Testimony

We are putting no obstacle in anyone’s way, so that no fault may be found with our ministry, but as servants of God we have commended ourselves in every way: through great endurance, in afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, hunger; by purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, holiness of spirit, genuine love, truthful speech, and the power of God; with the weapons of righteousness for the right hand and for the left; in honor and dishonor, in ill repute and good repute. We are treated as impostors, and yet are true; as unknown, and yet are well known; as dying, and see—we are alive; as punished, and yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing everything.  (2 Corinthians 6:3-10) 

After a discussion in my Adult Bible Study class, I keep thinking about this passage. In the denomination in which I grew up, a testimony was a statement one gave, the story of one’s faith. A person might be asked to share their testimony in a specific setting. In being asked to give a testimony, it was generally understood to that one was to speak of the arc of realizing one’s sin, coming to awareness of the need for God’s mercy, throwing one’s self on that mercy, and proceeding to live a changed life. 

In thinking about Paul’s words to the Corinthians above, it occurs to me that he is giving his testimony to them. His witness, however, is not in the story of his faith shared. Rather, what Paul points out to the Corinthians are his actions. He gives an accounting of how he lives and works, the way he acts and the choices he makes. This is his testimony- his actions reveal his true priorities.

The Greek μαρτυρία (marturia) is often translated as testimony in the New Testament. When it is used for testimony, it often means as a witness in the legal sense- as in one is giving a testimony before a judge. This means others used the testimony (maturia) of the disciples and apostles to examine their motives and means. It also means that false or implicating testimonies were used against Paul and others to harm or halt them.

And, yes, the term μαρτυρία is related to another term for witness, one that we translate as “martyr”. 
 

Understanding that most people don’t really want to be martyrs, we are not off the hook for being witnesses. Bearing false witness, in this instance, means having a testimony that is incongruent in its parts. The words of your testimony- the story of your faith- match up with your daily actions? Even in your doubts, is there a through line that someone else can clearly perceive regarding your motivations, your loyalties, your priorities, and your faithfulness? 

Like Paul, our testimony is not the story we tell in our best clothes to people who are predisposed to take us at our word. Our testimony is what we do and say with our checkbooks, in our homes, when we’re aggravated, when the car breaks down, when we are lied to (again), when we despair of change in the larger world. 

How’s your testimony? Is it the witness you want to give? What needs cleaning up? 

Yes And (Sermon)

Sermon for 18 July 2018, Feast Day of Mary Magdalene

Some of this sermon was inspired by this book: God, Improv, and the Art of Living.

The person who helped with the sermon works for this theater company: https://www.tbatheatre.org

The Idol of Virginity

CN: This might not be for you if you're uncomfortable with the idea of me having sex. Hi, Dad! :)






There's an article circulating the internet right now where the TL:DR is "real" Christian men prefer debt-free virgins without tattoos. Some men (and women) may prefer this in a wife. Nevertheless, the blanket prescription that living your best wife life depends on retaining your virginity, rejecting college, and continuing to live with your parents until marriage is not only false, it's dangerous.

I'm going to digress.

There was a point in my life where I was taught and I believed that retaining my virginity until my wedding night was the highest virtue I could attain. I was certainly expected to go to college. I could change my own tires and learned how to figure out when I was being upsold unnecessarily at the mechanic's shop. I worked in a grocery store, a hotel, as a tutor, a babysitter, and an office assistant. In the two years that I was at a four-year school (graduating when I was 20), I never even drove to the beach for a weekend. I broke up with a guy who pressured me to have sex with him because that was not in the plan. The plan, the big plan, beyond graduation and everything was to be a virgin when I got married. It was the Right Thing To Do.

Then I met a guy. I moved to Nome, Alaska, worked for a radio station, did my first tequila shots, saw the Northern Lights, and met a guy.

I liked this guy. I liked him a lot. He was interesting, smart, generous, and had a great dog. We stayed up very late talking, had intensely competitive Scrabble games, and cooked for each other.

But here was the kicker: he didn't care that I was a virgin.

By this I mean, he neither celebrated it nor denigrated it. To him, it was one part of me, just like the fact that I would never beat him in push-ups, but that I would always kick his butt in Boggle. He told me that it would be wrong to be excited about something that was just a choice I had made since he wouldn't have been offended or put off it if I had made a different choice. Being a virgin was just part of me, not all of me. Accepting all of the parts of me was what made love, love.

It took me a while to see this for the grace that it was and is. The party I wanted for having held on to a specific social construct of purity was an idol that I had built with help from certain denominations and role models in my life. None of them had ever talked about the worth of my friends who had been raped, molested, or simply chosen differently and what they would bring to a relationship. Or, worse, it might have been mentioned that a truly, godly man would see past those things.

SCREW THAT NOISE.

Showing grace and love to a partner means loving who they are. In the Mr. Rogers's way, "I like you just the way you are" isn't that you're perfect, but that you don't have to earn my affection. I care about you as you.

When you love someone, you love who they are- which is a combination of the good and bad things that have happened to them, the choices they have made, and the paths they didn't choose. In love, we don't celebrate the pain in a person's past, but we do love who they are in the wake of healing. In love, we don't idolize isolated skills or choices, but accept them as part of what makes the beloved just so.

So in my life, I've only had sex with one man. It's the same man who likes that he's been the only one, but wouldn't care if there had been 1 or 50 before him, because he loved who he met and how her experiences had shaped her.

Since I'm not a Christian man or any kind of man, I'm going to speculate on what they might like. I think a real man (or woman or person!) will love and appreciate a person for who they are. Part of loving someone is knowing that the person is going to grow and change and accepting a future together is agreeing to be part of that change and trusting that the person in question will love you as you are evolved (sanctified) into the future that's ahead of you.

Putting "virginity" (typically a social construct about the absence of penis in vagina sex) on a pedestal is idolatry as much as any other kind.

Love yourself. Be kind to yourself. Move slowly and make choices, with the Holy Spirit, that minimize your regrets. Forgive yourself and get help to deal with the pains that happen to you.

And remember that a person who is worth sharing a life, a car, vacation time, and a bed with will graciously do all these things to you as well... and to themselves.




I have written about a similar topic here.

No Breath Holding

With the apparent suicides of Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain this week, I keep thinking about a sign that I recently saw on Onslow Beach in North Carolina. This sign is clearly for the sake of the people swimming and the lifeguards in the area. I think, though, this sign has implications beyond the beach, beyond the ocean, beyond vacation and into every day "just keep swimming" with which many people struggle.

There have been three times in my life when I thought it would be better "not to be". Even in my brain that doesn't quite function as it ought, angels and endorphins worked overtime and I survived. Lots of people don't. It's not that they didn't have angels and endorphins, it is that the lies of the pain made it hard to hear the truth.

When your brain is unwell, when you are mentally ill, your misfiring synapses lie to you. They tell you that the world would be better off, that oblivion is easier, that while people may be sad- you are saving them from having to deal with you- pathetic wretch that you are. The misfiring synapses of your unwell brain do not care about your family and friends, the extended community who loves you, the hope and a future that is God's plan for you, the real contributions that you will intentionally and unintentionally make for the fullness of your days. They just lie. Mostly, because they are symptoms of illness, they don't know any better. But those cruel jerks can be loud. So damn loud.

Which brings me to the sign.

NO BREATH HOLDING

If you think that your body, brain, or spirit are lying to you, don't hold your breath. Don't keep faking it. Don't pretend you aren't drowning. Don't pretend it doesn't hurt. Don't just keep swimming. Tell someone, anyone, over and over and over, that you ache. 

And, yes, I know that feels impossible. 

I know there are people counting on you to keep it together, to be the life of the party, to put on the good face, to be the one "with it all together", but the truth is that there are MANY PEOPLE WHO LOVE YOU FOR WHO YOU ARE AND NOT YOUR ABILITIES, TALENTS, RESOURCES, OR PERSONALITY. They love you for you and, even if it takes a hot minute to regroup when you are honest, the people who love you will tear the world apart to find the wholeness that is the Divine will for you (because it is so for all people). 

Don't hold your breath. Breathe... breathe your truth of pain and grief and fear. And... And... And... None of those is bigger or truer than your worth, your value, your significance, and the love that exists for and in you. 

You matter. YOU matter. You MATTER. 

Don't hold your breath. Use it. 

NO BREATH HOLDING

The sign also applies to you when you are worried about someone you love. Maybe that person has seemed down for so long and now things are just looking up (this is often the riskiest time because the person has the energy to follow through with a long-held plan). Maybe your fun friend or your strong friend has seemed a little "off" or more unavailable lately. 

Don't hold your breath. 

Use it. Make the call. Drop by. Set up a lunch date, walk, coffee, coloring contest, whatever. Pay attention to old patterns. If your friend tries to resort to joking or deflects, look in their eyes, be honest, and say, "I care about you. You matter me. I want to be here for you. I want to help you." 

Don't hold your breath. 

Think about the resources in your community. Is 911 (or your local emergency #) is the best resource for a person who is suicidal? What are the community mental health resources? What would you do if your friend said they had a plan? 

Even if you don't know what to say, sitting quietly and affirming the worth of another by presence says more than many words. 

Don't hold your breath. 

Talk honestly about struggles in your friend groups and in your church. Don't accept a rosy picture all the time or demand to be "comfortable" when people are sharing their pain, grief, or fear. Allow stories of those who have been left behind after someone dies from suicide to be told. Be truthful about mental health, its importance, and how to take care of one's self mentally. 

Don't hold your breath. 

Embrace the sanctified imagination to think of Mary with post-partum depression, David after Absalom's death, Job's reactions to his terrible friends, Saul's confusion, Naomi's bitterness, and Onesimus's fear. 

Be willing to consider medications that might help silence your lying synapses by getting them to function properly- the same way you might take medicine for diabetes, chronic indigestion, asthma, or cancer. 

Be frank about your concern for someone's well-being. It is okay to say, "It is because I love you that I am asking this. Are you thinking about suicide?" 

Don't hold your breath. 

Beloved, we are in this life together. I want to live it with you. Some days, I can't swim, but I have learned to trust that the current will keep me moving. I lift my feet to try to keep from getting snagged on the bottom, I look ahead- hoping to avoid rocks, and I just float. Eventually, I'll swim again. 

But you, dear one, you matter to me. I cannot promise that life won't hurt, that there aren't terrible things that will happen, that sometimes the monsters seem to have a season. 

I can, however, promise this: You matter. You are loved. You are necessary. You are God's Beloved. 

Anything that says any different is lying to you, even if it is coming from inside your head saying that I don't really know you. Misfiring synapses are part of the forces that defy God and they lie. 

You can say no to them through honesty, through seeking help, and by leaning into being loved. 

And by this- 

When It's Complicated

A few days ago, I was driving down a busy Anchorage road with both my kids in the car. I glimpsed something in my lane up ahead and tried to make sense of what it was. As part of my brain registered that it was a crumpled American flag in my lane, the other part of my brain began to scan for where I could safely pull off and grab it, before it was run over, soiled, further disrespected.

I have not said the Pledge of Allegiance in years. I remember clearly the curious looks I got for standing with my hands by side on my son's first day of kindergarten, silent while everyone else recited along with the principal over the intercom. I love to sing and the American national anthem is great for a soprano who wants to pretend she's Beverly Sills, but I stay quiet. My relationship to my country is not my greatest allegiance and I've pledged everything I've got to the One Who Loved Me First.

Due to my activism, my efforts to bring change on a variety of levels of society, to what people are sure they know about my politics... (Just a week ago someone mentioned assuming everyone in a group was registered as voters for a certain party- I'm not registered with any party.)... due to what people see and hear from me, assumptions are made. For most of those doing the assuming, it is an impossible idea that I would be found sprinting down the sidewalk toward a crumpled American flag, hoping to reach it before the situation was any worse. Yet there I was.

When I was about 50 yards from the flag, a man sprinted across several lanes of traffic from the other side of the road and snatched it up, rescuing the cloth itself from additional ignominy. And I returned to my car, panting, trying to figure out how to explain to my children why their mom was suddenly possessed with a frantic need to rescue a particularly patterned fabric from the street.

I barely understood the frantic need myself.

I wanted to save my own hope in the flag as a symbol of what this nation can be and could be.

I wanted to show my children that you can be deeply frustrated and disappointed and still faithful.

I want to continue to have the hope of General Lafayette in the "perpetual union of the United States" that it may "one day save the world".

Inside me, beyond how impotent I feel, how grieved, how desperate, how revolutionary, I believe there is a soul of an idea of who the United States can be that seeks to repair the wounds of the Doctrine of Discovery, to heal and repent of the on-going injury of enslavement, racism, and white supremacy, that truly embraces the concepts of equality and equity relative to justice, access, and opportunity.

My jaw is tight, I cry, and I'm so tired.

Better is possible.

Surely, better is possible.

It is a sign of high privilege that I can even entertain that notion.

And, yet, I know that I am an Esther among Esthers, an Abigail among Abigails, a Huldah among Huldahs, a Priscilla among Priscillas. I am not alone in the work or the call or the disappointment or the anger.

I will resist the efforts to cave and accept oppression, silence, complicity, lies, or misdirection as normal, representative, or necessary.

I will fight.

And I will hope.

And, if I have to again, I will sprint down a sidewalk along Tudor Road on a Monday evening, to rescue a tangible symbol that is more than history; it is possibility. It is that possibility that my Truest Allegiance will not let me ignore.

40 M&Ms from the Galatians

It is my father's belief that people understand history best if they know how they are connected to it. Thus, he used to explain that he knew his grandparents who had been born near the turn of the 20th century. The oldest people they would have known would have remembered the time before the American Civil War. The oldest people they knew when they were children might have remembered the presidency of Andrew Jackson or the War of 1812.

Thus, because of my dad, I think of time in 50-year stories. I know someone born in 1954. If that person knew someone born in 1904, we've covered a century of knowledge. I'm only a time collapse away from a person alive before the Wright Brothers flight at Kitty Hawk.

At confirmation, the other day, the kids and I did a little math.

Let's say Paul's letter to the Galatians (the frontrunner for being the oldest text in the New Testament) is circa 50 A.D./C.E.

2018 - 50 = 1968 (so that many years separate us from the letter's estimated writing)

1968/50 = 39.36 (Per my 50-year story model, we are slightly less than 40 units from the writing of Galatians.)

I had the confirmands set out a row of 40 M&Ms or Skittles from them across a table. Those 40 M&Ms are forty life stories that are between us and Paul's letter to the Galatians. While there might not actually be a straight line between any of us and that group, there is a direct line of narrative and spiritual inheritance from the Galatians to us (contemporary travelers on the Way of Christ).

I find that amazing to consider. We are 40 generations from Paul, 40 M&Ms between us and the birth of people wrestling with what it meant to be counter-cultural in the Roman Empire. (In Christ, there is no Jew nor Greek, slave nor free...) There's less than a full Skittle between the Galatians and the life of Jesus. We are 10 Skittles from Martin Luther and he's 30 M&Ms from Paul.

And all of this is a blip when we consider that we are contained within the kairos of Divine, Eternal Love. Chronos means chronological or sequential time, whereas kairos is a reference to an open space in time that create opportunity and right moments. All our M&Ms are provided contained within God's own self and God's own time.

I realize that this way of thinking about time is a little abstract. Yet, it was moving to see 7th and 8th graders contemplate the reality that there are 40 life stories (and more) between them and the writing of the oldest book (a letter) in the New Testament. They reported thinking of everything in the Bible, including, Jesus as long, long ago and far, far away.

The truth is the brown-skinned Jew from Palestine is closer than we think. And his first witnesses are only 40 candies away.

Starring The Good Shepherd and Me (Sermon)

John 10:11-18; 1 John 3:16- 24

I like to read. While I love books- the real physical nature of books, I actually love the act of reading more than the thing to be read. I do realize that and I do appreciate that not everyone likes to read. Some people prefer movies or audio books or graphic novels or magazines. (I am a terrible magazine reader, same for short stories.)

The elements that make these things good or enjoyable or engaging are the same across the genres. Even in non-fiction (book or movie), engaging characters, good storytelling, and captivating stakes are necessary. Books about salt, documentaries about wheat, comics about the Holocaust, and movies about fly-fishing have all been blockbusters in their area.

Character and plot are like the chicken and the egg. I heard someone say plot is character in action. This means that interesting people doing something un-engaging isn’t any better than nondescript characters doing something thrilling. Whether a story is told in a book or in a movie, the person who is interacting with the story needs a way to be drawn in, to learn about what is happening, and to see the characters in relation to one another or to their surroundings.

Today’s readings tell a story about us. Since the fourth Sunday after Easter has been designated “Good Shepherd Sunday”, each year we read a portion of the 10^thchapter of the gospel according to John and Psalm 23. John 10 focuses on Jesus describing himself as a gate or a door, a sheepfold or pen, and as the eponymous Good Shepherd. In Chapter 9, he healed a man who had been blind from birth and now he is speaking about himself, to the disciples, so that they might also be moved to sight. In this context, “seeing” means trusting in Jesus as God. 

When the writer of the Fourth Gospel calls Jesus the Good Shepherd, he is stirring up particular imagery for his community. The prophet Ezekiel speaks significantly of God’s provision of a good shepherd for the people whom God loves. Shepherding is significantly connected with David and his lineage, since he was a shepherd in his pre-king days. Psalm 23, generally attributed to David, creates a picture of God’s own self as a shepherd- providing, protecting, leading, and comforting.

When the gospel writer put words to skin and scroll, it was not merely so that people would have intellectual knowledge about the Incarnation- God with skin on (otherwise known as Jesus). The Evangelist is writing a story, creating a narrative, and the people who receive the gospel story are characters within it. It is as though the author makes takes the facts, shapes the account, and then says, “Who are you in this story?”

If your life was a book or a movie, a comic or a magazine article, what is the role of the Good Shepherd in that story? How we define and relate to Christ as Christians, as followers on the Way of Jesus, as children of a living God who has raised One among us from the dead… how we define Jesus gives shape, dimension, and direction to our own lives and to our life of discipleship together.

We are called, through our baptisms, Holy Communion, and the Spirit, into a story where the Good Shepherd is a main character. If someone were reviewing the book or movie of your life, what kind of role would the Good Shepherd have?

- Co-star (always together, it’s practically a buddy movie)

- Best supporting role (at the end of each chapter, she reflected on the words of the Good Shepherd)

- Bit part (Ah, yes, the Good Shepherd had a walk-on role in that one intense scene)

- Producer credit or dedication page without further mention?

If who Jesus is for us, as individuals and as a community, determines who we are, what we do, and how we seek to be in the world, what does it mean then to define him as the Good Shepherd? He defines himself as one who reveals the true will and love of God, as one who draws all people to himself, as one who lives and dies for the sake of the sheep. If this inclusive, inviting, compassionate, life-giving Jesus is whom we follow, trust, and meet in the world- our lives, our daily story, should reflect that. 

The writer of the epistle, 1 John, is probably not the same writer as the gospel, but they were possibly in the same community at different times. The epistle writer says, “Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action.” Love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action.

A life story that features a good shepherd as a main character, a significant dynamic presence to the plot and the framing, with not be filled with hollow words. Hollow words are empty promises, perfunctory prayers, or dismissive platitudes. A biographical film with a good shepherd will not allow the action to be stopped by the specters of shame, fear, or guilt. Those are poor fodder and the good shepherd lays a table in front of those enemies, a table of grace and healing, and tells those forces, “You don’t eat here and you have no role in this story.”

When the Good Shepherd has a significant role in the life story of a character (you or me) or a community (us), love in truth and action pour forth as a plotline that pulls in all kinds of other players- the kinds of people you might not always expect to see singing or gardening or feeding or eating or playing together, but are suddenly side-by-side in a new chapter. When the Good Shepherd is the story, the dark valleys of death and grief are passable, even in their fearsomeness. When the Good Shepherd has a leading role in a narrative, the realities of goodness and mercy not only follow other characters, but they chase them down, surround them, and grace abounds.

We have been brought into such a story, not by our own will, but by God’s desire to draw us in, to draw all people in, through Jesus. When we respond to this narrative, this story of grace and hope, we are not only clarifying our own role in our life story- as one who is on the Way of Jesus- but we are also shaping the world around us by reflecting in truth and action who Jesus is in our lives. When our deeds- small and large- underscore that the Good Shepherd is the main character in our life story, we reveal a peace and confidence in the plot line of our lives. If character drives plot and the Good Shepherd is the main character in our lives, then we know the actions to which we are called, imitating said shepherd through inclusion, mercy, provision, and safety of other sheep from all kinds of folds. We also know how the story ends- with our dwelling in the house of the Lord forever.

Amen.