First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan
Scripture: 1 Kings 3:16-28
This sermon could start almost anywhere.... Blairstown, lowa.... Ann Arbor, Michigan.... or even in the royal court of King Solomon in Jerusalem. But for the time being, let the sermon begin in a remote country village of northern Yugoslavia, where a 17 year old girl is boarding a train that will take her to a boat, on which she will sail to a land known only to her as the "New World." She is the first child in a large family.... whose mother is dead and whose father is old. Four years earlier (at age 13) she left home to take up residence in an adjoining village, cooking meals and watching children for a family considerably better off than hers. As regards the trauma of separating at such a tender age, she said: "It beat staying home and going to work making bricks."
But this is not four years ago and America is not the next village. This trip, once made, will never be made again. Her passage is being paid by a well-to-do Jewish couple in New York, who have agreed to pick up the tab for her crossing in return for 6 months service as a live-in domestic in their Central Park apartment. The couple's name is Rubinstein. The family business is jewelry. And the arrangement works to a tee, given that (upon her arrival) the Rubinsteins keep their promise and the village girl keeps hers.
Eventually, the debt of passage is paid and a small salary is earned. The village girl meets a few people and makes a few friends. And it is through this growing circle of contacts that she meets a young man who is not only from her country, but from a neighboring village less than 10 miles away. She admires his strength and industriousness. He admires her beauty, her sweet singing voice and her talents in the kitchen. In time they marry, leave Manhattan, and rent a tiny apartment in New Jersey. A child is born....a little baby girl. They call her Lily.
One day the Rubinsteins call, inviting them to visit the following Saturday. So they pack up their little girl, cross the river, and make their way to the Central Park apartment she once knew so well. There are coffees and cakes, not to mention oo's and ah's, as the baby is passed along with the plates and cups. And after everyone is properly warmed by good talk and good food, a checkbook is produced and an offer is made. The Rubinsteins share the fact that they have never been blessed with children, nor do they expect to be. But they deeply desire a child and have much (in the way of advantages) that they could give to one. To the young villagers, they point out: "You are young and just beginning. You will have many more children. We can help you get started in life. You, in turn, can help us realize a dream we thought was dead." In short, they wanted to buy "Lily."
To whatever degree the offer may have been "considered," I do not know. All I know is that it was graciously rejected. Whereupon the man and his wife (scarcely more than children themselves by today's standards) wrapped the baby in a blanket, said "thanks, but no thanks" to the Rubinsteins, and headed across the Hudson to their meager rented quarters on the Jersey shore. The strong industrious man was named Anton. His sweet singing young wife was named Agnes. Two generations later, they became my grandfather and grandmother. For their little "Lily" (short for Lillian.... who, as it turned out, was the only child they ever had), is my mother.
I didn't know that story for years. And I haven't told that story in years. But I tell it now as a way of reminding you of something you probably already knew (but may have forgotten), that when it comes to children and who ought to possess them, every story is different.... every story is personal... and every decision is experienced emotionally, however much it may have been considered rationally or rendered legally. Scarcely a day has gone by this summer without the folks who bring us the news forcing us to consider yet one more controversy over custody. And there is scarcely a one of us who doesn't want to avert our eyes, lest in reading too far, or watching too long, we come to care too much.
I know I was doing quite well with the matter of Baby Jessica.... debating her case in polite social circles like the lawyer my son is, the caseworker my wife is, or the theologian that I am. It was pretty much a "head" thing with me, like it was -a "head" thing with you. Until she screamed, that is, when they took her from the home of Jan and Roberta DeBoer to be reunited after 2-1/2 years with Dan and Cara Schmidt. For it was her scream that made Jessica something other than an issue. And it was her scream that pulled her problem from the lofty environs of my head and drove it south to the soft and mushy repository of my heart.
I found myself feeling sad for her.... and just a little bit mad at everyone else. Like you, I could probably work up a small amount of righteous indignation against everybody involved.... against the Schmidts (who pushed things), the DeBoers (who prolonged things), the courts (which couldn't get together on things), and the media (which surrounded things with cameras, and is now dousing them with money) .... to the degree that the whole thing began to smell like the circus it wasn't, rather than the human tragedy it was.
You all know the story. In February of 1991, 28 year old Cara Clausen of Cedar Rapids, Iowa gave birth (apart from anything resembling wedlock) to the little girl we eventually came to know as Jessica. Whereupon she, and some other man named as the father, signed releases allowing Jan and Roberta DeBoer to take the little girl home to Ann Arbor. Within 30 days of that release, however, Cara Clausen had identified another man, (Dan Schmidt) as the child's father, and instituted legal proceedings in the state of Iowa requiring Jan and Roberta DeBoer to bring the baby back.
Legally, the Schmidts were in the driver's seat from that day forward. As the baby's father (which he was clinically proven to be), Dan Schmidt had never signed away his rights.... and (to his credit) moved immediately to assert those rights once he learned of Jessica's existence, further buttressing his case by marrying Cara and amending his lifestyle, thereby suggesting that the two of them, at long last, were getting their act together.
Meanwhile, Jan and Roberta DeBoer balked, claiming that whatever rights Dan may have been denied and Cara may have signed away, Jessica should not be uprooted from a place where she was happy. And they got a Michigan judge to agree. Alas, in a jurisdictional dispute, a Michigan court would not have the last word. An Iowa court would. The only hope the DeBoers ever had was that if things dragged on long enough.... and Jessica got old enough.... somebody, somewhere, would forget about what the law said and would think about what being uprooted might do to Jessica. And while it was a gamble that won the hearts of nearly everybody, it clearly failed to win the day in court. And Jessica is back, where any seasoned court-watcher could have predicted she would be all along. She is somewhere in Iowa, with the two people who reproductively, albeit perhaps unintentionally, brought her into the world. Biology won! Public sympathy lost! Or so it would seem, from reading the avalanche of mail that has found its way into the Op/Ed pages of our local daily newspapers.
There are hundreds of arguments made between disagreeing adults in cases like these. But it seems that each argument always boils down to the issue of “First Claim” vs. “Best Claim.” Those who stand beneath the "First Claim" banner argue that creating life is an incredibly serious business.... initiating an incredibly powerful bond.... which ought to be honored and protected by an increasingly tight series of safeguards. Meanwhile, those who group themselves under the "Best Claim" banner, argue that giving life involves far more than creating life.... and that parenting is not nearly so much about reproducing as it is about loving, nurturing, and supporting. And both positions are eminently arguable. The Bible (for example) treats birth very seriously. But no less seriously than it treats one's responsibility to a child, once that child is born.
Strangely enough, one is forced to debate the issue of "First Claim" vs. "Best Claim" in a strangely different arena, every time one goes to visit the nation of Israel. It becomes clear (at least to many of us) that certain towns currently controlled by Israel in the occupied West Bank, have Arab roots that run ancient and deep. (First Claim). But, in some of those towns, the Israelis have placed massive numbers of Jewish settlers, many of them Russian, with the result of that occupation being an incredible improvement (by Western standards) of the land. I have seen places where the desert has literally been made to bloom, as a result of Jewish energy and ingenuity. (Best Claim). To that degree it becomes tempting to say: "I don't care whose it was.... as compared with who is doing what with it now."
You feel the tug of war, don't you? And you see its application to the present predicament. Of course you do. Which makes it hard to know who to back.... in the occupied territories of the Middle East, or in the child custody battles of the Middle West. In the case of the Schmidts versus the DeBoers, I felt myself leaning ever so slightly in favor of the DeBoers, reasoning that they would probably be the best parents, if not the first parents. But, then, given their maturity and the vast resources at their disposal, perhaps the Rubinsteins might have been able to make the best claim for custody of my mother. Who knows, I could have been a rabbi.
The complexity of the Jessica controversy was reflected by how few sermons were preached on the matter, and how few church pronouncements were made. Most preachers found it easier to pray for those involved rather than speak on behalf of them. But even more interesting were the number of letter writers who made reference to this little story in 1 Kings, read to you earlier. Solomon was the king. And custody was the issue. You remember how it went. A pair of prostitutes came to see the King of Israel. (One wonders how in the world a pair of prostitutes got to see the king. Or perhaps one doesn't wonder at all). Whereupon their story unfolds. Both women live in the same house. Both women give birth 3 days apart. Both women have boys. One woman's son dies because his mother rolls over on him in the middle of the night. The second mother claims that a switch was made.... with the first mother taking her dead child and substituting his lifeless body beneath her breast, for her living, breathing child. (Apparently these babies must have looked pretty much alike).
So each mother makes her case before the king, arguing that the sole remaining child is hers. And each, no doubt, hurls enough insults in the general direction of the other, so as to make a sailor blush. Unable to decide the merits of one claim against another (this being prior to the days of genetic testing, mind you), Solomon simply says to his servant: "Bring me a sword. We'll send each of these mothers home with half." (I've always wondered whether he was planning to slice the child from top to bottom, or from side to side). But, of course, he doesn't have to slice the child at all, because the real mother offers to give the child to the impostor. And Solomon knows that only a love that is genuine and true would inspire such an act of sacrifice as that.
Alas, in the case of the Schmidts and the DeBoers, nobody seemed willing (apart from a court order) to make such a sacrifice. So the law spoke, echoing George Will's trenchant observation, that it is the twilight of the gods which has brought the dawn of the age of the attorneys. For when frightened people no longer have a faith to instruct them, they will inevitably turn to the courts in an attempt to stave off the chaos.
But the point of the Solomon story should not be lost. For (apocryphal or not) what it does is refocus the issue, not on the relative legitimacy of the claims of either parent, but on the very real needs of the child. In an ironic and allegorical way, Solomon's sword cuts right to the heart of the matter. Had a "Consider The Child First" rule been in the thinking of everybody two years and five months ago, Dan and Cara Schmidt might have given her up then. The DeBoers (seeing the handwriting on the wall) might have given her back then. Or the courts (seeing the impasse) might have appointed an independent attorney for Jessica, placed her temporarily in a foster home and streamlined the appeal process to reach a swift and certain conclusion.
Which, of course, could become future policy in the cases of future Jessicas. For the mark of a maturing culture is how much we learn from our mistakes, not how many fingers we point in the wake of them. Earlier I said that (on any given day) I could probably work up a fairly good case of righteous indignation against any of the grown-ups involved. Unfortunately, however, grown-ups aren't likely to stop making such mistakes any time soon. Which means that the challenge for preachers and lawyers is to figure out ways to insulate children from the consequences. Otherwise, it's the kids who are going to be torn in two.... even if no one is so crude as to put a sword to their body.
