Mark 10:2-16
I
sat there feeling hopeless. Shame and guilt washed over me in relentless waves.
The topic of our conversation had shifted, and one person dominated the
discussion. What is wrong in our society, he said, is that our kids are coming
out of broken homes. Homes with single moms, he said, and no fathers in sight.
It is these broken homes, these broken families that are at the root of our
crumbling culture.
This
was about six years ago. I was sitting in a ministerial association meeting –
actually, I was hosting it, because we were in the parlor of the old church.
The person talking was and is a minister in this community. It turns out,
although I didn’t know it at the time, that he too has been married and
divorced – more than once on both accounts. But I didn’t know that. What I did
know was that I was newly separated. I was now a single mother, and if I
believed what this man said, my kids were doomed.
As
he continued to talk and talk and talk, I got quieter and quieter. I didn’t
know where to look. Catching the eye of another colleague was impossible. I
didn’t want to look at them. I was too ashamed. I just bowed my head toward my
hands, closed my eyes, and prayed that this rant would soon be over; that he
would either run out of steam and stop on his own, or that someone would
interrupt him. I don’t remember how it ended. I just know that it did. I held
it together until the last minister left, then I sat and cried.
I
suspect that this other minister was not trying to shame me. I would like to
believe that had he known my situation, he would have held his tongue or at
least worked at some sensitivity. But even if he had done either of those
things, I doubt that my shame and guilt would have been abated. Even if he
would not have made any of those remarks, I would have still heard them. I was
saying them to myself every day. I didn’t need to hear a sermon about the evils
of divorce; I was preaching that sermon to myself on a regular basis.
Hearing
this passage from Mark may bring out those kinds of sermons in our heads. After
all, it would seem that this passage is designed for just that purpose. Jesus
was on the move again, drawing crowds and teaching them as they went. Into this
setting some Pharisees came to Jesus to test him. That might be a clue to us
that this passage is not just another way to condemn those who have failed in
their marriages. The Pharisees wanted to test Jesus, and we know that whenever
Pharisees wanted to test Jesus, there was more at stake. Testing was another
way to try and trick him. They wanted to catch him up in a trap of the legal
kind.
But
Jesus never fell for it. He never gave them the satisfaction. They asked a
question about divorce, which was a legal issue, and he turned the law back on
them.
“Is
it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?”
“What
did Moses command you?”
“They
said, ‘Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal to divorce her.’
But Jesus said to them, ‘Because of your hardness of heart, he wrote this
commandment for you.’”
Because
of your hardness of heart … it wasn’t that Jesus didn’t take marriage
seriously. He quoted from Genesis to show the divine intent behind marriage. He
spoke privately to his disciples about remarriage being adultery. But he was
pushing them to see something more, something bigger.
Although
the Pharisees asked about the lawfulness of divorce, that legality was not
really in question. Even though divorce was frowned upon, it was assumed that
it would sometimes happen. It was perfectly legal for a man to divorce his
wife. And there was no long drawn out court process for this. He only had to
write a “certificate of divorce.” As I understand it, that was basically the
husband writing down, “I divorce you” and handing it to his wife. The reasons
for divorce could be as simple as the wife burning the husband’s dinner just
one too many times.
Jesus
was not countering the Pharisees test of lawfulness with more legalism. Jesus
pushed back on their hardness of heart. A divorce was a breaking of
relationship, and that breaking of relationship often left the most vulnerable
in society even more vulnerable. Women had no status or power outside of their
husband or other men in their family. To be divorced was to lose the protection
of that man. I have said it again and again, and I will keep saying it, there
is a reason why we so often hear about care for the widows and orphans. It is
because women and children were the most vulnerable in that society. Divorce
exponentially increased that vulnerability.
Up
to this point in the narrative, Jesus had been trying to teach the disciples
and the crowds that the kingdom of God
Divorce
was a breaking of relationship that caused harm, real physical harm to those
who were left in its wake. I know that can still be said about divorce today.
It would seem that I am backing up the words said by that minister six years
ago; that the troubles of our society spring from the broken family. If only
families stayed together, all would be well. But here’s the thing: divorce does
happen. And it hurts. It hurts like hell. And it can harm. But brokenness is
not limited to divorce and divorce alone. We are broken; all of us. We are all
wounded in one way or another. We are all damaged by the struggles of life. To
live is to eventually be broken. To live is to eventually experience broken
relationships and broken hearts. You do not have to live through a divorce to
know that.
But
what makes me so sad is that when it comes to church, when it comes to being
the church, we seem to forget this reality of the human condition. We seem to
get it into our heads that church is the place where only the really, really
good folks get to go. I have heard many people say that they were faithful
members of their church … until they got divorced. Then they no longer felt
like they could attend. They felt like they just weren’t good enough to sit in
the pews. It was as if divorce stained them so badly, they could not get clean
again.
When
I was going through my divorce, I considered leaving the ministry for those
same reasons. Who was I to stand in this pulpit and preach when I had failed so
terribly, so horribly? But Alice
You
see we are all broken, in one way or another. Today as we celebrate World
Communion, I cannot help but think about all the people around the world who
will gather at tables and altars, in large cathedrals and small storefronts,
and take the bread and the cup. I cannot help but imagine all of the stories
that will be brought to those tables. I cannot help but imagine hundreds of
thousands of broken people gathering to hear the familiar words, “The body of
Christ, the blood of Christ.”
We
are all broken. We are a community of broken people, but we are also a
community of blessed people. We are a community of blessed people because God
does not abandon us to our brokenness. God does not give up on us because we
are broken. God calls us out of our broken places, God calls to us in the brokenness
of our hearts. God calls us not only in spite of our brokenness, but maybe
because of it. God calls us and God loves us. God binds up our broken hearts.
God pours the balm of love and healing on the broken places and the broken
relationships. God calls us to the table, broken and blessed, and tells us the
good news that the kingdom is for the broken and the lost and the vulnerable.
God blesses us just as Jesus blessed those children.
We
are a community of broken and blessed people. May we acknowledge our
brokenness, and may we see the brokenness in others. Then may we reach out to
them in love and grace, just as God reaches out to us, with love and tenderness
and grace over and over again.
We
are a community of broken and blessed people. Thanks be to God.
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