Ponderings

He was a local businessman not given to flattery and certainly not expected to appreciate the intentionally provocative sermons of the female preacher in town. A conservative to my liberal, Doug and his wife were new members in the small town church that I was serving. I was appreciative of their presence and did not interpret it as affirmation of the questions I raised in the pulpit.

I have always believed that preaching is not about community assent but rather about community empowerment, that provocative preaching is ultimately more nurturing than a steady diet of affirmations. With a passion for the edginess of the prophets, a particular appreciation for the social critique offered by Amos and Micah, I am painfully aware that my voice is sometimes grating. At the end of the day, however, my ego much prefers everybody to be happy.

Aware of this tension, I was all the more touched by Doug’s comment. It came a couple of years after I had moved away, when Doug and I were together for the funeral of a mutual friend. As I was walking across the cemetery, Doug came up to me and said, “I really miss your sermons.” I stopped abruptly and stared. “What? Really?” I asked, quite surprised and not very gracefully. “Well,” he explained, “I didn’t always agree with you, but you always made me think.”

From him the unexpected compliment was all the more meaningful. He was affirming that a sermon isn’t about assent but rather about growth. He could appreciate and learn while not necessarily agreeing with each assertion. His brief comment to me that day in the cemetery affirmed my thesis that provocative preaching can be life-giving.

So I admit to being a bit perplexed by the media’s interest in Barak Obama’s pastor and preacher, Dr. Jeremiah Wright (Trinity United Church of Christ, Chicago). Jodi Kantor of the NYTimes wrote a lengthy article in Monday’s paper about a purported rift between the two and speculated on the ‘racism in reverse’ of Wright’s ‘Afrocentric theology’. While Obama’s theology is worthy of report, and perhaps even the moral character and theology of his advisors bears note, but reporting provocative sermon sound-bytes as news is at best misleading.

We chose our churches because they are places that enable us to encounter the sacred. We chose our churches sometimes because of the preacher, sometimes in spite of the preacher. We chose our churches, and our pastors, not because we agree (or disagree) with each word spoken, but because in the context of the worship experience and the community, we encounter that which is greater than ourselves. Clearly, Jeremiah Wright has been an incredibly effective pastor for Barak Obama, enabling Obama to name and claim an experience of the sacred that is profound and personal. As for each provocative word spoken by Wright in the past few decades?

I shudder to think that the public would assume that members of my congregation espouse every provocative idea that I share from the pulpit. Believing that in the tension we encounter the sacred, I emphatically defend my right to wonder about life as we know it and to ask the politically incorrect questions. In the spaces raised by the questions, the sacred is sometimes more visible. In a culture obsessed with sound-bytes, nuance and wonder are often the casualties. I applaud Jeremiah Wright for daring to ask the hard questions, and Obama for daring to wonder with him. I may not always agree with Obama or Wright, but they make me think. And that is a rare commodity in today’s world.

The publication of the “Gospel of Judas” was last year’s news, largely overshadowed by this year’s ‘discovery’ of Jesus’ tomb. Always a little slow in the pop-culture field, I finally got around to looking at poor Judas’ story this past month. Elaine Pagels and Karen King collaborated on “The Gospel of Judas and the Shaping of Christianity” which was published this spring and offers not only the narrative of the Gospel of Judas but also an insightful probe into its relative importance.

Like the discovery of Thomas’ gospel, this work is important in part because it bears witness to the diversity of thought within the early Christian communities. The meaning of Jesus life and teachings have always enjoyed a certain amount of fluidity in interpretation, but pretty early on the church scene an orthodox position emerged (and was often enforced) regarding the interpretation of Jesus’ death. Essentially the institutional church has embraced Jesus’ death as sacrificial atonement (‘he died for my sins’) with varying amounts of emphasis. Historical scholars, like our own Steve Patterson, have been challenging the monophonic claim of that message but are largely swimming against the current of 1900 years of “tradition”.

The Gospel of Judas is provocative in that it is (most probably) a second century story which directly challenges the emerging orthodoxy of sacrificial atonement. This story wants to revisit the ‘necessity and sufficiency’ of the death of Jesus. At the very time when orthodoxy was being defined, this story was penned in an apparent attempt to offer an alternative view. This story was a direct affront to what the church leaders at the time were espousing, and was thusly thrust into the banned books pile and lost for centuries.

This Judas story has it’s own rendition of the reasons for Jesus’ death, and I can’t say that I am terribly persuaded by the particular thesis. I am, however, incredibly empowered by the presence and significance of this text. If from the very beginning there were active faithful followers of Jesus questioning the emerging orthodoxy, refusing to believe the prescribed teaching on the meaning of Jesus’ suffering and death, than I can more comfortably bring my heresies with me to the table.

Of course it helps that we no longer burn the heretics. At least not literally.

The war is raging out of control in Iraq. Healthcare is being further threatened in the Missouri legislature this month. We’re still reeling from the tragedy at Virginia Tech. But with all of these really important theologically charged global concerns, I am increasingly convinced that what we say and do locally creates the stage on which these world events play. In short, our theology matters.

As the Governing Body works on mission-vision-value statements, which will be shared with the congregation for input and adoption later this spring, we have had rich discussions about the theological diversity and movement of our congregation. We have been very direct and intentional about naming our individual perspectives and beliefs even as we work to identify a foundation which will continue to be welcoming of diverse perspectives.

We have been striving to create an environment grounded in Jesus’ inclusive witness which is open and welcoming for those who have never experienced church and also for those who have left the church wounded. Our community has been a welcome respite for many and for some a long awaited and beloved home. We are honored to be a safe place for both same-gender and interfaith couples. We have as many names for God as we have people in the pews, and a few more! We have people who love the stories of Jesus’ healing and teaching, others who revel in the Old Testament stories, and some who confess angst about the book we call sacred. We have agreed to disagree, claiming the unifying spirit of our (German) “Evangelical” heritage, and relied on educated inquiry and prayer to guide us to greater truth. We are a wonderful and vibrant, if quirky, community.

Because we are a community, because we are alive, there is movement. When I watched my babies sleep I was comforted by the movement of even their sleeping bodies. That which is living is moving. Perhaps this is the underlying tension that I sometimes feel. Movement implies change and change, even when welcome, is uncomfortable. Movement implies relearning and challenge as we search for the familiar touchstones now in new places. Movement implies loss because there is no way to get to point A without leaving point B. As we move towards a place where skeptics and believers can share worship, the creeds are less prominent in our communal gatherings. As we move the furniture of ‘tradition’ into the open air, it seems smaller and oddly more vulnerable. As we welcome new faces, we yearn for the familiar.

As we strive to live the gospel that we recognize in Jesus’ life and teachings, we are attempting to be the change that we wish to see in the world. Acknowledging our own pathway to God through the life and teachings of Jesus, we are intentionally working to create a safe space for children to grow and discover that differences in creed can be not only tolerated but also celebrated. Respecting the presence of God in all creation, we hold the mystery of mental illness; acknowledging the pain, refusing to accept the ignorant sound bytes, and striving to make safe space for those who suffer and their families to find a healing balm. Claiming the healing narratives of Jesus’ story, and the traditions of Elijah and Elisha from whence they emerge, we believe that health care is not a privilege but a human right and are thereby moved to respond to the unfolding events in the Missouri legislature. Grounded locally, we can respond globally.

Coming of age in the young years of the “pro-life” movement and the early days of AIDS was a minefield. Although I escaped with all of my extremities in tact, many of my friends did not. The messages were decidedly complicated and I yearned for youthful righteousness. As a religious liberal, I rallied around the cause of women’s reproductive choice, actively opposed the nomination of Robert Bork for the Supreme Court, and lamented the role of the church in persecuting the already vulnerable gay community.

Given my liberal credentials, my lack of visceral reaction to yesterday’s announcement that the Supreme Court had backed a ban on “partial birth abortion” was inexplicable. If I could identify any emotion in reaction it could only have been relief, which of course is nothing short of treason for a pro-choice preacher. Confused not by the decision but by my response, I found myself reading the morning news with more genuine interest.

Although I am old enough to have heard the horror stories of the pre-Roe days, I am young enough to have never faced those draconian choices personally. Undoubtedly, this privilege is a piece of the calm with which I read the news. Not having faced the back alley myself, or with my friend, or (God forbid) with my daughter, I can afford to be open minded.

I’ve also been blessed with a friend whose instinctive opposition to abortion is as innate as my passion for choice. Only once have this friend and I talked candidly about our positions, knowing that such conversations are fraught with explosives. Nevertheless, in this brief and poignant exchange I was touched by the genuine faithfulness of two apparently oppositional perspectives.

Mellowing happens with age, and to be sure my response (or lack of same) to the news is indicative of my aging. Yet I am increasingly concerned about the danger of either pole in this particular culture war. Clearly the pro-life drive to outlaw all abortion, prohibiting access even to such basic interventions as the “morning after pill”, will drive us back into the frightful coat-hanger alleys. The opposite pole, where I am more likely found, has become increasingly uncomfortable for me. Not because I have any less commitment to women’s moral agency. I do not perceive an embyro to be synonomous with human life. I believe in all options counseling and understand many situations for which abortion is a responsible choice. Yet I find myself unsettled in discussions about late term abortions. Perhaps my growing sense of unease is best summarized by Martin Luther King’s lament that “our scientific minds have outpaced our moral ones”.

With the momentous advances in medical technology, the creation of life and the ability to sustain and nurture life far outpace any expectations in 1972. Although neo-natal science doesn’t change the essential notion of woman’s moral agency and thereby right to make the choices for her own body, the definition of when life begins and when another moral agent is present certainly begins to get more complicated. Late term abortions and premature babies seem to have disturbingly similar gestations periods.

I am no less offended by the vitriol of the so-called pro-life movement than I was the day before yesterday. Regardless of my stance on the morality of abortion, the right to safe and legal options seems to me a fundamental human right. The dogmatic refusal to acknowledge any impact of science on choice, on the other hand, seems irresponsible. I yearn for conversation that brings the moral quagmire out into the open, allowing questions to be candidly expressed and science to be honestly explained.

Perhaps such conversation rightly begins in our community of faith.

With spring break and holy week behind us, it is time to talk about the important issue in Webster Groves - the swimming pool. Today I share my annual rallying cry to integrate the community pool, specifically the Webster Groves community pool. Although sharing a school district and array of recreational programs, residents of Rock Hill are not allowed in the Webster Groves community pool (except when accompanied by a Webster Groves resident).

In the wake of segregation, residency restrictions have become common for community pools. Kirkwood, for instance, added residency restrictions when building a new pool eight years ago. Laudably they first approached the contiguous municipalities and offered an “opt in”; residents of municipalities that opted in can use the pool, residents of municipalities that did not cannot. With children the primary users of community pools, school districts are a natural dividing line and municipalities opted in and out along school district lines.

As a resident of Rock Hill, I acknowledge that this is personal. One summer the wound was salted when my daughter joined the Webster Swim Team. Because the team is chronically under enrolled, Rock Hill residents are welcomed. A bonus for team members is that they and their families can use the pool (paying non-Resident fees). I sat on deck that summer and watched in amazement while PTO business was conducted poolside and classroom alliances were forged in the water. Important relationships are formed, but not all the community is at the table (or the pool).

Although there were some quiet conversations between the leadership of Rock Hill and Webster Groves a few years back about the pool, Rock Hill residents have not been invited to share in the cost or the benefit of a community pool. Why? Demographically the two municipalities are distinct. The median household income varies by $13,000 ($60,524 in Webster, $47,860 in Rock Hill) and the racial make up is different. Only 6.4% of Webster Groves’ 23,230 residents are African-American while Rock Hill boasts much more diversity with African-Americans making up 27.4% its 4,765 residents (half of the African-American students that live in the school district are residents of Rock Hill). Are race and class differences that dictate need for separate swimming pools? Last spring Webster announced that a limited number of non-Residents, when sponsored by a Webster resident, could purchase a membership for about $600 (double the resident rate). While certainly not a welcome mat, this is undoubtedly a small step with a huge shadow.

The exclusivity of our pool policies sends a subtle but unmistakable message about what we believe. We lament the “achievement gap”, we march in the MLK parade, but the pool rules bear witness to another set of beliefs. Instead of hand wringing about the impossibility of getting Israel and Palestine to the table, we might have more success a little closer to home.