Mark 6: 14-29
Sunday, July 15, 2018
First Congregational United Church of Christ of Manhattan, KS
First Congregational United Church of Christ of Manhattan, KS
Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
Earlier this week I was snuggling with one of my sons and told
him, “You know, back before you were born, a very wise woman named Beth told me
that after she became a mom she felt as though her heart was walking around
outside of her body. At the time, I didn’t really understand what she meant.
But then, after you and your brother were born, it made perfect sense to me.
Because wherever we go, even when we’re apart, it feels as though a part of my
heart is always with you.”
One doesn’t have to be a parent, of course, to understand this.
I’m pretty sure that when I was a child my heart walked around with my parents.
Others have a significant attachment like this with a grandparent, an aunt or
uncle, even a close family friend or teacher. Many forms of love create a bond
where we feel this sense of always being together.
Buddhist teachings claim that, really, our hearts walk around
outside of our bodies all the time because the the ego is an illusion. That
there actually is no “me” or “you” - we are all a part of one great connection,
hearts beating together, never to be severed.
The Rev. Dr. Cláudio Carvalhaes is Associate Professor of Worship
at Union Theological Seminary. In his commentary on this week’s text from the
Gospel of Mark, he read this story of John the Baptizer’s beheading through the
lens of an immigrant, pairing the story from Jesus’s time with the treatment of
today’s immigrants in the United States. [1]
Dr. Carvalhaes spins a new story that’s also an old story - a
government operating out of fear of “the other,” prophets arising and standing
up to name the wrongs they see, and the consequences of standing up against
evil. In John’s case: beheading. In Dr. Carvalhaes’ story, another type of
violence, as he names the separation of children and their families as a kind
of dismemberment.
Carvalhaes tells the story of Jose, a five-year-old boy who
recently arrived in Michigan alone, sent to live with a foster family. For days
and days on end Jose could not sleep through the night and cried almost
constantly. When he wasn’t crying, he was silent. He refused to take off the
clothes that he arrived in. He carries around a stick figure drawing of his
father everywhere he goes, sleeping with it under his pillow. Every single day
he asks the foster parents he is staying with, “When will I see my dad?” And
every single day they tell him the truth: they don’t know.
Carvalhaes says, “I, Cláudio, have a 6-year-old boy and I am an
immigrant citizen, foreign and citizen at the same time. I could not read this
biblical story of John the Baptist without thinking of stories like José and
the loss of his father. To have José separated from his father is like having
one’s head cut off. The story told in Mark 6 has no redemption. John the
Baptist had his head cut off. That is how hundreds of families are now living,
with their heads cut off, parents without children and children without
parents.”
Hearts walking around outside of our bodies. Hearts cut off from
one another. Dismembered. Beheaded.
The problem of evil is not new. The problem of leaders who trade
in fear is not new. The problem of figuring out how to keep getting up and
loving, living, resisting fear is not new.
Our sacred texts reach out to us from the distant past with
stories of very real humans - other hearts walking around outside of our bodies
across the centuries - humans who are not strangers to the problems and
realities we live with in the 21st century.
I have had countless conversations over the past several years….in
parking lots, in grocery store aisles, in my office, in this sanctuary….where
the question is the same: “how do we keep going?”
When heads are rolling…..when evil threatens to overwhelm, how do
we keep going? And it’s not just the macro issues on the national and global
stage, of course. Violence and pain touch our lives in more intimate ways, too.
The loss of those we love - through death or distance or change. The challenges
of mental, physical, spiritual illnesses. The anxiety of living paycheck to
paycheck - or no paycheck at all. Unhealthy relationships at home or at work
that can leave us feeling like our heads are on the chopping block.
So many feel under siege and threatened so much of the time.
What can our faith offer us when heads are rolling? When fear
looms, when pain is real….what does our faith offer?
We talk a lot around here about the doing of faith - the practices
we engage in that shape our lives, the BEing the church together, the walking
in the ways of Jesus as we try to follow him. When I talk to people about
becoming members of our church I almost always begin with, “You’ve probably
noticed that we don’t have a five-point belief system that you have to sign off
on to be a member of our congregation. It’s less about what you believe -
because we a group of people with diverse beliefs - and more about a sense of
belonging in our faith community.”
One of the things I love about our tradition, the United Church of
Christ, is that we don’t all have to believe the same things. The thing that
ties us together is not similar beliefs but a covenantal commitment to
supporting each other on the journey. I actually really love interacting with
people who have different beliefs than me because it’s helps me examine my own
understandings and expands my horizons.
In the church I grew up in we said the Nicene or Apostle’s Creed
each week. And there was a sense, at least from my vantage point, that we were
supposed to ALL believe everything in those ancient creeds. When I became a
part of the UCC I learned that though the UCC is non-credal (meaning you don’t
have to profess specific beliefs to belong) many congregation do say creeds of
affirmations of faith in worship. In the UCC tradition, creeds are meant to be
“testimonies, not tests.” That is, we testify to what God has done and is doing
in our lives but we don’t use the creeds as some kind of litmus test for who’s
in and whose out. (Spoiler: in God’s Realm, everybody’s in.)
There can be a tendency in more progressive faith traditions to
shy away from pondering or talking about beliefs at all. Sometimes people will
say things like, “What you believe doesn’t matter at all. It’s only how you act
that matters.” I think it’s actually a little more complicated than that.
It seems to me that our beliefs and actions form a never-ending
feedback loop. The things we hold to be true - the stories we tell ourselves -
do influence our behaviors and actions. Similarly, the habits we practice from
day to day, the things we DO directly influence our beliefs.
When heads are rolling…. When violence and fear threaten.... When
life’s circumstances become unmanageable.... When pain and evil press in….those
are times when our practices AND beliefs matter more than ever.
Because we live in a world where we are constantly being told
stories. There are many competing narratives about the world and our lives. I
think our faith provides a very real alternative to all those stories. Our beliefs
- the things we each hold to be most true - can sustain us when the going gets
tough...and then tougher.
The same wise woman who once told me that her heart walked around
outside of her body said this on the first day I met her: “what’s your one true
thing about God?”
We were gathered in a small group for CPE (Clinical Pastoral
Education - that experience that many pastors have when they serve as an
chaplain intern in order to learn more about providing pastoral care). Beth,
our supervisor, asked us to go around the table and introduce ourselves by
sharing our name and our “one true thing about God.” How’s that for an
ice-breaker?
I sat with that question for a long time in silence. What came to
me as my own most true thing about God - the one thing that exists even when I
can’t find my way to anything else - the one thing that is enough to sustain me
when heads are rolling and pain is all around was this: God is present.
As the creed from the United Church of Canada begins, “We are not
alone. We live in God’s world.” Or as Jesus reminded us again and again,
showing up as a human infant and refusing to let death have the final say:
“Emmanuel: God is with us.” Or as the Holy Spirit showed when she arrived on
breath and flame at Pentecost: “God keeps arriving and arriving and arriving
and there’s nothing we can do to stop her.”
That’s my thing. That’s foundational for me. That’s been enough
for me - even on my worst days. To know that I’m not alone and that God is
present. Even when heads are rolling. Even when the grief is palpable. Even
when fear threatens to crush my spirit. God is present.
That’s my testimony - my credo - what my faith has done for me.
That is, of course, not to suggest it needs to be yours. You will have your
own, of course. And these credos - these “I believes…” - aren’t forever. It’s
not like you settle on one and it never changes. Maybe yours can’t be whittled
down to one thing like Beth was forcing us to do. That makes sense. Ever notice
how long the UCC’s Statement of Faith is? You can tell it was written by
committee!
Whether or not you are currently consumed by anxiety and
exhaustion, I invite you to spend some time later this week pondering your own
credo. What sustains you when the going gets tough? When heads are rolling and
fear becomes an oppressive force threatening to shut you down - how does your
faith sustain you?
You may not have an answer. That’s okay, too. Jesus the Great
Question-Asker never minded leaving a question hanging in mid-air. Sometimes
sitting with the question is transformative by itself.
And then...if you’re feeling up to it, talk to someone else about
it. Even if it’s awkward. Because our hearts are walking around outside of our
bodies. We are all on this journey together. God is big enough to hold our
questions, our credos, and everything in between. Thanks be to God.
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