Division in the Work of Peace

Based on: Luke 12:49-56

Delivered August 18, 2019 at Peace United Church of Christ in Santa Cruz, CA

When Damien called me earlier this week and asked if I could fill in for him today, and after I said yes, I went to the lectionary. For those of you who don’t know, the lectionary is a calendar of sorts that many churches, if not most, use to determine the scripture for Sunday worship. Without explaining too many details that many of you may not care about, it’s a three year cycle. There are 4 scripture options, one of which is a gospel reading. UCC churches don’t always stick to the lectionary, but Damien typically uses it, so I thought I would try to as well.

Now I’m up here in a robe, so as you might guess, I like the Bible. But it’s a big library of books, right? There is some stuff in there that is very approachable. Like, “love is patient, love is kind.” We all like that, right?

And then there are passages like today that start off with fire and division. My first instinct was to say, “oh, no no no no,” and preach on something else. But as often happens after my initial reactions to the text, it started to speak to me differently.

I’ll start off by saying that when I read passages like today’s, I often wish our biblical ancestors weren’t such fans of dramatic metaphor and hyperbole, but when I remember the moments of turmoil and conflict out of which some of these texts come, it’s easy to imagine how language begins to escalate.

The Gospel of Luke is written in a first century community that is divided. This Jewish community is arguing about Jesus and what his life and death means, their occupation and oppression by Roman forces, and how to live forward their religious life in the wake of the destruction of the temple, which most scholars believe this gospel was written after. The way that Luke tells Jesus’ story has to be seen in the context of that moment and its people.

Now, versions of this story exist in Mark and Matthew. Mark, the earliest writer, doesn’t talk about fire. Matthew uses the imagery of a sword. It has a little different flavor in each telling, but what seems clear is that in the wake of Jesus’ death, those who sought to bring the message forward ARGUED.

A LOT.

And it got ugly. Things felt turbulent. Everyone thought what THEY thought was the right way. Right? In some ways, the church is STILL having this fight, right?

One of the things that I love about the UCC is its theological diversity. One of the mottos the UCC has used over the years is “that all may be one.” It’s the idea that we don’t truly make change or work forward when we’re trying to make sure we all think exactly alike, but when we commit to diversity in a way that allows all of us to engage authentically and be seen in our truest, best light.

But now I’ve fast-forwarded 2,000 years.

Jesus was speaking to his own turbulent moment. To a time when the power structure wasn’t serving the people. When government and religious leaders seemed more corrupt and concerned with money than justice. When different leaders and prophets were popping up left and right, speaking to a tense population seeking security and safety in the face of a scary world. When the path forward seemed unclear and like it was a real possibility that we would all start heading down the WRONG path.

Wait, was that 2000 years ago?

I think prophecy is deep spiritual insight into human nature.

Like, many of us could not have predicted that the 2016 election would have gone the way it did. In fact, most of our established polls and institutions predicted that Hillary Clinton would be our president right now, and they were wrong.

Some of us did predicted it, though, right? Sometimes the signs of the times are written in fire right in front of us and we are unable to see it or we don’t believe people when they tell us a truth we’re not ready to hear.

And now there are 20-something candidates running for the democratic domination because there isn’t agreement on the way forward.

These are the times of change. And change can lead us to feel divided-- to be divided. It can be like cleaning a wound, but when we do, we can begin building scar tissue and building strength again.

Many of us have navigated these times of change in our personal lives, when the signs of the time become clear and the hard work, the seemingly turbulent work of change becomes necessary. Many of my LGBTQ-identifying beloveds have navigated senses of division within themselves and their lives as they have come to terms with their own truths. Some of us have navigated those divisions that come in the wake of living our truths outwardly.

Families or relationships in phases of separation or divorce experience many divisions and scars that form, heal, break open, and heal again during the process of rebuilding. During these kinds of life moments, maybe when we are separating from a partner, when we or our parents or guardians are getting divorced or separating, when loss or illness in a family leads to new kinds of tenderness and the resurfacing of old wounds… people will tell us it gets better, and intellectually, we might know this and have faith that it will. But that doesn’t necessarily change the way things are now, right?

When I was in my early twenties, I found myself in a time of personal turbulence. I was in an unhealthy relationship, I had an eating disorder, untreated depression and anxiety, and I was working and going to school full time. I ended up dropping out of college and going through and making many life changes.

Now each of us have different journeys, but at that point in my life, I felt very low. I felt divided within myself about how I was treating myself and about how my boyfriend was treating me. I felt divided in my obligations and responsibilities. I felt like my struggles and failures were dividing my family. When I dropped out of college, I think I was catering to the chaos within me. I let my depression and eating disorder consume me. I let the failure that I thought I was become me. I started to feel like that moment was the whole story.

I started working full time and tried to brush my struggles under the rug. I tried to fight my disappointment in myself and the disappointment of others and pretend everything was fine. As anyone who has struggled with eating disorders or depression knows, though, pretending doesn’t help. It may get people to leave you alone or to allow yourself to hide behind a facade, but pretending you’re okay when you’re not only makes the pain worse. Like a dying star, you can begin to collapse in on yourself. You become alone in grieving for yourself and for the person you wanted to be. You lose sight of whatever light you used to have. Like a dying star, you become self-cannibalizing until you have no more of your energy left to consume.

Ignoring the signs of the time, like I tried to do for too long, only inhibited my healing.

Turbulent times in our lives require us to do the work. Sometimes it’s only when we acknowledge our division and brokenness that we can begin rebuilding a sense of unity. We can try to ignore the signs, or we can roll up our sleeves and do the difficult stuff. We can have the tough conversations, tell the hard truths, and try to heal.

Turbulent times in our larger lives require the same. This moment in the life of this nation has been years, decades, probably centuries in the making. The division is real. And so is the work ahead of us. But as I look around this room, I know it’s the work that we are engaging in.

In my early 20s, I felt divided and doubtful. I ended relationships. I dropped out of school. I treated by body poorly.
But then I confronted my wounds. I accepted help where it was needed. Now I have a partner that I have been in a HEALTHY relationship with for a decade. I have a masters degree. I have built up systems and relationships of support that I didn’t have and couldn’t have imagined then. I’m no longer trying to live into predetermined roles; I’m trying to live into my authentic self.

Resurrection happens in Jesus, in the grandeur of the universe, and in the smallness of our own lives. It happens in the times when it feels like it’s not happening at all. When we feel like we’re arguing-- with ourself, with our spouse, with our families, with our nation, with our neighbors, with our co-workers-- and that sense of conflict can make us feel quite uneasy.

It’s doubtful that the author of Luke could have foreseen what would become of the divided spiritual movement of which he was a part. There are SO MANY reasons he couldn’t imagine what we are doing here, right now, today.

It can be hard to discern what is next in our own lives-- where this moment will take us personally or where it will take our larger world. We may not always be able to read the signs of the time... and that’s when we can look to Jesus. Despite those who would try to keep him quiet, keep him out of the synagogue, keep him away from certain members of society, he kept going out into the people, doing the work.

As is evidenced again and again in our spiritual tradition, the life of the church, and the life of the universe, resurrection happens. The explosive deaths of celestial bodies lead to opportunities for Life. Our Earth exists because of a series of deaths and explosions. When we feel divided, let’s learn to put our finger to the wind. Our moments of division serve a purpose in the greater work. It’s the movement of change and re-formation. Reformation. It’s the work of making real peace, not just quiet.

As we all continue that work of making peace in our own ways, and in all the divided places in our lives, let us remember that the work is ongoing. I’ll draw from another spiritual ancestor today in closing, St. Francis:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Amen.

Authority

A heavy focus on historical criticism of the Bible is too narrow a search for meaning and a poorly placed source of authority, given how unstable a foundation historical criticism can offer in terms of certainty.  Dale Martin suggests that the church has historically placed authority in Scripture, not interpretation thereof, and highlights how historical criticism is a form of interpretation and problematizes the search for authorial intent.  I have difficulty extracting the idea of authority from myself.  Since I cannot separate myself from my experience of the world and I can only encounter spirit, scripture, church, and religion in this body and mind, I find it hard to place authority concretely anywhere, since I feel it happens in the interplay of my experience with the world.  I feel that all experience is authoritative in some way because it informs our interpretation of God and Life and is therefore very subjective.  I place authority in "scripture" (which I see as an ongoing process in the relationship with humanity, nature, the text, and God), my experience of nature and people, and in certain schools of thought that I trust to produce fruitful work, but I wouldn't suggest that formula would or should work for other people because their vessel might receive and pour in a different way.  Perhaps because "good" authority is given/earned (and not coerced), it must be chosen by each of us individually.  Maybe authority in theological work is useful as a concept that is intensely individual.  

What is Love?

Based on:
John 21:15-19
Those Winter Sundays by Robert Hayden

Sermon delivered July 14, 2019 by Joliene Wade Gatlin, MDIV at the Dorsey Family Reunion in Jekyll Island, GA.

What is love?

I think it's a question we all grapple with throughout our lives.  What does love look like?  We all seem to understand there's a difference in the kinds of love we have for different things.  How I love my mom is different than how I love potatoes.  How I love my husband is different than how I love my cats.  How I love myself is different than how I love God.  So:  what does love-- this love that Jesus is talking about-- look like?

Well, I tried to search instagram for that question by searching the hashtag "love."  That was disappointing.  I expected to find images of romantic love, which is my primary association with the word.  Most often I found selfies or objectified female bodies.  What is love?

I searched the question on Google.  The first non-advertising result was actually biblical, so I clicked on that and after a few biblical examples of how God loves everyone, the website assured me that we all sin and deserve God's judgment and asked me if I'd like to become a follower of Jesus.  When I clicked the link that said I already was one, it wanted all of my personal information.  So I guess if I were following that website's logic, love is slightly invasive.

Love on television is mostly romantic and often fickle or petty.

Our families and romantic relationships can be wonderful or terrible examples of love...

Perhaps our media and public culture lack many good examples of love because there's something decidedly unglamorous about about authentic love like Jesus talked about.  In our media, we seem to like explosions, drama, and larger than life circumstances! ... and sometimes love is big and exciting or big and tragic-- don't get me wrong-- but most of the time... most of the time it's as glamorous as feeding sheep or warming a cold, creaking house.

It's often imperfect.  Sometimes even ugly.  And perhaps more often than not, it's mundane.

This biblical passage from the Gospel of John may remind us a bit of some conversations with those we love.  Maybe like Mom asking you to take the trash out-- "Mom, I SAID I would do it."

Or when we ask our partner over and over if they're sure they're okay.  "I'm FINE."

Perhaps it's meant to elicit that kind of intimate association for us.  But it's also meant to parallel an earlier passage in the Gospel of John.

Now this is a post-resurrection story.  Jesus asks Peter 3 times if he loves him.  Some of us may remember that before his crucifixion, Jesus tells Peter he will betray him 3 times before the "cock crow," the changing of guards in Jerusalem... and Peter does.  He denies Jesus 3 times.  He fails to speak truth because of fear.

Love is imperfect.

But this is a resurrection story and Peter gets another chance to get it right.

One of the questions we might be asking about this story is:  who is Jesus' flock?  Is he asking Peter to take care of his mother and siblings?  No.  Actually, Jesus asked a different disciple to care for his mother in chapter 19.  When Jesus asks Peter to feed his sheep, I think he's talking about that kind of love that is bigger than you or me.  The neighbor-love that we hear about in the Bible.  It's the kind of love that Jesus' ministry was all about and yet we still have trouble discerning in the realities of our lives.

Jesus, again and again, did what society forbid him.  He ate and mate friends with people whom society and religious authority told him he should not.  He listened to people unlike him and learned from them, even though most people would have suggested there was nothing he could learn from "those people."

When Caleb and I were on our honeymoon, we spent some time in Edinburgh.  While we were there, we toured the Brittania, the Queen of England's retired yacht.  It's this giant, luxurious royal residence at sea.  One of the most absurd things I heard while I was on that tour was that all of the cleaning was done at night so that the queen didn't have to see any of it... and if any of it couldn't be finished by the time she was awake and the queen happened to come by while one was cleaning, one would have to freeze and stop working until she was gone.

This, from my perspective, is the opposite of Neighbor Love.  It seems like the task of washing a floor is so far beneath the queen that not only will she not do it, but she will not even look at it.  The person performing the task is not to move-- almost as if they're no longer human, but an inanimate object.  As if knowing how to wash a floor would somehow sully her.  It's kind of far from Jesus washing the feet of his disciples.

Neighbor love is about loving those whom some people in the world might tell you it's forbidden to love-- people who look or think differently; people of different ages; different genders; different sexualities; different skin colors; different religions; different economic backgrounds... the list goes on.

As the Queen of England or someone frozen mid-scrub aboard the Brittania might be able to tell you, it can be uncomfortable to share space with people we think are unlike us.  After all, the wrold places these dividing lines between us and tries to tell us we're too different to get along.  We consciously and unconsciously allow these categories to keep us separate.

I was listening to talk radio the other morning and heard someone say something that rang very true to me.  People in positions of privilege are often uncomfortable being uncomfortable.  You might say of course-- everyone's uncomfortable being uncomfortable.  But people who don't carry certain categories of privilege often feel uncomfortable without it being obvious to others.

When I started working retail in a high end retail store, there was something uncomfortable about talking to someone who was going to spend $1,000 on a pen.  Not because I disliked people who could afford $1,000-pens, but because I was afraid of saying something wrong-- something that might embarrass me.  If I were shopping in that store (which I probably wouldn't have been, since there wasn't much I could afford), I probably wouldn't strike up a conversation with someone buying a $1,000 pen,  but because I worked there, I had to.  I had to get over that discomfort.

I'm very grateful for that decade I spent working retail because it helped me figure out how to talk to people I might not otherwise talk to-- which is most people, because I'm an introvert.  I also got to work with a diversity of people I might not have gotten to know otherwise-- different ages (high school to well past retirement), different religions, different sexualities, different levels and forms of education, different countries of origin, different family backgrounds, different ethnic backgrounds, folks dependent on their income and others working for "fun money" or "something to do."

If our life doesn't "serve" these diversities to us by virtue of our career or our school or our other habits, how do we form these connections?

Perhaps it is good for us to ask, when we feel uncomfortable, why we do... and ask if perhaps we need to.  The only was to get used to the temperature of the water is to get in it, right?

I know that the family connections I have made over the years, with people distantly and closely related, have been because of a willingness to break barriers: to tell truths we're embarrassed about or the struggles we wish we could hide well.  True connections are made in moments of vulnerability, when we truly give another person something of ourselves to hold.  They are made when we show ourselves to someone without expectation, with a willingness to receive their honest truths in response to our own.

Glennon Doyle Melton, an author, activist, and founder of the online community she calls "Momastery," suggests that one of the most radical things she does as a "love warrior," as she calls it, is to introduce people to one another.  When we commit to getting to know people, being around them, talking to them, and engaging with them in humble, human conversation, our fear cannot survive.  She shared excerpts from emails she has received, which I want to share some of with you:

"I thought all conservatives until my brother-in-law came into my life-- just one of the kindest guys I know... My church taught me to mistrust and fear gay people, but then my daughter came out and everything changed... I grew up in a town with so much racism.  It took my move to the city to understand that it was all based on fear and ignorance... I've never trusted a single Christian in my life until I started reading about you... I used to think liberals were just dumb, but then I went to this meeting and met a bunch of liberals doing some seriously smart, good community work... My dad taught me to be afraid of Muslims, but this new Muslim family moved in next door and..."

...

This epilogue chapter of John begins with Peter saying he's going fishing.  Not like he's going on a fishing trip-- there's no family reunion coming for Peter-- he means he's returning to his old life, to his old career as a fisherman.  Jesus is crucified.  The party's over.  It's time to go back.

But that's not what resurrection life is about and that's not what Peter ultimately does-- he goes on to lead the church.  Resurrection life can't be about doing the same old thing.  It has to be about growing our edges, widening our circles of compassion, and inviting more people to the table.

Love isn't selfies.  Love isn't accepting Jesus Christ as your personal savior or signing up for a mailing list, it's letting that love change you life going forward.  It's speaking truth despite fear.  It's feeding lambs.  It's lighting the fire in a cold house before anyone else gets out of bed.  It's changing poopy diapers, sitting in uncomfortable hospital chairs and courtroom benches, and having humble conversations with strangers.  It must be chosen and acted upon because we all know that we don't love because we are told to or because we think we should.

As we go forward into the world and continue to navigate the close and distant connections that we maintain, I hope that we can all fearlessly commit to the kind of brave love that Jesus asked of us.
It can be tedious or mundane.
It can look like growing a fire in the cold of winter as much as it can look like birthday parties or weddings.  Real love happens in the in-between moments-- the ones that happen on a Tuesday and don't make good stories.
The silly inside jokes that you can't re-tell and the expressions on someone's face that you can understand without words.
Love happens in the silence as much as the laughter.  May we all know those deep moments of love that we can never convey.  The kind of love that burns low and long in a winter fireplace.  The kind of love that keeps us coming back, year after year, committing to each other, whether we have things to brag about or complain about, knowing that we can find in each other the hands, feet, face, and forgiveness of God.

What do I mean by "internal hierarchies"?

What I meant by "internal hierarchies" was mainly two things:

1.  The ways we have been conditioned (in our thinking and feeling) to reinforce hierarchy and division-- our internalized racism, classism, xenophobia, homophobia, binaristic thinking, etc. (as opposed to the external work of changing legislation, practical inequities, access to resources, etc)

2.  The ways we have been taught to value ourselves and our particular skills, gifts, and lack thereof in ways that privilege certain skills and gifts unnecessarily while punishing those who have difficulty mastering certain skill sets.  I think of the way that our education system tends to favor certain skills and learning styles and how this can both stifle gifts and lead brilliant children to think they aren't smart.  I think of a quote I have seen attributed to Einstein:  “Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

I think this extends to personality traits as well.  An example might be extroversion verses introversion.  Extroverted traits are encouraged and rewarded in our society and introverted traits are often painted as strange or rude.  Our ways of internalizing these standards can lead to exhaustion and self-hatred. 

This second piece also has external effects, as the examples probably illustrate.  

Music

I don’t think witness should be about conversion.  I think effective witness shares what brings us joy, challenge, healing, and transformation and is characterized by a life of meeting people where they are, loving them hard, understanding them as well as we can, and forgiving shortcomings while resisting abuse and oppression of all kinds in a way that aims toward breaking down hierarchy wherever it exists in the world (including internally).  I suppose this is a theological statement of sorts, in that it is derived from what I think is paramount in the text and tradition.  In fact, these words look very much like my witness when people ask me why I am religious or what God means to me (generally these questions are rooted in a very limited experience of Christianity/clergy).  If I can continue with my music metaphors, I think I want to “evangelize” my faith the way that I would my favorite music.  I don’t want my witness to be about suggesting that my favorite song should be your favorite song or that my favorite part of the song should be your favorite part... and at the end of the day, if you don’t even like that song, that’s okay, as long as my love of the music and singing and dancing is appreciated in its own right, as is yours.  There are types of music that don’t appeal to me, but that doesn’t mean they’re wrong for other people to like.  I can appreciate thematic similarities in our music choices, even if they are executed in very different ways. That said, if the content of your music is harmful or degrading to some people, we'll have another conversation.

Creed

I do not see much of a role for creed in faith communities today, which is why I belong to a non-creedal tradition.  The UCC's non-creedal stance is very important to me because I find most expressions of creed to be exclusionary.  I think there is some sense of authority inherent in “creed” that I resist.  I can respect the ways that some suggest playing with creed, but then I sort of wonder what the difference is between creed or Bible commentary or theology in general if it no longer holds its authority.  I don’t know if I am explaining this well, but I guess I think, “If we are playing with the role creed has played throughout history and removing its declarative, didactic qualities, is it still creed?”  I suppose it is unclear to me why we hold onto this.  

Perhaps it is worth paralleling this with my turn from using “Kingdom” language to “Kin-dom” language.  Is “creed” so fraught with damaging connotations that it makes more sense to discard it?  For me as a fairly “heretical” Christian, the answer is yes.  I also worry about creed’s tendency toward reductive theology in a way I consider somewhat dangerous.  How can you reduce the text and tradition to a 3x5 card?  It seems like the wrong response to “tell me what the Bible says while I stand on one foot.”  Unlike the response, “Love your God with all your mind, heart, and soul, and love your neighbor as yourself,” creed has a tendency to approach a level of specificity that I feel can be misleading because it is also so brief and removed from the context which generated the ideas.   Creeds are complex enough to be subject to literalism and normalization in ways that “Love your neighbor” isn’t.  Creeds seem reductionist to me, but in a way that is also detailed enough to imply that it’s “what you need to know.”

I feel like this is rambling, but my experience of creeds has been as oppressive, not unifying or invitational.  While I like the idea of a narrative heuristic, “creed” holds too many negative connotations for me.  I also think that a non-creedal stance is a commitment to theological diversity in our communities (although that isn’t always the case practically).  

Meditation Noise 12: Thunder and Rain

I invite you to take 5 or 10 minutes to meditate:

Distant Thunder