Kierkegaard’s Ghost

(News that’s fake, but credible)

The Ghost has just obtained the transcript of an interchange between Vice President Kamala Harris and Fox anchor Bret Baier just prior to her interview on Fox News.

Democratic presidential nominee Vice President Kamala Harris recently sat for an interview on Fox News with chief political anchor, Bret Baier. The interview coverned a wide range of subjects, including immigration, the economy, responding to U.S. adversaries and more.

Proir to the interview, Harris was heard to express some reluctance to Baier about appearing on Fox News. 

[Begin transcript]

Harris: I don’t want to go among mad people.

Baier: Oh, you can’t help that. We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.

Harris: How do you know I’m mad?

Baier: You must be or you wouldn’t have come here. All mad people come here. Rudy  Giuliani, Kari Lake, Kristi Noem and, of course, Donald Trump. If you were sane, you wouldn’t set foot in our studio. We haven’t had a sane voice here since Chris Wallace left us.

[End Transcript]

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FAKE NEWS ALERT: The above article is satirical. The events it describes didn’t happen.  “There are people who will say that this whole account is a lie, but a thing isn’t necessarily a lie even if it didn’t necessarily happen.” John Steinbeck

TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Isaiah 53:4-12

Psalm 91:9-16

Hebrews 5:1-10

Mark 10:35-45

Prayer of the Day: Sovereign God, you turn your greatness into goodness for all the peoples on earth. Shape us into willing servants of your kingdom, and make us desire always and only your will, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“In the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to the one who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission.” Hebrews 5:7.

This is perhaps an allusion to Jesus’ prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane that the imminent “cup” of suffering and death might pass him by. Jesus had no death wish. He wanted desperately to live. His prayer to God for salvation from death was sincere. It was also heard by God-but not answered affirmatively. Jesus died prematurely, horribly, alone and, according to the author of the Letter to the Hebrews, in conformance with God’s will.

Theologians have struggled for millennia at coming to grips with this affirmation that Jesus’ death on the cross was both necessary and consistent with God’s will. What sort of parents would murder their children and what noble end could possibly justify such perverse means? The explanation offered by substitutionary atonement theology, namely, that Jesus’ death was necessary to satisfy the requirement for just punishment of sin demanded by a righteous God, works well on a very high level of abstraction. The trouble is that human life and experience occurs in the messy concrete. We know from our own experience that it is possible to forgive wrongdoing without extracting repayment. It happens every day within our marriages, within our families and within our communities. If Mom could forgive me for breaking a lamp in my childish roughhousing that was given to her by Grandma and that had been in the family for years, regardless of my inability ever to replace such a treasure, is it too much to expect the same from a supposedly merciful God?

There is, I think, a better way of understanding the necessity of Jesus’ suffering and death. Did God will that Jesus die? In the absolute sense, yes. “The Word became flesh,” John the Evangelist tells us. John 1:14. Unless the body Jesus wore in “the days of his flesh” was merely a clever disguise and never actually part and parcel of God’s Son, then Jesus was, as our creeds confess, truly human. To be truly human is to be mortal. When God became flesh, when God determined to be “God with us,” God assumed all that goes with being human, including death. Jesus was therefore no more immune from death than any the rest of us.

The deeper inquiry takes us to the heart of the gospels. Given that Jesus would necessarily endure death, was it necessary that he die so cruelly. Again, the answer is an unqualified “yes.” The reason lies hidden in the mystery of the Incarnation. I think the Eastern Church does a better job of articulating this mystery, reminding us that the Word’s becoming flesh was not an afterthought or an unpleasant necessity forced upon God in order to straighten out a world that had gone off the rails. The Incarnation was God’s intent from the beginning, before the world was formed, before humanity took its first breath, before Adam and Eve succumbed to sin. From the very beginning it was God’s will to become flesh, an act that God undertook not because of the fall into sin, but in spite of it. God is determined to become human, human as humans were meant to be, living joyfully, thankfully and generously under the just and gentle reign of God, even if this was to be done in the midst of a world determined to reject that reign. The inevitable consequence of being truly human in an inhumane world is suffering and the cross. The cross is the price God was willing to pay in order to stick with God’s eternal intent to be Immanuel, “God with us.”

The reality is that love hurts. Everyone who has ever raised a child, lost a spouse, or been betrayed by a friend knows that people who dare to love, risk getting hurt. Love sometimes calls upon us to make sacrifices, give up on opportunities or close the door on lifelong ambitions to care for the people near and dear to us. The love that is God does not shy away from such sacrifices, even when they threaten to drain the life out of us. Because this love is the very essence of God, the glue that binds the Trinity as one, the Word in which, as Saint Paul tells us, “all things hold together,”( Colossians 1:17), it is eternal. Living in love is to partake in eternal life. Jesus, the embodiment of God’s love, is therefore “the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.” Hebrews 5:9.

It is in light of these observations that I believe we need to consider our gospel lesson for this Sunday in which James and John seek to be at the right and left hand of Jesus in his glory. What were their motives? Were they seeking positions of power, influence and privilege? That might have been part of it. But I also believe that they might have been seeking a deeper relationship with Jesus and a more intense involvement with God’s coming reign of justice and peace. Perhaps, like so many of us who end up in the “helping professions,” they wanted “to make a difference,” to change the world for the better. I shared those motivations early on in my ministry. But I don’t necessarily believe that changing the world is our responsibility. In spite of his ministry of teaching, healing and preaching, Jesus did not change the world. God changed the world by raising Jesus from death. If there had been no Resurrection, Jesus would be remembered, if at all, as just one more starry-eyed idealist who got himself impaled on the sharp, cruel edges of reality while pursuing an impossible utopian dream.

Jesus’ resurrection, however, re-defines reality. The teachings of the Sermon on the Mount, so far from being impractical for surviving in a violent, cruel and unjust world, are intensely practical if one believes, as do disciples of Jesus, that in the end, what will matter is how we have treated the poor, the hungry, the thirsty, the refugee, the naked and the sick among us. Some are called to do this on a macro level in the realm of politics, community organizing and public ministry. Many more of us are called to do it with our children, chronically ill family members, neighbors in need, homebound members of our churches and neighborhoods. But the measure of one’s discipleship, if such a thing is even measurable, is the same suffering love God exercises in the flesh of Jesus.

Once again, I cannot get inside the minds of James and John. I cannot discern their motivations. But one thing I do know. That when Jesus was “glorified,” when the depth of his love was most explicitly demonstrated, those at his right and left hand were hanging on crosses, mocking him along with the rest of the crowd. No wonder Jesus said to James and John, “You do not know what you are asking.” Mark 10:38. Being at Jesus’ right or left hand is not a privilege awarded to those of extraordinary virtue, faith and courage. It is always a gift given to those most in need of Jesus’ healing touch, whether they deserve it or not. In the end, we are as close to Jesus as we are to the person nearest to us in deepest need of God’s redemptive love. We are as great as we are compassionate.

Here is a poem by Robert Duncan exploring some images that give us a glimpse of what incarnational love might look like.

Ingmar Bergman’s Seventh Seal

Source: The Opening of the Field, (c. 1960 by Robert Duncan; pub. by New Directions Publishing Corporation) Robert Duncan (1919–1988) was an American poet. He was born in Oakland, California and spent most of his career in and around San Francisco. Duncan was heavily influenced by Hilda “H.D.” Doolittle. He is associated with many literary traditions and schools, including the Black Mountain College. Duncan, who came out as a gay man in 1941, figures prominently in the history of pre-Stonewall gay culture. In 1944, he wrote the landmark essay “The Homosexual in Society.” In that essay, Duncan argued that society’s treatment of gay persons was a civil rights issue comparable to the plight of African Americans and Jews. It was published in Dwight Macdonald’s journal, politics. You can read more about Robert Duncan and sample more of his poetry at the Poetry Foundation Website.

TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Amos 5:6-7, 10-15

Psalm 90:12-17

Hebrews 4:12-16

Mark 10:17-31

Prayer of the Day: Almighty and ever-living God, increase in us your gift of faith, that, forsaking what lies behind and reaching out to what lies ahead, we may follow the way of your commandments and receive the crown of everlasting joy, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“For I know how many are your transgressions,
   and how great are your sins—
you who afflict the righteous, who take a bribe,
   and push aside the needy in the gate.
Therefore the prudent will keep silent in such a time;
   for it is an evil time.” Amos 5:12-13.

There are times when it is prudent to keep your mouth shut. That is what Dad told my Mom the day one of my relatives over for Thanksgiving dinner made a racist joke employing the “N” word. “We don’t talk about other people that way and we don’t use that word in this house,” she said. “Hey, just making a joke,” our visitor replied. “Well it isn’t funny,” Mom replied. An awkward and uncomfortable silence prevailed over the rest of the evening with a few feeble attempts at small talk. “Why did you have to make a scene,” Dad asked in an exasperated tone once our guest had gone. “You know he’s always spouting garbage like that. It’s best just to ignore him. You are never going to change his mind.”

My Dad was half right. This particular individual was hardened in his racism and not the sort of man likely to change his mind. But his was not the only mind at the table. My siblings and I were there, too. We learned a valuable lessen that evening from our mother. When someone speaks racism, you don’t just let it pass. You speak up, you rock the boat, you make a scene-even if it means spoiling a visit, offending your guest and opening a rift in the family. In the midst of evil times, when the righteous are afflicted, those entrusted with ensuring justice take bribes and the needy are pushed aside at the border, the prudent keep silent, but prophets speak up.

The prophet Amos was no more prudent than Mom. He spoke truth to systemic injustice. It was an act of uncommon courage for this prophet who was a foreigner and an immigrant in the Kingdom of Israel. I have always assumed that Amos spoke with a powerful and commanding voice like James Earl Jones. But these days, I sometimes wonder whether his voice shook and his hands trembled like Mom’s did on that Thanksgiving day decades ago. There are consequences for disturbing domestic, societal and ecclesiastical peace with truthful speech. Mom’s truthful words created a family rift that was not soon healed. Amos’ preaching earned him swift deportation back to his homeland of Judah. For many faithful witnesses, truthful speech has brought violence, imprisonment and death. Thus, while prudence is surely an important virtue, it is not the highest. In evil times, the faithful speak the truth and let the political, familial, ecclesiastical chips fall wherever they will.

This Sunday my congregation celebrated world communion Sunday by acknowledging our Lutheran ministry of welcome through the agency of Global Refuge, formerly known as Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Service. With more than 1,000 partners and 50,000 volunteers, World Refuge is the largest faith-based national nonprofit exclusively dedicated to helping restore a sense of home to immigrants, asylum seekers, and refugees. Our hymn of the day was entitled “Build a Longer Table,” the text of which follows:

“Build a Longer Table, not a higher wall,

feeding those who hunger, making room for all.

Feasting together, stranger turns to friend,

Christ breaks walls to pieces; false divisions end.[1]”

Advocating and resettling refugees is nothing new for Lutherans in the United States. We have been doing this work for over seventy years and, until the recent decade, it has been no more controversial than church potlucks. Under the present cultural climate of racism, xenophobia and anti-immigrant sentiment, however, such work is regarded as unamerican and subversive by a large segment of our country’s population. Advocating for refugees in the face of howling MAGA mobs shouting “build the wall” is not for the faint of heart. Moreover, to be perfectly fair and balanced, neither of our major political parties has shown much interest in “building a longer table” when it comes to migrants and refugees. If Republicans have openly “pushed the needy aside in the gate,” Democrats have been doing a pretty good job of “keeping silent” about the tragic effects of our failed border policy.

While keeping silent might be politically prudent, it is not an option for disciples of Jesus for whom the commandment to love one’s neighbor knows no borders. While I applaud the recent statement of ELCA Bishop Elizabeth Eaton supporting the Haitian residents of Springfield Ohio, recently vilified and slandered by the Republican presidential and vice-presidential nominees, I could wish that it had said unequivocally what needs to be said, namely, that the Republican Party, which, through its elected leaders, espouses racial hate is an instrument of oppression no less than the KKK, the Aryan Nation and the Proud Boys. The Republican Party and the deviant expressions of Christianity that give it spiritual legitimacy are as much a threat as was the National Socialist Party and the German Christian movement in Germany of the 1930s.

I know that many will tell me I am being hysterical. “Come on, Peter! You cannot seriously argue that a little trash talk by politicians during an election season is comparable to the systematic murder of six million Jews. We are not even close to that!” In response to those of you who raise this objection, I have just one question: How close do you want to get? Must our Haitian residents actually be killed before you acknowledge the danger? If so, how many? Do we have to reach the full number of six million? Or will a million do? How about five-hundred thousand? And what about other groups oppressed by Republican culture war tactics? Can we tolerate legislation removing protections for transgender kids just as long as it only opens the door for hazing, bullying and humiliation? Do we have to wait until they suffer actual violence? And, again, how high does the body count have to get before you are willing to call it a systemic crime against humanity and name the perpetrators? How long and how far must things go before you throw prudence to the wind and speak the hard truths that must be heard?

I recently issued a call for our church to declare the Republican Party a hate group under the criteria of the Southern Poverty Law Center. I have not received a response and do not expect one. For one thing, national denominations such as the ELCA are not likely to bother reading, much less responding to, the ravings of an old retired pastor. To be fair, there are a lot of us out here in cyberspace and the bishops’ time is probably better spent on matters other than keeping track of a bunch of bloggers. Furthermore, the consequences of such a declaration would be highly disruptive. No doubt, many high value donners would be offended. To the extent that preachers find the courage to bring this hard word to their congregations, we could well see churches split and members lost. Bringing this message into our homes would likely lead to further family rifts and estrangement. Jesus was well aware of these consequences:

“Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.
For I have come to set a man against his father,
and a daughter against her mother,
and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law;
and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household.” Matthew 10:34-36.

In some places, speaking truth to power can get you deported-or hung on a cross. No, we are not there yet. But, again, I have to ask, how close you want to get?

I cannot deny that remaining silent, inoffensive and soft spoken is the most prudent course during this “evil time.” For all who choose prudence, I commend you to God and your conscience. For my part, I prefer a church divided over the cross of Jesus Christ than one united under anything less. I prefer the enduring peace of God’s just reign to the false, fragile and superficial peace maintained by silence. Disciples of Jesus, I believe, must be prepared to disturb the former peace for the sake of the latter.

Here is a poem by Denise Levertov that shatters the false and fragile peace of silence and complicity.

Goodbye to Tolerance

Genial poets, pink-faced

earnest wits—

you have given the world

some choice morsels,

gobbets of language presented

as one presents T-bone steak

and Cherries Jubilee.

Goodbye, goodbye,

                            I don’t care

if I never taste your fine food again,

neutral fellows, seers of every side.

Tolerance, what crimes

are committed in your name.

And you, good women, bakers of nicest bread,

blood donors. Your crumbs

choke me, I would not want

a drop of your blood in me, it is pumped

by weak hearts, perfect pulses that never

falter: irresponsive

to nightmare reality.

It is my brothers, my sisters,

whose blood spurts out and stops

forever

because you choose to believe it is not your business.

Goodbye, goodbye,

your poems

shut their little mouths,

your loaves grow moldy,

a gulf has split

                     the ground between us,

and you won’t wave, you’re looking

another way.

We shan’t meet again—

unless you leap it, leaving

behind you the cherished

worms of your dispassion,

your pallid ironies,

your jovial, murderous,

wry-humored balanced judgment,

leap over, un-

balanced? … then

how our fanatic tears

would flow and mingle

for joy …

Source:Breathing the Water (New Directions Publishing Corporation, 1987). Denise Levertov (1923–1997) never received a formal education. Nevertheless, she created a highly regarded body of poetry that earned her recognition as one of America’s most respected poets. Her father, Paul Philip Levertov, was a Russian Jew who converted to Christianity and subsequently moved to England where he became an Anglican minister.  Levertov grew up in a household surrounded by books and people talking about them in many languages. During World War II, Levertov pursued nurse’s training and spent three years as a civilian nurse at several hospitals in London. Levertov came to the United States in 1948, after marrying American writer Mitchell Goodman. During the 1960s Levertov became a staunch critic of the Vietnam war, a topic addressed in many of her poems of that era. Levertov died of lymphoma at the age of seventy-four. You can read more about Denise Levertov and sample more of her poetry at the Poetry Foundation Website.

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[1] Text by David Bjorlin, b. 1984, Music Noel Nouvelet (French Caorl) GIA Publications, Inc. To hear the full hymn, click on this link.

TWENTIETH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Genesis 2:18-24

Psalm 8

Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12

Mark 10:2-16

Prayer of the Day: Sovereign God, you have created us to live in loving community with one another. Form us for life that is faithful and steadfast, and teach us to trust like little children, that we may reflect the image of your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her; and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery.” Mark 10:11.

“Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife, and they become one flesh.” Genesis 2:24.

If you are going to preach on the text from Hebrews or the Psalms, then you would be well advised to use alternative texts for the gospel lesson and the reading from Genesis. That is because these two texts carry with them a tremendous load of interpretive baggage that will determine how they are heard and processed. Of particular concern are those persons in the congregation who are divorced; persons struggling with issues of gender identity; and, of course, gay and lesbian folk who may not see themselves in either the creation story or Jesus’ remarks on marriage and divorce. Thus, in my opinion, if these texts are to be read in worship, they must be addressed in the sermon.

A few points need to be made with respect to the gospel. First and foremost, it must be emphasized that the question put to Jesus about divorce is a man’s question asked by men in what was (and to what a large degree still is) a man’s world. In first century Judean culture, divorce was the prerogative of men. Women could not divorce their husbands.[1] In a world without equitable distribution, alimony or child support, divorce imposed a disproportionate burden on wives. Divorced women had the option of returning to their father’s household, though there was no guarantee they would be well received. A divorced woman brought shame on her family. If the divorced woman had no family to which she could return, her future was even more bleak. In the world where Jesus lived and moved, divorce was an instrument of oppression against women and perhaps their children as well.

Jesus responds to his opponents’ question about divorce by expanding the scope of the discussion. Jesus would have them know that Moses had quite a bit more to say about marriage than how to end it. Jesus reaches back to the creation narratives from Genesis, also attributed to Moses. God created men and women to be “partners.” They were to support and care for one another in a covenant relationship of mutual faithfulness. Of course, then and now, marriages fail for numerous reasons. But the point to be made is that the failure of a marriage does not mean that the partners’ responsibility for one another is at an end. Here it is important to make the point that persons who have ended their marriage and yet continue to honor their obligations to support their spouses and care for the children born during the course of the marriage are not the equivalent of the men Jesus addresses who would simply dispose of their wives for a newer model. Divorced couples who continue to cooperate in raising their children, honoring obligations incurred during the marriage and maintaining a caring (if not romantic) working relationship are to be applauded, encouraged and supported-not judged and condemned.   

Lurking in the background here is the issue of domestic abuse. These words of Jesus concerning divorce, taken out of their context, have lent support to the false belief that God would have a person remain in an abusive marriage rather than seek divorce or separation. As with the sabbath, marriage was made for the wellbeing of people, not people for the institution of marriage. When a marriage ceases to be a sanctuary of love, human maturation and security for all family members, it must be set aside just as surely as the sabbath must be set aside in the interest of human health and wellbeing. God does not will for anyone to be abused physically or emotionally. This point must be made emphatically. It would also be helpful to list in the bulletin for Sunday contact information of persons and agencies providing assistance to victims of domestic abuse.  

And now we come to the Genesis reading. This story has been widely cited as a “proof text” for the proposition that the Bible views marriage exclusively as a life long partnership between one man and one woman. Of course, that is not the case. The Bible recognizes polygamy and concubinage (sexual slavery) as legitimate forms of marriage. It all depends upon which texts you chose to fixate. This is the problem that always arises when we approach the Bible with our own concerns and agendas. We desperately want the Bible to give us a hard and fast definition of marriage. But God is not particularly concerned about that. The quotation of what appears to be an ancient saying about a man leaving his mother and cleaving to his wife comes at the end of the story. It serves more as an illustration than a prescription. What God is concerned about is loneliness. “It is not good,” says God, “that the man [earth creature] should be alone.” If we read this text from the standpoint of God’s priorities rather than our own moral, political and societal interests, I think we come to some very different conclusions. God wills for human beings to experience friendship, love and intimacy. It is not good for any human being to be deprived of these good gifts.

Finally, a word about Jesus’ allusion to the first chapter of Genesis in which the poet declares of the human race, “male and female [God] created them.” Genesis 1:27. This verse is often cited as a proof text for the proposition that one is either male or female with no room for any other sexual or gender identification. Yet the poet’s language throughout the first creation narrative puts the lie to this notion. God separated the light from the darkness, calling the light “day” and the darkness “night.” Nonetheless, the moon and the stars light up the night sky and shed their light upon the face of the earth. There are caves and ocean depths where the sun’s day light never reaches. God separated the land from the water, yet millions of square miles of the earth’s surface are occupied by intertidal zones, marshes, swamps and wetlands that are neither entirely land nor sea-all of which are critically important to the world’s ecological health. Why, then, should it surprise us that human sexual attraction and gender identity fall on the same diverse spectrum? It is important that our gospel and the traditional creation texts with which it is paired be proclaimed in a way that all people can see themselves in the sacred narrative as persons God made “good” and persons God wills to know friendship, love and intimacy.   

This is a lot to cram into a single twenty minute sermon. That is why I question the wisdom of the creators of the common lectionary in juxtaposing our readings in this way. I think these issues are better addressed in a discussion setting where the whole biblical witness can be brought to bear. Nevertheless, for those of you preachers who feel bound to the dictates of the common lectionary, I wish you a double share of God’s Spirit this Sunday.  You are going to need it.

Here is a poem by Rickey Laurentiis about a kind of loneliness that might well reflect that of Adam. It is the sort of loneliness that God means to eliminate.

Trans Loneliness

Martha P. Johnson

Source: Poetry (July/August 2024). Rickey Laurentiis is an American poet who was raised in New Orleans, Louisiana. They are the author of Boy with Thorn, a work that earned them the Cave Canem Poetry Prize and the Levis Reading Prize and the PEN/Osterweil Award. Laurentiis’ poems have appeared in Boston Review, Feminist Studies, The Kenyon Review, The Los Angeles Review of Books, New Republic, The New York Times and Poetry. They have been translated into Arabic, Spanish and Ukrainian. Laurentiis is the inaugural fellow in Creative Writing at the Center for African-American Poetry and Poetics. They are also a Lannan Fellow. You can read more about Rickey Laurentiis and sample more of their poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.

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[1] This was not necessarily the case for Judaism in the diaspora where Jews were subject to the laws of foreign jurisdictions in which they lived. This may be why Jesus expands the prohibition on divorce to include women.

NINETEENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Numbers 11:4-6, 10-16, 24-29

Psalm 19:7-14

James 5:13-20

Mark 9:38-50

Prayer of the Day: Generous God, your Son gave his life that we might come to peace with you. Give us a share of your Spirit, and in all we do empower us to bear the name of Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart
   be acceptable to you,
   O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.” Psalm 19:14.

A lot of preachers I have heard over the years begin their sermons with a recitation of this verse. It serves as a prayer that the preacher’s message might faithfully convey the good news of Jesus Christ and its implications for the hearers. Though I have never used this verse of scripture in that way, I find no fault with such usage. Nonetheless, the scope of the psalmist’s prayer far exceeds whatever concerns we might have about the quality of our preaching. These words concluding the psalm must be understood in light of all that comes before. This psalm is a meditation on the “Torah,” translated in our English Bibles as “law.” That is an unfortunate rendering. We tend to think of “law” in terms of rules, statutes and legal requirements. American Christians, deeply individualistic as we are, view law as antithetical to faith or “spirituality.” The Pharisees get a bad wrap in a lot of our preaching because they have been painted as “legalists” who put rules ahead of human needs, compassion and justice. No doubt some of them fit that description-as do a lot of Christians today. But, on the whole, modern Judaism, which derives largely from the Pharisaic tradition, views the Torah much differently.

While the rituals, customs and requirements spelled out in the first five books of the Hebrew Scriptures might strike us as restrictive, they were designed to guard Israel’s liberty won for it by its God in the Exodus. A reminder of God’s faithfulness was found in each task of daily life. Preparing and eating meals, washing clothes, butchering animals and planting crops all contained seeds of meditation, symbolic acts and reminders of the new existence to which the people of Israel had been called. It is also important to understand that the Torah is not a changeless prescription written in stone. Judaism has always recognized that the Torah speaks to the here and now. It requires interpretation, reinterpretation and fresh application to ever changing circumstances.

It is for this reason that the psalmist meditates on the Torah. Its commandments are not a collection of dry regulations. They are windows into a deeper understanding of God and the world God made. They are not a legalistic prison enclosing the heart and mind, but a platform from which the psalmist is enabled to look into mysteries, a launching pad for the imagination.

I think there is much to be learned from this understanding of Torah. A lot of Christians I have encountered over the years, some within my own Lutheran tradition, tend to view the Bible as the sealed container of divine truth. There is, in the minds of these folks, a single “biblical worldview” built out of a fixed set of doctrinal assertions and moral absolutes found within the four corners of the biblical text. For such a constricted perspective, information, learning and imagination are dangerous. They can lead one to question the truth and doubt the integrity of the Bible. Banning books, restricting the academic freedom of teachers and subjecting text books to legislative mandates are all simply desperate efforts to protect a feeble and unsustainable faith from the rigors of intellectual critique. Such an outlook kills the kind of interaction with the Bible to which the psalmist testifies. It is hard to meditate on the Bible when you are expending all your energy and attention to protecting it.

While my own biblical training in seminary was nothing like the literalist approach I just described, it did little to encourage meditation. The historical critical method in which I was instructed acknowledged and even celebrated the complexity of the scriptures and the diversity of voices in and through which it speaks. But the method brought with it the same rationalistic and colonialistic biases of the nineteenth century in which it was birthed. We were warned against letting our imaginations run away with us when interpreting texts. Our job was, through a dispassionate application of textual criticism, source criticism, form criticism, redaction analysis and properly framing of the text in its “Sitz im Leben” (roughly translated, “historical setting”), unearth the grain of historically valid biblical truth to be proclaimed. Though much of what I learned about the Bible’s composition, history and transmission was helpful in a general way, it was not particularly useful in preaching or in meditating on the Word.

Of equal concern regarding the historical critical method is the nineteenth century baggage that comes with it. There is in the method a bias toward rationalism and empiricism that tend to boil all of reality down to what can be demonstrated in the lab. No doubt, empiricism has proven enormously useful in advancing the physical sciences. Applied to history, anthropology and religion, not so much. Nineteenth century protestant Christianity tended to view itself as the pinnacle of world religious evolution just as western society viewed itself as the peak of human civilization. Having shaken off the primitive beliefs in spirits, magic and divine agency, the church had evolved into a rational religion compatible with western culture as a whole. As a result, “lesser” religions tied to inferior cultures were generally dismissed as “superstitions.” This is precisely the same sort of arrogance that fuels the engines of right wing Christian nationalism.

Thankfully, there are many pastors, teachers and theologians who have moved beyond such narrow thinking. Liberation theologians, such as Gustavo Gutiérrez, Leonardo Boff and Jon Sobrino encourage us to read the gospels imaginatively through the eyes of the poor, oppressed and exploited. Black liberation theologian James Cone invites us to recognize the cross and resurrection as lived out by Black Americans struggling against systemic racism. Womanist theologians like Natalia Imperatori-Lee, Mercy Amba Oduyoye and Ivone Gebara call upon us to read the scriptures through the eyes and experiences of Black women. Employing the imagination to scriptural interpretation unleashes its redemptive power and makes space for the Holy Spirit to work. This, I believe, is what the psalmist means by “meditating” on God’s words.

Here is a poem by Billy Collings about the transformative power of books. In many respects, I believe it mirrors the dynamics found in the psalmists’ meditation on the Torah and the way in which we are invited to meditate on scripture as disciples of Jesus.

 Books

From the heart of this dark, evacuated campus

Source: Poetry (April 1988). Billy Collins (b. 1941) is an American poet. Though born in Ireland, he grew up in Queens and White Plains, New York. He served as the Poet Laureate of the United States from 2001 to 2003 and was a Distinguished Professor at Lehman College of the City University of New York. Collins has been recognized as a Literary Lion of the New York Public Library and was selected as the New York State Poet for 2004 through 2006. Collins has been inducted into the American Academy of Arts and Letters. He currently teaches in the MFA program at Stony Brook Southampton. You can read more about Billy Collins and sample more of his poetry at the Poetry Foundation Website.

“A hate group is an organization that—based on its official statements or principles, the statements of its leaders, or its activities—has beliefs or practices that attack or malign an entire class of people, typically for their immutable characteristics.” Southern Poverty Law Center.[1]

With that in mind, consider the following statements by the current GOP presidential candidate, Donald J. Trump.

1. On the campaign trail in 2016, Trump repeatedly made explicit racist remarks, from calling Mexican immigrants criminals and rapists, to proposing a ban on all Muslims entering the US, to suggesting a judge should recuse himself from a case solely because of the judge’s Mexican heritage.
2. While in office, Donald Trump referred to Haiti and African nations as “shithole countries” during a meeting with a bipartisan group of senators at the White House.
3. Trump has used terms such as “animal” and “rabid” to describe Black district attorneys.
4. During his debate with Vice President Kamala Harris, Trump baselessly accused Haitian residents of Salem, OH of being “in the United States illegally” (they are not) and of eating the pets of white residents (for which there is no evidence). As a result, numerous bomb threats have been made against schools and civic centers.

I honestly cannot see what more we need to classify the Republican Party as a hate group. I can understand the reluctance to do so. We are not talking about a fringe group, but one of America’s two major political parties. The danger of further polarizing the country is real and substantial. But more substantial than the danger of polarization is the danger of putting in power a party that has vowed to use the power of the national guard, local authorities and even the United States armed forces to carry out the “largest deportation program in American history”[2] against legal residents of the United States for crimes that they did not commit. And don’t think it will stop there. Trump has vowed that, once elected, he will “root out” his political opponents “like vermin.”[3] What does he mean by that? Maybe the same thing Adolph Hitler and Bonito Mussolini meant when they said it.

Think I am being hysterical? Let us focus on what cannot be disputed, namely, that the candidates at the top of the GOP ticket are spreading incendiary lies about an ethnic minority, thereby inciting acts of intimidation and threats of violence against them. And lest there be any doubt about the falsity of the claims made against Haitian residents of Salem 1) the mayor and the chief of police both say emphatically that the Haitian residents of the town are present legally; 2) that Haitian residents hold jobs, own businesses and pay taxes; 3) there are no reports of Haitians eating anyone’s pets.[4] Furthermore, Republican vice presidential candidate J.D. Vance admitted in a publicly televised interview that he made up the stories about Haitian immigrants eating family pets to get media attention.[5]

Enough is enough. It is time to stop pretending that the GOP is a benign political party vigorously participating in a healthy democracy. It is time to stop waiting for the Republican ship to right itself. You might just as well wait for the KKK to institute a program of cultural diversity. I hereby call upon the Southern Poverty Law Center to declare the Republican Party a hate group subject to monitoring and reporting. I further call upon all bishops, priests, pastors and church leaders to denounce specifically by way of public statements and from every pulpit the racist incitement of Donald Trump, J.D. Vance and the GOP, making clear that nobody associating with a political party spewing racist hate can claim to be a disciple of Jesus.   

Still think you can afford to ignore Republican attacks on Haitian residents of Salam, Ohio? Do you think none of this pertains to you? Do you imagine that you can safely stick to voting your pocket book and fixating on “kitchen table issues” and to hell with the rest? Then I invite you to reflect on these words of Martin Niemöller, a pastor, teacher and theologhian imprisoned under the Third Reich. What Republicans do to Haitians, Mexicans and the other groups they don’t like they can just as easily do to you.

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

This Quotation from Martin Niemöller is on display in the Permanent Exhibition of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum.  You can find out more about Martin Niemöller by visiting the site for the Holocaust Encyclopedia.   

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[1] Southern Poverty Law Center website.

[2] See Republican Platform 2024.

[3] See “Trump compares political opponents to ‘vermin’ who he will ‘root out,’ alarming historians,” BySoo Rin Kim and Lalee Ibssa, ABC News, November 13, 2023

[4]  See interview with CNN’s Dana Bash, Rob Rue, mayor of Springfield, Ohio.

[5] See report by Luke Garrett, NPR 9/15/2024. In response to information refuting claims of Haitians eating dogs and cats, Vance replied: “If I have to create stories so that the American media actually pays attention to the suffering of the American people, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

EIGHTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Jeremiah 11:18-20

Psalm 54

James 3:13 — 4:3, 7-8a

Mark 9:30-37

Prayer of the Day: O God, our teacher and guide, you draw us to yourself and welcome us as beloved children. Help us to lay aside all envy and selfish ambition, that we may walk in your ways of wisdom and understanding as servants of your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, ‘Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.’” Mark 9:36-37.

Our relationship with children in this country is more than a little complicated and conflicted. We doll them up with designer cloths, throw wildly expensive parties celebrating each milestone in their lives, equip them with the latest digital doohinckies and spend hundreds of thousands to educate them. Yet for all that, our children suffer increasingly from anxiety, depression and substance abuse. Children are multibillion dollar consumers contributing substantially to our economy as Mattel, Playmobile, Lego and numerous other toy manufacturers can attest. Nevertheless, for all they contribute to the GNP, they have no voice, no vote, no super pac’s or lobbying organizations to represent their interests. Couples spend tens of thousands on IVF to conceive children even as we have children nobody seems to want warehoused in group homes throughout the country. Children, it seems, are more fungible products than persons; more objects than subjects in their own right.

In a newly published book, The Kingdom of Children, theologian and child advocate, R. L. Stollar observes:

“Our days-marked by extreme climate change, extreme wealth disparities, and extreme prejudice against marginalized people-are apocalyptic because they reveal the desires of our hearts in stark terms. As we grow numb to the sounds of mass shooters massacring children in schools, as parents watch their children suffer through formula shortages and school shutdowns and empty medicine aisles in the midst of a worldwide pandemic, it’s becoming strikingly clear how little our world values the lives of children. Our days reveal how much abuse and violence the powers-that-be will allow children to experience, provided it enriches their pockets or furthers their agendas to benefit adults.”

Sadly, the church does not have a great track record when it comes to prioritizing children. Church isn’t exactly the most child friendly environment. The two most common things a child hears in church are “be quiet” and “sit still.” That so many of our churches segregate children into nurseries and Sunday school during worship services speaks volumes. Church, as we practice it, is for adults. We have stood Jesus’ priorities on their head! I cannot begin to tell you how many people I have met over the years who left the church because of the way they were treated as children. We have not always been very helpful to children and young people struggling with tough issues, especially questions about gender identity and sexual orientation. Indeed, our traditional teachings on these matters have often led young people to believe that they are morally defective, unclean and unworthy of God’s love.

Sometimes, clergy and other church leaders have taken advantage of children’s natural trust and their vulnerability to abuse them horribly. I recently learned that a colleague of mine who served a neighboring parish to the one I recently served was arrested for repeatedly sexually assaulting an underage girl. I have always been aware that atrocities like these happen with shocking frequency among us clergy. But when it occurs in your own back yard, the stark horror of it all is brought into sharp relief.   How God’s heart must break when God’s church becomes an agent of harm to God’s little ones.

Today’s gospel invites us to imagine what the church-what our world-would be like if, like Jesus, we prioritized children. What would worship that includes children look like?[1] I am not suggesting that we turn Sunday Eucharist into a children’s service or reduce the liturgy to single syllables set to nursery rhymes. But I believe there are ways to integrate children into worship, giving them space to express themselves in their own terms. Further, I believe children belong in church on Sunday morning. Most of the teachable moments with my children came when they raised questions like: “Why do we have to go to church? Why does the pastor have to talk so long? Why does everyone up in front of the church wear those white robes?” The genius of such pedagogy is nowhere better illustrated than in the Jewish Seder, which begins with the youngest child asking, “Why is this night unlike all other nights?”

Recognizing that children will be children, accommodations must be made for their attention spans and arrangements for them to move about freely. To that end, my last parish equipped the fellowship room adjoining and open to the sanctuary with a carpeted play area with soft toys to which children could go during the service. Yes, sometimes they got a bit noisy and some people complained that they were disruptive. But on the whole, this arrangement allowed for our children to be children while still remaining a part of the worshiping community. This is the message we, as church, need to be modeling for our world.   

The world is not a safe place for children. Like many families today, Jesus’ family fled across an international border seeking sanctuary from political violence. Not much has changed. According to available data, approximately one in five children worldwide are affected by armed conflicts, with estimates suggesting that around 40% of civilian casualties are children. Some 148 million children in the world — about 1 in 5 — are chronically malnourished. And we are not talking only about the so-called developing world here. Nearly 14 million children in the United States faced hunger in 2023. According to the USDA, one in every five children, in this wealthiest nation in the world, is unsure where they will get their next meal. According to the National Coalition for the Homeless, 1.2 million children in the United States are homeless on any given night. However, the Coalition gets its information from schools. So when you consider that there is no accounting for children under 6 who are not in school, that number is probably much greater. Violent crime is particularly unkind to little ones. Anymore, simply going to school carries a risk of death or injury. Children and teens are more likely than the rest of us to die by gun violence.

What would the world look like if, like Jesus, we prioritized children? What if we determined that the life of a child is more important than any military objective? What if we determined that the lives of our children were more important than corporate profits that line the pockets of venture capitalists, inflate the salaries of CEOs and pad our retirement plans? What if we were more concerned about the kind of planet we will be leaving to our children than cheap fuel, fast cars and huge energy consuming homes? What if our children mattered more to us than any flag, nation, ideology or political affiliation?

Here is a poem by Michael Simms reflecting upon the legacy we adults have prepared for our unwitting children-the consequence, I believe, of making them an afterthought.

Who Will Tell Them?

Source: Poetry (March 2021) Michael Simms (b. 1954) is an American poet, novelist and literary publisher. His poems and essays have been published in journals and magazines including Scientific American, Poetry Magazine, Black Warrior Review, Mid-American Review, Pittsburgh Quarterly, Southwest Review, Plume and West Branch. His poems have also appeared in Poem-a-Day published by the Academy of American Poets. Simms was born in Houston, Texas and attended the School of Irish Studies in Dublin, Ireland. He received his BA from Southern Methodist University and his MFA from the University of Iowa. Simms founded the literary publisher, Autumn House Press in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. He served as its Editor-in-Chief until 2016. He is the founder of the online literary magazine Coal Hill Review and the publisher of the political magazine Vox Populi. You can read more about Michael Simms and sample more of his poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.

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[1] I feel compelled to say that I do not believe “children’s sermons” are effective tools for inclusion. Most such sermons I have observed serve mainly to entertain adults in the congregation at the expense of children. Few things are more terrifying for a small child than being singled out and called up in front of large crowd, most of whom are probably strangers to them. Worse yet is having to be questioned in front of that crowd.

I have been unbelievably busy this week and, hence, unable to publish a fresh article for Sunday’s texts. Here is one from nine years ago that I hope is not to stale.

Sunday, September 13th

SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Isaiah 35:4-7a

Psalm 146

James 2:1-17

Mark 7:24-37

Prayer of the Day: Gracious God, throughout the ages you transform sickness into health and death into life. Open us to the power of your presence and make us a people ready to proclaim your promises to the whole world, through Jesus Christ, our healer and Lord.

“For waters shall break forth in the wilderness,
   and streams in the desert;
the burning sand shall become a pool,
   and the thirsty ground springs of water;
the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp,
   the grass shall become reeds and rushes.” Isaiah 35:7.

I now live on the edge of a right-of-way through the National Seashore held by our electric power company, Eversource. The way stretches for several miles across Cape Cod to accommodate the company’s power lines. In addition to this homocentric utilitarian purpose, the right-of-way incidentally hosts a unique ecosystem. Osprey nest on the many polls towering over the trees from which they can view the three nearby ponds. They can frequently be seen flying over the house with a fish in their talons. Reptiles, black racer snakes and eastern box turtles sun themselves on the face of this miles long gash in the forest. Wild flowers, mosses and bushes that would not otherwise grow in the constant shade of full grown trees thrive on this narrow strip of open space. Walking to the edge of my property in the spring and summer months, passing through the tangle of pitch pines and white oaks onto the right-of-way is like steping into an alpine meadow.

Of course, the forest is not so easily put to flight. The pitch pines and oaks re-seed themselves in the open areas where they take root and begin growing again. Within a short time their height reaches my head. That means, of course, that Eversource must make a return every three years or so to clear the land lest the trees grow to the point where they obstruct its workers’ access to the power lines. For the greater (human)good, the right-of-way community of living things must be ploughed under and reduced to a barren waste. The first time I witnessed this violent incursion, I was convinced this remarkable, biodiverse meadow was gone forever. But before the season had ended, the flowers, plants and shrubs were already beginning to make a comeback. The following spring saw an explosion of life where a year past there had been only broken sod. Today the pines and the oak are back-as soon will be Eversource, I have no doubt.

My son, the evolutionary biologist, sees in this remarkable tenacity evidence of life’s dogged determination to adapt to the most adverse circumstances. It is surely that. But I choose to see in it also, as does the prophet Isaiah, a sign of God’s faithfulness to creation.

“As long as the earth endures,
   seedtime and harvest, cold and heat,
summer and winter, day and night,
   shall not cease.” Genesis 8:22.  

However many scars we human creatures inflict upon the earth, God continues to work the miracle of healing. We may yet succeed in making this planet or many parts of it uninhabitable for our selves and future generations. God may not intervene to save us from the consequences or our own selfishness, stupidity and blindness. But those consequences will not come from God’s hand. God, for God’s part, will be as persistent, indeed, more persistent in reviving, healing and restoring God’s good earth as we are headstrong in our lust to exploit it. Will God’s tender, healing touch prevail over the violent and destructive work of our hands? The prophet Isaiah seems to think so.

The Christion tradition of my childhood had little interest in creation as such. The earth, its geographic features, animals and plants were little more than the stage for God’s redemption of humanity. Whenever God finishes with all God intends to do with the human race, the world ends. The redeemed will be welcomed into eternal life, the wicked cast into outer darkness. The earth? The sun? The other planets? The Stars? The galaxies? Presumably they will simply be discarded like a candy wrapper. That always seemed wrong to me. A universe thirteen billion years old and ninety-three billion light years in diameter built solely for a single species on a planet infinitesimal by comparison with the whole and whose existence is less than a nanosecond in this great expanse of time? It seems a terrible waste of time and material.

I have come to believe, however, that the biblical view of creation is much larger than the Sunday School version I learned. Human beings show up only at the end of creation. Their commission to rule over the earth in the first chapter of Genesis must be interpreted through the lens of  the second chapter where the human creature is charged with tilling and keeping the garden. As offensive as it may be to our homocentric pride, the earth was not made for human beings. Human beings were created to care for God’s good earth. The earth’s problems arise from humanity’s refusal to accept its created limits and its desire to exploit rather than care for God’s garden. The ensuing violence that filled God’s good earth was so powerful and pervasive that God was tempted to make an end of humanity altogether. The flood narrative makes clear God’s rejection of this solution to human violence. Instead, God calls Abram and his family to become the blessing humanity was intended to be.

What climate scientists tell us today about the precarious state of the earth’s oceans, lands and ecosystems echoes what the Hebrew prophets have been trying to tell us for centuries. Our sinful conduct has severe consequences for the environment. The evil we do to one another has a profound impact on the ecosystems of which we are all part. The Prophet Isaiah warns us that

“[t]he earth staggers like a drunkard,
   it sways like a hut;
its transgression lies heavy upon it,
   and it falls, and will not rise again. Isaiah 24:20.

God hates nothing that God has made and so will not destroy the human race. But God’s human creatures might very well succeed in doing exactly what God has vowed not to do. We may well succeed in making this planet, or substantial parts of it, uninhabitable for our children. But I do not need to be convinced that the end of the world is imminent to be deeply saddened by what we are doing to it. It is enough for me to know that my great grandchildren may never see an elephant or gorrilla except in picture books, that they might never know a wilderness area big enough for them to get lost in, that they might never witness the return of monarch butterflies to the Cape in midsummer. If such is the world we bequeath to our children’s children, there is good reason for mourning.

But while the prophet leads us to mourn for ourselves and our planet, that is not where we are left. As our lesson illustrates, Isaiah foresees the day when “waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert.” His hope and expectation is that the world will be healed. Clean water will cleanse the parched ground, rushes and reeds will grow where once only rocks and sand could be found. I have seen enough evidence of that on the Eversource right-of-way to be convinced that God never gives up hope for creation. If God refuses to give up on this planet, how can we?      

Though we humans are surely not the “be all and the end all” we imagine ourselves to be, Saint Paul nevertheless makes the case that creation’s redemption is tied up with that of humanity. “The creation,” Paul tells us, “waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.” Romans 8:19-21. Once freed from its lust for dominance, its addiction to privilege, its captivity to the cycles of vengeance and violence, its allegiance to the false gods of nation, race, blood and soil, humanity will finally be in a position to recognize the earth as God’s sacred possession and accept with joy, gratitude and faithful obedience its role as the earth’s caretaker. Then creation, or the piece of it for which we are responsible, will be free from bondage to the savagery of our consumeristic greed, our exploitation of its land, waters and air and our destructive wars. When humanity is set free from the power of sin, creation will be set free from exploitation.

In the miracle of the Incarnation God went all in, not just for humanity, but for all creation. In Jesus’ Resurrection God made clear that God will not be deterred from God’s redemptive purpose by the worst evil of which we are capable. God refuses to give up hope for this world God has birthed. That is the basis of my hope-along with the tell tail signs of that redemption in places like the Eversource right-of-way.

Here is a poem by Marge Piercy celebrating spring time vegetation with an exuberance like Isaiah’s. Hope springs eternal because it springs from the One who is eternal.   

More Than Enough

Source: Colors Passing Through Us (c. Marge Piercy; pub. Alfred A. Knopf, 2003). Marge Piercy (b. 1936) is an American progressive activist, feminist and writer. She was born in Detroit, Michigan. While her father was not religious, Piercy was raised Jewish by her mother and her Orthodox Jewish maternal grandmother. Piercy was a poor student in early childhood. But when she was bed ridden with German measles and rheumatic fever, she developed a love of reading-which was about all she was able to do. After graduation from high school, Piercy became the first in her family to attend college, receiving a B.A. from the University of Michigan. After graduating, Piercy and her first husband went to France, but soon after returned to the United States. Living in Chicago, Piercy supported herself by working various part-time jobs. During this time, Piercy realized she wanted to write fiction that focused on politics, feminism, and working-class people. She became involved in the organization Students for a Democratic Society. Piercy’s first book of poetry was published in 1968 and her first novel was accepted for publication that same year. You can read more about Marge Piercy and sample more of her poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.  

FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Deuteronomy 4:1-2, 6-9

Psalm 15

James 1:17-27

Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23

Prayer of the Day: O God our strength, without you we are weak and wayward creatures. Protect us from all dangers that attack us from the outside, and cleanse us from all evil that arises from within ourselves, that we may be preserved through your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“But take care and watch yourselves closely, so as neither to forget the things that your eyes have seen nor to let them slip from your mind all the days of your life; make them known to your children and your children’s children—” Deuteronomy 4:9.

The Book of Deuteronomy, literally the “second giving of the law,” is Moses’ swan song. The people of Israel are encamped before the Jordan River, poised to enter and take possession of the land of Canaan. But Moses, who led them out of slavery under the Egyptian Empire and for nearly half a century through the wilderness where they lived hand to mouth, will not be with them. He knows the time has come to pass the torch of leadership to the next generation. Moses also knows there is a danger lying ahead for the people of Israel far greater than those they confronted during their years of slavery in Egypt, in the trials they faced in their wilderness wanderings or even the threat of death they will soon meet from the armies of Canaan. The greatest danger Israel will face in the land of Canaan is forgetfulness.

Later on in Deuteronomy, Moses spells out precisely the nature of his concern:

“Take care that you do not forget the Lord your God, by failing to keep his commandments, his ordinances, and his statutes, which I am commanding you today. When you have eaten your fill and have built fine houses and live in them, and when your herds and flocks have multiplied, and your silver and gold is multiplied, and all that you have is multiplied, then do not exalt yourself, forgetting the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery, who led you through the great and terrible wilderness, an arid waste-land with poisonous snakes and scorpions. He made water flow for you from flint rock, and fed you in the wilderness with manna that your ancestors did not know, to humble you and to test you, and in the end to do you good. Do not say to yourself, ‘My power and the might of my own hand have gained me this wealth.’ But remember the Lord your God, for it is he who gives you power to get wealth, so that he may confirm his covenant that he swore to your ancestors, as he is doing today. If you do forget the Lord your God and follow other gods to serve and worship them, I solemnly warn you today that you shall surely perish. Like the nations that the Lord is destroying before you, so shall you perish, because you would not obey the voice of the Lord your God.” Deuteronomy 8:1-20.     

Wealth, power, comfort and security have a tendency to skew one’s memory. The danger here is that, once settled in the promised land, the people of Israel might begin to imagine that they are finally home, that their journey is over and that they have arrived. Nothing could be further from the truth. In the truest sense, Israel’s journey is only beginning. Israel is to be a light to the gentiles, a blessing to all the peoples of the world and an example of what it means to be human. This new people of God is not to be distinguished by the might of its armies, the magnificence of its architectural achievements or the wealth of its cities. Rather, its greatness is to be the “wisdom and discernment to the peoples, who, when they hear all these statutes, will say, ‘Surely this great nation is a wise and discerning people!’” Deuteronomy 4:6. Israel is only beginning its journey into becoming all that God has declared it to be.

Moses would not have his people forget that their earliest spiritual ancestor was called to leave home and live the life of a nomad in a land not his own. Genesis 12:1-3. Abraham, Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca fled across international borders to escape starvation, prepared to trade sexual favors for sanctuary. Genesis 12:10-20; Genesis 26:6-11. Jacob and his family likewise sought refuge from famine in Egypt where they were “redlined” in Goshen and ultimately enslaved. “It was not because you were more numerous than any other people that the Lord set his heart on you and chose you-for you were the fewest of all peoples,” says Moses. “It was because the Lord loved you and kept the oath that he swore to your ancestors, that the Lord has brought you out with a mighty hand, and redeemed you from the house of slavery, from the hand of Pharaoh king of Egypt.” Deuteronomy 7:7-8. If Israel is to know where it is going, it must remember from whence it came.  

Similarly, disciples of Jesus have no ground for boasting. We ought to remember well from whence we have come. Each year on Palm/Passion Sunday many of our churches read the passion narrative from one of the gospels. There we are reminded that our own spiritual ancestors were traitors, cowards and deserters. There were no heroes standing with Jesus on the night of his arrest. That the risen Christ sought out these very disciples who had failed him so miserably and entrusted them with the task of bringing the good news of God’s reign to the ends of the earth is by far the most profound act of grace in the New Testament. Like Israel, the disciples are chosen, not by virtue of their character and nobility, but by grace. They are not saved by their faith, but by God’s faithfulness. They are elected, not to privilege in the world, but to service for the world.  

Disciples of Jesus are sojourners who “have no lasting city, but we seek the city which is to come.” Hebrews 13:14. The one, holy, catholic and apostolic church knows no borders and recognizes no distinctions on the basis of nation, race, blood or soil. But just as Israel was prone to lapses of memory, so too Jesus’ disciples tend to forget that their Savior was a poor, dark skinned, non-citizen whose family fled to Egypt as refugees from political persecution. They tend to forget that the gentle reign of God Jesus proclaims advances through suffering love that embraces even the enemy as a neighbor. They forget Jesus emphasized that our loyalty to him and the kingdom he proclaims is measured by how we treat the “least” among us. Like the Pharisees in our gospel lesson, disciples of Jesus too often remember the bare bones of religious piety, but lose sight of the story giving meaning, direction and lifegiving power to their practices.

To forget our stories is to forget who we are and why we do the things we do. In Pierre Boulle’s book, Bridge over the River Kwai, a group of British soldiers under the command of Lt. Colonel Nicholson are taken prisoner by the Japanese during World War II and ordered to work on building a bridge across the River Kwai. In order to keep up the morale of his men under cruel and inhumane conditions of captivity, Nicholson orders them to take special care with their work. He directs them to build the best bridge possible to show the Japanese just how skilled and competent the British are and what the Japanese are up against. The bridge was to be a symbol of British power-an act of defiant resistance giving the captive soldiers a sense of purpose and dignity. But before long, Colonel Nicholson becomes enamored with his bridge, proud of the project-so much so that it consumes him. In the end, when British commandos show up to destroy the bridge, Nicholson joins with his Japanese captors to protect his bridge.

Colonel Nicholson forgot who he was. He forgot who his enemy was. He forgot why he was building his bridge. So, too, Moses knew that his people would be tempted to forget who they were, how they were called from slavery into freedom and the reason for which they were brought into the land of promise. He knew how easily commercial interests, national ambitions and the lust for dominance could subvert the Torah and empty it of its power to ensure justice and equity. Moses therefore admonishes Israel (and us) “neither to forget the things that your eyes have seen nor to let them slip from your mind all the days of your life.”  Deuteronomy 4:9

As “Christian” as America is alleged to be, a lot of American Christianity has little to do with Christ and a lot to do with political ideologies of hatred and exclusion. Much of what passes for Christianity in these United States manifests as a jumbled and conflicting collection of beliefs cobbled together from myths about American history, fundamentalist religion, convictions that God has providentially given this land to our European ancestors and divinely ordained its boundaries. Many American Christians insist that America’s constitution and declaration of independence are “divinely inspired.” Added to this slough of misguided notions is a toxic mix of fear, resentment and irrational hatred of foreigners, particularly those of color threatening to “poison the blood” of our nation. While these convictions are admittedly “extreme,” they are extremely common these days and, sadly, they have received a warm welcome by large sectors of a church that has forgotten its story.

Let us take care lest we forget where we came from. Let us take care that we do not forget the parable of the Good Samaritan, the parable of the Last Judgment, the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus. Let us take care lest we forget that we worship a savior who was executed by the state and spent his last hours with two criminals also with him on death row. Let us take care lest we forget that we follow the Lord who reached out to touch people nobody else would touch with a ten foot poll. Most important, let us not forget that it is not too late to remember. Let us not forget that as often as we do forget, our Lord continues to remind us who and whose we are, where we came from and where we are going.

Here is a poem by pastor, theologian, teacher and martyr Dietrich Bonhoeffer reflecting on the struggle of remembering who and whose one is.    

Who Am I?

Who am I? They often tell me
I would step from my cell’s confinement 
calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
like a squire from his country-house.

Who am I? They often tell me
I would talk to my warders
freely and friendly and clearly,
as though it were mine to command.

Who am I? They also tell me
I would bear the days of misfortune
equably, smilingly, proudly,
like one accustomed to win.

Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I know of myself,
restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat,
yearning for colours, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
thirsting for words of kindness, for neighbourliness,
trembling with anger at despotism and petty humiliation,
tossing in expectation of great events,
powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making, 
faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?

Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today, and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
and before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
fleeing in disorder from a victory already achieved?

Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, thou knowest, O God, I am thine.

Source: Letters and Papers from Prison, (c. 1953, 1967 and 1971 by SCM Press, Ltd.). Dietrich Bonhoeffer (1906-1945) was a German Lutheran pastor, theologian and anti-Nazi dissident. He was a key founding member of the Confessing Church which rejected the Reich’s effort to impose Nazi ideology into its teaching. His writings on Christianity’s role in the secular world have become widely influential. In addition to his many theological writings, Bonhoeffer was known for his staunch resistance to the Nazi dictatorship, including vocal opposition to Hitler’s euthanasia program and genocidal persecution of the Jews. He was arrested in April 1943 by the Gestapo and imprisoned at Tegel prison for one and a half years. He was transferred to Flossenbürg concentration camp. Bonhoeffer was accused of being associated with the plot to assassinate Adolf Hitler, tried along with other accused plotters and hanged on April 9, 1945.