Ps 133

21 June 2009

“Dialogue”

Last week, I began the first of a three-part sermon series on cultivating, or fostering, Christian community. I mentioned our executive presbyter’s comments about “ABC,” three things she said thriving churches do not get worked up about. They are attendance, the building, and cash. What they do focus on is hospitality. If you were here, you may recall that I spoke about listening as one key aspect of hospitality.

This week, I want to focus on dialogue. In his book, Cultivating Christian Community, Methodist minister Thomas Hawkins says that when real listening happens, “we experience the mystery of spiritual communion.” Today I want to add his statement, “The practice of dialogue flows naturally from the discipline of listening.”^{^[1]}

Our psalm reading pictures what can happen if we are faithful to dialogue. In a moment, we’ll look at what constitutes dialogue, which itself is a critical feature of hospitality.

I’ve long thought of Psalm 133 as a rather odd—but quite lovely—piece of poetry. The first verse is simple enough: “How wonderful it is, how pleasant, for God’s people (literally, “brothers”) to live together in harmony!” I think that’s easy enough to figure out.

It’s those last two verses that can leave us scratching our heads. When verse 2 compares this harmony to oil poured on Aaron’s head, so much that it runs down his beard onto his robe, our reaction may be one more of revulsion than anything else. Picture this. When Banu and I anoint someone with oil, we use a tiny little bottle and put a drop on our finger, and then make the sign of the cross on the person’s forehead.

Here, an entire flask of oil is poured out on the head of Aaron the priest. (That was how they did it.) Sure, the anointing oil has a beautiful smell, but my guess is that most of us would at least hesitate before the upper half of our body gets drenched in something that repels water!

Verse 3 poses its own problems. What does moisture atop Hermon, a peak in Syria, have to do with the mountains of Zion—and what does any of that have to do with kindred living together in unity? I doubt that the original readers of the psalm had to ask those questions.

As you might guess, our psalm has a number of interpretations. Some literally see it as a celebration of brothers living together. Others imagine “the fellowship of the Covenant community in Jerusalem.”^{^[2]} One creative take is that it pictures the reunion of the northern and southern kingdoms, which split apart after Solomon’s reign.

According to this theory, the image of flowing down, whether it’s the oil running down Aaron’s beard—or the water flowing from Hermon in the north to Zion in the south—pictures Israel and Judah coming back together.^{^[3]} Whatever the case, the psalm celebrates the unity that only God can provide.

Last week, I suggested that recognizing Christ as the third party in our relationships helps us to listen openly; we don’t have to automatically go on the defensive. We are able to accept the peace of one who loves us. Taking this truth about listening a step further brings us into the realm of dialogue.

When hearing the word “dialogue” (not in the context of the theater), I’ve sometimes envisioned a very formal process—something hosted by officials of an organization, dealing with important matters. I’ve pictured representatives of faith communities sitting down at the table, or maybe government diplomats working out various problems.

One problem with that image is that, in my opinion, it makes dialogue seem too distant. It makes it feel too far removed from daily life. Dialogue is something entered into only on certain occasions. And only certain people are invited to dialogue; they do it on our behalf. Again, sometimes that’s been my perception of dialogue.

The trouble with that viewpoint is that it’s totally wrong! If the practice of dialogue, which is an extension of listening, is to accomplish anything, then it’s something we need to incorporate into our daily living. Almost any conversation, no matter how informal, has at least the potential to become dialogue.

It’s important to note the difference between dialogue and debate. With debate, we’re entering with our minds already made up, and we’re trying to convince others to see things our way. It’s like the courtroom scenario, in which opposing lawyers want the jury to vote their way.

Dialogue is quite different. One way to explain it is by using something I put on the back of our worship bulletins. In the early 80s, Leonard Swidler published “The Dialogue Decalogue” (which means “The Ten Commandments of Dialogue”).^{^[4]} I have greatly summarized these so-called commandments of dialogue; I’ll walk us through a few of them.

Notice the first one: “The primary purpose of dialogue is to learn and then to act accordingly.” Just as with the spiritual discipline of listening, dialogue meets its enemy in closed and narrow minds. Those unwilling to learn need not apply!

As our friend Thomas Hawkins says, dialogue “involves a willingness to challenge our own thinking. We remain open to examining our own assumptions, no matter how uncomfortable doing so may feel.” Dialogue seeks “to open up and out toward a meaning larger than any single…viewpoint.”^{^[5]}

I’ve sometimes heard this criticism of dialogue: it requires those entering into it to waver on their own beliefs. The idea is that you can’t take a solid stand for anything if you do it. My response would be that faithful dialogue, far from asking people to surrender beliefs, instead needs those who know what they believe. There’s a big difference between thinking for ourselves and refusing to entertain ideas that may call us to become bigger persons.

An aspect of dialogue similar to this is spelled out in the ninth commandment: “Persons entering into dialogue must be at least minimally self-critical of both themselves and their own religious or ideological traditions.” It’s difficult to have meaningful interaction with someone who thinks that he or she already has all the answers.

To put it differently, don’t be so darn self-assured that you’re unwilling to admit any hint of uncertainty! There have been times when I’ve noticed this in myself and in others. To me, it’s not an endearing quality; I find it rather tedious. Here’s one remedy: learn to laugh at yourself!

A tricky part of dialogue is addressed by the fourth commandment. “We must not compare our ideals with our partner’s practice, but rather our ideals with our partner’s ideals, our practice with our partner’s practice.” None of us is a perfectly faithful model of what we profess. We all fall short. If we point to someone else’s behavior when they don’t live up to the ideals of their culture or religion—and then judge it on that basis—we should be prepared for the same.

I’ll mention one more of these so-called commandments of dialogue. The fifth one states, “Each participant must define himself. The one interpreted must be able to recognize herself in the interpretation.” Some call this the “golden rule” of dialogue.

I notice this aspect of dialogue routinely ignored in the abortion debate. On the one hand, some who call themselves “pro-life” refer to their opponents, not as “pro-choice,” but as “pro-abortion.” Likewise, many who call themselves “pro-choice” speak of their opponents as “anti-choice.” When people do this, they deny others the dignity and respect of saying who they are and what they believe.

Related to this is the whole business of labeling. Hawkins notes, “Labeling people denies the legitimacy of their opinions. It makes further discussion unnecessary. Name calling means our minds are made up. We no longer see our opponents as worthy of respect.” With an interesting conclusion, he says, “When we engage in name calling, we break one of the Ten Commandments. [That is, the original Ten Commandments!] We bear false witness against another person.”^{^[6]}

In the gospel text we read, Jesus also weighs in on this (Mt 7:1-5). Labeling others is a way of passing judgment on them. In a sense, we put ourselves in the position of God. Jesus warns against this, saying that “with the judgment you make you will be judged, and the measure you give will be the measure you get” (v. 2).

Dialogue is about much more than the proper way to have conversations. At the end of the day, dialogue is about our relationship with God. It necessarily involves other people, because it’s a discipline essential to fostering Christian community. But as Hawkins reminds us, “The practice of dialogue reminds us that we and our opinions are not at the center of community. Christ is.”^{^[7]}

Just as Christ is at the center of community, so Christ is at the center of dialogue. That’s why it’s so uncomfortable; that’s why it’s so dangerous. That’s why we come up with all kinds of excuses to avoid dialogue. We tell ourselves about that certain person, “I’ve done all I can to understand them”—but in our heart of hearts, we know we really haven’t.

Let me finish with a couple of questions. Are there any people—or any group of people—with whom we refuse to dialogue? Can you imagine the possibilities for our lives—and for our church—if we simply let go of the excuses?

^{^[1]} Thomas Hawkins, Cultivating Christian Community (Nashville: Discipleship Resources, 2001), 42, 45.

^{^[2]} A. A. Anderson, Psalms 73-150 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1981), 885.

^{^[3]} www.homileticsonline.com/Installments/aug1599.htm