Church or jail?

Watch out if you go to Bay Minette, Alabama, and are caught doing some sort of minor crime because you will be given a choice. Church or jail.

According to WKRG-TV, starting this week authorities will give non-violent offenders in that community a new choice: Go to jail, or go to church every Sunday for a year. It’s called Operation Restore Our Community and fifty-six churches have signed on.

If offenders select church, they will be allowed to pick the place of worship but must check in weekly with the pastor and the police department.

If the one-year church attendance program is completed successfully, the offender's case will be dismissed.

Bay Minette Police Chief Mike Rowland says the program could change the lives of people heading down the wrong path.

We’ll see if this idea works. Church or jail? Which would you choose? Personally, I’d have to ask which church. Jail might be preferable.

Jesus tells a story about two sons who are asked by their father to go out into vineyards to work. The first son is the one who "I will not go," but later changes his mind and goes. The second son is the one who says he will go but does not go. He then turns to his critics and asks which one of the two does the will of the father? They of course say that the first son, in the end, does the will of the father. In their answer, the super-religious show that what is really important is what a faithful person does that’s important, not just what they say.

A bishop and teacher of the early church named Chrysostom wrote that the Christian is like the son who at any hour turns and chooses to do the will of the father; to go out into the vineyard and work. The Christian is the son who is the missionary.

But I think there is a deeper message that Jesus is offering. While it is certainly true that God wants us to go out into the world—the vineyard—and do God’s work…that is, to do mission… there is something else going on here.

The Good News is that it is never too late to follow Jesus and to do God’s work in the vineyard. God will embrace the son who turns and chooses in the end, no matter what they have been doing, to become a member of the community of faith.

Today’s Gospel story only appears in Matthew, and it reminds me of another one of Jesus’ stories, the one about the prodigal son that is only in the Gospel of Luke. That son squandered everything and came home expecting to grovel and scrape as a slave but instead is welcomed with open arms. Today, the son in Matthew’s Gospel who says “no” but then turns around choosing to do “yes.” He is a prodigal, too. He comes to his senses. He does the work he was asked to do. In both Gospels, a son turns around. In both cases, repentance—turning around—shows that the life of faith is as much an act of the will as is act of the heart. Living faithfully is depends on the deliberate choice to live in concert with God—especially when we don’t “feel like it.” Faith it turns out is both an act of the heart and an act of the will. And that means that we choose not only to believe but we choose how to act on those beliefs. Before long, we learn that our faith is not faith until we choose to act faithfully.

That’s something the Alabama police chief and judge may, in their good intention, may have missed. Or maybe it’s what they hope for. But try as we might, you can’t force people to believe—and the vineyard is not just for sitting and listening to the farmer talk about grapes. They’ve solved the “will” problem—church or jail—but the “heart” and the “action” part--what people do with their belief—they can’t control that. And that makes all the difference.

I wonder about the 56 churches that signed on this program. I wonder if they are ready for the local check-kiter, petty thief, or the chronic “drunk and disorderly” to actually be sitting in their pews. Because, I don’t know about you but I notice that sometimes we get nervous when someone who once said “no” and who now says “yes” to God and is trying to walk a new way comes and sits among us. We are not sure if we can believe it and we have a hard time forgetting that original “no.” And how we act towards people who are new to church…let alone faith…makes all the difference in that person’s success in living out a new-found, but hard-won, faith.

Have you ever noticed that there are two doors in many churches—ours included—a front door and a back door? Both are painted red…for welcome…which is good. And many of us come in the back door because it’s near the parking lot. But there are some people—actually quite a few—who come through those back entrances all the time who would never think of coming in the front doors…the nice carved ones that lead to this sanctuary. They are people who come to the four twelve-step groups that now meet here every week or who eat in the soup kitchen. They are people, especially in the AA groups, who are attempting one step at a time to turn their lives around. Who are attempting after a life of saying “no” to finally say “yes” to God. And yet… sometimes we “front door” Christians have a hard time accepting that those people who have come in another way really belong with “us.” Which makes sense, because they are not so sure either they are worthy to sit in here with us.

Jesus tells us in today’s Gospel that we are all of us sent into the same vineyard. Sooner or later, we all have to come to terms with the fact that all of us in word or deed have said “no” to God somewhere along the way, and all of us have had to come to our senses and choose to follow him anyway. When you get right down to it, our stories are not so different after all.

Don’t be shocked by this: everyone sins. That’s because we are human. We promise that we will strive to live faithfully and we know that we will fail. We will say “yes” and do “no” At the same time, in our baptismal covenant we say that "when" we sin we will return—we will say “no” and then do “yes.” Christians more than anyone know (or should) that we are not perfect. At the same time, we Christians rejoice when the sons and daughters of God who have led life unconscious of God, or who have led lives saying "no" turn and join the other workers in God’s vineyard. It should not take a local judge to tell us this, but we, the church, exist for those who do not yet belong. We exist so that the vineyard is there ready for the latecomer and for the newcomer to join in God’s gracious harvest.

I smell a gift subscription....

h/t "Friends of Jake"

A table turning experience

Thirty-five years ago today, the General Convention of the Episcopal Church passed the legislation that made possible the ordination of women to the diaconate, the priesthood and the episcopacy.

I had an interesting conversation the other day with a family who are church shopping. It was a tables-turning experience. Here's why:

This husband and wife first came to Trinity while I was on vacation. They are both Roman Catholics who have reached their tipping point with the church of their birth. They are distressed about the decade-long scandals--in particular, the continued inability of the hierarchy to "own up" (as they put it) to their responsibility in the continuing problem. They spoke of the inherent sexism within that polity. These were former RCIA instructors who realized they could no longer tow the party line nor continue to raise their children there. They had been to some Lutheran churches, but felt that the Episcopal Church might be more their cup o' tea..

They really liked Trinity. They started visiting during my vacation. They came once or twice after I came back. Then they stopped. I happened to call them to invite them to our parish picnic and this was when the hemming and hawing began.

You see, when I was away, my supply clergy were all women. The couple realized that I would be the only priest for the bulk of the year. They didn't want to offend me, but after some patient coaxing they finally fessed up that one of the things that they want to demonstrate to their daughters and son is that women can serve at the altar, that priesthood is not reserved for men alone and that in the baptized life men are not privileged over women. They wanted to show their children a church where priests could be moms as well as "Fathers." So they were looking for a church with at least one woman priest on staff.

Ah, I said, I understand.

When I was a child, my parents--having grown up in the South during the Jim Crow era--wanted my brother and me to experience a church where racial integration was the norm and not a novelty. We lived in an all-white suburb that was fighting any hint of integration. They did not want to relive those battles. So they changed churches. (Eventually, we'd change towns, too.) To do that, we drove past two or three suburban Episcopal churches to get to my home parish in the city. So I appreciate what these parents are trying to do.

Looking at their address, I suggested three other parishes in the area which are multiple staff parishes with at least member of the clergy staff is a woman...one of these is a parish where all the full-time paid clergy are female. I told them that there are many parishes in the diocese where the only priest is a woman, some within driving distance. If their desire was to convey to their children a church where it is normal for women and men to serve together as equals, they had lots of choices. I'm curious if any these places become their new church home.

So, there it is. I have now had the experience of a family choosing not to come to my church based, at least in part, on my gender. But there is a difference: They didn't hiss at me, spit at me, claw my hands during communion, or tell me that my orders weren't real--as my sister clergy experienced in my seminary days and beyond. But the tables were indeed turned, and it was a blessing.

A North Korean cruise ship.

I am trying to imagine what a trip on a North Korean cruise ship would be like.

Everyone sleeps in a giant hold, except the captain, who gets his own room. And there is not enough food to go around, except for the captain and the armed marines who are there instead of the ship's stewards. Since the ship is also a giant freighter, there is a lot of room for group calisthenics. If you don't like it, there is an alternative: down in the bunkers where you may get a good cardiovascular workout shoveling coal. And when the cruise ship makes a port of call, no one can get off or even look outside, except the captain, who will come back and tell everyone what he saw.

Everyone will be grateful.

How many Muslims will have to say "I'm sorry" before we will forgive?

Proper 19A- Matthew 18:21-35

Today on the tenth anniversary of the terrible attacks in New York, Shankesville, and Arlington, there will be many virtuous words spoken at ceremonies all around the country. There will be words like honor, courage, sacrifice, duty, community, and, yes, remembrance and hope. But it takes Jesus to use the word many dare not—or cannot—say: forgiveness.

Leave it to Jesus—through a strange coincidence of lectionary, calendar and culture—to say the unmentionable word. He reminds us on this most solemn day that the heart of the Christian faith, the whole purpose of God’s redeeming work—God’s incarnation in Jesus Christ and his ministry, suffering, death and resurrection—is forgiveness.

But how can we forgive? Can we forgive 9/11 anymore than our parents and grandparents could forgive Pearl Harbor? Maybe not but do you remember who were some of the first people to come to New York within weeks of the attacks and offer a word of condolence to people devastated by terror and destruction? Elderly residents of Hiroshima and Nagasaki who survived the explosion of atomic bombs over their cities 56 years before, that’s who. They came to the City in later in the fall of 2001 to meet groups of survivors and loved ones. Their explicit message: we survived; we lived; now we offer you both comfort and wisdom from what we have learned. Their implicit message: If they can forgive, perhaps…?

We have come to think of forgiveness as a ritual act of letting someone off the hook. When we are caught with our hands in proverbial cookie jar, we expect a little finger wag and a knowing smile with a firm but winking “don’t do it again.” But applied to anything really, really big--where lives or fortunes or egos are at stake-- we find ourselves saying “You’re not going to let them get away with that, are you?”

To which the reply is—who said that forgiveness is letting anybody get away with anything?

William Loader, a Uniting Church pastor in Australia, wrote about this Gospel lesson: “The reduction of the gospel to forgiveness of sins misses the point of the gospel which is about making people whole." Forgiveness is not about scores kept and scorecards being wiped clean. Forgiveness is about making whole.

When God forgives, God makes whole. When we forgive, we participate in God’s wholeness.
Today’s Gospel is the classic story of Peter asking his Master how often we should forgive. What’s the upper threshold of forgiveness? Jesus’ answer: there is no upper threshold of forgiveness. No ceiling. No tipping point. Instead, the question is: what can we do to participate in God’s wholeness?

The Owner who forgives the slave in Jesus’ story, is already something of a sap. He must have been a person extravagant in lending, because the slave has amassed an impossible debt. Ten thousand talents is a sum great than all of the holdings of King Herod in Jesus’ time. And when he has reached his tipping point, when he can bear no more debt, he decides to throw the slave, and all his family, into debtors prison and auction off the goods. The slave pleads for mercy, and receives it.

But, perhaps thinking that he’d better start paying down that principle, he goes and shakes down another slave to whom the first slave lent about 100 days of wages—throwing him in the same prison the first slave escaped.

Of course, the Owner catches wind of this and throws the first slave In jail and tosses away the key.

The problem with the Slave in Jesus’ parable is that he thinks that forgiveness is only about having the score card wiped clean, about being let off the hook. He was free to be as selfish as ever because he saw forgiveness as an escape from punishment. What the Slave did not learn was that forgiveness changes us. As he was forgiven for an unpayable debt, so he was to forgive extravagantly.

The lesson in Matthew is that as we Christians have experienced extravagant forgiveness in Jesus Christ. Now we are to share that same extravagance with others. Not just the ones who we catch with their hands in the cookie jar—everyone. Forgiveness is at the heart of living the Gospel.

Bishop Andy Doyle of Texas notes how Christians love to talk about “the Grace of God and how we are exonerated from our own sins and slavery to them;” and yet, the most obvious part of the passage is also the most difficult. We are to act with others as God has acted with us. We are to be as magnanimous a forgiving agent as Jesus Christ was upon his cross: "Forgive them for they know not what they do." It was not for nothing that Jesus put at the heart of his model prayer that we are supposed to pray all the time: “forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.”

Since this part of Matthew’s Gospel is all about life in the Church, we might be tempted that the only people we are supposed to forgive are other Christians. Well, looking at the last ten years, we’ve done a really good of that haven’t we? No, on this point Jesus gives us very little wiggle room.

You see, we focus on the person who wrongs us. Jesus is much more concerned that, instead of keeping score of wrongs that we live in the way of Jesus. “Be humble Jesus tells us. Do not despise others. Do not allow anyone to be lost or to stumble. Seek after the one who walks away. If another person sins against you go and be reconciled with them. You go and find them. Take others and find them. Go out and find them. Be careful what slavery you cast on others as it will bind you. Receive the forgiveness of debt and likewise forgive others.” (Doyle)

In the run up to this afternoon’s Interfaith Service of Remembrance and Hope, I have had the experience of being chewed out by people telling me that they can’t bring themselves to take part in the service because (a) it was not patriotic enough or (b) we invited a Muslim to take part. While I would state my case, in both cases this was not a moment to change minds because the pain that dwells behind the anger was too great. One person's major complaint to me--coming from a first responder who was there--was this: The Muslim's never apologized. Never mind the Islamic religious leaders who condemned the violence. Never mind the Muslims who also died innocent victims of the same attacks and worked the pile and cared for the injured. These were good people, who live good lives and try hard to be faithful. Their losses were so great and their experience on 9/11 so intense, one must not attempt to convince, one can only accompany. And for that, I'll take the chewing out. Because for them, I had crossed some line. We both knew it. And they were not going to let me off the hook--and their responses haunts me.

But if I were Jesus—which I am not—and if I were faster on my feet, I might have asked a question that comes to me in my dreams: “How many Muslims must say ‘I’m sorry’ for you to forgive? Seventy-times seven? Seven? One? One million? How many?”

You see we have a choice: we can organize our whole lives around the injury, we can build our own existence around either re-living or avoiding past hurts. We can live under a constant state of threat. Or we can face the truth of the injury, walk through the pain and the grief together, hear our conflicting and over-lapping stories and we can build our lives around reconciliation. That may mean facing the person who has injured us, not letting them off the hook, but doing whatever we can to seek out reconciliation.

Nation-states and communities will do what they do to keep us safe, but at the end of the day peace does not rest on safety. It rests on reconciliation. And because we cannot do what God requires of us without God's help, we have to rest on that extravagant mercy, that extravagant forgiveness to shape us, changes us and direct to bring that same realistic, sharp-eyed forgiveness to each other.

As we once again look at the image of the burning towers and the towering smoke of their collapse, we have the same choice as our forebears did in the desert as they followed that flaming pillar of God’s presence. We can walk the path of revenge and retribution, holding to ourselves the right to judge and inviting God to do things our way. Or we can journey into the desert, repent of our own need to exact vengeance and enter God’s way, God’s kingdom.

Christ brings us a different covenant. Not a land to be conquered, but a life to be lived and a creation reconciled to God. Jesus forgives. And to do that he walked into the maw of human sin and darkness, all so that we might know the extravagance of God’s generous love and share that mercy as extravagantly with all God’s people.