New Ark United Church of Christ, Newark, DE
August 24, 2014
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| "Born of Star Dust" |
This is one of those weeks when
speaking one’s truth does not feel the same as telling the truth. Crises like the death of Eric Garner in NY
and the death of Michael Brown and the protests in Ferguson, MO; Israel,
Palestine, and Gaza; Ebola in Guinea, Liberia, Sierra Leone, and Nigeria; ISIS
in Iraq; the death of journalist James Foley and the meaningless deaths of
countless others demand that we tell the truth.
From where I’m standing, my seemingly inexperienced, small truth doesn’t
stack up against the truth of hatred, rage and violence, fear and injustice.
But
if I was listening to a colleague or one of you saying those words, I’d tell
you, “Speak your truth. You’ll get to
the deeper truth eventually. If God is
still speaking, God’s gotta start somewhere.”
So.
We
are often led to think that our individual lives and how we live them do not
have much impact on global systems, national events, the human line. And yet I do believe that our smaller stories
do have something to say about the larger human story. Our attitudes, beliefs, how we treat one
another, even how we bring life into this world, do make a difference on a
wider scale.
Almost
18 and 15 years ago, along with David, it was midwives who helped bring our
daughters into this world. Years ago,
one of my neighbors delivered her daughter at home, and it was her example that
convinced me that we were made for this, for natural childbirth. It wasn’t until our society became more
industrialized that birth became a medical event rather than a normal part of
life. Over time, power and authority in
the birth process migrated from the company of women to the medical
profession. Within the last forty years
or so, the pendulum has begun to swing back in the direction of nurse midwives
and women with their partners directing the birth process.
In
this morning’s reading from Genesis, the Egyptian king or Pharaoh tries to use
his power to influence the midwives who attend the births of both Egyptian and
Hebrew women. Midwives may have power in
the birthing room, but the Pharaoh ably reminds them that he has power to take
life as well as give it. Yet these
midwives, called by name—Shiphrah and Puah—are wily creatures, shrewd in their
obedience. Hebrew women are vigorous,
Hebrew babies are slippery, like the truth these midwives tell. They fear God more than they fear Pharaoh,
that is, they love life more than they fear death. And so these boy babies live and thrive, thus
Pharaoh must resort to even more ruthless means of controlling these Hebrew
slaves, this immigrant population.
Throughout
human history, as populations of people have thrived, one group, tribe, or nation
has sought to control, subjugate, forcibly remove another group, tribe, or
nation, using violence to dehumanize them, based on skin color, gender, sexual
orientation, social class, ethnicity, religious belief, age, and so on. We feel as though we as a human race have
never lived through a time as the one we are living through now, with climate
changes not only in the environment but also between peoples and nations. Yet every generation cries out “How long, O
God? How long must I bear pain in my soul?”
(Psalm 13)
As
sorrowful and painful these recent days may be, there is also a truth of
another kind being born. The truth of
equality and justice. The truth of the
co-existence of differing beliefs. The
truth of compassion, kindness, and generosity.
Every day these ideals are emerging and striving to take hold amidst the
chaos, violence, and terror that compete for our attention, our values, and our
money. What if what we are hearing in
these forces of evil are the death throes of the old order of domination? What if the pain we are feeling are the birth
pangs of the new way, the truth of our interconnectedness?
Birth
is birth, whether it is a woman’s body and a baby, or a community and a new way
of being, or a whole world and its place in the creation. There is a point in labor called transition,
when a woman’s body moves from the early stages of labor to active labor. On a pregnancy information website I found
this little tidbit: “If you're laboring
without an epidural, this [transition] is when you may begin to lose faith in
your ability to handle the pain, so you'll need lots of extra encouragement and
support from those around you.”
Translation, if you’re doing this without drugs, what were you thinking?
Seriously,
though, we have whole industries built around the belief that we do not have
the ability to handle pain, that life should be painless. And yet we who follow Jesus are called to
deny ourselves, pick up our cross, and go wherever he goes. This calling also
includes anyone who has ever loved someone, loved life, loved this world. If we choose to love this world, really love
it, at some point it will hurt and we may lose faith in our ability to handle
this pain. And there really is nothing
for it, no escape. Henry David Thoreau
once wrote that there is no remedy for love but to love more. We are going to need lots of extra
encouragement and support if we’re going to love and give birth to this new
world without numbing ourselves to the pain that comes with it.
This
is why midwives ask families, not just the mother, but both parents and
everyone involved, to have a birth plan: coping techniques such as
visualization, massage, soaking in a tub, music, a movie, certain foods or
drink; who is to be in the room; lighting and temperature of the room. It’s not necessarily about comfort so much as
what will allow the mother and those helping her to focus her attention.
When
I was laboring with Andrea, I can very clearly remember a point in the wee
hours of the morning when I was ready to give up. I had been up since the day before,
contractions beginning in the afternoon.
I was so tired, I was done in, there was no way I could go on. But I had been forewarned by my nurse midwife
that this might happen. So in my birth
plan I had written “Isaiah 43: 1-3b”.
The midwife asked me, “Would you like me to read that passage from
Isaiah?” I nodded my head and closed my
eyes.
“But now thus says the Lord, the One who created you, O Jacob, the One who formed you,
O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you
are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the
rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not
be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord
your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.”
As
God is midwifing this new world, stretching her hands out to deliver us, as we
are feeling the birth pangs, we need a birth plan that will help us not give up
on ourselves and focus our attention. We
need to be giving each other lots of extra encouragement and support. As a Body of Christ, worship is a major part
of that birth plan: a time for us to receive and give support, to focus our attention
on our relationship with God, to tell our story of faith, our slant on the
truth of living, and to hear the same from others.
Each
of us has our own birth plan and no one can write it or live it out for
us. And collectively as a church we need
to have a birth plan: ways of caring for each other, praying and celebrating
and commiserating, times when we have everyone in the room and times when we
are in small groups sharing with one another, and times when we leave the room
to help others.
It’s
also important to remember that sometimes the birth plan goes out the
window. I had one for Olivia but she
came so fast I didn’t get a chance to use any of it. I couldn’t even make it to the birthing chair
in the other room. I’m sure that Moses’
mother couldn’t have foreseen she would need to place her baby boy in a small
basket and set him afloat on a mighty river.
Essentially, she gave him back to God.
Through his older sister Miriam’s watchful eye and cagey dealing with
the Pharaoh’s daughter, we can see the subtle hand of God giving Moses back to
his mother. There will be times we will
have to let go of the outcome, reach out and trust that God will deliver us.
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But
the most important thing to remember is that we were made for this. We were created with the right stuff for
equality and justice, the co-existence of differing beliefs, the right stuff
for compassion, kindness, and generosity.
We were made to endure the pain of this transition, not alone, but
together, with lots of extra encouragement and support. We can be like Miriam was for her brother;
watching and listening, stepping in with courage and giving what we can to each
other and to those outside these four walls.
What
helps you keep your focus and keeps you grounded? How do you deal with pain, the pain of
striving with people different from you, the pain of violence, loss, and
hatred, the pain of loving and living? What
are the words of encouragement that you need to hear, that you need to
give? Who are the people you need in
the room with you and what do you do when they can’t be there? What are some outcomes you need to let go of
and trust that God will deliver?
Comedian
Steven Wright joked that you really can’t tell he was born via Caesarean
section, except when he leaves the house, he always goes out the window. We can’t yet tell how this new world of
equality and justice is going to be born but we need to trust and trust hard
that it will be. God has a birth plan
for us, and God won’t throw it out the window.
We were made for this. We are
vigorous and slippery, and so is our God.
We are wily and shrewd, and so is our God. We love life more than we fear death. We belong to God.
Amen.
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| (Some gallows humor.) |
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