The Last Supper, by Jan Richardson. Used with permission.
Have you ever been wrong about something – about something important?
If so, how exactly did you find out that you were wrong? And what did you then do about it?
If you are like our sibling in the faith, Simon Peter, then you will find out you were wrong about something in a vivid dream. You will dream that a sheet descends from heaven, and on that sheet are images that reveal to you that you were mistaken. Peter saw animals that were off limits for pious Jewish people to eat. This dream persuaded him that he was on the wrong side of a major argument in the early church about who belongs in the community and who does not. The other side won: non-Jewish persons were welcomed into the Jesus Movement without the requirement that they be circumcised and follow other Jewish laws and customs. The Jesus Movement became the Christian Church, culturally diverse, expansive, a movement and mission that traveled beyond its Jewish origins. Jews and Gentiles alike came together as siblings in the faith.
But you – what would your vision be like? Imagine that you are dreaming, and in your dream a sheet descends from heaven, and on that sheet are images that reveal to you that you are wrong about something.
What would those images be?
All too recently, those images for me would have been trans and genderqueer persons, and images of the challenges they face. Here’s what I was wrong about: because I am cisgender, I was blind to the identity and the challenges of those who do not enjoy cisgender privilege. I have always supported and even advocated for all persons in the GLBTQ rainbow, but I confess that until recent years, I did not spend much time getting to know, or getting to understand, trans and genderqueer persons.
A few summers ago, I was working as a trainer in our diocesan College for Congregational Development, and our director told us that we should ask our small groups of participants to list their pronouns when introducing themselves in an opening exercise. I felt uncomfortable with this. I projected my own feelings onto others when I said, “I don’t know about this. It could create deeply awkward moments with the group. Some of our more conservative participants could object, or say something inappropriate, or roll their eyes.” I went ahead and did as I was told, but I felt wary and nervous.
Well, nobody had a problem with it, as you may have already guessed. I had in my mind an old codger of a participant, some unreconstructed older man from a small church in a rural part of our diocese, who would balk at this new cultural artifact and would say or do something embarrassing. But all the participants behaved well: some of them declined to list their pronouns, but said and did nothing offensive. Others complied fully. I was left with my own dawning consciousness that it was me, just me, who was behind the curve on this.
I had been wrong.
Now I routinely list my pronouns on my zoom name, in my email signatures, on my name tags, and I am fully comfortable with it. But I carry some embarrassment even now about how late to the party I was on this important intercultural development. My ignorance was – and potentially still is – harmful to those who are not cisgender. My casual disregard about the issue, in its own way, helped perpetuate the forces of injustice that literally cost lives. Trans kids are at substantially higher risk of dying by suicide. Trans and genderqueer adults are subjected to workplace harassment and discrimination, housing discrimination, and more. Our non-cisgender siblings are used as a political football by cynical candidates for public office, and they are routinely ignored by the church.
How could I have been so wrong, for so long?
But this is not a public confession and self-flagellation, and I truly do not want to make it about me. We are all wrong about many things, and this is all the more true when we enjoy privileges that blind us so badly to the experiences of others. Life in community, when it is healthy, becomes a way for us to discover and work on this kind of blindness. Peter meant well when he worked to preserve Jewish identity and piety in the Jesus Movement, but he was blind to the Spirit’s movement that was pushing them outward in all directions, around the Mediterranean and beyond. He wasn’t malevolently wrong (though that is another kind of wrongness of which we are all capable). But he needed to be converted all the same. He needed to be corrected. He needed to confront his own mistake, and turn around.
Here’s how our tradition can help us do that.
Today’s Good News takes us back to the upper room where Jesus shared his last meal with his friends. He reiterates to them the Jewish commandment that they love one another. This commandment – and particularly the specific way Jesus teaches this commandment – is our guide to working with each other in this community to be enlightened, converted, and reconciled to one another, and to those who tend not to feel welcome in this room. This is how we confront our mistakes, and turn around.
“Love one another” is somewhat erroneously called the “new” commandment of Jesus, when in fact it is not new at all. The Jewish Jesus and his Jewish friends knew their Torah: they knew the great Shema in the book of Deuteronomy which says, “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.” They recited the Shema daily. And they knew an additional commandment in the Torah: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus had recounted these commandments himself in other conversations. So when he commands them to “love one another,” this itself is nothing new.
What’s new is the context in which he gives them this commandment, and in John the context is the footwashing. When he washes their feet, Jesus models a shocking, even offensive practice of self-giving love. The washing of feet in that day was done by the least of the household slaves. It was smelly, disgusting work. Imagine how wretched the streets of the cities were, lined with dung from beasts of burden. To wash another’s feet: this is a startling gesture of humility and loving service.
Now, our roads are cleaner, as are our feet. And we only imitate the footwashing itself once a year, and always as an option one can freely decline. And yet we have the word “service” on our sign out front, on our website, on our stationery, even on our hearts: here at Grace Church, we hold close to our hearts the four values of inclusion, service, discovery, and gratitude. “It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this,” as Lincoln would say. But “service” is a serious value to claim! If we are following the risen Jesus, then “service” is something quite daunting.
If I am serving trans and genderqueer persons the way Jesus wants me to serve, then I need to repent from the easy prejudice that holds me back from the miniscule discomfort of asking everyone to share their pronouns. That is the very least I must do! Service – the risen-Jesus kind of service – compels me to go all in with my trans and genderqueer siblings. It compels me to set aside everything I think I know about human identity, gender, and even my own self-understanding, and be open to a vast and deep transformation of my consciousness. Service – the footwashing kind of service – pushes me (however gracefully) to my knees in humble openness to my neighbor, with honest awareness of my own need to learn, and turn around, and if possible be a useful ally to them.
We are five weeks into our seven-week exploration of God’s resurrection garden. We do find great joy in this garden: good news of great joy, as Luke’s Christmas angels would phrase it. We discover that death has been reversed, that the power of sin has been shattered, that Christ is risen and dies no more, and our own deaths will not have the last word. Yet we also are confronted in this garden. We are challenged. Like Simon Peter, we are challenged to recognize what we’ve gotten wrong, and turn in a new direction, and serve others with profound humility.
But that’s part of the joy, too. It feels good (if I can get past my own ego) to be corrected, to learn something new, to turn in a new direction. And we do this together, learning from one another, enlightened by the risen Christ, who even now is in our midst, breathing peace upon us.
Imagine what we might learn tomorrow.
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Preached on the Fifth Sunday of Easter (Year C), May 15, 2022, at Grace Episcopal Church, Bainbridge Island, Washington.
Acts 11:1-18
Psalm 148
Revelation 21:1-6
John 13:31-35