Who Tells Your Story
Written by: Carrie Houston
Minister to Students and Minister of Faith Experiences
First Baptist Church of Austin, Texas
July 26, 2020
The Revised Common Lectionary is a three-year cycle of weekly readings of scripture that are used in worship in the majority of the mainline protestant churches in the U.S. Its purpose is to expose people to the entire spectrum of biblical reading, from history, to poetry, to the stories of Jesus over the course of three years. First Austin also follows the lectionary for the most part, but Griff will sprinkle in a topical series every now and then. Right when the shutdown happened in March, we were in the middle of the “Why Jesus” series, a series of sermons based on this poster boldly and proudly displayed behind me. But that was cut short unfortunately.
Fast forward to July, and we are back to the lectionary text, and lucky for me, it’s the exact same text I preached on three years ago. The Jacob, Rachel and Leah saga. Surely you wouldn’t notice if I preached the same sermon, would you?
But this won’t be the same sermon.
It can’t be the same sermon today.
In the last three years, we’ve seen the world turn upside down. More and more people are fed up with the status quo and are taking to the streets to march in protest of injustices around them. In 2017, it is estimated that over 5 million people participated in the women’s march across the country. In 2018, our church took to the streets alongside student leaders from our city to demonstrate in support of legislation to prevent gun violence. Austin’s March for Our Lives event was one of 880 like it on March 24, 2018. And most recently, there have been an estimated 26 million people protesting police brutality after the killing of George Floyd at the hands of police in Minneapolis, sparking a nationwide conversation about racism in America.
We are finally starting to listen to each other’s stories. And we are outraged.
When I re-read the story of Rachel and Leah, I had a very different reaction to the text than I did three years ago. Maybe that’s the beauty of the lectionary. Same text, but read in a different context. Always a fresh take on the scriptures. when I come to the text, I bring all of myself when I engage the story. So do you. We bring all our experiences, traumas, joys, and stresses to the text when we interpret it.
So, reading about these women through a lens impacted by the events of the last 3 years and one that is sensitive to the stories of other women….this time, well…. I felt a visceral reaction in my gut.
My anger at this text and the gross injustices against women found in this story made me want to scream in frustration, get up and take to the streets to protest for the rights of Leah, this woman with lovely eyes being used as a pawn in a trickery scheme and traded as property. And for Rachel, whose only value is in her looks but is plagued with infertility and yet still used by her father for greed and power. And for their servant girls Zilpah and Bilhah who are undervalued and unappreciated, their bodies used as surrogates in the saga of a dysfunctional family.
And to an independent, strong-willed woman like myself, this text feels suffocating, exposes my fear of being controlled by someone else, and tempts me to discard the stories in our bible where women are subservient to men. You’re not wrong if you’ve had the same thoughts.
As much as I hate so many facets of this story of Rachel and Leah and of their handmaids Zilpah and Bilhah, it’s so important for us to continue to tell their stories, not just Jacob’s, to inspire a new generation of women, men, teenagers, and children alike, to acknowledge the pain in our sacred text while recognizing the powerful undercurrent of a God who liberates us from disfunction, inequality, and mistreatment…. Because God is still present and working in spite of our corporate sins and misgivings.
God is working within our androcentric text, meaning, written by men, for men. God has important roles for these women, Rachel, Leah, Zilpah, and Bilhah. Really important roles. God uses these women as key figures in the emergence of the people of Israel. Between Rachel, and Leah, Zilpah and Bilhah, these women give birth to four of Jacob’s thirteen children, which include the twelve sons that stand for the twelve tribes of Israel. These women are literally the mothers of the people of Israel. We say their names: Rachel. Leah. Zilpah. Bilhah.
God will always be a God on the side of the oppressed, working to break the chains of bondage and sin. Take the story of the Israelites, forced into slavery by the human hands of Egypt and delivered from slavery by Yahweh, the God of Israel. It’s a story we tell often in church and we tell our children at an early age- about the parting of the red sea, about the ten commandments, about Moses and how God used him to free his people from Pharaoh. Why do we retell this story over and over? Why do we retell any of the stories in the Bible?
Because there are lessons to be learned.
Because it points to our God of liberation, one that cares deeply for the minority and oppressed.
Jesus says,
The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because the Lord has anointed me.
He has sent me to preach good news to the poor,
to proclaim release to the prisoners
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to liberate the oppressed,
and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.
When confronted with the painful stories that highlight social class discrepancies, lack of reproductive rights, abuse, murder, jealousy, and corruption that we see in scripture, it would be easier to ignore them and toss them aside to discredit their voices. But when we have the courage to face our own history, scars and all, and tell their stories of the oppressed, we can connect the past with the present.
The beautiful thing about God’s redemptive actions is that we can see them in the actions of others in the course of our history. By looking to those who have bravely looked injustice in the face and fought for meaning and value within the world they inherited, we can be inspired and learn from their wisdom.
We must use the lessons learned from the faults and mistakes of our ancestors to transform ourselves and transcend above their transgressions. Hearing stories from other perspectives and time periods helps us broaden our own perspective and lets us build empathy and compassion for others as we try to internalize their experiences. Our compassion becomes exponential if allow our imagination the power to transport us to another person’s life experiences.
Our city prides itself on being a progressive bastion in the middle of a mostly red state, a city with cultural liberalism and sophistication, great breakfast tacos and a hippy and “weird” vibe. But despite our coolness factor, Austin has a big problem it struggles to come to terms with. Austin is still one of the most segregated cities in America, in 2020.
In 1871, a tract of land belonging to Texas Governor Elisah Pease was sold to Charles Clark, a freed slave who started the community known now as Clarksville, west of downtown with boundaries between what is now Enfield Road, North Lamar, West 6th Street and Mopac. This community is one of the oldest surviving freedmen’s towns in the United States west of the Mississippi.
Then in 1928, a plan to create what they then called a “Negro District” was passed in order to relocate and isolate minorities into a certain part of town, East Austin. Any person of color who wished to live in Austin and have access to water, electricity and roads, had to live within the boundaries south of 19th street to 7th street with East Avenue on the East. All African American families living in Clarksville were forced to move or live without city services.
In 1935, the New Deal continued to reinforce the segregation boundaries in Austin with the practice of redlining, which is the practice of denying loans or charging more for goods and services in certain neighborhoods deemed “risky,” typically determined by race. In 1956, construction of interstate highway 35 over East Avenue served as a physical reminder of the geographic segregation.
Then the Civil rights movement began to sweep the nation in the late 40s, reaching Austin in the 1950s with men and women standing up against segregation within the city. More and more people began to assemble and organize, seeking justice and equality.
In the 1960s, a white business owner built Austin Ice Palace at 3800 Airport Blvd, which was part of the black segregated area of town. However, he barred African Americans from entering. Bertha Means, Ada Collins Anderson and Willie Mae Kirk were outraged that their own children weren’t allowed to skate at an ice rink in their own neighborhood, so they organized a Mother’s Action Committee to stage protests outside the Ice Palace every Saturday.
Bertha Means, Ada Collins Anderson and Willie Mae Kirk went on to continue to advocating in the community in the 1960s. These three women, mothers themselves, helped spark a movement within Austin to fight to integrate the city parks, pools and playgrounds.
We say their names: Bertha Means, Ada Collins Anderson, Willie Mae Kirk.
We tell their stories.
We won’t get a chance to tell our stories when we die, but someone else will. What will they say about us as a community of faith What narrative will they write about how we responded to racial injustice in our community and in our country? What will they say we did to help the least of these? What will they tell the next generation about our response to this global pandemic, to climate change?Women’s rights? Immigration? Sex trafficking? Violence?
It's only a matter of time. Will they tell your story?
*artwork: "Chloe Cooley" by Naomi Moyer
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