Threading the Needle of Faithfulness

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Community Presbyterian Church of Ben Avon

Luke 19:1-10

He entered Jericho and was passing through it. 2A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was rich. 3He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. 4So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. 5When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.” 6So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. 7All who saw it began to grumble and said, “He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.” 8Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I (will) give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I (will) pay back four times as much.” 9Then Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. 10For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.”

Today’s text is the perfect example of how biblical translators can mess with our interpretation by messing with verb tenses. Seriously.

If we accept the translation we just heard from the New Revised Standard Version, this text from Luke 19 is a clean, classic repentance story.

If we accept the NRSV translation, this is a pretty straightforward text.

Rich man meets Jesus.

Rich man is blessed by Jesus.

Rich man repents and goes on to live a generous life.

Can’t get much more straightforward than that. And it would also make a great text for a stewardship sermon, by the way.

Unfortunately, the NRSV translation is most likely incorrect.

If you do a translation from the Greek, and listen to Greek scholars, who are much better at translation than any of us, you will discover that NRSV’s addition of one little word in verse 8 changes everything about this text.

In a more accurate translation, Zacchaeus doesn’t make a promise to Jesus.

He doesn’t promise to give half of what he owns to the poor and repay what he has stolen four times over.

A better translation of the Greek would suggest these are generous actions Zacchaeus is already doing. In the present tense, not the future.

A better translation of verse 8 would be:

8Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I pay back four times as much.”

 Not, “I will give.”

Not “I will pay”

By the time Jesus arrives in Jericho, his last stop before he enters into Jerusalem, Zacchaeus is already making donations to the poor.

 What this says to me is that we have another tax collector on our hands this week who isn’t necessarily what he appears to be. This tax collector, Zacchaeus is a complicated human being who doesn’t fit the easy stereotype of the rich man who decides to loosen his purse strings after an encounter with Jesus.

In fact, the tax collector in our story today isn’t even an unnamed, ordinary tax collector like the man we saw praying last week in the temple.

Zacchaeus is the boss man, the chief tax collector.  I know children’s Sunday school songs refer to him as a cute, wee Zacchaeus, but…make no mistake. Zacchaeus is a very big cheese.

The chief tax collectors colluded with the Roman government and routinely took advantage of ordinary citizens.

And it was common practice for the chief tax collector to skim a percentage off the top of the collected cash to line his own pocket.

That was the system. Zacchaeus sat near the top of that system. And the system made him a very wealthy man.

In other words, when we think about Zacchaeus, we need to revise our Sunday school image of the adorable wee man in the tree. Instead, think corrupt subprime mortgage agents on steroids.[1]

The tax collector we saw praying in the temple last week was merely hated. Zacchaeus was very likely the most despised man in his community. We can hear that hatred in the text as the crowd grumbles about Jesus hanging out with the very worst sinner you can imagine.

To be fair, the Gospel of Luke would lead us to believe that the grumbling of the crowd is entirely justified. Luke has very few kind words for rich people like Zacchaeus.

At the very beginning of the gospel, we hear Jesus’ mother Mary singing,

52 He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,

and lifted up the lowly;

53 he has filled the hungry with good things,

and sent the rich away empty.

Throughout Luke, Jesus blesses the poor but challenges the rich. In chapter 6, Jesus says, “Woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.” Jesus talks about the poor man Lazarus who goes to heaven and the rich man languishing in hell.  And right before entering Jericho in chapter 19, Jesus tells a rich man how hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God and that it will be easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle.

We remember the rich man walks away from Jesus with sadness in his eyes because he likes being rich and can’t imagine giving it all away. In comparison, today’s rich man, Zacchaeus scrambles up a tree to get closer to Jesus.

So how can Zacchaeus thread that needle of faithfulness while being part of a corrupt and brutal system that has made him very rich?

Impossible, right? Who then can be saved?

Well, as Jesus says, what is impossible for mortals is possible for God.

Let’s think about this.

Luke makes a point of telling us Zacchaeus was a short guy. And I wonder why that detail is included in this story? How does knowing Zacchaeus’ height tell us anything?

It is not too much of a stretch to imagine that a younger Zacchaeus was the kind of kid who might have been picked on or bullied by other, taller kids in his community. Centuries come and centuries go, but schoolyard bullies never go away.

In addition to being short, Zacchaeus must have also been pretty intelligent. “He’s so good with numbers!” his parents said.  Skilled at record keeping. And with that kind of flinty, resilient attitude that you often see in the runt of the litter.

So this smart, short, tough kid who was good with numbers grew up to become the chief tax collector. Finally, Zacchaeus could move through life knowing that although everybody hated him, nobody would mess with him. Because now big brawny Roman soldiers had Zacchaeus’ back.

Yet, being a successful chief tax collector meant Zacchaeus’ social standing in his community is as diminished as his physical stature. Despite his significant wealth, he feels small. He may no longer suffer from bullies, but he very likely lives a lonely life.

If we accept the Greek translation of this text, it could be that Zacchaeus’ unlikely generosity to the poor may be in response to his feelings of being less than other people. Zacchaeus may have felt kinship with those who were as marginalized and despised as he. Caught in a corrupt system not of his own making, maybe he used the system to the advantage of those who could not access the privilege he enjoyed. Perhaps he even used his God-given brains to pay back those he was obligated to cheat in such a clever fashion, the Romans never caught on.

The crowd around Jesus and Zacchaeus must have been astonished by the announcement. Nobody could have guessed that the most despised man in town was also the most generous. While the grumbling Pharisees merely tithed, that sinner Zacchaeus gave 5 times that.

Who’d have thunk it? People are not always what they appear to be.

Zacchaeus reminds me of a character from “The Big Short” – a movie about the 2008 financial meltdown. In many ways, it is sort of a depressing movie because it reminds us of what went on before the financial system blew up, and how little has really changed since then.  But many of the characters seem to be beacons of something like goodness even in the midst of complete corruption.

The character who reminds me of Zacchaeus is Mark Baum, played hilariously by Steve Cottrell. Mark Baum works for a subsidiary of Morgan Stanley, but he is also an idealist who is fed up with the corruption in the financial industry. Because he is smart and can see  what everyone else seems to be missing – which is how recklessly bankers are behaving — Baum is able to figure out how to profit from their treachery.

Yet, throughout the movie, you can see how Baum is conflicted about benefiting from the downfall of the economy. Even as Baum made millions of dollars from shorting the housing market, you get the sense from him that money isn’t really the point.

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Steve EIsman was the inspiration for the Mark Baum character in the movie, “The Big Short.”

Baum’s interest is in seeing justice done to the financial institutions who are deliberately bilking homebuyers by giving them mortgages they can’t afford. And from Baum’s perspective, the only way to see justice done is to cause pain to the banks the only place it is possible to hurt them – on their balance sheets.

So Zacchaeus is a highly imperfect man moving within a totally corrupt system. Yet, like Mark Baum, it seems he is able to play that same system to benefit the people it victimizes.

Luke doesn’t really tell us why Zacchaeus showed up this particular day in Jericho to see Jesus.

But one thing is for sure. Jesus recognized Zacchaeus immediately.

Predictably the religious leaders and others in the crowd “grumble” about Jesus passing by all the “holy” people and deciding to have dinner with a “sinner” like Zachaeus instead.

But since this is Jesus we’re talking about, we shouldn’t be at all surprised.

In scripture, over and over again, we hear stories about Jesus recognized all kinds of imperfect people – lost sheep, prodigal sons, the lame, the lepers, a poor man covered with sores, a widow confronting a judge, and over the past two weeks, repugnant tax collectors.  It is as if Jesus is compelling us to take another look at the folks we would likely pass by or avoid entirely.

Yet, Jesus is holding up all these people not as objects for us to save, but as victims of systems that do not correspond to God’s rule of justice and abundance.  Systems that bully, exploit, and kill the soul.

Jesus looks up at Zacchaeus in that tree and sees the heart of a man who has done what he can to be honorable in a system that is anything but.

Jesus looks up and sees the heart of a man that has done his best to hang on, to survive with his humanity intact, despite being despised by his community.

Jesus looks up and recognizes Zacchaeus as one who has managed to be a small, quiet glimmer of light in a dark and despairing world.

Jesus looks up and doesn’t see a short, nerdy kid who somehow survived the humiliation of bullies and grew up to become a rich man.

Jesus looks up at Zacchaeus perched on the branch of a Sycamore, calls Zacchaeus by name, and sees him as he truly is:  a Son of Abraham, a child of God.

And Zacchaeus responds to Jesus’ call with joy, the joy that comes from being fully recognized, fully known and fully loved. His response to Jesus’ call is the classic response of faith – the great and glorious YES when we accept God’s gracious invitation to come to the table and be in relationship with all of God’s family.

We don’t know what happens to Zacchaeus after his time with Jesus. There are some traditions that say he became an apostle or a bishop. Perhaps, the healing Zacchaeus receives from Jesus is a restoration of his place in the community.

All we really know is salvation came to Zacchaeus house, because Jesus came to his house. All we can know for certain is Zacchaeus will never be the same.

And Jesus still comes to us.

How can we, who are impossibly rich compared to the rest of world and who are also part of corrupt, unjust and inequitable systems, how can we thread the needle?

Like Zacchaeus, we are all participants in systems that are often life-draining and inhuman. And we have choices about what we are to do with that reality.

Like Zacchaeus, we carry scars of hearing voices tell us we are not enough, we are too small, too insignificant. Jesus sees who we are, treasures our scars, and works even through our brokenness.

Like Zacchaeus we are called by Jesus to move from being distant observers to become faithful disciples.

We’re about to sing one of my favorite hymns, “Will you come and follow me,” which celebrates how Jesus calls us by name so that his life can be grown in us.

It is a call that involves taking up the cross and to “risk the hostile stare” that Zacchaeus knew all too well.

It is a call to love in actions which open our eyes to the hearts of the captive and blind and even the lepers in our midst.

It is a call to have faith in our God-given identity that can conquer our inner fears of climbing down and getting into the work of Jesus.

The hymn ends with a prayer for strength to follow Jesus and ‘never be the same’.

For in responding to Christ’s call to love, we move and live and grow in him and he in us.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

To listen to: “Will Your Come and Follow Me? (The Summons)

https://youtu.be/o469PRLdbHU

[1] Johnson, Elizabeth E. Feasting on the Word, Volume 4, Year C. 260

Faith 101: A lesson from a tax collector

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Community Presbyterian Church of Ben Avon

Luke 18:9-14

He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt:

 “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.’

 But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast, and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’

 I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”

 It is good to be with you again this morning, brothers and sister in Christ. I am delighted that Pastor Donna asked me to preach and lead worship with you over the next two weeks.

I am particularly excited to have been invited into this ongoing conversation with you about faith and what faith looks like as we observe Jesus’ teachings in Scripture.

And today we’re using the lens of Luke 18 as we observe a Pharisee and a tax collector praying in the temple.

I already know what you’re thinking.

The Pharisee is such a jerk, right?

Even if you only have a limited knowledge of the Bible, you can be pretty sure you know everything you need to know when a Pharisee shows up.

The Pharisees almost always serve as a nemesis to Jesus, a literary foil, a first century Lex Luther.

So when we see the Pharisee in this parable, we can confidently predict that the writer of Luke has cast the Pharisee in the role that Pharisees almost always play — the self- righteous, religious blowhard.

When we have that bad guy stereotype safely stuck in our mind, we think we already know the moral of Jesus’ parable –

The moral is: don’t be THAT guy. Don’t be a jerk. Don’t think you’re better than other people.

And just a few weeks out from the presidential election, it’s just so easy to hear a political candidate praying just like the Pharisee.

“God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like that Hilary Clinton.”

 God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like that Donald Trump.”

 And that’s exactly what a lot of voters are saying, “I’m voting for Donald Trump because I can’t stand Hilary Clinton.” Or vice-versa. They are voting for one candidate because they feel like the other is simply too wretched.

But here’s the thing, in ancient Palestine, the Pharisee was probably not considered to be wretched.  Or a villain. In fact, a Pharisee was likely seen as a trustworthy and honorable man by many if not most people around him.

The Pharisees were faithful interpreters of the prophetic tradition and guardians of Mosaic law.

One commentator defends the Pharisees like this: “(They) longed for what we long for:  God’s will to be done on earth as it is in heaven and all nations streaming into Zion to enjoy God’s just and compassionate rule.” [1]

They Pharisees were guys struggling to keep a religious institution going in the face of considerable odds against them.

Judaism had not only survived, but was flourishing., at least at the moment when we see the Pharisee in the praying. No wonder he feels particular blessed this day.

The Pharisee’s prayer in the temple is factually true.

The Pharisee is just being honest.

He doesn’t steal.

He doesn’t commit adultery.

He fasts twice a week. He tithes. He prays.

He serves his faith community with great energy.

He does all the things,

all the religious things,

all the time.

In fact, the Pharisee is the kind of guy you’d love to have in your church.

He’s the kind of guy you’d love to have serving on Council.

In no time at all, he’d be elected to be clerk of session.

In his own eyes, and in the eyes of his community, the Pharisee is a good and faithful servant of God, doing what his father did, and his grandfather did, and all of his ancestors before that.

So in 1st century eyes, the Pharisee is not a bad guy at all.

So what about the tax collector?

Tax collectors seem to have a slightly better, or at least more nuanced image in Scripture. Jesus ate with tax collectors, hung out with them, and forgave them. So it is certainly easy to read the tax collector as the humble hero of the parable.

But again, we need to consider how tax collectors were considered in their own time and culture.

1st Century tax collectors were not mild-mannered accountants working as IRS agents, upholding the tax law.

Tax collectors were not like the nice lady down at Jordan Tax Service who collects your sewage tax.

The tax collector in this parable was probably more like a not-so-nice guy whose job it is to throw a family out on the street when the rent is late.

I always picture the tax collector as someone like a character in “The Godfather,” or an employee of Tony Sopranopqrmfw3

1st century tax collectors often operated like Paulie Walnuts who collects money at gunpoint, beats up strippers and drug dealers, and once famously said,

“When someone owes you money, even if you gotta crawl, you get it.”

In other words, the tax collector should probably exist in our imagination as a scumbag.

If the Pharisee commanded respect in Jesus’ time, the tax collector received scorn.

People probably never passed up a chance to let the tax collector know how much they hated him.

There’s absolutely nothing in this parable to suggest the tax collector changes his evil ways after he prays in the temple.

He doesn’t repent. He doesn’t promise to leave the temple and lead a spotless, sinless life.

It is possible the tax collector leaves the temple and proceeds to shake down the next poor widow he meets for her last nickel.

Despite being a nasty character,

this guy, this tax collector…

This is the man Jesus says will leave the temple justified.

And the Pharisee, who is doing all the things,

all the religious things,

according to Jesus, this is the one who leaves unjustfied

Doesn’t seem fair. It doesn’t even really make sense if you think about it. It’s baffling. And, frankly, a little annoying.

In some ways, I think this parable is a trap.

The bait is that we want to find a moral to the story.

We think the moral is, oh, ok. I need to be like the tax collector. I need to be humble.

And before we know it, we’re trapped into praying: “Thank you God that I am not like the Pharisee. Thank goodness I am not self-righteous or hypocritical or hold others in contempt.  Thank goodness I am humble like Paulie Walnuts…I mean…like the tax collector.”

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Yeah, Jesus. You got us again.

I think at the end of the day, this is not a story about becoming more humble, although Scripture says we should strive to clothe ourselves with humility, compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience (Colossians 3:12).

And we should.

This isn’t a story of how we how we should or should not pray, although Jesus tells us to pray with humility, in secret, and avoid heaping up words to make ourselves look good in front of other people.

And we should.

This isn’t even a story of how we can become good people or better people, although all of us seek to faithful and decent lives.

And we should.

This is a story about how easy it is to have more faith in ourselves and our own goodness, than faith in God’s goodness.

I think this is a story of how easy it is to think we are the ones in control of our righteousness before God.

I think this is a story about a Pharisee who is so busy being religious, so busy keeping the religious institutions going, he forgot the love and grace of God is more powerful than anything any of us can do under our own steam.

And it is a story about a tax collector who realizes the love and grace of God is about all he has going for him.

Which is something we Presbyterians need to remember as we struggle to figure out how to be church in a culture that is rapidly shifting.We need to remember that our hope is built not on our own strength and goodness or good ideas. Our hope is built on Jesus’ blood and righteousness, and the confidence that the Holy Spirit is at work among us.

Over the past three years, I have been working with a very small Presbyterian congregation who owns a very large building they could no longer afford, so the congregation decided to put the building up for sale.

A few months later, the ruling elders of the church were approached by and decided to rent out the building to a non-denominational church who was wanted to establish a new ministry in the area, but couldn’t afford to buy the building.

Although in good condition, the building is surrounded by mostly dilapidated rental houses owned by mostly absentee landlords. The neighborhood, perched on a hilltop overlooking downtown Pittsburgh, is one of the city’s most neglected and under-resourced areas, plagued by frequent gun violence. Just this past August, a 6-year old girl was shot while standing on a porch of a house very near the church building. She died a few days later.

In other words, the church building is not particularly attractive to potential buyers. To date, there have been no offers.

The leadership of the new ministry renting the space, however, sees the neighborhood as exactly the place God has called them to be.

Since moving in, they have started a free daily after school program for neighborhood children, which includes tutoring, enrichment activities, field trips, and a hot dinner every evening.

In response to some of well-publicized police shootings, the pastor of the new ministry invited police officers from the zone office to come in and meet the children in the afterschool program. The officers now frequently come in to serve dinner and hang out with the kids and their families.

The transformation happening on the hilltop is only happening because God showed up and gave the Presbyterians the opportunity to say yes to a ministry run by people who don’t look like them or worship like them.

But, let’s be honest.

Did they say “yes” out of desperation because they were running out of money and people?

If we’re being honest here, the answer is, “Absolutely.”

Is a non-denominational ministry renting their building the outcome they would have preferred?

If we’re being honest here, the answer is, “Nope.”

Here’s the truth I have learned through this experience and others: often it is only when we feel like we’ve hit a brick wall that we finally make space for the Holy Spirit to do its work and realize that God’s love and mercy is all we have going for us. And God doesn’t wait for us to get it together or come up with grand schemes.

God will work through the most imperfect people. Including you and me.

I imagine that behind the pious mask worn by the Pharisee, there is a tired, anxious soul yearning to admit that he does not have all the answers.

How heavy such a burden must be for him at the end of his rope.

The anxiety he must feel in trying to hold it all together,

always comparing himself to others to figure out if he’s good enough for God to love him.

The tax collector is not a better person than the Pharisee. They are both beloved children of God, as we all are, just trying to make it through each day.

But despite all the awful things the tax collector knows he has done, all the awful things people say about him, the tax collector’s faith allows him to admit he is entirely dependent on God’s mercy.

And that is enough.

Brothers and sisters, the grace of God is a free gift.

I will never get my life right on my own.

You will never get your life right on your own.

And that is okay.

Because we are not required to be perfect.  We don’t even have to be good, as scandalous as that may seem.

We just have to have to open our hands and receive God’s free gift of grace. And that grace is sufficient. More than sufficient.

Nothing we do can make God love us less.

Nothing we do can make God love us more.

And we cannot save ourselves. It is not our own doing. It is pure gift from God.

For Donald Trump. For Hilary Clinton.

For the Pharisee. For the tax collector.

It is amazing. It is God’s grace.

Thanks be to God.  Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[1] http://www.sarahlaughed.net/lectionary/2004/10/proper_25_year_.html Accessed on October 21, 2016

At the End of Our Rope

My latest blog post for Presbyterians Today is up. in it, I talk about a church with whom I am working who ran out of money to take care of their large building, moved out, and rented out the space to a new non-denominational ministry that is blooming in one of the most violent neighborhoods in Pittsburgh.This experience has taught me that sometimes you have to run out of ideas and be at the end of your rope before God can get in and make something new. Thanks be to God!

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http://www.presbyterianmission.org/today/2016/10/17/unglued-church-3/

Not Funny.

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I thought I was doing really well.

A few months ago, I made it through Trump’s careless mocking of a disabled reporter, although as the mother of a child with autism, I know full well the damage a bully can do.unknown

After the Democratic convention, I made it through Trump’s cruel attack on a family whose son died in combat, although as a mother, I know full well that losing a child is unimaginable suffering. unknown-1I would willingly give up my own life to save the life of my kids. As I’m sure the Khans would.

After the first debate, I made it through Trump’s disgusting comments on a woman’s weight, although as a woman who’s struggled with weight and body image my whole life, I know full well the self-loathing that comes when you feel like you will never, ever, ever be thin enough.aliciacontrump

But the story by the People Magazine reporter, Natasha Stoynoff, hit me like a ton of bricks when I read it last night.  http://people.com/politics/donald-trump-attacked-people-writer/

Let me be clear. I have never been raped. I know I am fortunate when so many women have been victimized by physical sexual assault.

Last night, however, I read these words from Stoynoff:

I tried to act normal. I had a job to do, and I was determined to do it. I sat in a chair that faced Trump, who waited for his wife on a loveseat. The butler left us, and I fumbled with my tape recorder. Trump smiled and leaned forward.

 “You know we’re going to have an affair, don’t you?” he declared, in the same confident tone he uses when he says he’s going to make America great again. “Have you ever been to Peter Luger’s for steaks? I’ll take you. We’re going to have an affair, I’m telling you.”

All of a sudden, I was in that room with Ms. Stoynoff. But I didn’t hear Donald Trump. Instead, I heard the voice of a client from 30 years ago saying,

Do you like sex, Susan? I bet you like it doggie style. Have you ever had an affair? I could help you in your career, you know. I could do that.

 And I remembered every comment from that client and other colleagues who commented on my legs, my clothes, my breasts, my hair, what I was like in bed and any number of attributes that had absolutely nothing to do with my professional competency.

I wish I could tell you why I never confronted those men or reported them to my employer. I was young. I was insecure about everything, including my physical appearance and my ability to do the work I was hired to do. I wanted to be a “good sport.” I needed to keep my job and that meant keeping clients happy. Most of the people I knew in advertising suffered a certain level of emotional abuse at the hands of our more bullying clients and it seemed the price we had to pay in order to satisfy the people who paid our salaries.

And as you can imagine, where there was misogyny, there was also racism which, if anything, was more blatant and unapologetic.

I’ve heard similarly horrific stories from my female colleagues in ministry. So, you know, it’s not just the business world where this happens, y’all.

Until last night, these memories seemed to be in a very distant past, safely put away. These were not things I cared to dwell on or think about or even revisit.  Until that damn People Magazine stirred it all up again in my mind and kept me awake most of the night.

Just words, right? Sticks and stones. Boys will be boys. Don’t be a spoilsport. Don’t be so sensitive. He was just kidding. Can’t you take a joke?

I’m done.

The best I can do is to continue to talk to my son what it means to be a good man.

The best I can do is be thankful for a husband, as well as the wonderful male friends and colleagues, who respect women and are not afraid to call out misogyny (with special gratitude to my husband because the medical world seems nearly as bad as the advertising world).

The best I can do is be supportive of women by listening to them and, most importantly, believing them.

The best I can do is listen to marginalized voices and use my privilege to amplify them.

The best I can do is try to walk like Jesus, who protected the weak and unwanted, and challenged the bullies of his time.

But I’m done with toxic political conversation. I am staying off social media for the duration. And I’m praying for every woman who has been triggered or harmed in this election campaign.

It’s not funny anymore. It’s just not. Words are hurting the people I love and, I admit it, it’s hurting me.