Seeing the Other

Well, today was the big day - preaching in chapel. I think it went well. Actually, I enjoyed preaching! I figured I'd post it here. It's a little more on the academic side (still figuring out the process of shifting from exegesis to sermon). Favorite moment afterwards: my OT professor said, "I feel like a proud mom." :o)

Genesis 21:8-21

It was June of last year. After 48 hours of being awake, half of which were spent on an airplane, I found myself in Johannesburg, South Africa, my home for the next two months. My reason for visiting – to volunteer at a daycare centre for underprivileged children at Troyeville Baptist Church. The pastor drove me to the church, where I met Nomalanga and her two children. I learned that I would be living on the church compound in a small house with them. There I was, a small town girl who had never been overseas before and with no idea what I was getting into. Now Nomalanga was a woman with a commanding presence, and a strict set of rules for the children she worked with at the centre. And She would yell at the children in rapid-fire Zulu. And even though I didn’t speak the language, I knew it wasn’t good news for them, and I would sit up just a little straighter to make sure that same speech wasn’t directed towards me. Honestly, I was a bit afraid of her, and wasn’t sure how we would live together. But over time, as we shared our living space and developed a friendship, I began to see the light she had in her. I heard the story of her past, and marveled at the strength she showed. I saw the love that she had for the children and for her church, and her dedication to the people around her. Some nights we would share stories about the children and laugh so hard that we could barely get the words out. Other nights we would watch TV in Zulu and she would explain them to me to make sure I was included. Sometimes, she would even cook for me. Those were good days. One night towards the end of my stay, I gave her a book that I had brought with me, to thank her for everything she had done. She replied, “You have been so humble. I didn't know what you would be like living here. I thought you might come in thinking you were better than everyone else, and wouldn't even sit next to us. But you proved me wrong.”

At that moment, my heart broke, not because I felt insulted, but because of her previous experiences that had caused her to have that expectation. And I felt guilty as well, remembering my initial judgment of her. Just as my first impression of her had been uncertain, so had been hers of me. I was a white American (therefore wealthy by most standards), and she was a poor black South African. Two women from two different worlds, encountering “the other.”

Psychologically, we have a need to label people as “the other.” It’s a part of how we define ourselves. I am this; I am not that. While sometimes this does not mean subjugation, more frequently we have the tendency to establish the other as inferior. Virginia Tech is a better school than UVA. Macs are better than PCs. Or how about that eternal schoolyard chant – my dad is bigger /smarter/ stronger /fill in the blank than your dad. And while these are all harmless rivalries, it becomes serious when they are carried out to an extreme. Suddenly walls are built; relationships are severed; and the seeds of oppression are sown. What is worse is when those divisions are built upon qualities such as nationality or socioeconomic status.

This brings us to our story today – the story of Hagar, the quintessential outsider. Who exactly is Hagar? She is first introduced in Genesis 16 as an Egyptian woman. She is not a part of the “chosen family,” but merely a servant. Even her name reflects her status: “ha-gur” in Hebrew means “the foreigner.” The other. Although she does become Abraham’s wife and bears him a son, Ishmael, they still remain outside the covenant which God made with Abraham. Yet, she is given two whole chapters in Genesis which tell her story. Why give her space in the text unless there is some significance? A closer look at the second part of her story in chapter 21 gives some insight into how God views the “outsider,” and consequently, how we should also treat those who are different or separate.

Our story in chapter 21 begins with a celebration. Isaac has made it to the age of being weaned from his mother. In a time where infant mortality ran high, reaching this age was incredibly significant, for it meant that Isaac would most likely be Abraham’s heir. Truly this is a great time within the household. However, things change dramatically when Sarah sees Ishmael, the son of Hagar, playing with Isaac. Scholars have interpreted this verse several ways. Some say that Sarah becomes jealous, seeing Ishmael so close to her own son. Others say that Ishmael actually is teasing or tormenting the young heir. Regardless of the action that takes place, Sarah decides that Ishmael should no longer be around, for fear that he may receive part of Isaac’s inheritance. However, her word choice in the demand is interesting. Sarah neither speaks directly to Hagar nor says her name, referring to her as her servant-woman. Essentially, Sarah has refused to acknowledge Hagar’s identity, treating her as a possession.

But Abraham does not automatically obey Sarah’s demands. Verse eleven indicates that Abraham had made a connection with his son, Ishmael, despite the fact that he is not chosen for the covenant with God. Like any father, he does not want to send his son away, out into a wilderness where anything could happen. However, missing from his expression of concern is Hagar, the mother of the boy. Though his biological son does have meaning to him, what about his second wife? Fortunately, God does not overlook Hagar, and the response Abraham receives indicates that both will be cared for. And so, the woman and son are sent on their way with limited rations, to wander in the wilderness.

Out in the desert, Hagar has nowhere to turn, and sees no chance of survival for herself and her son. The text doesn’t indicate how long they wander. A few hours? A few days? All we know is, they’re in the middle of a desert and run out of water. Things do not look good, and Hagar fears the worst. So she separates herself from her son, because she cannot stand to hear his cries and watch him suffer. The text tells us that she puts about a bowshot’s distance between them so she can’t see him die. I’m not an archery expert, but I’m thinking that in some situations, visibility can extend beyond a bowshot. This is not an act of desertion to increase her own chances of survival; this is an act of love from a mother who cannot stand to see her child suffer and die. And yet, she cannot completely remove herself from him, keeping him within a certain visibility range. I cannot even begin to imagine the anguish and utter helplessness that Hagar felt at that moment. She is a foreigner, cast out from the home of Abraham, with no where to go and no one to help her, and at risk of losing her only son. A refugee in the wilderness.

But just as promised, God hears the cries of Ishmael. A fitting act, since Ishmael’s name means “God hears.” However, God speaks not to the boy, but to Hagar. When Abraham and Sarah fail to even address her by name, God calls her directly, both showing concern for her situation and instructing her not to fear. The conversation then goes on as God describes the nation which Ishmael will father. They will not just survive; they will prosper. Moreover, God does not just offer them a promise; water is provided, as Hagar opens her eyes and sees a well. Perhaps it was there all the time, or perhaps it miraculously appeared. Regardless, God provides for them, proof that “neither Hagar nor Ishmael are beyond the mercy of God” (Word Commentary 88).

Something you don’t see in the English text is that several of the Hebrew words used within this story are repeated in the story of the Israelites’ exodus from Egypt. And just as Hagar wanders in the desert and God provides water, so the same later happens for the Israelites. The only difference is this: the Israelites are chosen, and Hagar is a foreigner. In fact, she was expelled by the mother of the Israelite nation. Still, God’s attention to this one slave woman connected with the care for the entire Israelite nation reflects God’s love of and care for every individual, regardless of their insider or outsider status. God did not choose Israel “to keep everyone else out of God’s fold; Israel was chosen to make it possible for everyone else eventually to be included” (Spina 6). And despite Sarah’s efforts to exclude the foreigner, Hagar and Ishmael receive their own provision and promise of blessing.

On the one hand, this is a story of liberation. Hagar and Ishmael are saved, and are guaranteed survival for their family. Hagar even rises to take control of and responsibility for her son, as she selects a wife for him, a job normally for the father. The previous abuse of Sarah and the despair of the desert are over. And at times, we like to align ourselves with Hagar, because who hasn’t felt abandoned and abused by others on some level, longing for liberation?

But if we solely align ourselves with Hagar, we miss a crucial part of the story. What if, instead, we look for commonalities between ourselves and Sarah? Sarah is the one who mistreats Hagar, using her for a potential heir for Abraham then turning her away when Isaac takes his place as the true heir. With no regard for her welfare, she demands that Hagar must be gone. Never mind that she has no where else to go. Never mind that she has no resources on her own. She must leave, end of story.

Now, I am sure that few of us have literally thrown people out of our homes. But what people have we refused to recognize? What populations have flown under our radar? What nations have suffered because of our desire to capitalize on their resources?

In short, who are the Hagars of our world? Who has been displaced, excluded, and shut out? Each has their own story, their own wilderness, their own heartbreak. Hagar is the refugee and her family from Sudan, choosing poverty in another nation over the violence in their own. Hagar is the homeless man suffering from mental illness with no money or means to stabilize his condition. Hagar is the woman whose home was wiped out by Katrina and cannot afford to rebuild. Hagar is the man disowned by his family, friends, and church because of his lifestyle. Hagar is the woman dying from AIDS, with no one to care for her. The list goes on and on, in a world full of suffering people in need of liberation from poverty, disease, abuse, and loneliness. The Hagars of our world are not confined to a particular racial or economic group. They are everywhere.

And yes, we can claim the role of God as liberator in their lives. The story of Hagar is proof that God does see and hear those who are “outside.” And that is a powerful message in and of itself. But we must be careful not to neglect our own responsibility in these stories. Though we may not have directly caused many of the situations and circumstances that leave people impoverished, neglected, and/or alone, we perpetuate the cycle by our inability to see and name the Hagars. And until we see them as people, brothers and sisters, with names and faces and stories, we can never reach out to them in their wildernesses and help them in their struggle. By simply labeling the Hagars of the world as “the others,” we can continue to keep them at arm’s length, withholding the dignity they deserve and the help they so desperately need.

Thinking back to my time in South Africa, all the women I worked with probably shared Nomalanga’s initial fears of me. To them, I was a nameless white woman; to me, they were nameless black women. But what was it that changed their minds, and my own? All we did was eat together. Watch TV together. Joke together. Drink tea together. Read the Bible together. Nothing earth-shattering, nothing out of the ordinary. We chose to drop our walls and stereotypes and let the other in. And our ministry to each other became genuine, heartfelt. We couldn’t solve the problems of their community, the daily struggles and economic hardships that created a wilderness of their own. But we could offer ourselves as support to each other, building relationships that crossed boundaries and crushed stereotypes. And suddenly, the “other” turned into “sister.” The faceless women turned into friends with names and stories and vivid lives, because we chose to see and hear each other for who we were. And we were changed.

I forget about "the bubble"

We had our spring lecture series at my seminary this week. Jonathan Wilson-Hargrave and Ann Atwater shared the platform as they discussed issues of race and church. (How appropriate, considering recent events that have made headlines). It's led to some good discussions among people about race and our faith, the need for conversations and reconciliations across the color lines. It's been a topic that I have been thinking about for a while, so it's nice to talk with others who share that line of thinking.

Then I went to my hometown to get my hair cut. (Note: my hometown is...Southern. And conservative). I love my hairdresser; she's a sweet woman from the church I grew up in. Well, she asked me what I thought about all this presidential stuff. In my head, I thought, "Crap." I talked about how it's a shame all these things are making headlines and that the candidates are picking on each other. She managed to work the Obama/Wright issue into the conversation. Apparently, his choice to attend that church is a bad decision, and makes her doubt that he can make good choices for our country. She also doesn't realize why "they" always want to talk about slavery, because she didn't have anything to do with it, and "they" have it good now.

The discussions reminded me that not everyone thinks the way that I do, sees the same things that I do. I (gently) tried to share how I thought the conversations about race are important, because the issues have never been addressed publicly. I don't know if she ever agreed with me, but she was respectful of my opinion.

That's the thing about the seminary bubble. I can have good conversations with people who think like me, but what about out there, in the churches? Chances are good that there will be people who don't think like me. I can't vilify or trash-talk them, because they, too, are worthy of respect and love. As my own beliefs and opinions are changing, how do I effectively live them out while still embracing those who may not agree with me?

This is one of those things I can't take a class on. It comes from interacting with the more conservative people in my classes; from having conversations like the one with my hairdresser; from learning maturity in how to deal with these issues with grace. And it's flat out annoying and awkward at times...but it is necessary.

Poverty and family in Deuteronomy 15:1-11

We live in a world of economic inequality. People everywhere are divided by class, with the gap between the world’s rich and the world’s poor growing larger by the day. While a small minority hold much of the world’s wealth, a great majority of individuals are caught within the cycles of impoverishment and its ramifications. The question remains: are we as the church to do anything about this problem? From a biblical standpoint, the answer is yes. The teachings of Jesus favor the poor and oppressed, but those teachings are not unique to the New Testament. Indeed, the basis behind many policies regarding social justice have their roots in Old Testament law. A closer look at one such policy toward the needy neighbor outlined in Deuteronomy 15:1-11 reveals both God’s desire to lift up and restore dignity to the poor and the role that we as the church are to play in those actions.

Deuteronomy 15 begins with the radical call for a Sabbatical year regarding the cancelling of debts. According to this legislation, the Israelites were to wipe out all debts every seven years (Deut. 15:1). But where did this law come from? After years of wandering, Israel had settled as a growing nation-state, and with that transition came a new economic situation that developed poor and wealthy aspects of society.[1] The poor individuals and families did not always have a choice in their status, though. In an economy largely based upon agriculture, many uncontrollable variables could ruin or destroy a harvest, sending a family into poverty.[2] As a result, loans and debts became a new practice for impoverished families to survive; however, with it came the beginning of more solidified social classes and increased feelings of superiority and inferiority between them.

The underlying themes of brotherhood in Deuteronomy make it clear that the institution of economic distinctions between peoples was never God’s intent. We were not created to become rich or poor, but simply to be the people of God. Thus, God commanded the principle of the Sabbatical year in Deuteronomy 15 to help remedy the disparity. As Water Bruggeman says, the ritual of debt cancellation was “an extraordinary requirement to assure that there should be no permanent underclass in the neighborhood, no enduringly disadvantaged people.”[3] With their debts remitted, these families one again could fully participate in normal community life, restoring their dignity within the community.[4] Of course, the universal release was never a one-time occurrence, as money and power create vicious cycles of debt that must continually be broken.[5] The repetitive nature helped keep the economy in check, for it was never intended to control society as a whole, oppressing the lives of individuals caught in unfortunate situations.[6]

Unfortunately, little evidence suggests that the principle of the Sabbatical year actually became a regular practice in Israel. Many scholars say that the law is so theoretical that it must have been impossible to implement as an universal practice.[7] However, does that mean texts like Deuteronomy 15 should be disregarded in our modern world? Absolutely not. The collection of laws in the Old Testament offer poignant theological commentary about the nature of God and the Israelite’s relationship with both God and each other.[8] Though the exact practice may be unworkable, the spirit of the law is one we can and should claim in our lives today when considering the poor both here and abroad.

The basis behind the Sabbatical year is more than pure economics. The text of Deuteronomy 15 commands each Israelite to assist his neighbor, thus extending what is typically a familial responsibility to encompass the entire community. John Rogerson calls this a “brother-ethic,” where the Israelites were to look beyond their tribal lines and view each person as a part of their larger family.[9] Thus, each person was obligated to help those in the community who were in need, offering protection for the least in the nation. The familial perspective also increases the dignity of the poor, as they are seen as kin in need of help rather than strangers with a financial problem. Such a perspective mandates a more generous attitude, for who does not want to help a family member? Moreover, the text emphasizes that God gave the Israelites their land, so in response to that blessing they had a responsibility to help their neighbor.[10] Directly tied to that possession is additional blessings in the land, though with the caveat that blessings come “if only [they] will obey the Lord [their] God by diligently observing this entire commandment” (Deut. 15:5). As a result, the law sets up the concept that blessing is not for the sake of the individual, but comes with the responsibility to help others.

Of course, the writers of Deuteronomy knew that the law of the Sabbatical year would not be enough by itself. Verses 7-11 take the concept further, warning some creditors who might reject requests for loans as Sabbatical years come closer, knowing that those loans have the least chance of being repaid before the time of remission. Here, the text warns to give generously, “whatever it may be,” regardless of the timing of the request. What is more, the writers emphasize the mental state of the creditor, condemning one who is “hard-hearted,” “tight-fisted,” and “entertain[ing] a mean thought” toward a brother or sister in need (Deut. 15:7, 9). Begrudgement both cheapens the act of aid and belittles the needy neighbor, implying that he is not worth the effort. On the contrary, the rejection of this resentful attitude reflects that God values the poor equally as much as the wealthy. Giving to the poor is not a strict law to be carried out, but an act of love for one’s neighbor.

Though some creditors might have looked at lending situations solely through the perspective of what they might get out of it, the text denies that thought process. The original intent of lending, at least according to Deuteronomy, was less as a business transaction and more as an act of aid for a neighbor.[11 Thus, legislation such as this was “a demand that the Israelite be ready to relinquish something which, for whatever reason, he may feel inclined to take or keep for himself, perhaps even justified in doing so.”[12] Living within a familial perspective takes away the right to withhold individual blessings from others, using them instead as a way to ease the burden for a neighbor, without the expectation that we will be repaid. Through this lens, the debtor’s identity is elevated from one who owes money to a brother or sister in need, for “all our society’s members have the right to be human.”[13 Again, the relationship of the debtor and the creditor is emphasized beyond a mere business acquaintance to a fellow human being and family member.

If we are to follow Deuteronomy 15 today, who, then, is our neighbor? The text implies that neighborliness for the ancient Israelites extended only to fellow Israelites, as it makes a distinction from lending to foreigners (Deut. 15:3). But how do we translate this ancient policy of loyalty into our world? In one sense, we can look to the church community as our family, a valid application of the principle of the Sabbatical. Within the body of Christ, we are called to support each other and lift each other up when difficult times arise, both spiritually and economically. But does the love of God, and consequently, our attention, also go beyond the walls of the church? Our brothers and sisters are not just those who sit within our own congregations, but are within our larger community of the county, the state, the nation, and even the world. And though slavery in the ancient sense is much less widespread (though sadly not completely extinct), countless individuals, families, and governments find themselves bound to others with oppressive debts or in difficult situations that are impossible to remedy alone. Our sister is the cancer patient with no health insurance, struggling under huge financial debt while fighting to stay alive. Our brother is the homeless man suffering from mental illness with no money or means to stabilize his condition. Our sister is the single mother in Africa who has been forced into prostitution so she can feed her family. Our brother is the man whose home was wiped out by Katrina and still has not been able to rebuild. The list goes on and on, in a world full of broken people trapped in cycles of poverty and destitution. These members of our family need not just a way out of their situations, but the restoration of their personal dignity and respect as our brothers and sisters.

To one individual, the list of needy neighbors is daunting. How can one person help all these people? Logically, no man or woman can singlehandedly bring an end to the widespread poverty even in our immediate surroundings. We alone do not have the power or ability to call an end to all debts, nor will our society today even entertain such a thought. This is where we must reclaim the concept of the church as a familial community, much as the Israelites did. Though one person can do a few things to ease symptoms of poverty, it is the wider neighborhood of believers that has a greater ability to help others. We as the church hope for the day that there “be no one in need among [us],” but we still must acknowledge and act upon the fact that “there will never cease to be some in need on the earth.” Together as the body of Christ, let us reach out to the homeless, the hungry, the sick, and the hurting, both within our community and outside it. As Deuteronomy’s law says, we must open our hands in love and generosity to the poor and impoverished, granting them the respect they are worthy of and the assistance that they need, for they are our brothers and sisters.

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[1] R. Clements, “Deuteronomy,” NIB 2:404.

[2] Hoppe, There Shall Be No Poor Among You: Poverty in the Bible (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2004), 26.

[3] Walter Bruggeman, The Covenanted Self: Explorations in Law and Covenant (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1999), 80.

[4] Clements, “Deuteronomy,” 2:405.

[5] Bruggeman, The Covenanted Self, 80.

[6] Clements, “Deuteronomy,” 2:404.

[7] Clements, “Deuteronomy,” 2:404.

[8] John Rogerson, Theory and Practice in Old Testament Ethics (London: T&T Clark International, 2004), 26.

[9] Rogerson, Theory and Practice in Old Testament Ethics, 25.

[10] J.G. McConville, Law and Theology in Deuteronomy (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1984), 12.

[11] Hoppe, There Shall Be No Poor Among You, 30.

[12] McConville, Law and Theology in Deuteronomy, 15-6.

[13] D. Christensen, “Deuteronomy” Word Bible Commentary 6a:322

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a bit of idealism

So an issue that has become more and more important to me is the treatment of the poor. Lack of healthcare, lack of a good system for those suffering from mental illness, hunger, homelessness, the foster care system...all worthy causes that need more attention. I'm interested in what the candidates have to say about them, about what they will do if elected.

But here's the rub: these candidates are spending millions of dollars to tell us what they want to do for the poor (among other issues).

What if they took that money and just directly applied it to causes and organizations that worked to alleviate poverty and injustice? Talk about your campaign reform...it would be a campaign revolution.

But then again...we've set up this system where in order to be heard in the political realm, you have to have money. So millions of dollars are funneled into flyers, commercials, events, etc., while people are sleeping on the street and wondering where their next meal will come from. And even though promises are made on the campaign trail, with the way our political system functions there is no guarantee those statements will come true.

Sometimes, I really don't like America.

kids say the darndest things...

For the month of March, I'm doing an international emphasis with my kids, talking about different cultures and helping them to get a little more of a global perspective. Last night, I taught them about South Africa. (It feels like it was so long ago...and yet like it was yesterday...). We were looking at some of my pictures, which they enjoyed. Of course, one decided to point out that I was skinnier in the pictures than I am now. Thank you for that, kid...good thing I have a decent body image...

Anyway, I showed them one I have of a black boy playing with broken toys. I pointed out that the toys were broken, and that there are some poor people over there (just as there are poor people everywhere). One of the kids then asked, "Why are they poor?"

Good question.

I think I answered in that moment with some brief, sterilized, kid-friendly version of how apartheid created this class separation and it's hard to make things completely equal again when they didn't get the same education and opportunities for so long. (Is it wrong to tell kids about apartheid? I don't think so, if it's addressed the right way and emphasized how WRONG it is.)

But really, on a larger scale...why are there poor people? I can come to some sort of explanation of how it came to be (from where I stand right now, we live in a world marred by sin that has messed with the entire system of creation, causing inequalities and injustices everywhere). But that doesn't fully satisfy the question for me. Because it's not fair. It's not right. Yet what do we do about it? What should we do about it? The system is so broken...how do we redeem it? Or is it beyond redemption?

Of course, I say all this as I sit in my own apartment, typing on my laptop, enjoying electricity and food and a safe neighborhood. Though here I am the "poor seminary student," in most parts of the world I am rich by comparison. What I spent on lunch today could feed some families in other parts of the world for a week. That sure puts things into perspective...

when wilt thou save the people...

I'm currently in the middle of rehearsals for Godspell, put on by my seminary. It's been a fun yet exhausting experience so far, especially for a theatre novice like myself.

The cool thing about our production is that we're doing it from the perspective of the homeless, a "rag-tag" version you might say. And it's a powerful version, where these nameless faces come together as a community, forever changed by God incarnate who lived and died among them. I'm still working on completely taking on the homeless persona and the back story that I've created for my character...that will take some time.

But my attitude towards the homeless I see around me has changed. After SA, I felt more compassion for those that I saw on the street, and could no longer ignore them. Now, I feel a sort of kinship with them. There is one woman in particular who always stands by a corner on my way home from work in the afternoon. I don't know her story, and I've never given her anything, but I make a point to try and look her in the eye and smile. A smile which she returns. I can't give her money or food (well, maybe I should), but I want to give her the respect she deserves as a person. As a child of God.

I don't know how to help these people. I don't know how to ease their pain or offer them a hand up. There is so much I don't understand about our society, about how people can just fall through the cracks like that. And how they can be treated so badly by others.

What is the answer?

When wilt thou save the people
Oh God of mercy, when?
The people, Lord, the people
Not thrones and crowns, but men
God save the people (save us)
For thine they are
Thy children as thy angels fair
God save the people from despair
God save the people...