Tag Archives: god

When Being Church is Against the Law

THIRD SUNDAY OF EASTER

Acts 9:1-20

Psalm 30

Revelation 5:11-14

John 21:1-19

 Prayer of the Day: Eternal and all-merciful God, with all the angels and all the saints we laud your majesty and might. By the resurrection of your Son, show yourself to us and inspire us to follow Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

Note: For copyright reasons, the NRSV is not available to Oremus. They are working on obtaining the necessary updated licenses, but until then are offering only the Authorized King James Version. Nevertheless, the texts I cite in this article will be taken from the NRSV.

“Worthy is the Lamb that was slaughtered to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!” Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, and all that is in them, singing, “To the one seated on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor and glory and might forever and ever!” Revelation 5:12-13.

Last Friday the FBI arrested Milwaukee, Wisconsin circuit court Judge Hannah Dugan on allegations she helped an undocumented immigrant try to evade arrest. As I am not sure that a complete and reliable factual accounting of this incident has yet been made available, I will not comment on the legality of the act. But, legal or not, using our courts where people come for justice as a trap for arrest and deportation is immoral. Moreover, resisting immoral action, legal or not, is a moral obligation. We hear repeatedly, from both sides of the political spectrum, that “no one is above the law.” That is not quite true. One there is who is above all humanly constructed systems and institutions of authority, civil and religious. Jesus Christ alone is worthy “to receive all power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing.” To him alone “every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea” owe ultimate allegiance. Therefore, when it comes to an unavoidable choice between honoring Jesus’ command to love God above all else and to love one’s neighbor as oneself and obeying the laws of the land, “we must obey God rather than human authority.” Acts 5:29

I do not mean to say by this that human authority can be disregarded. Generally speaking, government is one of God’s gifts to humanity. By means of it, human society is ordered. Politics, rightly understood, are the means by which we corporately love our neighbors. Obedience to civil law is therefore our default position. That holds true even for laws that seem unnecessary, burdensome or ill conceived. Where there are procedures for repealing or amending bad law, faithful discipleship requires utilizing them to correct injustice, inefficiency and unnecessary aggravation. But laws should not be casually and arbitrarily disregarded.

The 1908 law allegedly violated by Judge Dugan reads as follows:

Subsection 1324(a)(1)(A)(iii) makes it an offense for any person “knowing or in reckless disregard of the fact that an alien has come to, entered, or remains in the United States in violation of law, conceals, harbors, or shields from detection, or attempts to conceal, harbor, or shield from detection, such alien in any place, including any building or any means of transportation.”  

The reach of this law is far from clear. Does a church operating a food pantry whose members know that many of its clients are undocumented and makes no effort to contact federal authorities “shielding them from detection?” Is a social services agency operating a homeless center knowing that many of its residents are undocumented guilty of “harboring” illegal aliens? If a pastor gives a person known or suspected to be undocumented a ride to the bus station, is she shielding an illegal alien from detection by “means of transportation?” “Does “harboring” include a church’s finding shelter for an undocumented family?

The law has not been so construed in the past, though it may be open to such a broad interpretation. Prosecutors have a wide range of discretion with respect interpreting laws and determining the scope of their reach. Law enforcement officers have discretion as to whether they will enforce the law in any given circumstance. The officer that pulls you over for speeding could well give you a ticket bearing a stiff fine and points on your license. But if you are sober, respectful and a first time offender, chances are you will get off with a warning, though there is no guarantee. Up until the present time, federal and state authorities have respected the work of churches, schools, courts and social agencies by refraining from prosecutorial and enforcement action against undocumented persons that would interfere with their operations. Such restraint was based mainly on pragmatism. It is well known that undocumented persons make up about 3.3% of the population. Prior to the tidal wave of hysteria stirred up over the last decade, these folks were not regarded as a threat and the government had no interest in mass deportations.

Things have changed, however, and that is putting it mildly. We now have a government that is committed to carrying out the “greatest deportation in history.” We have a vice president who takes pride in spreading outright lies about nonwhite immigrant communities for the purpose of turning public opinion against them. Global Refuge, a ministry of my Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, which received commendations from both Republican and Democratic administrations for more than half a century, was recently labeled a criminal enterprise by the governments unofficial Department of Governmental Efficiency.

We should have seen this coming. In 2019, during Trump 101, one of our pastors in training was deported. Betty Rendón, who fled from her native Columbia in 2004 as a refugee after guerrillas threatened the school she directed there, was arrested by ICE, detained and deported. At the time of her arrest, she was studying at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago and commuting from the city to Racine, Wisconsin, to work part time as a lay minister in one of our churches. Her application for asylum was denied for lack of documentation leaving her with two options. She could either return to Columbia with her husband and daughter where the danger from which she fled still existed, or she could remain in the United States and hope for the best. Technically, Betty Rendón lacked legal standing to remain in the United States and was subject to deportation. But as with all statutes, enforcement is largely discretionary. Prosecutors need not prosecute and the police need not enforce every law every time against everyone under all circumstances. Indeed, they ought not to waste limited public law enforcement resources when so doing serves no public purpose.

To be clear, the government is responsible for ensuring public safety. To that end, arrest and imprisonment/deportation of persons, documented or not, posing a threat to the public is justified. But such authority must be exercised with care, pursuant to law and consistent with due process. The present administration’s fixation on deporting eleven-million people who are, to a greater degree than the general population, law abiding, tax paying and productive members of society is destined to conflict with the church’s ancient ministry of hospitality to strangers and sanctuary for refugees. It seems to me that we have reached a point at which we must decide whether we will be true to our baptismal covenant of discipleship with Jesus, or set that covenant aside and, by our silence and inaction, become complicit in our nation’s crimes against the most vulnerable among us. If, as my own church declares, walking with immigrants and refugees is a matter of faith, the church must be prepared for acts of defiance, civil disobedience-and the consequences that will surely follow.

Perhaps the greatest temptation facing us comes in the form of despair. What difference can an institutional church in decline hope make in a nation driven by big money and dirty politics? What can a small church struggling to meet its budget and take care of its own aging population do for its neighbors living in fear of violent arrest and deportation? What can one person do against systemic evil infecting all of society? These very sentiments are expressed by in the Hebrew Scriptures to the psalmist:

“Flee like a bird to the

mountains,

for look, the wicked have fitted their arrow to

the sting,

to shoot in the dark at the

upright in heart.

If the foundations are destroyed,

what can the righteous do?” Psalm 11:1-3.

The psalmist replies that “the Lord is in his holy temple,” that “His eyes behold, his gaze examines humankind,” that “his soul hates the lover of violence,” that “he loves righteous deeds” and that the “upright shall behold his face.” For this reason, despite the seeming victory of the wicked, the psalmist nevertheless declares, “In the Lord I take refuge.” Psalm 11:1.  

I believe the visions recorded by John of Patmos in the Book of Revelation have never been more relevant than they are for this day. I believe they offer a wealth of spiritual resources for a struggling church living in a hostile environment. Sadly, Revelation has been highjacked by pre-millennial sects fixated on figuring out when and how the world will end. That, however, is not John’s purpose. If you want to understand Revelation, you need to begin where it does, namely, with John’s letters to the seven churches of Asia Minor. There we are introduced to seven faith communities living in legal jeopardy on the margins of society, divided by false teachings and self-proclaimed prophets, discouraged and on the verge of disintegration. John of Patmos reminds them of their importance and assures them that their struggle to follow Jesus is of cosmic significance. His visions rip away the vail of futility shrouding his church’s spiritual vision. In graphic and lurid imagery, John shows his churches that history is not being driven by the brutal imperial regime of Caesar or Rome’s ruthless economy of greed and exploitation, all of which are symbolized by the grotesque predatory beasts described in his visions. To the contrary, the future belongs to Jesus, “the lamb who was slaughtered.” The churches’ struggle to remain faithful in their witness to Jesus through public testimony, mutual love for one another and service to their neighbors puts them on the side of the God whose determination to redeem a wounded and broken world will not be thwarted. That is as true in the twenty-first century today as it was in the first.

Faithful witness might appear to be futile. As poet Adrianne Rich points out, our resistance to evil, our efforts to protect and preserve what matters seems ineffective, weak and bound to fade with time. Still the faithful hold vigils and protests that seem to accomplish nothing, stand with refugees in danger of deportation when the law and public opinion are against them, work food pantries that cannot begin to satisfy the needs of the growing number of food insecure families. We do this because we know that the lamb who was slaughtered for doing the same has been raised and that to him belong all “blessing and honor and glory and might forever and ever!”  

A Mark of Resistance

Stone by stone I pile

this cairn of my intention

with the noon’s weight on my back,

exposed and vulnerable

across the slanting fields

which I love but cannot save

from floods that are to come;

can only fasten down

with this work of my hands,

these painfully assembled

stones, in the shape of nothing

that has ever existed before.

A pile of stones: an assertion

that this piece of country matters

for large and simple reasons.

A mark of resistance, a sign.

Source: Poetry, August 1957. Adrienne Rich (1929-2012) was born in Baltimore, Maryland. She attended Radcliffe College, graduating in 1951. She was selected by W. H. Auden for the Yale Series of Younger Poets prize that same year. Throughout the 1960s, Rich wrote several collections of poetry in which she explored such themes as women’s roles in society, racism and the Vietnam War. In 1974 Rich won the National Book Award which she accepted on behalf of all women. She went on to publish numerous other poetry collections. In addition to her poetry, Rich wrote several books of nonfiction prose, including Arts of the Possible: Essays and Conversations (W. W. Norton, 2001) and What is Found There: Notebooks on Poetry and Politics (W. W. Norton, 1993). You can read more about Adrianne Rich and sample more of her poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.

Love as an Act of Resistance

SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY

Genesis 43:3-11, 15

Psalm 37:1-11, 39-40

1 Corinthians 15:35-38, 42-50

Luke 6:27-38

Prayer of the Day: O Lord Jesus, make us instruments of your peace, that where there is hatred, we may sow love, where there is injury, pardon, and where there is despair, hope. Grant, O divine master, that we may seek to console, to understand, and to love in your name, for you live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.” Luke 6:27.

“We are to serve our enemy in all things without hypocrisy and with utter sincerity. No sacrifice which a lover would make for his beloved is too great for us to make for our enemy. If out of love for our brother we are willing to sacrifice goods, honor and life, we must be prepared to do the same for our enemy. We are not to imagine that this is to condone his evil; such a love proceeds from strength rather than weakness, from truth rather than fear, and therefore it cannot be guilty of the hatred of another. And who is to be the object of such love, if not those whose hearts are stifled with hatred.” Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship, (c. 1951 by SCM Press, Ltd.), p. 165.

At age eleven, I hated Keith for good reason. Three years older than me, he and his younger friends made it their mission to make my life as miserable as possible. Twice Keith beat me to a pulp. Once he sneaked into my yard and cut the heads of the garter snakes I kept as pets (Yes, I know. Keeping snakes is pretty weird). He would routinely show up with his crew of followers in the ally in back of my house to hurl insults and rocks at me. He was probably the worst enemy I ever had.

Standing up to Keith on the field of battle was out of the question. But there are other ways to fight back. Keith’s home was a block away, separated from my yard by a vacant lot. From the safety of the underbrush, I could lob rocks, dirt clods and insults at Keith whenever I found him in the front yard. Sometimes he gave chase, but I knew the vacant lot like the back of my hand, every nook, cranny and hiding place. He soon grew tired of my little game of whack-a-mole and retreated home. I remember well the day I found him flirting with a neighbor girl he was obviously trying to impress. From my hiding place I made loud smooching noises that made his love interest laugh-and that only made Keith more livid. Of course, I knew I would pay dearly if Keith ever caught me out in the neighborhood. Consequently, whenever I left my yard, I kept a wary eye out for him.

In retrospect, I think it must have been an unhappy summer for both of us. I longed to be able to go where I wanted without always looking over my shoulder. I have no doubt that Keith longed to be left in peace to work on his dirt bike or chat with his love interest without harassment. But the conflict had gotten bigger than both of us. I think we both wanted it to end, but we didn’t know how. On one of the many occasions on which I was badgering Keith from the shelter of the vacant lot, I made an insulting remark about his mother. Suddenly, Keith exploded with an energy I had never seen before. He raced across the street to the lot as I hunkered down in my hiding place. “F@#k you Cotton Tail (his derogatory name for me)!” he shouted. “You don’t know nothing about my mom. Nothing!!! I swear to God that I’ll kill you the next time I see you!” Keith spent more time than usual hunting me down that day, but to no avail.

I think that was probably the last time I went out to harass Keith. Part of my reluctance was fear. I more than half believed he might kill me or make me wish he had. But there was something deeper. I knew that, somehow, I had inflicted a deeply hurtful blow. I had wounded Keith in way deeper than he had ever hurt me. To say that I now loved him would be a stretch. But for the first time, I saw him as something other than a bully. I saw him as someone who had a mom, someone who could be hurt. Tormenting Keith no longer seemed clever, funny or adventurous. I saw it for what it really was. Just plain mean.

Keith and I never became friends, but our mutual animosity gradually cooled as we both grew older. By the time he was in high school and I was in junior high, we were waving and greeting one another. Keith remained in our hometown after college and medical school where he started his dental practice. If I ever get back there again, perhaps I will pay him a visit. I would like to know what triggered his hostility against me. Was it because he, being short for his age, saw in a younger kid who was nevertheless four inches taller a threat or a challenge to his manhood? Was I just an easy target because I was weird. (You must admit, a kid who keeps garter snakes as pets is clearly on the far side of normal). I would also like to know how my remarks upset him. What was going on with his mother and his family? I am not interested in obtaining an apology or offering one, though one is probably owed on both ends. I only want to understand and, perhaps, be understood.

More than a few insightful people have said that the definition of an enemy is a person whose story we do not know. When threatened by hostility, real or imagined, we have a natural tendency to ascribe the most sinister of motives. In reality, however, there is always a lengthy and complex road that has led all of us to who, what and were we are today. Our lives have been shaped, for better or worse, by family, church, peers and education. We are the products of every life experience, every triumph and trauma, success and failure, friendship and betrayal. If we are to follow Jesus’ commands to love our enemies and “do unto others what we would have done unto us,” then we need to learn our enemies’ story. We need to get ourselves into their skin and view the world through their eyes. Only then does it become possible to love one’s enemies, forgive them and begin to address their needs.

I do not mean to suggest that any amount of trauma, tragedy or abuse one suffers can justify or excuse one’s own acts of cruelty, violence or abuse. But knowing where the enemy’s hostility is coming from can enable us to avoid needlessly triggering it and give us the tools to diffuse it. More importantly, knowing one’s story makes empathy possible. Knowing the pain, fear and loneliness from which hostility springs can help us become more understanding, generous and forgiving. We discover in our enemy’s story common ground and opportunities for building bridges and opening doors for justice to be done, reconciliation achieved and peace made.

Love is less a matter of feeling than of action. You don’t have to like your enemies to love them. You don’t have to respect their opinions, ideologies and bigotry. And under no circumstances must their abusive behavior be enabled by reluctance to provoke them. While Jesus absolutely enjoins his disciples from taking revenge against their enemies, employing violence against them or usurping the prerogative of God alone by executing judgment upon them, he does not advocate acquiescing in the face of their aggression. There are numerous manners by which hostility can be resisted nonviolently and constructively. Jesus’ entire life was one of resisting the forces of oppression, violence and cruelty with the power of love. He employed parables that deconstructed his opponents’ prejudices and opened their minds to a deeper and richer reality. He exercised radical hospitality embracing all who sought his help, begged for healing and came posing questions. He could be found in the banqueting halls of religious and civic leaders and in places where notorious sinners and outcasts gathered. He embraced even his torturers with a prayer for their forgiveness. In essence, love is the most potent act of resistance to evil. It is a refusal to be drawn into the vortex of retribution that knows no end. It is a refusal to allow the enemy to dominate space in our minds and hearts. It robs our enemies of the power to transform us by their malice into a mirror image of their hatred. Love breaks the cycle of tit for tat, leaving the enemy powerless.

Jesus’ command to love one’s enemies requires that we be truthful with them. Truthful speech is the deepest expression of love. It is no act of love to allow a bigot to continue in his bigotry. It is no act of love toward your congregation to smooth over or ignore abusive and bullying behavior by some members against others. It is no act of love for one’s nation to remain silent in the face of injustice. Love does not always inspire love in return. Sometimes it sparks hostility and resentment. But disciples of Jesus know that the truth, painful as it can sometimes be, sets one free. Disciples know that they have been saved from self destructive behavior by the Truth that is Jesus. How can they withhold that lifegiving Truth from those they are called to love?

Here is a poem by Frank Chipasula love for country that reflects the sort of clear eyed love that is truthful, passionate and hopeful.

A Love Poem for My Country

I have nothing to give you, but my anger

And the filaments of my hatred reach across the border

You, you have sold many and me to exile.

Now shorn of precious minds, you rely only on

What hands can grow to build your crumbling image.

Your streets are littered with handcuffed men

And the drums are thuds of the wardens’ spiked boots.

You wriggle with agony as the terrible twins, law and order,

Call out the tune through the thick tunnel of barbed wire.

Here, week after week, the walls dissolve and are slim

The mist is clearing and we see you naked like

A body that is straining to find itself, but cannot

And our hearts thumping with pulses of desire or fear

And our dreams are charred chapters of your history.

My country, remember I neither blinked nor went to sleep

My country, I never let your life slide downhill

And passively watched you, like a recklessly driven car,

Hurrying to your crash while the driver leapt out.

The days have lost their song and salt

We feel bored without our free laughter and voice

Every day thinking the same and discarding our hopes.

Your days are loud with clanking cuffs

On men’s arms as they are led away to decay.

I know a day will come and wash away my pain

And I will emerge from the night breaking into song

Like the sun, blowing out these evil stars.

Source: O Earth, Wait for Me. (c. 1984 by Frank Chipasula; pub by Ravan Press). Frank Mkalawile Chipasula (b. 1949) is a Malawian writer, editor and university professor. He earned his B.A. from the University of Zambia, Lusaka and, following graduation, worked as a freelance broadcaster for the Malawi Broadcasting Corporation while studying English and French. In 1978 Chipasula went into exile in the United States and studied for his M.A. in Creative Writing at Brown University. He earned a second M.A. in African American Studies at Yale University and earned his Ph.D. in English literature from Brown University in 1987. His first book, Visions and Reflections, published in 1972 was the first published poetry volume in English by a Malawian writer. You can read more about Frank Chipalusa and sample more of his poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.

Why I Am Not A Progressive

SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY

Jeremiah 17:5-10

Psalm 1

1 Corinthians 15:12-20

Luke 6:17-26

Prayer of the Day: Living God, in Christ you make all things new. Transform the poverty of our nature by the riches of your grace, and in the renewal of our lives make known your glory, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

Cursed are those who trust in mere mortals
   and make mere flesh their strength,
   whose hearts turn away from the Lord…..

Blessed are those who trust in the Lord,
   whose trust is the Lord. Jeremiah 17:5,7.

The most direct reason I can give for not being a progressive is that my faith is in Jesus, not progress. Now let me unpack that for you. I have nothing against progress per se. Furthermore, I am thankful for what I believe most of us would agree represents progress. Polio vaccine is a great advance over the iron lung. Brown v. Board of Education is a great progressive advance over Plessy v. Ferguson. The ball point pen is an improvement over the quill and fountain pens. But I also believe that progress is tentative, uncertain and easily reversed. Witness the dismantling of USAID, the threatened dismantling of the department of education and the reversal of numerous regulations implementing civil rights hard won by the work of lawyers, legislators and community organizers from the 1940s to the present. Progress is a fragile thing. Once made, it can easily be unmade. Trusting it is a dicey proposition.

There is also, I believe, a degree of arrogance in self identifying as a progressive. It presumes that we know what progress is and that any person of good will can recognize and advance it. That presumption becomes particularly lethal when one’s perception of progress is entangled with religion. There is a line in an otherwise fine hymn in our Lutheran Evangelical Worship that sends shivers down my spine. The hymn celebrates the role of saints in the church and the various ways they fulfil their baptismal calling. The first line in the second verse is the one that gives me pause:

Some march with events to turn them God’s way;

some need to withdraw, the better to pray;

some carry the gospel through fire and through flood:

our world is their parish, their purpose is God.

“Rejoice in God’s Saints,” Text: Fred Pratt Green; Music, Music: C. Hubert H. Parry, published in Lutheran Evangelical Worship, #418.

Do we really know which way God is turning events? Is God’s purpose in history so crystal clear that we can with certainty align ourselves with it? The missionaries of the 19th century who rode the waves of colonialism into Africa and Asia did so with the firm conviction that the advance of “Christian civilization” into the lands of “heathendom” was “God’s way.” Make no mistake about it, they were persons of good will and intent. Many of them left behind family, possessions and comfortable lives to do what they believed to be God’s mission. The tragic consequences of the church’s partnership in the ruthless exploitation of colonized lands and peoples are all too evident today and constitute a dark episode in the church’s history. Lest we be tempted to look down our enlightened and sophisticated noses at these ancestors in the faith, we ought to be mindful that the next generation will likely see with a clearer eye the consequences of our own well meaning efforts to do God’s will. What blind spots, missteps and unintended results will they uncover?

The prophet Jeremiah warns us that “The heart is devious above all else; it is perverse—who can understand it?” Forty years of ministry have taught me how difficult it is to distinguish between a principled stand on an issue of importance and a stubborn need to be right. It is not always easy to distinguish between a desire to achieve a goal that furthers the mission of the congregation and the need to have something under one’s belt that counts as “success” in doing the work of a church perceived to be in decline. The confidence, trust and respect given the pastor of a congregation can easily go to one’s head. There is sometimes a fine line between ministering to the needs of another person and feeding those of your own. So, too, sincere efforts to bring needed change to society in the political realm are often sabotaged by ignorance, self interest and prejudices to which we are blind. What we imagine to be a push in the direction of progress frequently turns out to be fueled by self interest and destructive in its results.

But the prophet has more to give us than this dire warning. Jeremiah assures us that blessing follows all who trust in the Lord. Those words do not come easily from the prophet’s mouth. Jeremiah witnessed the conquest of his beloved country, the destruction of its holiest place and the loss of land it occupied for over five centuries. His was the task of speaking a word of hope and encouragement to exiles living as prisoners in the land of their conquerors. He saw first hand how human leadership, patriotism and religious conviction can be distorted in ways that lead to destruction. Jeremiah knew well that what the human heart deems progress often leads to catastrophic consequences.

But Jeremiah also knew that God’s judgment upon our misbegotten striving after progress is not God’s last word. While undue confidence in human endeavor brings curse, God responds to curses with blessing. Blessing followed a world plunged into violence so severe that it took a global deluge to curb it. Blessing found Sarah and Abraham, the wandering nomads, refugees and aliens living in the shadow of empire. God’s blessing to them endured and was passed on through the lives of their flawed, self seeking descendants. God blessed the descendants of Abraham and Sarah once again as they lived under the curse of slavery, making of them a free nation. Blessing followed Israel into exile and on its subsequent journey back to its homeland. The God who blesses can be trusted to continue blessing. But as it was in Jeremiah’s time, so it may be today. Blessing may lie on the other side of judgment. Perhaps we need to see everything we consider progress stripped away before we are able to recognize the better hope God has to offer us.

I don’t mean to say that we should give up on the United States, cease our efforts to advocate for justice or resign ourselves to the demise of democratic norms. These days are calling for even stronger witness and action on behalf of the most vulnerable among us and throughout the world. As disciples of Jesus, we need to keep doing what we have always strived to do, though, as Saint Paul would say, “do so more and more.” I Thessalonians 4:10. I believe, however, that what we do needs to be grounded in something bigger than restoring America, saving democracy or achieving any other goal we count as progress. Our witness and work needs to be to and for the reign of God-which is not the endpoint of our own notions of progress. The reign of God is so far beyond our comprehension that even Jesus could speak of it only in parables. The most we can say is that it consists of God being “all in all.” I Corinthians 15:28.

“All” is a very expansive word. It means that there is no person, place or thing God would exclude from the fabric of God’s new creation. The way of God does not always comport with our view of progress-which often comes at the expense of persons, animals, ecosystems, relationships and communities we neglect or deem expendable. God’s power is God’s patience. I think the philosopher, Alfred North Whitehead, captures something of what God’s way of establishing God’s reign entails.

“The sheer force of things lies in the intermediate physical process: this energy of physical production. God’s role is not the combat of productive force with productive force, of destructive force with destructive force; it lies in the patient operation of the overpowering rationality of his conceptual harmonization. He does not create the world, he saves it: or, more accurately, he is the poet of the world, with tender patience leading it by his vision of truth, beauty, and goodness.”[1]    

By contrast, we who call ourselves progressive are impatient. We think we know what the final project looks like and we want it finished soon. I can relate to that. When I was young, my father tried to interest me in building model cars. His aim was to teach me to follow directions, focus on detail and develop a sense of how automobiles work. For my part, I wanted to get the job done and the model on my shelf. Invariably, I ended up with left over parts. These I simply swept into the trash along with the packaging. The finished product, once painted, looked enough like the picture on the box to satisfy me. But God will not be so rushed. The persons we deem obstructions to progress are essential pieces of the patchwork quilt that is God’s new creation. God will have no left over parts, even if it means the project takes longer and must be halted, reversed or even torn down in order to include a part that we in our haste for closure have neglected. That may not look like progress, but it surely is grace.

Here is a poem by Jacqueline Woodson speaking on behalf of some casualties of progress, parts left out of American history, American opportunity and the American Dream.

February 12, 1963

I am born on a Tuesday at University Hospital

Columbus, Ohio,

USA—

a country caught

between Black and White.

I am born not long from the time

or far from the place

where

my great-great-grandparents

worked the deep rich land

unfree

dawn till dusk

unpaid

drank cool water from scooped-out gourds

looked up and followed

the sky’s mirrored constellation

to freedom.

I am born as the South explodes,

too many people too many years

enslaved, then emancipated

but not free, the people

who look like me

keep fighting

and marching

and getting killed

so that today—

February 12, 1963

and every day from this moment on,

brown children like me can grow up

free. Can grow up

learning and voting and walking and riding

wherever we want.

I am born in Ohio but

the stories of South Carolina already run

like rivers

through my veins.

Source: Brown Girl Dreaming (c. 2014 by Jacqueline Woodson, Pub. by Penguin Press) Jacqueline Woodson was born in Columbus, Ohio, but grew up in Greenville, South Carolina and Brooklyn, New York. She is the author of over thirty books for children and young adults. Her honors include the Jane Addams Children’s Book Award, the Coretta Scott King Award, the Los Angeles Times Book Prize and the Newbery Honor. She received the Margaret A. Edwards Award for lifetime achievement, the St. Katharine Drexel Award and the Anne V. Zarrow Award for Young Readers’ Literature. You can find out more about Jacqueline Woodson and sample more of her poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.


[1] Whitehead, Alfred North, Process and Reality (c. 1979 by The Free Press) p. 346.   

How Long?

FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY

Isaiah 6:1-13

Psalm 138

1 Corinthians 15:1-11

Luke 5:1-11

Prayer of the Day: Most holy God, the earth is filled with your glory, and before you angels and saints stand in awe. Enlarge our vision to see your power at work in the world, and by your grace make us heralds of your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

 “How long, O Lord?” Isaiah 6:11.

This question posed by the prophet Isaiah is a constant refrain in the psalms of lament. Psalm 13 is a prime example:

“How long, O Lord? Will you forget me for ever?
   How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I bear pain in my soul,
   and have sorrow in my heart all day long?
How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?” Psalm 13:1-2.

The children of Jacob cried out, “how long must we suffer enslavement in Egypt before you fulfill the promise you made to Abraham and Sarah to bless us and give us a land of our own?” The answer, four hundred years. Israel cried out, “how long must we live as exiles in a foreign land?” The answer, seventy years. So, too, Isaiah answers the call to prophesy to the kingdom of Judah and is told that his people will only shut their eyes and stop their ears to his words. The more he preaches, the more resistant and hostile his hearers will become. Naturally, he asks “how long? How long must I go on speaking when no one is listening? How long must I put my life on the line speaking a word that makes no difference?” God’s answer is less than encouraging:

“Until cities lie waste
   without inhabitant,
and houses without people,
   and the land is utterly desolate;
until the Lord sends everyone far away,
   and vast is the emptiness in the midst of the land.” Isaiah 6:11-12.

If Isaiah had anything to say in reply to that, it is not in the record. But if I were in Isaiah’s shoes, I would be asking, “so what’s the point? If your warnings will not be heeded or your promises believed, why are you sending me on this fool’s errand?”

Isaiah lived during the twilight years of Judah’s existence as an independent kingdom. He saw Judah’s king abandon the faith of his ancestors and place his trust in a treaty with the brutal empire of Assyria, a treaty that required him to place images of the empire’s gods in the Temple of the Lord. It was a betrayal of Israel’s faith, but an act necessary to national survival in the world of realpolitik. In matters of state, the words of the prophet were deemed irrelevant at best and, at worst, seditious. I can hear his audience telling him, “Please pastor! Keep politics and social policy out of your preaching.”  

The prophet well knew Judah’s arrangement with Assyria was the first domino in a series of catastrophes that would bring destruction upon the land. His preaching, however, could not sway the people of his own time and place. The king continued to pursue his faithless course of action with the result that Judah was reduced to poverty through the payment of heavy tribute and its land devastated by destructive wars. The prophet failed to turn Judah from its faithless and self destructive ways. So, I wonder, what was the point?

Though it may not be immediately evident, there is some wildly good news for us here. And while it may have been cold comfort to the prophet Isaiah, I think that the answer to our question lies in the fact that the prophet’s words remain for us to read these twenty-five centuries later. They were invaluable to the nation two generations later languishing in exile, trying to understand what had happened to them and why. The prophesies of Isaiah inspired generations of Jewish believers for generations and helped them hold on to their faith through the darkest of times. They guided the earliest followers of Jesus in interpreting and understanding his life and mission. Perhaps Peter and his fellow apostles heard in Jesus’ call for them to follow him and become fishers for people an echo of Isaiah’s response to God’s call: “Here am I; send me!” Words of the prophet are engraved on the famous “swords to ploughshares” statue in front of the United Nations. As a later prophet in the tradition of Isaiah would point out, “The grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever.” Isaiah 40:8.

The lesson from Isaiah is a good word for people called to work that does not seem to make much difference. I remember Isaiah as I walk the beach picking up plastic bottles even as I know the world is dumping eight million pieces of plastic into the ocean each day. I think of Isaiah whenever I make what I know is a modest contribution to ELCA hunger relief or drop off a contribution to our church’s food pantry knowing that 25,000 people, including more than 10,000 children, die from hunger and related causes each day. I remember the call of Isaiah to preach to an unreceptive audience whenever I realize that my own preaching often seems like a whisper in a hurricane. In the end, it is for me to do what I can where I can with whatever I have, and for God to do with it what God needs done, where God needs it done and at the time of God’s choosing-which may or may not become clear within my lifetime.

Discipleship in an age of violence, racism, poverty, inequity and ecological crisis is not an easy calling. Yesterday I learned that our government is attacking, defaming and attempting to defund our ministries to the poor, the homeless, the sick and mentally ill. There is a real possibility that a legacy of ministry built up over eighty years will be erased with the stroke of a pen. I must say that I have never seen the like in this country before. Sometimes there is barely enough light for the next step forward. But none of this is new to the people of God. The saints before us have traveled this road before. We know persecution, slander and intimidation. Our ancestors in the faith have left us a wealth of preaching, poetry, song and teaching to guide and encourage us. Through them God reminds us that God is Immanuel, “God with us.” So take heart my friends. We’re going to get through this.

Here is a poem by Mary Oliver about John Chapman, better known as “Jonny Appleseed.” He was a man who lived gently on the land and did what he could with what he had in the time given him to leave behind some beauty and sweetness in a violent world.

John Chapman

He wore a tin pot for a hat, in which
he cooked his supper
toward evening
in the Ohio forests. He wore
a sackcloth shirt and walked
barefoot on feet crooked as roots. And everywhere he went
the apple trees sprang up behind him lovely
as young girls.

No Indian or settler or wild beast
ever harmed him, and he for his part honored
everything, all God’s creatures! thought little,
on a rainy night,
of sharing the shelter of a hollow log touching
flesh with any creatures there: snakes,
racoon possibly, or some great slab of bear.

Mrs. Price, late of Richland County,
at whose parents’ house he sometimes lingered,
recalled: he spoke
only once of women and his gray eyes
brittled into ice. “Some
are deceivers,” he whispered, and she felt
the pain of it, remembered it
into her old age.

Well, the trees he planted or gave away
prospered, and he became
the good legend, you do
what you can if you can; whatever

the secret, and the pain,

there’s a decision: to die,
or to live, to go on
caring about something. In spring, in Ohio,
in the forests that are left you can still find
sign of him: patches
of cold white fire.

Source: American Primitive (c. 1978 by Mary Oliver, pub. Little Brown and Company) p. 24. Mary Oliver 1935-2019 was born in Maple Heights, Ohio. She was deeply influenced by poet, Edna St. Vincent Millay. Her work received early critical attention with the 1983 publication of a collection of poems entitled American Primitive. She is a recipient of both the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry and the National Book Award. You can read more about Mary Oliver and sample some of her other poems at the Poetry Foundation Website.

Speaking Truth to a Lynch Mob

FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY

Jeremiah 1:4-10

Psalm 71:1-6

1 Corinthians 13:1-13

Luke 4:21-30

Prayer of the Day: Almighty and ever-living God, increase in us the gifts of faith, hope, and love; and that we may obtain what you promise, make us love what you command, through your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. They got up, drove [Jesus] out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff.” Luke 4:28-29.

How does a worship service turn into a lynching? What could Jesus possibly have said to make the people among whom he grew up want to kill him? According to the account of Luke the Evangelist, everything went sideways when Jesus began speaking about God’s love and attention to outsiders. It was a widow of Zarephath, a city of pagan Phoenicia, that gave sanctuary to the prophet Elijah when he was a refugee fleeing persecution under the reign of the wicked King Ahab. It was Naaman, a general of Israel’s arch enemy Syria, who found healing and faith from the prophet Elisha. To be sure, God is the God of Israel. But God is not the possession of Israel. God’s love is for all people of every tribe and tongue. As Saint Peter would proclaim in Luke’s sequel, the Book of Acts, “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.” Acts 10:34-35. That message did not go down well with the good people of Nazareth.

Luke the Evangelist portrays Jesus as one who refuses to accept the distinctions of class, blood and soil through which people of his day found their identity. He scandalized the religious and respectable by dining with folks like Levi and Zacheus. But he could just as often be found eating in the home of civil and religious leaders. He had compassion on a leader of the military occupation of his own country and healed his servant. In an age when people feared to touch lepers for fear of being rendered unclean, Jesus touched them in order to make them clean. It is as though Jesus were blind to the “no trespassing” signs we erect to protect our “our people” from the corrupting influence of outsiders.

So, too, the church in the Book of Acts is constantly breaking down ethnic, cultural, religious and class barriers as it expands beyond Galilee and Judea into Samaria and from there into Greece, Macedonia, Asia Minor, Italy and beyond. It was not smooth sailing all the way. Tension and conflicts are reflected throughout the New Testament between Jewish believers and gentile newcomers. Though Paul affirmed that in Christ there is neither male nor female and accepted women as apostolic coworkers with him, it is clear the women struggled to find their voice and place during the formative years of the church. Paul’s pastoral advice on that score was sometimes less than helpful. Still, the church never abandoned its belief in and understanding of itself as a single body with wildly diverse members uniquely gifted for mutual service in pursuit of its mission of reconciling the world to God in Christ.

The church proved to be a destabilizing force, threatening to disrupt the Pax Romana maintained by the Roman Empire through the threat of violence embodied in the cruelest implement of death, the cross. Mary the mother of our Lord sings eloquently about the reversal of the imperial order, the mighty being cast down, the hungry filled with good things and the rich being sent away empty. Luke 1:46-55. Simeon predicts that the infant Jesus “is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed.” Luke 2:34-35. In the Book of Acts Paul and his associates are accused of having “turned the world upside down.” Acts 17:6. The very existence of this odd community of diverse persons practicing radical equality and showing no regard for rank, status or the emperor’s delusions of godhood threatened the legitimacy, authority and power of the imperial order, built up as it was on distinctions of race, class and citizenship. That accounts for the empire’s vicious and ultimately futile efforts to extinguish the church.

The stability of a hierarchy depends on everyone at every level being content with their place-or at least convinced that trying to rise above it is dangerous and certain to be futile. When those on the lower rungs begin to sense their power, begin to imagine a different arrangement and begin to doubt the religious, ideological and traditional glue that holds the hierarchical pyramid together, the structure begins to wobble. Those nearest the top panic because they have the furthest to fall. Panic breeds hysteria and hysteria produces violence. A lynching is seldom about its individual victims whose only crime is happening to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. It is, rather, a knee jerk reaction against a host of social fears and phobias. Lynching is a frantic effort to hold together a dying regime against a hurricane of change threatening to topple it. Both then and now, Jesus is that hurricane.

So here is the real deal. There are no hordes of lawless migrants made up of criminals and insane people storming across our southern border to invade our country. There is no deep state conspiracy to change the sex of school age children. Haitian immigrants are not eating American’s pets. How could anyone in their right mind believe such malarky? The simple answer is that they need to believe it. These baseless conspiracy theories help fragile people make sense of a world that is changing too fast for them. They see rising prices, more and more black and brown faces in their neighborhoods, schools and workplaces, more stores with signs they cannot read, fewer job opportunities in their communities and decaying towns and cities-and they are mad as hell about it. The lies, propaganda and hysterical rhetoric directed against migrants have been whipped up by our cynical leaders to a give a shape to our deepest fears, put a face on the monsters that terrify us and give us a neck around which to place the noose. Make no mistake about it, that is exactly what this “greatest deportation ever seen” is about. It is a government inspired and sponsored lynching. Migrants are the scapegoats for all that is wrong with America. And you can be sure that when all the undocumented migrants have been deported and America’s problems remain, there will be another scapegoat. There always is.

I read with dismay the pastoral letter from ELCA Bishop, Elizabeth Eaton on President Trump’s Executive Orders calling for mass deportations. To be clear, I appreciate the bishop’s addressing the issue and agree wholeheartedly with her analysis. But we need more than analysis at this point. We need truth telling and fearless preaching. The truth is that the Republican party, now fully controlled by Trump and the MAGA movement, has all the hallmarks of a hate group. See “Time to Declare the Republican Party a Hate Group.” It is time for the church to say so. For my part, I refuse to go on pretending that the GOP, as currently constituted, is just another political party functioning within America’s democratic system. I refuse to allow lies, slander, conspiracy theories and hateful ideology to be invited into serious moral deliberation. I refuse to participate in the normalization of bullying, intimidation and violence under the color of law. It is time to tell the powers that be “We must obey God rather than any human authority” and that we will resist governmental actions that harm our neighbors. Acts 5:29.

To all bishops and pastors, I have a hard word to say: You need tell your people who support Donald Trump and his party, “You are deeply loved by God. You are valued members of our church community. We love you dearly and that is why we need to tell you that by your support for this man and his followers you are grievously injuring your neighbors and scandalizing the Body of Christ. By your association and support, you participate in their hatred and cruelty. For your own sake and for the sake of Christ’s church, you need to repent and renounce your association with this evil movement.” If you are unwilling or unable to say this to your church, then for your sake, for the sake of the church and for the sake of the world, please step aside and make room for someone who can and will.

The gospel of Jesus Christ is good news. Lutheran’s like me are fond of saying that “God loves us just as we are.” However sinful we may be, God accepts us where God finds us. Nevertheless, God loves us too much to leave us there. That is why God’s Word speaks the truth that sets us free. John 8:32. Jesus loved the people of his hometown enough to tell them the truth they needed to hear-even when it turned them against him. This is not the mushy sentimental kind of love. It is what poet Sonia Sanchez calls “love colored with iron and lace.” It is love that seeks repentance, justice and restitution. The complete poem follows:

This Is Not a Small Voice

This is not a small voice

you hear     this is a large

voice coming out of these cities.

This is the voice of LaTanya.

Kadesha. Shaniqua. This

is the voice of Antoine.

Darryl. Shaquille.

Running over waters

navigating the hallways

of our schools spilling out

on the corners of our cities and

no epitaphs spill out of their river

mouths.

This is not a small love

you hear       this is a large

love, a passion for kissing learning

on its face.

This is a love that crowns the feet

with hands

that nourishes, conceives, feels the

water sails

mends the children,

folds   them    inside   our    history

where they

toast more than the flesh

where they suck the bones of the

alphabet

and spit out closed vowels.

This is a love colored with iron

and lace.

This is a love initialed Black

Genius.

This is not a small voice

you hear.

Source: Wounded in the House of a Friend, (c. 1995 by Sonia Sanchez; pub. by Beacon Press, Boston, Massachusetts). Sonia Sanchez (born Wilsonia Benita Driver in 1934) is an American poet, writer and professor. She is a leading figure in the Black Arts Movement. Sanchez has written several books of poetry. She has also authored short stories, critical essays, plays and children’s books. She received Pew Fellowship in the Arts in 1993. In 2001 she was awarded the Robert Frost Medal for her contributions to American poetry. You can read more about Sonia Sanchez and sample more of her poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.

Rev. Jeremiah Wright was Right

For those of you who can still remember the election of 2008, one of the last in which we were assured that, whatever the outcome and however we might feel about it, there would be sanity in the Whitehouse, you will undoubtedly recall the Rev. Jeremiah Wright. Rev. Wright is now, like me, a retired pastor. He was formerly the senior pastor of Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago and the pastor of then presidential candidate Barak Obama. Trinity is a predominantly African American congregation and the largest one in the United Church of Christ, a predominantly white protestant church. Wright gained national attention in the United States in March of 2008 after ABC News disclosed the following quote from a sermon he preached in 2003 entitled “Confusing God and Government.”

“No, no, no. Not ‘God Bless America’; God Damn America! That’s in the Bible, for killing innocent people. God Damn America for treating her citizen as less than human. God Damn America as long as she keeps trying to act like she is God and she is supreme!”

Back in the days when journalism was a profession and broadcast news was considered a public service rather than an entertainment cash cow, there would have been at least an attempt to place this quotation in its proper context. But ABC news understands that the American attention span is brief and that sensational bites of “breaking news” grab attention and drive up ratings. Consequently, unless you did some investigative work of your own, you might have concluded, as Obama’s opponents clearly hoped you would, that Wright was simply on an anti-American rant and that Barak Obama’s membership at Trinity was proof that he shared Wright’s unpatriotic sentiments. If you have not already done so, I invite you to read the entire sermon of Jeremiah Wright. Below are my own observations.

Rev. Wright’s sermon, as the title suggests, dealt with the idolatry of nationalism. To put it simply, he was making the point that Americans tend to confuse the demands of government, patriotism and blind love of country for godliness and faithful discipleship. I have often preached and written about the same theme, most recently in my article, “Christ the King and the Religion of America.” Though his critics tried to brand Rev. Wright a terrorist, he makes clear in his sermon that violence is never the answer to injustice. He specifically condemned the practice of Muslim extremists who call for the murder of “unbelievers.” “War does not make for peace,” he told his congregation. “Fighting for peace is like raping for Virginity.” Wright was quick to point out, however, that his own country’s use of violence was equally unjustified:

“We can see clearly the confusion in [the Muslim extremist’s] minds, but we cannot see clearly what it is that we do….when we turn right around and say our God condones the killing of innocent civilians as a necessary means to an end.”

Wright went on to point out this country’s use of violence and oppression against the indigenous peoples of this continent, against the enslavement of African’s brought to this country in chains, against American support of notoriously oppressive leaders and their regimes. He then made the point that we blaspheme God, take God’s name in vain and distort God’s image when we invoke God to bless America, bless its wars and sanctify its oppressive acts:

“That we say God understands collateral damage, we say that God knows how to forgive friendly fire, we say that God will bless the Shock and Awe as we take over unilaterally another country – calling it a coalition because we’ve got three guys from Australia. Going against the United Nations, going against the majority of Christians, Muslims and Jews throughout the world, making a pre-emptive strike in the name of God. We cannot see how what we are doing is the same Al-Qaida is doing under a different color flag, calling on the name of a different God to sanction and approve our murder and our mayhem!”

So far, Rev. Wright is spot on. History is not mythology. This country’s genocidal wars against America’s indigenous peoples, the centuries of slavery that produced enormous wealth for the enslaver class, the invasion of Iraq grounded in false claims that it engineered the 9/11 attacks and was harboring weapons of mass destruction, along with the other examples of American violence Wright cites, are historical facts. Efforts to tell the story of our country without them amounts to a flat out lie. Portraying the Unted States as an “exceptional” nation uniquely blessed by God and its crimes as acts of heroism makes of this lie a shameful abuse of God’s name and image. This is the context of the offensive quote from Rev. Jeremiah Wright I cited at the outset.

Did Rev. Wright go too far in damning America? If he did, he was in distinguished company. The prophet Amos, for example, prophesied the destruction of his own country Israel and the violent death of its king. Isaiah warned his nation that it faced defeat and destruction. Jeremiah told his people that their capital city would be destroyed, their centuries old temple burned to the ground and their land taken away from them. Like the United States, Israel understood itself to be “exceptional,” and with far more justification. They were, in fact, chosen by God-but not to privilege, not to special divine treatment, not to blanket “blessing” regardless how they behaved. Israel (as well as far too many Christians) made the mistake of imagining that being chosen by God means being “first,” rather than the least of all and the servant of all. Of course, the United States is not God’s chosen people. But like all nations, it will be judged by how it treated the most vulnerable in its midst, the poor, the hungry, the persecuted, the refugee and the homeless. On that scale, the United States has a damnable record. As offensive, maddening and upsetting as this is, it is true. Rev. Wright is right to say so.

The Hebrew prophets did not hate their nation or their people. To the contrary, they loved them enough to tell them the truth. That is what you always do for someone you love. If Dad has a drinking problem, you don’t make excuses for him. You don’t get on the phone and tell his boss that he has the flu and can’t come in to work when, in fact, he is too hung over to make it to the bathroom to puke. You don’t humor him when he tells you that he just overdid it at the party last night where he tried to grope one of his coworkers in a drunken stupor and that it won’t happen again. You don’t smile and accept his excuses for failing to show up for graduations, weddings and other events important to his loved ones. People who chant “America love or leave it” are like enablers who stubbornly maintain, “My Dad, drunk or sober.” The latter is not love and the former is not patriotism. If you really love your father, you confront him with the truth. You point out to him that he has lost control of his life, that he is hurting the people he says he loves, that he is on a self destructive trajectory. You say what you have to say, however painful it might be, in order to give him the opportunity to change direction before it is too late. You do the same for your country, you tell it the truth it needs to hear to become the nation it claims to be.  

I managed to watch most of the inaugural ceremony of Donald J. Trump. I cannot say that I was overly shocked, angered or dismayed by anything the president or his acolytes said on that occasion. After a decade, my senses have grown accustomed to the stench from that river of sewage overflowing the MAGA cesspool. What I did find disheartening was the parade of well dressed and ornately robed Christian clergy sanctifying this ceremonial obscenity with prayers, scripture and flattery. There was, however, one pastor worthy of that title who stood well above this sorry assembly of clerical clowns. Episcopal Bishop, Rev. Mariann Edgar Budde, publicly called Trump out to his face during a service at the National Cathedral in Washington, DC with these words:

“Let me make one final plea, Mr. President. Millions have put their trust in you, and as you told the nation yesterday, you have felt the providential hand of a loving God. In the name of our God, I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now. There are gay, lesbian, and transgender children in Democratic, Republican, and independent families, some who fear for their lives. The people who pick our crops and clean our office buildings, who labor in poultry farms and meatpacking plants, who wash the dishes after we eat in restaurants and work the night shifts in hospitals, they may not be citizens or have the proper documentation, but the vast majority of immigrants are not criminals. They pay taxes and are good neighbors. They are faithful members of our churches and mosques, synagogues, gurdwara, and temples.

I ask you to have mercy, Mr. President, on those in our communities whose children fear their parents will be taken away, and that you help those who are fleeing war zones and persecution in their own lands to find compassion and welcome here. Our God teaches us that we are to be merciful to the stranger, for we were all once strangers in this land. May God grant us the strength and courage to honor the dignity of every human being, to speak the truth to one another in love, and walk humbly with each other and our God, for the good of all people, the good of all people in this nation and the world. Amen.”

Kudos to you, Bishop, for making the voice of Jesus heard in an arena where it has been altogether excluded, and that in the name of God. And kudos to you, Rev. Wright for having the courage and compassion to tell us the truth we need to hear. God send us more faithful, courageous and compassionate preachers for the sake of the church, for the sake of our nation, for the sake of the world!  

The Unwritten Word

THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY

Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10

Psalm 19

1 Corinthians 12:12-31a

Luke 4:14-21

Prayer of the Day: Blessed Lord God, you have caused the holy scriptures to be written for the nourishment of your people. Grant that we may hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that, comforted by your promises, we may embrace and forever hold fast to the hope of eternal life, through your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.

The heavens are telling the glory of God;
   and the firmament proclaims his handiwork.
Day to day pours forth speech,
   and night to night declares knowledge.
There is no speech, nor are there words;
   their voice is not heard;
yet their voice goes out through all the earth,
   and their words to the end of the world. Psalm 19:1-4.

This psalm is one of my all time favorites. It begins with a lyrical expression of the many and diverse ways God’s glory is reflected in God’s creative handiwork. Each day “pours forth speech” while “night to night declares knowledge.” Yet “though it goes out through all the earth,” theirs is not a speech readily intelligible to human ears. Still, for those who are attentive, the sunrise is not merely a daily occurrence. Each new day is like the beginning of a marriage, filled with joy, promise and hope. It is the starting point of a great race across the heavens by the strong yet benevolent athlete, God’s agent of life and growth whose warmth reaches every corner of the earth.

Creation has a good deal to teach us if only we have ears to listen. As Jesus points out, the flowers of the field and the birds of the air testify to God’s generosity and the confident faith in which God’s good gifts are to be anticipated and received. The mustard seed illustrates the tenacious growth of God’s reign. The wind is a symbol of God’s Spirit that blows where and when it wills with gifts of healing and renewal. The cycle of seedtime, growth and harvest are pregnant with illustrations of faith, patience, hope and resurrection. The world’s wonders do indeed tell the “glory of God” and “proclaim his handiwork.”

Halfway through, the psalm changes its focus from the witness of Creation to God’s self revelation in the Torah. While this might strike modern readers as abrupt and discordant, I believe the poet was intentional here. The psalmist understands the commandments of God to be woven into the very fabric of creation. Just as the sun chases away the darkness of night bringing light and warmth to the earth, so the law of the Lord “is perfect, reviving the soul.” Just as the heavens proclaim the glory of God, so “the commandment of the Lord is clear.” Just as the light of the sun enables one to see one’s way, so God’s law is ever “enlightening the eyes” of all who rely upon it to guide their ways.

The lessons for this Sunday are weighted heavily in favor of the written word. Jesus preaches from a text of Isaiah the prophet announcing the liberation of the poor and oppressed; the healing of the blind and lame. Under Nehemiah and Ezra, the Hebrew exiles returning from Babylon are instructed in Torah with an eye toward establishing a renewed community. As a Lutheran protestant whose tradition has always emphasized the primacy of the written word and which has been suspicious of “natural theology” or knowledge about God derived from the natural world, I have usually made the written word the focus of my preaching on this particular Sunday. But these days I often wonder whether perhaps I have neglected and undervalued creation’s witness to God’s beauty, wisdom and compassion. That is one of the reasons I have sought to bring my reflections into dialogue with the reflections of poets. Too much of our preaching, I believe, is doctrinally correct, theologically sound and analytically coherent but lacking in beauty and imagination.

Much of our worship and hymnody tends to denigrate creation. One of the hymns we used to sing in the church of my childhood begins as follows:

I’m but a stranger here, Heav’n is my home;

Earth is but a desert drear, Heav’n is my home.

Danger and sorrow stand Round me on every hand;

Heav’n is my fatherland, Heav’n is my home.[1]

In some respects, the hymn resonates. Sometimes life feels as though one were living as a stranger in a “desert drear.” To the degree it validates the experience of people struggling through dark times and assures them that they do in fact have a home in God’s infinite love, the hymn is a genuine expression of lament. Nonetheless, equating the entire earth with a lifeless desert through which one regrettably, though necessarily, passes as a stranger in order to reach one’s true heavenly homeland takes things too far. The earth is God’s good creation, a sphere of which we are an integral part and a place where we ought to feel at home. However many scars God’s human creatures have inflicted upon this good earth, it remains good and filled with wonders telling of God’s glory. Who are we to turn our noses up at it?

As children of the Enlightenment, we are engrained with a rationalistic mentality that regards the earth, its oceans, forests and varieties of non-human life as “things.” Mystery, awe and wonder have no place in the lab where nothing that cannot be empirically verified is true. In our economy, only that which can be monetized has value. For the machinery of capitalism, the world is only a ball of resources to be exploited for profit. The sun is neither a bridegroom nor an athlete. It is simply a ball of burning hydrogen. Plants are either crops to be devoured or weeds to be poisoned. Animals are bred for food, pets, game or, if sufficiently exotic, maintained on preserves for the wealthy to view on safari. In this stale, stuffy and confining worldview, poetic imagination languishes.

Our psalm for this Sunday, as well as the Bible as a whole, opens up a deeper understanding of reality. Through metaphor, simile, analogy, parable, song and story a much richer view of creation becomes visible. Through scriptural testimony to the holiness of the earth and its creatures, God’s glory is revealed in all of its wonder, beauty and power. By the power of the Holy Spirit and eyes to see and ears to hear sharpened by attention to the wonders all around us, that glory transforms our hearts and minds.

Here is a poem in which the poet looks beyond dead rationalism and seeks to discern speech that “pours forth” from creation.

Eavesdropping

Long years ago

I stood beneath

A group of firs

And heard the breeze

Whispering secrets that were hers.

For though I strained to comprehend

I couldn’t find within the wind

A single syllable or hint

Of what the hidden language meant.

But as I watched,

The ancient trees

Took up the issues in the breeze

And without words or any speech

Conversed among themselves.

And as each

Shared his sagacious view,

His branches swayed as hands will do

When beings of our race confer

On topics that their souls bestir.

The others rocked as if to bow

In reverence and to say just how

They’d never heard it said so well,

Then turned to hear another tell

Just how he thought the matter stood-

All of this in that darkened wood.

I was then a child of tender years

Eavesdropping on speech

Beyond young ears.

I’m older now with hairs of gray

But none the wiser to this day

Regarding the awful mysteries

Discussed that night by

The ancient trees.

Source: Anonymous


[1] “I’m But a Stranger Here” by Arthur S. Sullivan, published in the The Lutheran Hymnal (c. 1941 by Concordia Publishing House).  

Divinity of Humanity

SECOND SUNDAY OF CHRISTMAS

Jeremiah 31:7-14

Psalm 147:12-20

Ephesians 1:3-14

John 1:1-18

Prayer of the Day: Almighty God, you have filled all the earth with the light of your incarnate Word. By your grace empower us to reflect your light in all that we do, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“And the Word became flesh…” John 1:14.

Over the years my prayers, preaching and teaching have shifted, slowly and almost imperceptibly, away from a singular focus on the cross and redemption to the miracle of the Incarnation and what the Eastern Church calls “deification” or “theosis.” This, I believe, has nothing much to do with humans attaining divine attributes like “omniscience,” “omnipotence” and “omnipresence.” It is more like Saint Paul’s admonition last week in our lesson from Colossians, urging us “to clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.” Colossians 3:12. It involves having “the same mind…in you that was in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 2:5. This is a possibility now precisely because the Word became flesh, God became human-and remains so.

I do not mean to say that the cross and redemption have lost any degree of significance in my understanding of the faith. Rather, they have taken on a deeper and more profound meaning as my appreciation of the Incarnation has grown. The Incarnation, as John the Evangelist tells us, was God’s intent for humanity and the world from the beginning. The cross illuminates the terrible price God was willing to pay in order to carry through with this intent in spite of human sinfulness and the worst depravity of which we are capable. However much selfishness, cruelty and indifference is manifest in human existence, God remains indwelt there. Every human being is therefore the image and temple of God. The desecration of sanctuaries, temples and cathedrals can never desecrate or diminish God. But each act of violence, unkindness and indifference inflicts wounds on the body of the resurrected Christ.

It is for this reason that racism, defamation of migrants, vilification of LGBTQ folk, criminalization of begging and homelessness, pouring arms into the conflicts in Gaza and Ukraine, prosecuting church organizations providing humanitarian aid to immigrants at the border are not merely immoral. They are frontal attacks on the Word that became flesh. That is why, when asked which commandment is first of all, Jesus responded that the first commandment requires us to “love the Lord []our God with all []our heart, and with all []our soul, and with all []our mind.” Note well, however, that Jesus adds that the second is like it, namely, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Matthew 22:34-40. The two commandments are, in fact, one. To love God is to love one’s neighbor and all who love their neighbors are loving God, whether they know it or not. On these two commandments, Jesus insists, rest the entire law and the prophets. Matthew 22:40. Jesus was frequently compelled to point out that the Sabbath and, indeed, the entire law was created to serve the needs of people, people were not created in order to follow rules.  

Much of Christian ethical reflection has been grounded in readings of the scriptures that are not grounded in the miracle of the Incarnation, but based rather on casuistic reasoning from specific biblical texts, often torn from their context. Such reasoning has given us hat mandates for women, exclusion of women from positions of church leadership, prohibitions against long hair for men and particularly cruel treatment of gay, lesbian and transgender persons. Then, too, there are the many prohibitions that find no basis in Scripture but reflect belief in a god obsessed with rule keeping and eternally incensed with the slightest infraction. I refer to the prohibitions against dancing, drinking alcohol, playing pool, playing card games, two piece bathing suits for women and other forbidden practices. Such religion makes of the law a ruthless slave master rather than a servant of humanity for facilitating justice, reconciliation and peace. [1]  

Making the Incarnation the starting point for ethical reflection is transformative. No longer is God’s assuming human flesh a distasteful necessity for dealing with human sin. Instead, it represents the culmination of God’s eternal purpose for humanity and for all creation. The cross, then, is a twofold revelation. In the first place, it reveals the depths of human depravity in our rejection of the very best God has to give us. Second, and more importantly, it reveals God’s determination not to be deterred by the world’s rejection of the Son. God will not be drawn into the vortex of retributive violence by which we are enslaved. Rather than responding to our violence with divine retribution, God responds by raising up the rejected Son and offering him to us again. The cross and resurrection is a triumph of mercy over judgment in the heart of the Triune God, God’s refusal to be driven from the flesh God assumes. At our very worst, God remains Immanuel, God with us. It is this belief that enables disciples of Jesus to meet hostility with hospitality, abuse with forgiveness, violence with a witness for peace, hatred with understanding, the darkness of fear with the light of hope.  

Here is an incarnational poem/prayer by Michel Quoist dwelling on the Word that sanctifies human flesh.

The Pornographic Magazine

Lord, I am ashamed of this magazine.

You must be profoundly hurt in your infinite purity.

The office employees all contributed to buy it.

The boy ran to fetch it,

And pored over it on the way back.

Here it is.

On its shining pages, naked bodies are exposed;

Going from office to office, from hand to hand-

Such foolish giggles, such lustful glances….

Empty bodies, soulless bodies,

Adult toys for the hardened and the soild.

And yet, Lord, man’s body is beautiful.

From the beginning you, the supreme artist, held the model

          before you, knowing that one day you would dwell in a

          human body when taking on the nature of man.

Slowly you shaped it with your powerful hands; and into its

          inert matter you breathed a living soul.

From then on, Lord, you asked us to respect the body, for the

          whole body is a conveyer of the spirit,

And we need this sensitive instrument that our spirits may

          commune with those of our brothers.

Words, in long processions, lead us toward other souls.

A smile on our lips, the expression in our eyes, reveal the soul.

The clasp of a hand carries our soul to a friend,

A kiss yields it to the loved one.

The embrace of the couple unites two souls in quest of a new

          child of God.

But it was not enough for you, Lord, to make of our flesh the

          visible sign of the spirit.

Through your grace the Christian’s body became sacred, the

          temple of the Trinity.

A member of the Lord, and a bearer of this God,

Supreme dignity of this splendid body!

Here, Lord, before you tonight, are the bodies of sleeping men:

The pure body of the tiny child,

The soiled body of the prostitute,

The vigorous body of the athlete,

The exhausted body of the factory worker,

The soft body of the playboy,

The surfeited body of the rich man,

The battered body of the poor man,

The beaten body of the slum child,

The feverish body of the sick man,

The painful body of the injured man,

The paralyzed body of the cripple,

All bodies, Lord, of all ages.

Here is the body of the fragile new-born baby, plucked like a ripe

          fruit from its mother.

Here is the body of the light-hearted child who falls and gets up,

          unmindful of his cuts.

Here is the body of the worried adolescent who doesn’t know that

          it’s a fine thing to grow up.

Here is the body of the grown man, powerful and proud of his

          strength.

Here is the body of the old man, gradually failing.

I offer them all to you, Lord, and ask you to bless them, while

          they lie in silence, wrapped in your night.

Left by their sleeping souls, they are therefore before your eyes,

          your own.

Tomorrow, shaken from their sleep, they will have to resume

          work.

May they be servants and not masters,

Welcoming homes and not prisons,

Temples of the living God, and not tombs.

May these bodies be developed, purified, transfigured by those

          who dwell in them,

And may we find in them, at the end of their days, faithful

          companions, illumined by the beauty of their souls,

In your sight, Lord, and in your mother’s,

Since you both belong to our earth,

And all the bodies of men will be the guests in glory of your

          eternal heaven.

Source: Quoist, Michel, Prayers (c. 1963 Sheed & Ward, Inc.) Translated by Agnes M. Forsyth and Anne Marie de Cammaille. Michel Quoist (1921-1997) was ordained a priest in1947. A French Catholic of the working-class, Quoist reveled in presenting Christianity as part of gritty daily reality, rather than in forms of traditional piety. He was for many years pastor to a busy city parish in Le Havre, France serving a working class neighborhood and developing ministries to young people through Catholic Action groups. Prayers, the book from which the above poem was taken, has been translated from the original French into several languages including Hungarian, Polish, Chinese, Portuguese, Swedish and English.


[1] Coupled with this misconception is the over simplistic rendering of the doctrine of “substitutionary atonement,” a rendering of which is spelled out in the tract popular among Evangelicals entitled “The Four Spiritual Laws.” According to this theory, God is in an impossible position. Being completely righteous, God cannot abide the slightest infraction of God’s rules, the punishment for which is eternal damnation. Yet God also desires to show mercy and forgiveness to God’s creatures, but without compromising God’s perfect righteousness by simply overlooking human sin. By taking on flesh in the person of Jesus who, in turn, takes the wrap for our sins, God is now able to forgive human sin while retaining God’s perfect righteousness. Problem solved. While the math works, the theory seems to indicate that God is helplessly trapped in the mechanics of God’s own metaphysic. Like the sympathetic meter maid who would love to give you a pass on parking illegally for just a second, but cannot do it because, alas, the ticket has been written out and is now in the system, so God cannot forgive sin without a payment of some kind. Yet the proposition that God cannot forgive sin without a suitable punishment strains credibility. If my Mom could forgive my breaking an antique lamp she inherited from Grandma that could never be replaced, I find it hard to believe God is incapable of being similarly magnanimous. For more on this, see “The Cross-Because Love Hurts.”  

Walking With Our Neighbors through the Largest Mass Deportation in US History

FOURTH SUNDAY OF ADVENT

Micah 5:2-5a

Luke 1:46b-55

Hebrews 10:5-10

Luke 1:39-55

Prayer of the Day: Stir up your power, Lord Christ, and come. With your abundant grace and might, free us from the sin that binds us, that we may receive you in joy and serve you always, for you live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“[God] has shown strength with his arm;
   he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
   and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
   and sent the rich away empty.” Luke 1:51-52.

This theme echoes throughout Luke’s gospel and, indeed, throughout the scriptures. God’s preferential option for the poor is unmistakable. As I have said previously, this does not mean that God cares less for the rich. It only means that salvation for the rich means being liberated from the grip of greed and from lives of ruthless consumption and exploitation. For those who have grown accustomed to believing they are entitled to more than daily bread, being reduced to a sustainable lifestyle will likely feel like being “sent away empty.” To those who imagine that they are entitled to taking what they want when they want it, having to take their place in line will no doubt seem like an afront. For those who imagine that they are “self made” and absolutely entitled to everything they own, an economy based on distributive justice will feel like robbery.

None of this plays well in a season where consumption reaches epic proportions. Every year at this time I hear again and again form some quarters, “put Christ back into Christmas.” I am not convinced he was ever there to begin with. Moreover, when I have asked people what they mean by putting Christ back into Christmas, I get answers like “Merry Christmas” instead of “Happy Holidays.” Keep the plastic Nativity display in the town square or that sculpture of Santa kneeling at the manger-it’s that sort of thing people imagine “puts Christ back into Christmas.” But it seems to me that if one really wants to put Christ back into Christmas-and the rest of the year as well, you take the side of the poor, the marginalized, the folks at the bottom of the social later, the victims of the world’s unsustainable practice of exploitation and oppression. Among these are migrants who are facing an unprecidented threat from the incoming Trump administration.

Jesus calls us to take sides. There is no neutrality, no “good people on both sides” waffling, no room for middle ground, not when it comes to choosing whether to stand with the oppressed or join their oppressors. Depending on whether the current administration’s threat to carry out the “greatest mass deportation” in this country’s history is just more Trumpian hot air or whether it actually will translate into policy, we may be confronted with the call to take the side of our neighbors facing deportation in some very concrete ways.    

Now I will grant that it is sometimes hard to find one’s footing under these circumstances. You may find yourself asking, “what am I supposed to do?” I ask myself the same question every day. But I refuse to be cowed by the enormity of the task to which Jesus calls us and I refuse to be convinced that anything I do is too small, too late and too ineffective. So Sesle and I are starting with the opening paragraph to our annual Christmas letter to family and friends which reads as follows:    

“Dear Family and Friends,

Our Lord’s Nativity reminds us that we worship as God’s Son a child born out of wedlock to a homeless couple forced to flee as refugees from political violence in their homeland and to seek sanctuary in a foreign country. So we invite you to pray with us this Christmas for all refugees in our midst who have fled persecution, poverty and violence. May they find among us a warm welcome, a helping hand and friends willing to come to their defense. May we treat these neighbors with such kindness that we shall not have to hear our Lord say to us, ‘I was a stranger and you did not welcome me.’”

This might seem like a small thing and it is. But the longer I live, the more convinced I am that tectonic changes come through the dynamics of human relationships. Attitudes toward LGBTQ+ folk change when Ms. Jones, who has played the organ and taught Sunday school from the time Adam and Eve were in the third grade, comes out. Fear of “illegals” melts away when you find out that the couple who has lived next door to you for a decade, whose children play with your children, who have been active in the PTA and organizers for the annual summer block party happen to be undocumented. Like me, you may have friends and family who see the world through the lens of right wing media convincing them that undocumented people are criminals, dangerous and need to be expelled from among us, and that people who think otherwise are “enemies from within” seeking to destroy our country. They might be surprised to learn that you, a person they know and love, are one of those “enemies from within” and that might be just enough to give them pause. It might be enough to open up the potential for dialogue and a change of heart. Very seldom does one change minds with a single letter, conversation or sermon. But sometimes it is enough to sow a little doubt into the rock hard certainty with which people hold their erroneous views. Minds often change slowly, but they are capable of change. That is why, folks, it is critical that we speak up whenever the opportunity presents itself. Substantial changes happen one changed mind at a time.

Of course, loving our neighbor requires more than talk. That is why we are also making a substantial donation to Global Refuge this year. For more than 85 years, Global Refuge has advocated for a fair and generous national culture of welcome. It is committed to dispelling disinformation and hateful rhetoric about immigrants and refugees. Global Refuge also provides resources, guidance and community to help restore a sense of home to immigrants, asylum seekers, and refugees. Through its persistent and faithful work, 750,000 persons have been resettled in the United States where they have contributed to the nation’s society and economy. Now, more than ever, the work of this organization needs our support.

Finally, we of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America (ELCA) need to think long and hard about what we meant back in 2019 when we publicly declared ourselves a “sanctuary church.” According to our website, being a sanctuary church means “that the ELCA is publicly declaring that walking alongside immigrants and refugees is a matter of faith.” So far, so good. But what does walking alongside immigrants and refugees look like in the face of “the greatest deportation this country has ever seen?” We know the price paid by African Americans in the fight to win equality, human dignity and basic freedoms. The blood shed on the Edmund Pettus Bridge witnesses to the price of faithfulness, of taking the side of the oppressed against the powerful. I am not sure we possess the moral courage, spiritual maturity or theological depth to walk the walk we talk so well in our public declarations. I am not sure we are ready to “offer up our bodies as a living sacrifice” in the service of our neighbors. See Romans 12:1.  

It is therefore important, I believe, that we press our bishops, pastors and lay leaders to open our sanctuaries, colleges and homes to shelter our neighbors against arrest and deportation. We need leadership to put us in touch with persons skilled in non-violent resistance and civil disobedience. The civil rights movement was successful largely because it exposed the depth of our nation’s cruelty and depravity practiced against people of color. It shocked the nation’s conscience deeply enough to turn the tide against overt discrimination. Though the struggle is far from over, there is no denying that systemic racism was delt a substantial blow through the efforts of a movement that began with and was supported largely by the Black churches.

A similar struggle may be required to turn the tide of animosity away from immigrants and refugees. I believe that our leaders genuinely want our church to walk with our neighbors in this way. But they are only human. Within our church there are many who, poisoned by disinformation, share the fear and hatred of migrants so prevalent in our culture. Bishops, pastors and lay leaders need to know that we are there to support them, that we have their backs and that they can depend on us to defend them as they seek to lead us in the way of the cross to which Jesus calls us.

I honestly hope that the threat of governmental action against our immigrant and refugee neighbors is over blown, that reasonable minds will prevail over the harsh rhetoric. But the MAGA mob demonstrated on January 6, 2021 that it is quite capable of lawlessness, cruelty and violence. A pastor recently remarked to me that she met a person who confided that he would probably need to ask forgiveness for what he would need to do as a patriot in the days ahead. Donald Trump has promised retribution against all who opposed him in the past and those of us who might do so in the future. It would, I believe, be foolish to dismiss these threats out of hand.

The good news in today’s gospel readings is that justice for the oppressed is God’s end game. No matter how the scoreboard looks today, Mary reminds us that the outcome of the game is not in doubt.  The wall builders, ethnic cleansers, border hawks and America First adherents are all on the wrong side of history. The earth belongs to the bridge builders, the throng made up of every nation, tribe and tongue, those who seek first the kingdom of God and Gods righteousness. To side with the most vulnerable, join in the divine mandate to upend the hierarchies that imprison the powerless among us is to side with the God and Father of Jesus Christ.

Here is a poem/song by Bob Dylan that I believe sounds the disrupting and liberating note heard in Mary’s Magnificat.

Come gather ’round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You’ll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you is worth savin’
And you better start swimmin’
Or you’ll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin’

Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won’t come again
And don’t speak too soon
For the wheel’s still in spin
And there’s no tellin’ who
That it’s namin’
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin’

Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don’t stand in the doorway
Don’t block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
The battle outside ragin’
Will soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin’

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don’t criticize
What you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is rapidly agin’
Please get out of the new one
If you can’t lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin’

The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is rapidly fadin’
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin’

Source: LyricFind © Universal Music Publishing Group. Bob Dylan (born Robert Allen Zimmerman, 1941) is an American singer-songwriter and a major figure in popular culture, having risen to prominence in the 1960s. The lyrics of the above song written in 1964 became an anthem for the civil rights and antiwar movements of the Vietnam era. His lyrics incorporate political, social and philosophical influences that resonated with the burgeoning counterculture of the sixties. Dylan has been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame and the Songwriters Hall of Fame. In 2008, the Pulitzer Prize Board awarded him a special citation for “his profound impact on popular music and American culture, marked by lyrical compositions of extraordinary poetic power.” In 2016, Dylan was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature.  

Over Stuffed Refrigerators and Crowded Closets

THIRD SUNDAY OF ADVENT

Zephaniah 3:14-20

Isaiah 12:2-6

Philippians 4:4-7

Luke 3:7-18

Prayer of the Day: Stir up the wills of your faithful people, Lord God, and open our ears to the preaching of John, that, rejoicing in your salvation, we may bring forth the fruits of repentance; through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

 “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” Luke 3:11.

Last week’s gospel lesson John the Baptist echoed the words of the prophet Isaiah calling upon us to “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.” The Prophet Malachi warned us that the coming mediator of God’s covenant would purge God’s people of sin that they might stand without fear in the presence of their God. The message was as clear as it was unsettling. Repent! That is, change your direction. Turn away from your self destructive and exploitive lifestyle that the messiah’s coming might be for you light rather than darkness; salvation rather than condemnation; vindication rather than judgment. In the face of such a message, one might well wonder, as did John’s hearers, “what shall we do?”

This week John gives us a simple and direct answer. The way you make “the crooked…straight, and the rough ways…smooth” is to erase the gap between the haves and the have nots. You have an extra coat, get it out of the closet and onto the back of someone who needs it. You have food in the fridge nearing the expiration date, get it to those whose fridge is empty. Wonder why God allows people to starve? God doesn’t. God has provided a solution to world hunger, homelessness and poverty. That solution is in your pantry, in your closet and in your wallet. Open your larder, open your wallet, open your home, open your border. God has given you a planet that can sustain you and provide for yours and everyone else’s needs. All you have to do is share it freely and equitably. Is that so hard?

Of course, generosity is hard. In the first place, it is hard because we have convinced ourselves that there is not enough to go around. That lie-which has its origin in the Garden of Eden-has been drummed into us from day one. We have been conditioned to believe that the world is a shrinking pie, that its going fast and that if we don’t get ours now and hang onto it for dear life, there won’t be anything left. There is no shortage of political demagogues these days who know how to exploit that fear, turn us against one another and convince us that we are being robbed of what is rightfully ours. There is nothing like fear to make one stingy, tight-fisted and defensive.

Secondly, we moderns have developed the peculiar notion of “private property” which, according to that religion called America, is a sacred precept. But the notion that near total ownership and control of land and property can be conferred upon any individual or people is foreign to the biblical understanding. Even the promised land was not given to Israel in fee absolute. Abuse of and exploitation of the land and its people could-and ultimately did-lead to Israel’s loss of the land. Inhabiting the promised land, or any land for that matter, is a privilege, not a divine right. Truth be told, most of us are living on land that our ancestors took away from somebody else. Call it settlement, colonization or whatever other name you like, it boils down to theft in the end. Thievery is, to say the least, a shaky moral foundation for claims of ownership. It is reminiscent of the following dialogue:

Get off my land!

Who says it’s your land?

My deed.

Where did you get that deed?

I inherited it from my father.

Where did he get it.

From his father.

And where did he get it?

He fought for it.

Well, then. I’ll fight you for it!

The bottom line is that the “earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it.” Psalm 24:1. We do not own a single inch of anything in any absolute sense. We are tenants responsible for the earth’s care and the care of all who live on it. Everything we “possess” is merely a trust to be managed with care for the benefit of the true Owner. Our hymnody says as much:

 “We give thee but thine own,

What ‘er the gift may be.

All that we have is thine alone,

A trust, O Lord, from thee.”

There is no room here for any notion of property being “private.”

Jesus taught his disciples to pray only for today’s physical needs. Matthew 6:11; Luke 11:3. Paul reminds Timothy that “if we have food and clothing, we will be content with these.” I Timothy 6:8. Everything else above and beyond that in our possession has been given for the service of our neighbor and the care of the earth. It’s that simple, hard as it may be to accept for those of us who have been hard wired to accumulate, hoard and safeguard. But as the following poem by Duchess of Newcastle, Margaret Cavendish, illustrates, this hard wiring is our undoing, bondage from which we desperately need liberation, both for our own sakes and for the sake of the world. We dare not be caught at Jesus’ coming with extra coats in our closet and expired food in the fridge!

Man’s Short Life and Foolish Ambition

In gardens sweet each flower mark did I,

How they did spring, bud, blow, wither and die.

With that, contemplating of man’s short stay,

Saw man like to those flowers pass away.

Yet built he houses, thick and strong and high,

As if he’d live to all Eternity.

Hoards up a mass of wealth, yet cannot fill

His empty mind, but covet will he still.

To gain or keep, such falsehood will he use!

Wrong, right or truth—no base ways will refuse.

I would not blame him could he death out keep,

Or ease his pains or be secure of sleep:

Or buy Heaven’s mansions—like the gods become,

And with his gold rule stars and moon and sun:

Command the winds to blow, seas to obey,

Level their waves and make their breezes stay.

But he no power hath unless to die,

And care in life is only misery.

This care is but a word, an empty sound,

Wherein there is no soul nor substance found;

Yet as his heir he makes it to inherit,

And all he has he leaves unto this spirit.

To get this Child of Fame and this bare word,

He fears no dangers, neither fire nor sword:

All horrid pains and death he will endure,

Or any thing can he but fame procure.

O man, O man, what high ambition grows

Within his brain, and yet how low he goes!

To be contented only with a sound,

Wherein is neither peace nor life nor body found.

Source: This poem is in the public domain. Margaret Cavendish (1623-1673) was an English philosopher, poet, scientist, fiction writer and playwright. She produced more than twelve literary works. Her writing became well known due in part to her high social status.  As a teenager, Cavendish became an attendant on Queen Henrietta Maria and travelled with her into exile in France. There she lived for a time at the court of the young King Louis XIV. Cavendish had the opportunity, rare for woman of her time, to converse with some of the most important and influential minds of her age. You can read more about Margaret Cavendish and sample more of her poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.