Category Archives: Judgment

Between Jesus and Me

5 Replies

In this week’s coverage of the scandalous words of Representative Todd Akin of Missouri (see: Akin, “legitimate rape”, “shut that down”), his frantic retraction, and the push from other Republicans for him to step down from his race (not because he was wrong, but because he was public)… I have run through a gamut of emotions.

I have revisited how I felt when assaulted by men who did not heed my words to stop and how I felt for friends who experienced far worse assaults than I did.

I have pondered what I will say to the child I currently carry in my womb regarding rights, women, and America.

I have been angry at the attempts to discuss abortion instead of the very real rights and bodies of women- women who are currently alive, women who (theoretically) have constitutional rights, women who are not magical vessels for pedestals or damnation.

All of these emotions swirled in my mind until I had this exchange with myself, in my head, while driving:

I’m so angry about this. I want to write about it, but I don’t know how. 
What specifically are you angry about? 
Being made to feel helpless. 
How will you expand upon that? 
I would discuss previous times this has happened. 
Boring. 
Well, I could… talk about it makes me feel depressed and vengeful when men tell me what I can and can’t do with my body.
To whom does your body belong? 
To me… 
What about R (your husband)? 
No, except through my consent and our mutuality. My body belongs to me. 
What about your children? 
See above re: husband. 
What about to Christ- think of your baptism? 
Ugh. Now Jesus is just another man, laying a claim on my body. 

WAIT A MINUTE.

This is where I nearly wrecked my car. I could not believe the sentence about Jesus ran through my head- exactly like that. “Now Jesus is just another man, laying a claim on my body.” I pulled into the parking lot at work and sat, attempting not to hyperventilate, and thought about that sentence- several times.

The thing is… I do believe that my baptism into Christ’s death and resurrection does have a claim on my body.

AND NOW I AM RESENTFUL OF ANYONE WHO WOULD DIMINISH THAT RELATIONSHIP BY ATTEMPTING TO PLAY GOD WITH MY PERSON.

That’s right, Akin and other supporters of fetal personhood over maternal/female personhood, by attempting to abort my status as a person via amendments and rhetoric, you nearly came between Jesus and me.

It seems that you’d like to think you’re God- knowing the ins and outs of human bodies and minds, but it ain’t necessarily so. In fact, it necessarily ain’t so.

You are not God.

You are not God. I am not God. You are not me. You are not a mediator in the relationship between God and me. You do not get to claim that your work creates me, saves me, sanctifies me, redeems me, or frees me.

You don’t own me. Or any part of me.

What you have not made, what you have not saved, what you are not making whole… you may not claim. You cannot claim. You will not claim.

Jesus appreciates that women can think. I refer you to his conversations with the Canaanite/Syro-Phoenician woman (Matthew 15, Mark 7), in which Jesus yields to the reasoned argumentation of a woman who pleads for the healing of her child.

Jesus believes that women have strength and that women who do not have or may not have children are worthy participants in community life. I refer you to Mark 5, in which a girl who is not yet bearing children and a woman who may be past child-bearing are both healed and restored to their families/communities.

Jesus understands that social situations may lead a woman to make poor choices or to feel trapped by circumstance. Thus, Jesus tells the woman caught in the act of adultery (brought forth without her male partner in John 8) to go and sin no more- granting her the personhood to be bigger and resistant to the male forces that would shape her world. Jesus gives hope to the Samaritan woman at the well, in talking with her as a person of intellectual being, capable of seeing her way to new life, new choices, and renewed hope.

Jesus affirms that women can handle and do handle many types of jobs and tasks. Sometimes they sit and listen, like Mary in Luke 10, to learn and to be part of discussion. Sometimes, like Martha in the same story, women play the role of host- making guests comfortable and providing a gracious space.

Jesus inspires the gospel writers to understand that women are an integral part of the salvific act of resurrection and sharing the good news. All four gospels have women playing significant roles in the spread of the resurrection story. Not as gossipers, but as evangelists- sharing truth with all whom they encounter.

As I consider this Jesus, this Jesus whom I claim to follow, this Jesus in whom I am said to be clothed, this Jesus whose story still brings hope to me and many… this Jesus is a man whom I am willing to allow to lay claim to my body.

Because He sees it.

He knows it.

He saves and renews it.

Furthermore, if and when there is a time when I feel separated from God, because of what has happened to me, because of what I have done, because of choices or actions… I can trust that Jesus will be with me. He will not abandon me. I am and remain a person to (and through) Christ.

But you, Akin and others, … you do not see me. You do not know me. You have no claim on me. And you have dared to attempt to come between me and God, by way of my uterus, my vagina, and my identity as a woman.

Do not offer your words regarding my potential child or other fetal life. Do not offer hasty retractions- apologies for having been caught, not for your actions. Do not wring your hands about loss of life, when you are so clearly willing to dismiss my life as being less than.

There is one man who can make claims upon my body. That man also happens to be God.

And you, your ilk, your fellow travelers, your co-conspirators…
You. Are. Not. That. Man.

Good reading from this week for includes:

Martha Spong on Old Husbands’ Tales
Julie Craig on To Be a Girl, In this World

Remember Trayvon

5 Replies

Several months ago, I was reading a book to children at church. I pointed out the different skin tones of the kids in the book and asked why the children in the picture looked different. One of the children sitting across from me looked at me like I had crawled out from under a log, “Because they’re people,” he said.

Being “people” means having different skin tones, abilities, hair colors, tendencies, heritage.

It’s great that these 3, 4, and 5-year-olds knew that. May they never forget it.

Apparently, some adults have. Or never knew it.

The stories about Trayvon Martin are breaking my heart. A teenage boy, on his way home from a store, shot to death for being people. For being black people.

There may be enough evidence within a few days or weeks to arrest the shooter, based on witness accounts. (Though, if a black man were suspected of shooting a white teenage, someone would already be under arrest.)

Or Florida’s “Stand Your Ground” laws may protect the shooter, who claims he was defending himself.

I want to see outrage. I want to hear anger. I want to witness righteous foaming at the mouth on the behalf of Trayvon.

I am called to preach forgiveness, but right now not only would I not give the shooter “air in a jug”, I would be likely to beat him with said jug. Remember the presumption of innocence does not mean that someone is actually innocent, just that the court treats them as such.

Then I see a racial slur directed at the president with regard to his re-election: “Don’t Re-Nig in 2012”. Horrible examples here.

I can’t believe I just typed that, but this needs to be called out. I don’t care what you like or don’t like, you don’t say that, print that, wear it, or stick it. Not about the president. Not about anybody.

It’s bad in America for black Americans. Bad. Bad. Bad.

If your response to the sentence above is anything less than, “She’s right”, you’re not paying attention.

The first boy I ever kissed was black. M.W. and I were practicing our multiplication tables when we were 8. We dared each other to kiss. It was chaste, dry, and quick. We went on to memorizing the sixes and no further. This is not my credential, it comes to mind when I think of Trayvon.

Trayvon was someone’s first kiss. Someone’s son. Someone’s friend. Someone’s confidante. Someone’s grandchild. Someone’s customer. Someone’s future employee. Someone’s future employer.

And all that he could have been is no more because of a trigger happy bigot who couldn’t see past the color of Trayvon’s skin. Which was black.

In the Civil Rights era, one could encourage by offering, “Remember the Little Rock 9”, “Think of Rosa Parks”, “Don’t forget the Birmingham 4”, or “Selma”.

If we cannot rise to this occasion by an appeal for justice and neighbor love in Sanford, Florida and across the nation, let us cry out for equality in the name of Trayvon. Remember Trayvon.

Put it in your window. Say it in the prayers at your church. Put it in your Facebook status. Email one Florida politician a day until you’ve gotten to the whole delegation, state and federal. Pray for justice. Pray with your hands, your feet, your dollars, your vote, and, lastly, with your words to God.

If you are not angry enough to speak out for Trayvon, no matter where you live, you cannot delude yourself into thinking that you have been any different than the crowd that will sing “Hosanna” and “Crucify Him” with the same breath.

Yes, I just said that.

If not you, who?

Remember Trayvon. Who died for being black. Who died for being people.

Whose Vineyard is It? (Sermon for 3/4/12)

1 Reply

Mark 11:27 – 12:12
            I don’t know about you, but I am about finished with this year’s politics. I know we have not even voted yet, but sometimes I think if I hear another political story my head might explode. Not only does the rhetoric seems particularly bad this year, but the issues on which people are choosing to focus seem, to me, coming from nowhere. And, I confess to you, this year’s politics are making me judgmental.
            I mean… JUDGY… to extent that I’m not proud of, but seems hard to avoid. I keep trying to think of the 8th Commandment; however, that plan is not going so well. The 8th Commandment, you may remember, is “You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.” We usually interpret this to mean that we should not make things up, speculate, or tell lies about our neighbor. In fact, Martin Luther said we’re not only to fulfill this commandment by omission of lies, but by also coming to the defense of our neighbor, speaking well of them, and interpreting everything they do in the best light.
            Um… I can’t do that with some people. In fact, not only do I not interpret their actions in the best light, I kind of want Jesus to come back, just so he could punch them in the nose. Better yet, I’d like to punch them in the nose and yell, “For God, for country, and for Yale” (or something like that).
            Which pretty much makes me (and you if you’re like me) exactly like the scribes, chief priests, and elders of this story.*These are the people, the men, who make up the hierarchy of the church and the leadership structure of the Jewish community. Jesus does not only unnerve them, but he also frustrates and angers them by the threat he poses to their power and to the order they have lived to carefully cultivate and maintain.
            He uses this parable of the vineyard to pin them exactly where it hurts. This parable appears in Matthew and Luke as well (and for what it’s worth, in the Gospel of Thomas), so it’s fairly certain to be something that Jesus said. The vineyard is a particular metaphor for Israel that appears in several of the prophets, particularly Amos and Isaiah. Israel is spoken of as the vineyard that bears the fruit of God’s grace to the world. Jesus is leading these religious leaders along the path of the story until they come to the end and recognize that he’s talking about them.
            But what’s he saying about them? Presumably, they are the tenants of the vineyard in this allegory and the owner is God. The servants who come to collect the harvest are the prophets. The owner’s son is… Jesus.
            Why do you think the tenants act the way they do? Do you think they are deliberately cruel? Do they really think they will inherit the land if the son dies? Is it possible they began to think the vineyard and all its fruits belonged to them and they were angered by anyone who made it seem otherwise?
            We are talking about nearly a thousand years after King David, when the Messiah, God’s anointed, is supposed to show up and be like David- the 3D experience. People waited and waited. One hundred years. Two hundred years. Five hundred years. Still they waited for the Messiah. Once people waited for a few hundred years, they probably began to wonder if it was true. As they waited, as they were exiled, as the temples fell and were rebuilt… the idea of the Messiah who would come became more and more grand. As they waited, it became easier and easier to think of themselves as the owners of the vineyard.
            The mystery of stewardship, the caretaking of God’s garden of creation, took a backseat to Messianic speculation and preservation of life-as-they-knew-it. (Particularly certain types of power) When Jesus shows up and people proclaim him as the Messiah, not only is he coming to talk about the harvest, he is, in part, shining a light the people who have been keeping the garden. To be clear, he’s not casting all Jews in a bad light, but specifically the people, Jews and Gentiles, who have refused to acknowledge God’s intentions and plans for the vineyard of creation.
            The scribes get what Jesus is saying, the stewardship of the vineyard is going to be opened up… with the criteria of tenancy being faithfulness to the plans of the owner, God. The only criterion of tenancy is faith in the plans of the owner. Not how well you behave, not how much you do, not how good a gardener you are… the owner has faith in you and you are called to respond in faith.
            Which brings me back to the 8th commandment and the people who I want to hit in the name of Jesus. That’s not what Jesus would have me (or you do). The Messiah of grace and peace that upsets the religious leaders of two thousand years ago still expects the same thing today.
            We are certainly called to point out rotten fruit, to say when a vine seems to be rotten. But we are also called to try to love our neighbor. Who is your neighbor? If you wouldn’t call a person a family member or a friend, then he or she is your neighbor. So we have three categories- family, friends, and neighbors. All of whom are with us in God’s garden of this world.
            In anger and judgment, we easily make the same presumption that the tenants make- the assumption that the vineyard belongs to us. That whoever is against us is a trespasser. Then it follows that we begin to think that the harvest is ours. And then we are so focused on what we have done that we will fail to recognize the Messiah when he’s right in front of us, loving us.
            One of the purposes of the season of Lent is to give us time to think about what we need to change and how God is trying to shape and change us. In this challenging church season, we are called to consider that all we have is a gift from the One who made us, knows us, and loves us still. We are called to see our neighbors and to attempt to see them in the best possible light, if we can’t do the same for all their actions. We called to remember that we are ambassadors for Christ and that it is, in part, through what we do that people have an experience of Jesus, of God-in-us. (Which means punching someone in the nose is right out.)
            We are also called to ponder in our hearts the message that the vineyard was opened to all people, through the faithfulness of the Son. Open to all people, with the standard for tenancy being faith… which is itself a gift from God. Which goes to show you that even when we are not able to see a person in the best light, God still sees us through the best light… through the light of Christ.
Amen.

* (Please note the absence of Pharisees, the reform movement that can get a bad rap.)