A Work in Regress
It’s common to hear a person speak of himself as “a work in progress.” I’m sure I’ve said it, too, because that‘s generally the way I’ve seen myself. And why not? It’s allowed me to think of myself as both humble and goal-oriented, a pretty admirable combination.
The only problem is that it’s a partial truth. It’s equally true that I’m a work in regress. Whatever progress I may have made in my work, in continuing education, and the pursuit of various goals, I’ve let other things slide, often in big ways. Sometimes my most important relationships, though high on my official priority list, aren’t allotted much in the way of hours–or even minutes. Other times it’s spiritual disciplines or exercise. I once had time for them, but now they’re more theoretically than actually important, because the latter would require giving them a block of time each day.
Regress doesn’t happen because I want it or plan for it. It often happens because I’m not paying attention. I think that if I’m busy doing good things, if I’m tired at the end of the day, everything must be okay. But busy days and fatigue can be acquired year round at bargain prices. They’re common in the business world, and in medicine and education, as well as in fine arts and non-profits.
Regress also happens when jumping through religious hoops becomes a substitute for character. When I was a child in Sunday School, we checked boxes on our offering envelopes as a measure of positive activity for the week. Many of my Catholic friends attended Confession and Mass on Saturday or Sunday. Jewish friends observed the Sabbath and High Holy Days. All of these things are good, but if they aren’t accompanied by growth in character, including commitment to God and others, they’re merely a mirage.
During one period of my life, I met regularly with a group of women. We enjoyed being together and laughed a lot, but our primary task was accountability, aka, honesty. We sat around a table and answered a few set questions about relationships, service, spiritual disciplines, and character. As I look back on that time, I think there may have been less regress during that period of my life than most–because I was willing to be honest with God, myself and others.
The spiritual life, which is just another way of saying life, can’t be lived well without careful attention and helpful companions. But it can be lived well with them. Saying you’re a work in progress may hint at humility, but realizing you can’t make progress alone is the real deal.
What is That to You?
There are some interesting points in the Gospels that I have never understood. We all like to proof-text Jesus’ words to make one point or another, and, beyond that, I really love the Sermon on the Mount/Plain, and the Story of the Ungrateful Servant that follows it in Matthew. They form a significant part of the foundation of my relationship with Christ. At the same time, some of the passages in there confound me and perhaps always will. I’ve never really comprehended the idea that God would reward people who already have everything while taking from those who have little, though I’m pretty sure that this story from Matthew 25 refers to people who reflect the love of God, instead of people with material wealth.
So when I think about the idea of “Big Tent Christianity,” one of the more obscure passages of John immediately comes into my head. Peter refers to John and asks Jesus “what about him?” and Jesus responds that if it is his will that John stay until Jesus comes back, “what is that to you?” It lead to some speculation about John’s place in the big picture, which he is quick to clear up, but I find myself coming back to it more and more often these days.
It seems that there are all too many people who cannot accept a faith that will accept people who do not share their values and beliefs. We hear quite a it about how certain people cannot be in a church, cannot be “saved,” cannot be ministers, cannot be married, cannot take communion, or just cannot be as fully “Christian” as the rest of us. If you press us on it, we run back to some Bible text, usually one that, in context, really doesn’t support the situation to which we’re trying to apply it. Sometimes, we can find a text that does perfectly apply, and we climb over a mountain of scriptures that tell us that we have no right to pass such judgment in order to use it. Basically, we make a choice to value one thought over all the others that we find in scriptures, because in doing so we have a weapon against people we refuse to accept.
Worse yet, when we abuse the scriptures in this way, we often do so as a basis for building a belief system that forces our faith into the mold we make with our prejudices. We gather with like-minded people to exclude or otherwise hurt others, but even that is not good enough for us. When we take this as far as it usually goes, we start believing that God must share our thoughts on these people and we cannot follow a God who does not. We start arguing about what constitutes an “orthodox” creed that must be believed by all “true” believers, including how the Bible must be interpreted and what God must be like. It puts us in a trap from which we may never escape, since we have made a stand on what God must be and if that’s not what God is, we don’t really have a God anymore.
So in the midst of this tendency on our part to determine everyone’s place in our neat little faith, Jesus asks us, like he asked Peter.”What is that to you?” A “Big Tent Christianity” is one where people of faith do not feel diminished because someone else is different from them or is “getting away with” something that they feel is a “sin” to them. It’s a faith that recognizes that we really do make our own choices as to what we accept and don’t accept, that other people’s choices will be different from ours, and that we have a common mission that is more important than those things we would choose to separate us. At the end of the day, our faith boils down to the relationship that we have with God through Jesus Christ, and you have no more right to dictate someone my relationships than I have to dictate yours.
If people do not share your way of seeing things and doing things, what is that to you, really? Is your faith really that shallow? Is your God really that small? In a world where there are so many people who are hurting and needing so much, is it more important to be “right” in your own eyes, or be the person God calls you to be?
What is That to You? There are some interesting points in the Gospels that I have never understood. We all like to proof-text Jesus’ words to make one point or another, and, beyond that, I really love the Sermon on the Mount/Plain, and the Story of the Ungrateful Servant that follows it in Matthew. They form a significant part of the foundation of my relationship with Christ. At the same time, some of the passages in there confound me and perhaps always will. I’ve never really comprehended the idea that God would reward people who already have everything while taking from those who have little, though I’m pretty sure that this story from Matthew 25 refers to people who reflect the love of God, instead of people with material wealth.
So when I think about the idea of “Big Tent Christianity,” one of the more obscure passages of John immediately comes into my head. Peter refers to John and asks Jesus “what about him?” and Jesus responds that if it is his will that John stay until Jesus comes back, “what is that to you?” It lead to some speculation about John’s place in the big picture, which he is quick to clear up, but I find myself coming back to it more and more often these days.
It seems that there are all too many people who cannot accept a faith that will accept people who do not share their values and beliefs. We hear quite a it about how certain people cannot be in a church, cannot be “saved,” cannot be ministers, cannot be married, cannot take communion, or just cannot be as fully “Christian” as the rest of us. If you press us on it, we run back to some Bible text, usually one that, in context, really doesn’t support the situation to which we’re trying to apply it. Sometimes, we can find a text that does perfectly apply, and we climb over a mountain of scriptures that tell us that we have no right to pass such judgment in order to use it. Basically, we make a choice to value one thought over all the others that we find in scriptures, because in doing so we have a weapon against people we refuse to accept.
Worse yet, when we abuse the scriptures in this way, we often do so as a basis for building a belief system that forces our faith into the mold we make with our prejudices. We gather with like-minded people to exclude or otherwise hurt others, but even that is not good enough for us. When we take this as far as it usually goes, we start believing that God must share our thoughts on these people and we cannot follow a God who does not. We start arguing about what constitutes an “orthodox” creed that must be believed by all “true” believers, including how the Bible must be interpreted and what God must be like. It puts us in a trap from which we may never escape, since we have made a stand on what God must be and if that’s not what God is, we don’t really have a God anymore.
So in the midst of this tendency on our part to determine everyone’s place in our neat little faith, Jesus asks us, like he asked Peter.”What is that to you?” A “Big Tent Christianity” is one where people of faith do not feel diminished because someone else is different from them or is “getting away with” something that they feel is a “sin” to them. It’s a faith that recognizes that we really do make our own choices as to what we accept and don’t accept, that other people’s choices will be different from ours, and that we have a common mission that is more important than those things we would choose to separate us. At the end of the day, our faith boils down to the relationship that we have with God through Jesus Christ, and you have no more right to dictate someone my relationships than I have to dictate yours.
If people do not share your way of seeing things and doing things, what is that to you, really? Is your faith really that shallow? Is your God really that small? In a world where there are so many people who are hurting and needing so much, is it more important to be “right” in your own eyes, or be the person God calls you to be?
Learn more about Big Tent Christianity and their upcoming conference.
Going Inside the Big Tent with Charlie Manson
I clearly remember buying Vincent Bugliosi’s now legendary book Helter Skelter in paperback from my local grocery store when I was about twelve years old (I’m forty-one now, if you must know). I spent a good many hot summer days in St. Charles Parish, Louisiana, spread out on my comfortable bed in my air conditioned room, captivated by Bugliosi’s story. It wasn’t too long before the made-for-TV movie would make it’s occasional airing, and then I saw that, too.
I guess this was the beginning of my sociological imagination. I have always wondered, What can make a little kid grow up and commit murder? And in the case of the Manson Family, what can make little kids grow up, become obsessed with a crazed madman, and then commit such unspeakable acts of violence and torture? Following those questions, one more followed: what can make a little boy grow up into a crazed madman with such hatred and paranoia and mental instabilities that he would recruit young followers and then convince them to willfully carry out his apocalyptic biddings?
I remember pondering all these things at that young age, and I remember asking, Is there anything keeping me from falling into such traps? After all some of Manson’s “family” were good school kids, middle-class kids, even church kids . . . Then I also began looking around at some people I knew at school and in the neighborhood – and, they weren’t very different than some of the family members who had a rough life growing up and found somebody who would take them in unconditionally . . .
I guess what I am getting at is that I am a murderer, too. That’s hard for me to say, because I have never stabbed anybody, shot anybody, poisoned anybody; nor have I ever tried. I’m actually a bit of an easy-going pacifist, truth-be-told.
But I have really, really been filled with hatred towards a person or two before. I have really, really wished I could turn into the Hulk and beat somebody to a pulp who was bullying me. I have imagined how much nicer the world would be if a few people just didn’t exist anymore.
And I’ve heard Jesus say to me, then, that I have committed murder in my heart; so who am I to judge?
Not long ago I saw the latest publicized mugshot of Charles Manson at CNN.com. Even in not-too-long ago prison mug-shots, Manson still gave off really bad vibes – he continued to convey hatred, venom, almost pure evil in his stare . . . but this one is different. Oh, the swastika is still permanently scarring his forehead, but apart from that, he’s an old, old, sad-looking man.
I still hurt for the many families who have been forever tortured by Manson’s actions and his memory; those of the victims’ families, of course. And I also hurt for the families who had to endure the news that a child they loved, a son, daughter, brother, sister, cousin, nephew or niece, had committed heinous crimes and would spend the rest of their lives in jail.
But, for the first time ever, I felt pity for Manson when I saw this picture. I tried not to, but I couldn’t help it. Because underneath that swastika, and underneath the twisted paranoid hallucinations, and beneath the hatred . . . before there was a madman with a messianic complex; before there was a violent adult seducing young hippies with lots of drugs and sex; before there was a frustrated singer who couldn’t get a record deal; years and years before all of those things, there was a little boy and an angry world around him. And now, there’s an old pathetic, pitiful man, and a still angry world around him.
I kind of felt like he’s that sorry, old uncle we all have – you know, the mean drunk that most people despised and nobody in the family could tolerate much – though occasionally we might recall a glimpse of goodness in his heart.
I remember hearing a preacher ask a long time ago, “If God is love, and grace is real, then what about somebody like Charles Manson?”
And for the first time, I think I understand what that preacher was trying to say; and I think it has something to do with God’s grace being an enormous, always expanding tent …
© Bert Montgomery, August 10, 2010
Learn more about Big Tent Christianity and their upcoming conference.
Bert Montgomery is an author/speaker/pastor/teacher living in Starkville, MS. A slightly different version of this blog will be featured in his second book, Psychic Pancakes and Communion Pizza: Further Mutterings from a Church Misfit, due out from Smyth & Helwys Publishing in early 2011.
Big Tent Christianity
A man dies and goes to heaven. Upon arrival, he is met by Peter, who tells him that he will be a guide to help him get acclimated. Together they stroll past a large open area where there are several people dancing the hora, singing, enjoying a great feat, and generally having a good time. Peter turns to the man and says, “those are all Jews. After all they’ve been through throughout the centuries, they’re genuinely happy to be here.” Moving on, they come to another area where all manner of people are drinking, playing games, celebrating, and thoroughly enjoying themselves. Peter says, “Those are Catholics. They come together every now and then to celebrate their inclusion in heaven and the great sense of personal fulfillment that they each feel for being here.” They proceed to another area, where a number of people are sitting quietly, staring at a wall. The man asks who those people are and Peter responds “Shhhh! Those are Baptists. They think they’re the only people here!” That’s the way I first heard the joke. Of course, you can substitute nearly any church or religious group in there, and it will still make the point. When I’m asked what is meant by “Big Tent Christianity,” I think about the fact that we have, most assuredly, not practiced a “Big Tent “ mentality for a very long time. Sometimes, when I see what various Christian sects have done regarding each other, I can’t help but hear Mick Jagger sing something like: “When I’m watching my tv, and a man comes on and tells me, how bright my soul could be, but he can’t be a man ‘cause he does not go to the same little church as me, I can’t get no satisfaction.”
So why a “Big Tent?” I think that it talks about having a faith that is big enough to accept people and practices that are different. It means that whatever label you put on your faith is not as important as the author of that faith, and that “belief” is no longer the standard by which faith is measured, so much as “relevance.” This is a tough leap for many of us to make, since we have for so long defined ourselves by our differences. However, we need to get past the juvenile conceit that the particular relationship that we have with God through Jesus Christ is the template for the only way to have such a relationship.
For the longest time, Christians have focused too much on belief. If you sit in on enough worship services, even today, you’re bound to hear someone say that all the world’s problems can be solved, and all the world’s people can “saved” if they can only hear the message of Jesus Christ. It’s a drum that Christians have beaten for a very long time! Sometimes, though, today’s churches don’t seem to understand that we live in a world of cell phones, satellites, and the Internet, where few, if any messages are “unheard” anymore. What we need now is for Christians to make that message relevant, but, instead, many of us respond with something like “well, if you just heard the message the way we understand it….”
And there is where the problem lies. When we think that our personal interpretation of Christ is superior to everyone else’s, we fall into the trap of fighting amongst ourselves, instead of being the people Christ has called us to be. We spend so much time finding reasons to exclude others that we have precious little time to spend doing the things that we’re supposed to be doing. Given all the troubles that our world faces, our tendency to focus on our ultimately irrelevant differences makes us irrelevant as well, and if anyone is still out there asking how “sectarian atheism” is doing so well these days, your answer starts here.
We probably won’t agree on many things. In fact, if you look within any Christian congregation, you are bound to find points of belief on which they disagree. But our shared faith in Jesus Christ demands that we set aside our differences and live by that faith by working together. “Big Tent Christianity” is a faith that is as radically inclusive as Jesus was with his initial followers. Those terrorists, thieves, prostitutes, lawyers, fishermen, carpenters, betrayers, and whatever else they were – showed us that faith in Christ is for everyone, whatever their backgrounds, values, and habits. Failing to embrace the unconditional love inherent in our faith seems a betrayal of that faith. So open up, work, and celebrate with your fellow faithful, no matter how “weird” or “wrong” you think they might be. You are not the only ones here!
Learn more about Big Tent Christianity and their upcoming conference.
When Words Don’t Work
The church in Starry Night is the only building without yellow light emanating from the inside and one of the only places throughout the painting where there is not a hint of yellow. Maybe not too significant until you realize that Van Gogh used the color yellow to represent God. The Church at Auvers is of a beautiful church building but with no doors and the path splits instead of leading to the church building, Vincent Van Gogh painted Eternity’s Gate as a representation of himself sitting in a chair with his head in his hands seeming to be in anguish. He finished painting it three days before he shot himself.
I admired the beauty of each of these paintings before I knew the meaning behind them. The story that Van Gogh tells through his brushwork is beautiful. They are stories of life that he best could tell through the stroke of a brush on canvas.
There are a lot of times when I can’t put words to what I am thinking or what I am feeling but I can picture it in my head. Colors come to my head. Images flash across my memory. Emotions that cannot be put to words come alive through images.
Art tells a story.
What images would you use to tell your story?
Faith and the Fear Factor
I knew it had been too long since I’d been to the beach when I stood on the sands of Mustang Island, looked out at the Gulf of Mexico, and thought, “Now THAT’S an enormous wave pool.” To understand my complicated relationship with oceans, you’d need to know that I had a most unfortunate encounter with a jellyfish in the waves off of Galveston when I was ten. And when I lived in California, the few times I made it to the beach I usually refrained from getting in the water—and not because of my jellyfish phobia. I don’t recall ever seeing a jellyfish washed up on a California beach. The water’s probably too cold for them, as it certainly was for me.
So, because of warm, jellyfish-laden water on one coast, and jellyfish-free, frigid water on the other, I’ve spent most my life in artificial swimming environments—safe, sanitized, and just the right temperature. But walking into the Gulf with my children, I realized what I’d been missing—salt, beauty, and a hint of danger.
The danger came from waves that weren’t programmed by a machine to achieve a precise height and velocity for ten minutes at a time. It also came from the stingrays swimming in schools around our feet. Perhaps I should have felt more frightened than I did, but it was an experience I wouldn’t have missed.
We’re a culture of control freaks—and it’s the church culture I’m talking about. We carefully program worship, spiritual formation, and ministry to maximize positive feelings and, presumably, outcomes, but how does that compare to what Jesus called his first followers to do? He told them to go on mission trips without immunizations, spare cash for emergencies, or even an overnight bag. He asked them to leave behind secure livelihoods to become itinerant preachers. When Peter was trying to judge the relative merits of the bottom of the boat and the top of the waves, Jesus encouraged him to try the waves.
J.B. Phillips was right in saying that our God is too small, but it’s also true that our God is too safe—and not worthy of the capital G that sets the Creator of the universe apart from the territorial micro-gods of the Bible, who functioned somewhat like local sports franchises. We certainly experience grace in the chlorinated pools that are too often our churches, Bible studies, and ministry projects. But what about wonder? What about the trust that only becomes mature when jellyfish and stingrays are a real possibility and salt water keeps smacking us in the face?
We’ve all heard that we’re supposed to “fear not.” But while we’re on the way to that ideal, facing our existing fears moves us in the right direction. With a little practice we learn to glance at our human frailties, gaze at the un-tame goodness of God, and joyfully accept the adventure that comes.
Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell and the Torah
In 1993 a young President Clinton was struggling to define himself in terms of the serious issues facing the country, especially the economy. His opponents gleefully seized on issues left over from the 1992 presidential campaign, like gays in the military, to try to define him first.
Clinton managed to lay that particular issue to rest with a compromise that came to be known as “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” If gay or lesbian members of the armed services did not announce their sexual orientation they would not be involuntarily discharged. Clinton himself said that at least on paper, the military had moved a long way toward “live and let live” but it held on to the idea that it couldn’t acknowledge gays without approving of homosexuality and compromising morale and unit cohesion.
One unexpected but powerful source of support for Clinton was none other than that crusty senator from Arizona, Barry Goldwater, who said that it “doesn’t matter if a soldier is straight as long he can shoot straight.”
Seventeen years later, as another dashing young President struggles to take command of the national agenda, allowing gays and lesbians to serve openly by repealing the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy is up for debate. Closer to home, Pride Fest St. Louis will be held this Saturday and Sunday. I will be there. I hope some of you will be there, too.
We will read publicly from this week’s Torah portion, Balak, tomorrow as we proudly call Matt Szymkowicz to the Torah for the first time. Tonight let’s consider Pride and “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell.” Let’s think about what Judaism and the Torah have to say about sexual morality, a more complicated question than one might think.
The Central Conference of American Rabbis supports repeal of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell for several reasons: belief that every human being is created in the image of God, opposition to discrimination, concern about weakening the military by arbitrarily excluding talented people, and acute awareness of the need for more Jewish chaplains in the military.
Now all of these are valid reasons. But as usual when liberal religious people take a stand for full equality for the LGBT community, for the most part we fall back on secular values. We hear politically conservative Christians and Jews cite scriptures condemning homosexuality, and we assume that the Bible is on their side. We think we have to look elsewhere, to modernity and to liberal political values for our authority. But is that really true?
Make no mistake: religious language is explosive. Dynamite is useful in construction or destruction. It depends only on whose hands the dynamite is in! Well, the Torah is not in heaven, it’s in your hands. All the Torah you need to answer religiously based arguments in favor of discrimination is literally in your hands right now, in a handy format that you can take with you. I say to you tonight that the Torah is in favor of human dignity, period. Those verses that seem to condemn homosexuality can be understood in different, sometimes even better ways.
Most religious objections to homosexuality and to equal treatment of gays and lesbians are based on one of three arguments. Let’s call these, first, the “abomination” argument: that same-sex acts are forbidden by God’s law; second, the “Sodomites” argument: that the wicked people of Sodom and Gomorrah were horrendously punished with fire and brimstone for their outrageous homosexual sins. And third, well, I’m not even sure how to dignify this with a title. It usually goes something like this: <whiny, taunting> “God made Adam & Eve, not Edam & Steve!” What should we call that? [B., a Temple member, calls out: “stupid!”]
You know, I don’t usually use that word from the pulpit, but with your permission…I was going to call it “the asleep in Sunday school argument” but we’ll just call it the “Stupid” argument. [laughter].
The first argument is that homosexuality is an “abomination,” banned by divine law. Support for this idea comes from Leviticus 18:22 and 20:13, which you have before you. These verses seem clear on their own. But they are not on their own!
Ask anyone in our weekly Torah study group – every single detail in the Bible matters – carefully chosen, lovingly crafted, pregnant with meaning. Leviticus 18:22 and 20:13 are part of the holiness code, a section of Leviticus forbidding sexual activity between close relatives by blood or marriage in great detail. The relationships that are set forth explicitly are heterosexual. But the original intent of these verses at the end of the holiness code was to extend each heterosexual relationship to its analogous homosexual relationship. Thus: Thou shalt not have sex with thy mother (or thy father); with thine aunt (or thine uncle), with thy sister (or thy brother), nor with thy father’s wife, and so on.
But how could that be? Take a closer look at the phrase “as one lies with a woman.” In the original Hebrew, that phrase is just two words “mish’k’vei ishah.” Mish’k’vei is related to a more familiar word, uv’shokh’b’kha, as in “speak of them when you lie down and when you rise up.” Mish’k’vei only appears three times in the entire Bible. The other appearance in Genesis 49:4 refers to Jacob’s son Reuben and his liaison with Jacob’s concubine Bilhah. So all three times the Bible condemns mish’k’vei, it has to do with sexual congress with a blood relative or spouse of one. That’s irrelevant to today’s political debates. No one is advocating for sex with relatives or with a parent’s husband or wife.
The second religious objection to homosexuality and equal treatment of gays and lesbians under law is the “Sodomites” argument: the Sodomites ordered Lot to turn over his male guests so that they could “know” them in the Biblical sense, carnal knowledge, and God punished those depraved homosexuals with fire & brimstone.
Now, as I believe in intellectual honesty, I have to admit that it would be a valid reading of the text to say the Sodomites wanted to rape Lot’s guests. That’s how Rashi, (Rabbi Solomon ben-Yitzchak, of 11th century France) read it. But there is an even greater religious authority than Rashi, or any other Jewish Rabbi or Christian preacher: none other than the Prophet Ezekiel says the sin of Sodom had nothing to do with sex. See Ezekiel 16:48-50 – the sin was arrogance and failure to use their wealth to help the poor and the needy. (I can hear the Sodomites now: “Bring them out! Let’s see their balance sheets and their tax returns so we’ll know if they’re rich enough to live here in our fancy gated community!”) [laughter]
Trust me; Ezekiel is more than willing to engage in the most lurid depictions of sexual depravity. If Sodom’s sin had anything to do with sex, he would say so. Medieval Jewish commentator Nachmanides wrote in Gerona, Spain, in the 13th century that while there were none in the entire world quite like the Sodomites for their cruelty, what sealed their fate was that the Sodomites oppressed the poor, and did not extend a helping hand to the needy.
As for the Stupid argument, or the “Adam & Steve” objection to equal justice under law for gays and lesbians I will mention two Biblical, loving, same-sex relationships: (1) David & Jonathan, and (2) Ruth & Naomi. Were these relationships sexual? Not explicitly. Were they platonic? Well, Jonathan says to David, “as for the promise we made to one another, may the LORD be witness between you and me forever.” David, who slew Goliath and who will be King David, laments Jonathan’s death saying, “Your love was wonderful to me, more than the love of women.” And as Ruth says to Naomi, “where you go, I will go, where you stay, I will stay, your people shall be my people and your God, my God. Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. Thus and more may the LORD do to me if anything but death parts me from you.”
The three principal religious objections to homosexuality and legal protection for people of different sexual orientation are (1) Abomination, or that it is forbidden by divine law, (2) Sodomites, or that it was punished in the Bible, and (3) Stupid, or …<eeew!> [laugh]. (In case you missed the subtle logic, that was <eeew!>) But as we’ve seen – (1) the Torah prohibits sexual acts with relatives by blood or marriage, (2) that Ezekiel says the sin of Sodom is oppression of the poor, not sexuality, and (3) David & Jonathan and Ruth & Naomi are proof that ancient peoples did understand same-sex love and commitment. Were these acts sexual? Read the books of First and Second Samuel and of Ruth, and judge for yourselves.
So please do not think that the Torah weighs in on only one side of this or any other debate. Our need for justice is just too pressing for us to drop the dynamite we have in our possession: our Torah. What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. That is the whole Torah. What promotes love and unity is righteous, what sows discord and enmity is wicked; full stop. Go and learn. Keyn y’hi ratzon. So may it be God’s will.
Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell: Does the Torah consider homosexual activity an “abomination”? is a sermon given by Rabbi Justin Kerber on Friday, June 25, 2010; 14th of Tammuz, 5770 at Temple Emanuel, St. Louis, MO.
Dividend of Neighborliness
Norman was a sometimes easy, sometimes hard man to love. It’s the nature of love.
I met Norman about five years ago. He was 58 years old, but looked much older. He shared a house with an older and dying brother. The house sat on a hill a mile off the highway. Getting to their house, required a four-wheel drive vehicle. Besides the steep climb on a less than well maintained road, getting from the highway to the house meant crossing two creeks, one of them twice. I have never seen a more picturesque setting for a home. To be on that hill and look out over the surrounding Kentucky land was to taste a bit of heaven.
Norman and his brother and their home were not picturesque. The house was a tarpaper covered shack, dirty and cluttered inside. The house had electricity but no water, satellite TV but no bathroom. Norman and his brother knew their priorities. They were crusty old guys who had lived hard lives and who had been given too many reasons to distrust folks like me.
I was at their house as a part-time hospice chaplain. I remember thinking as I saw the house and then the two bearded, dirty, old men sitting on dilapidated over-stuff chairs on their about to fall down front porch, this is not going to be easy! I was right.
Norman’s brother died before I really knew him, though I had begun to see the men beneath their exteriors and had begun to look forward to my trip up the hill. I buried Norman, age 63, on July 10. It was a simple graveside service. He now rests beside his brother.
Norman and I stayed connected after his brother died. I learned to love him. He learned to trust me and then to love me. He was not always easy to love. He was cantankerous and did not always act in his own best interests. He convinced me that he wanted off the hill and out of that house through which the cold winter’s winds blew. Along with other friends, I worked hard to secure him a place. When we succeeded, Norman refused to budge.
Norman had only a handful of friends. There were eight of us at his funeral, along with his sister and her husband and son. We learned over the years, that he often played us against each other, hoping, I think, to gain a little extra attention from one by telling how another had neglected him. He didn’t always tell us the truth. He wasn’t always easy to love; but love him I did.
Normally, when I read the story of the Good Samaritan, I see the focus on the good we are expected to do unto others. Norman reminded me that when we dare to love another and to enter his life, we are the ones unto whom good is done.
Once I got past Norman’s crusty exterior and his dilapidated house, I encountered God and his love in new and fresh ways. There may be more than one reason to help a neighbor.
Katrina Recollections: Debbie
Debbie has been in my most inner-circle of Destrehan High friends almost since I arrived there in 1983; along with my closest friends Ronny and Marta, she is one of the few people I have remained in contact with (though, admittedly, sporadically) since our high school days. She hung out with us sometimes, and when she wasn’t with us, we’d take her left-over pizza – usually after midnight or even later. She put up with a lot of Ronny’s and my nonsense, and that alone speaks volumes about her character.
She was the drum major her senior year (my junior year), and she both earned and commanded respect. As a band member, I would have followed her wherever she told us to go – if she wanted us to line up on the 35-yard-line instead of the 50-yard-line, she would have done it with confidence, and we would done it without questions.
Over the years our individual journeys have taken each of us far, far away from Destrehan. Debbie lived in the River Parishes for about twelve years; then after high school, she moved here and there. She lived outside of Louisiana for 16 years after graduation; living in Allen, Texas (a suburb of Dallas) at the time of Katrina. In 2006, she and her children returned to St. Charles Parish, and she once again calls Destrehan her home.
Tell me about the week leading up to Hurricane Katrina …
Leading up to Katrina I was hearing a lot of conflicting news from our local stations who were making it the storm to end all storms. My family and friends were much less anxious about the fierceness of the storm – they are well-versed in hurricanes and only worry when it is time to worry. My initial thoughts were “I will worry when it is time to worry,” and “oh no, if they evacuate they are coming here!”
As Katrina approached and the evacuations started, it was very apparent that, despite the damage the storm would do, the mishandling and degradation that it would impose on many of the evacuees would leave scars worse than the storm.
Did any family evacuate and come to stay with you?
I housed my mom, step-dad, sister-in-law, niece, and various pets for about one-to-two weeks.
When Katrina became a reality, it was jaw-dropping to stand on the “outside” and have life be in complete normalcy, while so much tragedy was occurring in my hometown. I remember going shopping with my mom the day Katrina hit, and Dallas was moving along just as always – and I just stood there thinking, “people are axing their way out of roofs, drowning, etc., and I am shopping like normal.” It was much like the sensation when 9/11 occurred.
After Katrina moved out, my brother – who had to stay at Ochsner Hospital – was feeding us “insider” reports, so we knew our neck of the woods did not have much devastation. The hospital had armed guards surrounding it, due to armed looters. I remember just feeling very helpless and sad.
I heard some people referring to the disaster as some sort of “ethnic cleansing” for the city. I have never seen people and all forms of government take such a matter-of-fact attitude towards the suffering of others. I was mortified by the jokes and comments I heard about their hopes that a whiter version of New Orleans would be developed after the storm.
We maintained contact, of course, with all of our friends that evacuated and also with my brother until right after Katrina passed over – at that point, we lost contact with him for about two days.
Did Katrina change anything for you – as someone who was no longer a resident of the region? If so, what? How?
I returned to live in Destrehan one year after Katrina, and I was truly saddened for the city of New Orleans. The city was such huge part of my teenage life. Even at that age I loved the atomosphere of the city. I loved its downtrodden agedness, its essence of history; the diverse population, the riverboat jazz cruises, walks on the moonwalk, the french market, the Saenger Theatre, etc. They were my most beautiful memories, and I would never be able revisit them. My first drive down Canal Street was an emotional mix of loss, sadness, anger.
Now that I am in the insurance industry here, I hear horror stories everyday from New Orleans residents. These people who are finally – in 2010 – rebuilding their lives, their credit, buying new homes, trying to recover from the total material losses they incurred from Miss Katrina … but as I suspected, the emotional scars will never heal.
Since last fall (2009) Bert Montgomery, a native of New Orleans and the River Parishes, has been collecting stories from his childhood friends, high school classmates, neighbors and church family about their experiences during and after Hurricane Katrina. FaithLab is working with Bert to produce a book (in both traditional print and e-book formats) and an interactive website to honor his friends and their experiences.Throughout this fall – five years after Katrina – FaithLab will be posting excerpts leading up to the book’s publication.
It’s a Plan of God After All? Embracing a Moment of Holiness
Not long ago, my husband had a business trip to Orlando, Florida so we took our boys, ages seven and nine, for the first time to Walt Disney World Resort. My husband had his business meeting the first day we were there, so it was decided that I would take the boys as early as possible to enjoy some of the Magic Kingdom which is geared for younger children before we were to rendezvous with the paterfamilias for lunch. We had been cautioned that the park was expected to be very crowded on this particular weekend and as the day promised warm sunshine with a hint of late-spring breeze it was with great care that I planned our excursion so that we would avoid “all the other thousands of people!” Concerned with only maneuvering my children to the best spots I dragged the boys out of bed very early to start our adventure. Determined to be ahead of everyone else I rushed my children through breakfast and down to the waiting shuttle bus. I positioned them to exit the shuttle quickly, and prepared them to get through the gates purposefully and past security efficiently. (We were going to get the full “Disney” experience even if we had to break our necks to do it!)
First on the list was the iconic “it’s a small world.” Ushered onto the third boat ride of the day, I crowed with pride, “We beat all those other people!” As we settled into our seats we were engulfed in the familiar children’s song and entered the first of many large rooms of the exhibit. Greeting us were animatronic children attired in brightly colored costumes representing the different peoples and regions of the world, “singing” the theme song in their own language. Room after room of these children represented all the peoples and cultures of the world. The boys were wide-eyed and intent as they listened to the song being sung in different languages as we entered each separate room. They enthusiastically guessed what traditional dress represented which country. “This is what the ‘Disney’ experience is all about.” I thought to myself.
Near the end of the ride, we entered a narrow passage where all the many different languages are played together one over one another so that a listener can decipher the unity of the melody but it is almost impossible to isolate just one voice or one language. Brightly colored, rather loud and somewhat chaotic, it was almost overwhelming to one’s senses. Then, the narrow passage gives way to the largest of rooms –the finale of the tour. In this room, there is the one song, playing in unison, in one language as all of the animatronics from the previous rooms are presented together, still dressed in their vestiges of origin but without the dividing colors. If you’ve experienced this for yourself, you know that this finale displays all of the characters dressed in white with accents of silver and shimmering with a faint turquoise blue. As we rounded the corner to drink in our first glimpse into this massive, beautiful scene that twinkles with tiny lights, I heard a gasp and watched as my seven year old son said with a smile on his face, “This is how it is with God’s plan, Mommy. This is how God sees us.” The nine year old piped up, “Yeah, it’s about how we are all different and it’s hard to understand sometimes – like back there (pointing to the narrow passage way we just left) – but we are still all singing the same song.” Then almost before he finished his sentence the younger brother spoke up again completing this thought: “Yeah, but God sees us as all the same. God sees us like in here: all dressed differently, but no costume is brighter or prettier than another one. In here they’re all singing together. Everyone is the same to God. See, Mommy? This room is definitely how God planned us to be.”
Hurdled into a moment of unexpected contemplation, I realized with shame that I had abruptly gone about my morning absorbed in self-importance, singularly trying to “beat” everyone else. Unexplainably, words came echoing from a hymn sung in church recently: “Take time to be holy as the world rushes on…(William D. Longstaff; 1882).” With great joy and comfort, I sank into a peaceful moment of holiness – a gift from God right there on the holy ground of Walt Disney World.
Grateful for the moment of reflection I emerged wanting to see those around me rather than rushing past them. As we waited in line or talked to others in the park that day, I couldn’t help but reflect on “how God sees us.” My view of what it means to be “holy” was altered, too.
The ride through “it’s a small world” certainly made my Disney experience more thoughtful and I think that’s what Walt Disney had planned all those years ago. While “it’s a small world” was most likely not meant to be a representation of “God’s Plan,” I am fairly certain that even Walt Disney himself would appreciate the truth that revealed itself through that moment: How amazingly beautiful, clear and holy the world can be if we intentionally take time to see it through the eyes of a child.
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