Month: August 2016

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Criminals All

Two others, who were criminals, were led away to be put to death with him.  Luke 23:32

“Up! It’s your time!”

Their names are unknown to us: One and Two.  Left and Right.  As we meet them, they’ve known for some time that the day was coming but they weren’t sure when—like all of us.

They’ve lived their lives in a haze, yelling from the very first hour: give me food!  Give me warmth!  Give me shelter, give me love!  Give me that shiny thing, and this tasty thing, and that thrilling thing, and this intoxicating thing that will make me lose consciousness for a while so I’ll forget how unsatisfied I am (like all of us).

Unwilling to make do with that they had, they became thieves; interlopers, snatching bright moments from the dull days, decking their lives with desperate finery.  They bargained with the time but time always wins; sooner came before later, and they were caught.

Like all of us.

“Up!  It’s your time!”

Pulled from a filthy cell, loaded down with heavy cross-pieces, they are herded like cattle to the Walk of the Damned.  Terror blinds them; only gradually do they perceive the splatters of blood on the path before them.  And then the crowds: Dear people, is all this acclaim for us?  No, couldn’t be: there’s another poor wretch ahead of them, who’s doing all the bleeding and attracting all the noise.  And what noise!  Wails of sorrow, mocking jeers, furious catcalls packed into a multi-legged clamor, punctuated by stings of a whip applied to make them move faster.

Is there no escape?  No way out?  They’re moving down a hollow tube with iron walls and no joints—no vulnerable places that can be exploited.  Life—once full of possibilities and angles and gaps, pleasure and pain, light and dark—now hardens, funneling them down to a single point they cannot see beyond.

As for all of us.thief

Down the road, through the gate, up a long, tortuous hill, the splintery crosspiece bearing down with every step. Still, they’d gladly keep walking forever—or even more gladly pull someone from the screeching throng to take their place  That scribe over there, his face so buckled you would have thought he was passing bricks, screaming his rage.  That smug-looking Pharisee or his grim-faced pal.  Any one of the contemptible Romans: illiterate peasants most of them, of no higher birth than a Jewish thief, who nonetheless lord over them every chance they got.  Even that wailing woman there, or the wide-eyed boy—pull one of those out of the mob, put this hunk of lumber on their back, and I’ll not protest.

Might feel guilty tomorrow of course, but there will always be another skin of wine and another willing woman to help me forget.

“Halt!”

Not today, though.

Rough hands throw the crosspiece on the ground, drag the two men aside and strip off their clothes.  A guard sizes up those pathetic garments with a calculating eye, deciding if he wants to gamble for them.  Though they know they’ll soon be beyond it, shame stabs each of the condemned as they stand exposed before the crowd.  They’ve been observers at scenes like this, and well know the kind of jokes and jibes passing among the ranks right now.

The crosses are being nailed together.  The two thieves, pathetically trying to cover their private parts with unbound hands, become aware of the third condemned man.  He too is naked except for a grotesque garnish—a circle of spiky thorns pressed down on his head.  The soldiers are calling him King of the Jews.  The thorns are supposed to be a crown—their idea of satirical wit.  The two thieves realize, at about the same time, who this is: Jesus of Nazareth.  They’ve heard of him—who hasn’t?  And what Jew, however impious, didn’t harbor some hope, however sketchy, that this was the one: Messiah.

The screaming mob now surrounding Skull Hill must have had the same hope—what else could explain their rage?  In the last moment before the hammer falls, when they are seized and stretched out, when extra hands are called to hold down their twitching bodies, they feel it too: absolute rage, consuming fury.  Like a child of wrath, foolish, disobedient, malicious, envious, full of hatred for themselves, for others, for God,

Like all of us—

Screams rip the bland blue sky.

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Daughters of Jerusalem

And as they led him away, they seized one Simon of Cyrene, wo was coming in from the country, and laid on him the cross, to carry it behind Jesus.  And there followed him a great multitude of the people and of women who were mourning and lamenting for him.  Luke 23:26-27

He’s on the road again, still followed by “a multitude,” but this time with a cross on his back, staggering under the weight and bleeding from a thousand cuts.  Like a crushed dog crawling along the path, like a mangle bird, like a worm—something you turn away from and try to erase from your mind.  Even if there were no crowd, the women track him easily by the blood splashed along the way.  So much blood!  And when they reach him, he has collapsed under the weight of the heavy crosspiece.

carrying cross

There is shouting—jeering, weeping—the Roman soldiers in charge of the execution have called out an unsuspecting countryman to carry it behind the condemned man.  It’s not kindness; they just want to be over and done with it.  It’s some distance to go before Skull Hill, where executions take place, and  there needs to be enough left of the prisoner to nail up when they get there.  The clueless countryman, whose name is Simon, looks terrified.  He was on his way to the temple before the crowd swept over him—why did these alien soldiers single him out?  He barely understands their pidgin Aramaic—for all he knows, he may be headed for his own execution.

Everything the Master said about being turned over to his enemies and killed is echoing in the women’s minds. They women heard it all, along with the disciples, but they never pictures this.  Words are so clean and sterile; this is battered and bloody and helpless. The women from Galilee try to shield him from his mother, but then he stops and turns around.  In spite of the angry shouts of the soldiers, no one strikes him, and Mary (the one who poured oil on his feet) receives the distinct impression that he himself is orchestrating the entire scene.  How strange!  How terrible.

His eyes are the only part of him not bloodied.  Time stops as his eyes linger on the women, his long-time traveling companions.  Then he glances toward another cluster of women who have been following with loud laments.  These are well-born ladies of the holy city who follow political prisoners to their deaths, bringing jars of vinegar and gall to dull the pain.  With a look, he silences their wailing.

“Don’t weep for me, daughters of Jerusalem.  Weep for yourselves and your children.  The day is coming when you’ll beg the mountains to kill you quickly.  If judgment falls like this on the innocent, how will it deal with the guilty?”

The old order—eye for eye, tooth for tooth, blood for guilt—simple justice of the sort that everyone understands, is wildly out of whack.  This man has done nothing wrong: Pilate said it, Herod confirmed it, everyone knows it.  But what they may not know:

This man has done everything right.

Who can say that about anyone?  The wretched stooped-over figure stands condemned, turning blind justice on her head and rendering her carefully-weighted balance scales useless.  If such punishment falls on him, what petty thief, careless gossip, casual liar can have a prayer . . . .

“Move on!” shouts the nearest guard, more confused than angry.  The bloody face sets forward again, the bloody feet stumble on, leaving bright mottled prints on the stones that would have cried out in anguish* had he allowed it.

Luke 19:40

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Can We Talk? – Religious Liberty, part two

Janie and Charlotte, college friends who grew up to occupy opposite sides of the political spectrum, continue their quest to make public discourse less ugly and stupid:

In our last conversation, we agreed that the First Amendment to the US Constitution establishes religious liberty, but then went back and forth on how to apply the multifaceted meaning of the Amendment: how to limit government from restricting people’s practice of religion (“free expression”) while disallowing government from establishing religion.

Charlotte argued that Christianity has been privileged in America since our country’s origins and that religious understandings have indeed been incorporated into our civil laws numerous times. Janie argued that Christianity has been a motivation for law, sometimes for the worse and more often for the better, but seldom the entire motivation.

Here is our continued conversation. Charlotte begins with Janie’s second question:

Does the right of religious people to advocate for our position extend to people in public office, exercising the duties of their office?  Three examples: a) Ted Cruz, Mike Lee and others like them, who are granted legislative power by their constituents; b) Kim Davis, who refused to issue marriage licenses in Kentucky; c) Atlanta fire chief Kelvin Cochran, who lost his job because of a self-published book intended for a Christian audience, one small part of which argued against the legitimacy of same-sex marriage.  I realize each of these cases is different and may require some fine needle-threading, but what’s your view of the general principle?

charlotteYes indeed each of these cases is different. Very different. I’ll do my best.

a) It is no secret that I am no fan of Senator Cruz. I’ve written numerous letters to him disagreeing with the way he represents Christian faith in the public sphere. I think he is guilty of operating from his own small, black and white understanding of Christianity instead of representing and respecting the wide range of perspectives held by his rainbow constituency.

That said – Mr. Cruz enjoys the same constitutional freedom you and I do to express his beliefs in the public conversation. My effort is to rally voters who disagree with him to vote him out of office and to encourage citizens to keep him under a microscope so that his theocratic tendencies will be exposed and thwarted. This is one way I use my freedom.

Janie

Agreed, and I respect that.  I don’t believe the Senator’s tendencies are necessarily theocratic, but there’s a conversation for another time.

Charlotte

b) Kim Davis’ error is open and shut in my opinion. She was an elected official who took an oath to uphold the law. The moment she realized she could not in good conscience issue marriage licenses to same sex couples she should have stepped down.

Janie

I understand this view, and Evangelical Christians have actually disagreed on it: some Christians who profile2share Ms. Davis’s basic view of biblical sexuality argue that she was nonetheless duty-bound to perform her office.  If I remember correctly, though, there were other clerks in the same courthouse who could have issued a license without any conscience qualms.  The same-sex couple’s rights were not being infringed by one clerk’s refusal.

I have to wonder what I would have done in the same situation.  I would have felt duty-bound to refuse; to say something like, “I’m truly sorry [and I would be!], but because of my convictions about what the Bible says about marriage, I can’t in good conscience issue this license to you folks.  I apologize for the inconvenience, but Mrs. Jones over there would be happy to take care of you.”

Would I have the courage to do that, knowing it could cost me my job?  I’d like to think so.  But I would also like to think that, were I half of that same-sex couple, I could smile and say, “Okay, but times are changing—hope you catch up someday!”  In other words, I wish we could bear with each other as fellow citizens, without continually resorting to the courts.

Charlotte

I have no doubt you would have handled this situation much more graciously, with much more integrity than Ms. Davis.

As I understand it, yes, there were other clerks in the office who would have been willing to issue marriage licenses, however Ms. Davis refused to let them. She forced her particular religious understanding upon the rest of the clerks and upon the citizens of her county. She put her religion above the law.

(J: Hmmm.  I’ll have to look into this.)

What is also sad to me about that whole Kim Davis rigmarole is the way her actions reflected so badly on each of us as Christians and on our shared Christian faith. Taking up the victim’s mantle, she missed an excellent opportunity to demonstrate Christian principles of humility and grace. Now, because of her example, countless secular people feel confirmed in their dislike and distrust of us religious people.

c) I had to look up Kelvin Cochran’s situation and I admit this one is messy. (Here is an article from the Wall Street Journal.)

As we agreed in our first conversation, application of the First Amendment “is always the rub.” If I were the mayor of Atlanta, would I have fired such an exemplary city officer for his opinions published in a book designed for Bible study within a conservative Christian context? With only the information I have here, probably not. It looks to me like Atlanta’s move was more politically clumsy than unconstitutional.

One problem I see with the Cochran case is that, as an officer and core leader within the administration of the Mayor of Atlanta, he “serves at the pleasure…” This is a longstanding tradition that allows a mayor, governor, president to assemble a compatible team with shared perspectives and goals. If one of the mayor’s key leaders seems to have a significant difference of opinion about the equality and value of some of their citizens, then I can see the mayor’s concern. But then you and I don’t know the backstory (as is so often the case.)

Janie

True; no one ever knows the full backstory except those immediately involved.  I’m going to try to argue from a principle, not a personality; just let me address what I see as a mistaken assumption.  If you’re assuming Mr. Cochran “seems to have a significant difference of opinion about the equality and value” of gays and lesbians, I’m almost certain he would vehemently disagree.  I’ve read summaries of extracts from his book and his theme is basic Christian doctrine, not sexual behavior.  The offending chapter takes up six pages and three sentences mention homosexuality, among many sins that will separate men and women from God.  It’s not the prevailing view right now that homosexual practice is a sin.  I get that—but Mr. Cochran is arguing a theological perspective, not a social or political one.  It’s not a question of equal or unequal, but saved or unsaved.  If there were gay men on the squad I doubt he would have treated them differently, or even thought of them differently, except as sinners separated from God.  As are we all, without Christ.  I realize I’m putting thoughts in his head, but this view is pretty standard among the Evangelicals I know.

Charlotte

I see where you are coming from. After all, I too was raised with similar theological understandings. But as we have discussed before, I have changed my mind about sexuality. It’s been a long – but satisfying – journey for me. Let’s get back to that in another conversation.

Back to Mr. Cochran’s case:

Our nation established a court system in order to sort out this very kind of disagreement. The very fact that this case was filed in 2014 and is still in process supports my argument that the First Amendment is both profoundly brilliant and immensely complicated. Mr. Cochran has the freedom to argue his case and the City of Atlanta has the freedom to argue theirs. Then the Court decides. That’s how our system works.

Janie

I’m grateful for the freedom Mr. Cochran has to argue his case.  The system as originally established is admirable; problem is, over time the system has become slow, cumbersome and cranky, not to mention expensive.  It’s because we’re using the court to solve our ethical dilemmas for us, instead of working them out among ourselves.  It seems Mr. Cochran had two options when he was fired: 1) shut up and find another job, or 2) fight it, not so much to be reinstated (because that wouldn’t happen anytime soon) as to establish a precedent for future cases.

There are probably other Americans—who knows how many—in a similar situation whose cases never came to public attention because they didn’t have the wherewithal to fight.  It takes time, and money, and more time and money, and all the man wanted was to do his job.  And teach a men’s Sunday school class at church with the aid of a book he wrote, which should, it seems to me, find protection under the First Amendment. Let’s imagine he were an atheist writing a blog on his own time, whose opinions offended some members of the city council.  Should he be fired?  As long as those views didn’t interfere with his job, or his relationship with coworkers, of course not.

Charlotte

Some time ago, I wrote a blog about Pastors and Politics. I confess that if I argue for the right of progressive Christians such as Martin Luther King Jr. and William Barber to advocate for positions using the mantle of their religious beliefs, then I have to concede the right of conservative religious folks to advocate for their positions in the public conversation. Sometimes the Courts decide where the line is. Sometimes the American people decide at the ballot box. That’s how our system works. First Amendment = Messy.

Janie

And it will get messier.  I’m just wondering—is that the kind of society we really want?  Always at each other’s throats because of our religious beliefs?

Charlotte

I don’t know. Our society has been pretty messy from the get-go. It’s really quite remarkable that the Founders were able to agree enough to produce the Constitution and Bill of Rights in the first place. That was a messy time indeed.

The Constitution of this infant nation was a brilliant creation, in part because it was written with room for this nation to grow. So now, all these years later, through adolescence and on to maturity, the people of the United States continue to deepen our understanding what it means to be “we the people … forming a more perfect union…” At the time these words were written, slaves were property and legally less than human, women could not vote or hold office and the Native Peoples were “savages” methodically driven from their ancient homes. America has been growing into its dream and attempting to live up to its ideals ever since our beginnings.

We humans have a long sad history of being at each other’s throats because of something or another. Besides the obvious human differences like color and gender, there are all these other cultural constructs like religion, nationality, ethnicity and class that give us excuse to keep each other at arm’s length instead of embracing our shared humanity. Our many differences don’t have to divide us; surely we can figure out how to tap into the strength of our diversity in order finally to become a “more perfect union.”

OK Janie, now I have a question for you: Why is it that some Evangelical Christians insist that homosexuality is only behavior and not part of the innate essence of some human beings? Why can’t they allow room for other people to be who they are and do what they do and live their lives in peace?

Janie

That’s really a theological question, and will take a few paragraphs (though, I promise, as few as possible!).  I’ll get back to you on that . . . .

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Worst-Case Scenario

Pilate then called together the chief priests and the rulers and the people, and said to them, “You brought me this man as one who misleading the people.  And after examining him before you, I didn’t find this man guilty of any of your charges against him . . . “  Luke 23:13-14

With a snap of his fingers, he stages the scene: soldiers hustle the purple-clad “king” out to the portico where Pilate returns to his judge’s chair and faces down the priestly delegation.  They form a rough triangle on the pavement: judge, accuser, accused.  Beyond them, separated by a leather curtain, is the open courtyard.

“You charge this man with insurrection,” Pilate says, “but after examining him I deem the charge to be baseless.  Antipas agrees: this man has done nothing to deserve death.  Therefore it is my judgment that he be flogged for the trouble he has caused you and then released.  For–”

The noise stops him.  On the other side of the curtain a crowd is gathering and voices are beginning to come together.

With a sinking heart, Pilate realizes he’s been outmaneuvered.  The Jews have been busy while he was distracted, sweeping up the dregs of the city—peasants and ne’er-do-wells—and seeding them with shills.  In the general clash of voices a broken rhythm begins: a chant here and there, a confused tumble of words, rolling from one end of the courtyard to another.  From experience, he knows the words will come together like the pieces of a mythical monster—

The crowd is becoming a mob.

The power of Rome has his back in everything, except this.  His job is to keep the peace at almost any price.  Mobs lead to protest and protest to bloodshed, and bloodshed to full-scale rebellion.  He has scarcely recovered from the unfortunate incident with the slaughtered Galileans,* and now this.  The random chants that reach his ears are beginning to take shape:

“Away with him!  Away with him!”

The faces of the priests and Pharisees are bland as cream.

“You know,” says Pilate, grasping at straws, “that at every feast I can release any prisoner I choose.  I choose to release this man.”

But they have anticipated this too.  Even now, voices are crying out, “Give us Barabbas!  Give us Barabbas!”

“Barabbas?” he demands of the Jews.  You’d rather set a rebel and murderer loose among you than this man, who has done no harm?”

They only shrug: who are we to resist the people’s will?

Heaving a giant sigh, Pilate stands up and marches past the curtains.  The Jewcruficy!s have done their work well—restless bands fill the courtyard, more coming all the time.  He puts on a brave show: stands up tall, adjusts his toga and band of office, pitches his voice above the din.

“I find no fault in this man!  Therefore, he will be flogged and then–”

Another chant is beginning, an undercurrent snaking through the voices, roping them in, tying them together:

Crucify!

 

*Luke 13:1

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Kings of Earth

Then the whole company of them arose and brought him before Pilate.  And they began to accuse him, saying, “We found this man misleading our nation and forbidding us to give tribute to Caesar, and saying that he himself is Messiah, a king.”  Luke 23:1-2

Not even a conscientious procurator should have to rise this early.  Pilate barely has his eyes open all the way before his body servant brings word that the entire Sanhedrin (or so it seems) is standing on his porch.  And here he’s been congratulating himself on getting through Passover without an incident.  “What do they want?”

The servant isn’t sure.  They have a prisoner . . .

Pilate groans.  He takes his time getting dressed, makes them wait.  They are in the outer courtyard, his servant says.  He knows what that means—on certain holy days, they consider it defilement to cross the threshold of a Gentile.  They must keep themselves lily-white. These Jews are the most arrogant people he’s ever encountered—with, to his mind, the least to be arrogant about.  When he finally emerges from the shadows of his house, they all begin talking at once.  He calls for a chair and raises a hand to quiet them.

“Where is the prisoner?”

The priests and scribes part down the middle.  Pilate blinks in surprise.  He was expecting a hulky, surly zealot like Barabbas, the notorious troublemaker awaiting execution.  This man doesn’t look capable of overturning a sheepfold: shrunken, beat up, clad in a torn filthy garment—and utterly silent.

Jesus of Nazareth, is it?  Pilate has instructed his men to keep an eye on him ever since that showy entrance into the city earlier in the week.  But the man roused no rabble or called no one to arms; he only seemed interested in hanging around the temple and irritating the priests—a project the Governor heartily approves.

But regardless of sentiments he has a job to do.  He forces himself to listen to the accusations: subverting the nation  (pretty vague, that one) . . . opposing the payment of taxes (serious, if true) . . . claiming to be Messiah—

“Messiah?” he asks.  Has heard the term, a little unclear on what it means.

“A king, your Excellency.”

That’s a stretch.  Messiah has a more spiritual meaning, if he remembers correctly.  “So,” he addresses the prisoner, “are you the ‘King of the Jews’?”

The term is a joke, whether the plaintiffs know it or not.  The late unlamented Herod the Great called himself King of the Jews, but after he was dead Caesar determined that none of his surviving sons (survivors, more like) would take that title.  But Pilate’s grim half-smile melts when the wretched prisoner raises his head.  There is an unnerving stillness about him, rock-solid and ages deep, that pulls the Governor a little off balance.

“You have said it,” he whispers.

It’s almost—almost—as though the prisoner shares the joke.  But Pilate senses no irony about him.  Because on another level . . . he affirms it.  As though he really were a king of some sort.

“He speaks with authority,” they said of him. 

“What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us?” 

“Who is this, that the wind and sea obey him?”

Irritably Pilate shakes his head.  This is ridiculous; anyone can see the man is harmless.  Perhaps even “holy”—that austere word the Jews apply to their god.  “I see no grounds for condemning this man,” he says, standing to reinforce that judgment.

But they won’t be dismissed so easily.  “Your Excellency, he’s far more dangerous than he looks!  He stirs up the people everywhere he goes, starting from his home in Galilee.”

“Galilee?”  The word opens a door of escape; Galilee, that region of firebrands and zealots, is not his jurisdiction.  “The man is Herod’s subject, and you’re in luck: Herod is in the city this moment.  Take the man there.  I’ve give you a detachment of guards.  Now go—Go!”

pilate

An hour or so later, while finishing his breakfast, Pilate hears the sound he has dreaded ever since his posting to Judea: the rumble of a mob.

It has not been a peaceful morning; after the Jews reluctantly left the pavement, his wife declined to join him for breakfast.  She wasn’t feeling well, her note said, adding this: I got almost no sleep last night.  I kept dreaming of a bedraggled Galilean brought before you, and now I hear it’s true!  Have nothing to do with him, I beg you.

And now another note, brought by his secretary:

To Pontius Pilate, procurator of Judea, greeting:

I rejoiced to receive Jesus of Nazareth from your generous hand, for I’ve heard much about him.  The tales from Galilee are almost too rich to believe!  But it seems I must use the term “rich” to describe the Jews’ fear of him. He may have performed “signs” for them in Galilee but it appears his bag of tricks is empty.  He’s a harmless has-been, no threat to anyone.  I suggest you have him flogged—that may satisfy the Jews—and let him go.

Your servant, Herod Antipas.

So here is the Nazarene, back again, sporting more bruises and a purple robe.  That is an extravagant touch: Herod’s idea of a joke.  Pilate never liked the old fox, but must admit Herod has offered good advice, even while shrugging the responsibility back to Rome.  Flog and go:  it’s time to bring this sideshow to a quick and decisive end.

From that day on, Pilate and Herod are friends.  Funny thing: it’s the Nazarene who brought them together, like he brought the Pharisees and priests together.  Opponents unified in opposition–and so it will ever be.

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Can We Talk? Religious Liberty, Part 1

Charlotte and I met as teenagers, when her father was hired to be the new Christian education director at our church.  We became close friends in college, married within a year of each other, and went our separate ways.  Separater and  and separater, in fact: from Texas-based fundamentalism to ordained Disciples of Christ minister and progressive blogger (Charlotte) and Reformed Presbyterian conservative author (me).  Through it all we stayed in touch, even though, politically at least, we agree on almost nothing.  Is it possible to talk respectfully from opposite ends of the religious and political spectrum?  We decided to try it: pick a topic, raise a question, and explain ourselves in a way the other can understand.  This isn’t a tug-of-war, where we try to pull each other over to our side by force of argument.  In our own modest way we’re trying to beam a ray of sunshine on this political season and make it a little less ugly and stupid.

Janie

Whenever a public controversy flares up, certain buzz words and catchphrases form like lint and attach profile2themselves to the debate.  After too many twirls through the drier (to stick with the metaphor), some of the meaning rubs off.  That’s why it’s a good idea when beginning a discussion to clarify just what we mean by the words we use.

Religious Liberty became a hot topic after the 2014 Obergefell decision, when the Supreme Court

  • struck down the right of states and their constituencies to define marriage (as the right saw it), or,
  • barred states from discriminating against same-sex couples (from the left).

Almost immediately, we started getting news about private business owners refusing to provide services for gay weddings, and the consequences thereof.  A number of state legislatures began debating religiously liberty/conscience laws to protect individuals in this situation.  Opponents began putting “religious liberty” in scare quotes, implying that these concerns were trivial or hypocritical.   I disagree that these concerns are either, and here’s my definition:

Religious Liberty refers to the freedom of an individual to practice his or her religion, not only within the confines of a church but also outside in day-to-day life, so long as it causes no obvious harm or places no undue burden on a fellow citizen.  Religious liberty is guaranteed by the “free exercise” clause of Amendment 1 of the U.S. Constitution, wherein “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof .  . .”

So, what’s your definition?  And of course, you may feel free to critique mine, so long as you give yours first!

Charlotte

charlotteBusted! “…putting ‘religious liberty’ in scare quotes…” is exactly what I did in our recent conversation when we were talking about how Ted Cruz approaches this issue. Mr. Cruz’s way of applying the Constitution to religious freedom does scare me. The way religious freedom legislation has mushroomed since Obergefell disturbs me deeply. This approach is a much smaller understanding of religious freedom in my mind. That’s why it’s in quotation marks. (Let’s talk more about that later.)

But otherwise – no – I do not mean to imply that “these concerns are trivial or hypocritical” as a rule. I believe wholeheartedly in religious liberty and I agree completely with your definition. No problem with our foundation here.

It’s the application of these constitutional guarantees that causes our dilemma.

As clear as the words of the First Amendment sound on the surface, the interpretation of what those words mean in any particular context and how those principles play out in our common life together is quite complex. Highly educated and well-intentioned lawmakers and judges have always had a variety of opinions about how to craft laws that appropriately apply these standards to our diverse American community.

I agree with your definition that the freedom to practice religion extends beyond the church doors. In the United States of America, all religious people enjoy the right to argue for our beliefs in the public conversation, to advocate for our positions, to write our letters and lobby our representatives, to vote…

(Interestingly the phrase “separation of church and state” is used by some of my liberal, secular friends to try to restrict the freedom of religious people to participate fully in the political process. That is a misunderstanding from the left that is just as troubling to me as the hints of theocracy I hear from the right.)

The problem comes when institutions of government attempt to enshrine particular religious understandings into civil law. Our nation has done this over and over again in our history and it always turns out badly. We religious people are right to expect equal protection under the law. But we do not have the right to expect legal privilege. The laws and policies of our government institutions must be fair and just for everyone.

Your turn…

Janie

Application is always the rub.  The devil is in the details, and that’s what worries both of us.  I have two questions:

  • You say that through history our nation has enshrined particular religious understandings into civil law, and it always turns out badly. What particular religious understandings do you have in mind?  I don’t need a whole list, just two or three examples to illustrate what you mean.
  • Does the right of religious people to advocate for our position extend to people in public office, exercising the duties of their office? Three examples: a) Ted  Cruz, Mike Lee and others like them, who are granted legislative power by their constituents; b) Kim Davis, who refused to issue marriage licenses in Kentucky; c) Atlanta fire chief Kelvin Cochran, who lost his job because of a self-published book intended for a Christian audience, one small part of which argued against the legitimacy of same-sex marriage.  I realize each of these cases is different and may require some fine needle-threading, but what’s your view of the general principle?

Charlotte

Yes, I believe that throughout our history our nation has enshrined particular religious understandings into civil law. I will argue that the institution of slavery, the limitation of rights and opportunities for women and the exclusion of gay people from the marriage contract are three really big examples.

I’m aware it’s a bit of a tricky argument because one can also argue that those circumstances grew from the soil of long held cultural assumptions, not religious practice. But since I believe all our various religions are cultural constructs, I cannot help but see religious underpinnings.

The anecdotal evidence I offer is the countless sermons that have been preached arguing that slavery was God’s will, that women should stay in the place God assigned them and that marriage is between a man and a woman because … you know … Adam and Eve. I offer the evidence that masters used the Bible to intimidate their slaves, that husbands have used the Bible to suppress their wives, that parents have used the Bible to ostracize their gay children. I offer the evidence that it has been church folks who have been some of the most proactive and reactive to lobby for these widely held religious understandings to be incorporated into local, state and federal laws. I could also mention prohibition, abortion and the Sunday Blue Laws that you and I were so familiar with growing up in Dallas.

“Law is always contingent,” my attorney husband reminds me. Rules and regulations come from a people’s time and place that are inevitably bound up with our particular understandings within our culture in any given era. (That’s why arguments from natural law stand on shaky ground.) The brilliance of the First Amendment is that it was written (intentionally, I believe) with both stability and elasticity. As our nation grows and matures, we can stand firmly in our proclaimed individual rights while, at the same time, evolve in ways that increasingly make room for the rights of others.

I need to take a break. You stretch me, Janie! I’ll let you respond to question #1 and we can tackle question #2 in our next discussion.

Janie

The stretching goes both ways.  Thanks for those examples.  Of course you are correct that religion (let’s just say the Bible) has been used to support American slave law and legislation limiting the rights of women.  But does that mean the Bible was the impetus for those laws?  I don’t believe so.  American slave law was driven by economics and false science (the “scientific fact” that blacks were inferior), not primarily religion.  The Bible was used to beat slaves into submission, but it also lifted them up, created a community (the black church) and shaped the heart of the abolitionist movement.  Women have likewise been subjected throughout all times and places, partly because of biology and because of the sinful tendency of the physically strong to oppress the weak.  The Bible affirms that men and women are equal in worth, and does not bar women from the marketplace or the public square.  I’ll admit that some passages in the Bible are problematic for women (some women, anyway!), but if scripture has been used as the central prop for legally limiting their rights, it’s been misused.

Same-sex marriage legislation is a bit more complicated.  Since most of the religious liberty cases that have popped up recently concern SSM and other issues of sexuality, we’ll definitely be taking it up later.

All this is to say that the record of religion in law is murky:  Christianity has been a motivation for law, for the worse and more often for the better, but seldom the entire motivation.

It’s interesting, though: the basic principle of non-discrimination is religious in origin.  It’s an outworking of the Judaeo-Christian doctrine that humanity is created in the image of God their Creator, and all men and women are of equal worth to him.  I doubt that the principle would even exist without that basic truth.  Can American law be uncoupled entirely from Christianity, or perfectly neutral toward it?  I’m not sure it’s possible, or even desirable.

Charlotte

Yes, you and I agree that the Bible and religion have been misused in these and many more social circumstances throughout history. Has religion been origin or justification for abuses of humans one against the other? Probably both-and.

I’ll work on my response to your question #2 and get back to you soon. Thanks for the stimulating conversation, my friend.

Charlotte Vaughan Coyle

Posted on

From His Own Mouth

When day came, the assembly of the elders of the people gathered together, both chief priests and scribes.  And they led him away to their council, and they said, “If you are the Christ, tell us.”  Luke 22:66-67a

It has been a long night.  Everyone is exhausted.

Later, that will be their excuse, if they feel bad enough to make an excuse.  It was a long stretch there, between the preliminary hearing before the high priest and the gathering of the Sanhedrin; all night long official personages were coming and going, sending out messengers, murmuring together in urgent counsel.  As usual, the guards and grunts were completely in the dark.  They just had their orders: seize him, hold him, bring him.  It was all done in darkness, stabbed with torchlight that sliced the narrative in pieces: a mission—a kiss—shouts, and the flash of a sword—someone’s ear cut off (they say)—someone’s ear replaced (couldn’t be)—more shouts—more swords—mission accomplished.

At the center of it all, the man they call Messiah.  He came quietly.  No resistance.  But at the same time, there’s something very unquiet and resistant about him.  Like a lion in a lambskin.  The guards– listening with stony faces to the questions jabbed at him by the high priest in theological language that flies over their heads–could well believe their charge was dangerous, even though he never opened his mouth.

So, when they are finally allowed to stand down, they have a little fun with the prisoner.  Blind-man’s bluff, with sticks.  It gets rough . . . after all, if it hadn’t been for this man they would be enjoying a good night’s rest.  So, they say he’s a prophet?  Smack!  Who was that who hit you, prophet?  Whack him on the back of the knees and see if he keeps his balance.  Trip him up, jerk him back, dance him like a puppet.  Not so powerful now, is he?  Why were we afraid?  And why—if we’re honest—do we fear now?  Fear drives the rod as much as scorn.  More so?  More so.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Sanhedrin

A bedraggled Jesus-of-Nazareth now stands before the Sanhedrin; his robe askew, his tunic ripped, bruises on his legs and a welt rising on his cheek.  The council pretends not to notice because they are riveted on the serious business at hand.  A small delegation of elites has been up all night.  They’ve called witnesses (and secretly paid them), but when the witnesses start contradicting each other they are dismissed.  The accusers haul up old charges to hurl at him: didn’t you desecrate the Sabbath?  Didn’t you incite the destruction of the temple?  Didn’t you claim you could build it again in a mere three days?

Too all this, he answers nothing.  His silence throws them; they are expecting clever repartee of the kind he’s displayed all week.  They have prepared themselves for it.  But, snaky as ever, he confounds them once again.  The chief priest dismisses all the nattering witnesses.  After a brief conference with the highest-ranking member of the Sanhedrin, they decide to go for the simple and direct.

“Are you Messiah?” Caiaphas asks.  “Tell us.”

As they watch, the bruised head lifts, the cracked lips open.  “If I tell you, you will not believe.  If I ask, you will not answer.  But I am headed for my rightful place at the right hand of the Power.”

They lean forward with a collective gasp.  Has he, after all this fuss and bother, just condemned himself?  Their voices trip over each other, asking the same question: “Are you the ‘son of God,’ then?”

His answer comes so softly only those who are closest to him hear it.  The high priest bolts upright, his face a mask of horror as he takes his robe in both hands and dramatically tears it along the seam.  “Blasphemy!  He claims to be God!  His own mouth condemns him!”

Ironic: the only charge that sticks is the one that happens to be true.

___________________________________________

For the original post in this series, go here.

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