Say It
Ezekiel 33:7-11
Ezekiel 33:7-11 (NRSV):
7 So you, mortal, I have made a sentinel for the house of Israel; whenever you hear a word from my mouth, you shall give them warning from me. 8 If I say to the wicked, “O wicked ones, you shall surely die,” and you do not speak to warn the wicked to turn from their ways, the wicked shall die in their iniquity, but their blood I will require at your hand. 9 But if you warn the wicked to turn from their ways and they do not turn from their ways, the wicked shall die in their iniquity, but you will have saved your life.
10 Now you, mortal, say to the house of Israel: Thus you have said: “Our transgressions and our sins weigh upon us, and we waste away because of them; how then can we live?” 11 Say to them: As I live, says the Lord God, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked but that the wicked turn from their ways and live; turn back, turn back from your evil ways, for why will you die, O house of Israel?
I’ve got to tell you about one of my family’s new running jokes. Our family of five—9, 12, 14, and two forty-somethings—has reached a fun stage where we’ve got more running jokes, I think because everyone’s really kind of finding their voice and engaging in family conversations and experiences much more these days. But everybody finding their voice comes with its challenges, too.
So this summer we took a three day road trip to the Puget Sound and our first stop was lunch in Gig Harbor. As we’re walking down the hill into town, I’m feeling the need to check in with everyone to make a tentative plan, so that we’re all on the same page. So I’m waiting for my turn to speak, but it’s impossible, because there’s just no break in conversation. And they’re all having fun…but I’m feeling the urgency. About that time a 40ish year old man with a tight-fitting Wicked the Movie T-Shirt is coming up the hill and about to pass us on the sidewalk. Relevant detail.
So ready to speak, I raise my right hand, from the back of our walking caravan, and say with a loud voice, making sure I’m smiling so the tone is relatively warm: “I’ve got something to say.” My family falls silent—finally! And before I can speak, the man in the Wicked shirt, as he passes by, says with a loud whisper: “say it!” We continue on, sort of stunned, and then eventually all start to laugh at this perfect remark.
So for the rest of the trip, and even today, anytime one of us says something along the lines of “I’ve got something to say!” We all stop whatever we are doing, look at the person, lean forward, and speak in unison: “say it!”
Ezekiel has something to say. And I would assume, based on this narrative, some degree of inner conflict about whether to say it. Maybe Ezekiel is weighing the pros and cons. Maybe he’s wondering if he’s capable of effectively delivering the message. Maybe he’s scared. And what does God tell him, more or less? “Say it.”
I’m glad the man in the Wicked T-shirt gave me his permission to speak to my family, but I also felt a little self-conscious, concerned I’d been caught betraying my egalitarian values, essentially saying: “I have important things to say and I am man and so you must listen to me.” He may not have thought that but it felt like a bad “one impression” to give this guy. Now, was I pulling patriarchal rank? Or trying to speak timely words? It’s not like my family never listens to me, so there was nothing heroically self-affirming in speaking up. But it felt like our plans depended on it! Did our lives depend on it?
Hmm. I…don’t…think…so? I’m going to say “no.” But what if they did? What if our lives did depend on it, and I was positioned to be the right person to say the thing, and my failure to say the thing would have serious consequences for others and be a haunting choice I’d have to live with? That may be the situation in which Ezekiel finds himself.
What do you need to say? How do you know when to “say it”? When to speak up—to your friends, your community, to the world as a whole? And how do you know when your words arise from Love? Including Love for yourself. Saying something you need to say could be a matter of integrity, or authenticity, or self-respect, or release. I don’t think that what comes after “I’ve got something to say!” is always loving, but I do believe we deserve our own love, and that speaking up can be a crucial act of self-love.
But of course speaking up can be an act of love for others. Words of affirmation, encouragement, positive reinforcement? Definitely. But what about words of warning? Words that alert people to the harm they are causing themselves or others? Ezekiel, a prophet but also priest, speaks to his fellow exiles in Babylon a critical but hopeful message. I’d say the critique arises because of hope, because Ezekiel knows a better future is possible for his community. Ezekiel senses a call to speak, and I think this narrativized portrayal of a divine-human exchange here, might speak to Ezekiel’s own process. Should I speak? What should I say? What will happen? What if I say nothing?
Ezekiel hears the Divine voice. “You have a sacred responsibility. When you feel a divine nudge, act, speak. If you don’t speak, who will? How will you carry on? You would be complicit, if you say nothing. Your life will be salvaged if you do the right thing. Your community’s systemic and collective sins mean death. I want you to live. You all are choosing death! Why would you do that?”
Now, truthtelling is to be handled with care. The problem is not just “over there.” That kind of self-righteousness doesn’t serve us or anyone well. And yet nobody should feel, upon looking over there, and seeing something truly harmful, over there, that you’re not allowed to say anything or sound the alarm, simply because you’re imperfect.
This is my problem with a lot of sin talk in churches. “We’re all sinners” sounds like a noble, humble confession. But I feel like it tells a story about who we are that can stifle our prophetic voice that calls the world to be more humane, and stifle our own potential growth in Love. Not only that, the generalization and resignation of “we’re all sinners” can gloss over the important nuances of who is doing what and make it seem like things are unfixable. And some people stand to gain when we feel defeated in this way. Which may be one reason some people find authoritarianism compelling: it’s like they’ve given up on themselves as agents of change and are hoping some overlord will do what they cannot. But overlords don’t usually work out well for people, or planet.
When we speak about cruelty and injustice in the world, here, it’s hopefully not because we think we’re perfect, or we know we aren’t perfect and so pick on others to feel better about ourselves. We are not here to cultivate arrogance in each other. We're here to address what keeps everyone from being safe and free.
Now, “wicked” on a T-shirt is one thing, but “wicked” from the mouth of a loving God, or a prophet speaking on their behalf? My experience of the Divine tells me this is not about actions, not identity. I’m not convinced that it's helpful to call a person wicked, except maybe as a safety measure to warn vulnerable others. But the way Christians have often called things they don’t like or understand “wicked,” gives me pause. But I do think that actions and habits and systems can be wi—…deadly. The good news is: actions can change. Habits can be unlearned. Systems can be disrupted and reformed.
I’m not sure telling people “you’re bad” is really the best opener for changing minds and hearts. A lot of religion—especially high-control religion—thrives on this kind of demeaning talk. I think we do well to appeal to the good in others. There will always be seemingly impossible people, but our default can be hope, not condemnation. My faith leads me to believe there is Light in every person, even the so-called “wicked”; and that God is not in the business of punishing what can’t change but transforming what can.
I also think it’s important to note Ezekiel’s emphasis on communal repentance. It’s not that each individual shouldn’t…work on themselves. But there are often systemic and social realities that shape what people think, say, and do. And it’s often groups, mobs, cultural patterns, longstanding policies, and institutions that cause ongoing and relentless harm, more than individual actors. And it’s often communities changing course and taking collaborative, positive action that move the needle. Part of our opportunity, I think, is to use our voice to be like a sentinel, alerting people to the danger inherent in the status quo, and show them another way.
We all have lenses through which we read scripture, informed by our lived experience. I have reminded folks of this in the past, usually online, when told “well, I just read the Bible as it is, without my own biases.” Yeah, sure you do. You are a person in a particular place and time with a particular collection of experiences and needs and hopes, and this informs how you, and maybe your community, take in the world around you, and how you read a sacred text. It helps to identify our lenses. It can also be helpful, as an act of curiosity and empathy, to try on different lenses.
One of my go-to lenses in my interpretive bag o’ lenses—and one requiring some degree of empathy and a willingness to imaginatively step outside my own privileged experience—is my liberation lens, based on liberation theology. This is theology that arises from the experience of oppressed communities and tends to focus on systemic sin and collaborative social action. I was talking recently with one of you about that word—liberation—and to what extent that captures a facet of our mission, here. Liberation is arguably synonymous with “freedom,” and yet I notice an important difference in the way these words are often used.
For example, when Christians in our country today talk about “freedom,” I’m usually hearing something more individualistic, a wish to be free from laws or restrictions that feel imposing, like wearing a mask or accommodating religious pluralism or other kinds of diversity. When Christians talk about liberation, I’m usually hearing something more collective and centered on the needs of the most vulnerable. I think of civil rights leader Fannie Lou Hamer’s words: “nobody’s free until everybody’s free.”
Liberation theologies are diverse but united in their insistence that spirituality is earthy, embodied, and community-oriented, and that God is at work energizing people to be agents of change, to notice the marginalized struggling to survive systems set against them, and to elevate such people by creating a world more hospitable to them. Liberation happens when Love sets us all free by changing those destructive systems and the hearts and habits of those who sustain those systems. Sometimes that’s you and me, and so our work is to alert one another, to sound the alarm, not as outsiders looking in, but as those within the system, trying to lead us all out.
My liberation lens tells me that Ezekiel recognizes the ways his community is imprisoned by destructive habits, practices, perspectives, and leadership, and is inviting people to take liberating action, whether making personal changes or organizing and pressuring those in power to act, until everyone is free. The world is, in many ways, wasting away. Our transgressions do weigh on us. But God, that relentless optimist, that persistent and hopeful voice of Love, continues to set before us life and death. At the risk of sounding simplistic, why would we choose death, when we can choose life?
Ezekiel has something important to say. And God offers a chilling invitation: “say it.” What do you need to say? For the sake of Love. For the sake of liberation. For the sake of your vulnerable neighbor or your good friend. For your own sake! Whatever you need to say, if Love is your guide, then, by all means: “say it!”
Queries:
What do you need to say? Why? What’s at stake?
What do we need to say? Why? What’s at stake?
Who is sounding the alarm, today? Are we listening?
How does our world choose death? How can we choose a better way?