Reflection Shared by Rev. Debra McKnight at Beth El Synagogue's Memorial Service

As a United Methodist clergy woman, I grew up in tradition that spoke of holiness that was not simply personal but social. Our faith is communal. It is relational, and so sometimes our heartbreak is not only personal but social. I think of this as systemic grief. And when I am feeling systemic grief, which can be a lot lately, I lean into the story of two Egyptian midwives. You can find them in the First Chapter of Exodus. It is this space where we can see a country, Egypt, go from welcome and embrace of outsiders escaping hunger in their homeland to systemic oppression, forced labor, and violence as they march towards genocide. The Pharaoh, in this moment of the story, has a new idea to deal destruction. He asks the midwives to kill baby boys born to Hebrew women while their mother is yet on the birthing stool. The narrative we inherit says, “but the midwives fear God,” and say no. They fear God, they stand in awe and openness, a posture of listening and action that makes them fearless in the face of Pharaoh. I suspect they have plenty of reason to fear Pharaoh, nobody likes to be called to the Principal’s office let alone the Pharaoh’s. He has all the systems of wealth and power, funneling privilege and control to his hands. In their resistance they risk everything, and their death at the Pharaoh’s hands would not be murder but state sponsored violence perhaps in the name of keeping the peace.

I imagine them at the birth stool. They dwell in a thin space, life and death so near. Their work is about giving life. They know how to coach the most unsure woman into the fullness of her power, they know how to stand in struggle and bring life into the world. They know how to manage an anxious room, how to quite the auntie who says all the wrong things at all the wrong times. And they know, when the worst outcome is near, how to make room for grief and loss with the most grace, care, and compassion possible. I imagine them, at the birthing stool, looking towards a mammoth wall, as big as a pyramid, of systemic violence, oppression, and destruction, and they give life anyway. They find a way to fight for life in the face of Pharaoh’s executive order to deal death. They give life because they work in a space where they know all the boundaries and barriers and divisions men make mean nothing, absolutely nothing.

So I look to them when I am grieved, systemically grieved. We see seeds of violence, hatred, antisemitism, and white supremacy nurtured rather than uprooted, and systems of injustice seem almost impossible to change. I pause to remember ancient voices that refused to succumb to despair and indifference. I look to the stories of those messy, holy-imperfect people who journeyed before us. We have the stories that can save us. We have the stories of midwives who faced the King of Egypt, we have the stories of those little guys defeating their Goliaths, and the stories of those who would not go back to Egypt but marched on to a bigger promise. Those midwives call to us today. Join in the work that gives life and breaks down the systems that deal death.

May we have the courage. Amen.

© October 29, 2018 Rev. Debra McKnight

Me Too Me To & God Too: Seeing Each Other as Sacred

Scripture

Matthew 5:5

‘Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

Esther 1: 10-12
“On the seventh day, when the king was merry with wine, he commanded the seven eunuchs who attended him, to bring Queen Vashti before the king, wearing the royal crown, in order to show the peoples and the officials her beauty; for she was fair to behold. But Queen Vashti refused to come at the king’s command. At this the king was enraged, and his anger burned within him.”

Sermon


We know a few things about Queen Vashti: She is the queen of a powerful empire, her husband thinks she is fair to behold, and they are hosting a great party. If you take a look at the book of Esther, you will find this is an epic party...180 days of food and drink and entertainment, the king hosts the men; heads of state, trade partners and powerful people. He spares no expense. Queen Vashti hosts their wives... that's how they roll, two separate parties. And then the King has a great King-ly idea (like when the Grinch has a really Grinch-y idea and his whole face curls with Grinch-y delight). What is the one thing that can make his party even better - showing off his trophy wife. So he calls for the servants, the eunuchs, a group of men whose masculinity didn’t threaten the king, and sends them to invite the queen to appear in her royal signet or royal crown. It is possible this means appear only in your royal crown or with your royal symbol. So the king, “merry with wine,” asks his wife to appear, perhaps nearly nude before a hall of intoxicated men, and she says no. She says no to the king - a man who never hears no from anyone. This could not have been an easy choice. Later we learn Esther could be killed for speaking to the king without being invited to speak to him first. Literally seen but not heard. Vashti risks it all and says no.She decides her worth and value, she chooses to stand up for herself.

This is perhaps the no heard ‘round the world. It creates a national crisis, all of the king’s advisors gather because they fear the word getting out. If the queen can say no to the king then wives may say no to their husbands. And this is a real problem!


“Then Memucan said in the presence of the king and the officials, ‘Not only has Queen Vashti done wrong to the king, but also to all the officials and all the peoples who are in all the provinces of King Ahasuerus. For this deed of the queen will be made known to all women, causing them to look with contempt on their husbands, since they will say, “King Ahasuerus commanded Queen Vashti to be brought before him, and she did not come.” This very day the noble ladies of Persia and Media who have heard of the queen’s behavior will rebel against the king’s officials, and there will be no end of contempt and wrath!” Esther 1:16-18

In the end the advisors send a decree to every corner of the empire that Queen Vashti will never be invited before the king again. I like to imagine her saying, “Oh Thank God.” The fact that she avoids execution if probably a miracle.

Vashti comes up again throughout history as a dangerous woman. A woman you shouldn’t be like if you’re a girl, and a woman you shouldn’t seek out if you’re a boy who likes girls. Thousands of years of history share her story as an example of what not to do and how not to behave. Don’t set off a national crisis, just comply with your king/husband when he asks you to show up in a crown surrounded by intoxicated men. She is the shrew who isn’t tamed, she is a troublesome woman... the opposite of meek and mild.

The church has a history saying, “Be meek, blessed are the meek;” honoring the meek. We picture meek in Mary, quiet, glancing down at the manger. We, the church, have used meek in ways that serve the not so meek. Reminding enslaved people they are blessed, being meek and poor. Reminding women to be meek when they name the violence of husbands. Or reminding children to be meek when they name abuse at the hands of the powerful - particularly if they are clergy. We use meek when it suits the status quo. But when Jesus says blessed are the meek, he does not mean be a doormat or just be cool with maintaining the status quo. Meek actually resonates with worth, knowing who you are, knowing you belong in God’s family, knowing you are created in the image of a loving God and so you are sacred. Blessed are the meek is a blessing for those who will not be measured up against someone’s standards, your power is not about the worlds measure of power regardless of if that is based on race, gender, economic status, age, dress size, and any other measure the world sets out. Blessed are the meek, I think is most powerfully expressed in Mary and not the Mary we have simplified over history. Mary speaks up in the Gospels. She is not the quiet, turtleneck wearing statue we always see opposite of a wild haired Eve at the church door. She is pregnant when she shouldn’t be pregnant. And rather than feeling ashamed of herself she says, “I help you see God, “my soul magnifies the Lord.” She sings a song about God throwing the powerful from their thrones and lifting up the lowly. Meek is not about being a quiet doormat for the status quo; meek Mary sings about God sending the rich away hungry. Mary is meek enough to be bold and resilient and courageous because she knows she is a part of God.

We have a history we must name and change. We have misused meek. I have heard the stories of women who have confided in their male clergy about domestic violence and they have been met with an encouragement to be meek, that this is the cross they must bear. Women and children have named church leaders as perpetrators of assault; and the church leaders of all denominations have defaulted to institutional protection, rather than a call to action to forever change the church and the world. We must honor Me Too stories from the past and the present so the future looks differently.

I believe part of this work towards a new future asks us to think about the words we use for God. We historically name God as He, we are “his children,” and we pray to our Father and sometimes our God and King. In 1973 Mary Daly reminded us that the way we name the sacred impacts how we see each other and ourselves, she said, “If God is a male, then the male is god.” She noted how we value masculinity. I see this when occasionally I slip a She into a conversation about God. Sometimes I get a “Wow,” a curious, happy, interested, surprised, wow. And sometimes I get a “Wow,” an unbelievable how could you would insult God with feminine pronoun, wow. It catches people off guard. We swim in culture of masculinity for God and I propose that if we could dive deep into our tradition and lift up more diverse images of God we might transform the way we see the sacred in others. God is a mother giving birth, a nursing mother, a tender comforting mother, a mother hen gathering her chicks and the two most intense I think must be the mother bear and the mother eagle…to which I say do not mess with her babies. We have lady wisdom to learn with and we are from the start all formed in the image of God. We are gifted with diverse and beautiful names for God because all of them fall short and all of them are needed to help us find our way.

When I was in seminary, a Ph.D. student assisted in one of my classes. He was not a part of the United Methodist Tradition and he invited conversation around an article that suggested women were to be excluded from church leadership because they don’t resemble Jesus. Men most resemble Jesus. I proposed that “resembling Jesus” might invite us to courageous leadership, participation in healing, a willingness to take risks, and servant leadership. Perhaps that resemblance was more important than physically being a male church leader. He disagreed. He named how some people, particularly women, needed a male clergy person, for him it really was about a particular body. I alway wish I had suggested that the Christian Church only hire 30 year old, Middle Eastern, Jewish men from Palestine to serve as priest, clergy and pastor. If we are going to really focus on the body, let’s focus on the body. I suspect he wouldn’t have been willing to take resemblance that far and disqualify himself.

We are in a faith of incarnation, God embodied in us and around us and through us. But we get hung up on the culture’s values of who is in charge, who is powerful, who is worthy; rather than living into Jesus’s message of abundance and blessing that is extended out beyond all of the boundaries we create. If we can see each other as sacred I believe we will treat each other as sacred. That means getting God out of our boxes particularly of masculinity. If we sang of God as mother, would it change how we cared for mothers after birth? If we saw the divine in girls and women, would we act to change an epidemic of sexual violence on our college campus? If we took seriously seeing God in the vulnerable baby, laying in a manger, would it change how we see the poor children longing for a safe place to call home? If we explored the images of God as mountain and God as living water, would it give us pause before mining the hillside or polluting the stream?

Our tradition pushes us to see God beyond He. We can see God in He, She, and They. We can imagine God as a vulnerable baby in a manger, we can see the sacred in Vashti’s no, we can celebrate courage in Mary’s song about God lifting up the lowly. We can celebrate God in the meek, the truly meek - self-possessed and living into God’s big dream.

May it be so. Amen

Discussion Questions

• What image of God did you grow up with? What does it feel like to add a new image? How is that hard? 
• What do you hear in Vashti’s story? 
• What do you hear in Mary’s song and the images we see of Mary? 
• How can you be an advocate for seeing the sacred in people the world doesn’t value? 

© Rev. Debra McKnight, Urban Abbey

Pray for Me Too

God beyond all face and form,

You gift us with stories, fiery and faithful, stories that shine a light on the depth of human suffering and inhumanity. The stories of bodies broken, battered, used and owned, grabbed without consent, traded, bartered and bought as objects, betrayed by family, stranger, and friend.

These stories terrify us, we hate to read them, they’re not nice enough for church.
But they are there. Brave ones shouting, whispering just between the printed lines,
         witnessing, raging, “Me Too.”
         Tamar and Hagar, Lot’s wife and Lot’s daughters,
         David’s daughter and Israel’s son, both had princess tunics torn,
         the concubines, the slaves,
         the prisoners and captives,
         and the daughters, all of them unnamed.

They are there, witnessing to humanities great sin, dismissed quietly.
        Powerful women, simplified by history, brought down in size,
                Mary the quiet, downward glancing saint and
                        Eve the wild haired sinner hardly covering her breasts,
                sculpted and re-sculpted in word and stone,
                        over 2,000 years of the patriarchy’s fearful gaze,
                                proclaiming just how good girls ought to look and behave.

But Mary… You give us Mary and she sings anyway,
        sings of God lifting up the lowly and throwing the mighty from their throne.
        “Time’s Up,” she cries in an ancient song, “My soul magnifies the Lord.”
                Vashti, Queen of self possession roars, “No,”
                         time’s up on kings controlling, demanding, deciding what my body is for.
The Woman at the well preaches time's up on the old ways, we are filled with the water of life.
        Time’s up on crumbs from the master's table and slurs dismissing our humanity.
        Time’s up on sacrificing bodies with Jephthah’s daughter, we dance in defiance.
        Time’s up on God only looking like “He.”

We remember the pain of me too, past and present.
        But the future must look differently, time’s up for the epidemic of inhumanity.
Our hands are made for helping,
        our hearts are made for loving,
                our bodies are sacred, and our dreams are worthy of living,
                        we gather, witnessing to our resurrection faith, Love making all things new.

God, you give us stories, stories where people are never the same, stories where people find their way out of no way, turn the tables, and discover they are beautifully and wonderfully made.
        They light the way as we write our own verse in creation’s eternal song.
 
Time’s up on false humility and quiet little women in church,
        Deborah and Lydia lead with wisdom and courage and grace.
Time’s up on ‘cat fights’ and divisive narratives,
        girls support girls, and we celebrate our strengths,
        Mary and Martha both have our back.
Time’s up on the vulnerable going it alone, Ruth taught us to stand side by side,
        no matter how challenging the road.
Time’s up on the glass ceiling, Mary Magdalene calls us into action, finding the funding, proclaiming the truth, and crushing the patriarchy,
        so all, all people
                he, she and they, can be free.
Let’s do this. And all God’s people said, Amen.

© Rev. Debra McKnight, Urban Abbey

My Life-Giving Space

Thank you, Debra, and thank you to all of the Urban Abbey for dedicating this service to Mental Illness Awareness Week, October 7-13.

I’m not bipolar! I’m Suzie.

I have the diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder, but that does not define who I am. I’m a spouse, a mom, a Nana! I’m funny, insightful, passionate. I’m a leader. I’m a follower. And, quite honestly, I’m “badass!” I’m so much more than my mental illness and the stigma attached to it.

I work for NAMI Nebraska, the National Alliance on Mental Illness, and NAMI’s theme for 2018 is “Cure Stigma.”

Stigma is toxic to our mental health because it creates an environment of shame, fear, and silence that prevents many people from seeking help and treatment, and in some cases, it takes lives.
Compassion, empathy, and understanding counteract stigma.

When I’m really struggling, what hurts?  When I hear:
“What’s wrong with you?”
“You just need to... (fill in the blank).”
The messsage I get: “I’m broken.  I’m not okay as a person.”

What helps?
“Wow. That must be really hard.”
“I’m so sorry you’re hurting.”
“How can I best support you?”
The message: “You value and respect me.”
            “You’re not going to leave me.”

I’ve been treating my mental health for over 20 years, so I have quite a story, but for today I’ll stay more in the present.

Two years ago I stopped working because my mental illness took me to a very dark and painful place.  I was no longer capable of supporting others who needed and deserved to be heard. I walked away from the best and most meaningful job I’d ever had.

Even though my depression was very heavy and I felt suicidal much of the time, there were signs that I truly wanted to live.

4 1/2 months after I stopped working because of my mental health, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

My initial thought was, “Okay, well that makes this easy.” My depression was severe, but I did not succumb to my mental illness or cancer! I chose life!

I went through the prescribed treatments for my cancer as well as continuing to treat my mental health. I fought for my life! I made that my full-time job, and it was some of the hardest work I’ve ever done.

My healing involved many things, and the Urban Abbey has been one of the most valuable supports on this journey, and continues to be. I’m forever grateful Paige and I walked through the door 3 1/2 years ago.

Every week Debra asks us to name a life-giving moment. I had no idea that THAT would be a life-giving moment, literally. Not only does the Abbey give me life and make my soul come alive.. .the Urban Abbey honestly saved my life. When I say “the Abbey,” I mean more than the physical space.  Don’t get me wrong, I love books and coffee, they definitely give me life! When I talk about the Abbey, though, I talk about Debra, and the barista, Gabe, who was working that first day, told us what the Urban Abbey is about, and invited us to our first service. (A barista’s job at the Abbey involves much more than making a good cup of coffee!) But, mainly, I talk about you, the people of the Abbey. I’ve never had a church family that I’ve loved and trusted like I have here.

During those two years, I came into this space for peace and healing... serenity... clarity.. .to clear and quiet my mind. Some days I talked with Debra, prayed with her. Other times I sat back, talked to no one, was simply present. It brought great peace to look across the room at my pastor, my friends... and all the books! Some days that’s all I needed.

When I walk into the Abbey, my shoulders drop, my tension releases, and I can breathe.

On one of my worst days, a very cold day, when I thought my options were few, I found myself walking down the hill to the Abbey. I really didn’t know what to do and this was my only logical choice. I talked things over with Debra, made some phone calls, and a member of this church, who was volunteering that day, drove me to the hospital so I could get the help I needed. My church family was with me. Members of the Pastoral Team, my friends, visited me, let me know I’m not alone.

By getting involved in the church through reaching out and service work, I’ve made some lifelong friends.

I want to thank you, Debra, for taking the risk, starting a church, and making it the Urban Abbey.

And thank you all for BEING the Abbey. Thank you for saving my life.

- Suzie Noonan