Whose experiences, perspectives, and voices are at the center of sacred texts and the history of interpreting those texts matters. This week’s selection, Leviticus 14:1-15:33, is particularly illustrative of these truths. The sacred text discusses three forms of ordinary bodily fluids and how after we experience them, we may prepare for those extra-special days of offering at the Temple. And yet, even though we’re not going up to the Temple for the sacrifices, we have a whole lot of history of interpreting these three ordinary experiences of bodily fluids in some demeaning and destructive ways. For one thing, folks can read these ordinary experiences as defiling or evidence of sinfulness, when that isn’t really the meaning of the text, although that might be how the text is translated. Like the other areas we’ve covered already, these sections of Leviticus are mostly talking about ordinary usual human realities and how to move from everyday states of being and prepare ourselves to be in the most sacred of places at the most sacred of times.
All of these ordinary states of being that have ways of preparing ourselves for the most sacred spaces and times tell us one thing: these ordinary states are not permanent, just as our mountaintop extraordinary moments of spiritual transcendence are not permanent. A person’s weeping skin can heal and that person is to be incorporated fully back into the life of the community. A person can have orgasms or menstruate, ordinary things bodies do, but these do not prevent people from preparing themselves for these holy spaces and times. In other words: no one is prevented from connecting with the Holy, renewing their covenantal bonds themselves and their faithful promises, just because they’ve experienced weeping skin, orgasm, or menstruation. And we aren’t expected once prepared for the most sacred times and places to be able to stay in that state forever. That would be rather cruel, expecting us to be something that isn’t really human. That’s not to say tradition, culture, and interpretations haven’t been applied or accreted that result in separating folks experiencing these ordinary ways of being human from their ritual life with the Holy. That’s the gap between how we live and how we aspire to be that we make faithful promises to try and cross or make a smaller gap.
So at times these texts have been interpreted and translated as though these ordinary human states are sinful, harmful, or defiling. Some people read exclusion on the basis of being sexually active (thus, the need to be celibate) and some read exclusion because a person might have ever menstruated or might be menstruating right now (one of the arguments against people who menstruate in religious leadership, touching sacred texts). A note on gender and bodily fluids: some women never have and never will menstruate; some men have at some time in their lives menstruated; some non-binary persons menstruate; any person who ever has menstruated will stop at points in their lives for pregnancy or from starvation or from illness or as part of menopause. Gender is not determined by whether a person menstruates, nor has that always been the case across all cultures and times, although that is probably a reasonable assumption of belief among the composers of Leviticus.
Now, I’m aware there’s a lot of language and shame around menstruating in the culture I’m in. Menstruating is, for the most part, not just private, but secret, and heaven forfend that anyone know you’re menstruating. Consider just how many cultural slurs and comments are about menstruating or visibly menstruating people. Then there’s lots and lots of traditions about who’s pure enough to touch sacred things and when those are off-limits, along with other gendered teachings about religious and spiritual practices. But that’s not part of this text of Leviticus: that’s the history of interpretation weighing upon us, and how who’s interpreting and whose experiences are at the center matters.
Here are two pictures of a painting by Sargent on exhibit (shown above) of a band playing in late Nineteenth-Century Paris. The first picture is what I see because of where the picture is hung and how I move through the world in a wheelchair. The curators make assumptions — as do any visual artists — about where the viewer’s eye level is and should be. Notice how that perspective changes with just a small amount of space in the second picture of this painting, where the camera is at the eye-level of a standing American adult of average height. What is most important in that painting and the whole experience of it changes depending on what height one is at. Social and physical location matter in how we interpret, because our experiences are different.
In this same museum, a few months ago there was another exhibit with a series of photographs on a reflective medium that depended on the viewers being able to see themselves within the pictures. I couldn’t see myself because of where they where hung. A friend used his camera to take a picture of one angled from above so I might see myself in the picture, and what is shown is that I’m still below and not fully inside the picture. We might have to do a lot of adjusting to bring our whole selves and everyone else in our incredible diversity into the picture.
When we read spiritual texts with historical context, when we consider the history of interpretation, and when we reflect on our own social and physical locations as we read the texts, we do both the spiritual texts more justice, in seeking to understand them, and ourselves, in seeking what may or may not apply from these texts to our lives. Naive or plain-sense reading denies that there’s any learned theology or traditions or social or physical location that matters in how we read the texts. Textual sense changes depending on our experiences and our culture, because how we read changes. And then you add translation to the mix and you have added another layer of someone else’s interpretation of the text, for a translator is always seeking what’s the “best” sense of a particular word and the right word to use.
Not only is this section of Leviticus not a set of reasons to discriminate against people for ordinary experiences of bodily fluids (weeping skin, sexual emissions, menstrual fluid), it is explicitly a text of how people move from ordinary states of being and aren’t excluded from the most sacred of places and times. In a society where we handle holy things, times and places with extreme care, rituals of preparation and inclusion can be compassionate as well as justice-making practices. We might pause to consider how we justify not including or centering the experiences of various peoples in our communities now, whether secular communities or faith communities. Whose experiences are represented? Whose experiences are not? How have sacred texts and traditions of interpretation aided or been drawn into supporting dividing and excluding all these people that reflect the Holy in our splendid diversity?
As some of us who are Christian head into Holy Week and some of us who are Jewish prepare for Pesach and all of us face ordinary life amid these sacred times, may we consider those traditions and interpretations and those edited texts that promote hate and hurt and exclusion, and may we consider how to be people of faith and covenant, of faithful promises made and now needing to be lived into, living humbly with the Holy and loving our neighbors and strangers as we love ourselves. Let us revisit those texts, understand their context, their history, and our context and the world we are called to bless with love and equity and justice for each and for all, no exceptions.
