One of my writing friends calls what follows a "word vomit". Read it if you want to, but really I'm writing to get the stuff off my chest. You'll notice I'm not naming any names, giving any descriptions, or in any way indicating who the people invovled may be, right? Right. None of them know I have a blog anyway, but I don't want to be gossiping.
So I'm a little calmer now. I've had a chance to simmer down, and turn over the whole thing in my mind.
The sermon, in case you are curious, was about the leper that came to Christ and asked to be healed, and the Lord reached out and touched him and made him well. (Matthew 8, the first part.) In an odd way everything the sermon said was true, but it was astonishing how someone could take truth and use it in the wrong way. (Like telling someone who's just been bereaved "all things work together for good". Undoubtedly true. Doesn't make you any less an idiot for saying it.)
The general point of the sermon was that the leper was a "disenfranchised" member of Jewish society, but Christ didn't care, He healed him anyway. Which is true as far as it goes, except possibly for the disenfranchised part, which smacks a little of putting 21st century concerns on 1st century people. The application was that we are to minister the way Christ did, to people who have been disenfranchised by society. Which also seems true on the face of it; nobody wants to be mean to underpriveleged people.
But did Christ actually tell us to minister to the disenfranchised?
My dictionary defines "disenfranchised" as meaning "hasn't got sufferage". Which would explain why this fancy word is not actually in the Bible--NOBODY had the right to vote at the time--this is Imperial Rome we're talking about. The answer is no, Christ did not tell us specifically to minister to the disenfranchised. He told us to minister to the poor, widows, and orphans, and to love one another, and to love our enemies. The disenfranchised, whomever they may be, may very well fall into one of those categories, and certainly Christianity requires that we do things that might be socially uncomfortable (like, for instance, the book of James telling us that wealth and social position shouldn't dictate rank in the church). But it's a little silly to call a leper "disenfranchised" because he had to live outside of town and yell "unclean". And it's a little sillier to equate someone with a physical disease to someone with a dangerous, violent addiction that has a high risk of relapse.
None of this actually applies to the situation I mentioned earlier, as nobody has a legal right to join a church, and as felons by definition give up their right to vote when they commit felonies. (This is part of the logic of a democracy: if you are dumb enough to break a major law, you are probably not smart enough to elect lawmakers.) To this we can apply a few simpler Scriptures: for instance, to be as wise as serpents and as harmless as doves (Matt. 10:16). To avoid causing a brother to stumble (1 Cor. 8:13). To avoid placing new converts in positions of responsibility (1 Tim. 3:6). To avoid placing temptations in front of another person (Matt. 18:7).
These Scriptures alone should have given pause. They apparently did not, and so thanks be to God! the Husband and I have had our eyes opened. For what would have happened if we hadn't discovered this spirit in the church leadership until the time came when we needed them?
Overall there's a bizzare sense of lightness and relief. We're almost giddy.
So praise be to God, who protects us.
Breanna
