In June of 1958, Mildred Jeter and Richard Loving were married in Washington D.C. Upon their return to Virginia to take up residence there, they were promptly arrested, convicted of a felony, and sentenced to a year in jail. What great crime had Mildred and Richard committed that would bring the force of the law down on them so swiftly and severely? Mildred was black and Richard was white.
The trial judge suspended the sentence as long as the couple promised to leave the state and not to return for a minimum of 25 years. At the sentencing of the couple, the judge gave his rationale for upholding Virginia’s statutes forbidding interracial marriage:
Almighty God created the races white, black, yellow, and red, and he placed them on separate continents. And but for the interference with his arrangement there would be no cause for such marriages. The fact that he separated the races shows that he did not intend for the races to mix. (Loving v. Virginia, U.S. Supreme Court, 1967)
Eight years later, when the United States Supreme Court finally took up Mildred and Richard’s case, the justices did not quite agree with the remarkable theology of the Virginia judge. In fact, Chief Justice Warren, in stating the Court’s rationale for dismantling interracial marriage bans across the country, made this sweeping statement about marriage:
Marriage is one of the ‘basic civil rights of [humanity],’ fundamental to our very existence and survival. To deny this fundamental freedom on so unsupportable a basis as the racial classifications embodied in these statutes, classifications so directly subversive of the principle of equality at the heart of the Fourteenth Amendment, is sure to deprive all the State’s citizens of liberty without due process of law. The Fourteenth Amendment requires that the freedom of choice to marry not be restricted by invidious racial discriminations. Under our Constitution, the freedom to marry, or not marry, a person of another race resides with the individual and cannot be infringed by the State. (Loving v. Virginia)
The fact that the North Carolina General Assembly is on the precipice of voting to change our state’s constitution to ban same-sex marriage shows how persistent bigotry is when it comes to denying marital rights to minority groups. In the previous generation it was racial minorities being discriminated against when it came to the right to marry. In this generation LGBTQ citizens are the targets of the bigotry. In both generations the underlying cause of the discrimination is a perverted form of religion.
The Church has provided the cover for our leaders to deny gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender citizens the right to marry whomever they choose. Laws are not created in vacuums of justice untouched by the cultural values around them. The law is just as impressionable as other institutions in our society. And when the dominant religious power in our country, the Christian Church, states that gay citizens are deviant and must not be allowed to marry, the law tends to be influenced by such majoritarian thinking.
Which is why I believe it is critical for the Church to repent and begin to understand how its own teachings and traditions provide a natural rationale to support same-sex marriage. In Luke 4 Jesus begins his public ministry by returning to his hometown, entering into the synagogue, and making something of a mission statement:
The Spirit of God is upon me, because God has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. God has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of God’s favor. (Luke 4:18-19)
For his mission statement Jesus reaches for the language of the prophet Isaiah (61:1-2). He is calling to mind the period in Jewish history when the exile had rendered the people powerless. Like the prophet centuries before him, Jesus is saying that one of the most fundamental religious tasks is to stand with those who have been excluded and marginalized. Those with no power because of their social status, their physical status, or because of the way they were born are the focus of Jesus’ ministry from day one. He is determined to stand with them, to name them beloved of God, and to dedicate his life to seeing them empowered.
Every generation of the Church must take up Jesus’ mission statement and find those places where people without power are being abused and marginalized. In previous generations the struggle was for women and people of color. In our generation the struggle is to support our LGBTQ brothers and sisters as they seek full equality. Repenting from its bigotry and supporting same-sex marriage would be an excellent place for the Church to start.
Showing posts with label church. Show all posts
Showing posts with label church. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Secret Life of a Pastor - Chapter Two
Of the six churches I served as pastor, three were small and rural. They were all white, both the buildings and the people. One was made up of the descendants of German immigrant farmers. Another was dominated by two brothers and their families. And there was one, I kid you not, that was featured in a Meatloaf rock video. The people of that congregation are still trying to figure out how decent parents could name their kid Meatloaf.
Naruna Baptist was the smallest and most isolated of these churches. It was also the most picturesque. Surrounded by ancient oak trees, you couldn’t help but smile when you drove up to it. The old cemetery beside it only added to its charm. This was what you imagined when you thought of a country church. I loved it the first time I saw it.
Inside was a different matter. There was a resistance to modernization that defined the place. The old-timers spoke fondly of the days when the outhouse, still standing out back, was in full use. Indoor plumbing was viewed as an unnecessary luxury by some veterans, though their children and grandchildren were quick to disagree. The church had no air conditioning, but it did have gas heaters on the sides of the sanctuary. Opening and closing the windows was the answer to any temperature issues that might arise.
Preaching at Naruna was weird. The pulpit was set on a platform a couple of feet off the main wooden floor of the tiny sanctuary. What made this strange was not how far off the ground you felt, but how close to the ceiling you were. There wasn’t a high ceiling like you find in most sanctuaries, and I often had the illusion that I might bump my head if I wasn’t careful.
Two members always caught my attention when preaching at Naruna. Duard was a deacon who sat on the back row to my right. On my first Sunday he had assured me that I should not be alarmed if I saw him with his eyes closed during my sermon. He insisted it helped him to pay attention if he listened without looking at anything. I never got the guts to ask him if the snoring we all heard from him also helped him listen better.
The other dominant personality was the matriarch of the church, Mrs. Vann. Nearing 90, she sat on the front left side next to one of the gas heaters. She had circulation problems and kept the heater on throughout the year. Even in the Texas summer, when the temperatures outside routinely topped 100 degrees, Mrs. Vann had her heater fired up.
It was on one of these summer Sundays that I had the only mystical experience of my religious life. I was at the pulpit offering a prayer after the sermon. And then something bizarre happened. As I spoke words of gratitude to God, I could feel myself leave my body. My soul or spirit or mind, whatever you want to call it, slipped up to the ceiling and watched from there. Now remember, it was only a few feet to travel from my body to the ceiling, but even so this was a stunning experience.
I have never felt so bifurcated in my life. As I continued to pray from the pulpit, I had the sensation that I was viewing me and everyone else from my perched position. Thoughts were flooding through my disembodied self. “Is this what the Apostle Paul meant when he said he had been to the seventh heaven?” “Am I reaching a new level of spiritual depth because I can now exit my body and look around even while I am praying below?” “Will these Southern Baptists fire me for having a Pentecostal experience?” As I contemplated all of this and more, I slowly felt myself descend back into my body. After saying a quick “amen” I stumbled off the platform and slunk into a chair, exhausted. Mystical encounters apparently are depleting to those privileged enough to experience them.
On the ride home that evening with KaKi, who was my fiancée at the time, I wrestled with what to say about my dramatic episode. Would she think I was mentally unhinged? Would she feel inferior because she couldn’t hover around the ceiling? I wasn’t sure, but my conscience compelled me to tell her about it. She had a right to know about the unusual spiritual abilities of her future husband.
She listened without interruption to my curious tale, but when I reached the conclusion of the story she blurted out, “Oh God, Jack, you weren’t having a mystical experience. Mrs. Vann had her heater on so high this morning that we were all light-headed. I almost passed out myself!”
Though her facts were incontrovertible, and I never again was able to float around during my public prayers, I still wonder if KaKi was just jealous.
Naruna Baptist was the smallest and most isolated of these churches. It was also the most picturesque. Surrounded by ancient oak trees, you couldn’t help but smile when you drove up to it. The old cemetery beside it only added to its charm. This was what you imagined when you thought of a country church. I loved it the first time I saw it.
Inside was a different matter. There was a resistance to modernization that defined the place. The old-timers spoke fondly of the days when the outhouse, still standing out back, was in full use. Indoor plumbing was viewed as an unnecessary luxury by some veterans, though their children and grandchildren were quick to disagree. The church had no air conditioning, but it did have gas heaters on the sides of the sanctuary. Opening and closing the windows was the answer to any temperature issues that might arise.
Preaching at Naruna was weird. The pulpit was set on a platform a couple of feet off the main wooden floor of the tiny sanctuary. What made this strange was not how far off the ground you felt, but how close to the ceiling you were. There wasn’t a high ceiling like you find in most sanctuaries, and I often had the illusion that I might bump my head if I wasn’t careful.
Two members always caught my attention when preaching at Naruna. Duard was a deacon who sat on the back row to my right. On my first Sunday he had assured me that I should not be alarmed if I saw him with his eyes closed during my sermon. He insisted it helped him to pay attention if he listened without looking at anything. I never got the guts to ask him if the snoring we all heard from him also helped him listen better.
The other dominant personality was the matriarch of the church, Mrs. Vann. Nearing 90, she sat on the front left side next to one of the gas heaters. She had circulation problems and kept the heater on throughout the year. Even in the Texas summer, when the temperatures outside routinely topped 100 degrees, Mrs. Vann had her heater fired up.
It was on one of these summer Sundays that I had the only mystical experience of my religious life. I was at the pulpit offering a prayer after the sermon. And then something bizarre happened. As I spoke words of gratitude to God, I could feel myself leave my body. My soul or spirit or mind, whatever you want to call it, slipped up to the ceiling and watched from there. Now remember, it was only a few feet to travel from my body to the ceiling, but even so this was a stunning experience.
I have never felt so bifurcated in my life. As I continued to pray from the pulpit, I had the sensation that I was viewing me and everyone else from my perched position. Thoughts were flooding through my disembodied self. “Is this what the Apostle Paul meant when he said he had been to the seventh heaven?” “Am I reaching a new level of spiritual depth because I can now exit my body and look around even while I am praying below?” “Will these Southern Baptists fire me for having a Pentecostal experience?” As I contemplated all of this and more, I slowly felt myself descend back into my body. After saying a quick “amen” I stumbled off the platform and slunk into a chair, exhausted. Mystical encounters apparently are depleting to those privileged enough to experience them.
On the ride home that evening with KaKi, who was my fiancée at the time, I wrestled with what to say about my dramatic episode. Would she think I was mentally unhinged? Would she feel inferior because she couldn’t hover around the ceiling? I wasn’t sure, but my conscience compelled me to tell her about it. She had a right to know about the unusual spiritual abilities of her future husband.
She listened without interruption to my curious tale, but when I reached the conclusion of the story she blurted out, “Oh God, Jack, you weren’t having a mystical experience. Mrs. Vann had her heater on so high this morning that we were all light-headed. I almost passed out myself!”
Though her facts were incontrovertible, and I never again was able to float around during my public prayers, I still wonder if KaKi was just jealous.
Monday, April 26, 2010
A Different Life
I'm 45 and starting over. After 30 years of preaching, almost 20 years as a pastor, I have walked away from the only career I have known into a wilderness of the unknown. Is it scary? Hell yes. Do I lie awake at night wondering how this will all unfold? Absolutely. Do I have doubts about my decision? No.
Why did I do it? Why did I leave a church I love, and a group of people I admire, to launch out in this new direction? Because in a moment of complete clarity I knew that my life as a minister was over. No voice from heaven shouted it; no sudden sign accompanied it; just a deep knowing that I could not deny. So, now what?
I have started a pastoral counseling practice (therapy with an openness to faith questions) in Raleigh, North Carolina. When I decided to take off the clerical garb and become a normal person, I realized the one part of my life as a minister that I could not give up was counseling. It was the part of the job that never got old for me. So, I'm still doing it, just under a different title.
I'm also doing consulting work with churches and individual clergy. After two decades in ministry I have enormous respect for the women and men who serve congregations, and I care deeply about the health of local parishes. So, it's a natural fit. I may not be able to give myself to the church 24/7 any longer, but I want to support those who are still doing that vital work.
My blog will chronicle this transition in my life and hopefully provide interesting "takes" on issues where religion and the culture intersect. I look at things differently than many people with my background and I hope that difference will make for good reading. Vista Lateral is not only the name of this place, it is a way for me to be in the world.
Why did I do it? Why did I leave a church I love, and a group of people I admire, to launch out in this new direction? Because in a moment of complete clarity I knew that my life as a minister was over. No voice from heaven shouted it; no sudden sign accompanied it; just a deep knowing that I could not deny. So, now what?
I have started a pastoral counseling practice (therapy with an openness to faith questions) in Raleigh, North Carolina. When I decided to take off the clerical garb and become a normal person, I realized the one part of my life as a minister that I could not give up was counseling. It was the part of the job that never got old for me. So, I'm still doing it, just under a different title.
I'm also doing consulting work with churches and individual clergy. After two decades in ministry I have enormous respect for the women and men who serve congregations, and I care deeply about the health of local parishes. So, it's a natural fit. I may not be able to give myself to the church 24/7 any longer, but I want to support those who are still doing that vital work.
My blog will chronicle this transition in my life and hopefully provide interesting "takes" on issues where religion and the culture intersect. I look at things differently than many people with my background and I hope that difference will make for good reading. Vista Lateral is not only the name of this place, it is a way for me to be in the world.
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