Fathers, Mothers, and Why We Wait
Gen. 15:1-12, 17-18; Psalm 27; Luke 13:31-35
March 4, 2007
Did you see the article in the Post this morning on religious illiteracy? Turns out that two thirds of our very religious public don’t know who delivered the Sermon on the Mount. I mentioned this over breakfast this morning and Hannah piped up, “Daddy, you gave the sermon on the mound last spring when we had worship on the playground!” I said, “yes, but that was the mound; this is about the Mount. Jesus gave that one; it’s in Matthew.”
Fewer than half of Americans know that Genesis is the first book of the Bible, which either underscores Biblical illiteracy or Hebrew illiteracy since Genesis means beginning. In either case, the lectionary brings us to beginning places this morning, including a passage from Genesis, and the readings taken together remind me – especially in the face of the reminders from the paper today – of the vital importance of returning regularly to first things.
The lectionary puts a fascinating mix of messages in front of us this week: from Luke we hear one of the touchstone passages of Christian feminist theology while from Genesis we hear of the founding of the patriarchy. In between, from the psalmist, we are encouraged to “Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!”
It’s a good Lenten instruction: wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord.”
Between fall and redemption: wait for the Lord.
Between falling down and rising up: wait for the Lord.
Between crucifixion and resurrection: wait for the Lord.
Between what has been and what is to be: wait for the Lord.
So, perhaps, in following our texts of this morning, between the patriarchy and a reimagining of it, we wait for the Lord.
I use that word, reimagining, purposefully and advisedly, because it comes freighted with excess baggage in the church. Some of you may recall the sound and fury in response to the 1993 reimagining conference in Minneapolis. That ecumenical gathering focused on images of the divine beyond “God, the Father Almighty,” was called “blasphemous” by some, “disastrous” by others, and “uplifting” by still others, even “legendary” in some quarters. You can still find hundreds of discussions of it on-line (which is where these descriptive words were found).
Why bring up this “ancient” history now? What has a 14-year-old controversy to do with any of us? How is this relevant to our lives and situations, our faith and doubts, our common life and purpose?
Well, let me count the ways.
First, don’t blame me, I didn’t pick the lectionary texts!
Second, if you think the whole thing is ancient history, well I am simply put in mind of Faulkner’s observation about history in the south: “the past isn’t history; it isn’t even past.”
General Assembly last summer was fighting the same battle over images of God when it dealt with the question of Trinitarian formulations for use in worship. By the hue and cry emanating from some quarters you would have thought we declared that “God is dead,” when we suggested that alternatives to the traditional Father, Son and Holy Ghost are suitable for use in worship.
Being a good Trinitarian – at least this morning – I’ll give you a third reason for taking up these concerns this morning: how we imagine God determines, to a great extent, how we imagine humanity; and how we imagine humanity determines how we shall act toward one another in the world.
Show me your God and I will show you your social world.
As Rosemary Radford Ruther suggests, “God language is always heavy laden language. To speak of God is our ultimate sanction for what is right and good, but this also means that God language becomes dangerous when it is used to sanctify what is evil, unjust and dehumanizing. When we speak in wisdom of God, we need to find the words that transform, not the words that deform, the words that heal, not the words that harm.”[1]
The world of the patriarchal God is the world of patriarchy: the world of authoritarian structures and hierarchies; the world of sharp judgment and swift punishment; the world of social, racial, economic and gender distinctions enforced by violence or the threat of violence.
Rabbi Michael Lerner calls the image of God at the top of such social structures “the right hand of God.” It is this “right hand” that dominates and destroys, and that imagery of God is found in every crusade that claims God on its side. Interestingly enough, most often in scripture, this image of God emerges in the pleas for justice from the exiled or enslaved, while in our time that image of God emerges to support the work of the powerful at the expense of the powerless.
But that image of God is not the only one available in our tradition. Indeed, in the passage from Luke that we just read, Jesus longs to gather Jerusalem to himself like a mother hen gathers her chicks under her wing. Even in the scene from Genesis, God seems to take Abraham by the hand out to see the stars not so much in the manner of the all-powerful patriarch as in the way of a gentle, loving father or mother. “Look up, Abraham, see the stars that I have created just for you. Your children and children’s children will shine like the stars and be so numerous. This is my promise, because I love you and you are mine.”
As Ruether urges, “We need to create transformative metaphors [-- God as fire, bread, breath of life, mountains, and waters --] that give both men and women the sense of their holistic potential, and don’t just duplicate gender stereotypes on the divine level. God can be loving father who carries the little child in his arms and strong mother who, like the mother eagle, pushes us from the next and teaches us how to fly. Interestingly enough, all these images are already present in the Bible.”[2]
The movement that we at Clarendon have been so centrally associated with – breaking down the barriers to ordination of faithful gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered persons – is part and parcel of the broader effort to reimagine God and, by clear implication, to reimagine the church as well. Moreover, all of this is about reimagining our own lives and our culture, as well.
The Lenten journey to God calls us to this work with renewed focus and passion. For what good does this journey do us if we sojourn to a false god – a god who reinscribes as divine all of our all-too-human divisions of powerful over powerless, of insiders over outsiders, of rich over poor, of first world over developing world, of straight over gay, of men over women, of white over people of color, and so on and on and on. We are sick of this.
God is not the author of our inequalities and injustices. God does not bless the violence with which we reinforce them. No. Let the psalmist remind us: God provides us shelter in the day of trouble and lifts us above the enemies of justice and of peace. God leads us on a straight and level path – not a way of mountainous hierarchy where the valleys of despair are dominated from the heights of power where the adversaries of truth breathe out violence. No. For God’s way is a way of light and salvation, of healing and wholeness.
Now this way that God calls us toward is not short. It is, for certain, longer than our Lenten forty days. But it is a way of life for the living, not a way of death for those who deal in death. And so on this day, and every day for as long as I have breath to proclaim it: I do believe that surely I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord. Amen.
posted by David Ensign at
6:55 AM
<< Home