Tag Archives: god

Message of Advent: Stay Woke!

SECOND SUNDAY OF ADVENT

Malachi 3:1-4

Luke 1:68-79

Philippians 1:3-11

Luke 3:1-6

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Think Not all is Over

Think not, when the wailing winds of autumn

Drive the shivering leaflets from the tree,—

Think not all is over: spring returneth,

Buds and leaves and blossoms thou shalt see.

Think not, when the earth lies cold and sealed,

And the weary birds above her mourn,—

Think not all is over: God still liveth,

Songs and sunshine shall again return.

Think not, when thy heart is waste and dreary,

When thy cherished hopes lie chill and sere,—

Think not all is over: God still loveth,

He will wipe away thy every tear.

Weeping for a night alone endureth,

God at last shall bring a morning hour;

In the frozen buds of every winter

Sleep the blossoms of a future flower.

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

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

The Myth of Scarcity

TWENTY-FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

1 Kings 17:8-16

Psalm 146

Hebrews 9:24-28

Mark 12:38-44

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Blessing

For the graduates of the University of Arizona.

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

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

and all animals and humankind.

We gather to honor our students who have achieved the extraordinary

accomplishment of earning doctoral or master’s degrees.

We gather to honor their parents, grandparents, children,

family members, and friends who have traveled with them

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

this morning: we honor their devotion.

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

We are grateful for a homeland that has always thrived

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

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

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

accomplishments, and sometimes mourn losses.

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

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

We are blessed with distinct and melodious tongues.

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

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

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

May the words we speak go forth as bright beads

of comfort, joy, humor, and inspiration.

We have faith that the graduates will inspire others

to explore and follow their interests.

Today we reflect a rainbow of creation:

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

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

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

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

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

mountains that encircle us. The Santa Ritas instill in us

the vigorous spirit of youthful learning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

by the prayers of our forebearers.

We witnessed the recent fires the mountains suffered,

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

We understand that we are surrounded by mountains, dziił,

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

We are strong ourselves. We are surrounded by mountains

that help us negotiate our daily lives.

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

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

and optimism that reflect a generous spirit.

We are grateful for all blessings, seen and unseen.

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

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

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

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

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

All is beautiful again.

Hózhǫ́ nááhasdłíí’.

Hózhǫ́ nááhasdłíí’.

Hózhǫ́ nááhasdłíí’.

Hózhǫ́ nááhasdłíí’.

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