On this day, April 28, in 1992, the Bloods and the Crips, rival gangs in Los Angeles, declared a truce.
This was the day before the riots started in response to the not guilty verdict in the trial of police accused of beating Rodney King.
This is not written about what is happening now in Baltimore, or these days around the country. This post is not about police violence or the violence in communities that leads to police violence.
This post is about peace. Or at least truce. The Bloods and the Crips can lay down their arms, their hatred, their distrust, their contradictory narratives of who is a fault or who is right and who is wrong.
They could stop fighting each other. They could, and did, stop killing each other.
It makes me wonder. Ooh, it makes me wonder.
Can Tea Partiers and Progressives stop fighting each other?
Can Republicans and Democrats stop fighting each other?
Can Sunni and Shia stop fighting each other?
Can evangelical Christians and progressive Christians stop fighting each other?
Can opposing factions in The United Methodist Church stop fighting each other?
Let’s see if we can learn this simple lesson from history: that on April 28, 1992, the Bloods and the Crips stopped fighting.
Having the right to do something does not necessarily make doing it the right thing to do.
Case in point: Jacyln Pfieffer was allegedly fired from her position as a teacher at Aloma Methodist Early Childhood Learning Center. Further, she was allegedly fired because it was learned that she was living in a lesbian relationship.
The discussions about this that I’ve seen, and been part of, on social media, tend to end up with people on either of two sides of this polarity
- The ECLC was within its rights as a religious organization to fire someone engaged in conduct they believe to be immoral; and
- Ms. Pfieffer was a victim of discrimination.
I am not taking sides on that polarity.
Knowing a little about Church-State matters, I expect the ECLC, related to its host Church, may well be perfectly within their rights to have fired her.
Even if they were within their rights as a religious organization, though, I think they blew it. They failed. They did not represent Jesus well.
This is stronger language than I usually use on this blog, but this is serious business.
Whatever your position on sexuality and orientation and same-sex marriage, if you are a Christian, I assume you would agree that we (Christians) represent Christ, and therefore God.
I think you would also have to agree with this: whether we approve of someone else’s behavior/orientation/lifestyle/fill-in-your-preferred-term-here,we are commanded to love them. All of them; friends, enemies, strangers, etc.
Christians do not get to choose whom to love and whom not to.
But we do, according to the law, receive some leeway according to our religion, in choosing whom to employ and whom not to.
I believe that choice is far better made before hiring than after.
So, even if you fully support Aloma Methodist ECLC’s decision, you must agree that they would have represented Christ better had they been open upfront and refused to hire Ms. Pfeiffer in the first place than to fire her.
I don’t know where the law places the burden of proof. Should Ms. Pfieffer have self-identified as lesbian in the hiring process?
How self-disclosing are you when you apply for a job?
No; from my perspective – and it would be very, very hard to sway me on this – it is on the church-affiliated organization to be very, very clear during the hiring process what their moral expectations of employees are.
If Aloma Methodist ECLC presents itself as representing the God we know in and through Jesus, they owe it to the world around them, the culture in which they serve, to love the other. If this means anything, it at least means treating them with respect.
Simply put: I’m pretty sure that if Jesus wouldn’t allow a lesbian to work for him, he wouldn’t have hired her in the first place.
Go, thou, and do likewise.
How could you…?
How could anyone…?
One of my earliest recollections of this was early in my first year of college hearing someone say, “How could anyone grow up sane if they have to move a bunch of times as a child?”
This friend had grown up (all her life) in the same small town. 12 of the 16 in her high school graduating class, if I remember correctly, she had also started kindergarten with.
My response, a military brat who had moved at least ever 4 years, had wondered the opposite.
I have wondered the same thing: “how could anyone _____?”
I bet you have, too.
But this is another of those times that, if we are honest, we must recognize we don’t know the full story of the other person.
Just like no one else knows your full story.
At our best, we remember that we don’t know the other person’s story. Then, still at our best, we acknowledge there may be good reason for whatever it is about them or their behavior we cannot imagine.
And if not a good reason, at least a reason we had not thought of.
Please don’t feel the need to hone your skills to learn every possible reason someone might do something differently or be something different from you.
Just let them be who they are. Learn more (than you already know) about who they are. Listen to their story.
You might still not understand them or what they do, but by the time you’ve listened to their story, you’ll likely be too tired to judge them.
The other day I was involved in a thread discussion in a United Methodist Clergy group. The subject of that discussion is irrelevant for my present purposes. If you really feel the need to know, ask me.
In this discussion, a friend – no, an acquaintance – no, a colleague – maybe – a fellow UM clergyperson wrote this: “If you do not follow the rules, then you have lost all integrity.”
Whoa, I thought. I am, apparently, and have always been, low on integrity.
This won’t surprise those of you who know me, but I push at rules. Over the years I have come to respect the need for rules, and the benefits.
I still have within me, though, a desire, an urge, to push against the rules, the norms, the status quo.
Which is one of the reasons I read as someone who, according to my colleague, has lost an integrity.
In my reading of the Gospels, Jesus is almost constantly breaking rules. When I was younger and more of a mind to break rules just because they were rules, I read Jesus this way, too.
And it is possible to read the gospels this way.
I have grown up. I know longer believe that all rules were made to be broken. I understand the benefit, even the need, of rules and standards.
As a matter of fact, I now tend to read Jesus as having this same kind of attitude toward rules.
I will probably always tend to read Jesus favorably to the way I understand and work in the world.
If Jesus matters to you, I expect you do this, too.
You may suggest that we ought to interpret our own lives in terms of Jesus rather than the other way around. I would agree that this is an admirable goal. In fact, it may be a good way of identifying true disciples.
But I am pretty sure that before we proclaim too loudly that we are more like Jesus than someone else is, we do well to investigate which Jesus we are comparing ourselves to. More often than not, I fear, we will find that we will find ourselves looking down on others by comparing them to the Jesus that we have made look an awful lot like the ideal version of ourselves.
I knew this day would come. In fact, in an odd way, I hoped this day would come.
When I took on blogging daily for Lent, I knew I wouldn’t have something worth writing about everyday. So far I’ve done pretty well. Some days I’ve written ahead.
I’ve started observing the world around me, and the thoughts in my head, keeping in mind that I need my next topic.
It’s gotten so bad that I thought I had a topic or two from Mickey Mouse Clubhouse this morning. And that from seeing mere bits of it as I passed through the room.
But, I’ve got nothing.
So, I suppose, like any episode of Seinfeld, this post is about nothing.
Or, more to the point, this post is about following through. I have committed to blogging each day. I have not committed to having something worth blogging each day. I have not committed to making this worth your reading.
The promise I made was to do something. I didn’t promise quality.
Yet I am reminded of that art class where the teacher divided the class into 2 groups. One would be graded on the quantity of pieces they produced, the other one only their best piece.
Those from the first group not only produced more pieces of art (obviously), they also produced better work.
Sometimes you just have to do it. Go through the motions. Make yourself do something you know you should do, even when you don’t feel like it.
Who knows: this simple thing might be all it takes to keep you honest in that moment. And it might actually make a difference for someone else.