Ask any of my staff at Billings First, and they will tell you that I am a huge fan of Christian writer, Rachel Held Evans. She writes with a great sense of humor, relevance, humility, and honesty. She works hard at her craft. I am not near the writer she is and am profoundly jealous of her writing clarity and the way she seems to have a grasp on the pulse of Christian Church life in North America. I am also excited by the goodness (as in virtue) of her writing, and how she seems to be growing right before our eyes. Her writing is bending toward more and more of a theology of liberation. My assumption is, because our culture bends so against that understanding and life, that when people grow into those understandings, they do so out of a rootedness in something or someOne transcendent.
Recently, I listened into a podcast Rachel was a part of in which she asked the question: "What is the difference between being prophetic and being an ass?" She said it so forthrightly that the first time I heard it I laughed and almost cried. Rarely do I hear such true and important questions asked in church community life. As I do often with Rachel, I experienced a profound sense of gratitude for putting that question out into the stratosphere.
I want to try and answer that question as best I am able. At the least, continue the conversation and hope more people weigh in. I do not claim to be an expert at prophetic speech. I try my darndest to be faithful in working at it.
First, I think it's important to say that there will be people who forever think you are an ass by being prophetic. It is much like some strong women who will be called the "b" word just for being outspoken and present. And it's a fine line that often depends on context. If there are people's lives at stake that rely on your voice to speak loudly and often to save them or bring the public eye to them, then we should be big and loud asses.
I think part of walking that fine line as a prophet is someone who seeks to widen the circle of kinship. Father Greg Boyle does a great job describing this. Rachel does that on a regular basis with the LGBTQ community. She knows she has evangelical ears and eyes listening to her and reading her material. I would bet that she also has people in the LGBTQ community who are important to her, near and dear, and she clearly sees it as her task to transform hearts so that the circle is drawn wider and others might see people in the LGBTQ community as kin.
When one is not speaking prophetically, I have no sense of their kinship. They are not introducing me to anybody. They are not in relationship. It appears to me that someone who speaks as an ass has more interest in being right than they are in building kinship. When I am an ass, love is not at stake. I am.
Again, it is often easy to accuse someone of being an ass if they are pushing all of your buttons.
For example, I am sure most people experience me as an "ass" when I share how important inclusive language is to me and to our wider community. Every time I share, however, I relate that I know my daughter is out there listening. Every week she hears the "Our Father" without many Sundays with any balance. It is important because when she was younger, our strong and gifted daughter would argue with Tracy and me that God was certainly a man. And she made it clear that it had to do with a form of male strength and intelligence over female strength and intelligence. Repetitive church worship had taught her well. I want people in my congregations in relationship with this powerful young woman that is my daughter. After all, we named her Divine Wisdom (i.e., Sophia).
I still remember a pastor of one of our large UCC flagship churches coming to do an informal job interview with me for the Associate Pastor position that I later learned would be about replacing her. I was honored and more than a little nervous.
Halfway through the conversation, however, she related to me that she was a little upset about a present colleague who had preached against the war with so many veterans within the congregation. How could he do that?
In a way, I think she was saying, "Part of the role as pastor is recognizing your kinship with your congregation." I agreed.
I also remember telling her that every time I stand to preach there is a pew reserved for Guatemalan refugees and people struggling for justice in Chiapas. When I was in those geographical locations, with those people, I made promises to them of who I would be. What I was trying to say is that I would betray them if I did not acknowledge my kinship with them.
So I remember those people when I sit to type or stand to preach. As Guatemalan poet, Julia Esquivel might say, "They threaten me with their resurrection." When I speak or act on immigration, food justice, or free/fair trade, I try to remember them as my kin. I often do a piss-poor job with that. So speaking prophetically is also about working on myself to be drawn further and further into relationship so that I speak from a place where my destiny is tied to the destiny of others.
I think that is the definition of kin. Your destiny must be tied to the destiny of others. So that even though they may not look like you, be of the same ethnicity, race, or orientation, you risk enough solidarity to be considered kin. In other words, you are a real sister or brother. Now the pulpit is yours.
Ok, that's a start. I want to add as I go along. How to be prophetic and not an ass:
1. Draw the circle of kinship wider.
Showing posts with label Chiapas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chiapas. Show all posts
Saturday, May 9, 2015
Monday, February 9, 2015
Sermon, Fifth Sunday after Epiphany, February 8, 2015
B Epiphany 5 BFC
2015
I Corinthians 9:1,
16-27
February 8, 2015
Many of you will
receive a letter this week talking about a mission delegation I will be on in
late March to Chiapas, Mexico. I will present
more about that delegation after worship on Sunday, February 22. I hope you will attend to learn a little bit
more about me and some prospects for the future of our church and perhaps even
the Montana-Northern Wyoming Conference.
I spent a little
under a year as a UCC missionary in Chiapas working with the Roman Catholic
Diocese there. Because that missionary
stint was in between my second and third year in seminary, I needed a mentor to
receive seminary credit for my experience.
What I got in a mentor was a person full of a sense of humor, courage,
humility and kindness in Bishop Samuel Ruiz Garcia. Nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize several
times, Bishop Ruiz came to and was converted in his ecclesiastical office in
much the same way as the late Oscar Romero, the martyred El Salvadoran priest,
who you may have seen is now up for sainthood.
Like Romero, Bishop Ruiz was a man of letters who was eventually converted
by the poor and oppressed in his diocese.
He loved gadgets and was an avid ham radio operator that spent time
learning English and the seven Mayan dialects in his diocese by listening.
I remember sitting
beside him at a grand banquet for the diocese to which he invited me. To my left was Bishop Ruiz. To my right were a group of several Maya teenage
girls who spoke the Chol dialect, given away by their colorful blouses. They went on and on in conversation with each
other, often softening to a whisper as they stole glances at Bishop Ruiz. When he thought it appropriate, he broke into
their conversation with a smile and spoke something in Chol to them. As they realized he had understood every
single word they had said, their faces turned a bright red, their hands came up
over their mouths in surprise and embarrassment, and they all joined together
in laughter. With the grace and good
humor he always kept, he smiled at them to let them know there were no
worries. When he rose to speak, he spent
the next 30 minutes encouraging Biblical literacy in the diocese by explaining
the Exodus story to all of the people gathered, sounding not unlike Dr.
King.
Bishop Ruiz
mirrored this beautiful spirituality of mission explained by the apostle Paul
in one of his letters to the political associations in Corinth—the radical Scripture
verse we have before us today. Paul
writes, “To the Jews I became as a Jew . . . to those under the Law I became as
one under the Law . . . to those outside the Law I became as one outside the
Law . . . to the weak I became as the weak.”
In a society that had become about spiritual ambition and societal
advancement, “puffing oneself up”, Paul shares God’s love for diversity and
freedom so that all might know Christ’s love and peace. He becomes and values the people to whom he
is in mission. He learns what it means
to be one of them.
We all know this in
the home district, right? When someone
comes into our neck of the woods to tell us what is what in the world there is
a certain Montana litmus test. Or if
they are from western Montana, maybe an eastern Montana litmus test? Or maybe if they live in eastern Montana,
what it means to be a part of a downtown church? It was in your church profile, for heaven’s
sake and part of what is one of our identity statements. You should have seen when our church choir
sang, “Downtown!” Billings First
Congregational Church, a historic downtown church. We all want to know that whoever has come to
missionize us values what we value, identifies with us, thinks we’re basically
“good” people and strong people and speaks our language.
As was mentioned in
the introduction to the Scripture passage for today, the ancient city of
Corinth was incredibly diverse, a melting pot of ethnicity and culture. It was destroyed by Roman forces in 146 BCE
and then refounded as a Roman colony by Julius Caesar in 44 BCE. At its refounding Julius Caesar repopulated
the city with ex-slaves, other surplus populations from Rome, and army
veterans. It was reorganized as a
thoroughly Roman city, the urban elites defining the architecture and
rebuilding to orient people toward the Roman Temples. The very wealthy sought to establish unity
amidst its multicultural, multi-ethnic groups around the many festivals and
forms of homage given for and on behalf of Caesar. Corinth was a seaport, trade and commerce
coming from all over the Roman Empire with an influx of outsiders. Because of that influx and because so many of
its people had been transplanted from elsewhere, however, the whole city itself
had air of social rootlessness and a lack of cultural orientation among its
many peoples.
Not unlike the rest
of Rome, there was a gaping gulf between the haves and the have nots in
Corinth. Three percent of the population
would have been extremely wealthy, living in luxury and owning most of the
productive land. The remaining 90
percent of the population lived in or below subsistence level.
The Roman Empire
was a slave society. Slaves were so
inexpensive that slave ownership went far down the social scale. It is estimated that slaves in the Roman
Empire made up as much as 1/3 of the population. Slaves were nonpersons, with no legal rights
and permanently stigmatized as dishonorable.
Some had it better off than others, but all slaves experienced what
might be called a “social death” in losing all semblance of family, society,
and cultural identity of their origins.
With so much of
Corinth also re-populated by ex-slaves, those who were now descendants of those
ex-slaves would have been systematically stripped of their race and any other
previous identity, lacking a common ethnicity and culture in their ancestors’
“social death.” Therefore, what would
have been left is likely a desire for social status as a prominent part of
their social ethos.[1] Where they had once had no status at all, now
Corinthians reached, grasped, and exploited their new found status over and
against others. The letters to the
Corinthians are filled with Paul enjoining the Christians there not to think
themselves having elevated status because of some special wisdom[2]
or some special spiritual gifts[3]
or even sharing communion without the poor because of their elevated special
status.[4] Imagine that: a group of Christians who think themselves (church lady voice) “more superior” than
others because of their elevated social status.
Isn’t that special?
In contrast to the
social, political, and economic ambitions of the Corinthians, much of New
Testament literature is laced with language that plays with, at times ridicules,
and sometimes even seeks to overturn the widespread slavery system in the Roman
Empire. For example, in the Gospel of
John, Jesus says to the disciples in the farewell discourse, “I no longer call
you slaves, but friends.”[5] In one of the most well-known letters of
Paul he writes what we now call the Philippian hymn--that Christ did not count
equality with God something to be grasped or exploited but lowered himself in
the form of a slave.[6] Think of how that would have played in the
minds of people who heard and saw that Caesar, the focus of so much prose,
poetry, and Temple worship, every darn day you see it, the guy at the top of
the pyramid, was to be the focus of your life’s ambition. While in the proclamations of the Christian
gospel, Christ had chosen to be divine by living at the bottom of the
pyramid—the place of “social death.” How
would that play to people at the bottom of the pyramid?
That is why when I
hear of Christians who seek special status, I wonder if that is even in keeping
with Christian tradition and Biblical witness.
Paul uses two phrases throughout his letter to the political
associations in Corinth which make it clear that the Christian enterprise is
not about arriving at some more elevated spiritual status. Freedom is something not afforded a
slave. So those who had arrived,
socially, politically, and economically, valued that word (freedom) not only as
moving from a nobody to a somebody but also as someone who was spiritually
better. Freedom was asserted by people
of rank asserting their independence from those who might qualify or impinge
upon their ability to do anything in the world.
How attractive this would be to people who had long lived at the bottom
of the pyramid and now had a chance to advance through their spiritual
communities. Using a slogan twice that
was used by people of rank in the ancient world, “All things are lawful,”[7]
Paul immediately moves to qualify the statement by saying, “but not all things
are beneficial, but not all things build up.”[8] It is a reminder that even if we think we
have special spiritual status, we are called back into how our freedom can
benefit and build up the entire Body of Christ, the community.
When I went to
Mexico to serve the United Church of Christ several years ago, I was a rather
poor missionary. Not poor economically. I stunk at it. Spiritually, I was a baby. Even though I knew better, I thought there
were some special gifts I would be able to bring Guatemalan refugees, displaced
persons in Chiapas, heck even the whole gosh darn State of Chiapas. Maybe my excellent words would lift them out
of poverty and misery and lead to peace across the land? Maybe my well-read theological treatises
might help them to draw closer to Christ and turn the hearts of their
oppressors so that they might live in harmony?
I was somewhat amazed that though those thoughts were something I shamed
before I headed off in mission, they were still in my bloodstream. And when I
had had just had enough Spanish to the point where I was exhausted, left
bawling in my bed, I wondered aloud why the people of Mexico did not want my
gifts. Spiritual baby. Not a pretty
sight.
About that time,
Bishop Ruiz had me hop in his car to take a ride up to the small community of
San Felipe. He told me that San Felipe
was celebrating because one of the large land owners had sought to take a home
and the land from a family in the community, and, somehow, some way, the title
to the family’s property had been lost in Mexico City. Huh.
Go figure. When you are wealthy
like that, sometimes all things are lawful.
The community had joined with the family to pester and bother and
persist in writing the government in Mexico City, until, land o Goshen, the
title had finally been found and stop
writing us letters!
In the meantime,
the family had found residence with others and decided, what was beneficial and
to build up the community, was to give their returned home over for a community
center. What a great day. That evening was a lovely fiesta in the new
community center and Bishop Ruiz came out to his car to find someone had placed
a sleeping child, in the back seat of his car for safekeeping. He turned to me with a wry smile and said,
“What are we to do? We have inherited a
child.”
Earlier in the day,
we began the celebration with Bishop Ruiz presiding over Mass. He
led worship from the elevated chancel area.
I tried to be inconspicuous about four pews back as the only white
guy. In the middle of the worship
service, the vaunted Roman Catholic Bishop of San Cristobal de Las Casas, he
who was called “Tatic” or “Father” by the indigenous Maya, he who was nominated
for the Nobel Peace Prize several times over, asked us to exchange la paz del Cristo. I turned to my left and passed la paz with several of the people from
San Felipe—all gracious and hospitable they were, making me feel welcome. When
I turned back to my right, I was engulfed in a giant bear hug by Bishop Ruiz
who whispered in my ear, in English, the first English I had heard in two
weeks, “May the peace of Christ be with you, Mike.” I bawled.
It is what spiritual babies do.
To the Jews he
became as a Jew . . .to those under the Law he became like one under the Law .
. . to those outside the Law he became like those outside the Law . . . to the
weak and spiritual babies, he spoke beautiful words of English so that I might
know we are all free. But . . . it really is all about what is beneficial and
builds up. May you hear God speaking in
your own language, but may you also learn how to speak the language of others, who
have been waiting to hear, far longer than two weeks, God’s peace spoken in
their ear. Amen.
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