The gospel feels rather hot to me. I stand before you as a preacher called to bring a word of hope. Yet, I cannot help but feel vulnerable in the awareness that I am a divorced women married to a divorced man. Is there a shred of good news for me today?

The letter comes in the mail unsigned. It says, “For the Lord, the God of Israel, says: ‘I hate divorce and marital separation’”, Malachi 2: 16.

That is all. It is enough. Enough to hurt, that is. Enough to make my already twisting insides…twist and turn some more. I know God hates divorce. Does the anonymous friend who sends the note not believe, could he possibly not know, that I have already looked up every scripture reference on the subject of divorce? Does she think I would not consult the Bible?

I give them the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps they honestly think I would ignore what Jesus says. Maybe they feel it is their Christian duty to apprise me of what the text says.

“God, help me not to feel bitterness toward this individual.” This is my prayer.

A colleague shares with me that after he makes the decision to get a divorce, some friends meet him following a morning church service, hand him a card listing the references to divorce in the Bible and say, “God can’t bless your ministry in the future, you know.”

“It was like a kick in the stomach,” he says. “I know what the Bible has to say on the subject. Don’t they realize I am just as aware, perhaps even more so than they, of the specific verses? Would I be so callous and indifferent that I would not search this out?”

“I didn’t need that from them,” he comments, “but I sure could have used some love and understanding. Who needs to be told, “God can’t bless you!”

Where is the good news for those who share this journey?

In my twenties, when I make a living as a pianist, I play for weddings. One time, I am even a piano-playing bridesmaid. In the South in the 70s, the bridesmaids’ dresses are always made of something heavy, as if designed to keep the body warm on the coldest day of winter, and the weddings usually take place on the hottest day of summer.

Carrie gets all kinds of musical requests from the brides that she counsels, from country to rock to contemporary Christian. When I am at the keyboard, the most popular wedding song is from the Old Testament book of Ruth. I play the introduction, “Arpeggio…rest, 2,3, breathe”…and the soprano’s words fill the sanctuary. “Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee. Whither thou goest, I will go.”

We should not have used that song. When people hear the song, they assume that the bride is singing to the groom, “Your people shall be my people.” The bride’s relatives smile across the aisle at the groom’s family.

But the words are not appropriate for a wedding. This is not Ruth’s promise to her husband, Boaz. Rather we hear Ruth’s pledge to Naomi, the mother of her dead husband. When Naomi’s husband and two sons die in a famine, she wants to return to her home in Judah. She tells her two Moabite daughters-in-law to return to their parents. But Ruth refuses. “Do not press me to leave you or to turn back from following you! Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God.” Many a bride and groom shutter to learn the promise they are making to their mothers-in-law!

But our traditions can take a text, turn it around, and without changing a word, conjure up pictures more to our liking.

Now, when I officiate at weddings, couples often request a traditional custom: “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” But the question, posed for generations, is odd. It seems to have a basis in scripture, perhaps Genesis 2:24, quoted by Jesus in Mark: “For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.” But that text seems to suggest that the more fitting question is: “Who gives this man to be married to this woman?” Yet, our traditional wedding ceremonies never ask that question. Again, our traditions can take a text, turn it around, and change the meaning to fit what seems proper to us.

So, ought we to drop that other line, too? “Those whom God has joined together, let no one put asunder?” Should wedding vows be changed to read, “I promise to be faithful to you until divorce parts us?” Maybe Jesus doesn’t mean what he says about divorce. Maybe the Greek is translated poorly, or maybe our cultural setting is so different that Jesus’ words no longer apply.

Dear ones, Jesus is more serious about promises than Moses. That’s exactly what he tells the Pharisees when they try to trap him with their interrogation. Anyone who hears this exchange will know that the Pharisees are intent on destroying Jesus. They remember that Herod Antipas, the King, divorces his wife in order to marry his brother’s former wife. And that Herodius, the new queen, demands the death of John the Baptist, Jesus’ cousin, when John challenges the union.

If Jesus is not careful in his response, he will commit treason, like his cousin. And since the religious laws already allow for divorce, Jesus crosses the line into blasphemy if he says otherwise. So instead of answering the question, Jesus speaks about God’s intention for creation. He does not condone a man putting his wife away with a certificate of dismissal. A woman cannot be treated so cheaply, nor a promise so lightly.

Later, with the disciples (who always need more explanation), Jesus is quite clear, “Whoever divorces his wife and marries another, commits adultery; and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery.” If there’s equality here, it is equality of responsibility…and guilt. Jesus is not ambiguous; he doesn’t leave many loopholes (except the possible interpretation that divorced people can avoid adultery if they do not remarry.)

But who put divorced people outside the embrace of the family or the church? What in scripture demands punishment so damning that our Catholic brothers invent annulment to deal with the realities of human failure? What does Jesus say we should do with divorced people? Does he say that those who divorce and remarry should be excluded from the communion table? Does he insist that they refrain from teaching the children or resign from the church council? Or give up their ministry orders? Well, no.

But Jesus never writes communion guidelines, or teaching criteria, or by-laws concerning election to church offices. We have to do these things, fill in the blanks, set some standards. And so we have: the punishment exacted on the divorced, whether by church law in some congregations or by church demeanor in many congregations is more severe than anything Jesus says. Our traditions take a text, turn it around, and demand punishment never called for in even the most literal reading.

The Gospels are filled with hard sayings and ethical demands. But what is the punishment for owning two coats? For being angry with a sister or brother? For continuing to hold a grudge against an enemy? Scripture quite clearly says these things are wrong, yet does not add the punishments.

The gospel brings into our midst a vision of the commonwealth of God – where goods are shared, where anger is accepted and reconciled before sundown, where enemies are faced and forgiven, where promises made in love are honored. The reality of failure on all counts does not kick out the vision. Divorced women and men hope for a lifetime of love. Even when divorce opens the way for new life, it is still born out of the deep pain and the jagged edges of broken promises.

But Jesus does not close off the invitation to the table. He seems to make a habit of eating with those called “sinner”. For this practice, religious authorities soundly chastise him! (“We have to have some standards, don’t we?” “Yes!” answer the disciples, often speaking for the pious among us. )

How many of us still hear the “church” voice deep inside that hopes to convince us of our unworthiness to come to communion, or to serve God’s people, or to pray in this holy place, or even to pray at all?

Immediately after discussing divorce, the disciples try to turn away those who are bringing children to Jesus. Perhaps this story follows Jesus’ words about marriage because marriage can bring children. But perhaps the connection is more expansive: Jesus opens the arms of mercy to all those who are turned away, to children young and old who have no status, who do not belong, who are different. “Let them come, “ says Jesus. Each of us longs to hear this invitation, but none long for it so much as those the church turns away.

In this book, Dimly Burning Wicks, John Vannorsdall reminds us:

Now it is the time of repentance for those who insist that there is one offense that neither God nor God’s people can forgive. There is a new beginning for imperfect parents to repent, for the unforgiving to break out of their hardness of heart. There is a new beginning for those who divorce. What God has given, let none of us take away.”

Let them come – on the hottest day of summer, if need be – to hear God’s blessing on wedding promises rooted in love. Such promises remain profound against the prevailing winds of cynicism.

And let people come when those promises lie in shambles, when neglect or abuse renders vows meaningless. Let them come; do not hinder them. God’s grace is far deeper than our need to exact retribution. What God has given, let none of us take away.