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Message of Advent: Stay Woke!

December 3, 2024UncategorizedBible, christianity, faith, god, jesusrevolsen

SECOND SUNDAY OF ADVENT

Prayer of the Day: Stir up our hearts, Lord God, to prepare the way of your only Son. By his coming give to all the people of the world knowledge of your salvation; through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,
   for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them.
He has raised up a mighty savior for us
   in the house of his servant David,
as he spoke through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old,
   that we would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us.” Luke 1:68-71.

Prepare the way of the Lord,
   make his paths straight.
Every valley shall be filled,
   and every mountain and hill shall be made low,
and the crooked shall be made straight,
   and the rough ways made smooth;
and all flesh shall see the salvation of God. Luke 3:4-6.

“The messenger of the covenant in whom you delight—indeed, he is coming, says the Lord of hosts. But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?” Malachi 3:1-2.

Zechariah sings an encouraging song about a coming savior for Israel. This savior from the house of David will be “mighty.” He will demonstrate God’s favor toward God’s people, save them from the hands of their enemies and protect them from all who hate them. He will liberate them from the oppressive bureaucracy of empire, free them from crushing taxation and military occupation, all to the end that they “might serve [God] without fear, in holiness and righteousness before him all [their] days.” This sounds like a savior made to order. A strongman savior who will seal the border against the hoards of migrants seeking to invade our country and “poison our blood,” put the nation first over global competitors, destroy our “enemies” and give us the security for which we long.

The prophet Malachi, whose words are recited in our lesson from the Hebrew Scriptures, was one of those “holy prophets from of old” to which Zachariah refers. Luke 1:70. He, too, promises a savior for God’s people. But Malachi sounds a cautionary note. Do you really want the savior God would send? Are you ready for a savior whose salvation will begin with the rigorous cleansing of your own life and the idols to which you cling? Are you prepared to follow a savior who forsakes the power of arms and instead confronts evil and injustice with truthful speech and nonviolent resistance? Are you ready to stand with this savior who sides with the poor, the sinner and the outcast even to the point of going to the cross? Can you stand in the presence of the God who will ask you where you were and what you did when God’s beloved children were hungry, naked, homeless, refugees, persecuted and imprisoned? Yes, says Malachi, the mediator of God’s covenant will come. But are you ready for him? Do you really want him to come? When you pray, “Come Lord Jesus,” do you really know what you are asking?

The gospel lessons from the last two Sundays have given us what seem to be grim news. They were filled with images of war, ecological destruction, social unrest and cosmic disturbances. But perhaps these images are grim only because they threaten to undo the status quo, the established order, the patterns of regularity that most of us who have to leisure to read articles like this find comforting. For most of the world, the established order has not been particularly kind. Peoples all over the world who have been victims of colonialization, exploitation and crushing poverty now find themselves the primary victims of climate change, a crisis for which they are the least responsible. The United Nations, for all the good it does, nevertheless serves to ensure the continued dominance and control of the wealthiest and best armed nations of the world at the expense of the rest. Many of us who enjoy the fruits of prosperity and opportunity this country offers do so at the price of the enslavement, exploitation and ongoing discrimination experienced by Black Americans. For all “those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,” the break up of the old order, the erosion of its foundations and the signs of its imminent collapse look less like the end of the world than the prelude to a new age. Luke 1:79.

In north America and Europe, Christianity has served historically as the religion of the wealthy, the powerful and the conqueror. The empires, kingdoms and nation states under which it thrived throughout much of its history gave it a position of privilege, power and prestige. In return, the church’s art, teaching, liturgy and practices lent legitimacy and support to the governments under which it lived, honoring their leaders, blessing their wars and condemning all who dared criticize them. The church served as the arbiter and enforcer of morality for the dominant class, sanctifying their possession of wealth, monopoly on power and exercise of violence against those deemed a threat to the existing order. Defending the status quo is our natural reflex when threatened. Even those of us who identify as “progressive” find ourselves working to make the existing order more just, more equitable and more humane rather than entertaining its replacement.

That, however, is not where the church began. The community called church grew out of discipleship to a marginalized person within a marginalized community in the backwaters of the Roman Empire. The early church worshiped as the Son of God a child born out of wedlock to a homeless couple in a stable who were refugees from political violence seeking sanctuary in a foreign country. The one Christians called messiah was cruelly executed by the state under color of law. The New Testament church was a diverse collection of small communities made up of individuals from all walks of life, including outcasts and misfits. It had no legal standing, no representation in the imperial bureaucracy and no societal influence. When the early church had dealings with the Empire, they were not friendly. The Book of Revelation reveals a church experiencing the full weight of oppression under the established world order and could see a better hope only beyond its dissolution. The new heaven and the new earth, according to John of Patmos, would come through revolution, not evolution.

The church’s chief problem is that it has been struggling for centuries to pound the square peg of God’s good news for the poor into the round hole of state religion. The fit has never been right. We have had to downplay the life and teachings of Jesus in order to justify state violence, individual accumulation of wealth, inequality and indifference to human well being, all in the interest of legitimizing, rationalizing and defending our patron states, their institutions and their social orders. Perhaps the greatest miracle of all time is the fact that the gospel of Jesus Christ survived at all-in spite of us. The great theologian, preacher and martyr, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, found a meaningful and formative witness to that gospel in America, not in the halls of Union Seminary where he studied, but in the preaching of the Black churches of Harlem. Among the cruelly colonized people of Central and South America we have seen the birth of liberation theology focused on the life, teaching and practices of Jesus. Remarkably, these preachers and teachers understood Jesus and the reign of God he proclaims far better than the conquerors who sought to impose it on them. The church, it seems, is most at home on the margins among the poor, the oppressed and excluded.

Liberation theologians have often referred to God’s “preferential option for the poor” as the starting point for reflecting on the meaning of the gospel. That rubs a lot of folks the wrong way. “Do you mean to tell me, pastor, that God doesn’t care about people who aren’t poor?” That from a woman in a congregation I once served. The answer is, “no.” God loves all people, rich and poor alike. God means to redeem all people, rich and poor alike. But for those of us who are not poor, persecuted or outcast, salvation takes a different shape. For us, salvation means liberation from our lust for dominance and control, our addiction to wealth and privilege, our captivity to the cycles of revenge and retribution, our allegiance to the idols of nation, race, blood and soil. These are the sins that harden our hearts, turn us against one another and distort the image of God within us. Thus, the liberation of the poor from injustice and oppression will be our salvation as well. Seeking to see the world through the eyes of the poor is perhaps the best way for the likes of us to “stay awake” (dare I say wok?) for signs of the coming reign of God.

Here is a poem by Harriet Beecher Stowe speaking to the new creation lying hidden in the old.

Think Not all is Over

Think not, when the wailing winds of autumn

Drive the shivering leaflets from the tree,—

Think not all is over: spring returneth,

Buds and leaves and blossoms thou shalt see.

Think not, when the earth lies cold and sealed,

And the weary birds above her mourn,—

Think not all is over: God still liveth,

Songs and sunshine shall again return.

Think not, when thy heart is waste and dreary,

When thy cherished hopes lie chill and sere,—

Think not all is over: God still loveth,

He will wipe away thy every tear.

Weeping for a night alone endureth,

God at last shall bring a morning hour;

In the frozen buds of every winter

Sleep the blossoms of a future flower.

Source: This poem is in the public domain. Harriet Elisabeth Beecher Stowe (1811–1896) was an American author and abolitionist. She was born in Litchfield, Connecticut, one of 11 children. Her father was the outspoken Calvinist preacher Lyman Beecher. Harriet enrolled in the Hartford Female Seminary run by her older sister Catharine. There she received a traditional academic education with a focus in the classics, languages and mathematics. In 1832, Harriet moved to Cincinnati, Ohio. Cincinnati’s trade and shipping business on the Ohio River drew numerous migrants from different parts of the country, including many escaped slaves and the bounty hunters seeking them. At about this time, Lane Theological Seminary opened to students who in 1834 organized a series of debates about slavery. The students voted overwhelmingly that slavery should end immediately. Harriet was present at many of these encounters and was heavily influenced by them. In 1836 she met and married Rev. Calvin Ellis Stowe, a widower who was a professor of Biblical Literature at the seminary. The Stowes were fierce critics of slavery and supported the Underground Railroad, temporarily housing several fugitive slaves in their home.

In 1851 Harriot wrote the first installment of what was to become her most famous and influential work, Uncle Tom’s Cabin. The book was first published in serial form in the newspaper The National Era and later in book form. You can read more about Harriot Beecher Stowe and sample more of her poetry at the Poetry Foundation Website.

How to Live When the Sky is Falling

November 25, 2024Uncategorizedrevolsen

FIRST SUNDAY IN ADVENT

Jeremiah 33:14-16

Psalm 25:1-10

1 Thessalonians 3:9-13

Luke 21:25-36

Prayer of the Day: Stir up your power, Lord Christ, and come. By your merciful protection alert us to the threatening dangers of our sins, and redeem us for your life of justice, for you live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” Luke 21:28.

“These things” about which Jesus speaks include “on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves.” Thousands living throughout the southern United States can relate directly to that. This last September Hurricane Helene hit Florida with 140 mph winds, torrential rains and was accompanied by a record storm surge inundating Tampa Bay. Of course, storms have been with us from the dawn of time. Still, the increasing number and severity of hurricanes are reminders of a larger looming crisis of global proportions. The steady warming of our planet, due in large part to increased human generated carbon emissions, has resulted in rising sea levels, more extreme weather events, disrupted ecosystems, reduced biodiversity, food insecurity, water scarcity and potential mass migration from areas of the world that will soon be unable to sustain their populations.

Our responses to these effects of climate change run the gamut. Some of us are angry over the destruction of our planet and the consumptive economy that continues to drive it. Some of us are overwhelmed with the complexities and difficulties involved in addressing the issue. Some of us are in a state of despair, convinced the destructive forces unleashed by our exploitive behavior are already beyond prevention or mitigation. Some of us are in denial, refusing to believe that there really is a threat to our global environment. “Distress among nations,” “fear,” “foreboding of what is coming upon the world.” That seems to fit the description of our time.

In times like these, the wise keep their heads low, maintain a subdued profile and hunker down. But Jesus tells his disciples to “stand up and raise your heads.” What can be the rationale for such an irrational response? Just this: “your redemption is drawing near.” That was hardly evident in the first century when the Romans were sacking Jerusalem, burning its temple and erecting a virtual forest of crosses bearing writhing victims. It is no more evident in the twenty-first century as we face not only a global climate crisis, but also the demise of democratic institutions worldwide and the rising threat of catastrophic world wars. Nevertheless, says Jesus, there are signs of the inbreaking of God’s just and gentle reign to be seen for those looking for them.

Jesus tells a parable of trees budding in early spring to make his point. The seasons change no matter who is in power, which nations are on the ascendence and regardless the legislation passed by governments. Like the onset of Spring, so the reign of God comes with or without human involvement. We cannot make it come any sooner, nor can we finally stand in its way. That is liberating news. Establishing the the reign of God is not our responsibility. It is a slow process involving infinite patience and infinite time that only God possesses. Redemption is a long game-too long for any one lifetime or the lifespan of any nation. An impatient humanity has done a good deal of harm to the world by its misguided efforts to establish the reign of God-or some secular version of it. The classless society; the thousand year Reich; “civilization” of “primitive” societies; manifest destiny-what is all of that but an effort to impose God’s reign (or some twisted secular facsimile) on a world that is not yet ready for it. Such efforts, born of our insufferable impatience, invariably end in violence and injustice.

To an anxious and impatient people, the Advent message is this: wait. That does not come easily. We have grown used to having the answers and information we want at a keystroke. The latest news pops up on our smart phones. The state of the markets appears in real time at the lower corner of our computer screens. Weather forecasts for every time zone and locale can be found online twenty-four/seven. Every household product, food item and digital doohickey can be ordered from Amazon and delivered within a day. We are a people used to getting what we want when we want it. Jesus tells us, however, that God moves at God’s own leisurely pace. God’s kingdom will come when God is good and ready for it to come, not a moment sooner. And there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it.

None of this should be taken to mean that what we do does not matter or that human agency is nonexistent. The way we live matters precisely because God uses our actions, small and inconsequential as they might appear to us, in forming God’s new creation. Our faithful action is never simply our own. God’s Spirit works “in, with and under” what we do to accomplish God’s own purposes. For that reason, our small acts might turn out to be more consequential than we could have imagined. How do you know that the refugee child you sponsor will not someday discover the vaccine for AIDS? How do you know that teenager you befriended and mentored might otherwise have turned to violence against his classmates in loneliness and despair? The reality is that we will all die, leaving behind a lot of unfinished business, loose ends and unmet goals. But, as Saint Paul reminds us, “the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians 1:6. Or, as a rabbi preaching at an interfaith Thanksgiving service reminded me today, “we cannot expect to finish the great work of saving our planet, but we cannot abandon it either.”

Though the arrival of Spring is inevitable, the blossoms acting as its harbingers are fragile signs. Like the grass of the field, they are destined to wither and fade. So, too, the signs of God’s coming gentle reign are delicate, vulnerable and subject to damage, loss and reversal. The hard won civil rights achieved under the leadership of Martin Luther King, Jr., Ceasar Chavez and John Lewis have sadly been reduced and undermined by a hostile Supreme Court. The progress made in this country toward reducing dependency on fossil fuel is likely to be reversed by the incoming Trump administration. The church in which I was baptized and grew up, a lively and vibrant center of ministry, closed its doors a few years ago. Nevertheless, though the blossoms fade, Spring is still bound to come. With that assurance, I lift up my head and look to the eastern horizon with hope, dark though the sky seems to be at the moment. I continue to do my daily work of care giving, pick up the plastic bottles I find as I walk on the beach, make my communion visits and write articles like this. None of this is likely to change the world, but I do it just the same, offering it up for whatever use it might be to the One who makes all things new.

Here is a poem by Keith Leonard speaking about what it looks like to do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with God-in small but faithful ways that are signs pointing beyond themselves.

Boléro

From the kitchen, I catch the neighbor

cross the street to switch off my car’s interior lights.

He returns to his house without announcing the favor.

For the last three years, a friend has woken early

and walked the beach, combing for bottle caps

and frayed fishing line. She mentions this

only casually at lunch, after I’ve asked

what she did that morning.

Care has a quiet soundtrack: the sycamore’s

rustling leaves, your nails tracing my shoulder blades.

A melody that repeats—a bit like Ravel’s Boléro.

When it was first performed, a woman shouted,

Rubbish! from the balcony. She called Ravel

a madman. I think I understand. I wish I didn’t.

I’ve been taught that art must have conflict,

that reason must meet resistance.

Source: Poetry (December 2023) Keith Leonard is the author of Ramshackle Ode (c. 2016; pub. by Ecco/Harpercollins). He has been awarded grants from the Sustainable Arts Foundation, the Greater Columbus Arts Council and the Ohio Arts Council. He has been awarded fellowships to the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, the Sewanee Writers’ Conference and Indiana University where he earned an MFA. Leonard’s recent poems can be found in Poetry, American Poetry Review, the Believer and elsewhere. He lives in Worthington, Ohio. You can sample more of Kieth Leonard’s poems at the Poetry Foundation website.

Christ the King and the Religion of America

November 18, 2024UncategorizedBible, christianity, Church, faith, jesusrevolsen

SUNDAY OF CHRIST THE KING

Prayer of the Day: Almighty and ever-living God, you anointed your beloved Son to be priest and sovereign forever. Grant that all the people of the earth, now divided by the power of sin, may be united by the glorious and gentle rule of Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“Jesus answered, ‘My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.’” John 18:36.

The celebration of Christ the King on the last Sunday of the church year is a relatively new addition to the liturgical calendar. It was instituted in 1925 by Pope Pius XI in response to what he characterized as growing secularism. The old monarchies governing Europe had been dissolved or relegated to mere ceremonial functions by this time. Power and governance had passed to the modern nation state. As Pius saw it, the new order was turning into a breeding ground for dangerous and dehumanizing ideologies elevating loyalty to the nation state and its rulers over all other claims. This exaltation of the nation state amounted to idolatry in his view, constituting a threat both to Christian faith and human worth and dignity. Sadly, the horrific events that unfolded in the following decades proved him right. Sadder still is our generation’s failure to learn from this history the dark places to which nationalistic idolatry invariably leads. Saddest of all is the American church’s failure to address the godless ideology of nationalism as it rears its ugly head once again, not only within our nation, but within the very heart of our congregations.

My first encounter with Christian nationalism did not come from the far right. It occurred within what I would characterize as a moderately liberal congregation in my progressive Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA). I was serving then as the assistant to the pastor. One Sunday I arrived with my alb and stole ready to serve as liturgist to the presiding senior pastor, who informed me that this Sunday had been designated Girl Scout Sunday. I was to introduce the scout leaders and offer up a short prayer, after which a troop of young girl scouts would march up bearing the flag of the United States. The flag would be posted in front of the altar and the scouts were to lead the congregation in the Pledge of Allegiance. I have to tell you that, on a scale of conflict avoidance from one to ten, I am a fifteen. I am very much inclined to go along to get along. But I just could not bring myself to take part in this ritual.

Needless to say, the senior pastor was more than a little upset with me. He pointed out that I could have given him notice weeks in advance if I had a problem taking part in Girl Scout Sunday. He was probably right about that. At the time, I was practicing law full time while serving as assistant pastor. I didn’t always pay close attention to the church calendar and that was on me. He also felt that I was being unreasonable, that the Girl Scouts served an important role in providing community, support and activities for young girls. He pointed out that they were partners in teaching many of the civic and moral values we also hold dear. This was an opportunity for us to engage with the larger community, show our support for an organization supportive of young girls and welcome and include in our worship many children who would never have had any contact with the church before. There was no hint of right wing jingoism in any of this. My senior pastor’s arguments were all ones to warm the cockles of a progressive’s heart. So, why not just hold my nose and do it?

To make a long story short, I held my ground. The senior pastor took over the role I was supposed to play during the first half of the service while I remained in the sacristy. I joined the service later to assist with communion. You might think me unreasonably stubborn to make such a fuss about a benign ceremony for children. Would I really want to spoil these girls’ experience for the sake of making an abstract theological point? To be clear, I do have a stubborn streak and there have been times when I have dug my heels in when I ought to have compromised. That said, this was one stand I do not regret having taken. I say that because I believe the places in which we worship are holy ground. It matters which objects we place in front of the altar, which symbols we absorb into our worship and who and what we worship and venerate. We gather on the Lord’s day to worship the Triune God, not to venerate the state. We confess our faith in that God by reciting the ecumenical creeds, not by pledging allegiance to the state. The “we” gathered about the altar to receive the Body and Blood of Christ are not gathered as fellow Americans. We are gathered as members of the one, holy, catholic and apostolic church which recognizes no singular nation “under God.” To the contrary, we believe “God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.” Acts 10:35. There is no reconciling the God and Father of Jesus Christ confessed in the creeds and the patron deity of the United States.

I tell this story because there is much talk these days about Christian Nationalism, particularly as it pertains to conservative white evangelicalism. I have had a lot to say about it myself. However, it is important (and only fair) to recognize that the Christian right is not the sole propagator of this heresy. The religion of nationalism is deeply imbedded in the DNA of nearly all American Christianity. Enter the sanctuary of any church, protestant or catholic, liberal or conservative and the chances are very high that you will find there, usually on the same level as the altar, an American flag with its evil twin, the red, white and blue so-called “Christian flag” facing opposite. Christian clergy, including yours truly, routinely offer benedictions, prayers and blessings for celebrations of America’s wars and its casualties. Christian churches in this country provide chaplains to soldiers and sailors who, in addition to their ordination vows, swear allegiance to the armed forces. Although the United States has never had a state sponsored church with an official religion, it is itself a religion that imposes itself into the heart of congregations in numerous ways that we have come to consider part and parcel of what it means to be Christian. Thus, when we point the Christian nationalist finger at conservative evangelicals, we need to acknowledge the three pointing back at ourselves.

Perhaps we need to take a step back and question some basic assumptions typically made about states and statehood. The modern nation state is, well, modern. It has been with us only for the last couple of centuries which, in the grand historical scheme of things, is rather brief. We Americans assume, however, that constitutional democratic republics are on the precipice of a social evolutionary path from the darkness of tribalism, tyranny and autocracy. But in truth, constitutions have been as much an ally of tyranny as an opponent. The United States Constitution has been employed to uphold slavery, enable Jim Crow and legalize the dispossession of indigenous American tribal communities. The same constitution that for fifty years guaranteed bodily integrity to women is now interpreted, without amendment, to guarantee nothing of the kind. If the constitution means whatever the current make-up of the supreme court says it means with no deference to precedent, it doesn’t guarantee anything to anyone.

Faith in democracy is likewise dubious. The Union County Courthouse in Elizabeth, New Jersey, a venue I frequented in the days when I still practiced law, bears on its stone façade the Latin phrase, “Vox populi, vox dei.” Translated, it means “the voice of the people is the voice of God.” That sentiment is not born out in scripture or history. In the Bible, the voice of the people demanded a king against the advice of God’s prophet Samuel. They got their wish-along with some dire consequences. The voice of the people acclaimed the false promises of the prophet Hananiah rather than the dire warnings of the prophet Jeremiah. That did not go well. The voice of the people demanded Barabbas instead of Jesus. Historically, democracies have shown themselves quite capable of voting themselves out of existence. In short, constitutional democracies are only as sound as the wisdom, fairness, integrity and compassion of the persons they govern. Absent these virtues, democracy is simply mob rule.

I am not suggesting we abandon democracy or give up on the rule of law. I am certainly not recommending autocracy. I believe, however, that the degeneration of our civil discourse, indifference to injustice and the paralysis of our government are attributable in large part to a near divinization of the state. Politics has become the new religion and our political campaigns have become holy wars. Rather than a deliberative pursuit of the common good through reasoned argument, debate and compromise, it has become a zero sum game, a contest between good and evil. Our churches have contributed to this trend by internalizing and sanctifying American mythology into our hymnody, teaching and practice. The gospel of Jesus Christ has been conflated with the American dream, manifest destiny and national exceptionalism. The narratives glorifying American wars, justifying its ruthless conquest of indiginous cultures and the exploitation of their lands have become comingled with the history of Israel’s conquest of Canaan and the martyrdom of the saints. We have made of our nation an idol which, like all idols, eventually demands a blood sacrifice, the offering of what is most precious to us. And like all idols, it fails to deliver on all of its grandiose promises.

The lessons for Christ the King Sunday pass judgment on nationalism of all kinds. The crowd of five thousand would have crowned Jesus king after he fed them. Jesus would not have it. Neither will he let Pilate pin that label on him. His kingdom, he tells us, “is not of this world.” That does not mean it is not in this world or that it exists only “way beyond the blue.” It does mean that God’s reign will not come through the instrumentality of government or the practice of politics. That is precisely why Jesus would not accept the devil’s offer to place in his hands the authority of all the world’s kingdoms. Such power is of no use in building the new creation God longs to give us. God has no interest being the sort of king the crowd desires or that Pilate imagines. God will not impose God’s reign by means of military power or political authority. God will reign through love, or not at all.

Does this mean that government is evil or that politics is inherently sinful? No. When government is not idolized, when politics is not seen as the tool for banishing evil, destroying perceived enemies or building what we imagine to be the ideal society it loses its toxicity. When the political process is understood as the means by which we corporately work together to love our neighbors and care for the most vulnerable among us, then it can be a blessing, like all of God’s good gifts. Politics cannot give us a new heaven and a new earth, but it can help us build a framework under which common ground is found and the common good pursued. It cannot reconcile all of our conflicts, but it can create forums where conflicts that might otherwise lead to violence can be mediated. Politics can curb the most destructive human instincts and make space for the breaking in of God’s reign of justice, peace and reconciliation. It can hold society together until God’s reign comes in its fullness. For that reason, it deserves our attention and participation.

To acknowledge that God alone is truly sovereign, that the earth is the Lord’s and everything in it, that nations, our own included, are but a drop in the bucket and that humanly constructed systems of authority and governance are merely provisional liberates us from bondage to the destructive and hateful ideologies that make gods of nation, race, blood and soil. To acknowledge Jesus Christ as king frees politics to become merely politics once again.

Here is a poem by Ha Jin addressing the idolatry of nationalism.

All You Have is a Country

You are so poor that all you have is a country.

Whenever you open your mouth

you talk about the country

to which you can no longer return.

China is a giant shield that you use

to conceal your cowardice and to preempt

the onslaught of duties and hardships.

You dare not take these as your rights:

the warm sunlight, clean water, fresh air,

a happy mood for an ordinary day.

As long as you live, you want to grieve

for the fairy tale of patriotism.

You dare not take a country as a watchdog—

a good dog wags its tail to please its master,

becomes fierce in deterring burglars;

a bad dog ignores invaders

and only bites and barks at its master.

You dare not clasp the dog’s ear,

telling it, “You won’t have food

if you continue to misbehave like this.”

Actually, you are merely a grain of rice

that fell through China’s teeth,

but you treat it as your god,

your universe, and the source

of your suffering and happiness.

Source: A Distant Center (c. 2018 by Ha Jin; pub. by Copper Canyon Press). Jin Xuefei (b. 1956) is a Chinese-American poet and novelist. He publishes under the pen name Ha Jin. He was born in Liaoning, China and grew up in the chaos of early communist China. At thirteen, Jin joined the People’s Liberation Army during the Cultural Revolution. He left the army when he was nineteen and entered Heilongjiang University. There he earned a bachelor’s degree in English studies. Thereafter he earned a master’s degree in Anglo -American literature at Shandong University. He was on a scholarship at Brandeis University when the 1989 Tiananmen Square protests and massacre occurred. Jin emigrated to the United States thereafter. He currently teaches at Boston University in Boston, Massachusetts. Prior to that he taught at Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia. You can read more about Ha Jin and sample more of his poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.

Trump and Tribulation

November 12, 2024Uncategorizedrevolsen

TWENTY-SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Prayer of the Day: Almighty God, your sovereign purpose brings salvation to birth. Give us faith to be steadfast amid the tumults of this world, trusting that your kingdom comes and your will is done through your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.” Mark 13:7-8.

It was back in the Fall of 1982, my first year of parish ministry, that a parishioner asked me whether I thought the events foretold by Jesus in today’s gospel were taking place today. Then, as now, there were potential and actual military conflicts on the horizon, natural disasters occurring and talk of the “end times” among popular media preachers. I responded in the affirmative then. Forty years later, my response is the same. People in Gaza, Haiti and South Sudan are caught in the clash of military conflicts and civil strife. Famine threatens the Horn of Africa. The effects of global warming are having injurious effects on the health and safety of millions. In all of those places the church is present and disciples of Jesus are witnessing in word and deed to God’s love for the world and God’s determination to redeem it. What many “end times” preachers refer to as the “great tribulation” is not a prediction of distant future events. The tribulation has always been among us. Black youths who experience police violence, indigenous peoples robbed of their land, their culture and sometimes their children, LGBTQ+ folk and their families facing judicial obliteration of their hard won rights and undocumented families fearing deportation and separation know well the nearness of the great tribulation. Only those of us privileged to have been born white, American/Northern European and reasonably well off perceive it as remote.

I am guessing that most of you reading this article share my dismay at the outcome of last Tuesday’s election. I spent a good deal of Wednesday in a blue funk wondering how a majority of my fellow Americans could imagine that a six time bankrupt could be the best manager for the national economy, how a convicted felon could be trusted to instill law and order, how a sexual predator could be trusted to “protect women.” I felt the urge to draw back the curtains, crawl back into bed and curl up into a fetal position. I’m past that now. If you are still there, I have just four words for you: Snap out of it.

Jesus never promised his disciples a rose garden. He challenged them to take up the cross for the sake of God’s just and gentle reign. He calls us to stand with him among the poor, naked, strangers, imprisoned and sick. That entails facing tribulation head on. Saint Peter would say to us, as he did to the first century believers in Asia Minor, “[b]eloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that is taking place among you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you.” I Peter 4:12. Dealing with set backs, defeats and hostility are occupational hazards of discipleship. So, let’s put on our grown-up pants and, as one of my mentors was fond of saying, “get to gitten.” We are not yet dodging bullets, facing arrest or struggling to care for injured children in a war zone with inadequate supplies-as are many faithful in many parts of the world, who are seeing the great tribulation up close and personal.

That said, it seems that the tribulation has drawn a good bit closer. It remains to be seen how much of Donald Trump’s bellicose rhetoric is hot air and how much will translate into violent and repressive policies. In the meantime, we can hope for the best and be prepared for the worst. How can I possibly hope for the best? Because I believe in the power of the Holy Spirit to melt the hardest of hearts. I believe that there is hidden in every historical transaction a “God factor” that can turn events in surprising and unanticipated directions. Prayer enables us to enter into that divine struggle and open our hearts and minds to the Holy Spirit’s transformative power. I believe that human agency is real and that what we do, fail to do or refrain from doing makes a difference. So, in the words of our second lesson from the Letter to the Hebrews, “[l]et us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful.” Hebrews 10:23.

Equally as well, I believe that disciples of Jesus in these United States need to be prepared for the use of government power to impose the worst acts of oppression, bigotry, racial hate, homophobia, misogyny and xenophobia we have seen in over a century against the most vulnerable among us. To that end, our ELCA bishops need to put teeth into our sanctuary guidelines by urging congregations to move forward with and supporting their pastors in implementing outreach to migrants, networking with sibling congregations, faith communities, advocacy groups and other agencies providing housing, sustenance and legal support for immigrants. There is also an urgent need for training in non-violent resistance, a must for confronting directly a massive deportation effort threatened by the incoming Trump administration. Bishops should be consulting with and referring their congregations to the many organizations and persons skilled and experienced in these techniques-like yesterday. In short, dear bishops, what you wish the Lutheran Church in Germany had done in the 1930s, do now.

Those of us who pastor congregations need to speak the truth about the Republican Party clearly, unequivocally and without apology. No doubt there will be objections that we are being “political” and “partisan.” But this is not about politics. We can disagree in good faith over what needs to be done to fix our broken immigration system and manage our border. But when it comes to splitting up families, spewing lies about racial minorities and referring to immigrants as “vermin” who “poison the blood” of our nation, there is nothing to discuss. From a Christian perspective, politics are the means by which we love our neighbors-whether white, black or brown, whether gay, straight or nonbinary, whether documented or not. Politicized hate is not legitimate politics. It is simply terrorism and state sponsored violence the likes of which organizations like the KKK, Proud Boys and Aryan Nations routinely advocate and employ. By any metric you can devise, the Republican Party is a hate group every bit as much as the aforementioned. We need to say so to our members. And to those support Donald Trump, we need to say “Look, you are no doubt good people. You are loved by God and a treasured part of our community. But whether through ignorance, indifference or malice, you are participating in a terrible, hurtful and destructive movement with a hateful political organization. For that you should be ashamed. You need to repent of your sin before it devours you.” That our churches and their leaders have too seldom spoken this truth is, I believe, a failure of prophetic nerve.

More important, however, than anything bishops and pastors can do is for each one of us to speak up, stand up and testify in our own daily lives against hatred and in defense of the most vulnerable among us. That is how change happens. We need to be speaking up at family barbeques, beauty parlors, bowling alleys, mall walking clubs, Bible studies, book clubs and wherever we find ourselves situated. You never know where the opportunity will pop up to push, however incrementally, a seemingly closed mind in a new direction. You never know whether your words will embolden someone else, who thought they were all alone, to speak up as well. You never can tell when children or impressionable young people might be watching, wondering whether the MAGA loudmouth in the room speaks for the whole adult world. You might be the one whose speech opens the ears of a young gay, lesbian or non-binary person, who has heard from the church only words of judgment and condemnation, to hear a good word of love, acceptance and hope from Jesus. So speak, even if your voice is shaking, even when you are struggling to find the right words, even when it seems unlikely that speaking up will make a difference. Trust me-or rather, trust Jesus. It will.

I do worry that the American church has become so accustomed to being the nation’s chaplain that we cannot imagine our existence apart from that role. I worry that our faith has become so symbiotically bound up with patriotism and American values that we cannot imagine ourselves as a countercultural community. I worry that we sometimes wade so deep into the political fray as to get lost in the weeds and forget that our job is not to reform America, save democracy or elect the candidate we believe capable of performing these tasks. Our loyalty is-or should be-to the reign of God before all else and to the exclusion of every loyalty demanding of us attitudes, actions and commitments contrary to that reign. Nations like ours, as the prophet Isaiah reminds us, are a “drop in the bucket.” Isaiah 40:15. As the grand old hymn reminds us, “crowns and thrones shall parish; kingdoms wax and wane.” Democrats might be fretting over how they need to reformulate, reshape and repackage their message to do better in the next election. For the church of Jesus Christ, the message remains the same and let polls, focus groups and election results be damned.

There is some good news in Sunday’s otherwise dark gospel lesson. Jesus tells us that the tribulation we are experiencing is not the death throes of all God has made. Rather, it is the birth pangs of new creation. To be clear, I do not believe for one moment that God wills wars, famines or earthquakes. But I do believe that God takes whatever we and the world throw at God and turns it toward God’s own redemptive intent. It has been said that the arc of the universe bends toward justice. If that is true, then that arc is imperceptibly gradual. It appears to me that the way of the universe is a disjointed path along which we crawl forward and get thrown back repeatedly. Progress is ephemeral and likely to evaporate at any point. That God is leading the universe to its end in God is not evident in the ebb and flow of history. It is only glimpsed in Jesus’ resurrection. Faith in the Resurrection is the only way to make sense of a people who persist in putting their trust in God and loving their neighbors, enemies included, in a world so thoroughly hostile to God and infected with hate. Disciples are the people who forgive whether forgiveness is requested or not. They are the people who care for the planet, speak up for its most vulnerable residents and bring healing to its deepest wounds-even when their efforts appear too feeble, too late, ineffective and hopeless. Yes, it’s dark out there with no sign of dawn anytime soon. But God does some of God’s best work in the dark. After all, nothing is darker than a tomb.

Here is a poem by Arthur Hugh Clough calling for faithful and persistent struggle for the good, not unlike Jesus’ call for endurance in the midst of tribulation.

Say not the Struggle nought Availeth

Say not the struggle nought availeth,

The labour and the wounds are vain,

The enemy faints not, nor faileth,

And as things have been they remain.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;

It may be, in yon smoke concealed,

Your comrades chase e’en now the fliers,

And, but for you, possess the field.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking

Seem here no painful inch to gain,

Far back through creeks and inlets making,

Comes silent, flooding in, the main.

And not by eastern windows only,

When daylight comes, comes in the light,

In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly,

But westward, look, the land is bright.

Source: This poem is in the public domain. Arthur Hugh Clough (1819-1861) was an English poet, an educationalist and an assistant to Florence Nightingale. He was the brother of suffragist Anne Clough and father of Blanche Athena Clough, who both became principals of Newnham College, Cambridge. Clough was born in Liverpool, England, but his family moved to the United States in 1822. Clough’s early childhood was spent mainly in Charleston, South Carolina. In 1837 he won a scholarship to Balliol College, Oxford. Thereafter, he won a fellowship with a tutorship at Oriel College, but resigned in 1848 because he was unwilling to teach the doctrines of the Church of England as required. He traveled to Europe where he witnessed the revolutionary movements of the time which, in turn, inspired several of his poems. In 1852 he traveled to Cambridge, Massachusetts where he lectured for several months. He returned to London in 1853 where he worked as an unpaid secretarial assistant to Florence Nightengale, his wife’s cousin. In 1860, his health began to fail, but despite this turn of events, he took an extended tour of travel throughout Europe during which he wrote several of his longest poems. He died in Florence in 1861, having contracted malaria in Switzerland. You can read more about Arthur Hugh Clough and sample more of his poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.

The Myth of Scarcity

November 4, 2024Uncategorizedabundance, Bible, faith, god, jesusrevolsen

TWENTY-FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Prayer of the Day: O God, you show forth your almighty power chiefly by reaching out to us in mercy. Grant us the fullness of your grace, strengthen our trust in your promises, and bring all the world to share in the treasures that come through your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“The jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord that he spoke by Elijah.” I Kings 17:16.

Elijah was a criminal on the run and wanted by the authorities in Samaria. He had just crossed the border into Sidon. She was a helpless widow with a child on the brink of starvation. Just a jar of cooking oil and a little flour between them. If Fox News were to finish this story, it would no doubt end in the illegal immigrant with a criminal record murdering the woman and her son, taking their meager share of bread and eating their dog for good measure. Moral of the story: Sidon should have had a border wall.

That is not the biblical story, however. Instead, the prophet on the lam requests help of the widow, promising that there will be enough bread for all three, woman, child and prophet. The woman trusts the word of the prophet and makes him a loaf of bread. Contrary to expectation, it turns out that there is bread not only for the day, but for many days to come. Here, as in the gospel lesson where another widow contributes out of her poverty, the scriptures testify that generosity knows no limits. It is not deterred by race, national boundaries, religious distinctions or class differences. Just as importantly, it is not limited by perceptions of scarcity.

The myth of scarcity animates much of our culture, religion and politics these days. Something deep inside is always whispering to us, warning us that there is not enough to go around. God’s love is not great enough to embrace people outside your faith community. The world is a shrinking pie and if you don’t get your share now, there won’t be anything left. So you had better shore up those border walls to make sure nobody else takes any of those diminishing American jobs, land and benefits to which you are entitled. Better cut taxes to eliminate social programs benefiting the most vulnerable among us to make sure there is enough for your own proverbial “kitchen table.” Better think twice about your giving to the church and its ministries because who knows how high rent, mortgage rates and the price of eggs will be in the coming year. And if some illegal comes to your door begging for bread, you had better slam it in his face and call ICE.

I have labeled this outlook a myth because it is just that. Again and again, Jesus demonstrates that there is always enough to share, even when you are down to your last few loaves of bread and fish. God will provide. God always has provided. As grievously as we have abused this earth, it is still capable of satisfying everyone’s need (though not everyone’s greed!). There is plenty of opportunity for all who seek sanctuary in our land. The best of our American traditions has always recognized this truth. Witness poet Emma Lazarus’ words engraved at the base of the Statue of Liberty:

“Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

More importantly, there are plenty of resources and lots of potential for improving life in the nations from which people feel compelled to flee. The Marshall Plan of 1947, which rebuilt Western Europe following the second world war, demonstrates what can be done where there is political will and strong, determined leadership to implement it. Scarcity is the devil’s lie. It is as old as the Garden of Eden. God can’t be trusted to provide. God cannot be trusted to be your shelter. God cannot be trusted to be your sure defense. Everyone outside your circle is out to get you, take away what you have and leave you with nothing. Nobody is going to take care of you but you.

To the mind twisted by the myth of scarcity, the actions of the women in our lessons for this Sunday appear foolish, dangerous and irrational. The myth of scarcity lends credibility to claims that immigrants are pet eating psychopaths released into our country from prisons and insane asylums. It lends credibility to claims that a vague, shadowy “deep state” is plotting to rob you of your guns, destroy your religion and change the sex of your school age children. It makes believable mad ravings about some “enemy from within” embedded in your family, lurking among your neighbors and hiding in your community bent on taking your country away from you. The myth of scarcity breeds fear and fear makes you stupid. But to the mind of Christ dwelling in people like the two biblical women, generosity is the only rational response to a neighbor in need-any neighbor of any racial, cultural, national origin with or without the right paper work and on this or the opposite side of any border. Generous people know that when you place what you have in the service of Jesus, however small and inadequate it might seem, it can accomplish more than can be imagined. God will provide.

Here is a poem by Luci Tapahonso that celebrates the giftedness of diversity in nature and humanity, calling for the response of limitless generosity and gratitude. Though grounded in Navaho faith and tradition, it parallels the biblical testimony to generosity as the foundational principle of creation.

A Blessing

For the graduates of the University of Arizona.

This morning we gather in gratitude for all aspects of sacredness:

the air, the warmth of fire, bodies of water, plants, the land,

and all animals and humankind.

We gather to honor our students who have achieved the extraordinary

accomplishment of earning doctoral or master’s degrees.

We gather to honor their parents, grandparents, children,

family members, and friends who have traveled with them

on their path to success. They have traveled far distances to be here

this morning: we honor their devotion.

May we remember that holiness exists in the ordinary elements of our lives.

We are grateful for a homeland that has always thrived

on a glorious array of people and their diverse cultures, histories,

and beliefs. We acknowledge the generosity of the Tohono O’odham

in granting this land on which we learn, teach, celebrate

accomplishments, and sometimes mourn losses.

May we always cherish our ancestors as we prepare for the days ahead.

May we remember that we exist because of their prayers and their faith.

We are blessed with distinct and melodious tongues.

Our languages are treasures of stories, songs, ceremonies, and memories.

May each of us remember to share our stories with one another,

because it is only through stories that we live full lives.

May the words we speak go forth as bright beads

of comfort, joy, humor, and inspiration.

We have faith that the graduates will inspire others

to explore and follow their interests.

Today we reflect a rainbow of creation:

Some of us came from the east, where bright crystals of creativity reside.

They are the white streaks of early morning light when all is born again.

We understand that, in Tucson, the Rincon Mountains are our inspiration

for beginning each day. The Rincons are everlasting and always present.

Those who came from the south embody the strength of the blue

mountains that encircle us. The Santa Ritas instill in us

the vigorous spirit of youthful learning.

Others came from the west; they are imbued with the quiet, yellow glow of dusk.

They help us achieve our goals. Here in the middle of the valley, the ts’aa’,

the basket of life, the Tucson Mountains teach us to value our families.

The ones from the north bring the deep, restorative powers of night’s darkness;

their presence renews us. The Santa Catalina Mountains teach us that,

though the past may be fraught with sorrow, it was strengthened

by the prayers of our forebearers.

We witnessed the recent fires the mountains suffered,

and in their recovery we see ourselves on our own journeys.

We understand that we are surrounded by mountains, dziił,

and thus that we are made of strength, dziił, nihí níhídziił.

We are strong ourselves. We are surrounded by mountains

that help us negotiate our daily lives.

May we always recognize the multitude of gifts that surround us.

May our homes, schools, and communities be filled with the wisdom

and optimism that reflect a generous spirit.

We are grateful for all blessings, seen and unseen.

May we fulfill the lives envisioned for us at our birth. May we realize

that our actions affect all people and the earth. May we live in the way

of beauty and help others in need. May we always remember that

we were created as people who believe in one another. We are grateful,

Holy Ones, for the graduates, as they will strengthen our future.

All is beautiful again.

Hózhǫ́ nááhasdłíí’.

Source: A Radiant Curve by Luci Tapahonso (c, 2008 by Luci Tapahonso; pub. by University of Arizona Press). Luci Tapahonso (b. 1953) is a Navajo poet and a lecturer in Native American Studies. She was born on the Navajo reservation in Shiprock, New Mexico. Navajo was spoken exclusively in her home. She learned English in elementary school as a second language. Tapahonso earned her bachelor’s degree in 1980 from the University of New Mexico and her MA in Creative Writing in 1983. Thereafter, she taught, first at New Mexico and later at the University of Kansas and the University of Arizona. Tapahonso’s work has appeared in many print and media productions in the United States and internationally. She received the 2006 Lifetime Achievement award from the Native Writers Circle of the Americas and a Spirit of the Eagle Leadership Award for her key role in establishing the Indigenous Studies Graduate Studies Program at the University of Kansas. She is the first poet laureate of the Navajo Nation. You can read more about Luci Tapahonso and sample more of her poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.

Spoiler Alert!

October 30, 2024Uncategorizedrevolsen

ALL SAINTS SUNDAY

Prayer of the Day: Almighty God, you have knit your people together in one communion in the mystical body of your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Grant us grace to follow your blessed saints in lives of faith and commitment, and to know the inexpressible joys you have prepared for those who love you, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away…” Revelation 21:1.

“Spoiler alert” is term used by book reviewers and film critics warning their readers that they are about to disclose events, episodes or other accounts in a work of fiction that might betray its ending and thus ruin the suspense, surprise and enjoyment of that work for the prospective audience. I can understand the concern here. One of the fiercest arguments I ever had with my younger sister (of which there were many) was on the day she disclosed the ending of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy while I was just half way through the second book. I cannot say that the book was completely spoiled for me. But the sharp edges on the elements of suspense and the element of surprise had been substantially blunted. Knowing that Frodo’s mission would succeed, that he and his companion Sam Gamgee would survive and how the power of Sauron would be broken took much of the wind out of the books’ sails.

Of course, it is one thing to read the story and quite another to be a character within it. When you stand within rather than above the drama, you desperately want a spoiler. You want to know how things that affect you are going to turn out. Frodo, Sam and all the other protagonists of Middle Earth would no doubt have been greatly relieved to know that their efforts, sacrifices and struggles would finally pay off. But when you are in the midst of a story, you cannot know when, how or under what circumstances it will end. You have no way of knowing whether you are living a comedy or tragedy. This is all reminiscent of the ancient tale of Croesus and Solon.

Croesus was the last king of Lydia, proverbial for his enormous fortune. Solon, on the other hand, was one of the Seven Sages of Greece, the philosopher-statesman who first laid down the laws which shaped the Athenian democracy. Solon visited Croesus at his palace in Sardis. Croesus entertained the philosopher for two nights and ordered his attendants to show him around his treasures. The king asked Solon whether he knew of any man happier then him. Solon gave several examples of persons who had lived nobly and died. None of them was rich or powerful. The exasperated Croesus fairly shouted, “but can you deny that I am surely the happiest man living?” Solon replied that, surely, the king had known wealth, power and success beyond his peers. Nevertheless, a person never knows what tomorrow will bring. Thus, said Solon, “you should count no man happy until he dies.” Not long afterward, Croesus’ son went hunting and accidentally wounded himself fatally. Cyrus the Great, king of Persia, attacked Lydia and conquered it. Croesus narrowly escaped being burnt to death and spent the remainder of his life as a prisoner of the Persian king. That his beginning was so very glorious only made his end the more bitter.

None of us knows how our story will end. What we wouldn’t give for a spoiler-some indication of how things will play out for us! The Book of Revelation, from which our second lesson is taken, is something of a spoiler. It discloses how everything ends. The old will give way to the new. God’s dwelling will be among God’s human creatures. Death will be no more. Every tear will be wiped from every eye. Mourning will give way to rejoicing. Pain will be forgotten. That is how it all ends. Evil, suffering and death will have their say, but they do not get the last word. That belongs to the One who says, “See, I am making all things new.” Revelation 21:5.

Of course, this is a very long story of which we are all a very short part. Moreover, we have no idea where we are in the story of God’s creative and redemptive dance with the world. Are we closer to Revelation, as many “end times” preachers would have us believe? Or are we closer to Genesis with millennia left to go before God is all in all? If Jesus himself could not answer that question, it is highly doubtful that any of the rest of us can. We are consigned, it seems, to living in what pastor, teacher and theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer has termed, “the anxious middle.”

Our gospel lesson addresses our anxiety with the promise that Jesus is “the resurrection and the life.” Throughout John’s gospel, disciples are encouraged to “abide” in Jesus. Jesus promises that through the promised Holy Spirit, he will “abide” in them just as he “abides” with his heavenly Father. We are therefore assured, not only that the great story will end in a new heaven and earth in which death, suffering and mourning are at an end, but also that our little stories, however broken and sorrowful they might be, will be redeemed and woven into the fabric of this new creation.

On this All Saints Sunday, we are reminded that we are part of a story bigger than ourselves, a story that begins with the creative love of God and ends with God’s eternal embrace. Here is a poem by Stephen Dobyns speaking to the fraught and conflicted stories that have made and continue to make the long story of human existence.

Long Story

There must have been a moment after the expulsion
from the Garden where the animals were considering
what to do next and just who was in charge.
The bear flexed his muscles, the tiger flashed
his claws, and even the porcupine thought himself
fit to rule and showed off the knife points
of his quills. No one noticed the hairless creatures,
with neither sharp teeth, nor talons, they were too puny.
It was then Cain turned and slew his own brother
and Abel’s white body lay sprawled in the black dirt
as if it had already lain cast down forever.
What followed was an instant of prophetic thought
as the trees resettled themselves, the grass
dug itself deeper into the ground and all
grew impressed by the hugeness of Cain’s desire.
He must really want to be boss, said the cat.
This was the moment when the animals surrendered
the power of speech as they crept home to the bosoms
of their families, the prickly ones, the smelly ones,
the ones they hoped would never do them harm.
Who could envy Cain his hunger? Better to be circumspect
and silent. Better not to want the world too much.
Left alone with the body of his brother, Cain began
to assemble the words about what Abel had done
and what he had been forced to do in return.
It was a long story. It took his entire life
to tell it. And even then it wasn’t finished.
How great language had to become to encompass
its deft evasions and sly contradictions,
its preenings and self-satisfied gloatings.
Each generation makes a contribution, hoping
to have got it right at last. The sun rises
and sets. The leaves flutter like a million
frightened hands. Confidently, we step forward
and tack a few meager phrases onto the end.

Source: Poetry (October/November 1987). Stephen J. Dobyns (b. 1941) is an American poet and novelist born in Orange, New Jersey. He began his education at Shimer College but transferred to and graduated from Wayne State University in 1964. He received an MFA from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop at the University of Iowa in 1967. He has worked briefly as a reporter for the Detroit News. Dobyns taught at numerous academic institutions, including Sarah Lawrence College, the Warren Wilson College MFA Program for Writers, the University of Iowa, Syracuse University and Boston University. Dobyns has written twenty-four novels in a variety of genres, fourteen poetry collections and two non-fiction works about the craft of poetry. You can read more about Stephen Dobyns and sample more of his poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.

Sightless, but not Blind

October 23, 2024Uncategorizedrevolsen

TWENTY-THIRD SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Prayer of the Day: Eternal light, shine in our hearts. Eternal wisdom, scatter the darkness of our ignorance. Eternal compassion, have mercy on us. Turn us to seek your face, and enable us to reflect your goodness, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“Immediately [Bartimaeus] regained his sight and followed [Jesus] on the way.” Mark 10:52.

I have always read this story as one of healing, a journey from blindness to sight, incapacity to wholeness. Now I am not so sure. We are told that Bartimaeus was “blind.” I take that to mean, literally, that his eyes were inoperable such that he could not see with them. But does it follow that he was “blind?” I have had the privilege of knowing well two persons lacking the sense of sight. One of them was born without sight and the other lost her sight gradually in her teens. But I would not characterize either of these individuals as blind. I learned from them that, when one loses one’s sight, the remaining senses become more acute. My friend Dave (not his real name) was born without sight, yet he had a keen appreciation for sound, texture, smell and taste. He picked up on emotions, moods, conviction (or lack thereof) in the speech of others most of us frequently missed. He noticed the song of the chickadee, the call of a cricket and the sound of an acorn hitting the pavement, all of which is often just “white noise” to the rest of us. Though unable to see at all from the age of nineteen on, Melony (not her real name) managed to maintain a virtual library of remembered visual experiences that translated into stunning works of poetry evoking images that broadened the view of her readers well beyond the scope of normal sight.[1] For both of these individuals, it was their limitations that spurred their perception, insight and creativity to extraordinary levels.

So, too, I think that Bartimaeus had “eyes to see” notwithstanding his impaired vision. He was desperate to get Jesus’ attention, to the point of annoying his followers. Though told to pipe down, he shouted all the more to “Jesus, son of David.” When asked by Jesus what he wanted, he replied that he wished to receive his sight, but I think there was more to his request than that. We read that once he was able to see, he “followed Jesus in the way.” Can we assume that Bartimaeus desired to receive his sight to that end? Could it be that this “blind man” understood what Jesus’ disciples failed to grasp, namely, the “way” in which Jesus calls us to follow him? Is Bartimaeus among the few people, like the anonymous woman who anointed Jesus with oil and the centurion at the foot of the cross, who understood who Jesus was and what he was up to? Did he, like Dave and Melony, possess an enhanced perceptiveness honed by his impairment? People are not defined by their limitations. To the contrary, they define themselves in their struggle with those limitations. Some such limitations are physical disabilities, like blindness. Others include the challenge of being a parent in the midst of a bitter divorce; putting life together again after being fired; fighting addiction; dealing with depression. Of course, all of us face the limits imposed on us by our mortality. It is in these struggles that character is shaped, empathy developed, new skills discovered, forgiveness learned, hearts strengthened and minds expanded. As the poet reminds us, “that which ties us to the earth/enables us to fly.”

Tied to the Earth

She, a blue, checkered diamond with her tattered

tail fluttered in the wind.

I, a bug on the third floor of a glass house,

waited impatiently for my meeting to end.

All day I watched her through the glass

the wall clock took the measure of each hour

refusing to let it pass

until at last with painful effort

his hands embraced each of its sixty minutes.

She climbed heavenward, shimmying back and forth,

as if to join the sun in a game of hide and

seek behind the fluffy, white fair weather clouds.

And just when it seemed she might reach the sky,

I saw her dive,

and just before she hit

the branches of the topmost tree, catch herself

and once again began to climb.

What child, I thought, would stand

for the better part of the day

holding the string of a kite

when there are so many other games to play?

A thoughtful boy or girl it had to be.

One, perhaps, who dreams of flying?

Or merely longs to be free

like that checkered spirit dancing in the breeze?

The sun was setting as I reached my car.

Tired and broken I was from a day’s worth of nothing.

She, without a hint of fatigue, danced on.

I had to learn who held her string.

The answer lay a hundred yards or so up a dirt road

Leading to a house which I’m sure

had not seen a child in many a year.

There, caught on the end of a rusty gate,

was the string of the kite.

As the hour was getting late,

I carried on this inward debate:

To cut the string and set her free,

or walk away and simply leave her be?

Knowing that freedom would end her flight

and send her drifting downward in the night,

I turned and left things much the way they were.

A dancing silhouette against the sunset

is how I will forever think of her.

I learned from her the secret of how to reach the sky.

that which ties us to the earth

enables us to fly.

Source: Anonymous

[1] Both John Milton and the ancient bard, Homer are said to have been blind. Regardless whether that is historically accurate, it testifies to the longstanding recognition among artists and poets that human creativity transcends and is even enhanced by sensual limitations.

Kamala Harris Caught on Hot Mic!

October 21, 2024Uncategorizedrevolsen

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]

**************************************************************

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

The Cross-Because Love Hurts

October 14, 2024Uncategorizedrevolsen

TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

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

This is the way it is. We see

three ages in one: the child Jesus

innocent of Jerusalem and Rome

– magically at home in joy –

that’s the year from which

our inner persistence has its force.

The second, Bergman shows us,

carries forward image after image

of anguish, of the Christ crossed

and sends up from open sores of the plague

(shown as wounds upon His corpse)

from lacerations in the course of love

(the crown of whose kingdom tears the flesh)

…There is so much suffering!

What possibly protects us

from the emptiness, the forsaken cry,

the utter dependence, the vertigo?

Why do so many come to love’s edge

only to be stranded there?

The second face of Christ, his

evil, his Other, emaciated, pain and sin.

Christ, what a contagion!

What a stink it spreads round

our age! It’s our age!

and the rage of the storm is abroad.

The malignant stupidity of statesmen rules.

The old riders thru the forests race

shouting: the wind! the wind!

Now the black horror cometh again.

And I’ll throw myself down

as the clown does in Bergman’s Seventh Seal

to cower as if asleep with his wife and child,

hid in the caravan under the storm.

Let the Angel of Wrath pass over.

Let the end come.

War, stupidity and fear are powerful.

We are only children. To bed! to bed!

To play safe!

To throw ourselves down

helplessly, into happiness,

into an age of our own, into

our own days.

There where the Pestilence roars,

where the empty riders of the horror go.

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.

Disturb the Peace!

October 9, 2024Uncategorizedrevolsen

TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

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.

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

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Category Archives: Uncategorized

Message of Advent: Stay Woke!

How to Live When the Sky is Falling

Christ the King and the Religion of America

Trump and Tribulation

The Myth of Scarcity

Spoiler Alert!

Sightless, but not Blind

Kamala Harris Caught on Hot Mic!

Kierkegaard’s Ghost

(News that’s fake, but credible)

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

The Cross-Because Love Hurts

Disturb the Peace!

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(News that’s fake, but credible)

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

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