The Essence of the Christian Life is Discipleship: Luke 9:23-25

*This sermon was preached at Zion Mennonite, Hubbard, OR. It is the second in a series "Anabaptist Core Convictions."

No one can truly know Christ unless they follow him in life---Hans Denck

Anabaptists of the sixteenth century, and most of those who yet share their rich and “radical” Christian tradition, were “theologians of praxis rather than reflection.”---Barry Callen, Radical Christianity

Mennonite church historian Harold Bender made one of the most significant modern contributions to defining Anabaptism with his presidential address to the American Society of Church History in 1942.  His classic statement on Anabaptism became known as the Anabaptist Vision. Although it would later be questioned as being too idealistic and for leaving out Anabaptists that diverged from his viewpoint , Bender’s Anabaptist Vision has provided a compelling synthesis of essential elements of Anabaptism.

Bender considered the first of his three concepts as the key element to the Anabaptist Vision.  His key element was discipleship, "a concept which meant the transformation of the entire way of life of the individual believer and of society so that it should be fashioned after the teachings and example of Christ..." According to Bender discipleship, or following in the way of Jesus, was understood to be central to living the Christian life.

Discipleship is all about following in the way of Jesus. Jesus came to people fishing on the shore, collecting taxes, eating dinner, walking along the roadside, worshipping in the synagogue and called them to follow him. Since he was a peripatetic or traveling teacher, his first disciples literally followed him. They learned his way by listening to his teachings and learning from Jesus as he modeled his lessons within everyday life as he traveled here and there.

For the early disciples following Jesus was a challenge in that they had to leave aside their vocations and families to travel beside Jesus with no possessions and to depend upon God and the good will and hospitality of those they encountered along the way.  This all required self-denial, laying aside personal needs and desires in order to go where Jesus went and learn from him.

Their journey was made even more difficult in that Jesus was on a journey to Jerusalem and the cross to confront the powers that be. The disciples’ journey with Jesus took them to a destination they did not imagine and would have just as soon avoided. They were challenged to live in the way of Jesus and face the cost of what that would mean. To follow Jesus meant to take upon oneself the consequences of living by the teachings of this wandering prophet and imitating his example. And Jesus’ life and teachings led him into conflict with religious and political leaders of his day and ultimately to death on a Roman cross.

And so, Jesus made it clear to his disciples what following him meant: If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. Following Jesus was not an easy road to travel.  And even though  following Jesus for us will probably not mean literal crucifixion, a cross, it will mean following Jesus along his winding road to its ultimate end. Thus, “taking up one’s cross” represents whatever consequences we may encounter with our own personal struggles and in conflict with the powers that be on our journey with Christ and doing it all in the nonviolent way of Christ, represented by the cross.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, German theologian, leader of the Confessing Church, and opponent of Hitler, made clear the cost of discipleship by contrasting “cheap” and “costly grace.” Bonhoeffer said, "cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline. Communion without  confession. Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ." Anabaptists would resonate with Bonhoeffer’s understanding of the cost of discipleship. Nochfolge Christi, following Christ, was at the center of Anabaptist faith. Harold Bender, in his Anabaptist Vision defined the essence of Anabaptism in this way:  The great word of the Anabaptists was not “faith” as it was with the reformers, but “following” (nachfolge Christi). The Anabaptists had faith, but their emphasis was upon living out their faith in life. The Anabaptists believed that discipleship was the essence of the Christian life. 

In this light we can better understand the saying of Anabaptist Hans Denck I quoted last Sunday: No one can truly know Christ unless they follow him in life. Discipleship is more than having knowledge of Christ. Discipleship is more than believing in Jesus with the heart and confessing him with the mouth. It is more than “getting saved and going to heaven.” It is more than obeying a rule book, even if it is the Bible. It is more than going to church on Sunday or observing the customs and habits of a church tradition. Discipleship is a journey, a sometimes difficult and costly journey. It is all about following Jesus in our day and time, ethically, nonviolently, and no matter what the consequences may be.

In this sense discipleship is a creative journey of following the living Christ in our lives today. It is more than a literal, “wooden” imitation of Jesus’ first century teachings and actions. We cannot simply read the story of Jesus healing the blind and go out on our streets and try to do the very same thing. Discipleship requires an act of translation; translating the life of Jesus into our day and time and then “living the translation.”  Discipleship calls for an imaginative application of his way of life then to our way of life now.

And as imaginative as this question might be, discipleship is more than simply asking ourselves: What would Jesus do?  Surprisingly enough, Evangelicals like quoting this question of Charles Sheldon, even though they are probably unaware that he was a Christian socialist! The letters of the question, WWJD, have been mass produced into arm bracelets for young Evangelicals to wear as a form of Christian identity. That seems a bit odd, since Sheldon was a Congregational Church minister and part of the Social Gospel movement. He proposed the question WWJD in a series of sermons, then in his novel In His Steps, as a way to face moral decisions, a way to discern how to “follow in the way of Jesus” in our own time, particularly regarding social issues. Walter Rauschenbusch, leader of the Social Gospel movement, attributed his inspiration for this movement to Sheldon’s novel.

Following Jesus goes beyond asking a question about how to imitate Christ in the face of moral and social issues. Discipleship calls for following the moves, impulses, callings, and Spirit of the living Christ through experience, Scripture, traditions, and practices of the church applied to our time and context. That requires creative imagination, openness, and a process for discerning the leading of the Spirit of Christ today.

So, discipleship is more than believing in the heart and confessing Jesus Christ with the mouth.  It is more than “being saved by grace and going to heaven.” Discipleship is more than going to church on Sunday mornings and obeying church rules or following its customs and habits. It is more than practicing a rote repetition of Jesus words and acts. Discipleship is an imaginative, Spirit-led journey of following in the way of Christ today in our personal lives, our believing communities, and within the world around us.

Discipleship has to do with our personal spiritual journey.  Jesus said that if we want to be a disciple, we must take up our cross.  It is a personal, cruciform journey. For the early disciples literally following Jesus was an essential part of becoming one of his students, since he was a travelling teacher. One had to personally choose to follow Jesus.

Following Jesus today is a personal spiritual journey. Daily we set off on this journey as a student apprentice or disciple of Jesus. A student apprentice learns both by gaining knowledge and by engaging in practices. As Jesus studied the Torah, prayed in the synagogue and in solitary places, observed life around him, developed relationships, welcomed the stranger and marginalized, healed the sick, liberated the captive, proclaimed good news, and witnessed to the ways of God’s kingdom, he grew in wisdom and practice.

So, as Jesus’ first disciples had to personally and daily decide to follow Jesus, we personally and daily choose to follow in his way. Discipleship calls us to personally engage in practices of reading the scriptures, gathering for worship, prayer and meditation, discerning God’s will, showing hospitality to strangers and immigrants, resisting the powers that oppress, and proclaiming in word and deed God’s coming reign.  These are classic practices that engage us in following in Christ’s path.

Discipleship involves engaging in communal practices. Anabaptism views discipleship not merely as a personal spiritual journey, but a communal practice of the church.  Western Christianity, with its emphasis upon individualism, has distorted the faith and its practice by turning it into personal and private matter. It’s between me and God. With this mindset the church in Western culture becomes a building where I, as an individual believer, gather to personally give thanks to my personal Savior, for my personal salvation confessing my personal faith, and worshiping my personal God. 

This very personal and individualistic understanding says, “We must not hold one another accountable for how we live, that’s a private matter. We don’t want others intruding into our personal faith and practice.” Church is a place where we individually gather to study, pray, worship God, meet friends, and go home to our private lives. This is a complete distortion of both discipleship and the church and definitely not an Anabaptist perspective.

Church is ecclesia, a people called out from the world, bound together by Christ, building up one another, holding one another accountable for our spiritual growth, encouraging one another in the use of our gifts, sharing in common ministries and practices, and sent into the world in mission and service.

The Christian life is not a solo performance. It takes an orchestra. Christian life is not my personal canoe I paddle downstream. It is a large row boat with everyone engaging together in the rowing upstream against the grain of our human nature and our culture and society. Discipleship is best performed in a covenant community. We are bound together to assist one another on the journey of discipleship; to encourage, build up, challenge, call to accountability, and pray for one another. Discipleship does not say “everyone for themselves.” But rather, discipleship says, “We are all in this together!”

That is why the corporate practices of the church are so important. We need each other to follow in the way of Christ. We need mutual care, charity, and economic justice when some cannot survive the financial strains of Capitalism and the free market society. We need small support groups in the church to help us resist peer pressure or cultural conformity that sucks us into materialism and consumerism. We need church ministries that challenge us to connect with the poor, the oppressed, the marginalized, people we don’t connect with on our own. We need the church’s social ministries to help us connect with cross-cultural and other multi-racial groups, and to practice peace and social justice, when we would just as soon go home to our nice families, comfortable homes, and just be good Christian neighbors. We need the church in order be disciples, to fully and radically follow in the way of Jesus.

Discipleship leads us to practice hospitality, serve others, and engage in peace, justice, and reconciliation. More broadly I could say that discipleship leads to living in the way of Jesus. I could have also have said “discipleship leads to a lifestyle of healing, caring for the marginalized and outcast, confronting the powers that oppress people. But, my focus in this teaching sermon is to highlight  the way discipleship is manifest within the Anabaptist tradition and our particular congregation. The practices of discipleship I have listed are particularly important to Anabaptism and to Zion Mennonite. These are contained in Zion’s new vision statement, which we will soon be sharing with the congregation: hospitality, service to others, and peace, justice, and reconciliation.

Hospitality has to do with welcoming the stranger among us. It is as old as Abraham welcoming three strangers by the oaks of Mamre and as new as an invitation for lunch to a first time visitor at Zion Mennonite. Jesus and his disciples depended upon the hospitality of strangers for their mission. Jesus practiced hospitality toward the stranger, marginalized, sick, unclean, women, and social outcasts. As an essential practice of the early church, hospitality was critical for the growth of the church as they welcomed new people into their house churches. It is one of four key elements our Worship Commission is emphasizing for Zion’s worship life. Practicing hospitality is a way of following Jesus.

Jesus’s life was about serving others as a way of serving God. Jesus made this clear when at the Last Supper he grabbed a towel, bent down, and washed the dusty feet of his own disciples. Discipleship, or following in the way of Jesus, necessarily entails serving others. This is a hallmark of Anabaptist and Mennonite faith and practice. Mennonite Central Committee’s work of community development, hunger relief, community and global service epitomizes this Anabaptist emphasis. These are not simply humanitarian efforts, but a corporate form of Christian discipleship. As MCC’s motto states, what they do they do it “In the name of Christ.” This emphasis upon discipleship as serving others is also seen in other organizations and practices of mutual aid, disaster service, and community service opportunities. Serving others in the name of Christ reflects this Anabaptist conviction of walking in the way of Christ today.

Peacemaking, justice, and reconciliation are crucial ways of practicing discipleship. At times I have classified peacemaking as a distinct Anabaptist core conviction in and of itself, since it has come to signify a key distinctive of the Anabaptist tradition.

I believe that this is one area of discipleship that marks Anabaptism as peculiarly distinctive among the various Christian traditions. My use of terms needs some explanation. First, I use peacemaking instead of the classic Mennonite term nonresistance. Peacemaking is more than a passive stance of not retaliating against violence received. Peacemaking goes beyond the old traditional Mennonite perspective of simply avoiding personal violence, military service or occupations that engage in violent force and separating ourselves from those that do. Neither is Anabaptist peacemaking  simply “passivism,” a passive opposition to war.

If passive non-resistance is all that traditional Mennonites understand by its “peace stance,” then we have a long way to go in understanding the full implications of this significant arena of discipleship. On the other hand, Christian peacemaking is not just about actively engaging in liberal political efforts to end war. Christian peacemaking is a practice of discipleship, a way of following Jesus Christ.

Second, I believe that peace is inextricably linked to justice. Justice is not about vengeance, retribution, or “giving people what they deserve.” Justice is about rectifying wrongs, making things right, correcting inequities. This may not have been the way most early Anabaptists or Mennonites thought of nonresistance, but in our modern world “there is no peace without justice.”  Remember, I am not simply talking about convictions of historic 16^th century Anabaptism or an ethnic Mennonite tradition, but rather a living Anabaptist tradition of faith and practice that we must translate into our time and context. To do justice is to follow in the way of Christ.

I am convinced that the Anabaptist way of following Christ in our world today will necessarily expand to include judicial, economic, gender, racial, and global justice. Why? Because these are significant issues every good liberal should be concerned about? No. Because these are ways of following Christ in our broken, violent, and divided world today!

Third, justice calls for reconciliation.  When human relations have been broken by violence, war, injustice, oppression, conflict, denial of human rights, not only is there a need for justice, but a means by which conflicted parties can be brought together and relationships restored. The creative, groundbreaking, global work of Mennonites like John Paul Lederach in conciliation and Howard Zehr in restorative justice exemplify this modern Anabaptist impulse toward the work of reconciliation. Following Christ in our world today will mean engaging in the work of reconciliation.

Peacemaking, justice, and reconciliation grow out of the desire to follow in the way of Christ. I am convinced that these are not peripheral issues that Christians can take or leave, but are essential to the gospel of Jesus Christ. And these are issues we cannot simply engage in on our own. They require a corporate body, a new people, an alternative community to enact these practices, which are ways of following Christ in our world today.

Discipleship, following in the way of Christ, is an Anabaptist core conviction. It’s as simple as responding to the voice that says, “Come follow me.” And it’s as hard as denying yourself and taking up your cross daily and following Christ.

Jesus is the Center of Our Faith: 1 Corinthians 3:10-11

We can do worse than remember a principle which both gives us a firm rock and leaves us the maximum elasticity for our minds. The principle: Hold to Christ, and for the rest be totally uncommitted.

----Herbert Butterfield, Christianity and History

Menno Simmons was not the founder but a key unifier of the 16^th century Anabaptist movement. He had as his motto 1 Corinthians 3:11: No one can lay any other foundation besides the one that is already laid, which is Jesus Christ.  This biblical text was repeated throughout his writings. Christ-centeredness was the fundamental element in his own personal faith and the faith of the Anabaptist movement. It’s interesting to note that the Meserete Cristos Church of Ethiopia, an Anabaptist fellowship, did not want to take up the name of Menno for their church, so they chose instead a name that means “Christ is the Foundation."

 

 

Menno would probably have been pleased with that, since he detested the name Mennists or Mennonites. Menno did not set out to build another foundation for the church on himself, his theology, or even the foundation of Anabaptism.  The church already had a firm foundation in Jesus Christ.

The centrality of Jesus Christ is at the heart of Christian Faith. This is the core conviction that Anabaptist-Mennonites share with all other Christians. It is a foundational truth grounded in the New Testament. The apostle Paul wrote to the Church at Corinth concerning his work as a master builder in establishing the church. He described his work as being “foundational” by the grace of God.  He must have meant that his preaching of Jesus Christ is what made his work foundational. Then, Paul clarified the true foundation of our faith: For no one can lay any foundation than the one that has been laid; that foundation is Jesus Christ.

Others share in the superstructure of the continuing work of the church that is built on that foundation. This could mean the church’s organizational development, scriptural and doctrinal understanding, and leadership in witness and service. The pillars and their ornate decorations include the church’s variety of historical traditions, the church’s many practices over the centuries, and the leaders of movements and local congregations and their work of mission and ministry. These all must stand the test of time and the purifying fires of God’s final judgment.  

These could be considered as pillars, but not the foundation. Anabaptism is not the foundation of our faith, any more than Lutheranism, Presbyterianism, Pentecostalism, Evangelicalism, Catholicism are the foundation. There is only one foundation, Jesus Christ. The centrality of Jesus Christ for our faith is a core conviction that we share with wider church.

And let’s also make a clear but subtle distinction here; even the Bible, which the various church traditions hold dear and is an essential document of our faith as the primary witness to Jesus Christ, is also not the foundation of our faith. Jesus Christ alone is that foundation.  No other foundation can be laid, even the foundation of the Bible, as important as it is. This truth will shape our Anabaptist approach to the scriptures.

At the same time that we hold this conviction in Christ-centeredness in common with other church traditions, this belief was also uniquely shaped by our Anabaptist tradition. Paul and Apollos at Corinth, Francis of Assisi, Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, Martin Luther, Ulrich Zwingli, John Calvin, the Anabaptists, and all those who have shaped the church and the world have built on the one foundation of Jesus Christ. But, unlike the uniform columns of a Roman building, these pillars have had different shapes. They have been formed by different historical and cultural contexts, as well as different lens through which they read the Bible. 

And we do not want to say that we alone are the true pillars of the church or that we are the gold that guilds the building, while other church traditions are rough stone at best. Fire will test our worth. Rather, we want to understand our own identity, what it is in our beliefs and practices that make our pillar particular, what makes our church tradition distinct, even as we recognize our commonalities with others as pillars built upon the one foundation. 

So, let’s begin with our Anabaptist tradition’s understanding of what it means for our faith to be Christ or Jesus-centered. For Anabaptists a Jesus-centered faith shapes the whole of our theology.

Jesus is the lens through which we view God.  16^th century Anabaptists confessed the Trinitarian godhead of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, along with the rest of the Reformers and Catholicism.  But, while the rest of Christendom emphasized God’s transcendence and human sinfulness, reinforcing the gulf between God and humanity,  Anabaptists were less inclined to emphasize the unbridgeable separation between God and humanity. And rather than engage in endless theological and philosophical speculation on the trinity and transcendence, the Anabaptists were more down to earth, more incarnational, and more practical. They tended to emphasize ethics or living the Christian life over theological or philosophical reflection. And even though the Anabaptists confessed the full divinity and humanity of Christ, along with other Christian traditions, they tended to focus on the concrete life and teachings of Jesus Christ as the lens through which they viewed God.

Jesus Christ is the supreme revelation of God’s very nature. God may be experienced in the wonder of nature, in the depth of human relationships, in the illumination of the Bible, within the recesses of the human heart. But, God is most fully revealed in the person and work of Jesus Christ. Simply put, if you want to see what God is like, look at Jesus Christ. Or as the Jesus of the gospel of John put it, “If you have seen me, you have seen the Father.” This incarnational approach to understanding God has a profound effect on how we understand the nature and revelation of God.

In a Christ-centered view of God, if human experience, church tradition, theology, or the Scriptures themselves seem to reveal a God contrary to the God incarnate in Jesus Christ, then something is amiss. Jesus Christ, as revealed in the New Testament, is the arbiter of all conceptions of what God is like. This Jesus-centered view of God has a profound impact on all our Anabaptist theology.

Jesus-centered faith shapes our understanding of biblical authority and interpretation.  Another significant way that our Jesus-centeredness impacts our faith is in our approach to biblical authority and interpretation. First, if Jesus Christ is the supreme revelation of God, then the Bible isn’t. You heard me right. If Jesus is the supreme revelation of God, then the Bible isn’t. Evangelical Fundamentalism has tended to place the Bible as the Christian’s supreme authority. This can very easily turn into “bibliolatry,” that is, the worship of the Bible. This Fundamentalist view of the Bible even attributes the divine characteristics of infallibility and inerrancy to the ancient biblical texts themselves. And since all we have are errant copies of the biblical texts, Fundamentalists have to modify the doctrine of inerrancy to apply only to the original biblical manuscripts, which do not exist. In other words, a doctrine had to be created in order to jibe with their belief about the Bible, which is not evident in examining the Bible itself. Thus, the Bible begins to take on a godlike authority and dethrones Jesus Christ as the supreme revelation and divine interpreter of scripture.

Anabaptist Hans Umlauft put it this way: We give Scripture the honour due and allow it to be a lantern and a sheath of the word, knowing that something more belongs to it, namely a sword in the sheath and a light in the lantern, if they are to shine and cut. When we say this some say it is a despising of scripture, and that one cannot know it too much. It is like the matter of honouring Mary. If Mary is given the honour due only to God, that is making an idol of scripture, as of Mary.

Second, Jesus Christ becomes the interpretive lens through which we read scripture. Many Christians hold a “flat view” of the Bible. Or at least they claim that they do.  That is, they tend to interpret every scripture text on the same level as having equal authority for Christian faith and practice. This view would, in its pure form, give equal authoritative weight to the Old Testament and the New Testament, to the story of Jephthah and his daughter and Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well. But, in all practicality, most Christians do not give equal weight to every biblical text, even though they may confess that “every scripture text is inspired by God.” The prohibition in Leviticus against eating shrimp does not hold equal weight with Jesus words in John, “For God so loved the world…”

Anabaptists have a Christocentric or Jesus-centered practice of biblical interpretation. This view acknowledges up front that not every biblical text bears equal weight of authority for the Christian community. Jesus is the interpretive lens through which we read the Bible. The command to slaughter the Canaanites, attributed to God in the OT, does not have equal authority with Christ’s command to love your enemies. With a Jesus-centered view of biblical interpretation if there is a disagreement between any text in the Bible and Jesus Christ, Jesus wins out. Jesus is the trump card in any conflict of interpretations regarding biblical texts. This Jesus-centered interpretation is given expression by the author of Hebrews: “Long ago God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son, who he appointed heir.” (Hebrews 1:1-2) This Anabaptist or Jesus-centered view of biblical interpretation is distinctive, and has a profound impact on our approach to the Bible.  

Jesus’ life, teachings, death and resurrection form our understanding of salvation. Going back to the 16^th century, Anabaptists have had problems with purely judicial and confessional understandings of salvation in Christ Jesus. By that I mean, first, that they have reacted to salvation understood only as something that one believes in the heart and confesses with the mouth. Secondly, for Anabaptists salvation is more than something God mysteriously enacts like a legal pronouncement of “not guilty” upon the believer without our active participation. Anabaptists would reject a salvation devoid of ethics or following in the way of Christ. Jesus is not only Savior, but also Lord. So, salvation in Christ leads to the transformation of our personal, social, spiritual, and economic lives.

A Jesus-centered view of salvation is inextricably linked to the person of Jesus Christ. Article 8 in the Confession of Faith in a Mennonite Perspective begins:  We believe that through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, God offers salvation from sin and a new way of life to all people.  Jesus is at the center of our salvation, and not some saving formula or theory of atonement. This statement may sound controversial, but we are not saved by the cross, but by Jesus Christ. Salvation is the forgiveness, healing, deliverance, wholeness, new life that is offered to us in the life, teachings, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ, in all that he was and continues to be, is the center of our salvation.

Jesus’ life is the key element in our discipleship and ethics. Anabaptist Hans Denck once said, “No one can truly know Christ unless they follow him in life.” What did he mean by that? Denck was convinced that knowledge of Christ means little if we do not follow in the way of Christ in our everyday life. Confession is tied to procession, how we make our way through life.

I grew up in a church tradition that emphasized believing and confessing Jesus Christ. This resulted in a strong urge to verbally share the gospel, to witness to others about the “plan of salvation.” Now, we Mennonites, might learn from those who focus on sharing the gospel with others. As I grew in my faith I felt the strong need to practice the faith, to follow in the way of Christ, and not to simply confess my faith or verbally witness to others about my faith. I found within the Anabaptist tradition this strong emphasis upon living the faith by following in the way of Christ.

A Jesus-centered faith takes discipleship or following in the way of Christ seriously. Embodying the way of Christ, as Jesus embodied the way of God, is essential to the Christian life. If Jesus is the center of our faith, then our primary allegiance is to Christ. When our government names a political enemy, goes to war, sends our young men and women into battle, and rallies the nation around the flag and country, is our allegiance to Caesar or to Christ, who said “love your enemies”? Is Jesus the center of our faith or other worldly allegiances?  In a world that says more is better, get all the toys you can before you die, success is how much power you grasp, forget the poor and weak, and status is measured by how busy you are, what does it mean to live a Jesus-centered life? Living a Jesus-centered life is the heart of our Christian faith.

Alan and Eleanor Kreider, friends of mine who I worked with in the former US Ministries department at Mennonite Mission Network, were missionary educators in England, beginning in 1974 and staying for 30 years. They were at the forefront of the Anabaptist Network that grew out of the mission work of the Kreiders, who were directors of the London Mennonite Center. The Kreiders taught the way of radical discipleship and the essentials of Anabaptism to thousands of people in the British Isles who were outside the Mennonite tradition. They were not there to plant Mennonite churches, but to spread the seeds of Anabaptist faith. The Anabaptist Network sought to network with those who became Anabaptists by choice.  

I find hope in the project of the Kreiders as a missionary witness to an Anabaptism free of its ethnic, cultural, and genealogical trappings and its ability to draw people into the way of Jesus and radical discipleship from many different backgrounds.

One of the persons the Krieders connected with in England was Stuart Murray Williams, an Anabaptist church planter and educator from London, who eventually became director of the Anabaptist Network. In his book The Naked Anabaptist: The Bare Essentials of a Radical Faith Murray lists 7 Anabaptist core convictions, which is the Anabaptist Network’s attempt to distill the essence of Anabaptism for their own context in the British Isles. Their first two convictions coincide with what I have listed as my first Anabaptist core conviction:

 1.     Jesus is our example, teacher, friend, redeemer, and Lord. He is the source of our life, the central reference point for our faith and lifestyle, for our understanding of the church, and our engagement with society. We are committed to following Jesus as well as worshipping him.

2.     Jesus is the focal point of God’s revelation. We are committed to a Jesus-centered approach to the Bible, and to the community of faith as the primary context in which we read the Bible and discern and apply its implications for discipleship.

This is  the heart of Anabaptism that we share together here at Zion. This is the heart of our Christian faith.

The key conviction of Anabaptism is this: Jesus Christ is the center of our faith. It is a conviction we share with other Christians, but which has been distinctively shaped by our Anabaptist tradition. It is a core conviction that shapes all of our theology and practice. So, as the author of Hebrews admonishes us: Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfector of our faith. Hebrews 12:2

Mixed Metaphors: Hosea 1:1-8, 2:1ff, 11:1-4

*This sermon is the second in a series of sermons entitled: Textual Objects: Women in the Bible as Daughter, Wife, and Widow. It was preached at Zion Mennonite Church, Hubbard, Oregon on Sunday, June 10, 2012.


The cover story of a 2004 Newsweek magazine featured an article entitled “The New Infidelity.” Now, can someone tell me just what’s so new about infidelity? The article told the stories of married women who commit adultery. With more women in the workplace, overscheduled lives, easy access on the internet, and inattentive husbands, more women are now cheating in their marriages. Studies seem to indicate that the rate of adultery for married women is now approaching that of men. What an accomplishment! Unfaithfulness is becoming an equal opportunity destroyer of marriages.

Stories of unfaithful women can be found not only in the pages of Newsweek, but they appear frequently in the pages of the Bible. The metaphor of the unfaithful wife is found frequently among the prophetic writings. The adulterous woman is a central metaphor in the book of Hosea. This prophet from the Northern Kingdom of Israel used the metaphor of marriage to talk about the relationship between God and Israel. Hosea’s prophetic speech occurred in the eighth-century B.C.E, a time of political maneuvering in Israel. Israel’s ruling elite forged foreign alliances and engaged in commercial “intercourse” for her economic prosperity. Agribusiness was booming. The export of grain, wine, and oil benefited Israel’s wealthy ruling class, while they “lusted after” more tilled land for producing cash crops. And guess who got the short end of the stick. The rich got richer and the poor…Well, you know how that tired old story goes. Bad foreign policy, business monopolies, benefits for the wealthy, and the poor were left to fend for themselves. We sure don’t see that sort of thing today, do we! In essence, Israel was serving Baal, the god of commerce, who symbolized the alliance of the prosperous, oppressive state and unfaithful religion. Israel’s foreign allies became her “lovers.” Israel’s unfaithfulness to God had to do with the male ruling elite’s “illicit” relationship with these foreign alliances and her unjust domestic policies, all tied up and legitimized by the religion of Baal.

The metaphor of marriage seemed to be a most appropriate rhetorical device for the prophet to talk about the divine/human relationship. It seemed so appropriate that, according to Hosea, God told him to go and marry a promiscuous woman, as if God was sanctioning infidelity. How odd of God! Hosea, you go out there and get yourself a loose woman, by God. Marry an adulterous woman? The marriage was doomed from the start! Not only that. The text says something like: Hosea, have yourself some “children of promiscuity.”  Scandalous! Why would Hosea be told by God to marry a promiscuous woman? The answer? Because the land has been unfaithful to God.

Now, did God really tell Hosea to go marry a promiscuous woman?  A literal reading of the text seems to say exactly that. If you are more of a biblical literalist, then you may have to struggle with the meaning of this a bit. This command by God was so scandalous to the Jewish philosopher Maimonides that he interpreted the book of Hosea as a vision and not something that really happened. Others would come to interpret this divine command to Hosea as being after-the-fact, that is, Hosea was supposed to marry a woman who would become unfaithful. How do you interpret this command of God?

Some biblical scholars call Hosea’s marriage a “symbolic action.” Some of us common folk just call it plain nuts! But, prophets often did odd things to symbolize some bigger message. But, marry a loose woman in order to symbolize a spiritual truth? Isn’t that taking symbolic speech just a bit too far? Is this a marriage for the sake of metaphor? In any case, Hosea’s marriage to Gomer was to be a symbol of God’s relationship to Israel. Whatever way you may want to interpret God’s command, one thing’s for sure. Those ancient prophets did a bunch of crazy stuff in the name of God. And Hosea was no exception. Marrying a promiscuous woman as a symbol of Israel’s unfaithfulness to God? Now, that takes the cake, the wedding cake at that!

First, let’s look at this marriage on the positive side. It does have potential, metaphorically if not literally speaking. The metaphor of marriage in Hosea is an emotionally powerful image the people could identify with. It served as a dynamic metaphor for illustrating God’s intimate relationship with Israel. God and Israel were interconnected in a covenant relationship. The marriage metaphor movingly illustrated a wide range of issues in this divine/human relationship; love, jealousy, fidelity, unfaithfulness, punishment, and reconciliation. The marital bond of love, commitment, and obedience are like the divine/human relationship. The breaking of that relationship through infidelity is a heart wrenching experience. With this metaphor the people could feel the agony of God as a betrayed husband and understand deeply their own unfaithful actions.

Not only that, the metaphor was used to address the underlying truth of real oppressive foreign policies and economic injustices that benefited the male ruling hierarchy of Israel. Hosea castigated Israel’s wealthy, male ruling class by depicting them collectively as a promiscuous woman, unfaithful to her spouse. Depicting men collectively as a woman would have been bad enough, but as a promiscuous woman was even worse. The purpose of Hosea’s marriage metaphor is a call to social justice and a rhetorical symbol of God’s desire for Israel to forsake her promiscuous relationships with Baal and to be faithful to their covenant relationship with God.

We can appreciate the thrust of Hosea’s message, while at the same time recognizing some crucial limitations and problems with such a mixed up metaphor. For starters, from our contemporary point of view, one of the problems with Hosea’s marriage metaphor for us is that it is based upon a dominant/submissive view of marriage. Although this hierarchical marriage was to be a loving and  intimate relationship, marriage in those days was not co-equal. The culture of Israel was patriarchal. The male was dominant in all arenas of life, especially marriage.  The female, daughter and wife, were considered the property of the man, father or husband. Strangely enough, the view that women are male property is still symbolically re-enacted in some contemporary marriage ceremonies when the father “gives away” the bride to the husband as in a legal transfer of property. As property the female’s sexuality was supposed to be under the control of the ruling male. Therefore, female promiscuity brought particular shame to the male, which would call for drastic measures against the woman; either divorce, stoning, or physical abuse.

There was even a provision in the Mosaic law, known as the Sotah, for jealous husbands to put their wives to a test to see if they were being unfaithful (Numbers 5). It was an ordeal worse than the results of those lie detector tests given to suspected spouses on the Maury Povich Show. The test went something like this. The couple goes to the preacher. The preacher says to the wife, “Here, drink this Drano. If you haven’t been sleepin’ around, it won’t harm your insides. And if you have been unfaithful, on top of being sterilized, or driven to an early grave, I will curse you for good measure. What if the husband’s suspicions were unfounded? We’ll, who can blame a jealous husband. And…of course, there was no such test of fidelity for husbands.

So, although the patriarchal marital relationship of a superior to an inferior may have been swallowed easily by Hosea’s audience, it may sit on our stomach’s about as smoothly as that priest’s potion. Understanding the context of marriage in the ancient world, the marriage metaphor may work for some as a way to reveal the dynamics between a superior God in relationship with inferior humans, but I suspect the implications of this metaphor might cramp the style of many women…and men, in this congregation. 

Another way to state the problem with the marriage metaphor is to say that for us today it is just plain sexist. The male in this metaphor symbolizes a faithful God. The female symbolizes unfaithful Israel. Blameless male. Sinful female. Hey, that metaphor could just as easily have been turned the other way around, someone might say. Well, if it were that easy, why don’t we ever find Israel depicted as a promiscuous male in the Bible?  Casting Israel in the role of the promiscuous wife would have been a powerful way to bring shame on the people.

One of the worst implications of this marital metaphor in Hosea concerns where it finally leads us; to a dead end, or should I say a “deadly end.” In an ancient, male-dominated culture, where women are property with little or no power, how do you imagine God’s judgment upon Israel’s injustice using a marriage metaphor? Well, one could use the image of divorce to talk about breaking of the covenantal relationship. More deadly, you could talk about stoning of women as an image of judgment upon the unfaithful Israel. The last option Hosea picks up in chapter two.  

The marital metaphor reaches its lowest point in a number of passages within the prophetic writings. If I would have had somebody, possibly a woman, read the verses from Hosea 2, along with those from chapter 1 and 11 during the scripture reading today, the reader may have fallen silent, and mothers may have had to cover the ears of their children. Some women and men in this congregation may have blushed or squirmed in their pews at this reading of scripture. And one can only wonder how the prophet’s words in Hosea 2 might have been heard by women who may have been abused by their husbands or another male in their lives? Hosea, and even God, might not have come out smelling like roses. That’s because name calling, verbal threats, forced seclusion, physical and sexual abuse, and the public degradation of a woman are rhetorically used to depict God’s judgment upon Israel.

Hosea, who is the victim of Gomer’s infidelity, calls upon their children to take sides against their own mother. He wants them to recognize that she is not his wife. Hosea tells his children to plead with their mother to put away her “whoring,” while he tells his own children that he will have no pity for them either. Hosea, or is it God?, will shame her, call her derogatory names, strip her clothes off, publicly expose her nakedness, and kill her with thirst, just to name a few horrible acts done to this  woman in order to warn Israel of God’s judgment. If that were not bad enough, after all those violent threats of Hosea against Gomer, or is it God against Israel, he will woo his promiscuous wife back and give her gifts of grain, wine, and oil. Some violence, then make up. Hit her, then bring her flowers.

At this point in Hosea metaphor and reality get mixed up. We get confused about whether it is about Hosea and Gomer or God and Israel. Whether human metaphor or divine reality, where have we heard of this kind of behavior before?  Walk into any women’s shelter and talk to a battered wife. That’s how she will describe the pattern of her husband’s behavior; abuse and violence, then making up. To say the least, this marriage metaphor has its limits in addressing the unfaithfulness or injustices of Israel, particularly when a marriage goes awry.

Yes, that may be true, but in the book of Hosea we are dealing with a metaphor, not real women. This is just vivid, poetic language. Seventeenth-century mystic poet John Donne used images of sexual assault in a well known sonnet:

                Batter my heart, three person’d God; for you
               As yet but knock, breath, shine, and seek to mend.
               Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
              Except you enthrall me, never shall I be free
             Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

 Isn’t Hosea’s marital image, like Donne’s verse, mere metaphor, poetic language? What’s important is the message behind the metaphor.  That’s partly true. The marriage metaphor in Hosea was a powerful rhetorical devise for communicating the truth to the people and culture in which it was spoken. But, we must recognize the negative consequences of such images when trying to communicate God’s desire for justice. Metaphors can mix up our message. Imagine this scene. A father comes into the living room, puts his hands on his hips, and with furrowed brow he sternly lectures his son: “Son, you must stop threatening to beat up kids in school, even if it is just words. Your teachers are trying to attack this problem with every weapon they have. Your mother and I are battling it out to make a good home for you. Your older sister is taking a stab at helping you. We are all in a war trying to beat off your enemies. So, we just can’t go around using such violent threats in school anymore!” You see, metaphors can mix up the message.

Metaphors matter, particularly when they’re intended to image God or call us to do justice. Language can mend or mar. As kids did any of us really believe in our heart of hearts that sing-song saying “Sticks and stones will break my bones, but…”?  Words can wound, even words from sacred texts. What might words, such as those in the second chapter of Hosea, do to real women battered and abused, who live with the daily threat of violence? What about using the words of genocide and the taking of the land of the Canaanites as God’s command to address the issues of Native Americans or Palestinians? Words can become weapons. What about a white slave owner reading the biblical admonition “slaves obey your masters” to his servants on a Southern plantation? Texts can enslave. What about words like “women should keep silent in the churches,” whether from sacred text or bishop decree, pronounced to women and men in the Mennonite church? Texts can negate and subjugate. What if we only sing of God as father, lord, king, or he? What does that shape young children, women, and each of us over time?

How we use and interpret biblical texts and words is not a small matter. At the same time, are there not other words in our sacred texts that say to women that you are born again, new creatures, God’s very image, co-workers, disciples, deacons, elders, apostles, ministers, gifted by the Spirit, baptized into Christ, where there is no longer male nor female? Words can heal and liberate!

Hosea’s marriage metaphor is both illuminating and deadly. It reveals the utter seriousness of personal and corporate fidelity to God and the utter horror of wife abuse. Mixing up metaphors can make for a deadly potion.

Philosopher Martin Heidegger said that language is the “house of our being.” It is where we live and move and are shaped as human beings. Words are a lens through which we see the world. Language is not mere words. Rhetoric reflects reality. Behind the sexist language in the Bible are real wives subjected to the power of their husbands. Behind the language of sexual violence were real stories, or as Phyllis Trible calls them “texts of terror, like Jephthah’s daughter, burned as an offering by her father because he made a rash vow or the Levite’s concubine, raped by strangers then sliced and diced into twelve pieces by her outraged master to represent the twelve tribes of Israel or…no, I could go on, but that’s quite enough. You see, metaphors matter.  They mirror and mold reality.

Our language today is still used in sexist, violent ways.  Just one example, women are devalued and degraded, humiliated and violated, metaphorically speaking, in popular music; rap and rock, heavy metal and punk, are supported by recording companies that make profits from “artists” who degrade women. Dehumanizing women is part of the economics of pop culture. Some dare call it “poetic license.” Where does this language come from? Behind these wounding words is a culture of terror where each year as many women are beaten to death as those killed in the World Trade Center bombings. Sticks and stones…fists and guns …can kill. Words not only reflect, but create an environment that legitimizes a fractured culture. 

Just as pacifists question the violence of the bible in the light of the life, teachings, death, and resurrection of Jesus, so we need to question some biblical images of women. We can learn to better understand the cultures out of which these images, metaphors, and stories arose and why they were used and became part of scripture, while at the same time seeking to grapple with the divine message they try to communicate. Speaking metaphorically, we can approach the Bible like Jacob, the Old Testament character who wrestled with an angel at the River Jabbok. As Christian men and women we can learn to wrestle with the biblical texts, and not just take them “at their word” as literally the very voice of God, so that we might, in the end of our wrestling receive their blessing. But remember, like Jacob we may walk away from our wrestling match with some biblical texts with a limp. And don’t forget this when it comes to reading the Bible; Our God is not bound by our culturally-bound Bible.

Reading the bible is always a moral and political act. How we read, interpret, and apply biblical texts can be life-giving or death-dealing. For these sacred texts can shape or misshape us as believing communities and how we live and practice our relationship with God. How we image God is a significant act. And we should always remember that whatever metaphor we use of God is limited. Hosea himself reminds us of this, where he seeks to speak for God:

I am God and not a man, holy in your midst,

and I do not come to destroy (11:9).

God is not male. God is not human, with all our gender, cultural, and political biases. God is not married. God is not a god of death and destruction. God is loving and compassionate. God is like Jesus, the living metaphor of God, who said, “I have come that they might have life and have it abundantly.” This does not mean there is no place to speak of God’s judgment upon unfaithfulness and idolatry, sin and injustice. Hosea tried to do that with the marriage metaphor. But, that metaphor has serious limitations and dangerous implications. Every metaphor we use to speak of God is limited and fragmented. By consciously recognizing that God is far beyond the language and metaphors we use to speak of God, we can approach our sacred texts not only with a discerning eye, but with an eye open for language and images that are healing, nurturing, and life-giving.

Maybe our eyes will fall upon alternative, nurturing images of God, like the one in the eleventh chapter of Hosea. Imagine God as a mother and Israel as her child. She loves her child dearly. She would give her life for her beloved. She called her son out of slavery in Egypt. She gave her child a home in which to grow. As her son turned into a teenager he became rebellious. His life was in grave danger by those he associated with. He turned his back on his mother. Yet, she was the one who taught her son to walk and held him in her loving arms. She was the one who healed him when he fell and scraped his knees and took him to the doctor when he was ill. Though her umbilical cord was long ago severed, she was still connected to her child by threads of love and kindness. She was one of those mothers who lifted up her child and placed her warm cheek next to his. As a mother she bent down and nursed him. O, how can this mother give up on her child? Her heart aches for her son. Her compassion grows more warm and tender with each day. How can she be angry with her dearest child? She cannot bear to think of his destruction.

Can you imagine God’s love for us being like this mother? But, since women are not just mothers, this metaphor also has its limitations. What about God as a lover, friend, bakerwoman, Sophia-wisdom, rock, fire, or wind? Many nurturing, liberating, creative human metaphors are needed to speak of the Mystery we call God.

There are many healing and nurturing, loving and compassionate metaphors in our sacred texts. Each has its limitations. Even marriage can serve as a life-giving metaphor for how we can understand our relationship to God. In one Midrash, a textual commentary written by Jewish Rabbis, there is a story of a king and a noble woman which speaks of God’s relationship to Israel. The king and noble woman are to be married. Each plans to bring precious gems to offer each other for the wedding covenant. The woman happens to lose her gem. She searches everywhere for her prized jewel so that she may bring to the relationship something precious, something she can share out of love for her partner. The king takes his gem away so as not to dominate their relationship with his gift alone. Finally, she comes across her lost gem. The king and the noble woman bring their gems together. The king makes a decree that a crown shall be made from both gems and it shall be placed on the head of the noble lady. The rabbi’s comments continue…”In a like manner God too has set up two gems, namely loving kindness and mercy…Israel lost theirs…So, God took away His…and after Israel restored theirs, God has given his back. And God will say, “Let both gems be made into a crown and placed on the head of Israel.”

This is the loving and compassionate God who desires to finally say to you and me, male and female, flawed and unfaithful though we may be:

I will marry you forever
I will marry you with righteousness and justice
and with goodness and mercy
I will marry you in faithfulness,
and you shall know I am your God.

 

In Remembrance of Bat-Jiftah: Judges 11:29-40

 *This sermon was preached at Zion Mennonite Church, Hubbard, Oregon on Sunday, June 3, 2012

If you read my sermon title 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 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 had fulfilled his part of the agreement, her father could do no less. In no way did Bat-Jiftah challenge paternal authority. She is portrayed as the perfectly submissive daughter. 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)

Hogwash! 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, maybe a servant, 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." Jephthah was ready to commit an act of domestic violence in God's name.

Some of us may be saying to ourselves, "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." 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, and 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 roll of the living.

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 indirectly 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 headship over women and 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 in 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 his hand holding 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. Bat-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. Nowhere do we read anything in the book of Judges like, "And Jephthah did that which was evil in the sight of the Lord." As a matter of fact, our story begins “the Spirit of the Lord came upon Jephthah.” He is even listed among the heroes of faith in Hebrews 11. And within the book of Judges God did not stay the hand of Jephthah as God did with Isaac as Abraham lifted high the knife to plunge it into the Isaac’s breast. 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.

 Besides that, you have the problem of modern biblical interpreters who justify Jephthah’s act of violence. As recently as 1962, C. F. Kraft commends Jephthah: "it was not a rash vow, but deliberate . . . he was expecting great things, and he promised his best in return." Kraft praises the daughter as one willing to die for her father's integrity. Baloney! Some modern interpreters even go so far as to say the Jephthah really didn’t sacrifice his daughter, but made her keep her own vow…. of virginity. And yet, the biblical text says clearly that Jephthah “did with her according to the vow he had made” (vs. 39b).

Some of the ambiguities, silences, and word construction of the text make Jephthah into a tragic victim of circumstance. If the narrator had Bat-Jiftah question her father’s vow, plead for mercy from her father or God, then he might have tipped the scales too much in her favor and brought into question her father’s vow and God’s silence. The story may very well be a reflection of the sexual politics of the narrator. The narrator implicates Bat-Jiftah in her own demise being a willing subject of her father horrible vow and protects Jephthah from responsibility for his violent behavior, or should I say bluntly, the murder of his own daughter. 

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. On the other hand, it may be simply assumed by the narrator that human sacrifice is not God’s will and Jephthah’s vow is rash and should not have been kept. “Obedience is better than sacrifice,” says God. Could it be that the death of the daughter through human sacrifice, the silence of God, the absence of moral critique by the narrator, and the lack of anyone in the community to protest such violence are but signs that something is rotten and evil in their midst? This might be the case. This story may be a reflection of the repeated mantra in Judges, “There was no king in the land and everyone did what was right in their own eyes.”

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." Her women sisters would be the only ones who could truly understand her plight in a male-dominated society.

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. First, this is primarily a comment in view of Jephthah’s interests, more so than his daughter’s. It means that there will be no progeny for Jephthah. It was his loss, more than hers. In the narrator’s eye this is tragedy more for Jephthah than it is for his daughter. 

Secondarily, Bat-Jiftah 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 remembrance.

In Africa there is still a belief that a person does not really die until the last one who 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 month. 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 Oregon Coalition Against Domestic and Sexual Violence, and Clackamas Women’s Services in Oregon City, that educate the public, support and shelter battered women and children. 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."