Oct. 4 Sermon by Michelle
About a year ago, my cat, Callie, did something amazing. It was a Saturday evening, and I had spent part of the day emptying out a huge box in my closet. I put it close to my front door to recycle later in the week. I settled into a chair to watch a little TV, and suddenly, I heard a soft thud. Instinctively, I looked around - what has the cat done now? - having a cat is a lot like having a small child that way. But Callie was not on any of the tables, or any other place she shouldn't be. In fact, I couldn't see her at all.
As I sat back down in my chair, I saw it: an inch and a half of tortoiseshell-colored tail sticking straight up out of the box. I walked toward it; Callie looked up at me.
Big deal, you say. Cats and boxes. It's a thing. We've seen other cats do it - in person, or on videos on the internet.
But, not my cat. In the over ten years we have been together, she never jumped into boxes. Ever. She would walk around boxes, sniff at boxes, even jump onto steps or nearby chairs to be able to look into boxes - but she would never actually dare to get into one herself. When I first noticed this, I thought it odd. I had other cats growing up, they all loved bags and boxes. Not Callie.
Eventually, I remembered that she had been abandoned as a kitten. Perhaps some mean person had sealed her up in a box and left her somewhere dangerous. Or worse. She was about seven months old when I got her, anything could have happened to her before that. All I know is that it took over ten years of safety, security, and love to undo whatever happened to her as a kitten.
And since they say that one human year is like five cat years, it means that it took over fifty years for her to trust boxes again.
Children trust. Trust boxes. Trust friends. Trust teachers. Trust everyone. They believe. They believe all kinds of things. When you say you will give them grilled cheese for lunch, they believe you. When you say that you will play with them in ten minutes, they believe you. When you tell them that once upon a time there lived three bears in a house in the woods, who went for a walk while their porridge cooled - they believe you.
It is part of the nature of children to believe. They have never been hurt or learned not to trust. They need to - it is how they learn. They are blank slates, dependent on others for everything from a bowl of cereal, to the knowledge that we should look both ways before crossing the street. When they are loved, as they are, they learn to trust themselves and others, and go into the world with confidence to share and help.
But this same trust is what makes them vulnerable. It is why we watch over children so much more carefully than we do adults. It is why they feel the effects of bullying and disappointment so much more strongly than adults usually do. And so, for parents and those who work with children, watching children grow up often means watching them as they learn to trust a little less. After a friend turns for the first time, they grow a little more shy. After someone first suggests that they aren't as pretty or as clever as someone else, they begin to experience self-doubt. First forays into dating become dramatic rollercoasters of joy and despair - not just in the teens. I still remember the Russell, the boy I met at summer camp, who danced with another girl at a camp event. We were seven. I was devastated. How could I love again?
For those in this congregation who have experienced divorce, or even the break up of a long-running relationship, probably find this description much too familiar. At the wedding, a couple promises to love and trust and care for each other for a lifetime. In the months leading up to the ceremony, the two individuals plan their lives together, arrange their household. They prepare to make sacrifices.
And then at some point, something happens. The miscommunication starts. The trust stops. And each person begins to worry that they are being taken for granted, or worse. They start keeping tabs of how they have been hurt. They stop being able to work together, plan together. They cannot trust, they are afraid to be vulnerable. They start to talk about splitting up.
Divorce in the time of Jesus was far more serious, than today. Because women had no ability to work outside the home, divorce was both a blessing and a curse. A true divorce would save a woman from complete destitution. The property she had brought into the marriage would be returned to her, and she would be allowed to marry again. She gained a measure of support, or a guarantee that she could be supported. However, it also brought shame, of having been divorced. It meant returning to the family home, like a child.
It's worth noting that only the husband could ask for a divorce. Meaning that if the woman was being abused, neglected, or if her husband was cheating on her, there was nothing she could do about it. Even today, in very orthodox Jewish communities, married women languish in horrible marriages or in poverty as their husbands move out on them, refuse to support them, and yet refuse to grant them a divorce.
Because, really, the only reason a man would have to grant a divorce - short of infidelity - is if there were something better on the horizon. A richer woman, or a more attractive one, or just another woman in general. Something that would make it worth the financial loss of divorce.
This, is the context for the question the Pharisees present to Jesus. It's not so much "when two people have grown apart, is it okay for them to split up?" It's "when a man has decided he's ready to move on, can he abandon his commitment to his wife, and possibly force her parents to take her in again?"
Jesus responds by reminding them what marriage was about. Not just the physical aspect of it. But the idea that they would be together forever, as one unit, one household, united and blessed by God. They would stop being two separate beings, with separate wants and desires and plans, no more separate ambitions. What one would want, they would both want.
With such an understanding, neither one of them could look at another person and say "I wonder if I would be happier married to that person?" Because they would know that such a thought would make the other unhappy. It would be a breach of that unity. It would wound them to the core.
It is worth noting at this point that Jesus does not actually forbid divorce. Or say that those who divorce are going to hell. He simply points out a reality, that this is a symptom of our wounded natures. He reminds us that marriage in not a transaction. And he calls us to do better.
He reminds us to be like children - to trust, and to love, without reserve. Without fear. Without holding back, for fear we will be hurt. To love because we know it will make others happy, and because it will make us happy as well.
For those keeping track, this is the third time in a row that Jesus has called upon children as an example. The first time, after he catches the disciples arguing about which one of them is greater. The second time, after some of them complain that they have caught folks they don't know ministering in Jesus's name. And now this time, when he is teaching them about divorce. And, oddly, on some level, the message is always the same: love purely. Don't just show love to those who benefit you; don't limit love; don't be selfish in your love. Welcome children, and others who have no power. Don't put stumbling blocks before them, or tell them they need to earn your approval. Don't keep tabs of who is better, or wait to see if they are worthy. Just love.
So, where does that leave us today?
Last week, I was on retreat with the Rev. Becca Stevens, the founder of Thistle Farms. She works with women who find themselves on the street - usually addicts, usually convicts, almost all deemed "menaces to society." And, what she found is that almost all of them had suffered assault at an early age, growing up in their home. So that home was never a safe place for them, and the only reason anyone would do anything nice for them, was to get something in return. They had never known love, they did not trust at all.
For these women coming off the streets, finding a home, food, clothes, access to recovery programs, and therapy – all freely given, was overwhelming. Disorienting. They recounted how much they had prayed for something like this, and yet how confusing it was. They remained on guard for weeks. On the last night of the retreat, of the women from Thistle Farms asked a question, "Is it dangerous to love?"
We talked about it. About being vulnerable and defenseless - which is what makes love possible. About being on guard and tough - which is what you learn when you are abused, and when you live on the streets. And Becca summed up our conversation, "I guess it comes down to a choice about how to live - you can love, or you can not love. You can't do both."
Becca and the other members of the Thistle Farms community walked around at the retreat in T-shirts that proclaimed in ten-inch letters: "Love Heals." That love leads them out into the streets and the prisons to find more women in need of help. So I guess we know which side she chose.
What about you?
It took Callie ten years to trust enough to jump into a box and not worry about being closed in. It takes women at Thistle Farms months before they are ready to try anything as radically personal as sharing a dream, or contacting those who abused them. My friends who are divorced take years before they are ready to try love again, if at all. It takes courage to walk out in love.
This week, we were once again shocked by the news of a shooting at a school. It seems there is violence all around us - on the news, in our communities. People betray our trust on a regular basis in the workplace and in our relationships. It is easy to feel vulnerable, fearful, uncertain. Do we succumb to that fear, walling ourselves and our family off from the world, and from each other? Do we act as wounded adults, counting the costs, and looking out for number one?
The world hurts. Love heals. Do we dare to enter like children, like Callie, finally, after all these years - leaping into the unknown, with faith, knowing that there is goodness in the world, despite the risks? Do we trust without remembering the hurt? Do we dare go out in love?
Tags: Clergy Voices