“Arrows in the Quiver of God” or “Why We Shouldn't Let Sleeping Dogs Lie”
Sunday, January 16 2011 - isaiah, arrows, politics, dominant-discourse, conflict, listening, congress, i-corinthians
Rev. Leah Atkinson Bilinski; January 15-16, 2011; Scripture Texts: Isaiah 49:1-7 and I Corinthians 1:1-17
George and Jason were two second graders that couldn’t have seemed any more different. George was a blond-haired, spectacle-wearing, neat-as-a-pin kid who wanted to become the President of the United States someday. He came from a wealthy family where his parents were professionals in their fields of work. At the early age of eight, George was obsessed with good grades, raising his hand to answer questions faster than anyone else in class and using whatever latest big word he had learned at home. He was as left-brained as they come when it came to his work, and if he’d known to describe himself as such, I’m sure he would have done so in a way that made it seem as if being left-brained was all that mattered. Jason, on the other hand, was as right-brained as they come. A bright red-headed (no offense to red-heads), skinny kid whose appearance was usually askew in one way or another, one day he might be wearing a buttoned shirt where he hadn’t lined up the buttons correctly, another day, it might be a missing sock or hair that was combed in the front, but clearly “bed head” in the back. If you asked Jason what he wanted to be when he grew up (and you had to ask him to get him to look up from a fist usually full of crayons or colored pencils or markers), he’d tell you most clearly, that he wanted to be an artist. Then he’d return to whatever masterpiece he was currently working on. Jason was already an amazing artist for a second grader, and though he was usually introspective and quiet, he’d readily tell you – with excited eyes – all about whatever latest drawing or picture he had ready and waiting to pull out of his desk at the first mention of free time. Jason came from a home where his family had a few more problems than George’s (at least, a few more noticeable problems) and a lot less money. And though the presence or lack of money doesn’t necessarily or immediately correlate to whether a young student performs well academically, Jason – in all areas except art – did really struggle. He was as creative as creative can be, but math rarely made sense to him and he seemed unable to engage in group thought and work around science projects. And while he could tell you all sorts of wonderful stories, made up on the spot, he could barely write or read on his own. But perhaps most difficult to initial efforts of the school year to get him caught up, was Jason’s behavior. One minute, he could be the very sweet, introspective student lost in his artwork, and the next, he could be flying off the handle about any small thing that upset him. George and Jason couldn’t have seemed more different to observing eyes, except in that both of them were socially awkward in different ways, but blessedly unaware of it.
What they weren’t unaware of was that they did seem different from one another. And from the start of the year, I was challenged as their student teacher to keep a constant eye out for subtle, sly glances or faces made, quick kicks under the tables or in the hallway, and snippy comments exchanged when they thought no one was listening. No matter how many times they were called out and even punished for their behavior, no matter how many side talks I had with them about respect and treating others the way you want to be treated, no matter positive reinforcement and attention for good behavior or negative attention for bad, no matter a trip to the principal or a talk with parents, no matter how many times we separated them, no matter what, it looked as if George and Jason were destined to be life-long (or at least school-long) enemies. That is…until one day about three months into the school year.
I was on playground duty with the class that day when I noticed George come up behind Jason and whisper something to the back of his head, then Jason turn around and push George to the ground. I’d had enough. As the boys both cried and talked over one another in an effort to tell me their side of the story first, I stopped them short. “I want the two of you to go over to that picnic table over there,” I said, “sit down, and don’t get up until you can come back and share with me five things that you have in common. And they have to be unique or unusual! They can’t just be that you both have eyes or hair.” The boys looked at me a little funny, surprised I think that I wasn’t going to separate them, and then pouted their way over to the picnic table where they sat down with a harrumph, crossed their arms and looked away from one another. I just waited. After a few minutes, I watched as the desire to return to their recess overcame them, and they began to turn a bit more toward each other. Then their mouths began to open in short spurts, faces still scrunched up. Then a little bit more and their arms uncrossed. And then…they were at it – hard at work to come up with five things they had in common. It took them the rest of recess, but when they ran – yes, ran – up to me, they weren’t upset that recess time was almost over. They were excited. They were excited to tell me not only all the things they had in common but all they had learned about one another in the process toward finding their five things.
George and Jason never became the best of friends. But after that day, something did change in them. I believe it was their perspective, a perspective fed by compassion, a perspective widened to a degree that they no longer could accept a reality in which they recognized one another completely as other, a perspective broadened to the point that they no longer could perceive of one another without respect.
Sometimes, I wish our members of Congress would sit down at picnic tables with those across the political aisle from them and spend the good portion of a recess discovering their commonalities…and then excitedly sharing them with the American public. Perhaps it will happen as more and more of them agree to begin by sitting with one another at the State of the Union address. That would be a start. And it sure would be a change, wouldn’t it? This past month, in the wake of the shootings in Tucson, I was appalled at the dirt-flinging, blame game that so quickly commenced between people of various political persuasions in this country. But if we’re honest, we have to admit that even if we didn’t do any dirt-flinging ourselves, there was probably something that somebody said that ticked us off. And while there is no evidence that the murders were politically motivated, the kicking, pinching and pushing that took place in the halls of America over the first few days that followed (instead of shared hugs and joined hands) spoke loudly to the need for compassion and a sense of unity in this country. And you know to what else it spoke loudly? The fact that Christians haven’t done a substantial thing of late to bring about such unity. We’re too busy judging one another, arguing over our own differences, dividing over our differences, or avoiding talking about them all together in a way that may maintain our façade of unity, but leaves us without voice or credibility in speaking to the dominant discourse in this country as we should. And let us not be too quick, St. Peter’s, to think ourselves different. Let us not be too quick in patting ourselves on the back for being a church where members of several different political parties, and an untold number of different viewpoints on social, economic and religious matters, all “get along.” Any group of people can “get along” when they decide to keep their mouths shut in one another’s presence…or at least not venture beyond the range of safe conversation. But what kind of relationship does that leave us? I’ll tell you what kind; it leaves us a shallow relationship. It leaves us as a group of individuals (stress on “individuals”), who all happen to gather in the same place, rather than a true, melded group of individuals (stress on “group”), actively welcoming and embracing unity…in the midst of our diversity. And it leaves us without a light to the nations, especially this nation, where division reigns supreme and we have the freedom to speak to it…IF…we choose to build the credibility in our own midst necessary to do so with any kind of true, faith-centered power.
The Apostle Paul knew a little something about credible communities of faith, truly unified, as well as the false appearance of unity – particularly in his dealings with the Church at Corinth. This church knew how to argue with the worst of them. And I have to believe that they drove Paul absolutely bonkers with some of their arguments: “My God-given gifts are better than yours!” Retort: “No, mine are!” And on another topic of misunderstanding: “Your father will be resurrected.” Retort: “No, he won’t; he died before the End Time resurrection.” And yet another argument, that we hear in our passage for today: “My baptism gives me more credibility because I was baptized by Cephas!” Retort: “So what? I was baptized by Apollos!” Retort: “Well, I belong to Christ! Top that!” My New Interpreter’s Study Bible describes the Church at Corinth’s atmosphere accurately, I think: Their fractious tendency “expresses itself sometimes in boasting and haughtiness, or ‘being puffed up,’ other times in condescension and disdain, and yet other times in inconsideration and thoughtlessness…[but] Paul’s response to their divisiveness is striking: He continues to value the distinctiveness of each Corinthian; yet, he affirms a unity that incorporates that diversity.”[1]
“Well,” you might say, “isn’t it just better this way -- to avoid situations like the one at Corinth? We all know that we believe differently from one another here at St. Peter’s; isn’t that enough?” Well, I say, “no,” and here’s why. Because sooner or later, something…in the midst of some circumstance…is bound to touch us off about one another. And almost instinctively, we’ll want to start pinching, glaring, kicking and shoving – whether in subtle, behind-the-back ways or not-so-subtle ways. Human conflict is inevitable in the life of a community. We have no choice in the matter. The saying might be, “let sleeping dogs lie,” but we aren’t dogs and we aren’t called to lie-about as Christians. What we are called to do is to glorify God in our actions. That is a call that can be answered both in how we choose to respond when conflict arises AND in how we prepare towards that day. And a community of individuals who have sought to actively understand and embrace those in their church family who were previously other to them because of a diversity of opinions – such a community will have the tools and skills to endure the storms. They’ll have the tools and skills and VOICE because they have lived into the reality of their God-blessed diversity, and chosen to worship and break bread with one another anyway.
The world is in such desperate need of something different than the dominant cultural discourse of division. I’d give my right arm for that message to come from the Christian community. Others have given their lives. Others like Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., who reminded Christians that the church was not created to be “merely a thermometer” that records “the ideas and principles of popular opinion;” but “a thermostat” that transforms “the mores of society.”[2]
Currently, I am engaging in a training for a dialogue technique called “listening circles” and I am excited to bring this back to St. Peter’s. I’ll be more excited if some of you actually want to engage in a small group, listening circle meeting once a week. A group’s time together centers around one question, posed to every person of the group as their name is drawn from a basket. In my first training session, the question was “What experiences in your life have contributed to your understanding of success?” Once you’ve answered the question, you aren’t off the hook, free to day-dream for the rest of the time. You’re never off the hook, because for each person that answers, another person’s name is then drawn from a second basket, and that person must summarize and share what they heard the person saying (and your name card always goes back into the basket after you’ve answered, so you never know when you’ll have to again respond). The experience really makes you listen – in ways that can be intimidating at first, but very, very helpful. And the questions, while simple at first in the early life of the group, are all designed to help the group gain good, unity-building perspective into who each person is and why he/she believes the way they do. I am quickly coming to love this technique as a small group experience. I am quickly coming to love it because I recognize the potential in this technique to help ease churches from our states of comfort, content to be a bunch of sleeping dogs left to lie…to a state of transformation, true to the vision of God and the walk of Christ in the world.
It begins with each of us, sitting down at the picnic table with one another and coming to really, truly, deepen our understanding of one another. It begins with each of us, sitting down at the picnic table with one another and really – perhaps for the first time in a long time for some of us – listening to one another. It begins with compassion and a dedication of each of us to be…an arrow in the quiver of God.
Ah, so we finally get around to the sermon title, you might be thinking. And you may be wondering why it appears that I have chosen a warfare image to which to compare us and close this sermon -- an image of us as arrows in the quiver of God. Well, I didn’t. You see, if you were to sit down at a picnic table with a Jewish scholar and engage in a listening exercise with him or her, one of the things that you would learn in a discussion over Isaiah 49 is that the word “torah,” which refers, in various usages, to either the first five books of the Bible, all sacred Jewish writings or in general, God’s teachings and instruction – that the word, “torah” comes from the root verb, YRH/“<yarah>,” which is an ancient archery term, meaning to shoot an arrow in a straight line, straight to its mark. So in a biblical sense, to the ear of a Hebrew speaker, the word “torah,” with its archery overtone, would have been heard (and is heard) as teachings from God on living a life (straight and) true to God’s intentions, guiding one to hit the mark. Incidentally, the Hebrew word most commonly translated as sin can also be translated as “missing the mark” or missing the “bull’s eye.”[3] Those understandings threw this image – an image of us as arrows in the quiver of God – into a whole new light for me. How quick we are to accept and assume that our roles within conflict should be or only have the potential to be roles that hurt or harm, rather than roles that -- positively -- take aim at God’s will, find strength in that mighty hand, and fly true to the mark of the Kingdom of God on earth, shown us in the life and teachings of Jesus.
May we as St. Peter’s Church make the effort and take the time necessary to back up and, with the help of those we may term other, see and understand (and participate in) a more beautiful and whole picture. Amen.
