What Defiles and What Builds Up

More about food this Sunday.  Some religious authorities insisted that the dietary law be followed scrumptiously – washing hands.  Now, even my mother insisted on that before dinner.  Not that we scrupulously followed her directions about hands. 

But these ultra-religious leaders insisted that dirty hands, or not sufficiently-washed hands would lead one into the outer darkness and gnashing of teeth, utter doom.  You might be defiled for all eternity.  Even Mom did not go that far.

In addition, there were certain foods that might defile one.  Now that I could believe.  At least liver and onions, rutabagas, parsnips and tomato aspic could come close to leading to eternal damnation.  At least that’s what I told Mom (or something like that).  She didn’t buy that either.

Now, before we shift all the blame to religious leaders long gone, maybe we should point this passage to our hearts.

Sometimes, we Episcopalians can be just as pompous and self-righteous about our traditions.  Our hoity-toity attitudes can get in the way of Gospel love.  We can be standoffish and aloft when it comes to working with others in the Christian family.

I remember one of our more Anglo-Catholic priests upbraiding me for having children’s sermons during worship.  She asserted, “The Episcopal Church is an adult church.”  To which I responded, “Jan, if we really believe that, we soon will be a cadaver church.”  Do children’s sermons really defile our traditions?  Really???

Some religious big shots confronted Jesus concerning all the nit-picking traditions and superstitions in the practice of their faith.  “Why do your disciples not live according to the traditions of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?”  To which Jesus responded, “Isaiah prophesied rightly about you hypocrites, as it is written, ‘This people honors me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me…’”[1]

When it comes to “defile,” there are far more serious failings to consider than dietary laws.  As in what defiles a nation.  As in what defiles the whole community.

A while back, we passed two significant anniversaries – the conviction of Lt. William Calley in the massacre at My Lai and that of Charles Manson and his cult followers’ – “The Manson Family” — murderous rampage in Los Angeles.  March 29, 1971 was the day of both convictions.

Lt. Calley gave the orders that resulted in the wanton slaughter of some 450 innocent villagers, men, women and children – many raped and brutally tortured by U.S. troops before being shot and bayonetted.

That day was a moment of complete desecration of this nation, the military and all that we as Americans hold sacred.

That very same day Charles Manson and his followers were convicted of the brutal murders of the La Biancas and those at the home of Sharon Tate.  Utter Desecration.

But there’s an alternative.  In the midst of our worst, many more are bending their efforts to lift us up.

Most of us will attempt to live lives of decency and compassion for both neighbor and stranger.  And as Machele Obama proclaimed last week on the “contagious power of hope,” “America, hope is making a comeback.  Big time!

Most of us will be good neighbors.  As Oprah Winfrey said that last week’s Democratic Convention, when a house is on fire, we wouldn’t ask who the owner voted for, we don’t ask what party they are a member of, or whether they are black or white.  And even if they are a “childless cat lady, we’ll try to get the cat out.”

These efforts range from the minor to the sublime, from those of seemingly no consequence to those of political import.

It’s about standing up for truth and rebutting misinformation and lies.  The other day at Vons in the checkout line, I was practicing what Sister Semone Campbell of “Nuns on the Bus” dubbed “checkout line evangelism.”

I had asked the clerk totaling up my bill if he had seen any of Vice President Kamala Harris’ speech.  The clerk responded, “She’s anIndian.” “No,” I asserted, “she’s biracial.  Her father is a Jamaican black man.”  “No, she’s Indian,” he persisted.  I challenged him to look it up on the Google machine.  “She’s biracial.”  Meanwhile, Jai was attempting to shrink into the groceries as others nearby listen in on this exchange.

This little episode might not have convinced him, but it did in some small way rebut the misinformation and ignorance that’s out and about in our political landscape.

In the aftermath of the defilement by the bombing of the 16^th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham on September 15,1963, one man stood tall for justice, Doug Jones.[2]

Due to the rampant violence, that city had earned the moniker of “Bombingham.”  At the trial of a KKK member, the only person to have been charged with that crime, a young law student, Doug Jones, had skipped classes to sit in on all the proceedings.  When a guilty verdict was announced, Doug swore in his heart that he would somehow work to bring the others to justice.

His perseverance and efforts paid off.  Amost four decades after that trial, Doug had risen to become a U.S. Attorney based in Birmingham, and that bombing still haunting his days and nights.

Despite the advice of well-meaning friends, he began to dig into that case. “Let it lay.  Nothing to be gained by digging all that old stuff up again.”

Doug would not allow our nation to wallow in justice denied.  It would not be denied for Addie May Collins, Cynthia Morris Wesley, Carole Robertson, Denise McNair and their families.  He would dig and dig.

There was a lot to cover up.  The FBI was well aware of the threat the KKK posed to anyone, even their own agents and informants.  There were KKK sympathizers within their own ranks.[3]

Bending Toward Justice is Senator Doug Jones’ story of how, in the midst of abject defilement, justice finally triumphed for these girls and their families.  He lifted up, he restored faith in our system of laws.

On the other end of the spectrum, I came across a story of a family working to restore what is broken.

In the Los Angeles Times I read this article on the little Mojave Desert town of Amboy.  I suspect many of you have never heard of the place.[4]

I knew it as a geology major.  There’s an extinct volcano right outside the town.  We would take trips out there to climb it and collect “bombs.”  These were rocks ejected from the volcano.  As they fell back to earth, the mouton lava solidified in a round form with a tail on both ends, thus a “bomb.”

The town of Amboy dried up and was abandoned when bypassed by the interstate highway.  Finally, an immigrant named Albert Okura enamored by the cultural heritage and mystique of the place, purchased the entire town.  Albert’s son, Kyle, upon inheriting it, has labored to restore the small café, Roy’s Motel and gas station in hopes of having a portion of Route 66 named in honor of his father, Albert Okura.

Albert, the “Chicken Man,” founder of the Juan Pollo restaurant chain, had originally purchased Amboy some twenty years ago.  As a former geology major and a bit of a “desert rat,” I am overjoyed to see the restoration of Amboy and some of its iconic buildings.

Yes, “Get your kicks on Route 66,” and explore wonderful places like Amboy.  Just a minor tribute to one man building up America.  As Kyle, now the owner of Amboy, proclaims, “It’s unlike any other place you can visit. There’s nothing like it and no way you can replicate something like Amboy.”[5]

It is folks like Doug Jones and the Okura Family; it’s teachers and attorneys, farmers and students, all working to lift up and perfect this nation.  We don’t have to deny the worst of the desecration that has been perpetrated on the body politic and our citizens, especially those on the margins – but we can accept these truths and move beyond the worst in our history.  We don’t banish that part of our history but allow the better angels of our nature to lead us into greater light. 

That is what most of us believe and work for – restoration, perfecting, aligning our efforts with our best vision and values.  That is what will be on the ballot this November.

Again, I close with my favorite James Baldwin passage from his book of essays, The Price of the Ticket.

“For nothing is fixed, forever and forever and forever, it is not fixed; The earth is always shifting, the light is always changing, the sea does not cease to grind down rock. Generations do not cease to be born, and we are responsible to them because we are the only witnesses they have. The sea rises, the light fails, lovers cling to each other, and children cling to us.  The moment we cease to hold each other, the moment we break faith with one another, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out.”[6]

Amen.

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[1] Mark 7:5-6, NRSV.

[2] Doug Jones, Bending Toward Justice (New York: All Points Books, 2019).

[3] Op. cit., 49.

[4] Alex Wigglesworth, “Saving a Patch of Americana,” Los Angeles Times, June 16, 2024.

[5] Wigglesworth, op cit.

[6] James Baldwin, The Price of the Ticket (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1985), 393.

September 1, 2024
15 Pentecost, Proper 17

Deuteronomy 4:1-2, 6-9; Psalm 15James 1:17-27; Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23

“What Defiles and What Builds Up”