7/8/18 “The Deafening Sound of Silence” by Brian Crisp

Text: Judges 11:29-40

If you are unfamiliar with the tale of Jephthah’s Daughter, you are not alone. Upon first hearing, this plot sounds like a grotesque and Germanic story that is beckoning to be cleaned up and animated by Walt Disney or Pixar. Hollywood could polish this sordid myth, add a prince, and make it acceptable for all viewing audiences. Yet, I doubt Jephthah’s daughter will have a celluloid presence anytime soon.

This is not a story for Sunday School or children’s church where it would fail miserably as colorful felt figures manipulated and stuck to a grey fuzzy board. Would we craft a lesson extension using matches and kindling with our children? Noticeable too is this daughter’s absence from the lectionary. In fact, I am sure most people here are saying “Surely, that’s not in my Bible! What’s he reading from?” It is a valid question for where would we put such a reading? Could we cast it before Advent? How would it breathe during Epiphany or should it be revisited during those long and dark weeks of Lent? Shall we wait for this daughter to accompany Jesus from the tomb during Easter or can she linger during the Ordinary time? No.

This story of Jephthah’s Daughter as Phyllis Trible declares, is a “text of terror.” This terror is not isolated to just the daughter or even Jephthah himself but extends to everyone who encounters it. The story is violent and caustic and leaves us puzzled about its placement and redemption. All of us. Every one of us. Jephthah makes an unnecessary vow to Yahweh that if he is made victorious on the battlefield he will offer whatever walks out the front door of his home as a burnt sacrifice. To our horror it is his daughter, unaware of her father’s belief or her fate, that emerges joyfully with timbrels and dancing from the home. This is Jephthah’s daughter, his only daughter, his only child. Yet, Jephthah goes through with it. He makes her a burnt sacrifice in the name of God.

By the end of the story, there is a blaring silence that bellows, “Where is God?” After all, a few books prior had another story of child sacrifice. Genesis gives the church a more acceptable tale with the Binding of Isaac. God is loud and active. All the boys get to be heroes.

In fact, as a small child, I was once called to enact the story of Abraham and Isaac with a visiting evangelist. Wrapped in this Abraham-wannabe’s burly arms and noticing the capitulation and crescendo of his voice as he accentuated the on-coming violence of the could-be sacrifice and the uncertainty of Divine intervention, I reacted, as I am sure Isaac reacted: I screamed. Loudly. And at a high pitch that is only achieved by five-year old boys wearing knee socks and john-john suits. My mother marched to the front of the church, gathered me, held me, and looked at the evangelist and firmly announced, “This is too much.” My mother saved me. God saved Isaac. Yet, this unnamed daughter is silent at the story’s worst moment and the hearer repetitively asks, “Where is the Holy One in this scenario?”

God is blatantly silent, glaringly gone. God never responds to Jephthah’s original vow. There is no endorsement of the burnt offering. There is no acknowledgement that God desires a human sacrifice. In fact, in the story there is no God at all. Yet, we are reticent to read the Bible in such a way especially since Jephthah invokes the name of Yahweh in his vow and gives the impression that God originates and ordains the idea of human sacrifice. This practice is neither isolated nor obsolete. The idea of binding God to our ideas seems to happen most often when people are seeking justification to be malicious, horrific, or violent.

Jephthah is an early example of this human practice, not an exception. People have been prodigiously faithful to this tradition. This tradition may be easier in modern society’s attempt in claiming Divine Authority because we have the Bible, that Holy source given from God’s Spirit to human hands. And, oh how useful it is when we are trying to justify or excuse our positions and arguments and actions. The Bible has been so elevated in our society that we could argue it has been deified.

“We can’t allow that” or “we must do this” or “well, that is just a sin” becomes acceptable because we can follow such proclamations with “it is in the Bible.” We invoke a deceptive intricacy that only clouds and confuses most of daily life, as if living a life of faith is not complicated enough.

Life alone gives us thorny scenarios. For numerous years, I have received an annual email whose timely arrival is more predictable than any other event in my life. It is from my college roommate, Jason. I first met Jason on the marching band practice field where he stood a full foot taller than the other flute players. Garbed in a cadre of colors that would have made Joseph envious, Jason was amusing most of the marching band with his dance routine to Michael Jackson’s “Billy Jean.” Being from a small town, I had never seen anything like it outside the realm of MTV. After his dancing had ceased, Jason came over to the drum line and asked, “Hey, little red headed boy, what’s your name?”

After that moment we became friends. Our adventures would take place inside and outside the hallowed halls of Wake Forest and despite our physical differences, we were very much alike. We were both from small towns, mine in the mountains and Jason’s on the coast.

We both shared a love for languages and art. We were both only children especially close to our mothers. Over the years, I would watch Jason excel as a medical biologist accumulating accolades from Harvard and Stanford and taking positions in Paris and Singapore. I would joyously laugh at his sharp wit and be comforted by his ever-present sincerity.

This year, Jason’s e-mail and arrived in its usual fashion during October:

Hey BC!

How are you? The past couple of weeks have been busy in the lab. . .I am wondering what your family is doing for the holidays. I checked with my mom and this isn’t a good year for me to visit. I’ll be in North Carolina and would love to see you and Estelle and Dean. Just let me know.

I have received some form of this email for more than twenty years, and for twenty years a visit has never been good for Jason’s mom. When we were barely in our late teens, Jason returned to his small town on the North Carolina coast for a weekend visit. During their short visit, he sat down with his mother to be honest. He wanted to share with her all the new ideas and ventures of his college life: the joys of his French literature seminar, the brilliance of his organic chemistry professor, the wafting of the freshly cured tobacco across the quad on a fall morning, the way his friends laughed wildly with him on Saturday nights. He wanted to share himself with the only relative he had. After coming home from their small town Baptist church, Jason and his mother began preparing Sunday lunch. During the cutting and chopping, Jason drew in a courageous breath and honestly exposed who he was, “Mom, I am gay.” Lunch was never served.

Like many gay teens in the 1980s, Jason was ostracized. He became a statistic, but thankfully not a story read in newspaper articles and broadcast on nightly news about the banishments, beatings, killings, and dismemberment of queer youth. Yet, underneath those sensationalist headlines ran a more deadly current. It was a constant rejection and vilification of homosexuality from families, teachers, and ministers. Queer teens were bullied at school, ostracized by local church youth groups, and exiled from their families. Sadly, these are memories we all share. More unfortunately, they are corporate memories still being made.

I think this has had much to do with the practice of conservative Christianity neglectfully worshiping the Bible and progressive Christianity, in reaction, cautiously and tentatively engaging the text. Those of us who grew up in the 1980s can recall the Christian culture that shaped the practices and beliefs of people like Jason’s mom.

“God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.”

“Homosexuality is an abomination that threatens all of God’s creation.”

“God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah because of the sin of homosexuality.”

Time and time again we have heard these phrases hurled as if the speaker is quoting the Bible. Yet, our own biblical knowledge can fall short to earnestly engage in the conversation. Why is this still happening? They are not quoting the Bible. The adherences are found nowhere in scriptures. In efforts to take the Bible literally, we have forgotten to engage the text often and seriously. Yet, Christians extrapolate a message of hate; they neglect that God curses no person in Genesis 2. In fact, God’s response is to fashion clothes for the inhabitants who have self-inflicted shame. Leviticus 18 has nothing to do with sexual orientation and gender identity, but everything to do with violation and rape. Where are the Christian rallies to protect victims of sexual abuse? We have abandoned the greed of Lot and the malice and avarice of Sodom for the “justice” of divine punishment of a hate crime we label “the sin of homosexuality” in Genesis 19. And we do all of this invoking the name of God. So Christians have been told from the pulpit and from Bible study that homosexuality, bisexuality, asexuality, transgender is such an abomination that any form of violence is acceptable to further the goals of Holy One.

Never mind the research that states sexual orientation is a biological determinate akin to eye color or hair texture or expected height. Never mind the fact that LGBTQIA+ teens are the fastest growing homeless population in the United States and teens in shelters are subject to physical and sexual assault at a rate seven times higher than their non-queer peers. Never mind that there are on average 5,500 queer homeless youth in New York City every night while there are only 50 safe beds. Never mind that 78 percent of homosexual youth placed in foster care are either removed or run away. Never mind that LGBTQ youth are 56 percent more likely than their counterparts to develop a substance abuse problem. Never mind more than 7,000 gay, lesbian, and trans teens will successfully commit suicide this year. We have created a society where gender-based violence affects women-identified persons and those considered too female. We are willing to sacrifice daughters, women, and sons that are too “girly” because in this world, none of these people are blessed but viewed as collateral damage. What matters is that the Bible says this is all okay and, therefore, God is endorsing such a genocide by any means necessary in the name of good Christian values.

It does not take much undoing to see that these Christian values have nothing to do with scripture or God. Yet, it almost feels like the church has embraced those awful verses in Deuteronomy 21 where parents can haul their rebellious and drunkard children in front of the elders for a communal stoning. Yet, we encourage, as we should, our children with substance abuse issues to seek help. But we do so while we actively and complicity participate in the demise of LGBTQIA+ youth. White boys on opioids need help but trans women of color are targets of hate crimes.

Repeatedly, scriptures remind us how people fail. In both its points of comfort and its texts of terror, the Bible points to violence as only a means of begetting violence. Violence enacted against people only results in societies that are ultimately violent. Yet, we sanction these actions against LGBTQ youth as God-approved “tough love” and exclaim “Hate the sin, love the sinner.” God is doing none of that talking and if we take the Bible seriously, then we know that faithful interpretation of scripture results in the emotional, physical, mental, and spiritual care taking of one another, all others, every single other. For those of you who were subjected to such atrocities because the church universal proclaimed it was good and right to treat homosexuals, bisexuals, asexuals, intersex and transgender people with such barbarity, that was wrong. It is still wrong. If God’s presence is noticeably absent in Jephthah’s story, there are considerable other silent voices. We strain to hear these voices and never are satisfied with remuneration. Where is the protest of the mother? Where are the objections of the community? Where is the voice of dissent with this only daughter? Instead of screaming with high-pitched sounds, the writer leads us to believe that this daughter simply agrees to an honor killing. Because we are familiar with the techniques of biblical storytelling, we almost expect such a twist. Each book, each story, and each line is written with an agenda. Judges is no exception, and the book recounts the gradual downward spiral of Israel in the promised land making that land of plenty not so plentiful. Its pattern is relayed in stories that portray Israel as doing what is evil in the ways of God and they are attacked by outsiders. Then, God raises a deliverer who defeats the oppressor; Israel becomes once again faithful to God; and, while this judge is alive, the land is at peace. Then rinse and repeat over, and over, ad nauseam. Yet, with each story the time of peace becomes shorter and shorter. By the end of the book there is no leader, no peace, and ample violence. Horrific violence, and the concluding statements of Judges relay that there is “no king in Israel and the people did what was right in their own eyes.”

This text is part of the downward spiral of Judges. It is not a shock that there is no peace in this story, yet it is still horrifying. The part of the story that plagues all who read it is the willingness of this unnamed daughter to adhere to a man who invokes and executes such a blundered vow. Why is she so willing to go along with this plan? No one we know would be willing to participate in such a violent death sentence. We are perplexed and insert our own morality and circumstances into her story. We know exactly how we would have reacted.

We would have cried for our mamas. Like a little boy in knee socks and a john-john suit being held too tightly and screaming, “Maaaamaaa,” we long for the salvation of an enraged mother exclaiming, “This is too much!” On battlefields and in emergency rooms, in classrooms and public parks, sons and daughters cry out for the one person who can make life right in the universe.

“Maaaamaaaa.” Mama will know what to do, she can kiss this wound; mend this hurt; heal this heart. I am sure there are many homeless gay, lesbian, and trans youth who cry out to their mothers nightly. I know Jason continues to cry out for his mother. I imagine this unnamed daughter would cry out for hers. Yet, these mothers are not there.

Toward the end of the story there is a glimmer of hope as Jephthah’s daughter requests that she steal away with her friends for two months. Surprisingly, her father grants this wish, and his daughter roams the mountains for two months. For two months, she is free. Yet, to our horror, she returns. She comes back from the mountain, and as the text says, “At the end of two months, she returned to her father, who did with her according to the vow he had made.” The author cannot portray the horrors of this ending and does not blatantly say that her father bound his only daughter and set her on fire and watched as she screamed and burned. Even the writer knows the atrocities of such an ending relying on the violence our imaginations can spur.

Although the modern reader is shocked at Jephthah’s actions, we should be honest with ourselves about our reaction to this story. We should admit we are disturbed and frustrated with this daughter. Why in the world did she return home? How can this be? She had time to run away, and she had friends to assist her in this journey? She had the chance.

RUN, GIRL, RUN!

Yet, she does not run. She goes right back to the place that only holds death for her, and we do not understand why. Does she think her father has changed his mind? Have his friends guided him to more reasonable thoughts about family and reconciliation? Has he sought some professional counseling to overcome his own neglectful past and his abusive actions? Has he had a spiritual awakening that causes him to embrace the precious value of all people including his daughter? We think, “How can this girl be so naive?”

Recently, I was having lunch with a mutual Wake Forest friend who also is very close with Jason. In casual conversation I mentioned my parents were again looking forward to having Jason for the holidays. At this moment, I was a bit shocked by our conversation as we plunged into a psycho-analytic discourse about our friend’s life. “He is so smart and wonderful, why does he continually reach out to that woman?” “Let’s not lay this all at his mother’s feet and make her a demon. He obviously knows what kind of creature his mother is. She has some real issues, and he obviously chooses to make an annual attempt to go back to her.” We kept asking “why does he go back?” “Why can’t he just stay gone?”

These are the same questions we ask of Jephthah’s Daughter. We neglect the story’s call to mourn for these silent and erased daughters, and in our smug liberal stance, we blame them for not being more proactive or responsible. We hate her for not taking care of herself. Without guilt, we claim by going back that she is just asking for it. We need not consult the Bible as we continue to victimize the victim. Why else would they stay? Why can’t they just stay gone?

Because I believed I deserve it.

Because it’s the only life I know.

Because I thought she would change.

Because I thought he would be different.

Because I believe they loved me.

Because I believed it was my fault.

Because I don’t know what else to do.

Because I am halfway across the world and have no friends.

Because I was embarrassed and ashamed.

Because I was taught God hates fags, queers, girls.

Because the church said I was wrong.

Because the church never said they were wrong.

Because he is my father.

Because she is my mother.

Because I was told of all the things that God finds to be an abomination, and no one ever said that the real abomination is abuse.

At that luncheon table, I found a great moment of silence as I recalled my own parents’ reactions to the myriad expositions of my life: abuse, sexuality, addiction. At no point, did they drag me before elders and stones, nor did they bind me and vow to violence in the name of God. No, they did something revolutionary—they loved me. Although this is extraordinary, I am very aware that this is not the norm for many queer-identified people. Sadly, it is the exception.

Today, as we hold that space between the violence created against this unnamed daughter and the seemingly endless reports of violence created against LGBTQIA+ people, we hear thousands of names. We look at this cloud of witnesses. We remember all these lost saints: Carla Patricia Flores-Pavon, Nino Fortson, Gigi Pierce, and Antash’a English—trans people of color who were murdered during the month of June. There are many more LGBTQ teens whose lives were ended violently.

It is time to listen for a new voice—that voice of community. In our listening for this voice, the silence is overwhelming and shameful. There is no voice proclaiming religion can never be coupled with brutality. No one cried out for Jephthah to stop. No one offered to shelter and care for this unnamed daughter. There is only silence. This silence makes us question our own inability to speak up.

Today in the middle of Gay Pride season, every four hours, a LGBTQIA+ teen will commit suicide. There will be an unsuccessful attempt at suicide by queer youth every seventeen minutes. This week, 64 percent of LGBTQ youth will be called “fag,” “sissy,” “dyke” or “homo.” On any given school week, 23 percent stay home from school because they feel unsafe. Half of teenagers who come out to their families today will experience a negative reaction, and 36 percent will be kicked out of their homes. 92 percent of all LGBTQ youth in the United States will hear something negative about their existence from their peers, their family, or their church today.

Ninety-two percent.

Let’s sit with these facts for a few moments of silence. We can only sit for a precious few moments because communities of faith have been silent too long. It is time for us to speak up. It is time for us to speak up and say that violence and hate have no room in churches. It is time for us to speak up and say that the Bible condemns no person because of their sexual orientation or gender identity or HIV status. It is time to speak up and stop blaming LGBTQIA+ people for the faults of this nation. It is time to speak up and welcome all people into the church universal for care taking and solace and sanctuary. It is time to speak up and say no to the bullying of queer students in school, to the neglect of children at our borders, to the silencing of daughters. It is time to speak up as sisters and brothers and fathers and mothers and say “This is too much.”

People are looking to the church, to this church, and listening and waiting.

God is waiting too.