Self-Esteem Problem - October 28, 2007
Reformation SundayLuke 18: 9-14
When I was in seminary, one memorable chapel service began with the worship leader hammering pieces of paper onto an old door that was set up in the chancel of the main chapel at the top of the hill. That was our call to worship: a recreation of Luther’s historic posting of his 95 theses on the door at Wittenberg. At the time the seminary was under a period of transition. I’m not sure that those of us who were students during that period would refer to what was going on as “reformation” but I suppose it was. It felt like turmoil at the time.
The then-President of the seminary was facing a church trial for some indiscretions--behaviors that were contrary to ordained office in our denomination-- and the student population seemed torn in it’s reactions to what was going on. Students had been asked by the seminary leadership not to speak to media about what was happening on campus, and some students saw that as undue censorship. In response, the symbolic door was presented as an opportunity for students to express their feelings about what was happening all around us.
I remember at the time feeling rather uncertain as to how to react. The turmoil on campus left me feeling as though the place I had come to trust was not quite as safe as I had thought it to be. And I needed seminary to be a safe place—I needed it to be a place of affirmation, a place where I felt that even though I wasn’t perfect and had a lot to learn and would make mistakes, I would at least feel safe to live out my faith.
I think we look for safety and security more fervently these days than we used to. Remember how it seemed as if all of a sudden Halloween and trick-or-treating became no longer safe? You’ve heard the stories—razor blades in apples, needles in candy bars, and cocaine in a pixie stick. I personally never understood why any self-respecting child would eat an apple on a night devoted to sugar and corn syrup, or how a person could slip a razor blade into an apple so cleanly as to be undetected by the most casual of inspection, but local hospitals will voluntarily x-ray candy, and parent groups will remind parents to take their children only to houses of persons that they know for trick-or-treating once again this year. It doesn’t matter that the stories are 99% hoax, or that the few children to suffer documented injury from Halloween candy got the candy from their parents or other close relatives, or stuck the pin the candy bar themselves to get attention after hearing the Halloween myth.
The message is this: it is not a safe place out there. It’s not safe to be a kid, it’s not safe to be a parent, and the bogey man is out to get us, so we’d better be on our guard. Can you blame me for wanting seminary to be safe? It felt for a while as if we had our own bogeyman on campus, but it was not a specific person. It was not the former president, and it was not the board of trustees. If I had to give it a name, I would call it “mistrust”. Someone had been in our midst who was not who some of us had thought he was. And other people in our midst had endorsed him and held him up as being the person we really wanted him to be. And he had accepted that position of power and authority, and had held himself up as an example for all of us. And if the people who hold themselves up as an example aren’t what we think they are…then maybe other people aren’t who they say they are, and maybe we aren’t what we say we are…and that doesn’t feel very safe, does it? And people who don’t feel safe do some very strange things, don’t they?
In the case of my seminary colleagues and I, the thing we did when we felt that our security had been compromised was to create division among our ranks. We decided, rightly or wrongly, to become “us” and “them” over the issue of how our fallen leader should be perceived and treated. Whichever side a person landed on the issue, something was at stake. For those who demanded an apology and a contrite heart, the issue was justice. For those on the other side of the fence, the issue was grace. Those on the grace camp felt that the one who had sinned should be forgiven and the matter more or less dropped.
It was very strange on campus for many days. A person could tell at community lunch what the main topic of discussion was at most of the tables. If someone approached a table, but the people seated at the table weren’t sure of that person was an “us” or a “them”, the table got suspiciously very quiet.
Then suddenly the story broke into the local news media. You can imagine that a story such as the story of our leader’s fall from grace would end up on the front page--it had all the elements that a lead story needs. Suddenly we were not a sleepy little campus family quietly dealing with a family rift. We were news. And the request from the leadership of the seminary for us (as students) to avoid talking to media were made again, more strongly this time.
One student among us decided that “no comment” was not a good enough answer. An accomplished journalist herself before entering seminary, she decided to speak to a reporter who asked her how she felt about what had happened in our midst. She was very frank about her anger, her pain, her feelings of mistrust of the leadership, and of the schism that taken place on campus. Finally—somebody had said out loud what many of us were feeling.
That act of staking a stand and speaking out seemed to shake something loose. A forum was scheduled for students and faculty to get together with members of the leadership team of the seminary and talk about what had happened.. Many of us gathered in the largest classroom on campus, where chairs had been placed in a circle. It became clear quickly that those who had planned the event had underestimated the number of people who would want to come out to talk about this. By the time I got there it was standing room only.
I remember that the discussion volleyed quite a bit that night between the “Uses” and the “Thems”. One side demanded to know the details of the indiscretions, which the other side could not legally disclose while a trial was happening. Another group wondered out loud of the president could be welcomed back into the fold after the trial—forgiven and restored, a suggestion which some students practically shouted down. You could almost hear it in the room, “God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector.”
While many of us were in the room figuring out how we were better than the person next to us, or how our point of view was the correct one, one of my classmates—a Korean gentleman whose name on campus was Elder Kwan, since he was the elder statesman of the Korean students—quietly got up from his seat and walked to a spot in front of his chair and knelt on the floor. We watched him do this, and as soon as he knew that he had the attention of the whole room he finally spoke. “This is what we do in our culture when we are hurting and confused.” He threw himself forward face first and began to weep loudly, praying first in Korean and then in English and pounding the floor with his fists.
I stood frozen, riveted to the floor it seemed as Elder Kwan poured out grief and sadness and pain to God. It was at the same time painful to watch and impossible to tear my eyes from. Soon the cries of pain turned to prayers for forgiveness as over and over my classmate asked for God’s grace to visit our campus and to make us whole again. I could tell that something in the room had changed. Then I watched as two other classmates—Caucasians—joined Kwan on the floor, one on each side of him, with an arm around him on each side. The three men stayed there on the floor rocking and crying out to God and praying for our community. And the rest of us wept silently.
We never know exactly what will come of our taking a stand, whether it be nailing the truth out in plain sight or in finally admitting to God where we have fallen short. Our brother Martin Luther never intended to split the church, or to start a movement. He did not wait for a safe time or a safe place, but rather worked from within the church he loved but saw as flawed to bring about lasting change that mattered. One wonders who will be the Reformers of our day. Who among us will say, “Here I stand, I can do no other”? True transformation requires us to take our eyes off of the ones next to us—even the Pharisees—in order to fully see and realize grace in our midst.
My seminary campus had a long road ahead of it. After that evening there was much healing still to take place, with God’s help. But the symbolism of the door had lived out its usefulness, and although a few people still put grievances up on it for a short awhile as it stayed in the chancel, we found that we didn’t need it so much anymore, for we were able to see each other a little more clearly as flawed but beloved children of God in need of forgiveness no matter whether we had considered our selves an “Us” or a “Them”. I think for many of us we were a little more trusting, a little less suspicious, and a little more likely to lean on each other. May it be so for the Church as well.
Thanks be to God!
