Sermon for March 11 - Domestic Violence and Abuse

I’d like to start out by reading some words of poetry.

Open your ears, God, to my prayer;

don't pretend you don't hear me knocking.
   Come close and whisper your answer.
      I really need you.
   I shudder at the mean voice,
      quail before the evil eye,
   As they pile on the guilt,
      stockpile angry slander.

 My insides are turned inside out;
      specters of death have me down.
   I shake with fear,
      I shudder from head to foot.
   "Who will give me wings," I ask—
      "wings like a dove?"
   Get me out of here on dove wings;
      I want some peace and quiet.
   I want a walk in the country,
      I want a cabin in the woods.
   I'm desperate for a change
      from rage and stormy weather.

 This isn't the neighborhood bully
      mocking me—I could take that.
   This isn't a foreign devil spitting
      invective—I could tune that out.
   It's you! We grew up together!
      You! My best friend!
   Those long hours of leisure as we walked
      arm in arm, God a third party to our conversation.

And this, my best friend, betrayed his best friends;
      his life betrayed his word.
   All my life I've been charmed by his speech,
      never dreaming he'd turn on me.
   His words, which were music to my ears,
      turned to daggers in my heart.

As some of you may remember from a couple of weeks ago, that this season of Lent we will be journeying to those social deserts, those places we never want to talk about.  And today, we will be discussing domestic violence.  The words that I read, they are words of pain and sorrow.  The author was betrayed by someone they loved, and so they live in a world of fear, as words of music became words of death.  The poet cries out to God, saying “Don’t pretend you don’t hear my cries, O God!  Take me away from this terror, give me the wings of a dove, let me go to some place where I can escape this.”

I cannot even begin to imagine what the experience is like, and I won’t pretend to.  But words like this seem to carry something within them, something that resonates, something that cries out through the author.  Listen again.

Re-read words.

Has anyone heard this poem before?  Or possibly read it? This past week I have been reading a lot of poetry written by women survivors of domestic violence.  Many of the authors cry out for people to hear them.  Many of the authors try to grapple with why someone who claims to love them, could do something so horrible.  They evoke a sense of betrayal, a sense of fear and loss.  At times they bring forth feelings of anger and vengeance.  They are wondrous words of lament.  I was not sure about sharing someone else’s words around so intimate a subject, so instead I chose this poem.  I chose this poem because it is from Psalm 55, from the Message translation, and it carries with it all the same themes that kept showing up in every other poem I read.

Re-read a few selections.

A few facts about domestic violence.  First off, what is it?  This definition is taken from the FaithTrust Institute (http://www.faithtrustinstitute.org/), as are all the statistics I’ll give you.  “Domestic violence refers to a pattern of violent and coercive behavior exercised by one adult in an intimate relationship over another. It is not marital conflict, mutual abuse, a lovers quarrel, or a private family matter. It may consist of repeated, severe beatings or more subtle forms of abuse, including threats and control.”

It is reported to occur in 28% of homes.  These, however, are only estimates based on reports and surveys.  The number is probably higher.  By far, the majority of victims of domestic violence are women.  1 in four women will experience domestic violence in their lifetime.  Witnessing domestic violence in the home, is the strongest risk factor in transmitting violent behavior on to children.  Boys who witness domestic violence are twice as likely to abuse their own partners and children.  Sexual violence and child abuse, are very much related to Domestic Violence, though each could have a sermon to themselves.

For a long time, our scripture, our church has not opposed these horrible crimes.  At best, we have just remained silent, turning our backs on the issue, not offering ears to those whose voices cry out.  At worst our sacred texts, our Gospel story has been used as a weapon against victims.  Perpetrators, or clergy will cite the bible to ensure women believe they are subservient to men, or to force them to stay in abusive relationships.

These I think are misappropriations of scripture and theology. But the Bible still in places seems to condone a violent theology.  These are referred to as “texts of terror”, they highlight a theology of atonement, of sacrifice, they place women as subservient to men, they say that violence is ok.  Each example could receive a sermon to themselves.  I won’t make excuses for them.  They are there, and they need to be dealt with.  But those passages from scripture which can be pulled out from here or there, contradict with the great Gospel message. 

This is the message that we hear spoken in the words of lament from Psalm 55, and Psalm 22 that we read earlier today.  This is the Good news that echos throughout every single one of the Old Testament Prophets, and is woven in and out of the New Testament Epistles.  It is the Good News that walks with the Hebrews out of slavery, throughout their captivity, and cries forth from the apocalyptic book of Revelation.

The Good News that God is on the side of the oppressed.  The Good News that God created us to love us.

You cannot pull out enough one liners from scripture that will contradict the Easter story of Christ which we are leading up to this season.  This is the image that lies at the heart of the Christian faith.

Women and children are crucified everyday.  Crucified by those they love, those they have embraced and held close.  They cry out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  Often they are abandoned by friends, by family, by churches who should be crying out with them, who should be attending and responding to the violence; people who instead fall asleep or deny, deny, deny.  Every time violence is committed in a household, every time abuse occurs, a cross is raised. 

Yet, in Christ we hear God say, “I have been there, I am there, and I will be there with you tomorrow.”

This powerful image of the cross responds directly to the violence of the world.  It says without reservation, that though crosses will be raised up, though the violence of the world will try to reign, though the powerful may try to claim control over things.  They will not win.  Easter Sunday, the story of the Resurrection answers violence, answers oppression, answers abuse, with a resounding “No!” from God, who says “I control life!  Not you and your forces!  And as you have seen from my life on Earth, I am on the side of those who are wounded.”

Domestic violence is NOT the cross people are asked to bear by God, rather it is the cross upon which God joins them.

No one ever deserves to be the victim of abuse.  There is no excuse that can ever be made to make an act of abuse, or a system of abuse acceptable in any way shape or form.  It is the fault of the perpetrator, the one who may try to wash their hands of it, the one who drives in the nails.  It is their responsibility to repent, to change their lives, and that is a whole other sermon. 

God does NOT want us to be crucified.  God does NOT condone abuse.  God who knit us together in our mother’s wombs, God who hovers over us as a hen over her chicks, God who would choose to join us in our flesh, in our skin, who would live intimately with us, only wants love for each and every one of us.

This is the Good News that we must proclaim as the Body of Christ, as the people of the Way.  We are called to not only proclaim with our words, but with our hearts and with our actions, that we will stand with victims and survivors of domestic violence, of child abuse, of sexual violence.  That we will openly resist any system which says that is ok, that says women and children are subservient to men.  We must say that those who commit such acts must turn their lives around, and they must accept that they are responsible for their actions, that they must make amends and will face consequences, if they truly seek sanctification.  We must embody that same compassion that God holds for each and every one of us, share that same love, offer words of hope that things do not have to be this way.  As people of Christ, how can we do anything but?

Sermon for February 19, 2012 - Pilgrimage and the Way

Scripture Reading for this sermon is: Mark 9:2-9

Christianity has gotten pretty easy.  It requires only an hour of our time on Sunday morning.  You just need to show up once to get baptized.  It doesn’t really demand too much of us.  Just believe a few things that don’t have too much of a bearing on our lives.  And very often those things that we are asked to believe will change depending on our life and politics.  We have misinterpreted what it means to be inclusive.  Where inclusivity should mean, if you want to join us all are welcome regardless of race, gender, orientation, or ability; we have used it to become a fast food drive thru with an “order what you want “ mentality.  These are just a few of the ways that Christianity has gotten easier.  It fits nicely into our culture of ease.  We want spirituality, to experience relationship with God, right now with minimal effort on our part. 

Wouldn’t that be nice?

In our scripture reading for today, we read about the Transfiguration of Jesus.  It is the story of Jesus up on a mountain, conversing with Elijah and Moses.  While he is there, he seems to undergo a radical change in front of his inner circle who have climbed the mountain with him.  A cloud descends upon the mountain, the voice of God rings out, “This is my Beloved Son!  Listen to him!”

As I reflected on this story, I read something proposed by the theologian Helmut Thielicke that the transfiguration event does not happen to Jesus, rather it happens to the disciples instead.  This story is not about Jesus, he remains as always the incarnation.  This story is about the experience of the disciples. Up on the mountain, it was something inside of them that changed.  They were shaken, they were rattled, and they saw Jesus in his fullness.  They experienced it only for a moment, but even in that moment, Peter knew he wanted it to last longer.

It is no coincidence that this happened up on a mountain.  Throughout the history of human myth and religion, mountains have become symbolic as seats and homes of the divine, where people encounter the holy.  In Judaism, Moses encountered God and received the Law on Mount Sinai.  In Greek Myth, it was Mount Olympus that was the home of the gods.  In Hinduism there is Mount Meru, the seat of Brahma, and the centre of all things.  Mount Kailash in Tibet is another Holy site for Hinduism, as well as for Jainism and Buddhism.  Mount Kailash is so holy, in fact, that it has never been climbed.  And in Islam, it is in the mountains outside of Mecca, where Muhammed received the revelations from God that would become the Koran.

Mountains reach up to the very heavens, and to ancient people it only makes sense that these would be the seats of heavenly beings.  Trying to climb these vast and mighty peaks would have been daunting, a rare occurrence if it ever even happened.

Even today, they are not climbed half heartedly.  People die every year on the great peaks.  And getting within a stone’s throw of the summits does not guarantee reaching them.  Mountains are intimidating, though awe-inspiring.  They are terrifying while beautiful.  But it was when these three disciples climbed one, Peter, James, and John, that they encountered something marvelous, something inexplicable.  It was through this unknowably difficult journey up the mountain that they experienced God.  This was their pilgrimage.

And that’s the way that Christianity should be.  It should be difficult, because it is difficult. 

What do you know about the practice of pilgrimage?

The practice of pilgrimage has been a part of religious custom since long before Christianity. It is the practice of going on a long journey to some far off destination.  There is the Hajj, the pillar of Islam that calls for Muslims to journey to Mecca at least once in their life if they are able. Mount Kailash is in one of the most isolated areas of the already isolated Tibet, where Hindus and Buddhists make a pilgrimage to.  In medieval times, Christian pilgrimages were common, venturing to the Holy Land, or to a relic site was often considered an act of penance.

Pilgrimages are difficult.  It is in their very challange that they are transformative.  If I just had to cross the street to get to the Santiago Cathedral, El Camino, that famous pilgrimage through Spain, would not be a pilgrimage at all.  It would not have any effect on me whatsoever.  If I could just get in my car and drive past Mecca as I look out my window, how would that effect me?  My pilgrimage will cost me something.  My pilgrimage will not be easy.  It is trial.

This is wisdom that we all know.  Certainly for myself, as I look back at my most trying times, those are the times that forged me.  This past year, though very difficult on a personal level, has greatly effected and strengthened my faith; though I may not always have said that as I went through it.  Anyone who has been through a 12 steps program and met with some success will tell you that it is not easy, but out of it they were transformed.  We are not made, we are not transformed in times of relative ease and abundance.  We are created out of the difficult.  I’m a big Calvin and Hobbes fan, and I always love how every time Calvin goes through something that is tough, his dad shouts out that he is building character.  There is truth to this.

This is the pilgrimage.  This is the journey up the mountain by the disciples.  This is exactly what Christianity should be.  This is how we should be looking at our faith.  As a pilgrimage. 

Christianity must reflect that fundamental truth of life, that out of struggle comes growth, out of fire comes steel, out of death comes resurrection.  That is the great pilgrimage of life that is reflected in our faith.

Christianity should not become a faith that says life is tickity boo.  Any time we try to make our faith easier on people, we are re-enforcing the lie that everything can and should be easy.  We are nodding our heads along with the culture, which tries to sell us that garbage.  And which, we all want to agree with, which we all want to believe for obvious reasons.  But deep down inside, we know it is not true.  We know it is not true because all of us have experienced trial and tribulation.  All of us have experienced suffering and pain. 

And so, if we want our faith to be true, if we want our faith to be deep, and transformative, we need to struggle for it.  It must honestly reflect that reality of life, otherwise it loses all credibility.  It must mimic the trial, the challenge of life, and all the while say to us God is present.  The incarnation exists even in times of difficulty, and it will transform us to new life.  Christianity must challenge us, it must call us to live that eternal cycle of life, death, and new life, resurrection.

For the month of February, our book club is reading Karen Armstrong’s The Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life.  Since selecting this book, I have had a number of people come up to me and tell me how difficult it is.  More than that, some of the steps that she says are a part of the journey to becoming more compassionate are tough.  Certainly the last step, Love Your Enemies, that same commandment from scripture, is not easy.  I have had numerous people express to me how intimidating this book is, and how intimidating the work she asks of us is.  And to all of that, I say, Good.  It is not an easy book, and the path she invites us to, is not an easy path.  It is hard.  But I find it tremendously praise worthy that everyone who has come to me and said, “this book is hard” or “I really am struggling with this idea”, has also said to me “but I really want to read it.”  What I hear when this is said “I am willing to do the hard stuff… I want to walk the path towards compassion.”  That’s a good thing.  This is a wonderful example of what Christian faith looks like.  Pushing our boundaries, experiencing ideas that may make us uncomfortable and trusting that we will somehow experience God along the way.

And so let us abandon the idea that religion is simply a set of beliefs someone has.  Instead let us see it as a journey.  Christianity is the path we tread, it is the climb up the mountain, it is the pilgrimage we take throughout our whole lives.  One of the earliest names for Christians was “People of the Way”.  It wasn’t “People who believe certain things”.  It was people of the Way.  And as we find out in our Gospel reading, for Christians, that Way, that holy journey, that walk up the mountain, is called Jesus, the Beloved of God, who God tells us to listen to.  God doesn’t say, “Believe this about Jesus”, God says “listen to him.”  Even when the bible uses the term “believe” a more accurate interpretation would be “trust”.  Listen to Jesus, trust in his way, follow him.  As Christians Jesus is our path of pilgrimage.

And it is hard.  It wouldn’t be true, it wouldn’t be relevant in the world, it wouldn’t be worth anything if it wasn’t.  Christianity is hard.  It is our long climb up the mountain.  And yet, it is through climbing the mountain that our eyes are changed to see the glory and wonder of the incarnate God.

Sermon for January 22, 2012 - Following

The Scripture reading for this sermon is Mark 1:14-20

Why are we Christian?  Why do we come to church once a week on Sunday mornings?  Do we come because we just like it?  Do we come because we’ve always come?  Do we come because it is a good place to socialize?  Why are we here?

Following last night’s events I went back to my office and typed a lot.  I didn’t know what to do with my sermon.  So I would write, then cut, then paste, then erase, then write some more, then lie down on the floor, then pace, then write some more.  Rarely have I felt so openly helpless, so ill-equipped in my ministry than I did as I sat staring at a computer screen last night.  Where was my faith in the midst of all this?

At a time like this, the rubber meets the road.  So why are we here?

In our Gospel reading for today we read a truly ridiculous story.  Possibly one of the most outlandish stories in all of the bible.  And it isn’t about a healing.  It isn’t about someone walking on water.  It isn’t about God siding with one army over another.  It isn’t even about the glories of creation or re-creation.  And yet it is one of the most miraculous stories I have read.

It’s about Jesus saying to a few people, “Hey, come and follow me.”  And do you know what?  They do.  Immediately.  Without thought.  They drop their very livelihoods, they leave their families, their possessions, and they follow.  In all honesty, there are no stories in all of scripture that I find half so terrifying as this one.

Think about it.  This is scary.  How many of us, myself included, would walk away from our jobs, would leave our possessions, would abandon our families if Jesus asked us to?  Don’t worry, I don’t think Jesus is asking us to.  But, what did these four disciples encounter? To be honest, though it scares me, I marvel at it as well.  What did they experience in Christ?  What was it that just made them drop everything?  Immediately?

Maybe the question is not, “Why are we Christian?”, maybe the question is more basic than that entirely, “What does it mean to be Christian?”  “What does it mean to cast down our nets and follow Christ?”

It is so easy to drop frivolous words around this story.  Words like, “Oh they found Christ.”  But what do we even mean by that?  “Oh, they accepted Jesus.”  Really?  So what does that mean?

These days words like that imply that we have some sort of choice in the matter.  Some sort of agency in accepting Christ.  We have turned it into a rational head game.  Do this, that, and the other thing and you will be a follower of Jesus.  Believe this, that, and the other thing and you accept Christ.  (Act it out)…  Oh, ok.  Now I guess I’m a Christian.

But look at these four disciples.  They had absolutely no control over what they were doing.  The bible is very clear that they immediately followed Jesus.  They didn’t stop to think about whether or not they should, whether it was a good idea or a bad idea.  They didn’t pause and consider the ramifications of their actions.  They just went. 

So what was it that swept them up?  What took their control away?

My own answer is simple.  They experienced God, they experienced the divine, they experienced holiness, whatever you want to call it when they met Jesus.  Richard Rohr writes that “Anyone who has any authentic inner experience knows God is only beauty, mercy and total embrace.”  To be wrapped up in total embrace, how could they not be swept away?  Once you’ve felt that, once you’ve known that, is there any choice?

More and more I’m coming to the realization that everything about our faith comes down to grace.  That’s all there is, that is all that matters.  Grace! Grace! Grace!  The idea that God’s love comes first.  That all things are created out of love and dwell within that love.  That God’s love is freely and adoringly given.  That there is absolutely nothing we can do to earn that love.  No hoop to jump through, no ritual to perform, no set of beliefs to have.  Alternatively there is absolutely nothing we can do to lose that love, no sin so great, no belief so outlandish.

As Christians we see that Grace embodied in the self giving love of Jesus.  No wonder these disciples dropped everything.  They encountered and knew divine love, and it blew them away.  They were absolutely taken by it!  Because this is so foreign to us, we try to take control of it.  We have created systems that tell us what we need to do in the world or believe about Jesus in order to receive it.  But we can’t control it.  God’s love comes first.

 “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”  This is Paul, and I think it is the Gospel, it is Grace, in the most eloquent language I’ve ever read.  NOTHING can separate us from the love of God.

I think it is important for all of us to know that.

But here’s the question, how many of us know that for ourselves?  It is, in many ways, relatively easy to think it about other.  But, when we’re well and truly honest with ourselves, how many of us think, “My value comes from God’s love for me.  And God’s love is enough.”

That is the basis of all things.  That is where the rubber meets the road.  If we don’t have that, if our value comes from somewhere, something, or someone beyond ourselves, it is that somewhere, something, or someone that we will follow.  If the fishermen saw their value as being the work that they did, they would have never left their boats.  If the fishermen saw their value as what they possessed, they would never have dropped their nets.  If the fishermen saw their own value as being their families, they would never have gone.  The bible is not saying any of these are bad.  The bible is simply saying, our value does not come from them.

This is the most basic element of our faith.  Our value comes simply from God’s love.  Our role as Christians is to long to experience that for ourselves and for the world around us.  That is the basis upon which all things must grow.  I wish I could say what needs to be done to experience that.  But I can’t.  That’s not the way it works.  However, if anyone wants to know that, if anyone longs for that.  Talk to me.   I would love to explore with you, as I explore for myself.  Because God’s love is present, it resides deep within and around us.  We’re invited to know it and to share it.