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The Rev. Laura Matarazzo
August 19, 2007 ---  The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

Those of you who are gardeners, as I am, are familiar with the horticultural practice of division. When a perennial plant has grown and multiplied itself over the years there comes a time when it needs to be uprooted and divided in order to encourage new growth. Years ago, when Matty and I moved to the farm, I was presented with a number of long-neglected garden plants that needed just such treatment. I remember, in particular, a massive clump of irises, their tubers so thickly intertwined that they were literally strangling themselves. I remember with what gentleness I disentangled them, preserving the strange crooks and angles formed by years of common growth and I remember as well with what angst I ended up simply tearing some of them apart. It was a labor of love, that separating and then setting out in a new plot. Then, the short green spears looked so sparse and really very lonesome, standing independently of one another.  

Families, for all their beauty, stability, warmth, and security, can be like that clump of irises. Two distinct individuals are married and then each begins to bend and twist to conform to the others’ habits, opinions, temper. Parents can dominate as well as nurture and inevitably impose expectations and dreams that shape their children. Often, each member of the family is assigned a particular role in what psychologists today call the “family system”—one is the mediator, another the clown for comic relief of the tension that builds up because there is another member who holds all the anger that no one else expresses; someone nurtures the faith that others ignore; someone is the caretaker, another the “needy one.” We’ve all known, and some of us have been, the “black sheep.” Families are the first place in our lives where we are conformed to human structures; the first potential source of roles and even “boxes” that define us. 

In a few short weeks, God-willing, Matty and I will be grandparents for the first time. We expect Ethan Eduardo to arrive some time around the end of September. Can I tell you that, already, one person has bought him a little Yankees outfit and another a Red Sox sweatshirt—meanwhile, our daughter Robin is reading “Winnie the Pooh” to him and stocking up on books for his personal library. This is, of course, innocent and loving anticipation; nonetheless, families are the original molders of our minds and hearts and bodies. 

Families are the place where many of us have known love and order and discipline and stability. For most of us, family is the heart of our existence. The tightly-knit, established web of family life is the human institution held in highest esteem.  

And yet, Jesus declares that he has come to divide families. What a horrible intention for the one in whom we understand ourselves all related and who, for us, is the model of loving relationship. What an assault on the core of our human society!  It is difficult not to take offense. 

But, whether your family experience has been stifling or nurturing or, for most of us something of both, the reality is that Jesus is taking us to the center of our human experience to illustrate that following him, loving God first and foremost and our neighbor as ourselves, may divide us from even those closest to us. If you listen to God’s voice, you may become someone different from whom your parents want you to be. How hard is it to respond to a deep and holy longing for a different career when you are the sole support of your family? What courage and faith it takes to strive to conform to the image of God in which we are made, when godly action—that is, acts of justice and mercy and kindness—do not always flourish in families or in your social circles or in your workplace. Following Jesus challenges us with such questions as:

• In a family dispute, will you be fair and maintain loving relationship with the outcast, knowing you may become outcast yourself?
• Among your friends, will you risk rejection or alienation for the sake of justice or to be forgiving?
• In the workplace, will you stake your employment on being honest and seeking fair and equitable treatment of all parties in a world of often questionable ethics?
• In society, will you defend the rights of another if it means loss of revenue or comfort or security for you?

These are real risks—alienation from family, loss of friendship, employment and social standing. Look at the faithful people remembered in the letter to the Hebrews: Rahab risked death when she harbored the spies, others were mocked, flogged, or imprisoned and some were condemned to wander, homeless. Following Christ is likely to separate you from others. That’s the way of it. We may as well know this up front so that we do not fall so easily prey to the power and influence of others who would lead us away from God’s kingdom principles—others who are friends, colleagues, and family. 

And maybe if we know this, we will be better able to see God’s saving activity in the world and in our lives. We know how to predict the weather, Jesus says—how many times, on the hottest days of this summer did I look at the sky and try to judge whether or not it would rain, so I would know if I had to water my flowers! Just as we have come to expect particular kinds of weather when we see the movement of clouds in the sky, we can begin to recognize the movement of God’s loving will when we seek signs of it. 

Take our Anglican communion for example—a global family currently disrupted by disagreement and pretty much divided by our various understandings of scripture and tradition. We are on the brink of formal division. What do we see in this deep rift? Will we hold fast to our relatedness, at all costs, or will we look for the movement of God’s Holy Spirit in the midst of our dissension?  Will we look for the face of Christ in each other and trust God to bring us to new life—together or apart? And, if we separate, if this worldwide family of Anglicans is, finally, divided, will we see that God remains steadfast and God’s Spirit continues to move us toward the kingdom? 

Finally, this is the point, my friends. There is no human structure—not even our loving families—that will promote the wholeness—“shalom,” the true peace of God that passes human understanding—no human connection will promote the Kingdom of God like our relationship with God in Christ. What was it that Jesus said when told that his mother and brothers were looking for him? He pointed to his disciples and declared, “Here are my mother and my brothers! For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.” He speaks of a primary relationship that takes precedence over all others. Following Christ may mean potential separation but it guarantees growth unhindered by family expectations, society’s demands for conformity, or business’ political and economic constraints. Following Christ means unending growth into God’s loving intention for creation. 

About three years after I divided those irises at the farm, new growth had compensated for the spaces between the plants I had separated and they blossomed gloriously in Monet-like splendor of blue and lavender. Set down in a broad place, nurtured anew by soil and sun and rain, they flourished by having been divided.  

So, if you can, do not cringe from these words of our Savior. Division is not so much God’s divine intention as it is a consequence of our devotion to Christ. Recall the time Jesus’ mother and brothers came looking for him, thinking him mad and wanting to bring him home, away from the crowds and the suspicious elders…where could we be had they been successful in suppressing his ministry? Indeed, where would we be, at all, without the good gardener of our souls?

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