July 9, 2006

Clay Nelson

2 Corinthians 12:2-10     
Mark 6:1-13

I've never had to issue a warning before I gave a sermon before, like they do sometimes on the news before they read a story. But I need to today, some of the content in this sermon may be uncomfortable for some of our listeners. I know it will be for me because it is a little too honest in places about some attitudes I used to hold of which I am not proud. You may share or have shared some of them as well. But it also may make you uncomfortable because sharing my story in involves mentioning others you know. You need to know that everyone mentioned in this sermon knows what I'm going to say and has given me their permission to refer to them or use their name. Now that I am certain I have your full attention I'll begin.

It probably won't surprise you that I am the son of an iconoclast. That's a big word for someone who believes sacred cows make the best Big Macs. He was a professor of Special Education who challenged established notions about learning. The conventional wisdom is that Johnny can't read because and then fill in the blank: He's a boy, from a one parent household, watches too much TV, is mentally challenged, of a certain race, etc. Dad's alternative wisdom was that every child can learn; not every teacher can teach. The question for him was not why can't Johnny read, but why can't Mr. or Ms. Smith teach him to read. His belief that the responsibility should be on teachers and not children made him a controversial figure amongst his peers. He was considered subversive. He handled his notoriety with self-depreciating humour that also made him beloved. So, it is not surprising that the most frequently quoted piece of scripture heard in my home was a version of Jesus' observation after a disheartening visit to Nazareth, quoted by my father with a wry smile and a heavy sigh, “A prophet is without honour in his own home.”

I have often wondered if that is how Jesus said it as well. He has just returned from a successful preaching and healing mission to the Gentiles, but in his own hometown no one expects such things from him so they don't happen. They expect him to follow convention and be a good carpenter like his father, not a prophet and teacher. Besides he is a particularly uncomfortable prophet and his teachings weren't in touch with their reality. He was being subversive; challenging his hometown's long held views about how things were. Unlike two weeks ago when he was napping during the storm, this time it was he who was rocking the boat. They'd like him to stop now. Since he doesn't, they need to discount the reality he proclaims. What choice did they have, accepting his teachings would unravel the social order?

All his neighbors knew God is punishing and judgmental – the evidence was all around them, but this kid whose nappies they once changed is telling them God is gracious. If that's true why should anyone be a good, productive member of society? Everyone knows you reap what you sow, but he says nonsense like “consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin.”

Even the poor, the lame and the blind had trouble accepting his words. At least they understood why they were rejected and despised. They must be sinners and so deserved it. Remembering some of the misfits he spent time hanging out with as a kid, instead of sweeping out his dad's workshop, they angrily challenged his assurances that they were all equally loved by God. If God didn't do this to them, who did? If we aren't sinners, who are we?

Why the strong reactions? Anyone who challenges common wisdom will evoke the same response. Conventional wisdom is based on our common agreement about the way things are. It tells us what the rules are in our culture. We may not like them but it is better than no rules at all. If we want to succeed in life we play by them. If we don't play by them we at least understand our lot in life. Conventional wisdom gives us an identity, we may not like it, but at least we know who we are. Conventional wisdom using language, words and social ordering helps us to domesticate our reality. It tells us what or who to value and our place in the social order.

I'm not suggesting that common wisdom is bad or even always wrong, but to confuse what it says about reality as being the same as reality has problems. Subversives like Socrates, Buddha, Jesus and my dad are the way those problems get challenged. When conventional wisdom preoccupies us with measuring up to society's standards, puts us in bondage to the cultural definition of reality, alienates and estranges us or those around us, and blinds us to a reality and possibilities beyond its definitions, it is essential that it be challenged.

Twenty years ago yesterday it was illegal to be gay or lesbian in New Zealand. Today is the anniversary of its decriminalisation. For most, if not all of us at St Matthew's this is a moment of celebration. Treating people of a different sexual orientation as felons makes no sense in our reality. But that isn't a universal view. Today there are lots of other church congregations, maybe the majority, who while reticent to throw them in jail, consider them to be sinners and a threat to well-ordered society and still worthy of condemnation and marginalisation. Our differing views here are not because we are Anglican. A group of clergy I meet with would like to see Synod approve the public blessing of same-sex relationships as Canada and the US have because we see unconditional love and commitment as the reality behind the word “marriage.” But we are being told by the bishop it will never pass in today's climate because for too many in the church the reality behind marriage is procreation, which conveniently excludes gays and lesbians. Those who hold this view of reality use scripture to defend it, rejecting Jesus' alternative vision every bit as adamantly as the folks who knew him growing up.

These differing views of reality are so at odds, that the Anglican Communion is no more. It exists in name only. It is dead and gone and only remains to be buried.

It is tragic but just as Jesus didn't back off pointing out the obvious that to not welcome all of us to God's banquet table, is not to welcome any of us, neither should we. Our common wisdom tells us that if those of us who are straight reject them, what's to stop others from excluding us for having a different colour of skin, or the wrong genitals, or a tattoo and a pierced navel, or being divorced, or too old or too young? It's all of us at the table or none of us.

If we are 30 or older we remember what it was like when it was perfectly acceptable to label “those perverts” as sodomites. If we were straight, we probably didn't know we knew many who weren't, but we had questions we didn't dare articulate about our maiden Aunt Winifred and her roommate of 20 years, Mary. Our parents might have given vague warnings about being careful in public loos. We were careful not to hug or make other public displays of affection with someone of the same gender. And it didn't pay to admit liking poetry if you were a bloke or rugby if you were a Sheila.

If we weren't straight, it was much worse. Unless you were a glutton for punishment it was wisest to hide your sexual identity. The law and society's view were extremely punishing. You could lose your job, your self-respect, your family, not to mention be arrested and jailed. But probably the worst thing was you could not be yourself except in hiding. Such a loss of integrity often led to suicide. Sadly today, you are considerably more likely to die by your own hand if you are a homosexual teenager than one of your straight friends.

Now let me take a breath here and point out that I know I'm preaching to the choir. The subversive thinking of 20 years ago that changed the law, is the conventional thinking here. Most of us know and love my work mate Geno and his partner Reece and are grateful they are a part of our lives. We are justly proud of our relationship with the Auckland Community Church whose mission is to attend to the spiritual needs of the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender community. But this sermon isn't just about the importance of continuing the work begun 20 years ago today to eliminate completely cultural barriers between gays and straights. It is an invitation to become a prophet without honour in your own home. It is a call to challenge your own assumptions about your definitions of reality, especially those that evoke fear and judgment or separate you from yourself and others or hold you back from being all you can be. It matters to me because of something that happened to me last week. It was one of those moments that Jesus came to town and challenged my reality.

It was not on the surface such a profound moment. I was here early to open up and set up for the eight o'clock service. Our most faithful parishioner was there waiting to get in to make her cuppa tea. She is our most faithful member because she is here everyday from when first we open up until we close the doors for the night. When we asked everyone to update their parish roll, her form gave her permanent residence quite accurately as St Matthew's. So I was not surprised to see her, what surprised me is she asked if I had been ill, more specifically she asked if I'd had diarrhoea. Mystified, I said no. She then asked if anyone else in the office had diarrhoea. I told her we didn't usually discuss such things but as far as I knew everyone was fine. Why do you ask? She essentially said she didn't usually get as close to people as she was to us and she was afraid living as she does, she might make us sick.

I was quite taken back by her concern. She's the one we worry about. She's the one on the streets without benefits or a roof over her head.

But that thought really brought me up short. It made me realise how much I had changed, and not just me but the whole staff.

I remembered my first encounter with her. It was my first Sunday at St Matthew's. She was in the pew in front of me. What I remember is that she was a little bit intimidating due to size and demeanour and that her limited options for personal hygiene on the streets were quite apparent. I thought to myself that this is a good place if she feels comfortable being here, but next week I'll be more careful about where I sit.

Later when I came to work here she was often a topic of conversation. Because of her state of mind there were occasional unexpected incidents that were sometimes a nuisance and of course her fragrance announced her coming and remained upon her departure. When the staff gathered there was considerable time spent wondering how best to control her access to places in the church. I'm embarrassed to admit, we even considered briefly moving the pew cushions between services so that the church was a little less hospitable for sleeping.

Thinking back it was during Jane's time with us it began to change. She, like us, began by being a little intimidated and anxious about being alone in her office while she was in the church. With time however, they talked a little. Jane got to know a little of her story. Where she was born. What happened to her parents. What her Maori name was. By the time Jane left she found she had grown quite fond of our most faithful parishioner, and she of Jane, inviting several of her friends from the street to Jane's going away party. It was during this time our view of reality shifted. At some point she was no longer viewed as a nuisance our Christian duty required us to endure, but a full human being to be loved, respected and appreciated. We shared smokes. We had conversations. She began cleaning up the kitchen and moping the loos. Linda tried solving the more offensive aspects of our close proximity by washing her clothes. When that didn't fully solve it we learned she needed medical attention and made sure she got it. Instead of being annoyed when she would eat what we brought for lunch, Linda began bringing her a hot meal. Instead of being relieved on those rare occasions she wasn't here when we opened up, we were concerned. We came to respect her inherent dignity, survival skills and deep spirituality. Because our view had changed of her we were more open about getting to know others in her situation who orbit around us because of our location and they too, have enriched our lives. Through her we have found that compassion has replaced fear, resentment and intimidation in our hearts.

It was her concern for us last Sunday that caused me to wonder, was she our project or we hers? She is clearly a prophet without honour who has challenged our assumptions and made us more whole. I now even have to question my proposition that Jesus is just a man. Last Sunday I had to wonder if Jesus was just a woman. And this week I have to wonder about his sexual orientation.