If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away---Henry David Thoreau

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Early Poems by Leo Hartshorn

















Found these poems from the 80's in a notebook I uncovered in some unpacked boxes today:

Food for Thought

To deduce a Creator from creation
through Paley's analogy of machination
is a prior assumption
for cerebral consumption
But just as Pascal said,
The heart eats things
passed over by the head



Pizza Communion


A small voice intones a give-us-this-day-prayer
over a pepperoni pizza with extra cheese
The three young disciples of Tom-foolery
wash down the pizza with blessed Coca-Cola
A simple meal
A sacred Meal
to the one whose eyes have been opened
at the slicing of the pizza



Mobile Sanctuary

Through the silent spaces of air
outside my car
while waiting at a red light
the Word flies into my car radio
the silent, invisible Word
made audible in my mobile sanctuary
through my car stereo
beneath a dirty dashboard horizon
and valley of coke cans and trash
the Word bursts into the silence
birthing itself in my ears
with heavy beat and screaming guitar
a just-alright-Jesus
the Rock of Ages
The Word
born in an audio manger
amid the trash
and a dusty dash

Saturday, November 14, 2009

A Taxing Question


Then the Pharisees went and plotted to entrap him in what he-said. So they sent their disciples to him, along with the Herodians; saying, "Teacher, Tell us ... what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor or not?" Jesus said. .. "Show me a coin used for the tax. " And they brought him a denarius. The he said to them, "Whose head is this, and whose title?" They answered, "The emperor's." Then he said, "Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor's and to God the things that are God's" Matthew 22: 15-22

Death and taxes. The two proverbial certainties in life. People worry that the deficit and government providing health care will raise our taxes. Our two major political parties perpetually debate tax increases. Republicans do not want taxes raised at any cost. Democrats would rather the rich carry a greater percentage of taxation. But questions about taxes are nothing new. They are as old as the Bible. Read my lips. Taxes will follow us to the grave.

The subject of taxes is a topic for heated debate. Taxes are a powerful symbol of the clash between the interests of the individual and the interests of the society. They are the point where the personal and the political collide head on. So, it is not surprising that the subject of taxes has provoked debate, incited revolutions, and split people along political party lines. Talk of taxes raises a lot of debated questions.

Death and taxes. Jesus had to deal with these two certainties in his last days. Death and taxes are linked together in today's biblical narrative. But the question of taxes seems to have hounded the heels of Jesus from his cradle to his grave. It was a census for taxation that brought his parents to Bethlehem. And the accusation that Jesus taught the people not to pay the poll tax was thrown at him during his trial.

Even the Christ of God could not escape the question of taxes. Death and taxes. In Matthew's gospel they both are headed in a collision course, with Jesus in the middle. The instigators of this collision are a collusion of two major political groups in Jesus' day---the Pharisees and the Herodians. The Herodians were Roman puppets who supported the rule of Herod Antipas. The Pharisees were elite religious leaders who governed within the political sphere allotted to them by Rome. In any question of taxation the Herodians would have supported it. Like most Jews under Roman domination, the Pharisees would have been opposed to taxation. They were primarily out to get the one who was disturbing the peace of their power. But politics always seems to create strange bedfellows. Pharisees and Herodians. Bush and Noriega. And believe it or not, at one time, even the U.S. and Iraq!

The Pharisees and Herodians were working together to trap Jesus into making a political blunder, so as to get him out of their hair. The followers of these two groups came to Jesus one day. They spoke with a forked tongue. There was venom in their sweet words. Beneath their flattery was hidden deceit and trickery. You can almost hear the spring catch on their steel trap as they say to Jesus, "Rabbi, we know that you are a sincere person. You truthfully teach the way of God. Neither do you express personal preference toward people, or show partiality." You see, they were craftily setting up Jesus. They were trying to force him to admit political neutrality, while all along they knew that there was no way he would be able to void taking sides on the issue of Roman taxation.

What they wanted Jesus to tell the crowd was not his personal opinion, but the way of God on the issue of taxation. We might compare it ot a secular scene with Congress asking Sonia Sotomayor, "Judge, we know that you are fair, honest,truthful, unbiased, non-partisan, without pre-judgment or partiality, a wise Latina woman. So, tell us then, does an unborn child have constitutional rights?" Hear the trap go “snap!” But into the sizzling stew that Jesus was placed, add the extra ingredient of God. In other words, they didn't want just his opinion, or the law's. They wanted Jesus to pronounce the word of God on this issue! So, whatever he said to this crowd, Jesus was going to hang himself.

Then the question with teeth was thrown at Jesus: "Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not." They were ready to snag Jesus on the sharp horns of a dilemma. And Jesus was aware of their deadly intent. If he said "no", then he would find himself in hot water not just with the Herodians, but with the whole imperial Roman government. He would have been labeled a revolutionary. If he answered "yes", then Jesus would have cooked his own goose among his people, who opposed the taxation.

You see, taxation was a symbol to the Jewish people of Roman oppression. A resistance movement was even formed and Jewish revolts broke out over Roman taxation. For Jesus to approve of imperial taxation would prove to be volatile. Beneath this question of taxation hid other perplexing questions like; "Can one be a faithful Jew and a loyal subject of Rome? What business have the people of God to do with secular governments? Who is to be obeyed---the Torah or Tiberius? Who is really the Lord---God or Caesar?" The Pharisees and Herodians were hoping for a simple, incriminating answer from Jesus. The trap was ready to spring. But Jesus' drew the hunter's into their own trap. He asked them to show him the coin used in the tax.

The live bomb that they placed in Jesus' hands was about to explode in their own faces. They were being called upon to participate in answering their own question by producing from their own pockets the evidence that would entrap them. They handed Jesus a denarius, a coin equivalent to a day's labor. Jesus then turned the tables on them and asked them a question: "Whose head and title is on this coin?" This coin, used to pay taxes, was a highly controversial symbol in first century Jewish Palestine. It was minted by emperor Tiberius. It bore his image and the blasphemous title, "Tiberius, Caesar, Augustus, the son of the divine Augustus." The image and title were an abomination to the Jew and a sign of sovereignty. The Roman coin was such a slap in the Jewish face that during the period of several rebellions the Jews minted their own coins as symbols of liberty. The question of whose image the coin bore had an obvious answer---Caesar.

You can almost hear the snap of the trap as Jesus' turns their question upon them. But we will have to listen closely to hear it. He says, "Well then, pay back to Caesar the things that are Caesar's and to God the things that are God's." On the surface it sounds like a rather straight forward response. His words seem to provide a black and white answer. How simple. Give to Caesar his due and to God his due. The two realms of politics and religion get sorted out and put in their nice, neat compartments. In this drawer are the "things of Caesar." And over there in that drawer are the "things of God." And what are the things of Caesar? Why, they must be things like taxes, politics, economics, the military, government policies, and issues of social welfare. Then, what are the things of God? Well, they must be things like the church, the Bible, worship, prayer, fellowship, and morality. Jesus' answer sounds like a nice, neat formula for putting religion and politics in their right and proper places.

We might hear Jesus' words as a sermon on the separation of church and state. Or we may hear Jesus as an Anabaptist preacher proclaiming a theology of two separate kingdoms; the kingdom of God and the kingdom of the world. This is Caesar's realm and this is God's realm and never the twain shall meet. If we are not careful, Jesus may even begin to sound like a middle-of-the-road politician or a Boy Scout master who tells the loyal troops that they should do their duty to God and their country. As a matter of fact, in the movie of Sergeant York's life, these very words of Jesus are used by the good sergeant to determine the answer a question he had concerning whether, as a Christian, he should allow himself to be drafted into the US Army in 1917. And we know the answer he pulled out of the hat of Jesus' statement. If we are not careful, we can turn this saying of Jesus into something as innocuous and non-threatening as the admonition to be both good Christians and good citizens at the same time. And that is exactly what most Christians have done to this revolutionary saying of Jesus. Scout's honor!

Jesus' answer to the question of taxation is intentionally ambiguous. Those who hear his answer must struggle to answer for themselves what are the things of Caesar and what are the things of God. The two halves of Jesus' answer are not to be taken as referring to two equal but separate realms that deserve our honor. By placing the two realms side by side Jesus forces us to deal with the relationship between the two. We are placed in a position of having to deal with the relationship of the private and the public, religion and politics, faith and society, the sovereignty of the state and the sovereignty of God. Jesus will not allow us to quietly slip away and hide in our private realm of personal piety. We cannot treat the two realms of God and Caesar separately. Or as someone put it; "We cannot settle questions of political life without considering the claims of God, nor seek to live a religious life oblivious to the problems of society." Jesus throws the "things of Caesar" alongside "the things of God" and causes us to wrestle with them.

This struggle is intensified when we place the emphasis on the second half of Jesus' answer, where it properly deserves to go; upon rendering unto God the things that are God's. If we were to ask the common Jew of Jesus' day, "What are the things of God?", the answer would have been obvious. Everything. What things bear the imprint of God on them? Everything. As the Psalmist says, "The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof. The world and all that is in it." God's things are everything. Politics and prayer. Wealth and worship. Everything. God is Sovereign of everything. So, by placing the statement of what is God's next to what is Caesar's, Jesus is not positing together two co-equal realms that deserve our due. Rather, Jesus has thrown into question not only the things that belong to Caesar, but also the very sovereignty of Caesar.

The claims of Caesar's lordship, become relative alongside the absolute sovereignty of God. The "things of Caesar" are dramatically minimized by the second half of Jesus' answer. Caesar and God, like God and Mammon, are not two lords who stand on equal footing when it comes to our allegiance. God alone is Lord. What we are to render unto Caesar shrinks before the towering question of what we are to render into God. Jesus has given an answer that explodes our narrow and isolated categories. So, in the midst of our own religious and political questions Jesus' answer, we may become as amazed at what Jesus said as those who first heard his answer.

And we may well ask ourselves the question; "What in the world are God's things?" In a world where Caesar rules, that can be a rather taxing question. Jesus' response to the Pharisees and Herodians gives us no simple black and white answer to our own contemporary religious and political questions. How do we sort out the legitimate requirements of loyalty to society, and the absolute demand of loyalty to God? Should we always obey the government? What if Caesar were a Hitler? Should the Christian ever be involved in civil disobedience? What if Caesar's policies send Central Americans back to poverty and death or segregate South African blacks? Should we always pay our taxes? What if they are used to support wars and to stockpile nuclear weapons? If Caesar requires us to go to Iraq or Afghanistan or Iran and defend our country's interests, must we render unto Caesar his due? Do we, as Christians, merely answer these questions along liberal or conservative political party lines? These are indeed taxing questions.

Now, wouldn't you like for me to give all of you a simple answer to each one of these questions? I'm afraid that if I did, I would find myself in the position of Jesus. But I am not Jesus. Your answers must come from him. And I suspect that he will not give you an easy answer, but will hand your questions back to you and say to you words like, "Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's and to God the things that are God's."

The answers to our questions will come to us only as we struggle with Jesus' words and as we place all of our questions alongside the ultimate sovereignty of God. And the one question that will override all other questions will not be "what must I render unto Caesar?", but rather, "what must I render unto God?" And the answer is obvious. Everything.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

In Remembrance of Bat-Jiftah: a reflection on domestic violence

And Jephthah made a vow to the Lord, and said, "If you will give the Ammonites into my hand, then whoever comes out of the doors of my house to meet me, when I return victorious from the Ammonites, shall be the Lord's, to be offered up by me for a burnt offering. .. Then Jephthah came to his home at Mizpah; and there was his daughter coming out to meet him..Judges 11:30-31, 34

If you read the title of this article you may be wondering, "Who is Bat-jiftah?" I've never seen her name in the Bible. In reality there is no one by that name in the Bible. I use this name to identify an anonymous person (1). She is a victim of domestic violence, as well as anonymity. We may know the name of Nicole Brown Simpson only because her batterer was a celebrity. But, the victim in our text goes unnamed, like the women abused every fifteen seconds, the more than 4,000 women killed annually by domestic violence, or the estimated 2 to 4 million women physically abused each year. They have become mere statistics to be recited; nameless persons, victims of domestic violence. So, I give this victim a name. Bat-Jiftah in Hebrew would be translated "daughter of Jephthah." By giving her a name and remembering her story we may help to break the silence of abuse. And by remembering the unnamed victims of abuse today we may move toward their healing.

The story of Bat-Jiftah begins with a violent male. This is true of most stories of domestic violence. The overwhelming majority of perpetrators of domestic violence are male. Studies have shown that a larger percentage of males than females display aggressive and violent behavior. 89% of all violent crimes are committed by men. Males, in general, seem to be socialized toward aggressive behavior. So, we begin with the male in this particular Biblical story, whose name is Jephthah. He was the son of a prostitute, a "mighty warrior." He was skilled in the art of violence. Driven out of his home by his half-brothers he fled to the land of Tob, where he gathered around himself a band of outlaws.

Jephthah was invited to return to Gilead and command the military forces in a war against the Ammonites. This society practiced human sacrifice to the god Molech. The crux of the story centers around a vow he made. Before Jephthah goes into battle, he bargains with God by making a vow.Strangely enough, the text says that he made the vow while "in the spirit of the Lord." Jephthah said, "If you will give the Ammonites into my hand, then whoever comes out of the doors of my house to meet me, when I return victorious from the Ammonites shall be the Lord's to be offered up by me as a burnt offering." This was a man driven by power. Jephthah desperately needed a military victory to legitimate himself in the eyes of his people. And his victory was to be sealed with the offering of a human sacrifice.When the battle was won, Jephthah returned home to Mizpah.

At this point in the story the writer intends to create in the story a sense of anticipation, even anxiety,as Jephthah makes his way home. Who will come out to meet him? Jephthah himself doesn't seem to know. When he was some distance from his home his daughter, his only child, came out to meet him.Like Miriam at the Red Sea, she came with timbrels and dancing in joyful celebration of the victory of her father and her people. Jephthah appears to be genuinely surprised and falls into deep sorrow on account of the outcome of his vow to God. Knowing the place of sons in such an ancient, patriarchal society, I wonder if the one who came out to meet him were a son, would his sorrow have been even greater? Might he have reconsidered his foolish vow? Nevertheless, it is his daughter who will be sacrificed on the
altar of male egotism and blind faith.

First, Jephthah rends his garments in an act of mourning. But, then he places the blame of his forthcoming violence upon his daughter. He says, "Ah, my daughter you have brought me low and you have become the source of my trouble." Blaming the victim is the classic justification perpetrators use to excuse their violence. The batterer says to the victim, "If you wouldn't make me so angry, then I wouldn't hit you," As one battered wife said: "I was blamed for just about everything and got so that I accepted that blame. Once he threw a brush at me and accused me of breaking it." This tactic of blaming the victim is seen in the title of one "pro-family" tract: Wives: 90% of the Fault. A battered woman may be blamed by her family, counselor, the church, or clergy when they tell her that she shouldn't have provoked her partner to anger. The victim will even blame themselves for their abuse. She may say to herself, "I should have cleaned the house and had dinner ready" or "I shouldn't have said anything about the bills." By blaming the victim the whole system of male domination is protected from its need to change. "Ah, my daughter, you have brought me low... "

As strange as it may sound to us, Bat-Jiftah responded to her father's rash vow in complete submission. The Lord has fulfilled his part of the agreement, her father can do no less. In no way did she challenge paternal authority. We may want to question whether teaching children an unqualified obedience and honor of parents may set some of them up for accepting parental abuse. Like her father, she accepted the vow as irrevocable. So, she submitted to the vow. We may not know whether to praise her or feel sorry for her. Some interpreters of this text have lauded Bat-Jiftah for her submissiveness to her father's vow to God. I read a sermon on Jephthah's daughter that compared her "noble" self-sacrifice to the "sacrifice of God's Son." The preacher said, "An oath has been made to God and she will do her duty." One modern poet would have us remember Bat-Jiftah's submission by putting these words in her mouth to her father:

When this blood of thy giving hath gushed,
When the voice that thou lovest is hushed,
Let my memory still be thy pride,
And forget not I smiled as I died! (2)


One may wonder whether this portrayal of unquestioned submissiveness to paternal authority is rather the narrator's male-oriented interpretation of what happened. Some interpreters would read in Bat-Jiftah's words a tone of ironic judgment upon Jephthah. Others consider that she even may have already known about Jephthah's vow, which seems to be indicated in the text, and intentionally took the place of someone her father considered more expendable, thus challenging his senseless vow. Even if this were a case of humble submission to such an act of violence, it can in no way be used to legitimize a woman's submission to domestic violence, even if it is done "in the name of the Lord."

Someone reading this may be saying, "They sure were brutal back in those days. I'm awful glad that in our modem times people don't do such things in the name of religion." Jephthah was ready to commit an act of domestic violence in God's name. And yet, even today acts of domestic violence are perpetrated in the name of God and religion, or at times with religious justification and sanction. I am reminded of the criminal case of John List, who considered by many around him to be a devout man of faith. The bodies of his wife, Helen, their three teenage children, Patricia, John Jr., and Frederick, as well as his 85 year old mother, Alma, were all found in List's New Jersey home shot in the head. One could point to List's enormous debts, the loss of his job, pressure from his wife's illness as triggering events. But, List was also frustrated with the unchristian attitudes of his family. He told his daughter, who rebelled against his rigid religion, that her interests were interfering with her continuing to be a Christian. His wife, also frustrated with his dogmatism and its negative effects on their lives, asked to have her name removed from the church roll. That incident with his wife happened right before the murders. List decided instead of removing his wife from the church rolls he would remove his whole family from the evils of this world.

He left a note for his pastor at the murder scene. List later professed a positive spiritual benefit in the murders saying, "At least I'm certain they've all gone to heaven now." Following the murders he even returned to regular church attendance under another name in another place.Truly, this is an extreme case. But, religion, even Christianity, has often been used in many ways to justify, sanction, or directly support committing or submitting to domestic violence. In a 15th Century Christian publication called Rules of Marriage we read:

Scold your wife sharply, bully and terrify her. If this does not work, take a stick and beat her soundly, for it is better to punish the body and correct the soul than to damage the soul and spare the body. .. Then readily beat her, not in rage but out of charity and concern for her soul so that the beating will rebound to your merit and her good (3).

As appalling as this may sound, theological justification is still being used to condone or ignore violence within the family. Are we not condoning Jephthah's act when confronted with a situation of marital violence we advocate the sanctity of vows made to God over the sanctity of human life? Clergy, Christians, and friends have advised battered women to respect their marriage vows, be submissive to their battering husbands, as the will of God, with little or no admonition to the husband to end the violence. By no means does everyone who believes in a divine plan of male domination over women and husbands over wives abuse or approve of abuse. And yet, there appears to be a direct correlation between the theological viewpoint of male domination and authority over women and abuse. Research has shown that men who batter embrace the traditional view of male supremacy.

Our theology can, when misused, reinforce domestic violence. The Christian virtues of self-denial, self-sacrifice, suffering for the sake of others, and taking up one's cross have been literally applied in the situations of domestic violence trapping the victim in the deadly cycle of violence. In the light of our knowledge and experience of domestic violence should we not reconsider perpetuating one traditional formulation of the doctrine of redemption, more particularly the doctrine of "substitutionary atonement"? In this portrayal of redemption the Father is all-powerful and the children are all-guilty. There is nothing the children can do to earn mercy, no moral basis upon which appeal to the love of the Father. The Father's rage is justified because of the sinfulness of the children. No matter how they are treated by the Father, it is their fault and they have to carry the blame for whatever the Father might do to them. The children's guilt is exacerbated by the presence of a perfect child. Out of love for his children, the Father takes out his wrath upon his blameless Son through a violent; and by divine necessity, bloody death.Thus, the perfect Son accepts the punishment that the Father's hopelessly sinful children rightly deserve, so that they can be saved and go to live forever in the home of the all-powerful Father (4). I don't know about you, but that sounds like a nightmare to me! Imagine how it might sound to the millions of victims
of domestic violence.

It is not hard to see how this doctrinal construct could be used to give divine legitimization to domestic violence. As one who has heard many horror stories of abuse and has personally experienced the deep pain, trauma, and permanent emotional damage left in the wake of domestic violence, I would have to say that I would find it extremely difficult to worship a God who would in any way condone or justify domestic violence, or violence of any sort. The God that I worship is a God of love and compassion. The God of our Jesus Christ is a God of healing and hope, who defends the abused and oppressed.

Some might well be saying, "Yeah, but all that stuff about domestic violence may be true for others, but we Mennonites, with our peace theology, don't have to deal with the problem of domestic violence." Sad but true, one recent study done by Isaac Block of Mennonite families in Winnepeg revealed that sexual and domestic violence occurred as frequently in Mennonite families as it did in the general population.(5) Some believe that a Mennonite theology of Gelassenheit, or humble submission to God's will, self-denial, self-sacrifice, suffering love, following the way of the cross, turning the other cheek ill passive nonresistance, and quick and easy forgiveness, have contributed to the further victimization of women in situations of abuse. On the other hand, I am encouraged by Mennonite women and men theologians and ethicists who are applying our peace theology in new ways to the issue of domestic
violence by advocating that we work for social justice and practice active, nonviolent resistance. We can follow the way of Jephthah and without question literally and woodenly apply our beliefs in situations that can only further victimize people. Or, by the healing grace of God, we can discover alternative ways to be faithful to our covenant vows with God.

In the end Jephthah carried through with his vow. Frozen in my mind is a painting I came across on the internet, a 17th century painting by Venetian artist Pietro della Vecchia entitled The Sacrifice of Jephthah's daughter. It captures the moment right before Jephthah robs his daughter's life in human sacrifice. The figures of Jephthah and his daughter fill the canvas. The bottom of the canvas is strewn with the shadowed heads of bystanders looking on as if at a peep show. The figures of father and daughter are set against a brooding sky. Their heads touch in the center. In one hand Jephthah tenderly holds the back of the neck of his daughter. The muscles of his other arm bulge with a steely knife reflecting light in the shadows. Light falls bright on the bare flesh of Bar-Jiftah, with only her legs draped with a cloth and her hands protecting her uncovered breasts. To our modem sensibilities there is something almost pornographic in this mixture of subtle sexual titillation and misogynist violence. Bar-Jiftah's head is bowed in quiet submission waiting for the inevitable plunge of the knife blade.

Old Testament scholar Phyllis Trible has rightly called this story a "text of terror" (6) There is no word in the text that condemns the sacrifice. No where do we read anything in the the book of Judges like, "And Jephthah did that which was evil in the sight of the Lord." God did not stay the hand of Jephthah as God did with Isaac as Abraham lifted high the knife to plunge it into the breast of Isaac. There was no one in the community to hold back the hand of a violent father, as in the case of Saul, who was kept from doing violence to his son Jonathan on account of a rash oath that he made. Even though we may find human sacrifice condemned elsewhere in the Bible, there is no direct indication in the text that God was displeased that Jephthah followed through with his vow. Could it be that the death of the daughter through human sacrifice, the silence of God, and the lack of anyone in the community to protest such violence are but signs of something rotten and evil in their midst?

Before Jephthah offered his daughter as a human sacrifice she asked only one small favor. Within the limits of her own patriarchal culture, Bat-Jiftah assumed some responsibility in her dire situation by bargaining for herself. She asked that she might go into the mountains for two months with her female companions to "bewail her virginity." The narrator notes that Bat-Jiftah "had never known a man," as if that makes her fate more tragic than it already was. One might reply that she had known a man, at least one and all too well, and that is at the heart of her tragedy. But, her pilgrimage to the mountains with her female companions was not to bemoan the fact that she had never had sex with a man. She was mourning the fact that she would not make the transition to adulthood.

From textual and cultural analysis, we may conjecture that this pilgrimage involved a rite of passage from puberty, a common ritual depicting the death of adolescence and the emergence of adulthood (7).The ritual became associated with the premature death of Bat-Jiftah. It is interesting to note that in her book In a Different Voice, Carol Gilligan presents a study of female moral development from an adolescent stage of self-sacrifice to a woman's mature recognition of responsibility for her own well being in moral decision making (8). For women to appropriate Bat-Jiftah's story today it may mean that they move beyond the stage of adolescent self-sacrifice in solving moral dilemmas to a mature recognition of the need to care for their own well being. Anyway, we do know from the text that there existed some kind of ritual reenacted for four days each year, in which the daughters of Israel would go out to lament Bat-Jiftah. These women kept her memory alive in a ritual of emembrance.

In Africa there is still a belief that a person does not really die until the last one remembers that person dies. Let us keep the memory of Bat-Jiftah alive, like the women who for four days each year remembered her in an annual ceremony. Even more so, let us remember the countless Bat-Jiftah's, unnamed women,daughters, and sons sacrificed on the familial pyres. And let us remember them not merely by the ritual of listening to a sermon or observing Domestic Violence Awareness Sunday. Let us remember by working for the healing of bleeding women and children, as Jesus healed the woman with a menstrual hemorrhage. Let us in remembering work to break the silence of abuse, advocate a zero-tolerance attitude toward any form of family abuse, support organizations, like the Houston Women's Center, that educate the public,support and shelter battered women and children. Let us remember that there are faithful people like my friends Stan and Jeanette Harder, who used their home as a temporary shelter for battered women and their children, and all those workers in shelters who provide temporary homes for the battered and bruised. Let us remember the contemporary Bat-Jiftahs by dismantling oppressive patriarchal structures and ideologies and tearing down the walls of a theology that condones, justifies, or supports domestic violence.

Let us also remember to listen to the liberating Biblical stories of the healing of women, children, and men, that can transform our personal and social consciousness and moral vision. Let us remember stories of the triumph of the human spirit, like the Alice Walker's fictional story of Celie in The Color Purple, a survivor of domestic abuse. Let us remember the real life stories of those around us who have, by the grace of God, experienced a measure of healing from abuse. Let us remember Bat-Jiftah. For those who do not remember history are bound to repeat it. By remembering the unnamed victims of domestic violence, we can hopefully avoid repeating a history of abuse. By remembering, we all may continue to live.

____________________________________

(1) I am indebted to J Cheryl Exum for the name "Bat-jiftah." See Cheryl Exum, "Feminist Criticism: Whose lnterests are Being Served?" in Gale Yee's Judges and Method. (Minneapolis:Fortress, 1995), 75-78.
(2) Lord Byron, Jephthah's Daughter in Robert Atwan and Lawrence Wieder, eds., Chapters into Verse, Vol. I, (Oxford:Oxford University, 1993), 182.
(3) Cited in Marie Fortune, "The Church and Domestic Violence," Theology, News and Notes, Fuller Theological Seminary, June 1982.
(4) I have benefited from the theological reflections on the atonement by James Poling in his book The Abuse of Power.(Nashville:Abingdon, 1991).
(5) Isaac I. Block, Assault on God's Image. (Winnepeg:Wildflower Communications, 1991).
(6) Phyllis Trible, Texts of Terror. (Philadephia: Fortress, 1984).
(7) Peggy Day, "The Story of Jephthah's Daughter" in Peggy Day, ed. Gender and Difference in Ancient Israel. (Minneapolis:Fortress), 60.
(8) As cited in Peggy Day, "The Story of Jephthah's Daughter."

In honor of Elizabeth Cady Stanton's birthday today


Elizabeth Cady Stanton (November 12, 1815-October26, 1902)was a key leader of the early women's movements, an abolitionist. Although an abolitionist she opposed voting rights for African-American males, over against Frederick Douglas and often with racist language, while at the same time she called for a universal rights, including voting rights for freed African-American women. Her Declaration of Sentiments were read at the first women's rights convention at Seneca Falls, New York in 1848, which declared that men and women were created equal. She worked alongside Susan B. Anthony in their struggles for women's rights.Stanton is also known for writing one of the first feminist critiques of the Bible in the 1890s called the Women's Bible.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

William Sloane Coffin: pastor, social activist, peacemaker


Finished this ink drawing of William Sloane Cofin for my series Artisans of Social Change.

Rev. William Sloane Coffin (1924-2006)was a liberal Protestant cleric, social activist and international peacemaker. Coffin was pastor of famous interdenominational Riverside Church in New York City for many years, who publicly opposed the war in Vietnam, calling for civil disobedience, was part of the Southern Freedom movement (he hosted Rev. Dr. Martin Luther Luther King Jr. at Riverside), supporter of gay rights, and a strong advocate of nuclear disarmament.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Does Mite Make Right? a different interpretation of the story of the widow's mites

As he taught he said, "Beware of the scribes ... they devour widows houses ... " He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, " Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on." Mark 12: 38,40,41-44

Religious institutions have a potential for great good and great evil. When their goal becomes the glory of the institution itself, the institution can become corrupted and its religious leaders lose sight of their role of helping the poor and, instead, end up oppressing them. In a Time magazine article on "Gospel TV: Religion, Politics, and Money" the writers quote a Televangelist, who headed a religious broadcasting network with a budget of $35 million. This preacher-of-prosperity told his viewers that a widow had donated her life savings of $7000 and commented, "Do you realize what an awesome responsibility it is for me to stand here and encourage people to literally give all they have to God. I'm either the biggest fool and idiot and con man in the world or else I'm plugged in to heaven." (1) Now, a lot of us may have already figured out what he is. Who could spend this poor widow's $7000 on air time as quick as a child gets rid of a dime on candy? I’ll bet you may be wondering if this guy's plugged in at all! But, hold your opinion for just a minute.

Would you praise this poor widow for giving all that she had to an already wealthy religious institution? Yes? No? Well, ask yourself this question: Would you praise the poor widow in Mark's gospel for putting all that she had into the treasury of the already wealthy institution of the temple? It may be that we need to reexamine our traditional interpretation of Mark's story about the widow's mites and see if there might be a different lesson that Jesus' wants to teach his followers.

Are we to praise the poor for giving away all that they have to religious leaders and wealthy institutions? How we answer that question for ourselves may depend on how we interpret the story of the poor widow. The narrative tells how one day Jesus was sitting “over against” the temple treasury. Notice the intentional spatial language. In the Court of Women there were 13 trumpet-shaped receptacles where money could be deposited for the work of the temple. Jesus sat at the foot of one of the temple pillars near the treasury and watched the crowd.

The priests, part of Jerusalem's upper class, could be singled out from the common crowd in the temple by their long, flowing robes. They liked being noticed for their flashy clerical garb, getting ministerial discounts, and sitting next to the mayor or bishop at religious and civic functions. When they entered the court, commoners made way for them and evacuated the best places in the house. Cushions were brought and seats cleaned for the temple priests to sit and pray. To one side of the court the scribes, also a part of the upper class, sat and listened, to legal difficulties, often of poor widows and disinherited orphans, for a goodly fee, of course. The rich, robed in finery, processed by the treasury in all their pomp and circumcision and dropped in handfuls of coins, which loudly jingled as they fell into the trumpet-shaped receptacles. These grandiose offerings of the rich would go to feed the already bloated institution of the temple. And it didn't even make a dent in their finances.

Then, in contrast to the wealthy and powerful, who were throwing in handfuls of money with plenty left over, there came by the treasury a poor widow. Widows were among the poorest strata of Palestinian society. Life was difficult for the widow, living in a patriarchal society without a male to financially provide for them. Israel's covenant had its commandments to protect the rights of widows. But these often went unheeded.

We need not imagine the widow as elderly, since only about 20% of the population survived beyond their fortieth birthday, which would be the mortality rate of modern Bangladesh. It is interesting to note that the Hebrew word for "widow" was very close to the word for "be mute." Widows were the powerless and voiceless in a society which listened to the sound of money talking. Is there nothing new under the sun?

This poor widow had in her feeble hand two mites; literally, two quadrans, the smallest Roman coin of the time. Each coin amounted to about 1/8th of a penny. Together, her two coins amounted to 1/8th of what rabbi's taught should be given to a travelling beggar from the "Pauper's dish." It appeared that her two coins were her "life savings", all that she had.

Jesus called together his disciples to watch what was about to happen. The widow did not even keep one of the coins for herself She dropped both of them into the coffers. It was a flash in the pan, but it was everything that she had. And any small contribution that those two small coins made would be for the upkeep of the magnificent temple and the support of its upper-class attendants. Jesus turned to his disciples and said, "Truly, I tell you. This widow gave more than all the others. For they all gave out of their abundance, but she, out of her lack, gave all that she had, all her living." The question is: Was Jesus praising the woman, as we have traditionally interpreted the text, or was he lamenting the sorry state of affairs inflicted on the poor by the institutional system of the temple?

Does this story teach us to praise the poor when they give away everything they have to religious leaders and their wealthy institutions? Should we praise the sacrificial contributions of those poor who helped to pay for a certain preacher's $1million dollar home, another's $100 million dollar a year ministry, and another's $172 million theme park and rare 1939 Rolls-Royce, just to name a few of the extravagances of some religious leaders and their institutions? Some religious leaders even encourage their followers to use their savings and to borrow in order to give to their ministry. Are these practices to be commended, particularly when their TV appeals are often heard by low-income families, widows, or the elderly on fixed incomes?

Now, I don't want to just beat up on TV preachers, but they do seem make rather easy targets! At times the sneaky tactics of some Televangelists are directly aimed at getting the Christian dollars of those lonely widows, who sit at home with no other companion than the TV. There's one tactic that can yank on a thousand purse strings. All the preacher has to do is say something like, "The Lord is speaking to me. Thank you, Jeeeeezus! He's telling me that there's an elderly woman out there in Televisionland, who has some money stashed away in her house. She's been saving it for herself But the Lord told me to tell you, sister, not to hoard His money. Glory be to God! The Lord is telling me, yes, the word is clear, to take that step of faith and send it all in, so it can be used to do Gaaaawd's work. Amen? Amen!" Now, "figgerin'" that you got a TV audience of about 15 million watching, how many are old ladies with money stashed away for themselves somewhere in their house? The Lord doth move in mysterious ways His wonders to perform! Now, should we praise those widows, who do send in the little money they have to live on?

Social workers have complained that the elderly poor often give to religious broadcasters more than they can afford. One such incident occurred in Altoona, Pa., where a 67-year-old widow was threatened with a heat shut-off when she couldn't pay her gas bill. She had sent a large portion of her $331 monthly social-security check to a well known TV preacher who, to say the least, was not pinching pennies. Should we praise that Altoona widow for her sacrificial giving, particularly when we know that it is just going to add to the accumulated wealth of a religious institution and its leaders?

We need to beware of justifying institutional oppression of the poor, even if the institutions are religious. This is the danger we encounter with the traditional interpretation of Jesus' words about the widow's offering as being words of praise. Jesus' words have been interpreted as a commendation in a variety of ways as teaching First, the story is supposed to teach us that the true measure of gifts is not how much is given but how much remains behind. Second, the story teaches us that it is not the amount which one gives that matters but the spirit in which the gift is given, that is, as in self-offering, total commitment, loyalty to God's call, generosity, humility, detachment from possessions, or in trust that God will provide one's needs. Third, the story teaches us that the true gift is to give everything we have. Fourth, it teaches us that alms and other gifts should correspond with one's' means. Or fifth, the story of the poor widow teaches us that almsgiving is a duty. It would be interesting to examine each one of these interpretations of the story, but as we interpret the text within its context we will find that each of these interpretations is not without its problems.

Would Jesus commend the action of the widow in light of his previous condemnation of the Corban? This was a practice, among some in Jesus' day, of withdrawing financial support from their parents by declaring it "Corban", that is, "given to God." Jesus is remembered for having said that human needs take precedence over religious ritual, obligation, and observance when the two come in conflict. Would Jesus condemn the Corban, that could impoverish elderly parents out of a pretense of religious obligation, and then turn around and commend the widow for giving away all her money, leaving her totally destitute, in order to support the corrupted temple institution?

The story of the Widow's mites is preceded by a warning against and condemnation of the scribes, the elite and wealthy religious leaders who loved to "strut their stuff" in the temple and who under the pretense of long prayers "ate up widow's houses." In other words, their so-called trusted position as religious leaders in "the house of prayer," had allowed them to benefit off poor widows, like the one in our story, to the point that they "ate them out of house and home" with their profiteering. They did this by either a practice of pilfering off widows' estates, while holding their property in trust or by the simple fact that they were the one's in charge of the temple, whose costs were devouring the goods of widow's.

We must interpret the story of the widow in light of its context of the preceding passage that condemns the scribes who "eat up widow's houses," the story's anti-temple context, which includes the story of the cursing of the fig tree (a symbol of the temple), the parable of wicked tenants (which represent wicked religious leaders ), Jesus' expulsion of the money-changers from the temple (a prophetic act symbolizing the condemnation of the economic exploitation of the temple institution), his condemnation of the temple as becoming a "den of thieves," as well as the story that follows today's text about how the disciples marvel at the wondrous temple, while Jesus predicts that one stone shall not be left standing on top of another. Within this anti-temple context, the interpretation of the story as Jesus praising the widow for offering her last red cent to the temple becomes questionable.

Could it be that Jesus is rather lamenting the sad situation of the widow, exploited by the corrupted temple institution? Could it be that he is saying something to his disciples like, "Look at that poor widow. The rich can just skim off the top and support the temple. No loss. But she has given to the temple everything she had to live on. Her house has been completely eaten up."

If we take the traditional interpretation of this story as Jesus' praise of the widow's offering, we may need to apologize for our negative reactions to all the widows of our day who give everything they have to wealthy religious institutions, and rather praise them. Even if we see this story as one of praising the widow's offering, we must at least remember its context and beware of using it to justify institutional oppression of the poor. Institutional oppression of the poor is something we must beware of even in our day. Institutions, including religious ones, can become sinful and exploit those in need. Sin is not only personal. It is social and effects institutions, just as it had effected the institution of the temple in Jesus' day. Sin can stain the social fabric of any society.

When we buy our coffee from "Juan Valdez", who is in reality a poor South American living in a shack with a sick wife and six underfed children and is paid pennies to harvest coffee beans by a U.S. multinational corporation, instead of producing edible food for his own country, but is exploited for an enormous profit, which is passed on to us, then... we are involved in the social sin of economic institutions. Social sin happens when we pass budgets that support the military-industrial complex by allocating billions to building stealth bombers and advanced nuclear weapon technology, while we cut Social Security for widows and the elderly, and reduce medicaid and medicare benefits for the poor, the fatherless, and those on fixed incomes.

The institutional sins that plagued the poor widow with only two mites to her name, still plague the church today. Like Jesus and the disciples, who watched it happening in the temple, we can see it happening in the church. And it is a cause to lament the sorry state of religious institutions. We must lament what happened in countries in South America in the 80’s, and even today, where the official church supported the wealthy and turned a blind eye toward their US backed military, which supported the oligarchy of elite landowners, who exploited the poor campesinos. And when the poor sought land reform or tried to improve their situation, they were terrorized and murdered by the military's death squads. EI Salvador has been a country full of poor widows. Yet, the majority of US churches remained silent or oblivious to this exploitation of the poor that was in our own back door.

We may look and lament when we see, in our own wealthy country, the treasuries of large churches spent on expensive church buildings, padded pews, stained glass windows, and extravagant musical productions, but find it hard to cough up a few dollars to help house the homeless or pay the light bill of a single mother. But even small churches need to take a hard look and lament how their budgets and personal energies are spent on their own agenda to the point that the needs of others are forgotten.

The unjustifiable exploitation of others by religious leaders, like the scribes and priests of Jesus' day,still happens and is to be lamented. I once watched on the news two rather well-fed pastors being arrested and accused of siphoning off money from a widow's estate that they held in trust for her. When I heard it, I immediately thought of Mark’s story of the poor widow, which accuses the scribes of "eating up widow's houses." Clergy, such as myself, must always beware of the danger of using others for personal gain, in whatever form it may take.

If we are not aware and responsive to this word of Christ from the widow's story, we may become blind to how economic, political, social, and even church institutions, can exploit those already in need, and then justify it in the name of supporting religion.

As Christians, who are a part of a religious institution, the church, we are to creatively work toward caring for those in need. Did you know that the office of deacon was created by the early church as a response to the needs of widows? (Acts 6) The church even created an' official ministry of widows;elderly women who were to care for the needs of others (I Timothy 5). What dignity it must have given to those widows, who in that society were mute and forgotten."

What can the church of today do to help, instead of exploit the needs of widows and the poor? Mennonite Central Committee relief sales are a contemporary creative means of supporting a worldwide effort to not just give charity, but dignity through teaching skills and providing markets that enhance the economic development of the poor, a great majority of which are women and widows. Mennonite Central Committee contributes, in a significant way, in helping those poor widows with their work among poor indigenous peoples. Through voluntary service young people, and retired alike, give of themselves to helping the poor widow and others with needs like her.

If you go to the church down on the corner of our street on a weekday you can sit and watch, not the poor widow giving away her last cent, but rather picking up bags of groceries from the food pantry, which we have the opportunities to contribute to. And we have heard personal reports of needy people, like the poor widow, living right next door who could be helped through our compassion. Could it be that our neighbor might just be that widow that gave away her last two cents? Maybe we could simply visit the widow next door. The apostle James said that one of the things that makes religion authentic is to visit the widow.

The story of the widow's mites, as traditionally interpreted, may truly inspire us to give. Just as long as the inspiration is not that poor widows impoverish themselves by giving everything to religious institutions, or that wealthy, North American Christians just need to skim a bit more off the top in their giving. However we interpret the story of the widow, it can, and probably should, inspire our giving.

But there is something even more profound that can happen with this story, more than just widow's mite inspiring us to greater giving. It happens when the might of Christ's word, which wants to speak from this story, is unleashed on our world. This word can shake the temple to its very foundation and spill the contents of its treasury. This word can alter the face of economic reality to look more like the face of Christ. This word can crack open the church's heart of compassion and justice.

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(1) RichardN. Ostling, "Gospel TV: Religion, Politics, and Money," Time, February 17,1986,62-69.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

From every common bush: a sermon on Exodus 3:3-4


There the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire out of a bush. When the Lord saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, "Moses! Moses!" And he said, "Here I am. Exodus 3: 3-4

A burning bush ignites everyday at Saint Catherine's Monastery at the foot of Mt. Sinai. In the small chapel of this ancient fortress cloister is a stained glass window of the burning bush. It flames in orange and yellow each day as the sun rises behind it. It is a reminder that the bush is still burning. God is still calling us from the common places of our lives.

God calls us from the midst of our everyday lives. The story of Moses' call from an ordinary bush reveals to us a God who calls out to us from within the world, from the midst of common places. The rabbis spoke of God's presence in the bush as "divine condescension." Moses was tending his sheep when God called him from an ordinary bush. Some have tried to explain the phenomenon of the burning bush as a case of St. Elmo's fire or that it was a particular desert bush that blooms bright flowers. What really made that bush burn was the fiery presence of God. An extraordinary God ignited that ordinary bush.

Moses encountered God in a common place. Moses was not kneeling with hands folded in a stained glassed sanctuary before a smoking stone altar. God called out to Moses while he was tending sheep. It would be like God calling us while we were typing on the computer or vacuuming the living room carpet. God shows up while Moses is on the job. And God speaks to him from an ordinary bush. The Sacred breaks in upon us from within our secular experiences. God speaks to us through that which is utterly human. We encounter God through that which is common and ordinary. It is God's presence which ignites the moment. Poet Elizabeth Barret Browning put the truth in this way:

Earth is crammed with heaven
And every common bush afire with God
But only the one who sees
takes off their shoes.


God speaks to us from the midst of everyday life. Have you ever had this kind of experience? It's late at night. You sit alone in the living room. The light from the TV burns up the dark like a retreat campfire. A voice speaks: "Hundreds of homeless will spend this night on the cold streets of the city." At other times you might just Iisten to such news with half an ear. But this time the words of this matter-of-fact report burn deep inside you. You feel as if something or someone is calling upon you to do something, anything.

Or you get a call from a friend from work. It's late in the evening. She has been having problems with her husband. She asks you if you might be able to come over and talk. You tell her your children are all asleep in bed. A soft voice responds, "I understand." As you listen to the silence on the other end of the phone, a voice begins to speak to you. It’s not your friend talking. Neither is it just your guilty
conscience. Something calls from the silence and seems to speak your name. And you must respond.

If you have had such experiences, then possibly you can understand Moses'encounter. From out of ordinary places and common human experiences we sense we are being called forth. Everyday experiences burst into flame with the presence of something which is utterly holy. A voice larger than life itself calls us forth. And we must respond. From the midst of everyday life God calls us.

And often the reason God calls us forth is to send us to people in need. God needed a servant like Moses to deliver his oppressed people held in bondage. It's not a question of whether or not God could have delivered Israel without human assistance. God's modus operandi is through human instruments. God needs people like you and me who will express the intents and purposes ill God through concrete human actions. The divine always works through the human. God's care is expressed through human caring. God's compassion is expressed through human compassion.

There is a story of Moses that says that he was one day grazing his flock and noticed that a little goat had strayed away, so Moses ran after it for fear that it would get lost and die of hunger and thirst in the wilderness. Suddenly, from a distance, Moses saw the little goat stop and drink deeply from a stream. He then understood that the goat was thirsty and why it had left the flock. When Moses came near he said,"My dear little goat! Had I known that you were so thirsty I would not have ran after you." After the goat quenched its thirst Moses placed it on his shoulders and carried it all the way back to the flock. "The goat is weak and young," he caringly thought, "therefore I must carry it." When God saw what Moses had done, God was greatly pleased and said to him, "Deep is your compassion, O Moses. Because of your compassion to this little animal, I will use you to show my compassion. You will shepherd my people Israel."

God's lovingkindness is expressed through human love and kindness. God's power to liberate works in cooperation with human initiative. God needed a human deliverer to liberate the Hebrew slaves. So, God called Moses. God still needs people who will express God's compassion for hurting humanity. So, God continues to call and send forth people into the world God calls and sends people like Harriet Tubman, a woman called "Moses" by her people. She helped transport slaves to freedom on the underground railroad. At night you might have heard the low whistle of the train near the slave cabins, or a bit of the signal song "Go Down Moses." In the morning another group of slaves would have been delivered from Pharoah's plantations. God calls and sends people like Peter Dyck, the Mennonite Central Committee leader who helped transport a group of Russian Mennonites through the Red Sea of Germany to their new homelands in South America.

God also calls and sends ordinary people like you and me. God calls and sends people to assist the ongoing work of refugee centers like the Catholic Worker houses. God calls and sends people to do voluntary service work in low income areas in the U.S. God calls and sends men and women to enter pastoral ministries and to plant churches in places like Los Angeles or as agricultural development workers in Bangladesh or Africa. But, God may be simply be calling you to reach out to that co-worker in distress or to go to a Sunday School room where there are five or six children who need someone to teach them the story of Moses and about our mighty God who still liberates hurting and exploited peoples. God still sees the needs of people with eyes of compassion. It may the needs of oppressed people in Latin America or the simple needs of a neighbor. God sees. And God sends people to respond
to those needs.

The problem seems to be that when God calls us, we tend to make excuses. When God called Moses he had full deck of excuses up his sleeve. Moses responded to God's call with excuses like, "But...but God, I didn't get my name in Who's who. When I go to Pharoah he will say, "Who's he?” But...but God, I don't even know your name. Is it Harold? Harold be thy name? But, God…I'm always stumbling over my words. But...but...but. According to one Jewish Midrash it took God seven
days to convince Moses to go to Pharoah.

The call of Moses fits the typical literary pattern of the call of a prophet. God comes on the scene. God calls the prophet to perform a task. The prophet resists (most often with excuses). The call is repeated. Finally, a sign is foretold. Resisting God's call with excuses is a part of the literary pattern of the call of a prophet.

But excuses also seem to be a part of a human pattern when responding to God’s call. We all make excuses for our inadequacies and mistakes. We often give pretty lame reasons for why we went through the red light or were late for work or didn't prepare for the test. When we feel inadequate we make excuses for why we can't do this or that. When we do something wrong, we try to shift the load of blame off our own shoulders, We may excuse ourselves simply by how we word our responses. Like these awkwardly worded statements found on actual insurance forms reporting accidents: "The telephone pole was approaching. I was attempting to swerve out of its way when it struck the front end." I didn’t realize that trees can attack cars. O how about this doozie: "To avoid hitting the bumper of the car in front, I hit the pedestrian!" Would want to damage two good cars!

Charles R. Snyder, a psychologist at the University of Kansas, has studied excuse making for six years. He says, "Excuses are a way of finding grace in a world in which we are imperfect." (1) Moses knows he is imperfect for the job God has called him to perform, so he makes excuses. God calls us. And we make excuses, "But God, I'm just too busy. But God, I don't have the skills or training. But God, I don't
speak gooder." "But, but, but. " But God… doesn't crush us for all our excuses. God is graceful. God knows we are imperfect. In spite of our imperfections and excuses, God still calls us.

We have the assurance that God will be with us as we go. God promised a reluctant and imperfect Moses, "I will be with you." Moses had the assurance that as he took upon himself the task to which God had called him, God would be present all along the way. God would be working through Moses. And the sign of GOD's presence was not the flaming bush. It was the simple promise that Moses would worship with God's people on that same mountain following the exodus. That's all Moses had to go on. A promise. In the end he would bring the people to the mountain. Not much to go on, but there was the promise. Moses had to respond to God's call with only a simple promise of God's unseen presence.

Jesus has told us, "Go into all nations and make disciples." We are to be instruments, servants of God, to go on Christ's behalf to a hurting world in need of the liberating news of the gospel. That is our calling. Christ is God's fiery presence calling us to go down to a people in bondage to suffering and sin. We are God's human instruments of liberation. And whether the task be great or small, whether or not we feel adequate for our mission, we still have the promise; "I will be with you always, even unto the end of the world." There’s the promise. Christ will be with us.

Whenever God calls, God also promises. God promises to be with you. Whatever God may call you to do for the sake of people who need your presence and compassion, you have the assurance of God's presence. God may not speak from a flaming bush. God may not show up as a cloud by day and a fire by night. God may simply be in the confidence we have from a simple promise like "wherever two or three are gathered..." or an assurance within you that says, "You will know I have been with you when you come out on the other side of this situation you are facing."

You may not be a Moses. You may not have such a dramatic encounter with God that you feel like taking off your shoes. You may not be called upon to face an empire. But, God still calls you. And God sends you. And God promises to be with you as you go.

Can you hear God calling? From the wildernesses of your life? From your common and ordinary routines? Even from within the crackling of the words of this sermon as common as a bush? Can you see the burning of God's presence? God calls out to you. The bush is still burning.

For earth is crammed with heaven
and every common bush afire with God
But only the one who sees
takes off their shoes.


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(1) John M. Leighty, "Excuses, excuses, excuses: Everybody has a few," Houston Chronicle, August 16, 1987.

Oumou Sangare, Malian Wassoulou singer and social activist

















I recently finished this scratchboard of Oumou Sangare for my series of drawing entitled M.U.S.I.C. Musicians Undermining Social Injustice Creatively. Oumou is a well known Malian singer, businesswoman, and social activist. Wassoulou music grows out of the ancient hunting traditions of her people and is accompanied by calabash (gourd shaker strung with shells). Sangare has stuggled for woman against the injustices of child marriage and polygamy.