Teaching that Transforms

Teaching that Transforms

Mark 1:21-28

I’d been in Venezuela for 3 days;

had been working, that morning and afternoon, with our medical mission team in clinics

after arriving in Ospino at 1am;

had been terribly sick for about 36 hours.

I was in no mood to sit through a 3-hour worship service

in a foreign language

and celebrate a building dedication,

much less preach.

My body and spirit and mind were depleted

as I sat, sticky,

in the 2^nd row

of this packed,

1-room church

at 7 in the evening.

I had come to Venezuela as one accustomed to being

in the very progressive, very liberal UCC where still many people remain uncomfortable with

female or homosexual leadership and feminine or expansive God-language.

Not only that, but I had prepared myself for the hierarchical and patriarchal culture

that I expect to be inherent to Evangelical and Pentecostal traditions,

from which this tiny denomination I was visiting had emerged.

Not only that, but I was anticipating difficult personal encounters

with the Latin American stereotype of machismo.

All of this knowledge played into my spiritual exhaustion that first night of worship in Venezuela,

and I was wary of being there.

The service began.

One of the nurses I’d met at clinic earlier in the day began to speak.

And through my translator she cheered:

Tonight we celebrate a very special moment for female pastors in our movement.

I’m sorry...what? My limping brain raced to catch up.

As we know, the Spirit is in all people, so all share in the Spirit’s ministries and gifts.

But not all churches believe that.

And so our church has fought for recognition of women’s ministry all over Latin America.

Tonight is special for us: the pastors who speak will be women.

And the preacher will be a U.S. American woman.

And we will ordain a woman—whose gifts for ministry are already known to you.

And tonight we will finally hand the keys of this new church building  over to a woman.

By this point the humidity and heat had pooled sweat over every contour of our bodies—

but it was the tears flowing from my eyes that really bothered me.

What was this? A new teaching?

How could I have been so… well: wrong?!

I couldn’t comprehend how I might experience such liberation and feeding of my spirit

—in Latin America! more so than ever in the U.S..

Hand-painted, above and behind the speaker’s head, hung a sign:

Bienvenido a la Iglesia Manantiales en el Desierto.

Welcome to Streams in the Desert Church.

~~~

Part of my exhaustion or desert-feeling prior to going to Venezuela

was living within that constant dissonance between

my love for our United Church of Christ

and my frustration that we do remain (in action) hierarchical and patriarchal in so many ways.

[Our Confirmation class last weekend was shocked to learn that only 20% of UCC congregations are Open & Affirming, and some of our churches still struggle with hiring a woman pastor.]

There remains some leap between our spoken theology —the words of our faith—

and the actions by which we unconsciously live.

~~~

“[Those in the synagogue] were astounded at Jesus’ teaching,

for he taught as one with authority, and not as [they had expected].”

And not only did his words seem to shock,

but they were followed by a corresponding action.

I wonder what he said in that first teaching of his?

What unexpected stream of water appeared in his hearers’ desert-dry spirits?

Mark’s Gospel lets actions speak louder than words in this instance:

Jesus heals;

he engages one who would be an outsider, rejected, dismissed, “unclean”;

he gives that person’s existence validity:

validity to be in that worship space;

validity to be a whole and holy part of that community.

                  It was as if a sign over Jesus’ head read for this man:

“Welcome to Streams in the Desert Synagogue.”

Most of us have felt like outsiders at one time or another.

Part of life’s push toward growth or maturity is to be “in” a group in some places and “outside” a group in others.

But the Church Universal is not the place for that—nor is the realm of God

which the Church is called to embody and bring to the rest of the world: “on earth, as it is in heaven”—

God’s realm of justice and peace and compassion is for all.

Jesus preaches; and then he acts out his words as example.

He confronts the man who lashes out—with compassion, but he confronts nonetheless.

Because confronting those inner demons is a part of Christ’s care!—

I could not have been allowed, in that Venezuelan worship experience,

to hold tightly to my frustrations or stereotypes

if any sort of transformation were to take place!

                                    Mark’s text shows us: “Jesus rebuked him, saying ‘Be silent, and come out of him!’”

Christ’s insistence on confronting us when we are holding on

to past hurt or anger or experiences or

whatever is holding us back from transformation

is a part of his compassion.

But then, when the demons have gone from the man kicking and screaming (or sweating and crying),

Jesus welcomes that man in, healed, whole, and validated in his own personhood.

In the same story recounted by Luke, Jesus begins his synagogue preaching by reading from Isaiah:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he as anointed me to bring good news to the poor.

He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind,

to let the oppressed go free…” (Luke 4:18).

Could this have been the same reading Jesus gave, unrecorded by Mark, in our text for today?

The reading he gave before acting out his compassionate healing?

Possibly.

All we know is the result.

People sat in their pews—or actually, stood in their worship—and were transformed.

“What is this teaching? With authority to act!”

~~~

One of the questions we might ask ourselves alongside this text is:

what wounds are we each holding in our spirits as we come to worship?

What inner demons are fighting Christ’s call to “be silent, and come out”

so you may be transformed, welcomed, whole?

What action, then, are the words of Jesus working in you

to get up and do for the bringing about of God’s shalom in the world?

We don’t know exactly what happened to that man in the synagogue after he was healed,

but I know the result of my transformation in Manantiales en el Desierto.

An unexpected fountain of cool, clear water

appeared in the desert of my utter exhaustion

and old, old anger at having been rejected for my gender.

And the words spoken in that place—

Dios nuestro madre y padre—God our Mother and Father—

you have called us to be brothers and sisters

across churches, across countries and continents…

those words were then acted out with authority—

pouring streams validation and re-filling every cell of my body

when they joyfully laid hands on a woman,

and they called to me:

a stereotyping, frustration-filled, sick and tired foreigner—

to lay hands on her as well.

When your own spirit is thirsty,

may you hear the soul-inspiring words of Jesus’ teaching;

and may you respond

by turning and laying healing hands on God’s world.

Amen.