A journey of struggle and hope

I was standing outside the 16^thStreet Baptist Church in downtown Birmingham on a beautiful Saturday morning in late October. The sign recalled the evil that had literally exploded at this site on a Sunday morning in 1963. 

A bomb planted by white supremacists went off in the church, killing four black teen girls, injuring others. It would be decades before anyone was brought to justice for that act of terror. It was one in a series of vicious acts against African Americans in Birmingham.

As I stood there with others on a civil rights tour that was taking us through several of the historic cities that were part of the story of righting historic wrongs, notifications began to show up on my cell phone. The news was coming out of Pittsburgh. 

Eleven Jewish people gathered at synagogue there had been killed by a white man with a gun after he had posted anti-Semitic and anti-immigrant statements on social media. 

Another sacred site had been turned into a killing place.

Across the street from the 16^thStreet Baptist Church is Kelly Ingram Park, once a place that served as a staging area for the civil rights protests in Birmingham. It was the place where in May of 1963, the Birmingham police and firefighters attacked children as they protested, spraying them with water cannons, setting dogs on them and arresting many of them. 

In the middle of the park - now dedicated as “A Place of Revolution and Reconciliation” - is a small plaque and tree honoring Anne Frank. She was the young German Jewish girl whose family took refuge in Amsterdam during the rise of the Nazis, only later to be captured and sent to a concentration camp where she died at the age of 15 - a year or two older than the girls killed in the church bombing. 

Evil just keeps returning. Which is why Anne Frank’s words on that plaque were so important on this Saturday morning as we stood outside the site of one atrocity only to be learning the details of another. “How wonderful it is,” she wrote in her famous diary, “that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.”

Improving the world

The people who were part of the civil rights movement did not wait to start improving the world. Even before the dramatic events of the 1950s and 1960s, there were courageous challenges to the institution of slavery, to the degradation of Jim Crow laws, to the brutalities of rapes and lynching that are part of our nation’s history. 

But it was along this road that we traveled - 23 of us from two churches, one predominantly white, one predominantly black - where the struggle for justice moved the nation just a few steps forward. And it was along this road where we could see how many more steps there are before that vision of revolution and reconciliation from the Birmingham park become a lasting reality.

The inhumanity of slavery

We certainly came face-to-face with the horrors of the past. In the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis, there are statues of the kidnapped Africans huddled together on a ship crossing the Atlantic. Many of them would die on the journey. Then there was a statue of a slave auction, a trader taking bids for a woman and her baby. This was, as so many have said, America’s original sin.

A sign in the museum pointed out that by the time of the Civil War in 1860, America had nearly four million slaves worth more than $3 billion. That investment in “human property” exceeded the combined investment in all the banks, factories and railroads in the county. Slavery bolstered the economy of both the North and the South, propelling the U.S. to its status as one of the wealthiest nations in the world. It was a status built on the backs and blood of enslaved human beings.

At the Legacy Museum in Montgomery, Ala., we encountered the personal agony of the slaves. Montgomery was one of the major slave-trade centers of the nation in the first half of the 1800s. Slaves were brought in on trains and on ships that traveled up the Alabama River (the same river that runs under the famous Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma). They were kept in warehouses along Commerce Street, auctioned off in the town square. 

That time in the warehouse was one of the hardest for these men and women. They did not know if they would be separated from their family. They did not know whether their owner would be unusually cruel. Inside the Legacy Museum, we were confronted by holograms of the slaves inside five different cells, each one telling us their story, their fears, their sadness. It was a powerful reminder of the humanity that was sacrificed for the economic engines of the 1800s. And note this - the Legacy Museum is now in one of those former slave warehouses.

Juxtaposition and proximity

A few blocks away in Montgomery is Dexter Avenue King Memorial Baptist Church, where Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. began his work as a young pastor. It was in this sanctuary where the Montgomery bus boycott was launched in December of 1955, with King as the leader. 

The most vivid reminder of that seminal event in the civil rights movement was not here, though. It was in the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis where you can get on a bus and hear the driver order Rosa Parks to move to the back of the bus or face arrest. Then you can see the black residents of Montgomery walking to work as they boycotted the city buses until they were integrated a year later. One of the African-America women with us said as she heard the driver’s voice on the bus, she just began to cry. It made it all so real. 

We had a chance to worship with the congregation at Dexter Avenue Baptist Church on Sunday morning. The woman in the pew behind us had been a member there when King was the pastor. About half the folks there on this morning were visitors - typical of the attendance these days we were told. They came from the Netherlands and from New Zealand as well as from 10 states stretching from Maine to Oregon, from Minnesota to Louisiana. 

What struck me was the proximity of the church to the Alabama state Capitol. They are just two blocks apart. In the block between the church and the Capitol is a fading marker erected in 1942 that says of Dexter Avenue: “Along this street moved the inaugural parade of Jefferson Davis when he took the oath of office as president of the Confederate States of America, February 18, 1861. “Dixie” was played as a band arrangement for the first time on this occasion.” (The church was not built until the 1880s.) 

As you go up Dexter Avenue to the Capitol, you are greeted by a statue of Jefferson Davis at the entrance. On the other side of the capitol is the “Confederate White House” where Davis lived until the Confederate capital moved to Richmond, Virginia in the summer of 1861.

Montgomery is a city where slavery, the Confederacy and the civil rights movement all bump up against each other in close quarters. It is also the city where the National Memorial for Peace and Justice opened this year.

The Memorial is a stark commemoration of the thousands of African Americans lynched in this country as white people tried to maintain their dominance when black people began to assert their freedom in the aftermath of the Civil War. There were 4,400 documented lynchings between 1877 and 1950 and many more that are lost in the shadows of history. 

The hanging concrete slabs list those lynched in many, many counties, in many, many states. They are not all in the South. There were three lynchings noted in northern Minnesota, others in Michigan and Indiana, in Colorado and California, in Delaware and New York.

There is a stark inscription on one wall:

For the hanged and beaten.

For the  shot, drowned, and burned.

For the tortured, tormented and terrorized.

For those abandoned by the rule of law.

We will remember.

With hope because hopelessness is the enemy of justice.

With courage because peace requires bravery.

With persistence because justice is a constant struggle.

With faith because we shall overcome.

This is a somber place, softened a bit by the grassy hills, by a garden, by a grove named in honor of Ida B. Wells, the African-American  journalist who documented so many of the lynchings that she called “our country’s national crime.”

And it is more than a place of history. As you leave, you pass a sculpture from 2016 called “Raise Up” with black men and women, short and tall, emerging from a concrete wall with their hands up - a reminder of the continuing racial discrimination against people of color by law enforcement and the criminal justice system. 

The struggles continue

That was a vivid reminder that the work of the civil rights movement is far from over. We saw evidence of that in our stops along the way.

In Memphis, we visited the Stax Museum of American Soul Music, once the vibrant hub for artists like Otis Redding (who died in a plane crash in Madison in 1967), Sam and Dave, Booker T and the MGs, the Staples Singers.  It was a rare place in the South where blacks and whites could work together creating hit and hit. The record business eventually collapsed, but now the museum not only captures the story of that era but plays a vital role in the community with the Stax Music Academy and the Soulsville Charter School. 

In Birmingham, we heard from T. Marie King, a 39-year old activist, speaker and trainer, who told us about her work with a new generation of blacks seeking justice in their community. She told us of the work of Rev. Fred Shuttlesworth, a major leader of the civil rights actions in Birmingham in the 1950s and 1960s who often gets overshadowed in the stories of that era. She told us of the tensions between the foot soldiers - those who marched on the front lines in the 1960s - and today’s activists who are charting their own paths for change. She talked of the churches - black churches - so focused on the inside that they miss the needs on the outside. “We’ve got to do a better job of standing in the gap for people,” she said.

Some 95 miles south of Birmingham in Selma, we felt not only the power of history at the Edmund Pettus Bridge but the poverty of the present day. For me, this was perhaps the most disconcerting stop on the journey. The image of Selma in my mind focused on the triumphant crossing of the Edmund Pettus Bridge by marchers in 1965 seeking voting rights. Yes, there were violent attacks on previous marchers on the bridge, but the March 21, 1965 march across the bridge that ended 54 miles later at the Alabama Capitol in Montgomery epitomized the the hope in the song “We Shall Overcome.”

Selma, however, has not overcome. This city of 18,000 - down from 21,000 in 2010 - is wracked by poverty and violence. As we walked around the downtown area a bit, we felt a level of creepiness we felt nowhere else on the journey. One of our group noticed pharmacies that clearly we distinctive - one aimed at whites, the other at blacks. The buildings were rundown, many of them vacant.  The population is about 80 percent black.

There was an insightful story from The Guardian in February of 2016 that offered a glimpse into life in Selma today. As reporter Chris Arnade wrote about the city beyond the bridge area: “Yet if you walk beyond those blocks you see the ugliness of poverty that is modern Selma: dilapidated and boarded-up homes tagged with gang symbols, empty lots littered with vodka bottles and fast-food wrappers, and sterile low-income projects. You see men clustered on corners selling drugs, and on the better-kept homes you see sign after sign urging, “Stop the violence”. You don’t see working factories, only empty ones being torn down for scrap. You see a population disenfranchised, economically and politically. It makes Selma, a symbol of past civil rights victories, a symbol of current civil rights failures.”

The crime rate in Selma has led it to be tagged as the most violent city in Alabama, one of the most violent in the nation. And the reporter quotes State Sen. Henry Sanders, 73, who represents Selma: “You can’t talk about Selma, and you can’t talk about the African American experience in America, without talking about the legacy of slavery.” That legacy lives on in the political establishment in Alabama. Here’s how Sanders put it: “The statewide political establishment is overwhelming Republican, white and male. It isn’t that they don’t care about African Americans, it’s that they don’t even think about them, unless it is in negative terms. As a result, everything in Alabama is tougher for African Americans.”

It’s all a stark contrast to Atlanta, the last stop on our journey. Not only is Atlanta the thriving metropolitan hub on the South, it is also considered a destination for African-Americans from around the nation. It’s not that Atlanta has solved all its problems, but it has come to symbolize the possibilities that exist. It is a center of black political power, education and culture. 

We saw the gleaming skyline, of course, but immersed ourselves in the Sweet Auburn neighborhood where Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was born and grew up, where the church his grandfather and father and them he himself pastored still stands, where he and his wife Coretta Scott King are buried. 

In some ways, these blocks dedicated to King’s life and memory, to his vision of justice that would define what he called “the Beloved Community,” represented a place that tied together the past and the present of this journey. It was the words of a fifth grade student form Griffin, Ga. - Ja’Neivia Gilliand - that offered hope for the future. His words are among many on plaques in the International World Peace Rose Garden just outside the King Center where children wrote poems that are interspersed among the rose bushes. Here is his poem:

LOVE IS NOT HATE!
Hatred is a stain on the soul

Taught, not ingrained

Fear of Equality is fear of the unknown

Speak less and listen more

Martin Luther King had a dream

Are we walking or falling asleep?
His passion is like rain,

Washing away the stain of hate

Love is not hate.

Postscript

While we were on the road, nearly 1,000 people in Madison gathered at the First Unitarian Society in response to the hate-based murders in Pittsburgh. There were speeches, songs, tears and resolve to stand together against hated. The following Friday evening, Nov. 2, there was a special Shabbat service at Temple Beth-El, a service intended for healing and solace led by Rabbi Jonathan Biatch. There was an extraordinary moment when the the synagogue’s three Torahs were passed through the crowd. There were songs and prayers.

In the end, there was this prayer from the Central Conference of American Rabbis:

"When evil darkens our world, let us be bearers of light.
"When fists are clenched in self-righteous anger, let our hands be open for the sake of peace.
"When injustice slams doors in the face of the ill, the poor, the old, the refugee, the immigrant and the stranger, we will open those doors and strive to right the world's wrongs.
"Where shelter is lacking, let us be builders.
"Where food and clothing are needed, let us provide.
"Where knowledge is denied, let us champion learning and knowledge.
"When dissent is stifled, let our voices speak truth to power.
"When the earth and its creatures are threatened, let us be their guardians. When bias, greed and bigotry erode our country's values, let us proclaim liberty throughout the land."

We closed with a song:

"Olam Heser Yirapeh
"I will heal this world with love
"And you must heal this world with love
"And if we heal this world with love
"Then God will heal this world with love.
"Olam Heser Yirapeh"

And may it be so.

The Travelers

Your Choice: Be God or Be a Servant

October 21, 2018, First Congregational Church, Baraboo

Job 38: 1-7, 34-41 and Mark 10: 35-45

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable to you, O God, who sent your word to live among us. Amen.

So what if you could be God? 

If you listened to God’s response to Job today, you can hear that it is a pretty awesome job. 

“I laid the foundation of the earth… sent forth lightnings… put wisdom in the inward parts, gave understanding to the mind.”

Or if you can’t be God, how about a place of honor right next to Jesus? That sounded like a good idea to a couple of Jesus’ closest followers. Surely we could at least hope for that, couldn’t we?

Let me tell you a little bit about Bruce Nolan.

For folks with long memories about movies, we first met Bruce in 2003 in a movie called Bruce Almighty. Jim Carey played the role of Bruce, Steve Carrell was his arch nemesis Evan Baxter, Jennifer Aniston was his girlfriend Grace. Oh yeah, and there was one other main character - God, played with great style by Morgan Freeman.

Bruce is TV reporter who wants to be an anchor. He gets passed over for his rival, Evan Baxter. Bruce goes on an unfortunate on-air rant about this, gets fired, gets beat up by street thugs when he tries to help a homeless man and then his car is vandalized. He begins to feel a little bit like a Job character, although he is not quite as righteous as the Job of the Bible.

When Bruce gets home that evening, battered and bruised, Grace says, “Thank God, you’re alright.”

To which Bruce replies, “God? Yeah, let’s thank God, shall we? For his blessings are raining down upon me. Wait! That’s not rain!” 

Grace asks if Bruce thinks that God is picking on him. No, says Bruce, going into his best whine: “God is ignoring me completely. He is far too busy giving Evan everything he wants.” He describes God as a mean kid with a magnifying glass sitting on an ant-hill burning him up.

This all escalates into a standoff with Grace and Bruce angrily leaves in his car, where he has a little chat with God. 

 “OK, God, you want me to talk to you? Tell me what’s going on. What should I do? Send me a sign. Lord, I need a miracle.” Then he crashes his car into a light pole. Which leads to another rant:

“Smite me, almighty smiter. You’re the one who should be fired. The only one around here not doing his job is you. ANSWER ME!”

Yes, it’s been a bad day for Bruce. Not anywhere near as bad as what Job had gone through. As a result of a wager between God and The Adversary known as The Satan, Job lost his livestock, servants, and his ten children. He is afflicted with horrible skin sores. He had his three friends come and remind him that he probably had this coming. Pastor Doug told you some of those stories over the past couple of weeks. 

In the run-up to today’s reading, like Bruce, Job does not understand why God is doing this, but Job focuses on the fact that he really has lived a good life.  

Bruce is content simply to blame God. Then he gets a mysterious message summoning him to an abandoned office building where he meets God, who looks a lot like Morgan Freeman. There’s some great and humorous back and forth, ending with God saying, “I’m here to offer you a job.”

“Job?” asks Bruce. “What job?”

“My job,” says God. “When you leave this building you will be endowed with all my powers.”

Wow! How cool would that be? Bruce is perplexed at first, but then discovers he can do amazing and mischievous things, even moving the moon and the stars as he seduces Grace,

Over time, though, Bruce starts trying to make everything right in the world, he creates chaos, he cannot keep up with all the prayers and he finally gives the power back to God. 

God is God and Bruce is not. That’s sort of what God was telling Job. That’s also true for us, although sometimes we can forget that. 

Susan Werner is a folk singer and composer who grew up on a farm about 45 minutes straight west of Dubuque, Iowa. She has a song on her album called Gospel Truth titled “Our Father (the new revised edition).” Here’s the chorus:

“Thy Kingdom come to every nation, thy will be done in everything we do.
“Lord, lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from those who think they’re you.”

Over a few verses, she offers some ideas on who those people might be, singing, “Deliver us from the creepy preachers, with their narrow minds and very wide lapels…from politicians who drop your name in every speech as if they’re your best friend from high school, as if they practice what they preach.”

“Thy Kingdom come to every nation, thy will be done in everything we do.
“Lord, lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from those who think they’re you.”

I’d say there are no shortage of people in our world who get themselves confused with God. I’ll bet you can come up with a few in short order - people in public office, movie moguls who think they can demand whatever they want from the women who work for them, bosses in workplaces who except everyone to jump at their commands. It’s an easy list to make. And surely none of us would be on that list, right?

We don’t need to be God - it seems like a job with a lot of work. All we need is a place of honor next to Jesus. Who among us wouldn’t want that? That’s all James and John wanted. But their timing was a little odd.

Just before the passage we heard today, Jesus was on the road with his disciples heading to Jerusalem. This is his last trip to Jerusalem and we know it’s not going to end well. He gives his closest followers a preview of what is to come. 

“See, we are going up to Jerusalem,” Jesus said, “and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will hand him over to the Gentiles; they will mock him, and spit upon him, and flog him, and kill him; and after three days he will rise again.”

It was right after that that James and John stepped forward, seemingly unconcerned about what was about to happen to Jesus but seeing in it a great opportunity for themselves. “Let us sit with you in your glory, one on your left, one on your right.”

There would be two people on Jesus’ left and right when he died, but they would not be James and John. They would be a couple of thieves. Funny how Jesus always wound up with the outcasts, even in the last moments of his life.

Remember how God responded to Job with questions? We only heard about a dozen of the 60 questions in that section from the Book of Job. Now Jesus responds with a question as well: “Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?”

Sure, say, James and John, having no idea what they just agreed to. 

And then their colleagues among the 12 followers get into the act. As Mark put it, “When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John.”  Ya think?

Time for a lesson in servanthood, said Jesus. You know how people who are rulers lord it over others. Some of them are even tyrants. We know those folks in our day as well. Jesus tells his followers that they are called to live in a different way. 

He put it this way: “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve.”

Here’s where I think this all begins to come home to us in Baraboo on this Sunday morning in October. 

The easy part is to pick on those we think are acting like God. But it also is useful to remind ourselves now and then that God is God and weare not. 

It’s also useful to remind ourselves that those who think and act as if they are God are not really God either. The early Christians used the phrase “Jesus is Lord” to remind themselves that despite what he thought, Caesar was not the god they followed. 

And I need to remind myself of that as well. One my favorite mantras comes from Psalm 46: “Be still and know that I am God.” 

Job understood that message at the end of God’s words from the whirlwind: “I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted…Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know…I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you.” (Chapter 42)

We’re not sure if James and John really got Jesus’ message until later. Clearly they did eventually, but as with us, it may have taken them a while.

It’s so tempting to look for the advantages we can get for ourselves. I know that’s a temptation for me. I’ll bet it is for many of you as well. Could I bask in someone else’s glory? Could I ride their coattails to honor? Could I do it without really having to pay a price of my own? So what if I have to run over a few of my friends and colleagues on the way. Surely I deserve it, don’t I?

Jesus really had two messages for his followers - that would include you and me.

One was about servanthood. The other was about suffering.

We sang about being a servant as we entered into this time of reflection. It is one of the things that ought to define us as followers of Jesus. 

I know there are people who make that part of their lives. You were part of the CROP Walk last Sunday to help close the hunger gap. You help build houses through Habitat for Humanity. You work to help victims of the summer floods here.

When Susan Werner was singing about creepy preachers and name-dropping politicians, she also took note of what God’s kingdom is supposed to look like, singing “Lord, send us forth to be of service, to build the schools, to dig the wells…to bring compassion to every corner of the world.” 

When Bruce Nolan gave up being God, he returns to TV reporting focusing on stories of service, gives blood and then encounters that homeless man he once tried to help and discovers that he is another manifestation of God (who once again looks a lot like Morgan Freeman). 

That sense of service is important and it has the added benefit of often making us feel good about ourselves. Which is why Jesus added that part of about being able to drink the cup he would drink - a cup of suffering and death. He was telling James and John - and us - that the road to glory runs straight through the valley of suffering and death.

That’s not as comforting a message as serving one another. You know - come join our church, you can suffer and be killed here is not a great recruitment campaign. It’s not a message that we should go out and seek suffering - that would be masochistic. But it is a message that if we are going to follow Jesus, we are going to have to take risks and those risks could be costly.

If we are going to stand against hate, people may hate us.

If we are going to stand against the belittling of others, people may belittle us.

If we are going to welcome the stranger, protect the abused, befriend those returning from prison, defend the oppressed, we may face suffering in the process. 

If being God turns out not to easy, neither is being a follower of Jesus. We have to continually struggle with putting our own best interests, our chance at the best place aside.

I’d like to end with a prayer which will then lead us into our regular time of prayer. It’s one of my favorites and I’ll be it is familiar to many of you. I think it captures the spirit of our readings this morning,. It is a prayer in the spirit of Francis of Assisi.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Amen.

Taking on domestic violence

Given at Good Shepherd Lutheran – Verona campus

Sunday, Jan. 28, 2018

I thought at first that this was a fictional scene, conflating in one example some of the problems those of us in Christianity face when confronted with issues of domestic violence.

I wrote it as a column that appeared in The Capital Times in June of 2014. Here’s how it went:

 “A woman has been suffering physical abuse at the hands of her husband. She finally summons up the courage to talk to her pastor about it. 

“His advice: First, you need to recognize that your suffering is like Jesus’ suffering. 

“Next, you need to forgive like Jesus forgave. 

“Then remember that you made a commitment to marry this man for life.  

“He is the head of your family, so you need to make sure you are doing what he wants so you don’t trigger his anger. 

“And then an offer: Let me meet with the two of you and help you patch up your marriage.”

I described it as a fictional scenario. And then I heard from a friend: “That was the response from my minster regarding my first husband 30 years ago....”

A lot of churches are afraid to tackle issues of intimate partner violence for a lot of reasons. It’s an uncomfortable topic. There probably are people in the crowd on any given Sunday who are survivors or current victims or perpetrators. And some of our Christian beliefs need to be carefully expressed when we get into this territory.

So congrats and thanks to Good Shepherd for your willingness to take this on. Thanks again to Robin Kerl for her courage in telling her incredible and powerful story. 

Let me just briefly talk about what I think are the significant faith issues we need to wrestle with and then suggest what congregations can do both to help people caught in abusive relationships and to reduce the frequency of domestic violence.

There are five ideas connected to our Christian beliefs that I’d like to mention – the sanctity of marriage vows, the way we define masculinity and femininity, the notion of redemptive suffering, the importance of forgiveness and the way we deal with grief.

Different segments of Christianity deal with marriage and divorce differently, but I think we all share a common belief that the commitments we make to one another in marriage are sacred commitments not to be taken lightly. In some churches and for some individuals, those commitments can become handcuffs preventing escape from abuse, whether emotional or physical. 

The core idea when we talk about this ought to be “God wants everyone to be safe.” Staying in a marriage when your life is threatened or your body abused ignores the reality of a commitment that is already shattered. 

Some Christian traditions cite Biblical texts about the man being the head of the family. In our time, many of us see marriage as a much richer experience when partners relate to each other as equals, even if they take on different roles and tasks within a marriage. 

Yes, I know that there are words in two of the letters attributed to Paul about wives being subject to their husbands. Guys who like to exert power over their wives love that verse. And there are certainly some traditions in Christianity that hold a patriarchal view of marriage. 

But nowhere do those texts give a man the right to physically impose his will on or to abuse his wife. It’s good to remember the rest of the words of Paul in the Letter to the Colossians,  “Husbands, love your wives, and do not be harsh with them.” (Col 3:19)

Within some strains of Christianity, there is emphasis on offering up whatever suffering you experience to God. It’s sometimes called “redemptive suffering.” And there might be a place for that when you are suffering from an illness like cancer. But with cancer, you do not simply say, “Oh, I’ll just offer this up to God.” You seek out a cure. 

When you are being beaten by another who is part of your family, there is nothing spiritual about just putting up with it. “Offering up suffering” is not a response to domestic violence. Getting help is.

And then there is forgiveness. I see forgiveness as one of the central concepts of Christianity. It’s anything but a simple concept.  It's not like flipping a switch. It’s not ignoring the harm that is being done to you. It is not a free ticket for an abuser. Nor is it something we ought to be imposing on victims as if somehow that will make them worthy in God’s eyes. 

First the victim needs to be free of the abuse. Then the victim needs time – lots of time – for emotional as well as physical healing. Then maybe – maybe - the survivor can use forgiveness as a tool to help get free of the emotional grip of the abuser. The role of forgiveness in our lives, in our faith is important, but it needs to be approached with care for the survivor. It cannot be pushed on people by others.

Closely related to that is the idea of reconciliation. Can’t they just work it out so they can be a couple again? That’s what my mythical pastor – and too many real pastors – sought in that opening example. This cannot happen until the abuser gets treatment, maybe not even then.

What we are left with, then, is grief, something that those of us in a church setting ought to be able to attend to. The survivor may have escaped from an abusive, threatening relationship, but her life has been totally upended. And along with the fear of the abuser and the anger at what has happened, there is also deep grief at the loss of what should have been. As a community, we have some experience in helping people navigate grief. Let’s not lose sight of that.

Each of these issues are worth further exploration to make sure the messages we embrace as Christians are not harmful to the people in our lives, in our congregations. So that’s one piece of what a congregation can do.

There are others. Think about whether your congregation is sending messages that this is a safe place for people trapped in violent relationships. Maybe it’s posters and brochures about the topic, maybe it’s a support group, when it’s a team of people that take on issues of intimate partner violence as their focus. 

Some churches work with the Zonta Club of Madison to have a display like the one you see here of a silhouettes of family members outside a church during October – Domestic Violence Awareness Month – to bring attention to the issue and to let folks know this is a safe place

And since the perpetrators of domestic violence are most often men, one good area for a congregation to focus on is how to create a culture of healthy masculinity for both adult males and especially for teens.  It’s a topic for discussions in men’s groups. For teens, Elsa Gumm, who leads the local Faith Against Domestic Violence group, has created a program to work with congregations to equip teens to recognize and respond appropriately to dating abuse when they encounter in their lives or among their peers.

And then there is DAIS – Domestic Abuse Intervention Services. The Madison area is so lucky to have an organization like DAIS in our midst. From the efforts of five people some 40 years ago, it has grown into a national model of how to deal with domestic violence. It has a shelter with 56 beds and a wide array of programs to help those fleeing violent situations to have a safe space to find liberation in their lives.

Fifty-six beds and a new shelter and great programs. Well, that should pretty much take care of the problem in our community, right? Wrong. 

There is always a waiting list to get into the shelter. The biggest list in the past few months was over 100. And to be on the wait list, you have to be at risk of being killed. 

The scope of domestic abuse in our community is horrifying. It cuts across all economic groups, all races and ethnicities. The District Attorney’s office gets about 3,000 referrals each year for domestic violence. Unity-Point Meriter Hospital’s Forensic Nurse Unit is seeing an increase not only in the number of cases but also in the seriousness of the injuries.

So we need a continuing community response. 

DAIS has a 24-hour help line that victims can call as well as friends and family members who are trying to figure out what to do in the midst of abuse. It has support groups for survivors and for family members. It has program to help men who are victims of abuse, although women are far more likely than men to be on the receiving end of abuse. 

And since men are overwhelmingly more likely to be the perpetrators of violence than are women, DAIS has done a lot of work with male teens in schools and now with men in the wider community who want to be Allies for Healthy Masculinity. 

DAIS, in fact, is a critical partner for congregations in this work, so let me say a bit about their work and ways folks here can connect with them, either in times of need or if you want to help others prevent or end the horror of being trapped in an abusive or violent relationship.

Like any organization, they need volunteers. Some work with clients, others help spread the word in the community. One group that I am part of – DAIS Allies for Healthy Masculinity – is gathering new folks as we head into the year. 

There are specific items they need to help those who are in shelter or will be leaving shelter. You can contact DAIS for the specifics.

And it will come as no surprise that DAIS relies on the community for its funding, so monetary donations are always welcome. One thing a number of congregations do is use some of their direct aid funds to support folks trying to start over as they are leaving the DAIS shelter.

Remember that familiar Gospel reading we heard earlier today, the one about caring for those in need? 

Remember the powerful story we just heard from Robin? 

We know there are ways we can respond. I hope each of us can find at least one way we can make our community a safer place for all.

Going out and coming back

Reflection on Mark 6:1-13 on July 8, 2018 at Middleton Community UCC

Are there days when you feel discouraged? Like no matter how you try, what you are trying to accomplish is not working out the way you had hoped? That the forces arrayed against your vision of how life should be are just too strong?

I think we all feel that way at times. Certainly Jesus felt that way as he was rejected in his home town. Certainly his followers felt that way as they shook the dust off their feet and left a place that had rejected them. 

So what are some of the things that you are feeling discouraged about today?

Hold those thoughts for a few minutes as we look at what preceded and followed the story of Jesus that we heard today. I think in the wider view of the story, we may get some insights in how to deal with our own discouragements. 

Just before the section in the Gospel according to Mark we heard today, there are some amazing actions by Jesus – driving evil spirits out of a man who had been living in a cave, healing a woman with a bleeding disorder who was bold enough to reach out and touch him in a crowd, bringing back to life the daughter of a synagogue leader. 

Think about this mix of people. The man in the cave was in the country of Gentiles – non-Jews, people looked upon with suspicion. The woman who had been bleeding for 12 years would have been an outcast among her own people. The synagogue leader was most likely an upstanding resident of his community. Jesus had time for them all.

The people in Jesus’ home village of Nazareth had no time for him, though. They described him as a carpenter – not a highly-regarded job in that era. They described him as the son of Mary, perhaps highlighting his questionable parentage by leaving out the name of Mary’s husband. Joseph. 

Jesus’ closest followers – the Twelve, they are called – were also going out into unfriendly territory. Jesus had directions for them – travel lightly, don’t linger where you are not wanted.

And as the story continued beyond what we heard today, we learn that Herod, the Jewish king of the region, had learned about this wandering rabbi and his followers. He had just executed John the Baptist and was spooked at the notion that perhaps John had come back to life. 

Discouragement, disappointment, a touch of fear as the ruling authorities were taking note of this small group of people doing amazing things. So Jesus takes them to what he thought would be a deserted place for a little renewal. But the crowd followed them and the crowd was hungry. So Jesus made sure everyone was fed, then sent his followers across the lake for their renewal as he went alone up a mountain to pray.

Hang on to a few of these ideas as you confront the discouragements in your lives.

·      Reaching out across the normal cast of characters we hang out with.

·      Not getting too attached to the approval of others.

·      Taking time to get away to recharge.

·      In the midst of our own stresses, helping others get the nourishment they need.

·      And then letting prayer undergird our spirits as we move forward.

I’d like to talk a bit about one of the discouragements in my life of late and say a bit about what I have done about it. I think it’s a discouragement at least some folks here share. It’s a discouragement that has a political edge, so I recognize that people will approach these things from different vantage points.

As noted Madison author Parker Palmer wrote in his extraordinary book, Healing the Heart of Democracy, we need to be able to discuss our differences openly, honestly and with civility and, in his words, understand “conflict not as the enemy of a good social order but as the engine of a better social order.”

I’ve been focused a lot of late on what is happening to the families separated on the borders of our nation, the 3,000 children taken away from parents who for the most part were fleeing for their lives from the violence of their home countries. Many of those children remain separated from their parents and despite massive public protests, despite court orders, the process of reuniting children and parents is unconscionably slow.

I know that immigration is a complicated issue in a political and legal sense. It is less complicated for me when I look at it through the lens of Jesus’ life and teachings. 

So when I get discouraged about the hateful rhetoric and evil actions that surround this issue, I go back to the two stories we heard today about Jesus and his followers going out and coming back, not always finding success, but continuing to move forward in offering a new way to live out God’s essential commands of loving God and loving our neighbors as we do ourselves, recognizing that Jesus offered us a very broad definition of who our neighbors are.

Not all followers of Jesus see it the same way I do, as we have seen in the heated national debate over immigration. But as I understand Jesus’ teachings – teachings that ultimately put him at odds with the political and religious leaders of his time – the burden on me as one of his followers is to act in ways the live out those teachings as best I can, even if at times it leads to rejection, even if tackling tough issues can bring discouragement.

I have done some of the standard things that people do about public issues – written to elected officials, donated to groups giving legal representation to parents and children in the midst of this painful time of separation.  

The congregation that I belong to – Orchard Ridge UCC – is one of seven congregations in the Madison area including Community of Hope UCC that are offering sanctuary to immigrants facing deportation and along with another dozen or so congregations that are part of a wider sanctuary support network. Our Wisconsin Conference of the UCC has voted to be what is known as an “immigrant welcoming conference.”

I have had a few chances in the last couple of months be part of larger movements around these issues as well, movements integrally connected to my faith and publicly very visible. It is in that sense of solidarity with others that I find hope in my times of discouragement.

In May, some of the elders of the progressive traditions of Christianity gathered with about 2,000 of us in Washington D.C. for service of prayer at a downtown church and then a silent candlelight procession to the White House under the banner of “Reclaiming Jesus.” 

Two of the central figures in that effort were Rev. Jim Wallis of Sojourners and the amazing Episcopal bishop Michael Curry, who became known to the world when he preached at the royal wedding of Megan and Harry just days before this event.

At the heart of the Reclaiming Jesus statement were these words: “It is time to be followers of Jesus before anything else—nationality, political party, race, ethnicity, gender, geography—our identity in Christ precedes every other identity. We pray that our nation will see Jesus’ words in us. ‘By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another’ “(John 13:35).

Their statement noted that we are all made in the image and likeness of God and so rejected racism and white nationalism. It said that we are all one body in Christ, so they rejected “the misogyny, the mistreatment, violent abuse, sexual harassment, and assault of women” in our culture.

They looked at Jesus’ words about how we treat the hungry, thirsty, imprisoned, sick and the stranger and, relevant to my particular concern at the moment, strongly deplored “the growing attacks on immigrants and refugees, who are being made into cultural and political targets,” and reminded churches “that God makes the treatment of the ‘strangers’ among us a test of faith.”

They called for a respect for truth, for servanthood rather than domination and for a recognition that just as God loved the world, we, too, should “love and serve the world and all its inhabitants, rather than seek first narrow, nationalistic prerogatives.”

So we gathered outside the White House on that evening in May, people from every part of the country, people from many different Christian traditions. We joined together in the prayer Jesus taught his followers and at the end, we sang “This Little Light of Mine.” We were letting our lights shine in a time of darkness for so many families on the border.

I was back in DC again last weekend, this time with my wife, Ellen, and with a bigger crowd – some 35,000 of us there joined about 400,000 in 750 cities across the nation (including Madison) with a call to end family separation. 

The night before, I was at a candlelight vigil in front of the Capitol organized by Jim Wallis and Sojourners where Rev. Sharon Stanley-Rea, director of Refugee and Immigration Ministries for the Disciples of Christ, reminded us in a call-and-response prayer that “All Children are God’s Children.” Once again, we ended with “This Little Light of Mine.”

And then in Lafayette Park across from the White House, the UCC’s Rev. Traci Blackmon (who spoke at the Wisconsin Conference annual meeting last month) reminded the crowd that “the legislation of evil does not make it holy” and ended with these rousing words:

“People of faith must lead with LOVE.
“People of faith must legislate with LOVE.
“People of faith must be governed by LOVE.
“People of faith must fight. Always. For LOVE.

“If it is not LOVE...It is not GOD.”

And yet. And yet. As Ellen and I flew home last Saturday night, some 3,000 children were still separated from their parents because of the actions our government had taken.

A nation with enormous wealth and vast space, a nation formed by people whose ancestors were either native inhabitants of our land, people brought here in slavery or people who came as immigrants or refugees, this nation that has given me so many opportunities is struggling with how to help those families desperately fleeing for their lives.

So I am discouraged. And worried.

I know that when I speak out on issues like this, I may face rejection from friends and family. I experience some of that on Facebook. Jesus knew those risks when he went back to his home town.

I know that sometimes when I talk to people about this, I will simply need to walk away and shake the dust off my shoes rather than dive into deeper antagonism. I try to do that as well. 

And I know that Jesus still sends us out, two by two, to tackle the unclean spirits in our world. I know that I need to travel lightly with hope in my heart and love in my approach to others. 

Finally, I know that I need time in the midst of discouragement to step aside now and then, to go across that lake or go up that mountain to let my spirit be open to God’s spirit, to let God’s spirit refresh and renew my soul.

Whatever discouragements you are facing this day, maybe there are some things you can do that mirror the example and advice of Jesus.

We cannot do it alone. So the words of hymn number 490 can help us along the journey. Let’s return to “I Want Jesus To Go With Me” and sing the first verse one more time.