as Sikhs. When it is Valarie’s turn, she says, “I see somebody with a turban, and I say, ‘There’s a sadar, he’s a Sikh man. He’s like my uncle, he’s like my brother, he’s like my grandfather. I know him. We come from the same place. He probably speaks Punjabi. He says the same prayers that I do.” She looks down, with a pensive look on her face. Her cousin pauses, then asks, “Why are we making this documentary?” Valarie looks away thoughtfully, smiles, then looks directly into the camera and says, “So other people don’t look at the turban and see fear, hatred, something laughable, something less than human… so that other people don’t look at the turban and see an enemy where I see a brother.”
I wonder if that isn’t why Jesus asked us to invite “the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind,” to our luncheons and dinners – so that we wouldn’t look at them and see something laughable, something less than human – so that we wouldn’t look at them and see fear where Jesus sees a brother. So that, as we ate together, we could hear their stories, stories that would make us human to one another, stories that would allow us to see each other with kingdom eyes, as brothers and sisters in the family of God.
This is what we’re about as a church whenever we go to Church in the Yard and listen to the stories of people who are experiencing homelessness, or when we sit down at Spring Street to share a meal with our African-American neighbors, or when we visit the mosque or gurdwara and share tea with Muslims and Sikhs. We are intentionally connecting and building relationships with people we might not otherwise get to know. We are pushing back against the default mode of society that keeps us apart in separate circles of community that never touch one another. We are choosing to see one another with kingdom eyes, so that we will know when one of our brothers and sisters is suffering and remember them as if we were suffering ourselves.
Jesus says that if we show hospitality to those whom society separates from us, we will be blessed, and will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous. But, as I’m sure anyone who has participated in any of the ministries I just mentioned could tell you, the blessings are also available here and now. Because as we extend hospitality to both neighbors and strangers, we discover that there are no strangers in the kingdom of God, and we are able to touch a glimpse of the kingdom, breaking in to our everyday lives, on earth as it is in heaven.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Nazareth: Muslim and Christian Arabs and interfaith dialogue
Unlike in Tel Aviv or Haifa, Muslim women wearing hijab (the headscarf) are common in the streets of Nazareth, and the haunting call to prayer in Arabic is heard several times each day over the loudspeakers from the minarets of the mosques. "Allahu akbar!" call the muezzins. "God is great!"
The interesting thing about this city, though, is that young Arab kids playing in the street will look up as I pass by and yell, "Shalom!" -- the traditional Hebrew greeting. Although I've heard the Arabic greeting "Merhaba" used often, I've also heard many Arab people speaking Hebrew, which I admit caused a sort of cognitive dissonance for me. I've come to make an interfaith pilgrimage, but I'm getting an intercultural one as well.
Today I met with Ghassan Manasra, a Sufi shiekh who is involved in interfaith work in Israel. I got his name from the Elijah Institute in Jerusalem, an interfaith organization I contacted when I was planning my pilgrimage in order to make contacts with some people in the interfaith community.
Ghassan met me outside the Basilica of the Annunciation and after greeting me warmly, said, "Please" -- and motioned for me to follow him down the sidewalk. We walked a few blocks away and into an old home that was in the process of renovation. Ghassan explained to me that this place was to become the new -- and only -- Sufi center in Nazareth… and also a spot for organizing and promoting interfaith dialogue. As we sat and talked, there were many people, men and women, coming and going from the room, calling to Ghassan in Arabic and greeting him with wide, warm smiles. "These are our disciples," he said. "They are coming to help work on the center." I found it interesting how he kept referring to the members of his community as "disciples," a term with deep biblical connotations for me.
Ghassan told me a bit of his story: he has been involved in interfaith dialogue in Israel for 25 years, often in the face of real threats to his life. Although he was raised in Nazareth, he and his family had been living in Jerusalem until fairly recently, but he and his family had been attacked by "radical Muslims" who were opposed to the work he is doing within Islam (trying to bring the various groups together) and with "the other" (working with people of other religions). He himself had been physically attacked, and his eldest son, who is about 20 years old, was attacked and almost died -- he was in a coma for several months. After that incident, Ghassan said, they decided to move back to Nazareth.
I asked if his son was also involved in interfaith work, or if he was attacked just because of his proximity to Ghassan. "No, no," he replied, "He is also doing this work. And he wants to continue."
Interfaith respect has been a part of the family legacy for generations, apparently. Ghassan told me that his grandfather was the ruler of this region when it was under Ottoman control and that he had made the decision to give the Christians more land around the area believed to have been Mary's house. "This is Nazareth, the city of Jesus," Ghassan told me his grandfather said. "The Christians should be having a big church here." Although it wasn't until the 1960s that the Roman Catholic Church completed construction on the current Basilica of the Annunciation, it was many years ago that his grandfather first granted the large area of land around where the basilica current stands to the Christian community.
I marveled at the determination and tenacity of this family, who continue to work for peace among faiths even when it puts them in mortal danger. Ghassan is an incredibly positive and upbeat man, with a wide and sincere smile always on his face. Although I may have come across people who are suspicious of or not supportive of interfaith work in the U.S., I've never felt that my life was in danger because I advocate for dialogue. I said as much to Ghassan, and told him that I can't imagine living under such circumstances and being able to keep going as he has.
"But we must," he said, with a smile. "We must continue to work for peace. And, inshallah (God willing), I think we can reach it."
He told me a story of how he and his "disciples" had helped to stop a more extreme Muslim group from building a large mosque in front of the Basilica of the Annunciation in Nazareth. Apparently a few years ago, a Muslim group wanted to build a large mosque right in front of the basilica, at the site of a shrine to some particular Muslim figure. The planned mosque would have completely obstructed the views of the basilica from the landscape and the skyline of the city, and was clearly a political move. It was causing lots of tensions between Christians and Muslims in Nazareth (both groups are Arabic, by the way).
Ghassan went and spoke to the leader of that Muslim group, asking them to stop their plans for a mosque. "We don't need another mosque here," he said. "We have enough mosques." When the group would not listen, Ghassan and his group staged a protest march, starting at the top of the hill in Nazareth and marching all the way down to the city square. "We started out as four or five people," he said, "but by the time we got to the basilica, we were thousands."
"We stopped that mosque," he said with a smile of satisfaction. "Many of the Muslims in Nazareth were not for it, and when we staged our march, they joined us."
(Interestingly enough, when I mentioned the so-called "Ground Zero Mosque" controversy in the U.S., in New York City, he said that he was against it, and that he personally knows the man who is behind the Park 51 project. "He is a wonderful man," Ghassan said, "but he needs to be wise. The timing is not right. The location is not right. It would be better for them not to build it there... not now, not yet. I hope he will listen to me." Here's an interesting op-ed piece I found that draws parallels between the "Ground Zero Mosque" controversy and the Nazareth mosque controversy. The interesting thing, though, is that the group in Nazareth who wanted to build the mosque were "extremist" Muslims, whereas the Muslims in NYC behind the Park 51 project are Muslims like Ghassan who are interested in promoting interfaith dialogue -- and yet they've been spoken about and portrayed as if they were of the extremist type.)
He spoke in more detail of his love for the basilica, and how it was as much a part of his growing up in Nazareth as any of the mosques were. He spoke of how he loved to go there and to pray, and how peaceful of a place it was, and how hearing the church bells ring was a part of his life and his childhood. The church wasn't just a holy place for Christians, it was a holy place for him as well.
This is why I think it's so important for us to visit one another's holy places, as I'm doing on this trip, and to have them become part of our own personal "religious landscape." Whether or not we agree with all the theology and doctrine that a particular group espouses, we can certainly find peace and a space to pray in our own way within the stillness and quiet that sacred spaces of all traditions provide. If our churches aren't just for the Christians, then it won't just be the Christians who will rise up to defend them and protect them if need be, and likewise for our mosques and temples and gurdwaras. If we can see our places of worship as places of collaboration instead of competition, perhaps plans to build a place of worship of whatever sort will not be met with conflict and anger.
"My house shall be a house of prayer for all people," was Isaiah's vision for the Temple in Jerusalem (Isaiah 56:7). May it be so for every holy place where God's name is invoked in the name of peace.
Friday, April 15, 2011
House of All Souls, Chattanooga
On Friday, April 15, our urban ministry class visited the House of All Souls, a permanent residence home for disabled, chronically homeless men. The house is maintained by the Chattanooga Community Kitchen, where we visited earlier in the semester, and Brother Ron Fender, Episcopal monk, is the house manager. He lives with the men at the House of All Souls.
The idea for the House of All Souls came when Brother Ron was living at St. Matthew's shelter in downtown Chattanooga. During his four years of residency there, he observed that many of the men who lived in the shelter would do well while at St. Matthew's and while in the treatment program there, but as soon as they got out of the shelter and got their own places, they'd wind up back on the streets again.
These men were used to living in community, Brother Ron observed, and an empty apartment with no furnishings, no pots and pans, no toilet paper, no basic essentials at all -- was not an answer to their needs. Sure, it might give them a roof over their heads to call their own, but as one of the men at St. Matthew's once said to Brother Ron, "A home is not four walls and a ceiling: that is a cell."
So, Brother Ron had the idea that he could start a communal living home for formerly homeless men. As a monastic, he believes strongly in the practice of living in community, but his religious order does not have a religious house where the monks live: they live all over the country in their own homes; some of them are even married. (The Brotherhood of St. Gregory, Brother Ron's order, is part of the "new monasticism," which challenged and changed traditional monastic practices such as living in cloistered communities and being celibate and single.) So why not create an intentional community living situation for these men who desperately needed community?
The Community Kitchen partnered with Rosewood Supportive Services (an organization that had built group homes for disabled and mentally ill people) to build the House of All Souls, which opened a little over a year ago, in March 2010. The house provides permanent housing for up to eight men who are disabled and have been chronically homeless. Right now, Brother Ron said, they have six men living in the house. We met one of the residents, Phillip, who is autistic and told us about how he had lived on the streets and in substandard tenement housing in downtown Chattanooga, until he "left that dump to come live here with Brother Ron," he said, with a big grin on his face.
The house has a library and a chapel upstairs, bedrooms converted into alternative use space. The library has posters of Jack Kerouac and Bobby Kennedy and Tennessee Williams on the walls, and includes sitting chairs and bunches of books and magazines. The walls of the Brandenberg Chapel (named after a homeless man who helped Brother Ron dream up the idea of the House of All Souls) are painted a deep green, and it houses an altar, two pews, an upright piano, and a lectern on which the daily lectionary readings were placed. The altar (pictured at left) was built by two members of the class of 2010 at Sewanee's School of Theology (the altar's design echoes the design of the altar in the seminary chapel), and was given to the house as the class of 2010's senior gift.
Brother Ron said that he prays the Daily Office in the chapel each day, but that the members of the house do not have any regular, corporate prayer services there. "A lot of people on the streets have been hurt badly by religion," Brother Ron said, "so they often won't come to corporate worship services. But the men do spend a lot of time in the chapel, individually."
I was very much impressed with the beauty of the home, situated in a lush, green thicket just off a main street in Chattanooga, with a nice-sized yard, a screened-in back porch, and beautiful rooms painted deep reds, cool greens, and neutral beiges. The living room was warm and cozy, and very clean and tidy. It was certainly not what I was expecting: when I'd heard that Brother Ron lived with some of the formerly homeless men from the Kitchen, I'd assumed it would be in a small, cinder-block, grungy, shelter-like environment. What a wonderful surprise to find this gorgeous house, providing a true home for these men, not just the "cell" of four walls and a ceiling.
All the same, though, Brother Ron shared with us that they have already had several men move out of the house, in the little over a year it's been in operation. Those that leave often cite "the happiness" as a reason why they can't stand to live there. One man who decided to leave told Brother Ron that Christmas has been the breaking point for him: "I just couldn't stand all that happiness," he said. Brother Ron explained how many of these men have been so bitter and angry and numb for so long that they simply do not know how to adjust to being happy.. and are afraid to give up their bitterness and anger because it seems to be so much a part of their identity. One man who Brother Ron was trying to convince to stay in the home refused, shouting at him, "I'm NOT going to be happy! You can't MAKE me be happy!!"
I was reminded of a scene from the film Peaceful Warrior, in which Dan (the main character) is struggling with his alter ego, the side of him that holds on to fear, anger, bitterness. In a dramatic visualization of the psychological drama he is undergoing, Dan is on top of a large tower, wrestling with his alter ego. Finally, the alter ego falls over the side, but is still holding on to Dan's hands.
"YOU CAN'T LET ME GO," the alter ego screams, its face contorting ghoulishly. "DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE WITHOUT ME?!?!?"
"No," the real Dan says calmly, but lets go anyway, plunging the alter ego to its death, then wakes up, shaking and shivering and utterly disoriented. But it is the beginning of a rebirth.
It is my prayer that all those angry souls out there who do not know how to be happy could release that alter ego and begin to know their true selves, however scary or how far of a fall it may seem to be.
The idea for the House of All Souls came when Brother Ron was living at St. Matthew's shelter in downtown Chattanooga. During his four years of residency there, he observed that many of the men who lived in the shelter would do well while at St. Matthew's and while in the treatment program there, but as soon as they got out of the shelter and got their own places, they'd wind up back on the streets again.
These men were used to living in community, Brother Ron observed, and an empty apartment with no furnishings, no pots and pans, no toilet paper, no basic essentials at all -- was not an answer to their needs. Sure, it might give them a roof over their heads to call their own, but as one of the men at St. Matthew's once said to Brother Ron, "A home is not four walls and a ceiling: that is a cell."
The Community Kitchen partnered with Rosewood Supportive Services (an organization that had built group homes for disabled and mentally ill people) to build the House of All Souls, which opened a little over a year ago, in March 2010. The house provides permanent housing for up to eight men who are disabled and have been chronically homeless. Right now, Brother Ron said, they have six men living in the house. We met one of the residents, Phillip, who is autistic and told us about how he had lived on the streets and in substandard tenement housing in downtown Chattanooga, until he "left that dump to come live here with Brother Ron," he said, with a big grin on his face.
Brother Ron said that he prays the Daily Office in the chapel each day, but that the members of the house do not have any regular, corporate prayer services there. "A lot of people on the streets have been hurt badly by religion," Brother Ron said, "so they often won't come to corporate worship services. But the men do spend a lot of time in the chapel, individually."
I was very much impressed with the beauty of the home, situated in a lush, green thicket just off a main street in Chattanooga, with a nice-sized yard, a screened-in back porch, and beautiful rooms painted deep reds, cool greens, and neutral beiges. The living room was warm and cozy, and very clean and tidy. It was certainly not what I was expecting: when I'd heard that Brother Ron lived with some of the formerly homeless men from the Kitchen, I'd assumed it would be in a small, cinder-block, grungy, shelter-like environment. What a wonderful surprise to find this gorgeous house, providing a true home for these men, not just the "cell" of four walls and a ceiling.
All the same, though, Brother Ron shared with us that they have already had several men move out of the house, in the little over a year it's been in operation. Those that leave often cite "the happiness" as a reason why they can't stand to live there. One man who decided to leave told Brother Ron that Christmas has been the breaking point for him: "I just couldn't stand all that happiness," he said. Brother Ron explained how many of these men have been so bitter and angry and numb for so long that they simply do not know how to adjust to being happy.. and are afraid to give up their bitterness and anger because it seems to be so much a part of their identity. One man who Brother Ron was trying to convince to stay in the home refused, shouting at him, "I'm NOT going to be happy! You can't MAKE me be happy!!"
I was reminded of a scene from the film Peaceful Warrior, in which Dan (the main character) is struggling with his alter ego, the side of him that holds on to fear, anger, bitterness. In a dramatic visualization of the psychological drama he is undergoing, Dan is on top of a large tower, wrestling with his alter ego. Finally, the alter ego falls over the side, but is still holding on to Dan's hands.
"YOU CAN'T LET ME GO," the alter ego screams, its face contorting ghoulishly. "DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE WITHOUT ME?!?!?"
"No," the real Dan says calmly, but lets go anyway, plunging the alter ego to its death, then wakes up, shaking and shivering and utterly disoriented. But it is the beginning of a rebirth.
It is my prayer that all those angry souls out there who do not know how to be happy could release that alter ego and begin to know their true selves, however scary or how far of a fall it may seem to be.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Solidarity with the Muslim Community
Tonight, my husband and I attended an iftar (breaking the fast meal) sponsored by the Sewanee Muslim Students' Association (MSA).
After learning of an act of arson against a proposed mosque site in Murfreesboro (just an hour's drive from Sewanee, close to Nashville) on August 28, and hearing this incident mentioned by some of my friends and colleagues in the interfaith community around the country in their recent emails and messages chronicling the anti-Muslim backlash around the proposed mosque in Manhattan near the site of Ground Zero, I realized that I could not simply sit back and let this issue pass me by.
Since leaving Harvard Divinity School (where I studied world religions) and leaving the staff of the film Divided We Fall (on anti-"Muslim" hate crimes after 9/11, which affected Sikhs and others as much as Muslims), I have become increasingly disconnected with what's going on in the "interfaith" and "religious diversity" world. I'm now at an Episcopal seminary, studying to be a priest. We don't have any classes on world religions. Islam was mentioned in our church history course last year, and our "creeds" class gave us an opportunity to compare our beliefs with Jews and Muslims and to dialogue with some members of the community, but that has been the extent of the "interfaith" experience here. We talk about how "open" and "diverse" we are as a seminary because we have some Methodist students here amongst the Episcopalians, and because we have some non-Episcopal faculty on staff.
I am actually glad I am in such a strongly Episcopal world in terms of being formed into an Episcopal priest. I am learning about my own faith and context to a depth that I have not done before. There is a camaraderie in knowing that almost all my classmates are going into the priesthood and will be my clergy colleagues in a few years. But the number of my conversations with members of faiths other than Christianity, and really even with denominations other than The Episcopal Church, has dramatically decreased since being here. In fact, it wouldn't be happening at all if it weren't for the connections I'd formed before I came here.
It was tempting to allow this debate and controversy to pass me by, knowing that my colleagues out there at the Pluralism Project and the former film crew of Divided We Fall were already mobilizing to show solidarity with the Muslim community. After all, I had 50+ pages of reading for Episcopal Church History, and a Scripture passage to memorize for preaching class, and Spanish vocabulary to learn. But then I stopped and thought -- what is the point of being here at seminary if not to grow closer to our Lord Jesus Christ, who spent his time among the outcast and marginalized? How am I following His example and allowing Him to live in me if I am not in some form or fashion standing in solidarity with the American Muslim community during this time?
So, I decided to do something. On Monday, I sent an email to the students, faculty and staff of the seminary, asking, "What can we do to respond to the Murfreesboro arson?" I immediately got several responses from faculty and students saying they had been thinking about this issue as well, so I suggested we meet as a group at our Tuesday community lunch the next day and discuss this question.
One of my colleagues reminded me that the Sewanee MSA (Muslim Students' Association) was hosting an iftar this week -- and that having some seminary students attend that event might be a first step to showing solidarity with the Muslim community on campus.
So, we went. Having been to several iftars before, I was looking forward especially to the good food. Unfortunately for me, I wound up at the end of a very long line, and all the vegetarian food was gone by the time I made it to the table! Everything was scraping bottom, and there were still at least 40 people in line! It was clear the MSA hadn't expected this many people to attend; the president said this was the largest turnout they had ever had. "This is a wonderful expression of solidarity," he said, "especially in light of what has been going on around the situation in New York and the fire in Murfreesboro. It really means a lot to us that you are here."
My husband and I had a lively dinner table conversation with several non-Muslim undergraduates who had come out to show their support and to learn more about Islam. There were several seminary students and faculty there, the university chaplains, and several community clergy.
After this event, I find myself wondering... how could we, as a seminary, form closer links with the non-Christian communities that are living right here in our midst? We may not be a "cosmopolitan" place, in this small town on top of a mountain, but we fool ourselves if we think "diversity" exists only in Chattanooga and Nashville. There is a Muslim community here, and I'd be willing to bet only one or two seminary students knows any of them personally. So much of interfaith bridge-building has to happen quietly, behind-the-scenes, before there's some crisis event. I wonder what we can do along those lines, moving forward...
After learning of an act of arson against a proposed mosque site in Murfreesboro (just an hour's drive from Sewanee, close to Nashville) on August 28, and hearing this incident mentioned by some of my friends and colleagues in the interfaith community around the country in their recent emails and messages chronicling the anti-Muslim backlash around the proposed mosque in Manhattan near the site of Ground Zero, I realized that I could not simply sit back and let this issue pass me by.
 |
| Vandalism at the proposed mosque site reads, "NOT WELCOME." |
Since leaving Harvard Divinity School (where I studied world religions) and leaving the staff of the film Divided We Fall (on anti-"Muslim" hate crimes after 9/11, which affected Sikhs and others as much as Muslims), I have become increasingly disconnected with what's going on in the "interfaith" and "religious diversity" world. I'm now at an Episcopal seminary, studying to be a priest. We don't have any classes on world religions. Islam was mentioned in our church history course last year, and our "creeds" class gave us an opportunity to compare our beliefs with Jews and Muslims and to dialogue with some members of the community, but that has been the extent of the "interfaith" experience here. We talk about how "open" and "diverse" we are as a seminary because we have some Methodist students here amongst the Episcopalians, and because we have some non-Episcopal faculty on staff.
I am actually glad I am in such a strongly Episcopal world in terms of being formed into an Episcopal priest. I am learning about my own faith and context to a depth that I have not done before. There is a camaraderie in knowing that almost all my classmates are going into the priesthood and will be my clergy colleagues in a few years. But the number of my conversations with members of faiths other than Christianity, and really even with denominations other than The Episcopal Church, has dramatically decreased since being here. In fact, it wouldn't be happening at all if it weren't for the connections I'd formed before I came here.
It was tempting to allow this debate and controversy to pass me by, knowing that my colleagues out there at the Pluralism Project and the former film crew of Divided We Fall were already mobilizing to show solidarity with the Muslim community. After all, I had 50+ pages of reading for Episcopal Church History, and a Scripture passage to memorize for preaching class, and Spanish vocabulary to learn. But then I stopped and thought -- what is the point of being here at seminary if not to grow closer to our Lord Jesus Christ, who spent his time among the outcast and marginalized? How am I following His example and allowing Him to live in me if I am not in some form or fashion standing in solidarity with the American Muslim community during this time?
So, I decided to do something. On Monday, I sent an email to the students, faculty and staff of the seminary, asking, "What can we do to respond to the Murfreesboro arson?" I immediately got several responses from faculty and students saying they had been thinking about this issue as well, so I suggested we meet as a group at our Tuesday community lunch the next day and discuss this question.
So, we went. Having been to several iftars before, I was looking forward especially to the good food. Unfortunately for me, I wound up at the end of a very long line, and all the vegetarian food was gone by the time I made it to the table! Everything was scraping bottom, and there were still at least 40 people in line! It was clear the MSA hadn't expected this many people to attend; the president said this was the largest turnout they had ever had. "This is a wonderful expression of solidarity," he said, "especially in light of what has been going on around the situation in New York and the fire in Murfreesboro. It really means a lot to us that you are here."
My husband and I had a lively dinner table conversation with several non-Muslim undergraduates who had come out to show their support and to learn more about Islam. There were several seminary students and faculty there, the university chaplains, and several community clergy.
After this event, I find myself wondering... how could we, as a seminary, form closer links with the non-Christian communities that are living right here in our midst? We may not be a "cosmopolitan" place, in this small town on top of a mountain, but we fool ourselves if we think "diversity" exists only in Chattanooga and Nashville. There is a Muslim community here, and I'd be willing to bet only one or two seminary students knows any of them personally. So much of interfaith bridge-building has to happen quietly, behind-the-scenes, before there's some crisis event. I wonder what we can do along those lines, moving forward...
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