So...
I'm a pastor.
Which isn't exactly news - Not only am I coming up on my 4th anniversary of serving here, but my 8th anniversary of ordination is also this month. So, you know, it seems undeniable that I am a pastor, like... for real. I even have an official 'pastor card' to prove it. However, for multiple reasons I have a hard time reconciling that part of my identity.
See, a pastor is supposed to be someone that is really good at this Christianity stuff - following the ways of Jesus, being of humble heart, out there changing the world, and blazing trails through the wilderness. I'm sort-of a failure at all those things. I should explain better, I guess (don't worry this whole sermons won't be a mini-confession/personal therapy session), but in so many ways I am incompetent at proclaiming the gospel.
I want to be a prophetic voice of change. I even sometimes try to be, but I'm just not very good at it. I don't say that to engender any type of sympathy. It is simply a fact. I know that I am often not who I should be; I know that often my words don't sync up with my actions.
And, I guess this Advent I feel guilty about it.
[This is a super-fabulous, warm-fuzzy feeling sermon so far, isn't it?]
I am no John the Baptist, nor do I really want to be. Lord have mercy! Forgive me, but that in-your-face, pushy, gimmicky form of Christianity has no appeal to me. Now, Isaiah, the other prophet from hear from today, is a bit more appealing to me... mostly because of his unwavering devotion and steadfast faithfulness to God and his vocation. I'd like to be like that.
But, I'm neither John nor Isaiah.
I'm just me. A pastor about to celebrate her 8th anniversary of ordination who is still afraid.
Or tired.
I mean that's mostly what it boils down to: fear and tiredness.
It seems like John never got tired. I mean honestly... "People from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were coming to him." I just don't want to be in that much demand. I already feel like I let my little family of 5 down on a regular basis - let's not add the whole of Montgomery County. Plus, think about how tired his arms must have gotten with all those baptisms. [Just kidding]
And putting aside his extreme quirkiness, it also seems like nothing rattled him. He didn't seem to care if people stopped liking him or who he ticked off. He read the signs of the times and told it like it was. He didn't pull any punches.
Anyway, I'm not blazing any trails through the wilderness. I'm trying to find a warm tent to sleep in until Jesus gets here. Unfortunately... Jesus seems bent on getting this trail of His blazed because it feels like he's behind me chasing my tail down.
There are multiple reasons I've been feeling like this, but two experiences primarily instigated this odd Advent awakening of mine and my confrontation with fear.
The first is I read an article the other day written by a female pastor in the wake of all the sexual harassment and abuse that has been and is being revealed. The article was different from the political sphere that much of the news has been focused on. Her story was about female pastors' experiences of harassment within the institutional church.
Every word of it was true. I know because I'm a pastor (which we already covered) and I'm female (just in case you didn't know). Every female pastor I know could've written the article. It is sadly true that the church is as culpable as any other institution of participating in a culture of misogyny. Nobody talks about that.
Certainly not me.
I didn't 'click' like. I didn't 'share' the post. I didn't comment on it. I didn't even 'private message' it.
And you know why?
Fear.
Fear of hurting the church, fear of having to defend myself, fear of disappointing you all. It just hit too close to home.
Fear tells me I should not agree with those things or say those things about the church, especially since the church universal has been good to me.
And, I should most certainly NOT say them about an institution that is supposed to be the body of Christ, good Lord Almighty!
Now before your minds start to race I am not a victim of sexual abuse. I have always felt safe in the church and been graced to work alongside amazing and respectful people, but I am a woman and the reality of overt and subtle harassment is one with which women live. And I believe that if the path is going to be straightened through these treacherous wilds then it has to start in the church, because for far too long the church has been drug kicking and screaming into these types of conversations.
We prefer to talk about the infant Jesus sweet and mild.
We like to think of the church as a refuge from the brokenness and sinfulness of the world. We like to think that, within Christian community, we are kinder to each other. We like to think that we are better at "doing unto others." But the truth is victims are sitting in our pews, our classrooms, our church offices. Christian community doesn't protect us. Gender or age or marital status doesn't protect us. Pastoral authority doesn't protect us. The truth is I don't know a woman that hasn't dealt with sexual harassment or abuse in some arena.
And that's not something to remain silent on.
No matter how fearful I might be. No matter how tired I might be. No matter how uncomfortable it might be.
Before I go on, I should probably tell you the second reason for my Advent awakening and feeling like a prophetic failure, hence my trying to overcome my fear... A comment on a different post that said, "How much more blatant immorality and lying rhetoric is required for good pastors to speak out?"
I don't know? How much more, Christine? Because clearly this reality isn't one that's news to me. I've been a girl or a woman my whole life.
The sad irony is I will speak out when it doesn't relate to me directly and I'm speaking on behalf of someone else, but when it impacts me directly, then I'm quiet? Is it because I don't want to be the ostracized one? The outsider? The weird one? The shunned one?
Fear is a powerful silencer.
And as I said before, I don't want to be John the Baptist. He's too weird. Plus he gets his head chopped off, although that's not in this portion of his story. But mostly, he's too truthful. John puts everything on the line.
I don't think anyone really want to be John the Baptist. Just ask any of those women. Exposing the truth is frightening and risky. True prophets are truth-tellers. They are essential in bringing about God's kingdom, but they are not very popular. But eventually the prophet can no longer keep silent. God won't allow it.
This is where my disconnect of being a pastor rises from.
Really telling the truth means exposing lies and not being quiet. That's super scary.
Isaiah and John both speak out, because the question, "Is this the way it's supposed to be," haunts their sleep and will not let them rest. They usher in a challenging new reality, one that messes with everyone's conceptions of how God works and turns the social order upside down.
These women who have come forward are proclaiming a message from God. They are prophets, unpopular but vital, ushering in a new reality. I am grateful there are braver and bolder women and men than I. Because this is not the way it's supposed to be.
I know that some would beg to differ. Some will point to the upheaval that has been let loose, the lives that have been torn apart, that we should just let bygones be bygones, and even point out how far side-tracked we are from the 'real' issues.
Some will tire of the stories of women, some will brush the 'lesser' forms of harassment aside and say we should get over it.
Some will even say this isn't what a sermon should be about. Sermons should be about God, but I think it's safe to assume that Jesus doesn't appreciate sexual objectification or abuse of women.
Or men.
Right? Men too are victims of sexual exploitation.
The promise of Advent isn't just a coming babe in a manger.
No. Advent issues us the prophetic challenge of judgment, redemption, and incarnational change. These unlikely prophets are making our world more accessible and safe for everyone.
The promise of Advent is an answer to the world's aching question of, "Is this the way it's supposed to be?" with a defining, "No."
That 'NO' is found in Jesus when God said, "No," to every prescribed way of doing things by coming as a baby and God said, "No," to a system that didn't value women by empowering Mary.
So in these chaotic times, I take heart that despite my fear and despite my tiredness I can hear the voices crying in the wilderness beckoning us forward: This way, this way - as we follow in the steps others have trod.
Almost as if to remind us that we must go through the wilderness to get to the promised land where Jesus lay, because according to John it's not going to be very comfortable when the world is being saved. Amen.
