Sincere Differences Discussed Sincerely

A long-time good friend and I are having an ongoing cyberspace discussion about same sex marriage. We both are Christians but he’s pretty conservative and I am not. I’m all for it and he certainly is not. We both are smart, articulate and thoughtful. And we both love each other. I’m guessing neither one of us will change our mind, but – as he says – we are discussing our sincere differences sincerely. And we both are better for it.

 

I know where he’s coming from because I used to believe pretty much the same way. I’ve made those arguments; I’ve had those concerns. We’ve both grown and changed since we were so close, but we’ve grown and changed in different directions. Such is the human journey. Such is the way of relationships.

But for us, relationship is the key; being friends is more important to us than being right. (Of course, we both think we are right.) I am grateful this friendship means as much to him as it does to me because I have other conservative friends who have broken off their relationships; they unfriended me on Facebook a long time ago. It’s like some people are so committed to a particular (peculiar) kind of integrity that agreeing to disagree somehow compromises their core ethics. They seem to believe their sworn duty is to fix me, to change me and if they can’t do that, then we can’t be friends. This belief system makes me immensely sad because it contributes to alienation and estrangement throughout the human community. Friends, families, governments… minds set in stone, conversation in talking points, assassinating character and impugning integrity, listening just enough to misunderstand…

I admit I don’t have these kinds of probing conversations with very many of my conservative friends; most of us agree to disagree and then agree not to talk about it. But this friend is precious. Authentic community between human beings is always a precious thing, but when community is not easy, when it calls for an extra dose of patience and understanding and respect and compassion – that kind of friendship is rare and beautiful and precious.

Our current American civilization is not very civil these days. There are deep divides that separate us; strong differences of opinion that keep pushing us further and further apart. But I think it’s not the divides and the differences themselves that are the problem. We’ve always had our differences and when we’re smart, we recognize that our diversity is part of our strength. No, I don’t think it’s our differences that are the problem; I think it’s the fear.

Now that Stephen Colbert is in between TV shows, he is free to talk more publicly about his Catholic faith. In a recent interview, he was asked his favorite Bible verse: “Do not worry about your life…” he quicklyreplied. And “do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries ofits own.” In order to stay mindful, Stephen believes, one cannot live in fear. It’s a little like comedy, he explains: You can’t laugh and be afraid at the same time.

“You can’t laugh and be afraid at the same time.”

There are plenty of things in our lives, in our world that justifiably cause anxiety. Stephen Colbert knows that as well or better than must of us. But we’re not going to solve any of our problems if we can’t talk to each other, if we don’t participate in honest conversation and collaborate in creative dreaming. We can’t hope to find our common connections if we don’t discuss our sincere differences sincerely.

We can’t build bridges of cooperation if we don’t come together across these deep divides. We can’t live if we don’t laugh and love.

I’m not sure this will ever happen on Facebook - even though I volunteer for Coffee Party USA and have high hopes that more and more people will commit to civil public conversation around controversial issues. But I do believe we can build these bridges one relationship at a time. “Anthropology trumps ideology,” another friend likes to say. When I really come to know a person - who they are, where they come from, what they value; when I really grow to love a person – then my dogmas become less rigid and my boundaries become more porous. One friend, one family member, one co-worker who sees the world differently can be a great resource for expanding our understanding. One person’s effort to listen and learn from another (especially one who has been “the other”) can erode fear and cultivate love and laughter.

You may say I’m a dreamer.

But I’m not the only one.

© Charlotte Vaughan Coyle 2015

The Law of the Lord

Exodus 16-24

Matthew 1-7

Some years ago, a young man came to my office looking for a new church. We talked for a while and I learned the story of his struggle with alcohol addiction. He was already active in an AA group but he believed a church community might also help turn his life around.  I called the pastor at a nearby community church to find out more about their recovery program and it sounded like a good fit for this man who was living life on survival mode. We stayed in touch for several months and he seemed to be doing well. I sometimes wonder how he is doing now. 

Sometimes some people need rules, structure, clear definitions. This makes sense to us when we are raising our children; independence and healthy self-sufficiency can only come through a process of growing through stages and practicing living within some kind of protective environment. This makes sense to us when we remember our own journey toward maturity.

Sometimes we refer to the people of Moses as “the children of Israel.” The term "children" isn't meant to be used as a contrast to the concept of "adult;" it's mostly the King James Version's way to describe this people's family tree and identify them as the descendants of Jacob. But maybe - in another way - "children" can also serve as a kind of archetypical description of humanity's development in all of our various cultures and societies over the ages. Without thinking of Israel as any more “childish” than any of the rest of us, consider how their story as chronicled in the Hebrew Scriptures might give insight to how all of us - individuals as well as societies - grow through stages toward healthy maturity.

In the remarkable story of exodus and deliverance in the second book of the Hebrew Scriptures, the people emerge from the confining womb of slavery, through the birth waters of the Red Sea and into the wilderness. There is manna here, and clean water, and even fresh meat provided for the complaining, sullen people. Again and again, they test the patience of Moses; they test the faithfulness of the God who Calls, who Saves, who Provides.

As the story unfolds, God calls Moses up to the mountaintop where he is immersed in fire and cloud and sapphired glory for forty days and forty nights. And when he returns to the camp in the valley, Moses comes with the Ten Commandments which summarize for the people all the Law that teaches how to live in relationship with God and with one another.

Of course there is other law in the pages of the Torah as well, not just the moral code. The Mosaic Law also details the particulars of worship, ceremonial law that includes rules for the priesthood and for the sacrificial system. But fundamentally, the Law from Sinai teaches the fledgling people of Israel how to be in relationship, how to behave toward one another with fairness and justice. It is law grounded in a specific culture, time and place. It is law contingent on the particular circumstances of a particular people in a particular day and age.

It’s interesting to read The Gospel according to Matthew alongside the book of the Exodus. Matthew is our most Jewish gospel and throughout, we see comparisons and contrasts between Jesus and Moses.

·      The Pharaoh in Egypt and the King in Jerusalem kill the male infants who may threaten their power.

·      “Out of Egypt I have called my son…” Matthew says of Jesus - while in the background he clearly sees Israel escaping danger and persecution.

·      Jesus is baptized in the Jordan River, passing through the waters and then entering into the wilderness where he too is tempted to test God.

·      But again and again, unlike God’s other “child” Israel (or any of the rest of us sons and daughters!), Jesus is the one who faithfully and persistently submits himself to the God who Calls, who Saves and who Provides.

And then Matthew offers an especially fascinating comparison between the Law of Moses delivered from Mount Sinai and the Sermon on the Mount delivered by Jesus.

“You have heard it said…But I say…”

Matthew’s Jesus is bold to re-read the ancient Law and re-interpret its meaning and significance for the people of Israel in a new day. Jesus does not contradict or critique the Law; rather he goes deeper, he goes to the root - the radix. Radix is the word from which we get the word “radical” and in these six antitheses (or better “hyper-theses”), Jesus radicalizes the Law.

Rules done right point beyond superficial behavior to attitude, perspective, mindset. Rules done right remind what is core and fundamental. It’s not just about adultery or murder or divorce, Jesus says; it’s about respecting relationship and honoring commitments. It’s not just about how you treat your friends, Jesus says; it’s about living together in humility and integrity (even with your enemies!) in the upside down right side up inside out kingdom of heaven.

Of course faithful, pious Jews already knew this. The prophets especially understood the root of Israel’s problem and boldly called for repentance-turning-returning to the heart of the matter. Ancient wisdom did not originate with Jesus when he summarized his sermon: “In everything do to others as you would have them do to you; for this is the law and the prophets.” (Matthew 7:12)

But people are people, and in every age most people tend towards superficiality; it’s much more comfortable. Bright lines and check lists may make us feel safe, but they also keep us small. Well-defined guidelines and clear parameters work well for children, but growing up requires self-discipline and complex wisdom.

Besides radicalizing the Law, Matthew’s Jesus does something else, something key to Matthew’s own Christology: Jesus speaks for God.

In Matthew’s understanding, the Law is foundational but it is not ultimate. For Matthew, it is the one to whom the law and the prophets point – the Messiah, the Christ – who embodies the ultimate, definitive will of God.  It is in Jesus Christ that the Law is both affirmed and fulfilled. It is in Jesus Christ that the Law is both validated and transcended. It is Jesus Christ who is the final authority. And – for Matthew – the Spirit of the Risen Christ is still speaking, teaching and leading the Church.

This is Matthew’s way. 

The apostle Paul has his own way of understanding the significance of the Christ Event and the subsequent transition from the requirements of law to the freedoms and responsibility of grace. Reading between Matthew and Paul, it is clear there was some tension among the New Testament theologians about how best to re-read and re-interpret their own Scriptures. The New Testament writers were all faithful Jews who honored their tradition and grounded their lives in the Mosaic Law so it was with deep prayer and care that they pondered new understandings of the Law in light of the Christ. Even so, as faithful and conscientious as they were, they inevitably saw some things differently and so the Christian churches they planted emerged with different understandings, traditions and practices. (This is very much like our own experience of diversity within the Christian tradition of our own day.)

In the ancient wisdom literature, Psalm 19 sings a song of praise:

The law of the Lord is perfect,

            reviving the soul;

the decrees of the Lord are sure,

            making wise the simple;

the precepts of the Lord are right,

            rejoicing the heart;

the commandment of the Lord is clear,

            enlightening the eyes;

the fear of the Lord is pure,

            enduring forever;

the ordinances of the Lord are true

            and righteous altogether.

I can see the Psalmist honoring the Law of Moses in these beautiful words. But I see more. Before there was the Torah, there was the cosmos. In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth…And God said, “It is good.”

Creator’s law, decrees, commandments, ordinances that structure the universe are knitted into the fabric of the world. Creator’s will and way that give order and meaning to everything that exists are part of nature’s DNA.

The Psalmist begins his praise with this affirmation:

The heavens are telling the glory of God;

            and the firmament proclaims his handiwork.

Day to day pours forth speech,

            and night to night declares knowledge.

There is no speech, nor are there words;

            their voice is not heard;

And yet their voice goes out through all the earth,

            and their words to the end of the world.

Here is scriptural acknowledgment and celebration of God’s law of the universe, God’s way in the cosmos, God’s will for creation.

The Mosaic Law flowed from that cosmic law and articulated justice and equity that was probably unusual for its time, but it was always law contingent upon its time and place and people. The newly formed people of Israel who received the Law at Mount Sinai continued to grow in their understandings.  In later commentary and reflection, the Prophets dug deeper into the meaning and significance of the Law. And then in another theological stream, the writers of the Wisdom tradition pondered relationship with God and one another in other profound ways. Growing awareness and deepening maturity always will lead us away from “either-or” and into “both-and” contemplations.

Much as my AA friend needed structure and clear definitions for a time, much as our children need rules and limits while they are learning how to live, so all of us have periodically benefited from the protective environment of law as we have grown through stages into greater maturity. As we continue to grow in our relationship with God and with one another, we grow into grace.

The life and work of Christ has fulfilled the Law of Moses and now brought all humanity within the law-way-will of God that is right for all people in all times and places. I think of it as a way of Shalom: peace and wholeness, unity and harmony. When this law is written in our hearts, there is shalom with God and shalom with one another.

The law and the prophets pointed us to this Way: No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, “Know the Lord,” for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord; for I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more (Jeremiah 31:34).

The Spirit of the Risen Christ leads us in this Way.

Change of Mind, Change of Heart: Moving Away from Fundamentalism

         “If I change my mind, then I’d have to admit I’ve been wrong."
He was a good man: sweet, humble and kind. He had lived for more than 80 years and had a gentle wisdom about him. So when my friend made this statement, my jaw dropped. How on earth can anyone think that way? I marveled.
              But then I remembered – that used to be me.  
I used to believe that “Right” and “Wrong” were Black and White; that if I was right, and you disagreed with me, then you must be wrong. Now I believe all of us are probably mostly a little bit right and a whole lot wrong – about a whole lot of things. 
I used to believe truth was a small fragile thing that needed to be defended. Now I believe Truth is a rainbow with infinite colors and facets that takes a lifetime to explore. Truth doesn’t need to be defended; it needs to be discovered. 
I used to believe being wrong would have dire (even eternal) consequences. Now I believe being wrong is just one more way to learn; one more way to recognize how incomplete understanding inevitably must be for any of us mortals; one more way to keep me humble. I used to believe women couldn’t/shouldn’t/better not be preachers. Now (I do believe!) I am one.

I’m a bit like Dorothy, stepping out of her small black and white existence into a bright Technicolor world. And like Dorothy, it took a tornado to get me here.

Change is a fact of life. They say our cells die off and regenerate at an astonishing rate. Scientists suggest that almost all the cells in our body are completely replaced about every 7-10 years. We go about our business and don’t even recognize how radically, how quickly our body is changing every day of our lives.
But in other ways, change is disorienting, intimidating, frightening. Changing deeply held beliefs; changing long entrenched habits; changing fundamental assumptions … either we choose this path of intentional growth. Or sometimes life will force us into it.

For me, Dorothy’s tornado was seminary. I never imagined such a wide rainbow world existed and I was challenged to explore ideas that made me absolutely uncomfortable. I was challenged to uncover my embedded, unexamined assumptions and expose them to the light of critical thinking. I was challenged to test my theories of understanding according to standards of coherence: if I say I believe A and B, then those different things still must be compatible with each other. Even paradoxical thinking has a core consistency about it. It was hard, exhausting work.

I felt like the kid in the Far Side cartoon sitting in a classroom, raising his hand and asking permission to go. “May I be excused? My brain is full.”

But it was this hard work of changing my mind that led me to a change of heart as well. In order to be consistent in my beliefs, I had to pay attention to how I lived out the convictions of my life. I had to be intentional about how I acted in real time and real space with real people.

I used to believe people are responsible for their own actions.

Now I believe – in addition to personal responsibility –all of us in this society are responsible for one another. 

I used to believe Jesus’ call to “love our neighbor” and to “do unto others” applied only to individuals. Now I believe – in addition to private charity – all of us in this society must create public policies that cultivate an environment where all people can thrive.
I used to believe everyone has the freedom to choose their own way. Now I believe many people, maybe most people on the planet are born into circumstances and raised in situations that severely limit their choices.
I used to believe our civil governments had the right to impose morality on its citizens. Now I believe the core ethics that should under gird our civil laws must be the moral foundation originally set forth in our Constitution: unity, justice, safety, well being and liberty. It is these values that should shape our laws, not the private morality of any religion or any group of people.
Changing my mind brought about a change of heart which in turn led to a change of my political, cultural and social commitments.

It started with a tornado which turned my thinking upside down and right side up. It has continued slowly and persistently as I have grown. Like an acorn with a hard shell, I needed to let go of my rigid limits and my small world before I could push through the dark soil and reach for the sun. I am not the same person I was a year ago. A year from now, I hope I will not be the same person I am today.

My friend had trouble admitting he could be wrong. I know many good, kind-hearted people who share that black and white space with him. But that doesn’t work for me anymore. 
For me, these days, it feels pretty good to admit I’m wrong, that I don’t know everything, that I have a lot to learn. It keeps me humble. And it feels very good to live in this wide, rainbow, Technicolor world.

I could never go back.

Charlotte Vaughan Coyle is an ordained minister within the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) and doctoral student at Brite Divinity School.

Forgive and Forget? I Don't Think So

Genesis 37-50

Galatians

Mark 8-10

  

I don’t know if it’s because of the popular musical or because of Sunday School stories long ago, but it seems like a lot of people know at least a little bit about the story of Joseph. Maybe it’s his Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat. 

Maybe it’s all the bad things that kept happening to this really nice person: the betrayal by his jealous, callous brothers; slavery in the far away land of Egypt; betrayal again, injustice, prison, hopelessness… How these numerous wrongs must have festered in those long dark nights of Joseph’s suffering!

But then – by a series of odd circumstances - Joseph comes into the favor of the king and is raised to unimaginable prestige and power in his “adopted” land of Egypt. This is great story telling: a strong lead character who faces multiple challenges to his deep moral core; a panoply of interesting villains; unlikely plot twists; Technicolor dreams, poetic justice, reconciliation and a happy-ever-after-ending.

But one thing that comes to mind when I read Joseph’s story is: how on earth was he able to forgive such injustice and betrayal?

If you have ever been hurt deeply, you know it is not easy to forgive. And you know it may not happen quickly. Forgiveness is a process; it must be engaged with intention and attention. In order to truly forgive, we must begin with the willingness to even want to enter into the process of forgiveness. We first have to be willing to want to forgive before we can hope to make it to the actual act of forgiveness. And it helps to enter the process of forgiveness keenly aware of how very badly we need to forgive; how forgiveness is as much for us as it is for the other person.

You have heard the old saw: “forgive and forget” but I will argue that is not only impossible, it is also unwise. God may be able to forgive and forget but that’s not usually how it works for us humans. Experiences that have been seared into our souls leave indelible marks that change us in deep ways, and because we are human, those events stay with us; some things we just cannot forget. Besides, I think there is something biblical and wise about remembering: remembering who we are and where we come from and what we’ve learned along the way. I believe a key part of faithful and wise living is our remembering – remembering even past hurts.

For one thing, remembering honors the pain we have borne. We don’t dismiss it and downplay it because betrayal hurts and the remembering of it acknowledges how damaging and deadly sin can be. When we remember, we do not stuff our feelings or dismiss that hurt. Rather we honor the significance of the wrong that has been done to us. We grieve the damage done to relationship; we grieve the loss of trust. We don't say it's okay, that it doesn't matter, because it does matter. It matters to us. It matters to the health and to the witness of the entire community. It matters to God.

For another thing, in our remembering we hold each other accountable to right behavior and Christ like living. We don’t make excuses for people who have hurt or harmed someone else; we don’t let them off the hook. Destructive behaviors need to be exposed and confronted. Healing happens in the light; toxic festering is what happens in the darkness of denial.

Have you ever been hurt by a minister? Me too. Have you ever been hurt by Christians? Me too. Have you ever hurt someone else and broken faith with another who trusted you? Me too. Right remembering not only recollects the wrongs done to me, it also remembers how easy it is for me to inflict hurt on others. Right remembering makes us wise and keeps us humble.
          There is something especially damaging when a community of faith breaks faith. Countless people have experienced tragic betrayal by the Church. Countless people have been alienated from Christ’s work of love and reconciliation because the body of Christ has too often lived in antithesis to reconciliation. We Christians have much to answer for.

            But unforgiveness also is something we must answer for. Some years ago, someone hurt me and that hurt changed me. Sunday after Sunday I would pray the prayer: “Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who have sinned against us,” but I had no clue how to forgive this deep wound; how to let go of this painful past. I was so badly curved in upon myself, I was not even willing to start to begin to try to embark upon the process of forgiveness. (“the Self turned in on itself.” Martin Luther’s understanding)

For a long time, I held on to the hurt like dragon’s treasure. I was closed off and pulled in. What I didn’t realize is that - not only did I need to forgive - I really needed to repent. 

Forgiveness and repentance are two sides of a coin. In repentance, we name the ways we hold on to bitterness or anger; the ways we participate in gossip or slander. We acknowledge how easily we tend to become a self curved in on itself; we admit how hard it is for us to bend our lives toward the One who creates and calls us.

In repentance, we own up and name our failings honestly – to God, to ourselves, and to at least one other human being. And then – having entered into repentance – we are empowered to enter into forgiveness. Having emptied ourselves of ourselves as best we are able, only then are we able to be filled up with that which is God’s – amazing grace, profligate mercy and unfailing love.

Love is the key here.

Listen to this wonderful little poem by Derek Trasker:

I wonder what would happen if

  I treated everyone

    like I was in love with them,

whether I like them or not

and whether they respond or not and no matter

what they say or do to me and even if I see

things in them which are ugly twisted petty

cruel vain deceitful indifferent,

just accept all that and turn my attention to some small

weak tender hidden part and keep my eyes on

that until it shines like a beam of light

like a bonfire I can warm my hands by and trust

it to burn away all the waste which is not

(never was) my business to meddle with.

When I think back and remember the times I have not forgiven well, it is clear to me that I have not loved well.

           

            Paul’s letter to the Galatian church is so profound in so many ways. Paul is preaching a gospel of God’s radical grace that is astounding, unimaginable, unbelievable. So much so, as it turns out, that some fellow Jewish Christians (and even Peter!) pull back from that divine wide-openness. “Yes…But…” Paul’s critics say. There are rules to be followed, rituals to be honored, lines to be toed. And Paul’s famous response is: Love. “The fruit of the Spirit is love…” Paul insists. When Spirit has its way with us, there comes love. When Spirit plants its life in us, there grows love. When Spirit breaks wide open our curved in little Selves, there is amazing grace, profligate mercy and unfailing love.

And what does love look like? What does love act like? Much as he does in that wonderful 13^th chapter of First Corinthians, in Galatians 5, Paul clearly describes love as:

            Joy

Peace

Patience

Kindness

Goodness

Faithfulness

Gentleness

Self-control

So how could it be that one could ever live in this life-giving Spirit and at the same time live in unrepentance or unforgiveness? I don’t think we can. When the wide-openness of God’s Love takes root in our lives, we can’t help but grow towards the wide-openness of Grace. It is the grace we have received that allows us to offer grace to others.

When we have been hurt, wounded or betrayed, it is only forgiveness that will allow us to let go of the past and move into a wide-open future. The one who has hurt us may never know, may not even care that we have forgiven them - but we know. We will know that we are released from the anger, freed from the bitterness, unshackled from the past and changed forever. We may remember the hurt, we may still feel some of the pain, but over riding all that, we remember God’s amazing grace, profligate mercy and unfailing love.

            The happy ever after ending of the Joseph story was possible because he was able to take all the hurt, pain and betrayal of his life and let it be redeemed within the life giving process of forgiveness. Joseph was able to allow grace to absorb and transform everything that was ungracious, unjust and unkind. If he was human, then I’m pretty sure that took time and effort. Forgiveness doesn’t just happen; forgiveness takes attention and intention.

            Even for God, forgiveness requires work - and in the Christian understanding that work was accomplished in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

In the middle chapters of the Gospel of Mark, chapters 8-9-10, we watch the story turn. Once in each of these pivotal chapters, Jesus announces his impending death; in each of these chapters, Jesus promises resurrection. Then the second half of Mark’s story is an extended passion narrative where Jesus takes up his cross and finally – once and for all – accomplishes redemption and reconciliation. We are forgiven.

And so we too are invited to live in this story of forgiveness. We are invited to let Spirit break wide open our closed off, curved in little Selves so that we may become large enough to enter into the hurt, pain and betrayal of the world. We are called to “take up our cross and follow” the Christ, carrying God’s redemption and reconciliation with us wherever we go.

Charlotte Vaughan Coyle 2015

This is Outrageous

This past January, a community of Muslim Americans gathered to explore how they could foster more positive depictions of the faith they love. It was timely work for these practitioners of Islam given the terrorist actions just a week before – an extremist acting in the name of their religion at Charlie Hebdo.  

But their efforts for peace were interrupted by other extremists acting in the name of their religion: some “Christians” gathered to protest the presence of their neighbors, claiming Muslims had no right to gather at the local community center; claiming Islam is inherently violent. (These claims, by the way, were accompanied by Internet threats of guns and bombs.)

This happened next door to me. I lived in Garland Texas; I served a Christian church there; I sometimes worshiped at the mosque just down the street in the neighboring suburb. This is my community. This is my home. These are my neighbors. This is outrageous.

This past Thursday, a gathering of Muslim Americans met for the Texas Muslim Capital Day in Austin. Students and children and faith leaders sought to learn more about the democratic process and to meet their representatives. But again – religious extremists interrupted their efforts for peace. As the children stood proudly and began singing the National Anthem, “Christian” protesters – acting in the name of their religion - accused and insulted and disrespected their neighbors.

This is my state. This is my home. These are my neighbors. This is outrageous.

“Outrage” is a word that speaks of being out of bounds, over the top, off limits.  I suppose these protesters are “outraged” because for them, Islam is an over the top religion. In their opinion, the people of this faith are off limits. In their way of thinking, Muslims do not deserve First Amendment Rights. In their minds, any religion besides their own is out of bounds.

I say this is outrageous.

As an American, I am outraged at the never ending cycles of disrespect that keep occurring in this land that I love: African Americans, Jewish Americans, Japanese Americans, Catholic Americans, Asian Americans, Muslim Americans … the list goes on. Our founding documents articulate ideals of equality, tolerance, unity, harmony, respect, but in all of our history, have we ever lived up to those ideals? Do we even want to?

As a Christian, I am outraged at the never ending cycles of hate masquerading as patriotism. I know many people are very distrustful of the term “Christian;” I get that – especially given these kinds of hateful actions in the name of the faith that I love. In recent years, I have grown very distrustful of the term “patriot” for similar reasons. I want to figure out how to reclaim both these words and reconnect them to their more hopeful (and yes, idealistic) meanings. Both patriotism and Christianity should be bold antonyms to hatred, disrespect and exclusion.

I know some people believe religion is inherently divisive, but I disagree. I believe it is we humans who are divisive, tribal, exclusive of whomever we consider to be “other.” Religion – done rightly – works for justice, peace and reconciliation within the human family. There is nothing inherently “bad” about either religion or patriotism; but there is something deeply “bad” that emerges whenever the two are wed. The terrorist who murdered twelve people in Paris in the name of religion, the KKK that burned “Christian” crosses and hung people from trees, the Nazis who twisted patriotism into a religion of hate, and the current day protesters who use Christ's name to condemn any of God’s children – these may be degrees on a spectrum but they are all outrageous to me. (To clarify, I am not outraged by protest per se; this too is a constitutional right. I am outraged at the attitudes of hatred that motivate these people to protest. I am outraged at the incivility and disrespect that is so rampant in our American conversation.)

I wrote in an earlier blog about the foundational Christian paradigm of “love of neighbor.” In that essay, I recommend this principle of love as a basic construct for how we live together in society and how we do politics in this nation. For me, as a Christian, this call to love must be concrete and practical and visible. There is another fundamental Christian concept called the Golden Rule: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Of course both these “rules” for living are not just Christian, both were articulated by the Jewish ancestors of this Judeo-Christian tradition and both are deeply held values within many diverse religious traditions. But surely both these paradigms - love of neighbor and just, equitable treatment others – surely these foundational attitudes should be displayed by all who call themselves “Christian.” Every time people wearing the name of Christ disregard such basic principles and instead practice hate and disrespect, I am outraged.

Abdul Malik Mujahid helped organize the Muslim effort at the Garland Community Center. He said this:

"It is extremely important for the Muslim community to connect with our message. We cannot allow terrorists to run away with the merciful personality of Prophet Muhammad, that they are standing on his name. No. We Muslims in the world, 1.7 billion people, we don’t agree with that. ... At the same time, we’re wondering whether there are good neighbors in America who will stand up with people of other faiths for their right to practice their faith."

As a Christian, as a person of faith, as a pastor, I stand in God’s own over-the-top outrageous love, grace and welcome. How dare I fail to offer love and welcome to any neighbor? 

As an American, I stand with Mr. Mujahid, with my Muslim neighbors, and with all people who work for justice, peace and reconciliation. I stand firmly in our American ideals of equality, tolerance, unity, harmony and respect.

Who stands with me?

Charlotte Vaughan Coyle is an ordained minister within the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ.)

Wrestling with God

I dislocated my shoulder during the week I was working on the Genesis story about Jacob’s encounter with God by the river Jabbok. That entire week, I was moving slowly, with a fair amount of pain; all that week I was living with my own limp so now I have so much more sympathy for Jacob than I’ve ever had before! 

As I studied Genesis 32, I kept thinking about the ways we all wrestle with God; or maybe better – the ways I wrestle with God.

     I struggled mightily with my call to ministry. It took me years to be able to even hear a call, more years to know how to say “yes” to a call, even more years to lean in wholeheartedly to that call.

     I struggled with the decision to sell my home in the big city, to leave my family behind and to move to a small church in a small town in East Texas. Was that really God’s will? How on earth does one know such things?

     I struggle each week with the scriptures. First, I struggle to hear a current word from God speaking to me. And then I struggle to discern what God's word might be for others, a larger group of us seeking to Live in The Story.

     And then - when I think I have some tiny sense of what that word might possibly be - then I struggle mightily with how to say it so that someone might actually be able to hear it.

     I struggle to understand why cancer, dementia and hopelessness continue to be epidemic; why some babies are born much too early and some people die much too soon; why violence and arrogance and divisiveness seem to be valued in our society while compassion and compatibility and humility are scorned.

     Sometimes I struggle to forgive; I struggle with insecurity; I struggle with discouragement. It seems like I am always living with a limp.

I imagine you have your list. I've come to believe that if we are human then there will always be ways we wrestle with life; we wrestle with God.

But what I began to see as I studied our Living in The Story texts for this week is that the wrestling match in our story for today did not come from Jacob. The story is very intentional to describe it as a Divine Intrusion, a Divine Interruption. 

Here is Jacob being Jacob – on his way to make amends with his brother Esau (Is Jacob once again manipulating? Plotting and planning the best way to win Esau’s approval by his elaborate orchestrations of gifts? Is Jacob really sorry for what he did or just sorry he got in trouble?) Anyway, here is Jacob, doing his own thing, minding his own business, when out of the blue he is thrown flat on his back, looking at a world turned upside down.
 

Not a freak accident; not a twist of fate; not by the hand of any other human. (The Scripture says it was “a man” who wrestled with Jacob but the story interprets God as the Instigator of the battle of wills beside the river Jabbok.) At the end, as he limps away from this encounter, Jacob names the place, names his experience: Penuel - “I have seen God face to face.”

These ancient stories remind us that this ancient people did the best they could making sense of the who and the how and why of God. Often this making-sense is described in the stories as “namings.”

         Abraham names his experience with Isaac and the ram in the bush and the angel who stops the knife as: “The Lord provides.” (Genesis 22)

         Hagar, the courageous slave of Sarah, the tenacious mother of Ishmael, the cast out one who was found and spared by divine intervention, is said even to name God! “The One who Sees.” (Genesis 16)

         Jacob names the place of his dream with a ladder of angels and a promise of blessing as Bethel: “the house of God.” (Genesis 28)

         Jacob’s wives name their children in light of their relationships with Jacob and God and life. (Genesis 29-30)

We moderns still do the best we can: asking questions, probing mysteries, naming the experiences of our lives in ways that attempt to make sense. We are not really so different from our ancestors. 

But one thing we see in The Story – this narrative of God’s presence in human history - one consistent thing we are discovering whenever we read the Bible - is that Scripture gives witness to a God who is ever breaking into the human experience in unexpected ways - intruding, interrupting and instigating relationship.

“Why does God wrestle with Jacob?”  Terence Fretheim asks in his commentary on Genesis. “Such struggles might be viewed as divinely initiated exercises in human becoming, of shaping and sharpening the faithfulness of the humans involved for the deep challenges to be faced. God’s engagement in such moments in people’s lives is always a gracious move, informed most basically by faithfulness to promises made, and in the interests of health, peace and well being.”

When Jacob was brought to his knees in his wrestling match with God, Jacob held on for dear life. His determination and perseverance – even in the face of the Overwhelming God – confirmed him to be the one who would continue to bear the Promise given to Abraham. In this struggle of becoming more authentically human, God shaped and sharpened Jacob’s faithfulness for the challenges yet to come. 

And God named him.

Jacob is transformed into Israel.

Some time ago, I read an article about a young woman named Megan Phelps-Roper. She’s the granddaughter of Fred Phelps, the founder and leader of Westboro Baptist Church, infamously known as the “God hates fags” church. (I’m thinking I probably saw Megan several years ago at our Disciples General Assembly in Kansas City when her church family with their protest signs stood on a street corner across from the Convention Center.)

         For most of her 27 years, Megan has been immersed in a world of judgment and hate. It is – literally – all she has ever known. She ate, drank and slept in a certainty that Westboro was Right (with a capital R) and everyone else was Wrong (with a capital W). She believed beyond any doubt that her call in life was to proclaim the sin of the world and to announce its doom.

         But then, out of the blue, evidently God met Megan at her own River Jabbok and initiated a wrestling match. It’s been long. It’s been hard. It’s been painful. And Megan Phelps, who was once so sure-footed is now hobbling away from everything she has known, everyone she has known, everything she has ever believed. Now she is dead to her family.

         How does one have the where-with-all to make such a radical change? To turn so completely? To let go of the known way and to walk - however lamely - toward the breaking of a new dawn in a whole new world?  

         Her wrestlings are not near over. In the interview, she pondered how her name is now associated with hate and judgment in the mind of many people. She wonders if the significance of her name might ever be able to change. I daresay Megan will be living with a limp for a long time. But I believe God’s Divine Intrusion into her life will result in blessing – not only for her, but for many, many others as well.

We’ve been reading the works of the apostle Paul alongside these Genesis stories. Here is another story about God initiating a wrestling match with someone who was immersed in a world of judgment and self-righteousness. Luke is actually the one who tells us a story about Paul’s encounter with the Risen Christ on the road to Damascus. The Book of Acts tells how Paul was blinded so that he might finally be able to see; how he was brought to his knees so that he might finally be able to walk away from old understandings, from long time patterns of judgment and exclusion. 

When Paul wrote to the Galatians, he confessed how violently he had persecuted the church of Jesus Christ. (Galatians 1:13-17)

When Paul wrote to the Romans, he acknowledged he is in the same boat with “all who have sinned” and he is in the same ark with all who encounter God’s radical grace. (Romans 3:21-26)

When Paul wrote to the Corinthians, he described how he had received a “thorn in the flesh” so that he might better lean into that Grace. (2 Corinthians 12:1-10)

Paul’s self-certainty was transformed into a deep dependence on the God who had wrestled him to the ground and raised him up to a new life. Paul was given Christ's vision of the new people, a people of God who are not Jew or Gentile or slave or free or male and female, but who are all baptized into one body of Jesus Christ; who are becoming the one people of God. (Galatians 3:27-29)

Saul, the persecutor of the gospel was given a new name: Paul, the proclaimer of the gospel. And for the rest of his life, God continued to shape and sharpen his faithfulness for the challenges that would come.

And there are many challenges – for Paul, for the congregations he pastored, and for us. Living into the vision and actually becoming one people of God, a whole people of Christ who really do live in the unity of the Spirit will always be a struggle. There are many who resist and even resent such a vision. So, even though Paul had been raised to new life, still he lived the rest of his life with a limp, needing always to lean into the God who had called and commissioned him for this work.

My dislocated shoulder, Jacob’s hip, Paul’s thorn. It seems like there is always something or another that causes us to live with a limp. And I'm wondering how to interpret this, what I need to learn from this experience. These things come to mind:

I am more aware of God’s presence. 

I'm not willing to say God was the instigator, tripping me up in my garage and causing me to fall. But I am willing to say God is at work in all this, teaching me new ways to see and to be in my world. 

That said, there have been occasions in my life in which I am bold to name God as my Divine Intruder, as the one who interrupted what was and instigated something I never could have imagined on my own. 

Those times – like Jacob’s and Paul’s and Megan’s – are always very uncomfortable. Living by faith, walking into God’s unknown, letting go of what has been and trusting that the Creator is still creating new things in the universe – this is hard.

Wherever these times of wrestling come from, we still can name them as opportunities; second chances to open our eyes anew to God’s presence and God’s way. We can let ourselves see life from a different perspective; we can rediscover our gifts and potential; we can get lots of practice leaning into the promise.

I'm more aware of how important it is to stay grounded. 

When we lose our balance, when things change and we find ourselves making all sorts of adjustments, that’s when we can learn to live with intention and attention. We put one foot in front of the other, we take our time, we stay aware, we move with care. And we take time to “be still: to know that God is God” (Psalm 46). To trust that God is God. To let God be God. And we remember – with deep gratitude - how interdependent we are on the supportive grace and wisdom of others.

And, I am much more aware of the power of pain.   

When things are going well, it’s easy to become complacent. But when we hurt, we can be reminded that pain and hardship are the lot of most people in the world most of the time; we can become more sensitive to the struggles and the wrestlings of others. I’ve learned that pain can either shut us down and make us smaller. Or it can break us open and make us larger - more loving, more patient and more compassionate.

         Like Jacob may we hold on tenaciously to God – boldly expecting God’s blessing and trusting in God’s promise even in the midst of the struggle.

         Like Paul may we be empowered with new vision and passion for the people we are ever becoming, trusting that it is God who is always bringing us into being.

         Like Megan may we be bold to step out of what-has-been and into what-may-be.

         May God never cease sharpening and shaping faithfulness in each of us individually and all of us together for whatever challenges lay ahead.

Terence E. Fretheim, “Genesis” The New Interpreter’s Bible, Volume 1 (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1994) 568.

Megan Phelps

https://medium.com/reporters-notebook/d63ecca43e35

Jacob Wrestling by Edward Knippers

http://edwardknippers.com/new-works/large

A Study for Jacob Wrestling by Eugène Delacroix

http://www.louvre.fr/en/oeuvre-notices/study-%E2%80%9Cjacob-wrestling-angel%E2%80%9D