Numbers 11:4-6,10-16,24-29; Mark 9:38-50
I
have been distracted this week, as I’m sure many of us have been, by the Brett Kavanaugh
hearings in Washington. The distraction
isn’t just about what we are hearing and watching and reading. The distraction is also about memories,
feelings and fears.
As people of faith, we can hear the
testimonies and take from them what we will.
You may believe one or the other for whatever reason you believe. Your history, your experience, your
relationships, your friendships may all play a role in how you are responding
to all that is being said.
For me, my gut has been in a ball for
a few reasons. First, my own memories of
being inappropriately touched when I was a child by a great uncle and by an elementary
school classmate are more vivid.
Second, the deep divide between he said-she said is so broad that I do
not know how people can find a way to bridge the gap. My heart aches because of the way people are
so vehemently taking sides, wondering what personal experiences are being
masked in the language of, in the strength of, their convictions.
Third, I was surrounded by boys, as I
grew up in the 1960’s and 70’s. I
entered adulthood in the 1980’s, when MTV began airing music videos with lots
of sexual inuendo and movies like Pretty
in Pink and The Breakfast Club
were released.
I lived in a household that held the double standard that “boys
will be boys,” but that girls needed to remain pure until marriage. Where my youngest brother became a father as
a teenager, but I had a curfew until I was 20. These were behaviors which I was
expected to accept, so I did.
I hoped that “boys will be boys” behavior would not bleed
into their manhood.
Also, I grew up knowing how alcohol changed
people’s behaviors—of both women and men—and I learned that drunk people lose
their capacity for good judgment.
In all of this, I knew most of these people
as faithful, church-going, and prayerful, even as they behaved in ways that
made them look like God was the last thing on their minds.
There are days when I cannot forget those
painful memories of being inappropriately touched, of watching people I love
become stupid drunk and do dumb things.
This has been a week when those
memories have been magnified. A week
when I have reflected upon how, as a child, I did not know that I could or should
go to my teacher or to my parents with my experience. I’ve reflected on the many memories where I
watched people I love act counter to who I know them to be because they are
under the influence of alcohol.
I’m sad. I’m angry.
I’m frustrated. I don’t want to
go back over my life and relive these experiences, but I am, I have, and, honestly,
I must.
I must because I need to recognize
forgiveness in all of it. I must figure
out how certain behaviors and actions do not always define a person.
And yet, my great uncle abused many of
the girls in our family. And some of the
people who drank a lot throughout my lifetime, still drink a lot. They can be defined, at least partially, by
their behaviors.
It makes me wary. It makes me observant. It keeps me cautious when I witness familiar
behavior in those who I do not know as well.
I didn’t want to talk about this
today. But there is some reason I was
compelled to tell you about this piece of me.
I’m not here to tell you who to believe—Judge Kavanaugh or Dr. Ford. I’m not here to tell you what I believe. I think I’m here to ask you to be open to listening.
Be open to listen because there are
many people, like me, who have unconsciously dug up long buried memories who
might need to talk. They might be
talking about it for the first time or the hundredth. I ask you to listen.
They might need to talk about how sex,
language, alcohol or other substances, have played a role in their
relationships. They may not be able to
tell you anything more than how it makes them feel as they remember. They might show unexpected emotions—unexpected
by both them and you.
Simply listen. Do not try to fix. Do not try to explain. Do not do anything but provide for them the
safe place in which to express their story.
Respect their physical boundaries.
Ask for permission to speak or to touch.
This is a vulnerable time and they trusted you to share it with them. That is a sacred gift.
And lest you think I’m not showing
compassion to those who have been accused of behaviors they may or may not have
committed, I want you to hear me say that they, too, need to be heard with the
same kind of respect and concern.
We are all walking in a world at a time
when it seems easier to be divided than it is to find a middle way. It is hard to recognize that a single story can
have many narrators and that each brings their own experience and perspective
to their telling.
Somehow, the truth can be found in all
the telling.
Even in scripture, we are reminded
that God’s truth can be found in the all- encompassing nature of the story
telling and letter writing. We experience
contradictions. We read from different
viewpoints. We hear messages meant for specific
contexts. In it all, we learn that God
is bigger than the story. God welcomes
the myriad ways we come to know the Holy.
We are reminded of that in today’s lesson
from Numbers and again in the Gospel when it is pointed out that there are some
who are prophesying or casting out demons in the name of God, in the name of
Jesus, who are not a part of the “in” crowd.
We learn from Moses and from Jesus that we are to let those people do
what they are called to do because it is in the name of God.
It is unfortunate when we, as imperfect
humans, think we have all the right answers.
When we think our way to God is the only way, or our way of worship is
the right way, or our way of praying is the best. Our egos get in the way.
We forget that who God is to us and
who we are to God … is personal. How we
come to know God can sometimes be defined by where we choose to be in
community.
I like how our Presiding Bishop calls
us “The Episcopal Branch of the Jesus Movement.” I like it because he does not claim that
being Episcopalian is the only way to God.
He claims that we are just one of the branches on a very large tree,
rooted in God’s love.
In a week where some people are
reliving incidents that may give them pause about who God is to them. In a week where some people need to know more
deeply that what they have experienced does not lessen who they are to
God. In a week where we need one another,
in community, to recognize that in our frailty, in our humanity, we can come
together to hear the Word of God and experience forgiveness and hope and love.
In a week such as this, I invite you to pray.
God of truth and mercy,
we pray for the abused and the accused. We pray for those who have been scarred
by mistreatment and abuse, and we ask that you heal them of these traumas and
surround them with kind and sympathetic listeners and healers. We pray for
those who are falsely accused, that the light of Your truth will shine forth
and vindicate them. And we pray for the rightly accused, that they will allow
Your truth to convert them and to place them on the path to reconciliation with
You and with their victims. Amen.
A prayer by the
Rev. Janine Schenone