“‘He killed her.’” Pat said. ‘With a kitchen knife. In front of three of their children. The baby was sleeping.’”

Pat was a United Methodist minister in Washington State in the 1980s. Rebecca Parker tells parts of Pat’s story in the book Proverbs of Ashes: Violence, Redemptive Suffering, and the Search for What Saves Us. Rebecca continues:

“Pat had tried to help Anola Dole Reed … Working with others, she organized a drop-in support group for abused women. She knew that women needed resources to resist the violence in their lives.
Anola came to the group a few times. Pat offered her support and counsel. When Anola’s husband assaulted her, the group gave her the courage to call the police. She was reluctant to press charges, but an activist prosecutor brought her husband to trial. Pat accompanied Anola to court and stood by her as she took the courageous step to testify against her husband. ‘He knocked me to the floor. He got on top of me and twisted my hand and kept telling me that I’d better start listening to him and do what he wants me to do,’ she said in court. Gordon James Reed was convicted, fined five hundred dollars, and sentenced to ten days in the county jail.
… ‘Then he got out of jail. She had do decide whether to let him come back and live at home with her and the kids.’
‘She thought it would be the right thing, in God’s eyes. In the church she went to, the intact family was celebrated as God’s will; father, mother, and children were meant to be together in a loving home. Anola believed that because this configuration of family was the will of God, God would somehow make it all right. For her to break up the family would make her a bad person. Doing the will of God was more important than her personal safety. The possibility that faithfulness to God’s will might mean pain and violence could even have been in its favor. A good woman would be willing to accept personal pain, and think only of the good of the family. You know, ‘Your life is only valuable if its given away’ and ‘This is your cross to bear.’” She heard, just like you and I have, that Jesus didn’t turn away from the cup of suffering when God asked him to drink it. She was trying to be a good Christian, to follow in the footsteps of Jesus.’
Pat counseled Anola to embrace the sacredness of her own life and not to submit to abuse. But it was important to Anola to hold fast to the image of virtue her church taught her. ‘I have been trying to hold our marriage together for seven years,’ she said at the assault trial, ‘with my head split open three or four times by him.’ Anola believed God expected her to risk being battered, like Jesus. Her husband reinforced the message, defending his actions, saying, ‘I just kept trying to convince her that we had a marriage here and she had children and everything and that she was destroying it.’[Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Ann Parker. 2001. Proverbs of Ashes. pp 15-18].

In the end, Anola Reed told her husband she wanted him to leave their home. After knocking her to the floor with the baby’s high chair, Gordon James Reed stabbed Anola eighteen times using ten knives. Rebecca Parker tells us “The big kitchen knife was still lodged in her neck when the police found her body. He was sentenced to twenty years.”

Rebecca Parker, Unitarian Universalist minister and president of Starr King School for the Ministry, presents Anola Reed’s story as an example of one way in which Christian theology can be construed to condone or even support both the use of violence and the submission to violence in intimate relationships. Parker and her co-author, Rita Nakashima Brock, contend that this is a disastrous misinterpretation of the cross which stands at the center of Western Christianity.

When I first read Pat’s story, Anola’s story, framed in the abstract and academic arguments of theology, I thought the connection, the interpretation, was far-fetched, abstract, academic. Surely no one endures the horrors of domestic violence for theological reasons. Surely no one threatens or batters or kills someone to whom they are connected in the closest of relationships in obedience to the teachings of their church. Surely theology, a word which means “speech about God,” concerns itself with sacred and ultimate and transcendent matters, and surely domestic violence is a secular and sordid and mundane phenomenon if ever there was one. Surely it cuts across all lines of class and culture, race and creed, all theological distinctions.

“Statistics on the prevalence of the problem indicate that domestic violence is a worldwide epidemic,” according to the Stop Violence Against Women website maintained by Minnesota Advocates for Human Rights. Quoting from the website, “Studies show that between one quarter and one half of all women in the world have been abused by intimate partners. Worldwide, 40-70% of all female murder victims are killed by an intimate partner.” Despite prevailing assumptions, (quoting again) “research … shows domestic violence occurs in all social, economic, religious and cultural groups.”

“In the United States, approximately 22.1% of all women have experienced some form of assault by an intimate partner. Each year, 4.5 million physical assaults are committed against women by intimate partners. [From Patricia Tjaden & Nancy Thoennes, Extent, Nature, and Consequences of Intimate Partner Violence 10 (U.S. Department of Justice 2000)]. In 1999, approximately 1,218 women—more than three women every day—were murdered by an intimate partner. In that same year, intimate partner homicides accounted for 32% of all murders of women.” [http://www.stopvaw.org/Prevalence_of_Domestic_Violence.html]

In the State of North Carolina, more than 70 murders each year in each of the last three years are attributed to domestic violence. This corresponds to roughly 10% of all murders in the state. The nonprofit Violence Policy Center in Washington, DC reports that North Carolina has been among the top ten states in homicide rates for females murdered by males in five of the six years from 1997 through 2002. [“N.C. Policy Center Outlines Next Steps to Fight Domestic Violence.” News release, March 31,2005 from North Carolina Center for Public Policy Research Inc.]

In Carteret County, nearly 250 women and children each year are sheltered by the Carteret County Domestic Violence Program. Glenda Riggs, Executive Director of the Program in Carteret County, spoke with me at some length about these women and children – and they are representative of victims of domestic violence all across America. These are people who have been the victims of abuse, most of them repeatedly over an extended period of time. In Carteret County, they are predominantly Caucasian – reflecting the racial makeup of the county, but perhaps also because white culture is more accepting of abuse than non-white cultures. Perhaps white families are more likely to give up on the victims of domestic violence, leaving them to their own devices more than African American or Hispanic or Asian communities.

Like Anola Reed, these Carteret County victims of domestic violence are people who have reached out for resources to help them resist the violence in their lives. And like Anola Reed, they have encountered the reality that the initiative to address – never mind solve – the problem, lies with the victim. It is the victim who must walk away, not only from the violence but also from everything that may have meant safety and security and stability – from home, from clothes and dishes and furniture and baby clothes; from photographs and all those important and irreplaceable papers and mementoes; from a relationship that almost certainly began with the hope of a mutual commitment to nurture and cherish each other and the relationship. How many of you would have the courage and the strength to do that? How many of you would be willing or able to place your lives and your trust in the hands of a stranger, fortified by nothing more than what you are carrying with you right now?

These may be victims, but they are by no means weak. These are the strong ones.

And these statistics, and the lives and people they represent, appear to be only the tip of the iceberg. The 246 women and children who spend an average of 60 days at the Domestic Violence Shelter in Carteret County account for only a part of the 650 to 1000 crisis calls that come into the Carteret County Domestic Violence Program each year. The 70 domestic violence murder victims each year in North Carolina represent only a fraction of the 44,895 victims who sought help through one of the state’s 90 local domestic violence agencies in 2002-2003. According to a study done by the Raleigh News and Observer, the 80,000 abusers convicted in North Carolina courts represent only one-third of those charged with domestic violence, and only 18% of those convicted received jail time. Conviction rates range from 12.7% in Avery County to 56.9% in Hertford and Bertie counties – a “high” some might consider alarmingly low. Seventeen of the 100 counties in North Carolina have no shelters for victims of domestic violence, and abuser treatment programs are available in only 66 counties. Regarding the disparity, Mike McLaughlin of the North Carolina Center for Public Policy Research says: “Where one lives affects the likelihood of receiving shelter and support, influences whether the perpetrator goes to jail, and even has an impact on whether a judge can order participation in an abuser treatment program. But North Carolina lives under one set of laws… Our citizens should have equal opportunity to be safe from family violence.” [“N.C. Policy Center Outlines Next Steps to Fight Domestic Violence.” News release, March 31,2005 from North Carolina Center for Public Policy Research Inc.]

Experts in the field seek to understand the causes of domestic violence in the hope of developing more effective responses, protecting victims, holding perpetrators accountable – perhaps even designing or refining treatment programs. From the beginning of the movement to end domestic violence – in England in 1971 – we can trace an evolution in theories of violence from the theory that both abusers and victims were mentally ill; to the theory that violence was learned, and became a part of what felt familiar or “right” or “normal” to children who grew up in abusive homes, and then went on to recreate the abuse in their own adult relationships. Some theories describe violence as a loss of control on the part of the perpetrator, particularly among men in whom anger and frustration, prevented from expression by social taboos or expectations, would build up to the point of explosion. Some describe a state of “learned helplessness” among victims, stripped of the will to leave by the effects of constant abuse. Some theories describe a “cycle of violence,” in which a build-up of tension is followed by an explosive episode, which is followed in turn by a “honeymoon” period of apology, remorse, and romance. There is truth in each of these theories, but none is complete. The current understanding of abuse, according to the Stop Violence Against Women website of Minnesota Advocates for Human Rights, incorporates the concept of a Wheel of Power and Control that describes a range of tactics that an abuser may use to establish and maintain power and control over his or her partner. These varied forms of physical and sexual violence include the use of coercion and threats, emotional abuse, isolation, economic abuse, intimidation – even using children as pawns or weapons. And even this is not a big enough picture. When domestic violence is viewed within the larger context of society, it appears to be a reflection of and a way to sustain “relationships of dominance and inequality – relationships,” in the words of researcher Ellen L. Pence, “shaped not simply by the personal choices or desires of some men to [dominate] their wives but [shaped] by how we, as a society, construct social and economic relationships between men and women within marriage (or intimate domestic relationships) and families. Our task,” she continues, “is to understand how our response to violence creates a climate of intolerance or acceptance [of] the force used in intimate relationships.” [http://www.stopvaw.org/Evolution_of_Theories_of_Violence.html]

Violence is all around us, and between us, and within us. I am convinced that in this very room this morning, some of you are or have been witnesses to violence – in your family of origin, in your extended family, in your neighborhood, among your friends, in your own life. If more than 22% of all women in the United States have experienced some form of assault by an intimate partner – more than one out of every 5 women – then I expect that this applies to some of you. It just doesn’t make sense to protest, or to pretend, or to believe, that “it can’t happen here.” Indeed, it can. Indeed, it does.

And, indeed, upon reflection, this all-too-real climate of societal violence, this all-too-tragic undercurrent of domestic violence, is indeed a theological issue. Despite my initial skepticism about evoking the violence of the crucifixion as a rationale for interpersonal violence, I found as I spoke with friends and colleagues about it, I encountered men and women of integrity and good faith who had been counseled to stay in violent or dangerous relationships for exactly the reasons Rebecca Parker cites: this is God’s will; there is a larger purpose to which you owe fidelity and obedience.

And it is a theological issue because theology is rooted in our human understanding of how the universe is structured, and how we, as finite human beings, are connected to one another; how our relationships mirror this fundamental structure, and how we are called to respond to the opportunities and challenges with which life in this universe confronts us.

So I come full circle, returning to the words of Rebecca Parker, a far better theologian than I. She offers a glimpse of a new theology, a saving theology. She protests that “Theology that defines virtue as obedience to God suppresses the virtue of revolt. A woman being battered by her husband will be counseled to be obedient, as Jesus was to God. After all, Eve brought sin into the world by her disobedience. A good woman submits to her husband as he submits to God.
“But obedience is not a virtue. It is an evasion of our responsibility. Religion must engage us in the exercise of our responsibilities, not teach us to deny the power that is ours.” [Brock and Parker, “Can Violence Save? Challenging the Theology of Redemptive Suffering.” in UU World March/April 2002. p. 26.]

She suggests that “theology needs to teach us how to be for ourselves and be for others simultaneously, to hold both lives sacred. If either life is being exploited or injured by the relationship, there should be action that will restore ethical relationship and redress the harm. …
“Theology needs to tend to the healing of those whose lives have been fragmented by violence. The survivor needs healing, not just to change the system, but so she herself can become free.” [Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Ann Parker. 2001. Proverbs of Ashes. p. 42].

And Rebecca Parker and her colleague, theologian Rita Nakashima Brock, suggest that our theology, our talk about God, we are reminded that

“to know that the presence of God endures through violence is to know life holds more than its destruction. The power of life is strong. Salvation is sometimes possible.”

And they go on to characterize this new kind of salvation, which is not rooted in violence and abuse. They say:
“Salvation begins with the courage of witnesses whose gaze is steady. Steady witnesses neither flee in horror to hide their eyes, nor console with sweet words, ‘It isn’t all that bad. Something good is intended by this.’ Violence is illuminated by insistent exposure. Steady witnesses end the hidden life of violence by bringing it to public attention. They help to restore souls fragmented by violence. They accompany the journey to healing.” [Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Ann Parker. 2001. Proverbs of Ashes. p. 250].

I say we can be those steady witnesses. I invite you to begin now.

They say:
“Salvation requires love. Fainthearted love, idealized love, impatient love cannot walk in the valley of the shadow of death. Healing love touches the hidden wounds of violation, lances the places of stored trauma, restores glimpses of soul.” [Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Ann Parker. 2001. Proverbs of Ashes. p. 250].

I say we can offer such healing love. I invite you to begin now.

They say:
“Salvation also requires mourning. We must cross the raging rivers of grief to rest before the still waters of blessing. … Mourning strengthens our ability to choose life and protect it, even as the pain of grief threatens to destroy us. Those who mourn experience the mystery of a presence that is not wholly lost, that accompanies the living with a tenderness and power that alters their lives.”

I say we can be those faithful mourners, those companions on the journey of grief. I invite you to begin now.

I invite you to begin now to live a healing theology that calls and empowers each one of us to be a steady witness, a faithful mourner, a source of healing love.

And I invite you to begin in silence, witnessing, mourning, loving the painful and the healing truths that you know; that live for you as a power that endures through violence.

The bell will lead us into silence, and music will lead us out.

Silence
Song: Give Me The Roses While I Live.

Amen, and blessed be.

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