Today is the Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, a Sunday of Ordinary Time.
We might be in the midst of ordinary, but this Sunday Musing is full of surprises!
The reading from Matthew prompted a not-great memory. In turn, that inspired me to share with you how I approach scripture — even difficult texts — with a “hermeneutic of surprise” rather than one of suspicion.
The poem and prayers (that Edward Hays prayer: wow!) are about light, especially the power of sunlight, to reveal what we don’t always see. For readers in the northern hemisphere, they “fit” with summery spirituality of these long days.
Scroll all the way to the bottom of today’s post for two surprises: 1) the announcement of our July Journey at The Cottage, and 2) the surprising guests coming to Southern Lights in January!
Matthew 10:24-39
Jesus said to the twelve disciples, “A disciple is not above the teacher, nor a slave above the master; it is enough for the disciple to be like the teacher, and the slave like the master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household!
“So have no fear of them; for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known. What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops. Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.
“Everyone therefore who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven; but whoever denies me before others, I also will deny before my Father in heaven.
“Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.
For I have come to set a man against his father,
and a daughter against her mother,
and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law;
and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household.
Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”
I confess: today’s gospel reading gives me pause. I almost skipped it in lieu of a poem. Why? The words take me back to my teenage years at Scottsdale Bible Church, the evangelical church I attended during high school. I can’t even remember the number of sermons I heard on this passage — about obedience and submission, the devil and Hell, division and threat. This was truly a text of terror.
I vividly remember hearing one such sermon when I was 15. The scene is clear: exactly where I was sitting, the sound of the preacher’s voice, the nodding heads of those in chairs nearby. I felt so grateful that I’d “acknowledged” Jesus; he would acknowledge me to his Father. I’d go to heaven and live forever. Then, the pastor said this truth would divide families and set them against one another. My body shook — my parents were going to hell. I gasped, perhaps even quietly sobbed. I loved my mom and dad. But I had to love God more. That was my cross. It felt awful.
I don’t think I was the only one who reacted this way. Although there were scattered “amens,” many seemed uncomfortable, squirming in their seats, and murmuring audibly.
I can’t read these words without that memory — and the pastor’s sermon stuck in my brain.
If you spent time in a church whose theology you’ve rejected, reading certain texts can be spiritual triggers or, perhaps, even re-traumatizing. Some theologies can be like earworms — you might not think of something for years, but if you hear the song again, you discover that you never really forgot.
I reread this passage last Monday to start preparing for today’s musing. I can’t say I’ve enjoyed thinking about it. This entire week, I’ve found myself thinking about Scottsdale Bible Church, bad theology, and Arizona in the 1970s. It has been a weird mix of regret, anger, and nostalgia — especially since I’m heading to Arizona today to visit my sister.
How to manage such spiritual memories? Maybe I should have just dumped the reading with a sigh, feeling sad that some biblical passages might be irredeemable.
Instead of that course (which may be a completely legitimate choice), I opted for a spiritual practice that I call “reading for surprise.”
Years ago, when I taught church history, I had students read mountains of primary texts (former students will testify to the truth of this!) that we’d discuss in class. Every discussion began with the exact same question: What most surprised you about this text?
I don’t remember where I first heard this question in a classroom. I *think* it may have come from Ted Campbell, who was one of my professors at Duke (he later taught at Wesley Seminary and Perkins). My students, of course, quickly realized that would be the first question. They learned to read for surprise. The practice cultivated curiosity, immersed them in ideas, and raised additional questions (theirs instead of mine). Often, an entire class session was spent only on surfacing the surprise of an historical source — leading in unexpected and lively directions for both the students and me, their professor.
Reading for surprise is my primary hermeneutic (i.e., “method of interpretation”) not only for history texts but for biblical ones as well. When I approach the Bible, I don’t begin with Greek or Hebrew translation, historical context, or literary genre. I usually wind up employing such academic skills and tools, but they aren’t my go-to. My first step in preaching or teaching scripture is always the question: What most surprises me about this text?
To overcome my resistance to today’s gospel, I went back to my hermeneutic of surprise: What most surprised me about these verses in Matthew 10?
My first surprise was how burdened I was with someone else’s interpretation of this story. It surprised me how clearly I remembered that sermon, how sad and angry I still felt about it. I was surprised how much my spiritual imagination had been colonized by a particular interpretation proclaimed in that fundamentalist church.
My second surprise? As I set the clutter of memory aside (as best I could), I found myself drawn not to hell and division, but to these verses:
So have no fear of them; for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known. What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops. Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.
The frame — and refrain — surprised me: So have no fear . . . . Do not fear . . . So do not be afraid. Those three phrases jumped out to me as if I’d never seen them before. The very text that terrorized a congregation into a particular notion of being “saved” was actually a text of condolence. I reread, this time in my own words:
So have no fear of them — those who have given themselves up to delusion, lies, and evil. They may try to justify their actions, injustices, and greed, but such evil will be exposed. I say this to you, when things seem lost and hopeless, you must speak the love and truth of God’s household under the fullness of the sun; I whisper this to you, but you will shout justice for all to hear.
This isn’t a threat. It is a promise! No fear, do not fear, don’t be afraid when corruption, deception, and hatred seem to reign. Evil will be revealed by the burning light of the sun, and love and justice shall be the voice of the city of God. Life may be frightening — and the work of compassion hard — but know that God cherishes you in the midst of the upheaval. You. Are. Beloved.
The hard verses about division unfold from the central promise of the passage — that those who know themselves to be of God’s “household” will find themselves at odds with the falsehoods of the world. There can be no “peace” with oppression and empire. God’s sword has severed us from imperial deceit. God loves us too much to allow us to dwell in the shadows of worldly mendacity. The sun burns away the fog of lies, exposing every evil that has held humankind in its grip. All are invited to a new household — away from the injurious households of race, class, and even biology to the beloved community of self-giving love and true fraternity.
I confess: I’m surprised — and grateful.
INSPIRATION
Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful
than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon
and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone —
and how it slides again
out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower
streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance —
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love —
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure
that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you
as you stand there,
empty-handed —
or have you too
turned from this world —
or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?
— Mary Oliver, The Sun
God of truth uncovered, you trace the sparrow’s flight, and plumb the secret places of the heart: bring our fear and conflict into the light of your presence; help us to lose our hollow life and find our way to you.
— Steven Shakespeare
O Summer, zenith of the year, I praise your robust life, your hot blood. You are a liberator who calls us out-of-doors into your desert-like sun and heat, just as the God of Moses and Aaron called the children of Israel out of the brickyards of Egypt. Those who work in the warmth of this day are blessed to be outside, while others are stuck in buildings built of brick, constructed with concrete and glass. Chilled-but-artificial air blows upon the new slaves of electric Egypt's indoor brickyards. Fortunate are those children who play today under the great yellow face of our giant daystar, the sun. Free to jump through sprinkler sprays or ride their bikes in the free flight of real air-conditioned coolness. Corporate giants in their stainless steel skyscrapers dream of their treehouse days when every kid was truly a millionaire. O Liberator God, who called your children away from the mile's sweaty slavery, lead me, this day, into the glorious freedom of which the spirit of summer sings.
― Edward Hays
NEWS FROM THE COTTAGE
Summer is here — that means it is time for our July Summer Journey for paid subscribers. We begin on July 5.
This year’s theme: BEYOND CHRISTIANITY AFTER RELIGION
You asked. Let’s do it.
A question I’m asked frequently is how I would revise Christianity After Religion — which was published in 2012 — now, just over a decade later.
I suggested to my publisher that I should write an addendum or a revision for the book’s 10th anniversary. They took a pass, and I was disappointed.
But then I realized that this is exactly the purpose of Substack! The Cottage is a place where ideas can be explored without permission from traditional publishing.
Every Wednesday in July, you can expect a mini-essay update on four questions raised in this decade beyond Christianity After Religion.
July 5: What about the numbers now?
July 12: Does “belonging” still come first? What does it mean to “belong”?
July 19: Are the last few years really just a backlash?
July 26: Do you still hope for an Awakening?
Overall, I’ll be addressing HOW MY MIND HAS CHANGED (or remained the same) regarding a book that I wrote years ago. At the end of the month, you’ll have a mini-book of updated thoughts on the future of Christianity.
You are invited to consider the same question: How has your mind changed about Christianity — and about the future of faith in light of the last decade?
That’s our July journey. We’ll travel over some familiar territory to see the landscape differently. I’ve got lots to say — about what surprised me (both good and bad), what I missed about race, Donald Trump and authoritarianism, and the conflict over “woke” and “Awakening.”
We’ll have a lot of cool stuff to talk about. And we get to reflect about what we’ve all been through and gain some perspective. It is summer — so it isn’t a formal class. It will be casual, a seasonal refresher intended to renew our imagination and hope.
Think of it as gathering around a campfire and sharing our stories.
I’ll put out a weekly reading plan for the book if you want to re-read it or read it for the first time. There’ll be some additions along the way — chat threads, questions submitted from readers, our Zoom gathering with a special guest, and specific question prompts.
If you are already a paid subscriber, you can check your account here to make sure your subscription is active and your credit card info is correct: https://dianabutlerbass.substack.com/account
If for any reason, you can’t afford a subscription, drop us a line and let us know. Email to the.cottage.email@gmail.com. No one is ever turned down for lack of funds.
Last week, there was a glitch in the EventBrite registration link. It is now fixed and you CAN register.
➡️ SOUTHERN LIGHTS IS BACK! ⬅️
January 12 -14, 2024
Last January, almost 700 people gathered at St. Simon’s Island in Georgia for a packed weekend of poetry, theology, and music.
WE’RE GOING TO DO IT AGAIN!
YOU ARE INVITED to join me and Brian McLaren as we reimagine our faith together beyond patriarchy and hierarchy in our interior lives, in our communities of faith, and in the Scriptures.
We’ve asked three remarkable speakers to take us through this journey: Cole Arthur Riley, Simran Jeet Singh, and Elizabeth “Libbie” Schrader Polczer (the Mary Magdalene scholar!).
Please come and be with us in Georgia. Or, if you’d rather be with us online, you can choose that option as well.
MORE INFORMATION AND REGISTRATION CAN BE FOUND HERE.
Subscribers to The Cottage can receive an early bird discount of $15 off through July 31. ENTER this code: dbcottage24
What did not surprise enough:
my daily expectation that anything would continue,
and then that so much did continue, when so much did not.
— Jane Hirshfield, “I Want to be Surprised”
Wow, I feel so very healed and uplifted by this, thank you.
During the second week of March, 2020, I was in a church meeting at the church where I was on staff. The meeting was expressly to work out the final details of a women's retreat that we were planning for the end of March, but during the course of the meeting it became clear that not only were we not going to be able to hold the retreat on the scheduled date, it was increasingly unlikely that we'd even be able to gather as a church on Sunday. I went home and had a conversation with Jesus, asking him what was going on, and this passage in Matthew came straightaway to mind. I thought, "Oh, it's a time of revelation" ... and haven't we seen it??!!! Clergy sexual abuse from highly platformed leaders, the perversion of Christian nationalism, the rise of hate amongst those who claim the name of Christ ... truly, "nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known. What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops." Having enjoyed the blessing of NOT growing up in the church, the terrorizing weaponized uses of this passage were foreign to me - I read "Everyone therefore who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven; but whoever denies me before others, I also will deny before my Father in heaven" in the light of Jesus' words recorded earlier in Matthew about trees bearing good fruit and bad fruit, and about those who called him "Lord, Lord, didn't we do [this religious thing and that religious thing]" and Jesus saying to them that he never knew them. I love your hermeneutic of surprise, Diana!