Tuesday, November 01, 2016

How to Survive This Election as a Christian

Last July…yes, July!...satirist Andy Borowicz declared that “the bar officially cannot be lowered.” 

He wrote in the New Yorker:

A group of scholars who have been monitoring the descent of the bar over the past few decades have concluded that the bar can no longer be lowered, the scholars announced on Friday.

The academics, led by Professor Davis Logsdon, of the University of Minnesota, published their conclusion after their research definitively found that the bar had finally dropped to its lowest possible position.

“For those who thought the bar still had room to be lowered, our findings resoundingly contradict that assumption,” Logsdon said. “The bar is now essentially flush with the ground.”

Since July, I am thinking that they must now be digging a ditch because the bar keeps descending to lower and lower depths!

2016 is, without a doubt, the strangest election season I have ever experienced. And it has tested my faith. Not just my faith in democracy or my faith in civic discourse, it has tested my faith as a Christian.

And I know I am not alone. As I talk to people around the parish, around my City of Easton, and even (on-line) from around the country, this whole season has been one massive test of faith. 

How can an everyday Christian survive this election season?

Brooke Perry, a seminarian at Western Seminary in Portland, Oregon points out that there are at least two things eating at the soul of our civic discourse, regardless of one’s political persuasion or affiliation: fear and opinions.

A narrative of fear has consumed this election season. Whether it’s rhetoric on the campaign trail or what we hear in the media, a narrative of fear has crept into our daily lives.
The election. 
Those two simple words drum up a great deal of anxiety, fear and opinions. And this isn’t wrong. But I am tired of reading a lot of things from a lot of people—a lot of Christians in particular—who are speaking out, but from a distance. It seems to me that much of what we do behind a keyboard is driven by fear.

One aspect of this is that we have lost the ability to talk to each other about our common civic life. We have forgotten that “politics” is not simply about whose party, which candidate, wins the horse race. The real work is how we as a society get done the things that need doing, and how we as a society are going to order the priorities of our common life.

In that context, disagreement, even debate, should be expected. But when the goal becomes “my side wins at all costs” and even worse, our argument should utterly destroy the opposition, not a lot is going to get done. And if we can’t disagree with civility, then we cannot compromise, and if we can’t compromise then we are frozen, and all we have left is our frustration and anger.

Christian witness in this atmosphere does not arise from mimicking or blindly aligning with the culture’s values. The Apostle Paul reminded the Christians in Rome that not being conformed to the world means allowing God’s Holy Spirit to transform our minds (Romans 12:2).

Jesus, who could at times be very hard on the ‘powers-that-be,’ based his ethic on love and said over and over again that God’s reign, God’s kingdom, is present and real right now! But it is we citizens of Christ’s kingdom through faith and baptism who both bring it about and represent Christ to the world. So how respond to this political season is very important.   
The first we can do in response to this crazy election season to the Kingdom to fruition is remain calm even when the air is filled with fear-fueled and cruel words. And to do that, we must pause.

Perry writes:

When you’re angry, pause.
When you’re scared, pause.
When you’re tempted to join the angry mobs of people who don’t quite know what to do with all of their valid emotions, pause.
Pause. Pray. Give yourself a little bit of space to invite the Holy Spirit into these very valid concerns that an election like this one will bring up in our hearts, and see what God would have us do….

Taking her thoughts a step further, when you are tempted to blast someone in person, or by e-mail, or on social media…pause.  When you are tempted to react to a wild story or rumor about a candidate by repeating it, re-posting it, or stewing about it…pause. I have found in these moments that www.snopes.com is my friend, not to mention sites like www.polticfact.com, to put the wilder stories and images in perspective.

When you are tempted to think that only one candidate is the “Christian candidate” and begin to think of Christianity as simply another interest group that lobbies, buys votes, and must be defended, then stop. Pause. Recall that Jesus reminded his followers that his kingdom was not the same as the human polis that we inhabit.

Archbishop Desmond Tutu and the Dalai Lama are, regardless of the different religions, the best of friends. Both have experienced actual political oppression, violence and exile. Together they have written a book called The Book of Joy and they havegood advice to us as we spiritually navigate the end of this very difficult political season.

Tutu says that “fear, anger, hatred exist in our own minds and hearts as well, it’s not just ‘out there.’ If we realize that, we can have compassion for what’s underneath the vitriol.’’ Tutu counsels us to cope with unpleasantness like dishwashers, not vacuum cleaners — take dirt and wash it off, don’t suck it up and retain it.

I have been helped by turning to the Ignatian Exercises to help guide me through this season of turmoil and vitriol.

First, realize that elections are important and that we have both a civic and Christian responsibility to take part. Politics is not win-lose, zero-sum game. It is an on-going process.
We must also remember that even if “our” candidate wins, they are not the Messiah. No human leader will ever solve all our problems, and they certainly can’t give us inner peace.

Having said that, here is the pattern I recommend:

Pray -> Listen -> Pray -> Discern -> Pray -> Act (i.e. Vote) -> Pray
[Rinse, Repeat]

Listen to not only what the candidates are saying and doing, but what is going on in our hearts and minds and what is going around us.

Discern what God’s values are. Discernment means listening with our heart, our ears, and our mind. It means listening with God’s heart as well. How are Scriptural values of justice, care for the poor and outcast, and respect for the dignity of all God’s people reflected in the candidate I am voting for?

Act on what we are called to. We live in faith that our choice is the faithful choice, while remembering that we are not God. We act as faithfully as we can to live out Christ’s love in the world. And we know that no matter who wins or loses, God is still in charge of creation and Christ is still establishing God’s kingdom.

Pray. Before, during, and after each step, pray. Give our hearts, minds, and senses to God. Make your decision a faithful offering to God in the same civic sphere in which Jesus walked, taught, and healed, and for which he died and rose again.

Finally, love. You may be surprised to discover this, but there are brothers and sisters in Christ who might actually disagree with you. Sometimes occasionally. Sometimes a lot. Our relationships are not defined merely by our politics, but by our common membership in Christ. That sister and brother in Christ who votes differently than you is first and foremost, a forgiven sinner and child of God, just like you.

Jesus calls us to love the world, the sick, the wounded, the outcast, the lost, and the least. That neither begins nor ends at the ballot box. It begins at the foot of the cross, gathers us around the font and the Eucharistic table, and sends us into the world in love.

Friday, October 28, 2016

Jack Chick's mangled witness

Word has come that Jack Chick has died. Maybe you have heard of him, or perhaps read one of his tracts?

From 1964 on, Chick Publications produced little comic style tracts designed to lead a person to Christ in a fire-and-brimstone style. The tightly written and illustrated little vignettes portray a fundamentalist Gospel so stark that even Christianity Today and the Christian Booksellers Association shied away from them as being too harsh and over-simplified.
I first encountered these booklets when I was a teenager in the 1970's. Generally speaking, I found them to be a kind of theological car wreck. Too gruesome to watch, but strangely irresistible. 
They followed me around. Many hours of hospital ministry was spent scooping these (and other) tracts designed to scare the infirm and their loved ones into heaven. I used to keep a bulletin board in my office for such material under the banner "For THIS we had a Reformation?!?"

Every now and then, I will find them left around our parish's soup kitchen, or some kind soul will include them in an unsigned letter designed to correct the theological errors of my preaching or writing. 
My colleague on the Episcopal Cafe, Jon White wrote:
Chick was known for his Chick Tracts; controversial comics rooted in his own fundamentalist Protestant worldview.  His tracts were notoriously anti-Catholic and also attacked Freemasons, Muslims, Jews, and  other groups whose views he deemed contrary to his own evangelical brand of faith.
Chick fell for every religious conspiracy possible; rarely ever relying on actual history or fact...
Los Angeles Magazine reprised a 2003 profile on the news of Mr. Chick's death.
Chick’s most popular book, This Was Your Life!, was published in 1964. At 21 pages, it is a masterpiece of shorthand horror. By the second panel, the Scotch-swilling, ’Vette-driving protagonist has dropped dead of a heart attack. “Review his life!” the Lord commands, and an angel produces a massive CinemaScope screen in the night sky. The man watches scenes from his wasted life, in which he tells filthy stories, leers at blonds (“ummm nice!” he says to himself), and thinks about a ball game in the middle of church.This Was Your Life! created a template—sin, damnation, the possibility of redemption—for scores of future tracts.
The artist’s formula and drawing style have changed little in five decades. When an archivist at the Pasadena Playhouse began rooting through old boxes in the late ’90s, she discovered drawings that he had done in 1948. The single-panel cartoons revealed the same perspiring characters, pop-eyed faces, and 1940s Sunday-comics sensibilities of his current tracts. “He’s not worried about impressing other cartoonists, which is kind of what motivates a lot of cartoonists to pick up their chops a little bit,” says Clowes. “There’s something really interesting about seeing a cartoonist not develop at all.” Art Spiegelman, who won a Pulitzer Prize for Maus, a graphic novel about the Holocaust, is less kind. “It makes me despair about America,” says Spiegelman, “that there are so many people who read these things.”
Chick’s choice of medium was not that odd—for the 17th and 18th centuries. He comes from a grand tradition of pamphleteers, writers like Daniel Defoe, Jonathan Swift, and Thomas Paine, who exploited the new technology of movable type to reach the masses in previously unimaginable numbers. Starting in the 1640s, pamphlets about everything from religious reform and phrenology to the injustice of the Stamp Act were everywhere, their authors at the forefront of the world’s first true media boom. In many ways the pamphlets of that era functioned much like today’s Weblogs. Chick, however, has done bloggers one better, finding ways to get his message to places still untouched by the Internet. Missionaries regularly take his tracts into the world’s most isolated regions—and pay Chick for the privilege, at about 14 cents a tract.
Chick's work angered many people, as the comments downstream in The Episcopal Cafe piece illustrates. The Progressive Secular Humanist blog at Patheos was typically unsparing in its criticism of his work, saying: "The comics promoted an extreme conservative Christian message filled with hatred and justified with ignorance."

Anecdotally, at least, I know of as many people driven away from faith in Christ because of these booklets as those drawn towards Him, maybe more. At the very least, it portrays a theology and approach to evangelism as subtle as a sledge hammer breaking up concrete and about as compassionate. 
Christianity Today wrote:
Among comic artists, Chick rose to a level of fascination as one of the bestselling underground publishers in the world. Early news of his death on the site Boing Boing launched Chick’s name as a national trending topic on Twitter on Monday afternoon.
In the late 1990s, a media watchdog site described the secular fascination with Chick: “To some, Chick tracts are American folk art, or even a form of religious pornography, titillating and somewhat dangerous. Chick is the ultimate underground artist: single-minded and self-published, passionately committed to his message without regard for external social forces.”
Chick’s 150-plus tracts center around distinguishing the “saved” from the “lost,” the latter represented by various culture war targets over the years. 
The temptation to schadenfreude is almost irresistible. A lot of people have imagined that Chick has gone straight to hell without passing "Go." These imaginings have been often as cruel as they claimed his tracts were, masking the cruelty as cheap jokes. Like this one:

Over the years, a few Christians have attempted to take on Chick's theology and his narrow view of salvation. Given that the only English Bible he accepted was the King James and his view of the church excluded virtually all other Christian traditions but his how, this could only get one so far. 
It seems to me that maybe the best refutation might come in the form of a little comic book in the style of, well, a Chick Tract. Here is the musing I came up with for a comment I wrote in response to the story on The Episcopal Cafe (full disclosure: I am a member of the Cafe news team):
Personally, and perhaps in response to my own sense of schadenfreude, this is what I imagine might have happened to Jack Chick after his death:
Mr. Chick arrives in heaven and while walking around spots a little booklet on a table and picks it up. Simply drawn and simply written, he is drawn into the story and begins to read.
Titled “Surprise!” the little booklet tells the story of a very religious and zealous man named Jack who, after a lifetime of popularizing a fundamentalist vision of the Gospel, dies and is confronted by God.
In the booklet, we see Jack looking around a wondrous place filled with light. As he enters, he finds the place filled with Catholics who ate “Death Cookies” (along with Orthodox and Coptic Christians, who all look the same anyway), gay couples holding hands, Muslims, Jews, kids who bailed on Sunday school to play Dungeons and Dragons, and even run of the mill agnostics. He looks over and sees Mother Theresa and Ghandi chatting while elsewhere the Pope and Charles Darwin are taking a walk, admiring the view. 
Jack is startled and confused, and asks a passing angel if this is really heaven.Without a word, the angel accompanies Jack to God’s throne where he will receive final judgment.
In the next frame, we see a magnificent but faceless person sitting on the throne drenched in blinding life. The One on the throne begins to describe to Jack that Christ died once for all while we all sinners (Romans 5:6-8) and all along it was God’s will that all God’s sheep would come to the shepherd (John 10:16), even the ones who do not know God’s voice. God tells him that there is no law against a holy life but there are clear signs of holy living for all to see (Galatians 5:22-26). Jack will learn that God desires mercy not sacrifice (Matthew 12:7), love over judgment (Luke 6:37) and wants us do justice and walk with God (Micah 6:8). Finally, in a thunderous voice, God tells Jack that he will be judged according to how he met Christ in the hungry, the naked, the outcast, and the imprisoned (Matthew 25:31-46).
As Jack falls to his knees, shocked at what he has learned, tormented by his failure to heed God’s word, and fearful that he might be cast into eternal torment, he looks up to find Jesus helping him to his feet and welcoming him into a Kingdom more glorious…and more populated…than Jack ever imagined.
In my imagination, I see Mr. Chick finishing the booklet, and looking around, as if for the first time, comprehending the love that drew him in the first place.
At least, that is my prayer.
For those who think that I am being too easy on a person who spewed such hatred and who so badly misrepresented the Gospel to so many, all I can say is that I am mindful of the various ways that I have mangled my own witness in my lifetime. The fact that Chick's reach has outstripped my own doesn't absolve me of the call to humility in the face of the call to serve at once as an messenger of the Good News and as an ambassador of reconciliation. 

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

On not being a robot

Lord, be thy word my rule;
in it may I rejoice;
thy glory be my aim,
thy holy will my choice;
thy promises my hope;
thy providence my guard;
thine arm my strong support;
thyself my great reward.
Christopher Wordsworth, 1807-1885
Hymn 626 in Hymnal, 1082
A few weeks ago, I was riding my bike and, on leaving the excellent bike trails around Easton, had to navigate for a time on the city streets. The driver of a one car did not see me riding lawfully with traffic along the right side of the road, with parked cars on my right and traffic on my left. This is, perhaps, the most dangerous kind of bike riding because if a door suddenly opens or a parked car turns out, it is trouble for the bicyclist. Anyway, the car did not give me the required four feet of space that Pennsylvania law requires and I had to dive for the curb to avoid getting smooshed.

As the car went by, I noticed that the driver must have seen me and reacted too late, because it swerved about a car-length after it passed me. Then I noticed that the car was festooned with cameras. It was a car from a certain ubiquitous web-search and software company driving around mapping the city. As I got back on my bike, I wondered if it was an automated car. I know that they are in Pittsburgh now, and these things are in the news. But I wondered, if this vehicle had been driven by computer would it have noticed the bicyclist it nearly creamed or if it was only a human that missed me.

I chuckled at the idea that if a computer car had smooshed me, at least it would have been following the rules!

Thinking about the coming technology of self-driving cars started me thinking about obedience; because when you train a computer to drive a car, you have to train it to obey traffic laws and the rules of the road. That would be easy. The hard part is training it to be attentive to the world around it. And sometimes it won't know what to pay attention to. Bicycles, squirrels, pedestrians, other drivers, the weather, and the time of day all have this way of randomly tossing us the unexpected.

I remember teaching my kids how to drive. They were so concerned about the pedestrians and squirrels, it was hard to get them to remember that that red sign meant stop, after which one much ‘go’ again!

But computers are backwards from people because they have to be taught every single thing that might possibly happen before you set them loose. The problem is that while we need to know the rules of the road, blind obedience to those rules can wreck your car or worse! They don’t call it artificial intelligence for nothing!

The life of faith does not lend itself to artificial intelligence. But we, like an automated car, have to learn to navigate both old and new roads in new ways. When we decide to become intentional about our Christian living, sooner or later we have to learn how to be obedient without causing wrecks. In the Rule of St. Benedict, obedience is not merely blind adherence to a set of rules. Instead our rule of life informs our living and our life of faith.

But when we think of the Ten Commandments or the Sacramental life or the Book of Common Prayer or the Rule of St. Benedict as nothing more than a series of religious traffic laws that tell us how to act, when to stand, who to hang around with, and so on, we make it impossible to deal with the unexpected. And know it or not, we start making silly procedural regulations that keep us in the letter of the law instead of keeping us attentive to where we are.

If we are not careful, we might feel as if we earned God’s wrath, or at least disapproval when these rules get broken. And this wears us down spiritually. It reinforces the idea that we are “not up to the task,” and that the task itself is beyond our reach. In our spiritual journey, it causes us to smoosh pedestrians and swerve too late.

One solution might be to get rid of the rules altogether. It is common these days for people to decide that since, in their view, all religion is regulation, that it is best to junk it altogether. They assume the posture of “spiritual but not religious.” That is, they seek the benefits of spiritual living—attentiveness, inner peace, creativity, compassion, and so on---without any of the regulation or dry dogma that they associate with religion.

Folks who make this choice often cite Jesus himself in telling me why they participate less and less in whatever church they are running away from.

But imagine our roads if there were no rules at all. Some say that we may as well be that way. When I was a kid in New England, my dad used to say that the dream of total global disarmament was impossible as long as Bostonians were allowed to keep their cars. But even there, as strange as it seems, there are unwritten practices that help people navigate the roads.

In other words, people come up with rules and ritual even if no one writes them down. In our culture we assume that every one of us has within themselves the resources to lead a full, happy life without any appeal to outside help. We think that we can Google our way to a deeper life, picking and choosing what appeals to us. The problem is that this cuts us off from the wisdom of people who have gone before us, so we don’t discover the lessons of the pitfalls and strengths of the rich traditions of the Church.

So without a rule of life…without obedience…we are all over the road when it comes to our spiritual living.

Another challenge for the person who chooses “spirituality without religion” has to do with accountability and transformation. One question I sometimes raise with folks who talk to me about their preference for a spirituality without religion is whether their approach has an impact on their ethical decision-making, their sense of justice, and their accountability to someone beyond themselves.

In other words, does your spirituality change you? Does it make you a better, more ethical person? Does is make you attentive to the people and world around you while, at the same time, it makes you more mature and capable? In short, besides blessing your existing habits and preferences, does your spiritual life give you a firm framework for your living?

In the rule of St. Benedict, the element of obedience balances and holds in tension the equal elements of “amendment of life” and “stability.” In other words, it helps stay put where we need to stay put; and it helps us to change what we need to change.

Everyone has something in them that they want or need to change. It might be an addiction, a habit, a tendency to repeat the same mistakes, a personal quality that gets in our own way, an unhealthy way of relating to others that needs to change, but we all have something. The leg of The Rule called “Amendment of Life” addresses our life long call to orient our life towards Christ, and that means change.

And everyone needs to be grounded. We need to not flit from new thing to new thing, or to be a chasing after the next spiritual fashionista. This is addressed in the part of The Rule dealing with “Stability,” which calls us to stay put.

What keeps from either becoming stuck, on the one hand, or from bouncing from thing to thing, on the other, is the third aspect of The Rule, “obedience.”

But obedient to what?

If you are an Episcopalian, then what we are obedient to is the structure and forms we have chosen to live apart of. In others words, the Book of Common Prayer: weekly Eucharist (at least), daily prayer both as a community and by ourselves, and the sacramental life starting with Baptism. It means we read a part of the Bible daily. It means that when are sick we call for a priest and ask for the sacrament of the sick. When we get married, or celebrate hallmarks of our lives, and when we die, these are all acts that happen in Christian community.

Obedience in our context means that we understand all of us…laity and clergy…to represent Christ in the world.

The Prayer Book teaches us that the main representative of Jesus to the world is the baptized person and that ordained orders exist to train, support, equip, and support the baptized as they live out their Christian vocation in their daily living.

Obedience teaches us to follow Christ. We may find the pattern of daily office, stopping to re-call the Saints of the Church, weekly Sunday Eucharist, regular giving of our means to care for the poor and to support the Church, to be strenuous, even at times out of reach, but in doing it we find that we learn something of the even bigger need to follow and obey Christ.


The idea of being almost run over by a robot-car reminded me that obedience is much more than following the rules. It is also about paying attention to the world around me, and applying those rules as safely, and as ethically as I can manage…it requires creativity and the occasional judgement call. I thank God that we are not robots merely programmed to go from place to place, but are growing people who seek change grounded in Jesus balanced by obedience. 

Sunday, July 10, 2016

Now is the time for the hard work of mercy

A sermon for the Eighth Sunday after Pentecost  (Proper 8C) - Luke 10:25-37

One of the many things I love about Easton is that we get to celebrate Independence Day twice! I love how we get to get our day off, have the cook outs and the fireworks on July 4th and then on the Sunday after, get to do it all over again!

But this has been a complicated week. Between the 4th of July and our celebration of that first public reading of the Declaration of Independence, we have had some very sad and tragic things going onowhere.

First came the news came two more senseless and unnecessary killings of African American males by police officers took place, one in Baton Rouge and another outside of St. Paul, Minnesota, reawakening and last summer’s apparent epidemic of violent encounters between police and people of color. So by mid-week we were grieving and praying for Alton Sterling, Philando Castille, and we were praying for justice and an end to violence.

Following the two killings, many peaceful demonstrations and public prayer vigils happened around the country, bringing to attention the issues of unwarranted violence against people of color, and gun violence in general. And during one of those peaceful #BlackLivesMatter demonstrations in Dallas, Texas, where the police were actually supporting and protecting  the demonstrators, a lone gunman shot and wounded seven officers and killed five others.

We pause today to remember those officers and their families in our prayers, and the seven officers wounded in the line of duty. We remember transit police officer Brent Thompson; Dallas police officers Patrick Zamarripa; Michael Krol; Lorne Ahrens; and Michael Smith.

Let me say their names again: Alton Sterling, Philando Castille, Brent Thompson, Patrick Zamarripa; Michael Krol, Lorne Ahrens, Michael Smith.

A former Texas police chief and Episcopal Deacon named Alberto Melis posted a photo taken in Belo Garden Park, Dallas, and Tweeted by Dallas PD during the protests march before the shootings, showing a Dallas police officer standing with Black Lives Matters marchers. Deacon Melis wrote: “We are a polarized nation. We sit and live in our echo chambers, listening only to those who think like us and listening only to what reinforces our beliefs and values … Since the shootings I've read comments which range in the polar extremes of blaming "Black Lives Matter" to "Chickens coming home to roost." Really? Really... But I've read countless comments written from within the depths of people aching for our communal and personal loss. Indeed … Look at this photo. THIS is our nation. Beyond the hate, fear and discord, exacerbated by the ugly metrics of an election year—this is still us, this is our nation. We are in this together ..."

This violence did not happen in a vacuum. The soirces are deeply ingrained in all of us.

It arose out of the deeply ingrained mistrust that many white folk carry around in our hearts for our African American neighbors…you know what I mean right? The pause, the check in our step, that we experience when we see a person of color, especially if they are young and male.

It comes from a context where black parents have to teach their sons and daughters in how to survive an encounter with the police.

It lives in a  context where same sex couples dare not hold hands in public as I can do with my wife.

It comes from a context where every woman must be aware of how men interact with them.

When I started planning this service with my colleagues several weeks ago, I thought it would be good for us to listen to some of our forebears and recall that patriotism is not just a love of country but a duty and responsibility to live and work together. To remind ourselves that we citizens are in this together.

Then all this happened.

Thank God that the Revised Common Lectionary gives us this Gospel for today, a Gospel shared by all our churches, and that is Jesus’ story of the Good Samaritan.

We all know this story. Everybody knows what a Good Samaritan is: it is a person who goes out of his way to help. In some big cities, the tow trucks who come and help you when your car breaks down in rush hour are called “Samaritans.” We have Good Samaritan laws and Good Samaritan hospitals. We all know that any charitable act makes us Good Samaritans. Even people who only use Gideon Bibles for hotel coasters have heard the story.

The story contrasts the two who did not help with the one who did. To Jesus’ audience, the most righteous pass by the injured man, but the one we would not choose, the outsider, is the one who comes to help.

But there is more going on. Dr. Amy-Jill Levine, a New Testament professor at Vanderbilt University, who is also Jewish, reminds us that Rabbi Jesus tells this short story in answer to a question “how do I inheret eternal life?” Jesus asks the person, a lawyer of the Jewish law, what he thinks. He says that the heart of the law is to love God with all our heart, soul, and mind, and our neighbor as ourselves.

This means that the man is part and parcel of the movement in 1st Century Judaism to move the heart of Judaism out of the Temple and into the synagogue, from sacrifice to daily faithfulness and obedience that comes from the heart. Jesus is pleased.

But who is my neighbor?

The question is not mere self-justification.

There were those in 1st Century Judaism that believed that there were two standards for ethics and morals. One for inside the community, how we act among ourselves, and one for how we act around Gentiles.
So which is it? Do I love just the people in my tribe, my neighborhood, my denomination, my political party, my race, or my nationality? Does charity both begin –and stay—at home?

Or is love for everyone, including—especially—those people that I would never hang around with: the stranger, the other, the outcast, the outsider, the oppressor?
In a world where Judaism was moving out into a pagan, secular world called the Roman Empire, this was a very big question. Should we stay in our little silos, or go into the world?

This question is still with us today.

To answer the question, Jesus tells the story.

Imagine that you are going from Jerusalem to Jericho when you are set upon by brigands who rob you and leave you for dead. A priest and a Levite see you and cross to the other side of the road and hurry on their way. But a third man sees you, helps and cares for you. When you wake up you discover that this man who helped is your worst enemy…a Samaritan.

“So,” Jesus asks. “Who was your neighbor?”

The one who showed you mercy, that’s who.

The point of the parable is not neighborliness, but mercy. The story is not a moral tale about being nice but teaches an ethic that says God’s love applies to all people, at all times, in all places.

Mercy is intentional. It is hard work. Mercy requires sacrifice. This is not Mr. Rogers (or our view of Mr. Rogers…who actually taught the hard work and joy of mercy to children in wonderfully gentle yet subversive ways!) To love God with your whole being and to love your neighbor means that you must love and show mercy. That, for Jesus, was the heart of the law.
So…in a world of violence, racism, division, what do we do?

Don’t walk away. Don’t avert your eyes.  Show mercy. Dare to offer acts of practical, life-changing compassion. Trust that God bigger than our fear of the Other, the Stranger, the Different.

Mercy is much more than helping one stranger on the road. Mercy is coming to see that the whole Jericho road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life's highway.

Mercy is more than flinging a coin to a beggar; it is not haphazard and superficial. It comes to see that the world that produces beggars needs restructuring.

The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King reminded us that violence only brings about violence. That darkness does not dispel darkness but only light can push away the night. We are called to be the ones to bring mercy and justice to all God’s people.

Our land and our people are hurting today. Do not cross the road, but be citizens of God's heavenly Jerusalem. Show mercy.
Do not cross the road. Show mercy. We must confront our deep seated racism and turn anew and join with Jesus in making God’s reign known to all.

Do not avert your gaze, but instead be the Samaritan who shows mercy. Seek real conversation and engage—really know—the people who are different, who scare us, who are other.

Do not walk past, spending your energy and focus on choosing sides and enemies. Instead, like the Samaritan choose the side of compassion and healing. Choose mercy.

On this Heritage Day, we celebrate our country and our city. We are called to see the pain of the world, the injury of our neighbor, the division in our culture and choose what kind of patriots we will be As the prophet Micah says , “do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with our God.”

Don’t walk past.

With a steady gaze, and a steady beat, in this moment choose to walk the way of Jesus, the way of mercy.

Monday, June 20, 2016

Looking evil in the eye

A sermon for the Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 7C. June 19, 2016 - Luke 8:26-39

Don’t you wish sometimes that you could just gather up all the evil in the world and just dump it into a rocket-ship and fire it into the sun or something? I don’t know about you, but this has been one of those weeks for me.
In the gospel today, when Jesus is confronted by a man who was possessed by demons and it sure seems like Jesus bundled up all that evil and sent it away, into a herd of swine who ran headlong into the water to drown. After a week of mass shootings, violence, and all kinds of hateful language and controversy, I sure would like to send all this evil far, far away!
We Episcopalian Christians take evil seriously. We are called to know its name and look evil in the eye. We are called to speak up and not be silent when evil enters the room. Every time we baptize someone, the candidates, or their parents and sponsors, have to answer two questions: “Do you renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God?” And: “Do you renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God?”
That doesn’t leave us much room does it? Some people say “I don’t cross my fingers when I say the creed.” I wonder how many people cross their fingers when they make these two renunciations?
The spiritual powers that rebel against God and corrupt and destroy the creatures of God appear mainly through fear and hatred.  These are not just emotions, but a spiritual state. It is very easy to be tempted to confront evil with more evil…to pile on fear in response to fear, to meet prejudice with prejudice,violence with violence. That’s because everybody is against evil but very few know what to do about it!
I am intrigued by the various responses to evil in today’s Gospel. 

There is Jesus who, when confronted with a madman who screams at and threatens people, who throws himself to the ground and roams among the dead in a cemetery, looks evil in the eye and forces the demons, through his calm clarity, to speak its name and flee.
Then there were the people in the village who tried to contain evil the old fashioned way: by force. By the possessed man broke every leather strap and broke every bound and ran loose among them. Trying to tame evil by force failed.
And then there were the people who were more afraid of Jesus’ power to confront evil than they were of the demons he confronted! They were, perhaps, grateful for the peace and quiet, but still asked Jesus to leave because God knows what other apple carts Jesus might upset. They were content to live with the evil around them as long as life was predictable.
One of the difficulties this week was how hard it was to name the evil visited upon Orlando. Instead of naming the shooting for what it was, an open, unashamed attack on LGBTIQ people, we gave it a general name: terrorism. Instead of ministering the victims pain and the fear of that community, we said that it was an attack on us all. We argued about whether it was really the worst mass killing in our history. All of these distancing tactics are poor attempts to fight evil on its own terms, and evil always breaks loose.
All too often, we put up with small evils as if that is the way things are, are horrified when someone takes these beliefs to a horrible conclusion. We act as if one has nothing to do with the other...until it's too late. 

It has become a cultural ritual, hasn't it? Someone picks up a firearm and kills a bunch of people. We go through a cycle of rage. We go through various exercises to frame the meaning...terrorism...gun legislation...seeking a motive...burying the dead...finger pointing. And when it's all done, our leaders have done...nothing. To confront evil effectively, we must look it in the eye, name it for what it is. But when we do, we become scared because we are afraid of how it might change us. So we settle for half-measures and simplistic solutions.

But this is not new.
Not long ago, white Americans decried the lynching of their black neighbors but protected the laws, customs, and social rituals of racism…as if one had nothing to do with the other.
We hear people decry sexual violence but uphold a social structure the diminishes women, as if one had nothing to do with the other.
We hear people openly mourn the dead at the Pulse, while they continue to deny full equal protection under the law for LGBT persons, and preach theologies that turn these persons into second-class Christians, as if these two have nothing to do with each other.
A hero of mine was a Lutheran Pastor named Martin Niemoller who, after the Nazi Party took power stood in his Berlin pulpit and said “Herr Hitler, God is my Fuhrer!” I have always admired his courage and clarity. But my hero was not immune to half-measures. The was a time when he also used the phrase "Jewish problem" in his preaching, but instead of concentration camps and Jewish laws, he preferred conversion to Christianity as "the Solution." It was a blind spot, a kind of myopia in an otherwise clear vision. It would not be until 1963, long after the war, years after his own arrest, and confinement to a concentration camp before Pastor Niemoller publicly confessed to his own anti-Semitism. For all his courage and resolve, it took that long for him to come to terms with his part in what he came to fight. 
That same year, 1963, Martin Luther King went to Birmingham, Alabama, and was arrested for peacefully protesting segregation. Some local pastors—including Episcopal clergy—wrote him and asked him to tone down his rhetoric and stop the protests. King wrote from his jail cell “how long shall we wait in the face of injustice?" 
But just as the Gerasenes could not contain their demon-filled man with mere straps and chains, so we cannot contain evil with pretty words or half measures.
Jesus was not distracted by the evil but sees it for what it is…He even dialogues with it! But he stays focused on healing the man possessed instead of playing evil’s deadly game. The demons can’t take it! They flee from the man and away from Jesus into that herd of swine.
What drove these demons out of the man? What made life unbearable for those demons that Jesus faced? It was the power of Jesus’ love that made these demons want to take up residence somewhere else! Jesus was doing the things that evil hates!
That is what Jesus is teaching us during this terrible week: if you want to cast out demons, do the thing that evil hates.
Jesus shows us, in his unflinching encounter with a legion of demons and on his journey to the cross, that it is God’s power and God’s authority that enables him to confront evil on God’s terms. By simply living and doing what he was called to do; by teaching, healing, and being a companion to the outcast he did all the things that evil hates…he drove evil crazy! They wanted to run away! When Jesus was crucified, it looked as if evil won. But in fact evil was defeated. Forever.
And through of the cross and resurrection God remakes creation. It is through Jesus, and our participation in God's redemptive work that we discover over and over again that what the Apostle Paul said is true: "As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female [..and I should add here is no black and white, gay and straight!] for all of you are one in Christ Jesus." 
While we are justly horrified at the actions of an angry man who uses religious words to cover his evil, the response of people to the violence is even more remarkable. We see evil defeated in thousands of great and small ways.
We saw it in every candle lit, every rainbow flag flown, every act of love, every grieving person hugged and cared for, in every pint of blood donated and ever frightened person embraced. Once again, one man chose to do unspeakable evil. And once again, when the chips were down, thousands upon thousands chose to do the good.
And maybe, just maybe, this will be a repentance moment for all the churches that have said “hate the sin but the love the sinner” while gay and lesbian people face violence and injustice…married on Saturday and fired on Monday, beat up in bars... but we must work to repent daily of the kind of half-hearted response to evil that mourns the dead while we continue to make God's love and the Church's sacraments conditional, or  who are declared by their very being to be somehow “incompatible” with Christian teaching by their churches.
Jesus did not meet the demon-filled man with half-hearted theology, but looked evil in the eye and drove it away. Once again, we are called to live our baptismal promise to resist evil with love. To put aside weak-kneed, make-do theology and platitudes, but to look evil in the eye, calmly confront evil with the things that evil hates, speak clearly to evil, and, with the power of Jesus, make evil flee.
I wish we could sweep up all the evil in all the world and send it off in a rocket-ship, far, far away. But you know what? God beat us to it! Jesus has already defeated evil and put death to flight on the cross and in his resurrection. When we do as Jesus told the man he healed to return to where we live and “declare how much God is doing,” we are showing that no matter how much hate, violence, cynicism, or fear is out there, we have, through our baptisms, the Eucharist, and the power of the Holy Spirit in this community, the power cast out evil in wonderful, surprisingly practical ways of compassion, clarity, holiness and calm.

Tuesday, June 07, 2016

The heart of Christian leadership is servanthood

A Sermon at the ordination of Dale T. Grandfield to the Sacred Order of Deacons, June 4, 2016
Trinity Episcopal Church, Easton, Pennsylvania.

Once upon a time, a seminary classmate of mine, who is now on the faculty of a certain seminary in a certain city, walked into a classroom full of eager, young junior year seminarians in one of their first classes and wrote on the chalkboard “Ordination is demotion.”

Today is a good day to think about Christian leadership, and how it is different than other kinds of leadership and how, you, Dale, and we, the gathered People of God, might live that out.

Simon Sinek is right now on my top ten list of people who think about leadership and groups. He has a book called “Leaders Eat Last” and in it, he tells this story about Captain William Swenson who was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for his actions on September 8, 2009:
On that day, a column of American and Afghan troops were making their way through a part of Afghanistan to help protect a group of government officials, a group of Afghan government officials, who would be meeting with some local village elders. The column came under ambush, and was surrounded on three sides, and amongst many other things, Captain Swenson was recognized for running into live fire to rescue the wounded and pull out the dead. One of the people he rescued was a sergeant, and he and a comrade were making their way to a medevac helicopter.
And what was remarkable about this day is, by sheer coincidence, one of the medevac medics happened to have a GoPro camera on his helmet and captured the whole scene on camera. It shows Captain Swenson and his comrade bringing this wounded soldier who had received a gunshot to the neck. They put him in the helicopter, and then you see Captain Swenson bend over and give him a kiss before he turns around to rescue more.Sinek asks the question:
…where do people like that come from? What is that? That is some deep, deep emotion, when you would want to do that. There's a love there, and I wanted to know why…? You know, in the military, they give medals to people who are willing to sacrifice themselves so that others may gain. In business, we give bonuses to people who are willing to sacrifice others so that we may gain. 
So he asked those in military service, "Why would you do it? Why did you do it?" They all say the same thing: "Because they would have done it for me." This jives with my experience of every nurse, EMT, firefighter, and cop that I have ever ministered to as a chaplain. It also jives with my experience as a parish priest in ordinary extraordinary communities just like this.

The challenge is that this deep sense of trust and cooperation are feelings, not instructions. As Sinek says, “I can't simply say to you, ‘Trust me,’ and you will. I can't simply instruct two people to cooperate, and they will. It's not how it works. It's a feeling.”

Sinek’s observation points to what is at the core of what we are doing here today: because at the heart of Christian leadership is servanthood.

Today’s lesson from Acts is a very important lesson in my own spiritual journey. It works on so many levels. But, believe it or not, if the only way you encounter the Bible is through the Revised Common Lectionary, you will never, ever hear this story on a Sunday. It just doesn’t show up! If it weren’t for ordinations and the Daily Office, the church would never hear this story at all…and that is too bad. 

Here is what happens:

The apostles, who, if you recall, are themselves new to ministry, have started this amazing, happening church! They are feeding people, sharing the resources of the whole community to care for those in need particularly widows and orphans. The church in Acts is growing like wild-fire. Baptisms right and left, from not only the Jewish community (remember—the Church was still a Jewish sect at this time) but from the Gentile world!

But success was killing them. Apparently The Twelve were in a panic because what they started had grown so large. They feared that they would no longer have time to go out preach and teach. The Twelve were feeling overwhelmed.

But wait! There’s more! The lesson that was read today cuts out the thing that was really causing stress for the infant church: the division that was already growing between the Jewish Christians and the Gentile Christians. Luke describes how the Jewish Christians would only help other Jews, and the Gentile Christians would only help other Gentiles…who were at this moment the minority…and they were getting the left-overs.

So the apostles did what leaders the world over have done since time immemorial: (1) They complained that they did not sign on for this, and then (2) they kicked the can down the road while (3) being sure to use the language of the pastoral high road.

What we have here is the first administrative freak out in the history of the church! And the new Deacons rose to the occasion. (I see the Deacons in the room nodding their heads. So what else is new?) They rolled up their sleeves, slung their towels over their shoulders, and went to work.

But for The Twelve, there is also real maturity going on here. Just as Jethro took Moses aside and said, “Listen, son, you can’t do this alone” or when Moses chose the seventy, The Twelve have realized that listening to the Spirit all by themselves was not going to cut it. The Spirit was speaking through the whole community, so they had to distribute their authority, both to those first seven deacons and to community that chose them.

Although they didn’t know it, The Twelve had themselves experienced their own diaconal moment, and in so they doing they began to heed the Holy Spirit’s prompting and respect and trust the people that God has given them to serve.  They discovered that the heart of Christian leadership is servanthood.

This is a lesson we have to learn over and over again.

Which is why that the most diaconal thing that a Deacon (or any Christian!) can do is to ask“why.”

Especially since we spend a lot of time on the “what” and the “how” of Christian ministry but rarely on the “why.” We see this in our evangelism all the time. We say, “Come to our church, we welcome everybody!” (That’s the what.) And we say, “We have really beautiful worship! Come and join us!” (That’s the how.) They are very important. Congregations that get these right are, well, amazing! But “Why” do what we do? And why, compared to the Farmer’s Market, or the Iron Pigs, or sleeping in, should anyone care?

Because we have in the person of Jesus Christ seen the face of God. And in encountering Jesus, I have found myself, fully known—in all my brokenness and in all my potential—and fully loved.

Why? Because in Jesus Christ, we have a community and an identity.

Why? Because in Jesus Christ, we have discovered how to love the people around us and do the things that addresses the deep pain of this world.

Why? Because God gives us he tools and the power to be the people God made us to be.

Why? Because God, who could come to us in any way God wanted, chose to become incarnate in the form of a servant in the person of Jesus Christ.

You will be spending much of your time in congregation with organizing the “what” and the “how” of parish ministry. People will judge you on the quality of the program you create and manage. But they will love and trust you only as you inspire them to join together in God’s work of saving, loving, and caring for this world and each other.

You know this already. You have seen the miracles that safe, generous leadership can create, and the wreckage that disconnected leadership, or leadership built on theories of disruption, can bring. When you went on adventures exploring antique stores and (apparently) empty churches with a friend. When you have directed choirs and led congregations in music. When things got crazy and you decided to gather your friends in the Chapel in the middle of the night to sing hymns. When, in the moment of crisis, you walked across the aisle in a chapel full of hurting people so you could embrace and hang onto a friend in deep pain. When you and Brad took a risk, loaded up yet another U-Haul and went to a strange, faraway place and a new community. When you and your friends debated the deep truths over beer and big sandwiches at Shenanigans…through all of this you have been discovering this truth again and again and again:

The heart of Christian leadership is servanthood.

Dale:

The time has come. This parish—this gathering of God’s people-- has heard God’s call, identified you as one set apart for a special ministry, and has placed you before the whole church to test and confirm that call and to form and prepare you for ministry. You are ready for this new journey.

Be the guy who asks why.

Be a leader who creates safe spaces of deep grace.

Trust the people God has given you to serve.

And don’t forget:

YSR!

In your own Hundred Acre Wood (and every parish is The Hundred Acre Wood, get over it!) do as Piglet does: When you wake up, ask yourself “I wonder what’s going to happen exciting today?” Which is a pretty good bookend to a good Ignatian Examen every night.

Ground yourself in the whole prayer of the whole church everyday.

Be an ambassador of reconciliation. This is not a job for wimps, but you’ve got this. 

Because you have a servant’s heart, and that is the foundation for excellent Christian leadership.

And may God go with you in all do.