Love Your Enemies and Pray for Those Who Abuse You, Really? Preached at Wollaston Congregational Church On February 24th, 2019 Scripture: Luke 6:27-28, 35-36 “… I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. … Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.” We have been hearing about clergy sex abuse on children and on women including nuns in the Catholic Church for some time now. Victims have been blamed, priests have been shuffled, and all too often the church has closed ranks to protect abusers. Just this weekend there has been a Roman Catholic summit on the issue of pedophilia. We will wait to hear of the outcome. Now a similar story of abuse is emerging from the Southern Baptist Convention. Victims have been blamed again. When churches are asked how they have dealt with this situation, they say that the abusers have repented and so the abuse has not been reported. The Southern Baptist Convention maintains autonomy of the local church, as we do in the UCC, and has claimed that this as an excuse for under-reporting crimes. Yes, crimes. And so, I wonder, about today’s passage from Luke and this command to pray for those who abuse you, and to love your enemies, and to forgive all. We hear of priests, ministers and others in authority using this text as an excuse. We see clergy in positions of power put themselves in Jesus’ place, directing victims: women and children, to pray for and forgive their abusers. And, like many others, I am angry and I am upset. And still, Jesus has something to say in our gospel reading for today. Abuse of power is not a new problem. It is addressed in this “sermon on the plain” in Luke. Perhaps what we need is a key to unlock the mystery of what Jesus is saying. And on this unusual 7th Sunday in Epiphany, the Revised Common Lectionary provides us with a story we don’t often read. And is a story of abuse and forgiveness that might provide that key. Do you remember Joseph, son of Jacob? Perhaps you colored his coat of many colors in Sunday School. Joseph is the one who had the wild dreams. He was Jacob’s youngest and favorite child. And also he was a bit too big for his boots. As a result he was abused and then trafficked by his jealous older brothers. Jacob’s family led a nomadic lifestyle and kept sheep in the land of Cana. The brothers traveled far and wide, tending the sheep. On one occasion Jacob sent the young Joseph to check on his brothers who were following the herd. Joseph wandered alone for some distance looking for his brothers. As they saw him coming across the wilderness, they plotted to kill him. “Here comes the dreamer – in his fancy coat – let’s kill him and throw him into a pit, then we shall say that a wild animal has devoured him, and we shall see what will become of his dreams." Before they could carry out the plan, a caravan of traders traveling to Egypt arrived on the scene. The brothers saw a way to get rid of Joseph and make money at the same time. And so they sold their brother as a slave to the traders for 20 pieces of silver. They returned to Jacob with the story that they had found his coat bloody and ripped and assumed that he had been devoured by a wild animal. At first Joseph worked as a slave in Egypt. Then he was falsely imprisoned and attracted attention with his ability to interpret dreams. He was summoned by Pharaoh, who was having troubling dreams. Joseph was able to tell the king that his recurring dream was a warning from God of seven years of plenty followed by seven years of famine for the land of Egypt. And so, Joseph was freed from the prison and promoted to be a close advisor of Pharaoh. The seven years of plenty came to pass. The Egyptians stored away grain so that when the lean years began they would have enough in store. Over time, Joseph matured and became more humble. He learned to credit God with his ability to interpret dreams. When famine came, it spread throughout the land. Joseph became governor and was entrusted with control of the Egyptian storehouses. People from all over the known world came to Egypt to buy grain. The famine affected Jacob’s family too, and so Jacob sent his older sons to Egypt to buy grain. They arrive, dusty, hungry and exhausted, seeking relief. They do not realize that they are standing in front of their long lost brother, but he recognizes them. At first Joseph plays with them, like a cat with a mouse. He is in a position of power over them for the first time. And still, he is curious asking whether their father is alive, and whether there are other brothers. He learns that there is a younger one, Benjamin, who has remained at home with Jacob. Joseph holds one brother, Simeon, hostage, so that the others will bring Benjamin to him on the next visit. And then, when they return with Benjamin, Joseph finds way to accuse his younger brother of theft, so that he can keep him imprisoned in Egypt. But the brother Judah challenges Joseph. They cannot return home to Jacob without Benjamin, it would break their father’s heart. He could not bear to lose another son. At this Joseph is finally overwhelmed. He sends away the Egyptians and he is alone at last with his brothers. He breaks down – weeping loudly – and exclaims “I am Joseph.” And, again begs to know, is his father still alive? The brothers are horrified and ashamed. Here they are, confronted by the brother they sold into slavery. And now he is in a position of power and authority. He is in a position to punish them, to seek revenge. Instead he embraces them and forgives them. He assures them that his time in Egypt has been for the best. God has been working through the situation and is still working through them all to preserve the Hebrew tribe. This is the story only Joseph can tell. This is the forgiveness only Joseph can give. Centuries later, Jesus lives in the same land as Joseph and his brothers. Jesus is descended from the same tribe, now known as the people of Israel. The people have experienced much more displacement and disruption over the generations. At the time of Jesus they are occupied by a power even great than Egypt: the Empire of Rome. The people of Jesus’ time are downtrodden by the Roman occupying forces. Both women and men are abused. And so, as Luke tells us today, Jesus comes down to a level place and preaches to the crowds. He does not stand in a position of “power over” but on an equal footing. He tells them that though they suffer now, one day they will be blessed. He tells them that God’s kingdom looks like a reversal of the status quo. The ones who exert power over them will be powerless in God’s order. And then he tells them they are to start living as though God’s order is already happening, because that is how it will be born. He tells them to love their enemies and pray for those who abuse them. He tells them to forgive the debts owed to them by the ones in power. And, here, again he is talking reversal. In the first century culture, nothing is owed to them by people who had power over. The only way to be in debt to another person is to be lower in the hierarchy. The person with greater wealth, authority and power can forgive a debt, if they choose to do so. People with wealth and influence can make loans and give gifts to put a poorer person in their debt. And then they can call in favors when they need them. But it is unheard of for the poorer, less powerful person to forgive. It doesn’t make sense. It makes least sense of all, to do as Jesus says, and to give and forgive without expecting anything in return: no repayment, no social capital. Now Jesus wasn’t a leader in a religious order in which the priest or minister has all the authority and control. He wasn’t telling women and men to forgive because he needed to keep the exploits of the clergy under wraps. He wasn’t protecting an image. Jesus was living out a story of mercy and forgiveness. From the beginning, Luke’s story foreshadows the end. Jesus’ preaching, about the poor and powerless being blessed, and the common people forgiving and praying for their abusers, turns the social order upside down. Forgiving enacts God’s great and boundless mercy in the world, and it also empowers the crowds with the love that Jesus has brought to the world. This is a love that takes Jesus all the way to the cross. And even there Jesus will ask God’s forgiveness for his executioners. And so, this is the story only Jesus can tell. This is the forgiveness only Jesus can give. I cannot tell you, if you are a survivor of abuse, to forgive. Only Jesus can do that. And it will be between you and God, to decide when is the right time for that forgiveness. What I can tell you is that forgiveness and praying for an abuser does not mean that the abuse is allowed to continue. Far from that, praying for an abuser includes praying for their repentance and recovery. Forgiving also means protecting oneself, remaining safe, and preventing further abuse. What I can do is prayerfully consider how I am to forgive those who ridiculed, teased, and manipulated me when I was a child. And I can seek forgiveness, from God, for the children I, in turn, ridiculed and teased. I can release the debts of those who think they “owe me one” and I can give forgiveness, in a heartbeat, to anyone thinks they have something to apologize for. One day, perhaps those children, those women, those nuns will be able to pray for their abusers and even forgive them. Until that time, may those priests and ministers of the church who used today’s text to silence the victims and send them back to situations of abuse, follow the apostle Paul’s directive and “work out [their] own salvation with fear and trembling.” May all God’s people say, Amen
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Deeply Rooted Preached on February 17th, 2019 At Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: Jeremiah 17:5-10 Our passage from the writings of the prophet Jeremiah this week is a psalm or a song. It is a refrain, sung to and by a people in trauma. Jeremiah writes in the midst of the great exile, of the people of Israel who are captured and taken to Babylon. Babylon is a foreign nation whose customs, beliefs and practices are quite different from the Israelites’ own. They fear that their identity and their relationship with the one-God, YHWH, will be erased. They fear that their children will be seduced, drawn in by the worldly wealth and power of Babylon. In the book “Inspired …” Rachel Held Evans claims: “One cannot overstate the trauma of this exile … in the sixth century BCE, King Nebuchadnezzar laid siege to Jerusalem, destroying both the city and its temple. Many of the Jews who lived there were taken captive and forced into the empire’s service … If the people of Israel no longer had their own land, their own king, or their own temple, what did they have? They had their stories. They had their songs. They had their traditions and laws.” [1] And so, in the midst of this trauma Jeremiah calls out the words of a song: “ Cursed are those who trust in mere mortals and make mere flesh their strength, whose hearts turn away from the LORD. They shall be like a shrub in the desert, and shall not see when relief comes. They shall live in the parched places of the wilderness, in an uninhabited salt land. Blessed are those who trust in the LORD, whose trust is the LORD. They shall be like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the stream. It shall not fear when heat comes, and its leaves shall stay green; in the year of drought it is not anxious, and it does not cease to bear fruit.” (Jeremiah 17:5-8) Jeremiah’s song reminds the Israelites to trust in God and maintain their community. This way of trust and loyalty was difficult in the seductive culture of the empire. But they would be blessed, like the ones of Jesus’ beatitudes we read today from the gospel of Luke. They would draw on a deep well of hope like those trees planted beside water. This resource would be readily available for those who planted themselves in the community of their one-God. The song gives a warning, too. Those who do not trust in God will be like a shrub in the desert. Desert shrubs have some impressive adaptations, they survive. Their skins are thick, to minimize the evaporation of scarce hydration. They have prickles and spikes, to resist the attacks of predators. They remain small and stunted, they do not bear fruit, their surface area of their leaves is optimized for photosynthesis and minimal water loss. Both the tree and the desert shrub survive. They are each resilient in their way. And yet there is no doubt which one Jeremiah’s song lifts up, which one is blessed by God. The exiled Jewish people keep themselves rooted by coming together and maintaining their community. They tell stories and sing songs to remind one another that ultimately all creation belongs to God. Their trust and rootedness is secured in that truth. ------------------- We – here are Wollaston Congregational Church - do not always acknowledge that we are an exiled people in our current day world and culture. The surroundings, the neighborhood, the city, look familiar. Some of us have lived here for many years, even many generations. And still, we are living in the same kind of exile the people of Israel experienced so long ago. There is a difference between those of us here in this place, and those who are out alone in the community. We have a story that tells us that this is a strange and sometimes inhospitable world. We notice that our culture is seductive, offering opportunities for wealth and prosperity, celebrity and popularity. We notice the “quick-fix” routes to happiness and the things that distract: the entertainment industry, the diet culture, addictive drugs and other substances, the hookup scene. And also recently I’ve also noticed what I describe as an “epidemic of trauma” in our communities. I see it in the church members and others who come to me to talk. When I use public transportation, stop by a coffee shop, or go to buy groceries, I invariably find someone who needs to talk about the trauma in their lives. These people are often caregivers for others who are experiencing trauma: they are parents, teachers, nurses, caregivers, adult children of elders. And I notice the same trauma in the social media community I belong to. My fellow clergy members post a constant stream of prayer requests for sick or dying spouses, parents, friends, and congregants. There are the children who are addicted, have suicidal thoughts, or have even died by suicide. I hear of loved ones, or my colleagues themselves, in the grip of anxiety and depression, a troubling medical diagnosis, or simply exhaustion. These tragedies seem to group themselves, snowballing in many families and systems. I was trying to understand why so many caregivers seem to be suffering too, when I came across a book: “Trauma Stewardship” by Laura van Dernoot Lipsky and Connie Burk. These authors have identified “secondary trauma.” This impacts anyone who gives care in their family or community: from police officers, social workers, medical care providers, correctional officers, to those who work helplines or staff resource centers. [2] I’m sure that this describes many of us here today. Even if you do not have one of those specific titles, you who come here to church are engaged every day in caring in your families, your circle of friends, your communities. And that work must be taking its toll on you. One response to this assault of trauma is to become like the desert shrub of Jeremiah’s song. We isolate, hunker down, grow prickles and spikes and develop a thick skin. We can try to be impervious to hurt and pain, in order to survive this time of drought. Some years ago, I was providing spiritual care for some very elderly residents of a nursing home. A number of “my” residents were living in the exile of dementia. Some were afraid of me because I was a stranger. They lashed out, when I visited, cursing and sending me away. I knew it was only their disease speaking and still I wanted to protect myself from their disorienting world. I looked for excuses to avoid them in the future. Others had physical disabilities, loss of mobility, hearing or vision. I worried for their frail limbs, when I pushed them in their wheel chairs. I was afraid I would be clumsy and catch an arm or foot and I flinched every time I had to negotiate a doorway or elevator. And then a number of my residents were in the final stages of life. If I was afraid to get close to them, because that would mean I would grieve them when they were gone. During my first few weeks at the facility I was not sleeping well, worrying about the residents and the ways in which I might fail in caring for them. My usual coping mechanism for a situation like this would be to grit my teeth and get through it. It would be over in a few months, and then I could put the experience behind me and get on with my preparation for ministry. My supervisor wasn’t going to let me off the hook, though. When I admitted to her that I was having trouble sleeping, she smiled and told me that it was time to make a new learning goal. I was to find a way to let go of my residents at the end of each work day. I was not to bring them home with me, and into my nighttime routine. That way I would be well rested and better able to care for them when I came to work the next day. First I tried visiting the synagogue in the facility, for a time of reflection at the end of each day. It was a peaceful place, subtly lit by tiny lights set to come on in remembrance of those who had died on a given date. By the end of the day the space was empty of services and concerts, the prayer shawls had been returned to their basket. I could find a few moments of silence there. But it was not effective, the worries and fears still returned later. My next attempt was more successful. I realized that I could take my lunch break in the arboretum next door to the facility. I could slip out and walk in the fresh air, among the sturdy trees. I could experience the brilliant colors of the deciduous trees in the fall, the white snow against the evergreens in winter, and the splashes of yellow forsythia and fragrant lilacs in the spring. Breathing the air and walking among these trees rooted so close to life-giving water enabled me to let go of my charges. It reminded me that I had to trust my residents to God’s care, I was not responsible for them. I was reminded that my own rootedness was in my church, where I would be made resilient by the life-giving water of community, story and song. I was reminded to be a tree rooted beside water ready to grow, rather than prickly and isolated desert shrub that was simply surviving. The authors of Trauma Stewardship list the warning signs of secondary trauma, these include hyper-vigilance, chronic exhaustion, guilt, anger and cynicism, addiction and grandiosity. They recommend self-care and following five directions. North, East, South and West, each represent a different aspect of self-care. South is the direction of “compassion and community” – what a great description of church! And then there is a fifth direction, the daily practice of centering oneself: our personal spiritual practices. So it seems Jeremiah, or the people who sang the songs in exile in Babylon, were onto something. In times of trauma we are to remain rooted in God, connected with this our community, the church. So let’s remind one another, this and every week, not to isolate, not to stay away, but to return. And then this place, in these times of trauma, will flow with the life-giving waters of story, song and connection with God. May all God’s people say, Amen [1] Evans, Rachel Held. Inspired: Slaying Giants, Walking on Water, and Loving the Bible Again, (Thomas Nelson. Kindle Edition.), 7, 8-9 [2] van Dernoot Lipsky, Laura with Burke, Connie, Trauma Stewardship: An Everyday Guide to Caring for Self While Caring for Others, (San Francisco, Barrett-Koehler, 2009) Rescuing God’s People Alive Preached on 2-10-19 at Wollaston Congregational Church We had said that Epiphany is the season of revelation. God is revealed to all people in the person of Jesus, come into the world. There is another theme, too. It is that of discipleship. This is fitting, because disciples are called to play a part the revelation of God to the world. And so in our gospel reading today, we heard Jesus call Simon the fisherman: the first disciple in the gospel of Luke. Simon thinks he is too sinful to be around Jesus, but Jesus calls Simon to “fish for people” or rather, to “rescue people alive.” Imagine the scene. It is early on a bright warm morning on the shore of the expansive lake Gennesaret. Jesus is in his favorite setting for teaching: outdoors among the people. Here he can reach people who are about their daily lives. These are not the religious people, they do not often get to synagogue. Perhaps their boss does not give them time off on the Sabbath, or perhaps the journey is too far at the end of an exhausting day of work. Whatever the reason Jesus goes and meets the people where they are: in the village, on the shore of the lake. The crowds gather and press in, hungry for the word of God that Jesus is preaching and so he sees the need for a stage of some sort. He needs a little distance so the crowd can see him and hear what he has to say. Simon and his friends are sitting a little way down the beach, listening to what is going on with half an ear. They have pulled their boats onto the shore. They are cleaning and mending their nets. They’re exhausted and out of sorts. They have come in from a night of fishing with nothing to show for it, other than the accumulated silt and sand in their nets. Simon is surprised to see Jesus coming to get into his boat. Jesus then asks Simon to push him out a little from the shore. Jesus sits in the boat, the posture of the Rabbi, continuing his teaching. When he is done, he surprises Simon even more, telling him to take out the boat again into the deep water and let down the nets. Simon protests. They have just spent a fruitless night – the best time for fishing – out on the water. Even so, the experienced fisherman obediently takes senseless advice from Jesus, a rabbi and a carpenter. They go out, much deeper into the lake. And, lo and behold, extra assistance is needed to bring in the huge quantity of fish that is caught in their nets. The weight of the catch almost sinks two boats! Simon knows at this moment that he is in the holy presence of God, and falls down in front of Jesus crying, “Go away from me Lord, for I am a sinful man!” Simon’s response is the human recognition of the disconnect between his earthliness and Jesus’ holiness. But Jesus’ simply says, “do not be afraid.” And then “from now on you will be catching people” … or more accurately “you will be rescuing people alive.” And so, the great catch of fish, the haul of a lifetime is left behind in the boats. Perhaps the fishermen who remain clean and sell the catch. Perhaps the crowd takes what they can and feasts happily that night. Simon, James and John do not look back. The fishermen go from a night’s fishing with no results, to being recruited to bring in Jesus’ haul. The sea they now fish contains great masses of people waiting eagerly and hungrily to hear God’s good news. And to the best of our knowledge they succeed. We are here today because they heard and acted on Jesus’ call to them. Over centuries and millennia, disciples have traveled the world, sharing the good news of Jesus. Their nets has been spread wide, and many, many people have responded. They have been rescued alive. The disciples have cast their nets wide by sharing stories of lives transformed by placing Jesus at the center. They have cast their nets wide by creating hospitals and schools, soup kitchens and hostels for the poor. They have cast the nets of initiating labor reforms, and by calling for education and healthcare for all God’s children. They have cast nets by creating places of sanctuary and safety, for people who live on the edge of life. Over the centuries millions of people have been rescued alive. We often talk about the ways in which Christians have failed to live up to Jesus’ example. But today we’re talking about how disciples have done what they were called to do: cast a wide net and rescue God’s people alive. Here in Quincy, there are some wonderful examples of obedient disciples. In 1947, following the laying off of thousands of employees by the Quincy shipyard, the local faith communities founded Protestant Community Services, now known as Interfaith Social Services. The participating congregations provided emergency assistance and hope for many Quincy families. And today, the organization feeds families through their food pantry, provides housing assistance, counseling, and clothing in their thrift shop. Since its beginning ISS has rescued 1000’s of people alive. [1] Another example of a Quincy disciple is Esther R. Sanger. Sanger was born in 1926 and was raised in foster care. She studied literature at Eastern Nazarene College and at the time she felt called to missionary service. However, she went on to become a nurse and columnist, she married and raised three children. This sounds like a sufficiently productive life, and yet in her 50’s Sanger became seriously ill and almost died. She said that this experience convinced her to "to hang onto the real and let go of the phony." Sanger heard Jesus’ call to go deeper. She returned to Eastern Nazarene, earning a BA in social work and an MA in family counseling. Sanger began casting her nets by posting handwritten flyers on telephone poles and in subways and laundromats, which read, "Do you have problems? I'll be glad to help.” She included the phone number for her hotline. She was determined to reach the people thought as “throw away” by society: the homeless, hungry, alcoholics, drug users, AIDS victims, battered women, elderly poor, and single mothers. Beginning in 1979, Sanger started ministering to the homeless, serving food from a van and counseling those who called her 24-hour hotline. She formally established the Quincy Crisis Center in 1981 to help individuals and families who were not reached by the existing agencies. [2] Quincy Crisis Center, ISS, and others supported by the Quincy faith community, are still going strong! Over the years, we, Wollaston Congregational Church, played our part in all of them and we still do. And still, I wonder. What is Jesus calling to us today? Are we sitting here on the shore, trying not to make eye contact with the passionate preacher a little way off? We may be feeling dejected and exhausted. We may feel like we have worked all night, with nothing to show for it. Our nets are all silted up. Did you think that your many years of work and saving would guarantee a comfortable retirement, and now it is difficult to make ends meet? Did you think that college loans and years of studying would lead to a lucrative day job with time for family and friends, and now find yourself exhausted from long days, commutes and the unreasonable expectations of your employer? Did you think that your loved one had been rescued and was safe, only to see them slip back into addiction? Did we think that the time and money we invested in church revitalization in years past would fill the sanctuary to overflowing for years to come … That the promise of “success” would give us time off, as we aged, to simply sit and enjoy? Are we sitting on the shore, washing our silty nets, trying not to make eye contact with Jesus, because we know he’ll try calling us, yet again, to be disciples. We are looking for the abundant catch – to rescue people alive – Jesus is directing us to find. It’s hard to miss them really, they are everywhere. They’re the lonely elderly who’d love a visit a cup of coffee and a chat … they’re the shivering young men inadequately dressed looking to get high down at the station … they’re the young women who’ve burned their bridges and need a shoulder to cry on … they’re the ones who were labeled “sinners” by churches because of who they are, how they’re oriented to love, how they understand their gender. They’ll be the ones - volunteers and survivors - who will be participating the Sewing Studio with All Hands In learning the craft and creating together. Even if they are a few in number they’ll make abundant, lasting friendships. And so, out of the corner of our eye, we see him again. He’s calling to us … “Hey you … let’s go out and try again. This time push out into the DEEP WATER, yes that’s right … go deeper. What’s that you say? You’re too old, too young, you’re not up to it? Or maybe it just didn’t work out the last time you tried? Don’t be afraid … don’t be afraid of my holiness, my weirdness, my neediness, my vulnerability. Don’t be afraid of my directness, my passion and sometimes my anger. Don’t be afraid because I look different from the people you’ve had success with before. Don’t be afraid because the last time you tried with someone who looked like me it didn’t work out. Don’t be afraid … because I am with you. And together we can go deep, really deep. And you know out there in the deep there are many, many fish. Just waiting to be rescued alive. I know, you’re tired, you’re young, you’re old, you’re busy. Remember that great catch that Simon Peter and his friends brought in? It’s waiting for you … come on, let’s go!” [1] https://interfaithsocialservices.org/history-of-interfaith-social-services/ [2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Esther_R._Sanger Preached on February 3rd, 2019 At Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: 1 Corinthians 13:1-13 Today we heard a very familiar passage: Paul’s hymn on love, written to the Corinthian church. You’ve probably heard this passage read at more than one wedding. This hymn of Paul’s is certainly beautiful and poetic, lifting up the highest ideals of human love. And yet I’ve heard it said that this reading is popular for weddings, also, because there is no mention of God or Jesus Christ. In spite of this, those of us who heard last week’s reading, the passage preceding this one, and the upcoming readings from Paul’s letter know that he is all about God’s love made know in Jesus. Paul is not writing to an engaged couple but to a church in conflict: not an unusual situation. It is hard for the Corinthian church to figure out how Christianity works, in this their metropolis, belonging to the Greco-Roman culture, with people from many different backgrounds. The tendency, among those who belong to the privileged classes is to set themselves up as “over” the others. They are used to being in this position. They talk about their superior “gifts” whether they are educated in many languages of the time, or possess particular spiritual gifts like prophecy or speaking in tongues. Paul points to a more excellent gift – a gift that everyone can attain – which is the gift of love. And he defines this gift for them, not in terms of feelings, but in terms of what love does, and how to identify it. He teaches them that love must be at the center of their community church. They are to exemplify the selfless love of Christ, both among one another and in the community. This is quite a high ideal the Corinthians and for us today, even as the challenges we face are quite different. Sometimes I hear people talk of “unconditional love”, and this is central to how Paul describes what love looks like. Love doesn’t depend on the behavior of the beloved. There is nothing the beloved can do to take away the love. They don’t have to meet any demands or conditions. A few years ago I was with a group of youth on a retreat, and communion was being served. Some of the teenagers were in a questioning time. They weren’t sure about their faith, and they were visibly uncomfortable with the idea of the communion. I wondered if they feared that their doubts were somehow displeasing to God. The presider turned to them one by one, saying their names … “Alison, God loves you and there’s nothing you can do about it … Brad, God loves you and there’s nothing you can do about it.” I could see the kids relax. They could question and they could challenge all they liked. Nothing could change God’s love for them, because Gods love comes without conditions. When the phrase “unconditional love” comes up, the question “Is there any other kind of love?” comes to mind. Of course, there isn’t. If my loving you depends upon you meeting a condition of mine, how is that love? The Ancient Greeks categorized different kinds of love. For the Greeks Eros is romantic love, Philia is deep friendship, or familial love. Paul is writing about Agape, which is all-encompassing love, love for all creatures. The Greeks compartmentalize too much for my taste, though. In the end love is love is love. Our love for our romantic partners, our love for our family members and friends, our love for members of our community: it’s all love. If we only love those who love us back, we are missing the point of Paul’s hymn. True love seeks only the good of the one who is loved. It expects nothing in return. It is patient; it is kind; it is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. And, what Paul does not say … it is hard – really hard. It takes courage and resilience and wisdom. We probably have not experienced true love in many of our relationships. Humans aim for these goals, but they seem unattainable. Paul reminds us that love will not be made perfectly manifest until all things are complete, when all will be understood. In the meantime, we can live and grow in love. We can practice, practice, practice. We can reflect on our past attempts, critically but with compassion for ourselves. We can remind ourselves that we are forgiven and that we can begin again. We can discover more about ourselves, and how we can be our best selves in our relationships. And we can call others to be their best selves, through our love for them. The purest kind of love I have ever experienced has been my love for my children. I was privileged to give birth and feel love for them from the moment they were placed in my arms. I was able to delight in recognizing their great-Grandma’s dimpled nose and their Grandpa’s scrunchy eyes, their fuzzy hair – so slow to grow in - and their tiny toes. Our three babies were all healthy, happy and easy to love. The action of love was demanding and also natural. Getting my still-tender body out of bed for the nighttime feedings, which went on and on and on; picking them up when they fell; comforting them when they were sick; rocking them when we were all exhausted but they couldn’t fall asleep. It was tiring but instinctive. I am so moved to have seen friends and family members bring children into their lives through fostering and adoption. Without the benefit of familial connections, they have shown the same kind of selfless love. I did not succeed in selfless love all the time, though, even for my children. As they grew, there were times when I snapped at them because I was irritated and tired. I was absurdly impatient with our son as a little one, because he took off and misplaced his socks each lunchtime, and we couldn’t find them when we needed to go out. Yes, parenting, does not always bring out the best in ourselves. Still, caring for children, whether as a family member, as a teacher, as a friend or mentor, is a great practice of love. Through all the ways young ones challenge us, they also keep our focus on the ideal: “Love seeks the good of the one who is loved.” As our children grew, the best advice I ever received was the reminder that “you are their mother not their friend.” To make the wisest most loving decisions as a mother, I had to step back from my desire to be liked by my children. Sometimes I had to say “no”, sometimes I had to ruin the fun, sometimes I had to have the presence of mind to see where things were headed and say “stop!” And I learned, as time went by, that the desire to be liked can be a hindrance to love in adult relationships too. And sometimes, in our daily lives and in our life at church we are called upon to exhibit “tough love.” And this brings us to boundaries. Sometimes boundaries are necessary for tough love. A boundary is simply knowing where you end the other person starts. A boundary prevents you from becoming fused with the one you love. A boundary prevents you from taking Paul’s passage and allowing it to justify the behavior of an abusive person in your life. Making a boundary is loving, because allowing abusive or manipulative behavior in another prevents that person from being their best self. Boundaries allow the other person to be their most loving toward you. Here we are in difficult territory. It is possible to use the excuse of a boundary to withhold love from another when the going gets tough. And still sometimes, to impose the boundary, it is necessary to stop seeing or speaking to the other. This must be done wisely and carefully, possibly with professional advice. Some time ago, I spent time with two young sisters who were dealing with a manipulative mother who was slipping into alcoholism. They loved their mother, of course, and enjoyed her company when she was healthy and well. At this time, though, she was suffering from mental illness. She demanded the daughter’s attention day and night. She interrupted their work and woke them up at night with texts and phone calls. When they did not respond she threatened suicide and if they challenged her drinking, she pushed them away. Gradually, they learned to make their own boundaries. They learned that, for their own sanity, they needed to entrust their mom to the care of professionals and God. It wasn’t easy, it was tough love. But love is love is love. Paul’s beautiful words are probably ingrained in our memories and associated with those weddings we have attended. Like many of the Bible passages we read it is plucked from its original setting. And so this passage needs context and interpretation. Here is Paul’s list of the qualities of love – his description of what loves looks like - elaborated for our context. Perhaps this version is a little more truthful about the challenges we face in love, whether we are beginning life together in marriage, or simply building relationships in our communities and in our church: Love is patient, giving the loved one all the time they need, without expecting love in return. Love is kind, and also love is tough. Love believes in the image of God in the one who is beloved and love desires only that loved one become their best God-created self. Love rejoices in the truth. Love does not enable addictions or abuse, love challenges denial, love calls the beloved to face the truth. Love bears loss with grief and sadness, if the loved one chooses to end the relationship. Love hopes for the best for the loved one, even when things seem impossible. Love endures. It has to, because there are other forces at work, in the lives of people, that will seek to cut off our persistent, enduring love. True love is difficult, true love is tough, true love requires resilience. Love seeks out help when it is needed, from professionals, from our fellow church members, from our friends. We’ll get there if we practice, practice, practice. And when we fail along the way, God provides us with forgiveness and with hope. May all God’s people say … Amen |
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April 2022
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