On the Pain of Speaking Out

I remember when I lived in Oregon and was getting ready to go to seminary, one of my staunchest supporters at my home parish was a retired Naval Aviation four-striper. He was conservative and opinionated, but for all the time I was going through the discernment process, he was right there for me. "This is great," he would say. "I can sense your calling. You are definitely priest material. Really, this is wonderful". The support I received from him was overwhelming.

I returned from seminary three years later, was ordained to the Diaconate, and served at my home church before my first call to a parish elsewhere. When I saw him again, he started grousing about how gays, "really are sinners and they shouldn't be allowed in the church", and raved on and on. I said to him, "You know, I think Jesus calls us to something higher, to care more about people as people, and not to be so judgmental about a lifestyle we don’t particularly underst...." Before I could finish the sentence, his face had gone purple. He was furious with me. He said, "Who do you think you are trying to feed me those liberal seminary ideas? You just don’’t know what you’’re talking about." When he finally spoke to me again some time later, it was as if the exchange had never happened.

I am reminded now, as we are poised on the brink of war, of that story and also of the story about Jesus coming home to Nazareth after a long period of time on the road, preaching, teaching and healing. He could do very little in his hometown. His parents were there. His friends and neighbors were there. His brothers and sisters were there. All he heard was, "Who is this guy and who does he think he is? Isn’t he just that carpenter’’s son?" His own family and his friends and neighbors rejected him because he was teaching something that they could not, would not, did not, want to buy. Mark is fairly benign in his description; "Jesus went off and taught in other villages". Luke describes him being run out of the synagogue with the congregation preparing to stone him, to kill him and get rid of him any way they can.

This story has two faces to it. With the first there is Jesus, the example to those who speak of the reign of God. (And I'm not referring to just those of us in the priesthood. I'm talking about all of us.) At one time or another, we are moved to stand up for peace, for justice, for equality. There are all sorts of issues about which we have felt so moved that we must do something and say something. That something, that urge, which comes from within. It comes from a compassionate heart inspired by the Holy Spirit. We have all been there and we find ourselves bloodied by the barbs which come back when we do speak.

The other side of the story is that unless someone wants to be healed, unless someone wants to be changed, unless someone wants to receive the Holy Spirit, unless someone wants to grow, no work of God will occur. It doesn't matter who is there. Jesus, himself, can be in the crowd doing all that he had done so successfully in other places; but if the people don’t want it, it isn't going to happen. They shut themselves off to the Power. They shut themselves off to the Holy Spirit. They reject the power of God to change their lives. So Jesus' amazement was not so much that he couldn't do anything, his amazement was at their lack of faith, at their level of unbelief. Simply because of familiarity, people thought they knew him, and they pigeonholed him. And they lost out on the opportunity of a lifetime, because they were unwilling to be open to the possibilities.

I don't do well with conflict. I’m not proud of that. The kind of exchange I had in Oregon or when members of my congregation clench their teeth when I say something they’d rather not hear causes me to want to pull the ground up over my head and check out. I’m fundamentally a pleaser. When we speak what is in our hearts and minds - speaking out for truth and justice, it is not possible to please everyone. Jesus knew this. And Jesus in his strength, and his connection to God, certainly was hurting because those people he knew and loved so well were rejecting him. He was upset at their response to him and that he was only able to heal a few sick people. But he went on. He did not stop. And he went on because he was firmly rooted in what he was called to do. He was firmly planted on the ground in the power of the spirit guiding him, and God with him, showing him the way. And so he could continue in spite of the barbs, and the thorns, and the hurt.

This is accomplished prayerfully and painfully, always keeping in mind that those to whom we bring the word may not want to hear it. And they may not receive anything from what we have to say. That means some incredible changes in our outlook, in our attitude, who we are open to, and how we listen.

So it comes down to speaking and listening, two seemingly opposing qualities, yet connected by one thing if they are both done in the Spirit. And that is, connected in the heart. If you speak from the heart, the truth will out, and you will survive the inevitable hurricane. If you listen with the heart, the truth will out, and you will survive the inevitable hurricane. Either way, the initial event is a storm. But the ultimate event is new life.

So let us speak when we are called to speak. And let us listen when we are called to listen. And do it from the heart.