Ninth Sunday after Trinity, 18 August 2019

Lectionary readings: Jeremiah 23:23-29 and Hebrews 11:29-12:2 and Luke 12:49-56

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.”

So great a crowd of witnesses. What manner of witnesses are they, and to what do they bear witness? They are those who saw the kingdom of God, albeit at a distance, and who bear witness to the nature of that kingdom that has now been brought into being in and through the person of Jesus.

There is the Song of Moses, and the song of his sister Miriam, declaring the triumph of God over the army of Egypt (Exodus 15). Moses, the man who grew up in Pharaoh’s household and lost it all in a moment of madness, becoming a fugitive so broken in the middle of nowhere that he could not speak without a stammer (Exodus 2-4), singing. Miriam, the fearless, outrageously brilliant saviour (Exodus 2:1-10), who became jealous of her younger brother and bore the shame of exclusion from the people for seven days (Numbers 12).

There is Rahab, living in Jericho (Joshua 2, and 6). Jericho was, at that time, little more than a military outpost, and where there are army bases you will always find women supporting their children by selling their body for sex. Rahab, the prostitute, whom Jesus is unashamed to name as his ancestor, a mother in the faith (Matthew 1, where she is named along with Tamar, who is forced, by patriarchal injustice, to catch her father-in-law in a sex-trap; Ruth, a foreigner belonging to a hated neighbouring people; ‘the wife of Uriah’—that is, Bathsheba, not even named, with whom David committed adultery; and Mary, whose pregnancy had the potential to expose her to shame).

There is Gideon, a man we meet hiding in a hole in the ground; whom the Lord raised up as an unlikely saviour; whose latter days were marked with self-importance (Judges 6-8). There is Barak, a man who is called to lead the people to victory but who won’t go unless Deborah—the woman raised up by God to speak the words of God to the people of God—goes with him, to hold his hand; and whose glory is therefore given by God to another woman, Jael (Judges 4-5). There is Samson, set apart by God from before birth, who comes to believe himself entitled; follows a trajectory of self-destruction; and dies a prisoner to the very people he was supposed to liberate his people from, in chains, his eyes gouged out (Judges 13-16). There is Jephthah, driven away by his half-brothers, an outlaw, turned to only when all other options are exhausted; a hothead who has his daughter executed rather than lose face (Judges 11).

There is David, the boy whose heart longed to be true to God’s heart, yet who abandoned his wife Michal after she saved his life, and later shamed her when she called-out his inappropriate behaviour; David, who took the wife of one of his most loyal friends for his own gratification, and then, when she was found to be pregnant as a consequence, had that loyal friend killed in a staged tragic accident of battle; David, whose own children warred against each other, one son raping his half-sister, to be killed by her brother, who later also died, having tried to usurp his father’s throne, forcing David to flee before him (the whole book of 2 Samuel).

There is Samuel, a son longed for by a childless woman shamed by her childlessness and the many sons and daughters of her husband’s other wife; a woman deeply distressed, and in this state wrongly accused of drunkenness by Eli the priest; Samuel, the answer to prayer, given back to the Lord, growing up to become to greatest prophet-judge in living memory, yet knowing the shame of greedy, dishonest, sons who perverted justice for gain (the whole book of 1 Samuel).

Still others are alluded to, as those who conquered kingdoms, administered justice, obtained promises, shut the mouths of lions. Men, such as Daniel, carried away into exile. Women, such as Deborah and Jael, Naomi and Ruth, Hannah, Huldah, Esther, Mary, Martha and Mary. And others. Jesus is not the first man in this story to be publicly executed in the most humiliating manner imaginable; Mary and the women at the cross, not the first to be made to look on.

What do these witnesses have in common? They bear witness to a kingdom in which shame is washed away. Shame, that weighs us down and trips us up. They bear witness to a king who is glorified, who is honoured by God, in the very act of being shamed by the world, hanging naked from an execution scaffold.

In our rather strange and difficult Gospel reading, Jesus declares that he has not come to bring peace but division within households. What are we to make of that, of this divisive figure in our midst?

There is a false peace that is imposed by the world, through the honour-shame structure. To behave in the ‘right’ way results in honour; while to behave in the ‘wrong’ way brings shame. We see this in the hierarchies of the world Jesus entered. At first, the Pharisees, who were genuinely concerned with helping ordinary people to live lives acceptable to God, saw Jesus as an ally. But he kept insisting on associating with the wrong sort of people, disreputable women and men, notorious sinners. He brought shame upon himself, and, by extension, on those pharisees who had hosted him. These hierarchies existed in Jewish culture, and in Greco-Roman culture, and were broken down in the church where the barriers between Jews and Gentiles, citizens and slaves, men and women, were removed in the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who disregarded worldly honour and shame. And who calls us to do likewise. And who brings a great cloud of witnesses to bear witness to the claim.

This is utterly counter-cultural in our own context too. We are steeped in honour-shame culture, expending huge amounts of energy to keep ourselves from shame, and, often, to shame others. If you are of the opinion that it is a mistake to leave the EU, you are a Remoaner. If you believe it is the right thing to do, you are a Little Englander, and a racist. According to many, it is a matter of national shame that Boris Johnson (‘buffoon’) is Prime Minister; while according to many others, the deeper shame would be to see Jeremy Corbyn (‘repulsive little man’) in Number 10.

Greta Thunberg speaks out on the urgent need to address climate change…and is shamed, for being a child, and for being on the Autism Spectrum; for speaking out of turn about things she is ‘too young’ and ‘too autistic’ ‘to possibly understand.’

If you take a stand for equality, you will be targeted by trolls wanting to know when we will see an International Men’s Day (it already exists) or a Straight Pride. If, on the other hand, you have any reservations about any part of the sprawling LGBTQIA+ umbrella, you will increasingly likely fear being publicly shamed as Homophobic. But note this: extremists expertly exploit shame to nurture anger; and, tragically, where more liberal-minded people employ shame as a corrective, this plays into the extremists’ hands. You cannot fight shame with shame.

And it is not just in the contentious issues that honour-shame is at rampant play. The most common lie in our culture is “Fine, thanks.” in response to the question, “How are you?” Women will sometimes use lipstick as a mask, to put their face on. Men tend not to wear lipstick, but are no strangers to wearing a mask in public: it is a shameful thing to let slip any vulnerability in public; an honourable thing to be strong. And suicide is the number one cause of death for men under the age of 50—a cause of action that, ironically, brings shame upon surviving family and friends.

Or, if we dare to put our head above the parapet and admit to struggling with life, you can guarantee that friends will rush to tell us how wonderful we are, and that we must not be so hard on ourselves. It sounds well-meaning, but it betrays a fear that if one person breaks rank, stops playing the “I’m fine” game, we will all lose our hard-fought position of honour as those who are Winning at Life. So, we shut that down, hard.

Wherever we have known shame, Jesus chooses to stand alongside us, to own us as members of his family. Whether it is shame we have brought upon ourselves, and others, or shame that others have poured on us.

You were not made for shame. If you want proof, consider this: that we were all born doubly incontinent, totally dependent on the care of another to feed us and attend to every need; and this is also how we will likely end our life. Yet, dependent on love, we are honoured, by love, in our dependency. We are not made for shame, nor for honour based on our competency, but for love, and for honour based on God’s gracious initiative towards us all. Yet shame has entered-into the universal human experience. It is insidious. It weighs heavy on us, ties us in knots. Slowly, slowly, it makes us forget our God-given dignity.

And yet, Jesus. The author and perfecter of our faith. The one who has disarmed the power shame has over us. The one who calls us his family, now; his mother and sisters and brothers. The one who calls us to sit with him at the right hand of the throne of God. Today, will you hear his voice? Follow his example? Run with perseverance? Today, will you let him set you free, again?