April 25, 2021 | Worship

This week I watched the film “Sita Sings the Blues” for a class I’m taking on the “interreligious dimensions of Hinduism.” The film is made with flash animation for a western audience, weaving together the ancient narrative of the Ramayana with cheeky commentary and a side story of a modern break up. Sita, the heroine, is portrayed in a style that can only be described as Betty Boop-esque, and she sings musical numbers by Annette Hanshaw, a jazz sings from the 1920s and 30s. The film had a lot of controversy surrounding it—many Hindu groups were offended by the portrayal, and copyright issues popped up around the use of Hanshaw’s music, which was in the public domain but the use of synchronizing the images with music, among other issues cropped up. And while the film was fun—it really is an engaging piece—I was left unsettled from the beginning as the title credits came on and it read “Starring Annette Hanshaw.” It actually bugged me. I asked myself it would have been as awkward if it had read “featuring the music of Annette Hanshaw” or something along those lines, and I realized that I was uncomfortable with the “starring” role of a woman who has been dead since the 1980s and could have no say in whether or not she was the star of this film.

Also this week, in response to the “Guilty” verdict of the Derek Chauvin trial in the murder of George Floyd, House Speaker Nancy Pelosi was criticized for saying, “Thank you, George Floyd, for sacrificing your life for justice.” While the point she was making was to say that what had happened as a result of his murder would ultimately lead to some kind of justice in the court room—because so often this is not the case when it comes to police violence—the wording was deeply unsettling. There is a huge difference between martyrs and murders.

The thing that is missing in both of these illustrations is consent.

The reading this morning from John is a familiar one—the Good Shepherd. And while there is a lot to pull out from the sheep/shepherd narrative, I kept finding myself reading one line over and over again as I prepared for this morning: “For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, I have power to take it up again.”

The point that Christ gave his life is an inescapable cultural understanding that even those who are not active or practicing Christians are not immune to. To talk of self-sacrificing love and to expect that people will give more of themselves than they have is as American as apple pie. A 40 hour work week with the assumption that emails and calls will be answered over the weekend—how many of us have lived that life? Was it voluntary? Were you stoked to be taking a work call while at the lake with your family? How often have you swallowed your own identity to not ruffle the feathers of someone else? Did you wake up in the morning and say to yourself “I’m going to dim my shine so that my light doesn’t bother anyone” and then happily keep yourself to yourself indefinitely? It’s built into the way we interact that we carry some sort of sacrificial burden, but did we tell ourselves we wanted to carry that burden or was it assumed that we would, so we do?

Part of the widespread, under-the-skin, knowing without really knowing you know it part of being a religion that historically has used colonization as a primary method for growth is that the story is there under the surface, but there are parts of it that don’t receive the emphasis that they should because they don’t always fit nicely with our branding. We’ve turned the crucifixion of Christ into such a trope that it can readily be ascribed to anyone who has had a tragic end that resulted in societal change, however we’re forgetting a major key component. Consent.

When I was in high school, driving around in my first car- a gold 1980 Honda Accord, I would laugh about the line in the musical Jesus Christ Superstar “I really didn’t come here of my own accord” sung by Judas, and I would change it to “I really really came here in my own accord” because I thought I was so clever. But all of those times “my own accord” came up in scripture was never impressed upon me so that I would appreciate what it means when someone says that they did or did not do something “of their own accord.” We also weren’t having the same conversations then that we do now revolving around “No means no” and consent. There wasn’t a lot for me to play connect the dots with. This could be the case for why we tend to ascribe martyrdom to murder. There is a song called “Three strong links” written by Jim Manley, who you will recognize if you have ever sung the song “Spirit, Spirit of gentleness” on Pentecost, and this song goes “Three strong links in a freedom chain, free string links in a freedom chain, three strong links in a freedom chain, a Jew and a Hindu and a Black man slain.” And while the song makes a valid point about those who are pursuing justice through nonviolence being killed in their pursuit—Namely Jesus, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King Jr.—the most important difference in the deaths of these three visionaries for justice is one of consent.

One could argue that King and Gandhi knew the risks of their activism, but then we can let that snowball roll a lot further downhill and say that George Floyd knew the risks of being Back in public and so his death was therefore accordingly sacrificial. See how dangerous that line of thinking becomes?

Jesus knowingly and willingly did these three years of ministry and then went to the cross. It was part of the plan. He is commanded by “the Father,” but he does it of his own free will. And because he says in this passage in John that he has the power to “take up his life again” we can see how intricately his and God’s will are intertwined. If we recall the scene at Gethsemane where Jesus prayed just before the betrayal by Judas, Jesus has a moment where he asks God, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me;” and we can see that Jesus wrestles with what must happen, but after much prayer, he comes back and says, “My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink it, your will be done.” And he reaffirms his consent, this is to happen of his own accord. Another important point for us to remember, since often times consent is given at first and then it is taken away, but because of the initial “yes” a “no” is often overruled. But Jesus came back around and again confirmed that he was on board with what was to happen.

As we read these familiar passages and revisit bible stories we’ve known forever, it is important that we not overlook the details. In this case, we could find ourselves so caught up in the comforting and edifying story of Jesus as the good shepherd caring for us no matter what conundrum we find ourselves in—and we’re really good and creative about finding new conundrums for Christ to carry us through and out of—that we might forget how powerful it is that he wasn’t just put into the family business of shepherding and given no other options. He chose this as his line of work, and he chose it and affirmed that choice again and again. We are not loved by Christ out of obligation or filial piety, even though God put him up to it in the first place. He isn’t given attribution of a starring role in the Christian Scriptures without having ever had anything to do with them. He chose to fulfill this role, to sacrifice himself, and to rise again for all of our sakes, and he made sure everyone knew it was of his own accord. In the same way, we come to Jesus of our own accord. Theological ethicist Maria Cimperman says, “While never loving us less, God enters only upon our consent, honoring our free choice, our free will.” This is a key component that may be missing from our underlying understanding of Christ’s sacrificial relationship to us as we work to decolonize the way we view what Jesus did for us. Because so much of Christian history is the bloody imposition of religious values on unwilling indigenous peoples from all over the globe, we have to do the work of separating what it truly means to give of oneself freely to Christ just as he gave of himself to us.

All of that is to say that as we encounter examples in pop culture, politics, or in our personal lives of areas where consent truly couldn’t have been given of one’s own accord, we must challenge and push back against them. Not villainize the person who perpetuates them, mind you. I know there are too many people who would gleefully stomp all over Nancy Pelosi and that’s not what I’m advocating, but I do encourage us to critically challenge when we see things arise that the person with a sacrifice attributed to them could not have agreed to. We have a blueprint for what real consent looks like in the affirmation and reaffirmation of Jesus’s own accord, and as followers of Christ who are working towards a better world for all, we must make space so that others can give their consent again and again, and we should work to deconstruct the ways of thinking that allow us posthumously or after-the-fact attribute consent.

May Christ, our good shepherd, continue to show us what it means to say yes when we mean it, to accept no when someone else means it, and may we continue to challenge injustice when we see it—of our own accord. Amen.