June 13, 2010

Clay Nelson

Pentecost 3     Luke 7:36-8:3

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Alone in my office, the blank screen taunted me, daring me to begin my sermon on the story of Simon, the righteous Pharisee, and the woman of ill repute. Waiting for inspiration I saw him tentatively coming down the hall towards my door.

“Is this a Catholic Church?” he asked.

“No,” I replied, “Anglican. Can I help you?” 

“I’m Catholic, perhaps I should go see a Catholic priest?” 

“Well, there is a Catholic Church just a short walk from here.”

“I need to make my confession.”

“Anglican’s do confession, I’m happy to listen.”

“Well, I guess one man of God is like another,” he suggests more as a question.

Seriously doubting that, I remain silent. He closes the door and sits. Erect. Tense.

Long silence. I break it.

“Are you an American?”

“Yes, sir.”

A Marine?”

“Yes, sir. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess. Once served a church near a marine base. Are you on R & R from Afghanistan?”

“Yes, sir. Second tour. Did three tours in Iraq. Libya and Kosovo before that”

“How long have you been in?”

“Since I was 17, sir.”

More silence.

“What would you like to get off your chest?”

And so the next hour began. The specifics of the conversation are important only to the God within, between and beyond he and I. Some of this story has been altered to protect his identity, because this is about everyone not him. I share it because it sheds new light for me on today’s Gospel.

Simon and the woman are usually discussed as two separate entities – one righteous; one unacceptable. Simon holds himself to a higher standard than the rest of society. There are rules to be followed. He is proud of his righteous relationship with God. He knows he is not a bad person. He keeps himself pure and undefiled, as the biblical code requires. The woman, on the other hand, is overwhelmed by her failings. She is painfully aware of how others view her and how she views herself. But as my conversation with the marine progressed I began to wonder if the story is really about two separate people.

After he had been unloading for a while what was bothering him in ever more honest bits, the Marine suddenly asked, “Do I seem normal to you. I mean do I sound crazy, sir?” 

At that moment he tried to snatch a fly out of the air that I couldn’t see. I said, “If there really is a fly you are trying to catch, no. You seem sane. Why do you ask?”

“It is like there are two people inside me, sir?”

As we explored what he meant it became clear there really were two people inside him. Not in a pathological way, but two nonetheless. There was the Marine trained to hold himself to a higher standard of honour. It required toughness, both mental and physical. Any sign of weakness was a source of shame and in some situations life threatening. Letting feelings get in the way of one’s duty is unacceptable. Marines don’t hug or cry. A Marine does not belong to himself. He belongs to “The Corps” upon which his survival depends. Being part of “The Corps” means being always faithful to it. It is what Semper Fi, the Marine motto means. He was proud of the Marine in him. It set him apart. He was as the recruitment ads say, one of the few, the proud.

But the other person in him shamed him. This person he was afraid of. He had needs. He had regrets. He ached. This person felt alone and cut off. This person could not ever show himself in the platoon. This person longed for connection yet feared it. This person felt inadequate to relate to anyone outside the Corps, even, if not especially, God. This person hated that the marine in him remained on high alert even walking down Queen Street, looking for the next threat.

This person wanted to share his feelings with a chaplain at the front. The marine in him knew that was impossible. His platoon would learn about it and no longer trust him. The marine hated that this person had to come to New Zealand to talk to someone and had to have a few drinks for the courage to do even that.

This young man was a gift to today’s preacher. He revealed to me that there is a part of each of us who, like the marine and Simon the Pharisee, relishes being among the few, the proud. We have values and beliefs that define who we are and to whom we belong and against which to measure ourselves. Every group within every stratum of society has a code of conduct to which members expect others within their group and themselves to live up to. It sets us apart. Belonging gives us the illusion of self-reliance and purpose and meaning. It tells others in the group that they can rely on us. It helps us make sense of the world and our place in it. 

While it has its purpose the Pharisee in us does create problems for us. The righteousness of the Pharisee cuts us off from others or encourages rejecting others who do not follow our code. This is a particularly difficult problem when the other is a part of who we are as well. Here is a case in point:

On Pentecost Sunday while ironically attending a conference in the U.S. entitled “Building Bridges,” the Archbishop of Canterbury sent out a “Pastoral Letter” condemning the American Church for not observing the moratorium on ordaining gays and lesbians with their consecration of Mary Glasspool, a lesbian, as a bishop in Los Angeles. He further warned Canada not to continue public blessings of same sex unions. He based this not on a biblical code but on a proposed covenant being debated throughout the Anglican Communion that in a very unAnglican way gives the Pharisee in our collective selves the power to decide who is pure enough to be fully a part of the Communion. Then to make clear who will be kicked out should the Covenant be approved, he proceeded to kick American and Canadian representatives off committees under his control.

Anglicans have historically rejected the Pharisee’s approach to keeping the Communion together in favour of having bonds of affection. But in the eyes of some this was permitting the Communion to become impure by the full inclusion of gays and lesbians into the life of the church. It seems that the Archbishop has decided that everyone in the entire Anglican Communion must agree to be loving and just before any of its parts can be loving and just.

That is only a decision the righteous Pharisee in us as a church could make. Sadly it puts us on a road that trades purity for love. Perhaps we do so because the Pharisee has little need for forgiveness if the code has been followed. Yet as Jesus points out in his parable, if we do not need forgiveness, we love little.

It is for this reason the church, Simon, the marine, and the Pharisee within all of us need forgiveness, not because of our moral failings. Loving so little is our unrighteousness.

We need to listen to the woman of ill repute within us. The one rejected and oppressed by our righteous selves. The one who knows the power of love to make whole. The one who has the strength to be vulnerable. Who is willing to embrace forgiveness and respond to the fullness of love in kind.

When the young man began talking about the woman of ill repute within him, the one whom the Marine judged harshly, I handed him the tissue box before the first tear fell. As he went through the tissues one after another he asked how I knew he’d need them. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried. “Lucky guess,” I said. Before he left I asked if he wanted absolution. He didn’t say anything, he just got up and rushed to my side of the desk and knelt at my feet, tears streaming down his face. I pronounced absolution, “God never condemns you but God forgives you for condemning yourself. God’s love is there for you no matter how little you think you need it. Accept its embrace.”

As he left the Marine who doesn’t hug or cry, embraced me in a bear hug that may have cracked a rib.