“Teachable
moment” was an oft-used phrase in seminary to say that although your tender
reed of an idea might have sounded good to you, its utter failure in your
congregation . . ? only means you now have something to learn about how to make
it a future success. Our advisors would
say, “This a ‘teachable moment’ for you.”
“Teachable
moment” was also too often used in seminary to say that . . . although the
congregation does not like you, your ideas, the clothes you wear, your sermons,
your pastoral prayers, or what you bring for the church potluck, you can use
their hatred as a “teachable moment” for the congregation. “Use their hatred,” we were told, “to model
what Christ meant when he said, ‘Love your enemies.’”
Can
you sense my disdain for how the phrase was used to manipulate seminary
students?
I
think real “teachable moments” happen when we are offered or invited to hear
something we may have already known or suspected internally. We know that there is this conventional
story, but we know it is shallow. There
is something untrue or just wrong about this conventional story, and it is thought
to be true because it has been repeated and repeated. But we know that this common story’s
repetition, no matter how loud it has been shouted, or from how high of a
mountain it has been dictated, does not mean that the common story is true. And whether it is through calamity or by
rigorous analysis, a moment arrives when real truth, or a truer story emerges,
bubbles up, and offers possibility and hope for a new way and a new day.
Today’s
Scripture passages are not ones offered or emphasized by the Revised Common
Lectionary for Exodus or rarely so in this Psalm. The Revised Common Lectionary skips over the
last part of Exodus, Chapter 12. I
believe because the actions and image of God are difficult and displeasing. To not read or engage such passages bmgets
the Bible off the hook. I have chosen these
passages for today because I think they present “teachable moments.” I believe these Scripture passages ask us, as
Christians, to make a decision about how we shall engage Scripture.
The
common story is that the Bible is part of a dead or closed tradition. The common story goes like this. One either believes all of the Bible or none
of the Bible. The common story says we
are not to bring our brains to Biblical criticism because, and I quote the
bumper sticker, “The Bible says it, I believe it, and that settles it.”
But
then come parts of a Biblical story like the one we have before us today. The Children of Israel have been in slavery
for some 430 years. God, Yahweh, the
Living God, in all compassion, knows their pain, and has come to deliver them
from slavery and oppression. Meanwhile,
Pharaoh, in all fear and cruelty, commands that all Hebrew male children shall
be killed.
As
if in retaliation for Pharaoh’s genocidal directive, this same compassionate
God wants not only justice and retaliation but something a little more. Not only does this compassionate God want the
lives of all the first-born Egyptian children but also the first born of those
who live in the Egyptian dungeons and the first born of all livestock. Let me make this clear, this compassionate
God kills the Egyptian children, hardly the people any
human being would hold responsible for the oppression of the Children of Israel
and the death of the Hebrew children. Even
more so, this compassionate God wants the blood of those imprisoned by these
same Egyptians and the first born of their livestock as well. One might argue that this is to show the
figurative or metaphorical totality with which God struck down the signs of
wealth and oppression found within the Egyptian Empire. I would argue that this is a teachable
moment. In the Psalm, after the death and oppression
of Exile, is a wish that we would bash our enemy’s childrens’ heads against the
rocks.
For
what do
we teach our children about such a story?
Does 430 years of slavery justify the ruthless vengeance of God, a
response that is not proportionate or located with those actually responsible
for untold suffering and death? Or does
this Scripture verse reflect a people, who have justifiable anger and hatred
and loathing, and use their contempt for the Egyptians to create God in their
image, to have God do their bidding, to reflect the vengeance they would seek
from all of
I
believe such verses are teachable moments for our children. We do not avoid such difficult Scripture
verses, but we bring our hearts, souls, minds, and strength to such Scripture
to say, “The Exodus is a very important story for our faith tradition. It is a living tradition which says we
participate in its meaning—even today.
The story teaches that we need to recognize the real and justified anger
and hatred of people who have been long oppressed and harmed. To not recognize and honor and be honest
about that pain only makes that pain greater in the world. We believe that this Exodus story is an
inspired story because, throughout history, we have seen God acting to liberate
and deliver people who live in slavery and oppression. Our own church, the United Church of Christ,
with its Congregational roots, lived out the Exodus story to help freedom
seekers find safe haven and refuge in their homes and churches because those
people believed in the truth of that story and God acting in that story.”
The
local church I served just outside of Rockford, Illinois, was also the first
church in town and had, as a central part of its mission and ministry, built
three safe houses to provide safe harbor and sanctuary for those seeking
liberation from slavery, freedom seekers.
They broke the law like the midwives broke the law to offer compassion
and radical hospitality.
We
go on to say, “But inspired does not mean ‘perfect’ or ‘directly from God. Human beings wrote the Bible, listening for
the voice of God and tried to see the activity of God in the world. Sometimes the voice of these human beings who
wrote the Bible was too loud or too strong, and they substituted their voice
for God’s voice and activity.
“So
we use our good sense, our minds, to discern and decide when Scripture
describes the voice and activity of God or the wishes and wants of a human
being, maybe an entire people. One of
the questions we use in our church to decide is this: ‘Does this activity reflect a part of the
tradition that is in keeping with a just but also compassionate and loving
God?’ For we know that the core of our
tradition teaches that God is love and full of compassion. Another question we use to decide whether
this is part of our living tradition is this:
‘As Christians, is this Scripture in keeping with the tradition Jesus
chose to live out from his own Jewish faith?’”
This
Scripture provides us with a teachable moment which asks whether the character,
integrity, and name of God we continue to learn about through Christ is more
important--or whether believing that the Bible is without error or human imprint
is more important. What do we tell future
generations? How shall we, on this Sunday,
talk to our children about how we promise once again to be God’s people
throughout this year? How shall we talk
to our children about how we shall be a people who covenant to engage in a
faith that uses our critical minds as well as our impassioned hearts?
In
our national narrative, every year since September 11th, 2001, we
remember the anniversary of 9/11—that horrendous day.
When that despicable
moment happened nineteen years ago, I was turning on Post Road to go up to the
church I pastored at the time, the United Church of Christ in North Hampton in
North Hampton, New Hampshire. As I
listened in disbelief on the radio, instead of going back to work at the
church, I decided to take the short detour up to our house. I quickly turned on the TV to watch with my
mother-in-law, who had come from
We both stared at the TV and then cried. One of the pilots was from ten miles down the
road in
Nobel
Peace Prize winners from all across the world, who saw our country ramping up
for war, tried to tell our nation’s leaders that justice was on our side and
that this was a teachable moment for not only our country but also the world. Over and over again these people and
protesters in our own country and throughout the world begged us to see this as
a teachable moment.
Not too
long afterwards, Tracy and I held hands on the couch and cried as we saw
“shock” and “awe” begin in
What do we
tell our children? How do we tell them
of a compassionate God and what happened with 9/11? Of men who created God in their own image to
hijack planes and create such terror, sadness, and death? And then what will we tell them about what
happened afterward? What do we tell future
generations about the chemical agents we used in Fallujah or the bombing of
hospitals or the drone warfare killing whole wedding parties—even seeking to
extradite journalists who told us the truth about ourselves? It’s a teachable moment.
Around the
same time another story, an alternative story was told. It is the story told of families who lost
loved ones after 9/11 to recognize that warfare rooted in bloodthirsty
vengeance continues the spiral and escalation of violence and refuses real
healing and reconciliation. Calling themselves
the Families for Peaceful Tomorrows, they released a bus ad campaign designed
to promote religious tolerance and interfaith unity. The ads read, “Islamaphobia is not
pretty. Let’s build bridges, not walls. Hate hurts, hope heals.” It reminded people that violence against
Sikh or Muslim people is not patriotic.
It’s a hate crime. Families for
Peaceful Tomorrows unites with like-hearted people across religious faiths
against terrorism and war. Project
Director, Terry Greene, who lost a brother on 9/11 said, “We want to honor our
loved ones by preventing other innocent civilians from dying needlessly.” Families for Peaceful Tomorrows put out a
press release which read, “By developing and advocating nonviolent options and
actions in the pursuit of justice, we hope to break the cycles of violence
engendered by war and terrorism.”[1]
There is
another story, an alternative story that is told. It is the story of a people we normally make
fun of because their values are not locked and caught in values of profit and
progress. It was the story of a man,
Charles Carl Roberts IV, who came from outside the Amish community and entered
an Amish schoolhouse, lining the little girls of the school up along the
chalkboard and shooting ten girls, killing five of them, four of them in the
back of the head, execution style. Sadness,
a need for vengeance, an unbearable terror must have filled that Amish
community in Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania.
And
yet . . . and yet . . .
The family of the shooter, the Roberts family
shared what happened next. The family
spokesperson said an Amish neighbor comforted the Roberts family hours after
the shooting and extended forgiveness to them.[2] Amish community members visited and comforted
Roberts' widow, parents, and parents-in-law. One Amish man held Roberts'
sobbing father in his arms, reportedly for as long as an hour, to comfort him.[3] The
Amish also set up a charitable fund for the family of the shooter.[4] About
30 members of the Amish community attended Roberts' funeral,[5] and
Marie Roberts, the widow of the killer, was one of the few outsiders invited to
the funeral of one of the victims.[6] Marie Roberts wrote an open letter to her Amish
neighbors thanking them for their forgiveness, grace, and mercy. She wrote,
"Your love for our family has helped to provide the healing we so
desperately need. Gifts you've given have touched our hearts in a way no words
can describe. Your compassion has reached beyond our family, beyond our
community, and is changing our world, and for this we sincerely thank
you."[7]
This . . .
is a teachable moment. I think real
“teachable moments” happen when we are offered or invited to hear something we
may have already known or suspected internally.
We know that there is this common or conventional story, something
untrue or just wrong, that has been repeated and repeated. But we know that this common story’s
repetition, no matter how loud it has been shouted, or from how high of a
mountain it has been dictated, does not mean that the common story is true. And whether it is through calamity or by
rigorous analysis, a moment arrives when real truth, or a truer story emerges,
bubbles up, and offers possibility and hope for a new way and a new day. May we find a new way. May there be a new day. May it be so, Yahweh, God of all justice and
compassion. May it be so, Allah, God of
all mercy and compassion. May it be so,
God in Christ, God of all forgiveness and compassion. May it be so.
Amen.
[1] Antonia Blomberg, “9/11 Families Launch Anti-Islamophobia
Campaign For Anniversary Of Tragedy,” HuffPost
Religion, September 6, 2014.
[2] "Amish gather to pray at funerals for slain girls". CTV. 2007-10-06. Retrieved 2008-01-17.
[3] Carey, Art
(2007-10-01). "Among the Amish, a grace that endures".Philadelphia Inquirer. Retrieved 2008-01-17
[4] "Amish School Shooting 2006".Amish News. October 2007. Retrieved 2008-01-17.
[5] Carey, Art, “Among the
Amish.”
[6] McElroy,
Damien (2006-10-17)."Amish killer's widow thanks families of victims for
forgiveness". The Daily Telegraph (
[7] Ibid.
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