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Dear friends and members of University UMC:
In Sunday sermons throughout July, Pastor Earl and I have explored what happens within our spiritual journey when we open ourselves to the faith of others. The sermon series is inspired, in part, by Barbara Brown Taylor’s book entitled “Holy Envy: Finding God in the Faith of Others.” It is also inspired by our own experiences in a world that feels all at once big and small.
I remember, several years ago serving in Buda, Texas. I decided to lead a study based on another seminary professor’s book called “Relating to People of Other Religions: What Every Christian Needs to Know.” One church member told me there was no need for such a study in a place like Buda. I asked if he knew there was a Hindu Temple just down the road in Driftwood. He was completely astounded. The world is smaller than we know at times.
At a time when the world is filled with people who are fearful and suspicious of others and with anti-Semitism and Islamophobia on the rise, it is good to gain a deeper appreciation of and greater respect for others.
I also came to this series knowing that my faith has been enriched by building relationships with people of other faiths. As Barbara Brown Taylor says, “One of the best ways to learn more about your own faith is to engage with those who don’t share it.” |
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| A few weeks ago, when I looked to center the sermon on my encounters with Judaism, I ended up pivoting, feeling compelled to speak to the devastating Hill Country floods. In that sermon, I spoke of how Judaism’s strong tradition of living with the questions and the belief that all our emotions–including grief and anger–are acceptable before God, were helpful lessons as we mourn the victims of the flood.
Here I’ll share some of what I had originally planned to share that day. The scripture lesson was Deuteronomy 6 and reads: |
| “Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart. Recite them to your children and talk about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise. Bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem on your forehead, and write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.” |
| This text is often referred to as the Shema, Hebrew for the first word in the passage, meaning “hear.” I’ve known the great significance of this Biblical text in the life of practicing Jews. It is recited twice a day, in the morning and in the evening. But as I sat with the Bible reading and considered current events in the world, I wrestled with what exactly I would say. It is true that sometimes we may experience a “holy envy” as we learn of other faiths and religions, but at other times we struggle. The heart of one of my struggles is best captured in a Friday Note I wrote over a year ago: |
| “When it comes to the complexity of the situation in Gaza, I find myself ill-equipped to comment with great authority. There is so much I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m suspicious of voices on the extremes who seem incapable and unwilling to acknowledge the inhumanity that comes with war and the staggering death toll. I believe a person can condemn the terrorist attack by Hamas while at the same time being sympathetic to the plight of Palestinians. I believe one can condemn the ongoing attacks in Gaza by Israel without being anti-Semitic. I believe it is true that the state of Israel has been the place where people of the Jewish faith have finally felt a sense of safety and home following the Holocaust. And that belief doesn’t mean I cannot hold concern for the great number of Palestinian children who have died in recent days”– Rev. Teresa Welborn
in her Friday Note, April 26, 2024 |
| In the months since I wrote those words, more innocent lives have been lost, and we cry out at the sight of hungry children in Gaza desperate for food. Beliefs held about the possession of land leave me unsettled. In researching for the sermon, I read several commentaries on Deuteronomy 6 and discovered I am not alone in my struggle. Scholar Dr. Dora R. Mbuwayesango writes: |
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| Dr. Dora R. MbuwayesangoGeorge E. and Iris Battle Professor of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament at Hood Theological Seminary Salisbury, North Carolina |
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| “As beautiful as the words of the Shema are, we should not forget their context and we should not gloss over the horror of the experiences of the people who will be at the receiving end of God’s promises and commandments—the Canaanites. We should refrain from [interpretations that] desensitize us from the realities of atrocities that have been perpetrated in the name of God and religion. These commands were to be observed after Israel had occupied other people’s land. When nations, whose origins and wealth are results of oppression, subjugation, and enslavement, are |
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| teaching their children their past, they should not cherry pick or gloss over the atrocities of their ancestors. Proper reckoning with past and present injustices is never to whitewash, gloss over, or ignore them.” |
| These words coming from an underrepresented voice, a black theologian matter.
The more I learn from my own reading and from building relationships with practicing Jews, the more I realize that Zionism is a big tent with a wide variety of diverse perspectives. During the last several months, I have met more than a few times with a rabbi here in the Austin area. She was quick to tell me she is Zionist. Resisting the temptation to judge quickly, I leaned in and asked, “what do you mean by that?” We have kept in touch, knowing there are many connection points between our life story and careers. And there are places where there is a holy discomfort of questioning and struggling. Mostly, I remember I have much to learn. That learning is deepened when I resist the foolish assumption that any one Jew speaks for all Jews.
Rabbi Alissa Wise is a longtime activist for justice in Israel and Palestine. Last year, about this time, she was arrested along with seven other Rabbis while trying to deliver aid into Gaza during passover. In a recent interview, she shared her refusal to support Israeli military decisions and its destruction of Palestinians. “We are holding fast to moral traditions deeply embedded in Judaism. And because I refuse to support,” she lamented. “I am betrayed by the very community that raised me.” She went on to describe her experience of people in her same religious tradition who have taken the most beautiful parts of their faith and manipulated them for the work not of good in the world but of evil.
When I heard her speak, I felt seen. As a Christian who reads the Bible and hears Jesus’ call to feed and heal and welcome the stranger, I am baffled by a so-called beautiful bill that provides more for the most wealthy while severely reducing the quality of health care of the most vulnerable among us. I am troubled by the mass deportation and imprisonment of persons seeking refuge. And I am enraged when such policies and decisions are implemented in the name of Christianity. We are not alone. People of other religious traditions find themselves perplexed by those within who have very different understandings of the same tradition.
One of my favorite Jewish Rabbis to read is the late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks. He said this: |
| “Religion is not what the European Enlightenment thought it would become: mute, marginal and mild. It is a fire - and like fire, it warms but it also burns. And we are the guardians of the flame.” |
| As a Christian, I experience time and time again the fire of my faith that warms my heart - the fire that gives me life and causes me to say yes and over and over again to doing this work called pastoring and following Jesus. But I am also well acquainted with the extremes of my own religious tradition that burn. The fire that is destructive and causes harm to God’s people and the planet. May we dream of a world where all the people of Earth take seriously that most holy work of being guardians of the flame. Believing and living in ways that lead to life. Or as Rev. Earl Kim preached in his recent sermon, “At the root of great traditions lies the undercurrent of compassion and love for humanity.”
Years ago, I attended a spiritual retreat, and one of the presenters was a progressive Rabbi named David Horowitz. Asked about his grief concerning unrest in the Middle East, he paused and stepped away from the podium for a moment. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, taking a deep breath. He then returned to the microphone and responded by saying, “Before Israel was ever a place, it was a person.” |
| His words astonished us and even offended a few, but he then went on to read the story from Genesis about the patriarch Jacob, who wrestled with God in the middle of the night. He told of this God who gave Jacob a new name - Israel, which literally means “to struggle with God.” If you find yourself entering sanctuaries and facing life with more questions than answers, you are in good company. Even more, know that your faith is alive. Because a living faith wrestles and struggles and asks questions of God. It asks questions of our own faith tradition and gets curious about the faith of others.
What a joy to be your pastor!
Teresa |
| | Rabbi David Horowitz volunteers with the American Cancer Society, an organization that works to improve the lives of people with cancer through advocacy, research and patient support, he said. In the past, Horowitz also served as president of PFLAG, an organization dedicated to supporting, educating and advocating for LGBTQ+ people and their friends and families. |
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| | Pastor Earl’s sermon from Sunday July 20 |
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