I Learned My Ethics in Sunday School

I Learned My Ethics in Sunday School
By Norman A. Bert, PhD., Professor
Texas Tech University, Department of Theatre and Dance

I grew up in the 1940s and 1950s in a Brethren In Christ congregation in southern California. As part of the Mennonite family, Brethren In Christ churches were clearly out of the main stream of American culture. We were few in number, puritan in our ethic, austere in our life style, and "plain" in our attire. I didn`t much like my minority, sub-culture identity. I felt different in the worst sense-weak and foolish. I felt like I didn`t belong. But everything I learned from my parents, my church, and my Sunday school told me this narrow way of life was the right way.

Now, as a liberal, democratic Christian, I feel like I`m in the minority again. I feel side-lined, un-empowered, depressed. I`m fighting major temptations-the undertow pulling me toward the depths of atrophying depression, or again, the lure of immersing myself in enjoyable pastimes while telling myself the big battles don`t matter so much after all. At other moments, the opposite temptation reaches out for me, the Siren call to lay aside my true values, only temporarily of course, in order to adopt the methods of power-falsehood and violence-and thereby wreak some kind of victory: Isn`t a pyrrhic victory preferable to principled defeat? Nor do I slog through this Slough of Despond alone. Through the mists, beneath the taunts and boasts of victorious conservatives, I hear similar whimpers from other lost pilgrims who share my religious and political viewpoints.

It`s a shock to be back in the minority. The shock sends me back to my roots. I`m thinking a lot these days about what I learned as a child in Sunday School. If there`s anything the Brethren In Christ were not, it was liberal or radical. But as I think about it, the lessons I learned in my conservative Sunday School classes can sustain me as I reach for progressive ideals. Here are ethical precepts I learned in my youth that are helping me now.

Fearlessly speak the truth to Power. Almost every story I learned in Sunday school involved some biblical hero speaking out against the powers that be. Moses, Elijah, Daniel and the other prophets in the First Testament; in the New Testament John the Baptist, Peter and James, Stephen and Paul, and of course Jesus-all of these fearlessly challenged the actions and policies of the ruling authorities, sometimes with success, sometimes not, frequently at great personal cost, but always with God`s blessing. In maturity, I began to realize the centrality of the spoken word in the old stories as well as in the important actions of subsequent heroes such as the Anabaptists, the Quakers, Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., and others. These people opposed hostile authorities with their voices and backed up their words, not with violence but with symbolic actions and their willingness to suffer. They were, in other words, witnesses or, in New Testament Greek, marturoi-martyrs. And far from being cheap talk or empty rhetoric, the oral and written testimonies of these prophets established the freedoms we most value today. In the present situation, when conservative forces vaunt their power and threaten to drag America back into a medieval theocracy that masks the demonic domination of the power elite, now I remember that I must speak. I must not permit my apathy or my fears or my sense of futility to silence me. I must find a voice. I must speak the word of truth to the Powers. Now I remember that the word is sharper and more powerful than any sword.

Always tell the truth. As with all middle-class kids in the `40s and `50s, I had honesty drummed into me. The lessons started with the Ninth Commandment, "Thou shalt not bear false witness," and the proverb "Honesty is the best policy." They continued with the story of Ananias and Sapphira who were struck dead for lying about money, the stories of George Washington and the cherry tree, Honest Abe, and many more. As I grew up, I discovered that truth can be elusive, that there are many shadings between the poles of honesty and falsehood. I became disillusioned, even cynical as I watched icon after icon-businessmen, physicians, clergymen, Presidents-lie, cheat, cover up, "misinform." Over the last decade I watched as one President was impeached for a fib about an affair while his successor was reelected after leading the country into a military morass on the basis of massive falsifications perpetrated all the way up to the world`s highest court. But I may have learned the most important lesson about honesty in Quaker meeting: Never, never lie to yourself; when you do, you weaken your ability to hear God`s voice. In Quaker meeting, I sit in silence, expecting to hear the voice of God. I`m still not sure I can distinguish between my own inclinations and the divine word, but I know that if I don`t strictly practice complete honesty-with others, but especially with myself-I`ll never be able to tell the difference. My conscience is the voice of God, and if I corrupt it with lies, I`m lost. So I seek, with all the honesty I can muster, to face my own shortcomings, my own mixed motives. And it`s devilishly hard to be honest with myself while lying to others. I remember that the Bible characterizes Satan as the father of lies; that memory clarifies for me the lineage of those who deal in falsehood.

Connect with tradition and seek out its best principles. As a child, I learned that my tradition began with the Biblical community-the people of the First and New Testaments. I learned that this tradition had been communicated to me by "peculiar" people-the pacifist plain people like the Mennonites, the River Brethren, and American frontier revivalists. Later in life I learned that, while some of my ancestors had been Anabaptists and therefore harassed as heretics, others had been Waldensians, another persecuted sect. I realize now that by birth and by choice I am attached to traditions of heresy and dissent-traditions which, while rejected and attacked at their beginnings have since been recognized as important forerunners of Protestantism and religious liberty. Connecting with these traditions gives me a sense of who I am, what I need to do, and what kind of response to expect from those who are orthodox, normal, and in the majority.

Identify and emulate heroes. In my childhood, the heroes most consistently held up for my admiration were the Bible figures-people like David, Ruth, Peter, Paul and Jesus. These heroes were as real and important to me as George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. I learned to admire my heroes` strengths and to avoid their sins and mistakes. Later I added others to this pantheon-Anabaptist leaders and martyrs like Menno Simons and Conrad Grebel, Quaker seers and abolitionists like George Fox and John Woolman, and American prophets and martyrs like Susan B. Anthony and Martin Luther King, Jr. I also learned that most of the great religious and humanitarian heroes were in the minority and many were considered foolish, wrong, even evil. Now they are revered. They began as little people, common people, and they ended up making a huge difference. Remembering these heroes inspires me and reminds me that the road traveled by pilgrims is rarely smooth, crowded, or easy.

Don`t be co-opted by the current communities of power. While still a child I realized that, although my parents voted, many of my ancestors and others in the church did not. In the traditions of my church, the political process belonged to The World, a system hostile to God`s church. I didn`t know anyone who actively participated in politics, and it came as a shock to me when one of our church members got himself elected as mayor. Somehow, participating in politics seemed wrong. As an adult, I`ve dabbled in party politics, but these activities have always reaffirmed for me that, as institutions, political parties seek power for their own self-preservation and self-aggrandizement. Those who serve these parties all-too-frequently end up sacrificing their values for those of the parties. Remembering the ambiguous lessons of my youth about politics clarifies for me that, even while I work within a party, I must remember that my true allegiances lie outside and above these power structures. Means to ends, parties and political factions must never become ends in themselves.

Embrace minority status. The Brethren in Christ, who numbered only about 10,000 in the middle of the twentieth century, rejected the idea that their tiny numbers indicated weakness or error. In Sunday school, church, and my home I learned that, in terms of morality and religion, very few ever "got it right." The Hebrew prophets, Jesus, and the Twelve Disciples, and the early Christians were all rejected by the majority. Later on, I learned that the concept of the righteous remnant held a respected place in Christian theological discourse. I came to realize that "the majority rules" has never applied to morality. Of course, along with minority status came negative labels created by the majority in order to denigrate the un-empowered. But names intended to belittle minority groups-"Christian," "Anabaptist," "Methodist," "Quaker"-have become badges of honor and respect. These days I`m remembering not to be surprised when I`m at odds with "the main stream" who claim to be the true Christians, the real Americans, The advocates of values, the moral majority. I remember that the Romans called the early Christians atheists and persecuted them for being impious, creators of chaos, traitors against the state, outlaws, criminals. I remember Jesus` words in the Sermon on the Mount: "The gate is wide and the road is easy that leads to destruction, and there are many who take it. For the gate is narrow and the road is hard that leads to life, and there are few who find it" (Matthew 7:13, 14).

Stay on guard for attacks; develop an ear for falsehoods. The words of one of the hymns we sang summed up the suspicion we Brethren in Christ held toward the surrounding culture:

Are there no foes for me to face?

Must I not stem the flood?

Is this vile world a friend to grace,

to help me on to God? (Isaac Watts)

As a child, I knew that the answer to the first two rhetorical questions in these lines was "yes!" and the answer to the final one was "no!" The hymn and the viewpoint it reinforced taught us that, not only was the surrounding culture hostile to God`s way and God`s people, but it also possessed a mesmerizing ability to cloak its hostility and seduce us. It became incumbent on us, then, to stay alert to goings-on in the world around us so that we would not be sucked in. In later years I learned more about systemic evil from people as varied as Mennonite theologian John Howard Yoder, Marxist playwright Bertolt Brecht, and American auteur Michael Moore. Now thinking back to the teachings of my youth reminds me that I have a spiritual duty to read the newspaper daily while praying for vision to see clearly through the smoke screens put up by the hostile forces that govern "this vile world" in which I live.

Hold authorities in respect but also in suspicion. Sunday school taught me paradoxical lessons about authority. On the one hand, I learned that I should respect and obey our governmental leaders; as Paul`s letter to the Romans said, "Let every person be subject to the governing authorities; for . . . those authorities that exist have been instituted by God. . . . For rulers are not a terror to good conduct, but to bad" (13:1, 3). On the other hand, I knew that in story after biblical story, governmental powers had indeed terrorized good people. These powers enslaved the Hebrews, killed the prophets, persecuted the church, even killed Paul himself. And most centrally, religious leaders had forged an alliance with political powers to crucify Jesus. As I grew older, the civil rights struggles and the Vietnam War controversy brought this biblical paradox into my immediate world. I even witnessed Billy Graham, an icon of my youth, blessing the most pernicious of our politicians and supporting their policies. Now, as I again watch the same alliance of religious and political leaders that killed Jesus and the prophets, I remember the lessons of my youth: While I am called upon to respect and pray for those in positions of authority, I must always remember that they are politicians, and as such they tend always to value their own power and success over truth, goodness, and the Higher Law.

Respect the Law. I learned-primarily though the example of my family-to obey the laws. I don`t remember my parents ever getting so much as a traffic ticket. I do remember my uncle, in charge of the family business, firmly rejecting the accountant`s advice to use some questionable practices in order to save on taxes. Yet I also learned that, when laws violate one`s conscience-when they conflict with the Higher Law-they should be disobeyed. Amongst my heroes was Ernest Swalm, a Canadian Brethren in Christ bishop who, as a young man during the first World War, went to prison rather than violate his pacifist beliefs. As I grew older, I came to understand that this selective obedience to the law carried a social responsibility; it wasn`t just a matter of keeping one`s own conscience clean. It became clear to me that, when one must practice civil disobedience, one should do it publicly, as a witness, and one should be prepared to accept the penalties that come as a consequence. Now I am shocked at the scoff-law attitudes of fellow Christians who joke about breaking traffic laws. Conversely, I respect people who openly violate laws they believe to be unjust. Today I respect laws that provide safety and support for all, and I deplore laws made to sustain the powerful at the expense of the poor.

Refuse to use bad means to attain good ends. As a child, I learned that it`s never right to do wrong. I learned that good ends don`t justify bad means because, as far as my action is concerned, it`s all about the means. I learned that we have no control over the future results of our actions, but we do have everything to say about our present behaviors. Right action is better than effective action. The future, the outcomes-these are in God`s hands. In particular I have learned that I must refuse to use the weapons of power-specifically falsehood and violence. These weapons always corrupt the ones who wield them. What good is it to fight the forces of evil if, in the process, we become evil ourselves? Or as one of our memory verses put it, "For what is a man advantaged, if he gain the whole world, and lose himself, or be cast away?" (Lk 9:25)

Look beyond defeats. As a measure of the importance assigned to good means, I was taught actually to value apparent defeats. This lesson was communicated to me through teachings such as Jesus` words, "Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit" (Jn 12:24). The lesson was also imbedded in dozens of Biblical stories-Lot and Abraham, Samson and the Philistines, Joseph and his brothers, Paul and the Philippians, Stephen the martyr, and above all the crucifixion of Jesus. As an adult, I learned from John Howard Yoder that the one way in which God`s people are called to imitate Jesus is taking up our crosses and following him. Now I remind myself that it`s not about winning battles; it`s about winning the war. In the war for goodness, defeats inevitably lead to victories. I remember to reject despair over apparent failures. I remember to commit to hope.

Keep spiritual values elevated over material ones. The second-hardest lesson my early training tried to instill in me was subordinating material values to spiritual ones. The teachings, based solidly on the New Testament, were clear. Jesus said, "You cannot serve God and mammon," and even as a child I knew that "mammon" was more than money, that "mammon" summarized the whole system of accumulating, enjoying, and hanging on to "stuff." I understood the temptations of possessions and the threat that possessions posed to keeping spiritual values in their proper, superior place. But deeply committed as my family and teachers were to these New Testament principles, they were also middle-class businessmen with incredible work ethics who spent most of their time and energies accumulating money-money to provide security for the family, money to further the work of the church, money as a measure of personal worth. These ambiguities created in me a deep suspicion of the acquisitive principle that drives American life. The vast majority of Americans respond deeply when politicians join hands with mammon: "Are you better off than you were four years ago?" Americans` worship of mammon has driven tax cut after tax cut until the poor have been squeezed out of the meager sustenance a more responsible government once provided. Of all the vaunted "values" of conservatism, the king virtue-the one that rules all others, the one for which all other values, if push came to shove, would finally be sacrificed-is the virtue of accumulating and hanging on to wealth. The inalienable right to the pursuit of happiness has become the absolute right to serve mammon. But I hear Jesus` voice, and I determine anew to keep my priorities straight, to resist the constant voices assuring me that I deserve to pamper myself. I resolve anew to question politicians when they appeal to my most selfish instincts. I resolve to hold the needs of the poor over my own desires for stuff.

Love your enemies. But of all the lessons my early teachers attempted to instill in me, by far the hardest to absorb was Jesus` teaching that his followers should love their enemies. It helped a bit to understand that "love" didn`t mean "like"; loving my enemies wasn`t a matter of feeling affection for them. But it didn`t help to understand that loving my enemies meant seeking their welfare, having their best interests at heart. Hard or not, the teaching was clear: If I was going to consider myself a Christian, I had to love my enemies. As I matured, I noticed that others also found it hard to obey Jesus` Law of Love. People tried all sorts of intellectual gymnastics to weasel out from its implications. They usually managed to convince themselves that they could somehow love their enemies while denigrating them and then slaughtering them. They convinced themselves, but much as I wanted to agree, they never quite convinced me. Young or mature, I just could never quite adopt the casuistry involved in reaching that conclusion. Perhaps the most help I`ve found in my attempts to obey the Law of Love is Quaker founder George Fox`s counsel to "seek out and answer to that of God in every person." I try to do this, to find the best in all people, including my enemies, and to reinforce it. Loving my enemies is still a struggle; it`s just so satisfying to indulge myself in really deep hatred. But I remind myself that stimulating hatred is the tool of power, the tool of conservatism, the tool of Satan, and I turn away from it, turn my face to Jesus, and determine anew to love my enemies.

Practice radical democracy. As a school child in America in the `40s and `50s, I learned that God created all men equal, and I understood that "men" in this sense included women as well. As I passed from adolescence to young adulthood in the early `60s, I watched as the implications of democracy drove the civil rights movement. I noticed that, in order to enfranchise the un-empowered, it became necessary to curtail what the powerful had previously considered to be their own rights. This observation fit with what I was noticing about the Bible-that both Testaments favored the poor and weak over the rich and powerful. Jesus` teachings-"Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled . . . But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation" (Lk 6:21, 24)-put him in the center of the Biblical tradition and also made him one of the foundations of modern democracy. Nowadays I remember that, in order to be both a true Christian and also a real American, I must favor the needs of the weak and poor over the prerogatives of the powerful and rich. And in an America that parades its morality and values, I realize that how we handle power, how we stand on the side of the weak, the poor, the downtrodden, the powerless, the disenfranchised-this is far more important than sexual mores and Puritanical life-styles. I remind myself that at the Last Judgment, conservative goats who cut taxes by diminishing the health and education benefits of the poor are going to end up in "the fire prepared for the devil and his angels," no matter how loudly they bleat about their moral purity (Mt 25:31-46).

These lessons that I learned in my youth come back to me now. They are minority values, underdog viewpoints, principles of the righteous remnant. They`re also family values-not the neo-cons` so-called family values, those ersatz throw-backs to nostalgic beliefs that never really existed at any time or place but that appeal to the masses who, having lost their way, are willing to hitch a ride with any grinning motorist that stops to give them a lift. No, these are real family values. I learned them from my family gathered around the family altar, around the table at the family Christmas dinner, on the beach during family outings, in the family pew on Sunday morning. These values have the power to create a family from the human masses shredded by the divisive policies of conservatism. These days these family values, these radical lessons I learned in Sunday school, lift me out of my despair. They keep me from passive aggression. They energize my soul, channel my anger, strengthen my resolve. They remind me who I am, where I came from, where I`m going. I won`t forget them again.