Herod the Despicable Liar--A Sermon for Epiphany, Jan. 7, 2018

Sermon for SMHP, Worship at our house, Epiphany Sunday, Jan. 7, 2018

Matthew 2:1-12

           In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, ²asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” ³When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; ⁴and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. ⁵They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: ⁶‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.’” ⁷Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. ⁸Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.”

                ⁹When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. ¹⁰When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. ¹¹On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. ¹²And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

           Herod…was a liar.

           It happens, sometimes, that the political leadership of a territory, a kingdom, a nation…falls into the hands of someone who is a despicable liar.

           It falls then to the people who live under the rule of that leader—the despicable liar—to decide how they shall live in the territory, kingdom, nation.

           Will they huddle together in safe spaces—catacombs, churches…social media…and denounce the leader…thereby effecting no change, but allowing themselves to bask in the glow of their own right-ness?

           Or will they find ways to subvert a system gone corrupt?  Will they practice liberation…the best resistance technique for those whose power is neither monetary nor political?

           The story before us this morning is a story of liberation.

           The nativity of Jesus Christ is a story of liberation.

           This is the story of how God liberated God’s people, not through military might, nor through a political coup—but by the brave witness of a long string of people who belong more to the margins than to the halls of power.

           Think about how this story lines up.  Remember how Luke begins his telling?

In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria.

           Men of power:  Caesar Augustus—first Roman Emperor—renamed “Augustus”—the illustrious one—by the Roman Senate.  (Sometimes the Senate goes along with a despotic ruler.)

           Publius Sulpicius Quirinius—Governor of Syria, to which Judea was added for the purpose of the census.

           Luke opens the story of the birth of Jesus with men of power.  But what happens next?  The baby is born, and laid in a manger, “because there was no place for them at the inn.”

           Jesus was born in the world of Augustus and Quirinius…in a stable.

           What’s the next line?  “In that region, there were shepherds, abiding in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night.”

           The Word came into the world of Augustus and Quirinius.  And the first to hear of it, and tell of it, were shepherds.

           This is a story of liberation.

           Matthew tells the story differently.  See if you hear an echo, though:  In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem.

           Herod the Great.  Jesus the baby.  Wise men from the East.

           This is a story of liberation.  It is a story that is sometimes used to separate people from one another, which makes no sense if we truly listen to the story.

           Persian astrologers—people pretty far outside mainstream Judean society—came to find Jesus.  Indeed, they saved Jesus, by taking a different road home.

           It was a subversive act:  taking a different road.  One of the tools of liberation, as the prophets and evangelists have taught them to us, is simply refusing to participate in an unjust system.  Those wise guys from the margins subverted Herod the Despicable Liar by simply refusing to participate in his plan to destroy the good which came into the world with Jesus. 

           It was good news for the whole world—Persians, and shepherds, and working class folks from Nazareth.

           Addicts and janitors and investment bankers—good news for them all!

           And allowing the good news to grow and be heard by the whole world sometimes means taking a different road.

           Taking a different road can be an act of liberation.

           We are living in a time of deep division.  A time in which faith in Jesus Christ has been twisted into a justification for drawing lines between groups of people. 

           Those wise men who saved Jesus…would fall under the current travel ban and be precluded from traveling to the US.

           The separation in our nation and beyond is palpable these days.  White supremacists are recreating the horrors of forgotten decades…and centuries, and often dragging Jesus into their rhetoric.

           From those who have little, more is being demanded.

           And the response of those who find the whole thing…despicable…is often a lot of foot-stamping that changes nothing.  I am chief among the foot-stampers, so I know of which I speak.

           So I feel fully able to say, “let’s take a different road,” since I need that word myself.

           There’s got to be a different road than tweeting and posting and grousing about all the people who look and think and act differently than we do.  Because the road we are on is taking us to Herod’s Palace of Paranoia.

           It’s a new year.  It’s Epiphany Sunday.  And we need a new road.

           I think all of those ideas fit together rather nicely.

           What if in this new year (and maybe the next couple of years as well) we commit to listening to people who have ideas different from ours.  And really listening, not that listening you do when you’re really just formulating what you’re going to say next.  What if we saw everyone else as a beloved child of God, and worked hard to reveal the love of Jesus to them?

           Which means we continue to stand up for what Jesus has revealed to us, right?  We continue to witness to the child who was revealed to the ones on the margins.  We continue to work for the liberation of those on the margins. 

           But we do that by loving the ones at the center, as we love the ones on the margins.  And everybody in between.

           Because if we can reveal Christ to Herod, we can set this whole world on a different road.

           If we can reveal Christ to those who know only Herod’s ways, the light will shine in darkness.

           And the darkness will be overcome.

Make Room--A Sermon for Christmas Eve

Sermon for SMHP, Christmas Eve 2017

Luke 2:1-14

           In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. ²This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. ³All went to their own towns to be registered. ⁴Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. ⁵He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child.

           ⁶While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. ⁷And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

                ⁸In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. ⁹Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.

           ¹⁰But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: ¹¹to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. ¹²This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” ¹³And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, ¹⁴“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace.”

           When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, ‘Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.’ ¹⁶So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger.¹⁷When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; ¹⁸and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. ¹⁹But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. ²⁰The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.

           “There was no place for them in the inn.”

           Jesus was born into a world that was full.  Full of empires.  Full of rulers for those empires and kingdoms—Augustus, Quirinius, Herod. 

           The world was so full it was necessary to count.  Count the people.  Count their money.  Take some of it.  Take some more.  Give it to the people who already had enough.

           This is the setting into which God chose to be born.  A world that, for all intents and purposes, belonged to Augustus, and Quirinius—men who had taken it, and held it, by force. 

           This is the world into which God chose to become incarnate…in the most exquisite of contrast to all of the power and extravagance of Empire.  “A child, wrapped in bands of cloth, and lying in a manger…” because “there was no place for them in the inn.”

           The inn had no place for them.  The world didn’t seem to have room for Emmanuel to be born.

           But the animals made room.  And some shepherds made haste, having heard that a thing had taken place that was for them.  For them and for all of the people left out by the empire’s lopsided allegiances.

           The shepherds made room in their busy night of shepherding to go and see the thing that had taken place…just as all of you have made space to come and see and hear about the thing—the most amazing thing that ever happened.  It has taken place for us tonight; it takes place at this time every year.  Every time we remember that God came down for us.  That a child has been born for us.

           We need to hear and to tell that story every year, but I feel as if this year it might be particularly poignant.

           Our world doesn’t seem to have much room for Jesus right now, either.

           Even the celebration of his birth doesn’t seem to have much room for him—for his messy humanity and his egalitarian values and his love for all people.

           There seems to be less room for those things these days.

           I’m afraid the image that sums up the world this Christmas for me is going to be that Mercedez commercial--you might it:  a little boy wakes up and runs to the window.  He looks out at the empty snow covered driveway and hangs his head in disappointment.  The same scene plays out when he is an older boy, and then a teenager.

           Next scene, and a little voice says, “Daddy, it’s Christmas!”  The man rolls out of bed and heads for his living room, passing a window.  He slows, stops, and goes back to the window.  Outside in the driveway is a Mercedes GLE Sport Utility Vehicle with a big silver bow on it.  He looks at it with surprise and delight as a voiceover says “Mercedes-Benz:  the best or nothing.”

           The best or nothing.  It’s not a bad sentiment, is it?

           But is the “best” way to celebrate Jesus’ birth really buying each other luxury cars?  Or feeling bad because we can’t buy luxury cars and therefore what we give is essentially “nothing,” according to the advertising executives with the Mercedes account.

           The firm that gave us “the best or nothing” as the tag line to a commercial about Christmas.

          

           They were on the right track, those executives.  “The best or nothing” is a good tag line for Christmas.  It needs a little polish, though. 

           How about this:  “Christmas:  Jesus or nothing”?

           Because I’m guessing when each of us wakes up tomorrow morning and looks out into the driveway, there’s not gonna be a Mercedes with a big silver bow.

           And we won’t miss it.

           There will be a savior.  (Not in your driveway, cuz that would be weird.) 

           There will be good news of great joy for all the people. 

          

           The best news ever.  At a time when we really need to hear it.

           So hear it, people of God:

           No matter who you are or where you’ve been, God loves you!

           No matter what’s under your tree, or not under your tree, or in your driveway, God loves you!

           God became human and was born on a night long ago in Bethlehem, to teach us how to love one another and to remind us how much God loves us.

           Our world may be struggling to make room for Jesus, but we don’t have to.  We can make a big space for him, and let him be incarnate in us, just as he was long ago in the City of David.

           Our world is full once again.  Full of empires and threats and inequity. 

           But this night our world is full of hope.  For we are full of love.

"Let It Be with Me"--A Sermon for Year B, Advent IV, Dec. 24, 2017

Sermon for SMHP, Year B, Advent IV, Dec. 24, 2017

Luke 1:46-55

⁴⁶And Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord,

⁴⁷and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, ⁴⁸who has looked with favor on the lowliness of the servant.

Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;

⁴⁹for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is God’s name.

⁵⁰God’s mercy is for those who fear the Lord from generation to generation.

⁵¹God has shown strength with God’s arm; The Lord has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.

⁵²God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly;

⁵³God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.

⁵⁴God has helped God’s servant Israel, in remembrance of God’s mercy,

⁵⁵according to the promise made to our ancestors, to Abraham and Sarah and their descendants forever.”

Luke 1:26-38

                ²⁶In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth,²⁷to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary.²⁸And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.”²⁹But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.³⁰The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.³¹And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus.³²He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David.³³He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”³⁴Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?”

                ³⁵The angel said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God.³⁶And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren.³⁷For nothing will be impossible with God.”³⁸Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.

           Every Sunday in December, we have sung those words.  Words which we have sung before this December, to be certain, because that hymn, “The Canticle of the Turning” is a favorite for many here at St. Mark Hope and Peace.

           We’ve been singing that hymn, and we’ve been saying the Magnificat together, and we’ve leaned in to the promise that the world is, indeed, about to turn.  At a time when it is challenging for many of us to believe that God is going to turn the world, away from selfishness and sin and toward love and justice.

           We’re working on believing it, right?  Because believing is what we do.  And because we know that God can turn the world even when the world seems bent on its own destruction.

           We know that God broke into the world at a time when God’s people were despairing, living under oppression, economic injustice, the constant threat of war.  God broke into that world--became incarnate in that world, in order that the world might turn, back toward love of neighbor—all neighbors.  And that world received the greatest prophet, the wisest rabbi, and the kindest humanitarian it has ever known.

           All wrapped up in one person.

           God did that then.  Turned the world through one remarkable child born to two remarkable parents.

           God turned the world!

           And we know that the world will turn again.

           If we have been paying attention, we even know how.

           The world will turn when there are people willing to answer as Mary did:  “let it be with me according to your word.”

           They will be ordinary people—we know that too.  The ones whom God calls to turn the world are not usually kings, or captains of industry, or winners of awards.  God calls people like Mary—a maiden from Nazareth.  And shepherds, and other ordinary folk:  Abraham, Samuel, Esther, Martin Luther, Katie Luther, Dorothy Day.

           God calls people who have been set apart not by wealth, not by power…but by their willingness to say “Here I am” when God calls their names.

           The world will turn—our world will turn, when enough people follow Mary and the shepherds in saying “Here I am” when God calls.

           Refugees need homes and jobs?

           “Here I am.”

           Kid being bullied at school?

           “Here I am.”

           Injustice and inequality running rampant?  The voiceless need someone to speak for them? 

           “Here I am.”

           Bear the likeness of God for all the world?

           “Here. I. am.”

           And that is what do while we wait for God to turn our world.  We don’t wait passively.  Christians are called to be pacifists, not passive(ists).  We wait clothed in the words of Mary, mother of us all:  Let it be with me according to your word. 

           Because the world turns when each of us attends to the change that needs to be made in us. 

           Institutions turn when the people who make up the institution decide to live according to a word of love and justice.

           Neighborhoods turn when individual neighbors decide to work together for the good of all.

           While we wait for our world to turn from a path of destruction back toward the gospel of love and peace, we bear God’s likeness to everyone we meet.  We allow incarnation to live in us.  We provide a living witness to God’s power at work in us, at work in our world, and working slowly in the hearts of those who natter on about keeping Christ in Christmas while striking his witness from every other aspect of life.  We love them too, love them so hard they can’t help but see the power and grace that God has showered on them, that God calls us to shower on each other—including our neighbors who are brown and poor and disabled.  Especially our neighbors who are brown and poor and disabled.

           “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”  Let that be our mantra…this Adventmas Eve and always.  And let us keep watch, dear friends…for the world is about to turn.

          

"Can I Get a Witness?"--A Sermon for Year B, Advent III, December 17, 2017

I'm going to post sermons here in 2018.  Starting now, since the church year already started.  I will try to remember to do this every week...we shall see...

Sermon for St. Mark Hope and Peace Lutheran Church, Third Sunday of Advent (Gaudete), Dec. 17, 2018

Sermon for SMHP, Year B, Advent III, Dec. 17, 2017

Luke 1:46-55

⁴⁶And Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord,

⁴⁷and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, ⁴⁸who has looked with favor on the lowliness of the servant.

Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;

⁴⁹for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is God’s name.

⁵⁰God’s mercy is for those who fear the Lord from generation to generation.

⁵¹God has shown strength with God’s arm; The Lord has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.

⁵²God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly;

⁵³God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.

⁵⁴God has helped God’s servant Israel, in remembrance of God’s mercy,

⁵⁵according to the promise made to our ancestors, to Abraham and Sarah and their descendants forever.”

John 1:6-8, 19-28

                ⁶There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.⁷He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him.⁸He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.

                ¹⁹This is the testimony given by John when the Jews sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, “Who are you?”²⁰He confessed and did not deny it, but confessed, “I am not the Messiah.”²¹And they asked him, “What then? Are you Elijah?” He said, “I am not.” “Are you the prophet?” He answered, “No.”²²Then they said to him, “Who are you? Let us have an answer for those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?”²³He said, “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord,’” as the prophet Isaiah said.²⁴Now they had been sent from the Pharisees.²⁵They asked him, “Why then are you baptizing if you are neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the prophet?”²⁶John answered them, “I baptize with water. Among you stands one whom you do not know,²⁷the one who is coming after me; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal.”²⁸This took place in Bethany across the Jordan where John was baptizing.

[Show The Silence Breakers]

           Time Magazine’s “Person of the Year” for 2017 is not a single person.  Perhaps you’ve seen this.  The “Person of the Year” is “The Silence Breakers,” representatives of the hundreds of women—and persons of all gender identities—who came forward over the past year to say “no more” to sexual abuse, assault, and harassment.

           There are these ones on the cover, including a cropped photo representing one of the thousands of people who came forward in the midst of so much fear that she couldn’t show her face.  And then there are these, again, just a fraction of the women who have ended some of the silence around sexual assault and harassment.

           About them all, Time says this:  "The people who have broken their silence on sexual assault and harassment span all races, all income classes, all occupations and virtually all corners of the globe. Their collective anger has spurred immediate and shocking results. For their influence on 2017, they are TIME’s Person of the Year.”

           “Immediate and shocking results.”  The “shocking” part is probably debatable.  I think a lot of people have been waiting for this reckoning for a long time.  There’s a good chance that half of the people in this sanctuary have been victims of some form of sexual assault or harassment. 

           We’ve been waiting for the reckoning, right?  We’ve been waiting for the world to turn…away from immunity for the powerful persons who use their money or their age or their physical strength to harm the innocent. 

           It’s been a sort of long Advent season for those who have suffered in silence, or in the loneliness of the solitary witness.  Waiting, for people to believe what you’re saying without reservation.  Waiting, for the powerful to be brought down, and the lowly lifted up.  Waiting for the healing to begin.

           And yes, it is clear that we have not yet lived into a Magnificat Time—the rich are doing just fine, thanks…but the Silence Breakers cracked open the door and let in a little light.  When we most needed it.  It was a reminder that a collective, courageous witness can, in fact, turn the world.

           To paraphrase Margaret Mead: indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.

           During this Advent season, we’ve been listening to Mary’s testimony that God is about to turn the world—testimony found in the passage we read together—The Magnificat—and interpreted in the hymn we sang together—"The Canticle of the Turning.”

           This morning, we add to those powerful testimonies, “the testimony of John.”  John came to testify to the light, he declares, in a gospel written by a different John.  He came to testify to the light, and that was pretty much his whole job.  Testify to the light.  Point…away from himself…and toward Jesus.  As we discussed Wednesday night, that is how you will often find John in iconography:  pointing.

           [Show cover]  The Silence Breakers might well have been channeling John.  Note the similarities:

--They offer their testimony from the wilderness.  Yes, there is a wilderness in Hollywood.  And Washington, DC, and New York City, and everywhere else where the word of truth is minimized and hidden and feared.

--They are called to account for themselves.  They first have to say who they are, before anyone will listen to what they have to say.

--They are speaking a word which the world needs to hear.  Which the world is desperate to hear,

--and they are speaking it on behalf of others.  Their witness is a witness on behalf of the whole broken world.

           There is a reason that the story of Jesus Christ, as told be each of the four evangelists, begins with John the Baptist.  It’s because the story of Jesus is more than the story of Jesus.  Right?

           The good news of Jesus Christ is the story of how God is willing to turn the world, away from sin and selfishness and toward justice and love for all.

           That story doesn’t exist if there aren’t people willing to tell it, people willing to bear witness to a story which will turn the world.

           Without witness, the light of the gospel would be subsumed by the darkness of sin and evil.

           But there is a witness.  “⁶There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.⁷He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him.⁸He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.”

           There was a man named John, and then there was a man named Peter and a man named Paul and a woman named Mary of Magdala and a young man named Timothy and a monk named Martin and a saint named Teresa.

           There have been so many witnesses, and without them, the gospel would be dead.  Without persons willing to testify to the light, the light would go out.  And the powerful would redecorate their thrones and the world would not be about to turn.

           But there are witnesses!  Amen?  Can I get a witness?

           There are witnesses!  Some of them witness from the wilderness.  They witness from the wilderness because they have been driven there by shame and brokenness.  Or they witness from the wilderness because that is where they choose to be.  Because they happen to like locusts and wild honey, thank you very much.

           Some witness from the halls of power and the fortress tower.  That’s some difficult witness—turning over the stones which hold together institutions at cross purposes to God’s justice.  The ones who witness from those places [show cover]—and some of them are here as well—those ones are literally speaking truth directly to power.

          

           There are many places to stand and testify to the light of the gospel.  The wilderness, the campus, the boardroom.  The cover of Time magazine.

           All we need to figure out is where we will stand.  With whom will we stand.  Will we stand with the poor and marginalized?  Will we stand in the halls of power?  Will we stand with the brokenhearted who desperately need a word of hope?
          We must decide where we shall stand.  And how we shall speak a word of hope, a word of truth, to a hurting world desperate to turn.

          

            

A World Created in Balance--Sermon for Year A, Lent I, St. Mark Hope and Peace

Sermon for SMHP, Year A, Lent 1, March 5, 2017

Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-7

                ¹⁵The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it. ¹⁶And the Lord God commanded the man, “You may freely eat of every tree of the garden; ¹⁷but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die.”

           Now the serpent was more crafty than any other wild animal that the Lord God had made. He said to the woman, “Did God say, ‘You shall not eat from any tree in the garden’?” ²The woman said to the serpent, “We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden; ³but God said, ‘You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die.’“ ⁴But the serpent said to the woman, “You will not die; ⁵for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.”

                ⁶So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate; and she also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate. ⁷Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made loincloths for themselves.

           Lent is a time for renewal. So we’re starting at the beginning.  Genesis, Chapter 2.  So almost the beginning.  In fact, I think it would be helpful to go back a chapter to the very beginning.

           A reading from Genesis, the first chapter:

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, ²the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. ³Then God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light. ⁴And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. ⁵God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

           The story of creation is a story of balance.  A story of harmony.

           Light.  Dark.  Day.  Night.  Evening.  Morning.

           As the story goes on, each new day is filled with elements that balance one another:  sky and earth, land and water, creeping things and flying things.

           UNTIL the sixth day, when God created human beings in God’s image.  In the first account of creation—the one in Genesis One—God makes human beings and gives them dominion over the earth. 

           Now, at first, everything seemed okay.  In fact, it was going so well that on the seventh day…

           …God rested.  Which is good, because right after that, all hell broke loose.  Literally.

           There was this moment of balance.  I’m sure you’ve experienced it.  That moment when everything is in harmony.  Everything is flowin’ and groovin’. 

           And then it’s not.

           God made the humans—either all at once or the man first and then a helpmate for the man, depending on which account of creation you are reading and that’s why we are not biblical literalists because you can only be a literalist through Genesis, Chapter One, since Chapter Two offers a different account.

           And also because literalism is a terrible lens for a document of faith.

           But I digress.

           Genesis.  Chapter Two.  God made the humans and gave them the garden and responsibility and dominion over every living thing and God asked just one simple thing:  “Don’t eat that.”

           Enter the serpent.  Who is the serpent, according to tradition?

           The devil.  Which isn’t what the story says but is more or less accurate, since the devil is more of a presence than a little red cartoon man with a pitchfork.

           So the serpent came and convinced the humans to eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil and they did…

           …and so much for balance.  Harmony.  It all went away. 

           It went away because the real balance wasn’t between the man and the woman or between the humans and the rest of creation…

           …the real balance was between the humans and…?

           God.

           God ordered creation and created harmony among all living things.  And then God created humans, in God’s image, and God made the first covenant with the humans, in order that we would live in harmony with God.  God gave the humans everything, and in return, the humans agreed not to eat of the fruit of one tree.

           Should have been a pretty easy covenant for the humans to keep, shouldn’t it?

           You get everything.  Except this one thing.  One thing!

           And we couldn’t do it.  Couldn’t not eat the one thing. 

           That was just the beginning, wasn’t it?  Just the beginning of human beings looking at the world which God created with such love and knowing that we have the responsibility to care for that world and deciding that we want to know more than God. We want to take care of ourselves.  Make our own decisions.

           How are we doing?  How’s our balance right now as a species?  How’s our balance with all of the other species?

           Not so good.  God’s beautiful creation is taking a beating.  And we are generally looking the other way.

           The polar ice caps are melting faster than the folks who study climate change predicted.  This will surely be the warmest year on record, topping last year, which beat out the year before.

           All because we have decided that we know more than God.  And science.

           Clearly we are out of balance with creation.

           How’s our balance with one another?  Not so good, is it?

           God created this world and called it good.  Created it so that all creatures would live in harmony with one another.  Gave the humans all that we could possibly want.  Including more free will than is good for us.  And almost immediately, we exercised our free will to do the one thing God said not to do.  The fancy word for that is “concupiscence.”  The word we all know is “sin.”

           During the season of Lent, we are invited to think about our “concupiscence”—all of the ways in which we have turned away from God’s created order and chased after our desires to the detriment of our neighbors.

           During this Lenten season, we will be focusing specifically on justice. 

           What does justice look like?  What’s the symbol of justice?

           Balance.  This Lent, I want to invite you to consider balance, in your own life and in your relationship with the world.  What’s in balance?  What needs work?

           How are we out of balance with our world?  How is our world out of balance?

           We will be exploring these themes as we talk about justice this Lent. 

           God created a beautiful world and called it good.  And it is good.  Let us also live into that goodness.

There Are No Sides in Ferguson

August 22, 2014.  The situation in Ferguson, Missouri this week is complicated.  I read that on Facebook and Twitter and was convinced, though actually going there helped a lot with perspective.  There are many competing narratives about Ferguson, and even firsthand accounts vary.  Real witness is best done up close, though.  We usually see what God is doing in our communities by venturing outside of our church walls and our comfort zones.

God is doing a lot of things in Ferguson, and so too are people.  People are doing good things, bad things, complicated things.

What we do know is this:  On August 9, 2014, Michael Brown was shot by a police officer in Ferguson, Missouri.  It appears that he was shot six times.  He joins an ever-expanding roster of unarmed young black men shot by police officers, and his death exposed a community's pain over the way it is treated by the police.  None of this is open to debate.  It's not a "side."  It is the truth.  Mike Brown was unarmed, and he is dead.  There is pain.  It is being expressed.

There was also looting.  And "rioting," which is a word employed to describe panoply of human behaviors, some of them peaceful and some more detrimental to persons and property.  The looting and "rioting," alongside details released about Brown's behavior before and during his brief time in police custody have provided a neat opportunity to describe this situation in the language of Western modernism.  There are "two sides," to wit:  the lawful side, whose primary symbol is the mostly white law enforcement community,  and the side of those who believe that injustices have been perpetrated (and continue to be perpetrated) in Ferguson.  Standing for the latter is a much more diverse community which includes Mike Brown, peaceful protestors, "rioters" and looters, national activists, and people who express their displeasure with the situation on social media and other outlets. 

People expressing an opinion about Ferguson can expect to answer to the charge that they are "taking sides."  

I was there last night, and here is what I heard:

• Every night, police have opened fire on the protesters with tear gas, rubber bullets, and possibly real bullets.
• Greater St. Mark's Missionary Baptist Church has been functioning as sanctuary space for the protesters, clergy and activists who are witnessing in Ferguson.  The handwritten sign out front says "Safe Space.  No alcohol.  No guns."  People have used the space for rest and respite, and to wash tear gas out of their eyes.  The police learned that the church had been offered as sanctuary, so they began a series of interventions which seem to be aimed at intimidating those inside.  They lined their cars right outside of the gymnasium space occupied by protesters.  They entered and confiscated items, including some Maalox which was being diluted to treat tear gas injuries.  They threatened to remove everyone from the church property.
• Police have chased protesters, hit them with batons and the butts of rifles, shouted at them, and practiced other forms of intimidation.  People who have engaged in a lot of nonviolent civil action have been shocked by the extreme behavior of the police, especially the Ferguson PD (now relieved of duty) and the St. Louis County police.

Here is what I saw:

• A community is hurting and angry.  There are still protesters walking and shouting at the police.  Their behavior may not be helpful, but their frustration should be understandable.
• At least two grass roots organizations have grown out of this continued engagement between protesters and law enforcement.  One is called Clergy United; that group is gathering clergy from the St. Louis Metro, and we were told last night that clergy from beyond the Metro are asking how they might become involved.  The other group is made up largely of young people.  They call themselves the Peacekeepers, and they are doing just that.  Both groups have their names on shirts already.  They are legit.
• Young people are raising their voices in Ferguson, in largely constructive and courageous ways.  Many were marching peacefully last night, at times chanting, "I'm young.  I'm strong.  And I'll keep marching all night long."  Their energy shows no sign of flagging.  
• Clergy are present.  I went to Ferguson with my friend and colleague Jennifer Thomas, because we were invited by the PICO National Network, a faith-based community organizing collaborative.  Both Jennifer and I are active with PICO and our local affiliate, Communities Creating Opportunity.  It was an easy decision.  We are called to stand in broken places and offer a word of grace and healing.
• People are marching because they have to.  I mean that they are compelled to do so by frustration, faith, commitment to social justice.  Also, they are required to do so by the police.  No stopping is allowed.  
• There were a lot of cops.  A lot.  They were clustered in groups of 5-20.  At least a couple dozen clusters.  There were armored vehicles.  The presentation is very combative and intimidating, which would seem to be the point.

So much remains to be done.  So many words of healing and hope are still to be uttered.  There has been precious little dialogue between law enforcement and community leaders, and the brokenness will continue until that happens in a viable and sustainable manner.  This is going to be a long process.  It will be a complicated process, and will require a lot of folks to stand down and give up some of their power in order to engage in real conversation.  There are no sides.  Just brokenness, pain, anger.  So God is there also.

When Provocation Masquerades as Inclusivity, or Why I Don't Say "Queer" Any More

     I was at a training yesterday--in a CME church.  It was a diverse group--mainly African American and white.  I lamented again that more of our Latino siblings--so often present in the work we do together--were not present at this larger group meeting.  Most folks were Christian, but we also had Muslims and Jews; their presence marks growth for the organization.  We're trying to be more inclusive.
   The funny thing about inclusivity, though, is that it thrusts you out of your comfort zone.  Let me rephrase that:  the funny thing about real inclusivity, is that it thrusts you out of your comfort zone.  I used the word "siblings" above.  This is the direct result of being agitated by a couple of my younger members, who insist (rightly, alas), that the oft-used "brothers and sisters" doesn't include those whose gender identity doesn't fall neatly on the binary.  So I'm working on saying "siblings," though there is a personal cost, as I feel more named by the more particular phrase "brothers and sisters."
   There is always a cost to inclusivity.  Feel free to argue, but I'm quite convinced.  Sometimes it means letting go of language you love, of hearing yourself named in the particular as a "sister" alongside your "brothers" (who used to be named all by themselves, while the sisters stood invisible).  And sometimes it means letting go of your need to control language, to hear only things you want to hear.
   At the training, both the opening and closing prayers were offered to "Father God."  The phrase was repeated throughout the opening prayer.  I had a little fantasy after about being asked to offer the closing prayer and praying "Mother God" throughout.  It would have pleased me, and likely pleased the rest of the people in the room who pray to a less gendered God, a God who is father and mother, he and she.  That God was not named much yesterday.
   God remained unchanged, though.  And my standing to offer a prayer which was mostly intended to stand over against the language I heard earlier would have been much more about me than about God. I would have been sacrificing my desire to be in relationship with the pray-ers to my need to provoke them to think about their exclusive language.  I wasn't willing to do that, and I feel good about the decision.  "Father God" is the language used by that tradition.  If I am to be in relationship with members of that tradition, I will need to sacrifice my need to hear God named in the language I prefer at all times.  Comfort sacrificed to relationship.  Scratch a healthy marriage, or other healthy relationship, and you will find a sub-strata of sacrifice for the other.
   I went to seminary in Berkeley, California.  I came out then, and entered into the joy of Berkeley's Queer Community.  The capital letters are intentional--the Queer Community in Berkeley is singular.  Case in point--pretty much no one is offended by the word "queer."  The first undergrad course in LGBTQ Studies was offered at U.C. Berkeley in 1970.  Today those courses are more particular and tend to have names like "Interpreting the Queer Past:  Methods and Problems in the History of Sexuality" and "Queer Visual Culture."
   "Queer" is a nice inclusive word.  It frees one from what is often called the "alphabet soup" of alternative gender and sexual identity.  I was good with being "queer."  The people I knew who were queer didn't mind being called queer.
   Then I moved back to the Midwest, first for internship in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and then to take a call in Kansas City, Missouri.  In both places, I learned that there are people who find "queer" to be a deeply offensive word.  And maybe we could reclaim it, as they have done elsewhere.  But there would be a lot of human pain in the wake of that reclamation project, and that's a cost too high, I believe.
   So I don't say "queer."  I do the alphabet soup, or I name the particular group I'm referencing.  I refer to myself as a "lesbian" most often, but sometimes even say "gay" now (which would have been unlikely in Berkeley, where people are more sensitive to male hegemonic language usage).
   Living together in community is messy.  Relationships are messy.  Sometimes you have to give.  To get.

McJustice

            The last week of July was a wild one at my church.

At our church, which used to be pretty quiet during the week, about three hundred people streamed in and out at all hours of the day and night, from late July through early August.  And then again, some three weeks later.

As recently as three years ago, our church lay fallow for most of the hours between Sunday coffee hour and the following Sunday’s worship on any given week. Then there was a merger, and a new mission of “building hope and proclaiming peace on the Troost Corridor.”  Our first real test of the integrity of that mission came a few months later, when we were asked to provide a home for Occupy Kansas City over the winter.  We said yes and coughed up a large office on our third floor.  Thus began our relationship with what is now the Midwest Center for Equality and Democracy.  MCED formed the Worker’s Organizing Campaign of Kansas City, and that’s how we found ourselves at the center of a labor rights movement unlike any seen in decades—the campaign to alleviate some of the pain of low wage workers.

The recession has been good for fast food restaurants.  Theirs is the segment of the industry which has grown since 2007.  According to Bloomberg, McDonald’s saw its profit rise 135% between 2007 and 2011.  It’s CEO made $8.75 million last year.  None of that largesse has trickled down to workers, alas.  The median salary for a fast food worker was $18,564 in 2012.[1]  Nearly all of them start at minimum wage, and raises are slow and difficult to come by. 

There are lots of moving parts to this campaign, but the its primary thrust has been provided by a pair of nationwide strikes meant to highlight the plight of workers making poverty wages.  In Kansas City, the strikes meant a whole lot of people in our church building.  And out.  And back in.  We began at six a.m. on the strike days, and went into the evening, layering actions at fast food restaurants with rallies and even a bar-b-que.  Then the walk-backs begin.  For days after, the workers were accompanied by teams of community leaders—elected officials, organizers, faith leaders—as they returned to work.  It was the job of the walk-back team to let managers know that their workers had been part of a legal job action, and that any retaliation would be unlawful.

Then we watched and waited.  When workers were threatened, phone calls ensued.     It is still too soon to know how effective the movement has been so far.  We know that some workers have actually seen an improvement in working conditions and hours.  There is still a mountain of work ahead to ensure a just and living wage for the workers, most of whom are over twenty years old, and many of whom are supporting families.  But we are proud of the movement so far.

And I am proud of St. Mark Hope and Peace Lutheran Church.  It is not easy to host a labor movement.  The day it rained, our floors looked pretty awful.  There were many bags of trash and boxes of recycling.  It was hot and humid, so our electric bill wasn’t pretty.  And we didn’t pay attention to the folks going in and out of the fridge, so we didn’t notice until Sunday that some hungry body ate the communion bread.  We used a hot dog bun a member brought from Chubby’s Diner after a frantic phone call from the communion assistant.  I hope we never have to do that again, but I wonder if it wasn’t rather appropriate.  A simple, even pedestrian representation of Christ’s body, on a week when we simply walked alongside the least of our siblings in Christ.  A wild week in which God gave us so much more than we gave away, and in which we were indeed building hope and proclaiming peace.

---

[1][1] Bloomberg.com, December 11, 2012.

Decorum Est...Not

     I like politics.  I do.  I find the whole thing fascinating, and I am very interested in the leadership of our country, state, and city.  But I'm about over this election.  I don't want to see any more glossy ads asking if I "know what Todd Akin has said now."  I'm sure it is offensive.  But if people are still voting for that guy, they obviously don't care what he says.  Maybe if he burned a flag or offered to raise taxes on billionaires--that might get their attention.  Another round of sexist statements just means it's Tuesday.

     I watched the debate last night and felt as unconnected to both candidates as I ever have.  Both went on and on about how strong the military would be under their leadership.  Both went on and on about being "tough on Iran."  They'll also be tough on China, the country we love to hate, whose exports keep Walmart in business.  We all hate the trade imbalance with China.  Most of us have homes full of Chinese products.

     I am over the hypocrisy.  I am over the decidedly unChristian values on display from people who profess deep faith in Jesus.  And I am over the coarseness of our rhetoric, especially as it pertains to the president of the United States.

     Last night after the debate, super-conservative talking person Ann Coulter tweeted, "I highly approve of Romney's decision to be kind and gentle to the retard."

     I hesitate to quote that directly, because the final word is highly offensive.  It's a playground word, one that schools are symbolically burying in order to help kids remember not to say it.  And little kids are learning.  Perhaps someday Ann Coulter will attain the enlightened perspective of a typical second grader.

     You cannot say that about anyone.  You must not say that about the President of the United States.  There is still a certain level of decorum and respect owed to the highest office in this land.  If you want to claim any gravitas in speaking about who should be the next president, you might try according a little dignity to the current one.  

     And if you're going to insult him, at least pick something that makes sense.  The president's high level of intelligence is undisputed.  Even people who don't like him grudgingly admit that he is smart.  So along with being a terrible insult to people who struggle with mental and learning disabilities--a word that second graders have learned not to say--your comment was ridiculous. It was a word meant to offend, one which you just grabbed out of your bag of "words no one should say."  The same way the schoolyard bully calls a kid "gay," even though the child's sexuality isn't in question.

     I was already over Ann Coulter.  But I think I'll be glad when November Seventh gets here.  Then I can generally avoid being offended if I stay away from The Learning Channel and Fox News.  Assuming we all vote based on actual research, and not things we see in glossy advertisements or read on Twitter, or Facebook, or somebody's blog.

What's That About?

Saw this bumper sticker the other day.  As I drove past the car, I exclaimed, loudly, "For God's sake!"  Which was rather ironic, I suppose.

I searched the interwebs and read a few explanations about this bumper sticker.  There was a whole conversation on the Austin, Texas Yelp site, which had the flavor of most anonymous internet conversations:

Lovely Lady:  I saw this bumper sticker the other day and wondered what it meant.

Wish it was Friday:  I was wondering that, too.

Big Dog:  I did an extensive search on Google.  There was a lot of BS, but I found this:  "This sticker originated at blah blah munitions company and they are praying for the safety of our snipers.  Those snipers save lots of lives, since they can make surgical strikes."

Fabulous Frank:  That sticker is not very Austin-y.  Give peace a chance, y'all.

Lovely Lady:  Oh, thanks.  I googled too and didn't find a good answer.  You rock, Big Dog!

Big Dog:  Frank, that's the problem with Austin.  We don't allow alternate opinions.

Barry the Welder:  Frank, you are an idiot!

Fabulous Frank:  I was being ironic.

It goes on.  I changed the excellent screen monikers and paraphrased the dialogue, but that captures it pretty well.  There was much more, but I didn't feel like reading to the point where the conversation devolved to pre-verbal grunting.  I no longer read the "Unfettered Letters" section of the Kansas City Star website, because it is simply a depository for hateful discourse, with the occasional salient comment.  I'm not willing to  sort through that much poop hoping for a pony.  There seem to be people with a lot of time on their hands these days--a lot of time, and not much love in their hearts, or at least in their fingertips, which is the problem here, exactly.

We have a multiplicity of opportunities for coarse discourse at our fingertips, and on our bumpers.  I'm not sure what motivates someone to put a bumper sticker on their car that says "God bless our troops...especially our SNIPERS!"  I do know that it is not a benevolent wish for the protection of American soldiers and marines who happen to be snipers.  The punctuation makes that abundantly clear.  This is a "prayer" for those who locate and destroy our "enemies" with precision.  It is a prayer for killing.  One could support it with a biblical argument, but not a gospel argument.  Yeah, I'm Lutheran--I get to make that distinction.  Thanks, Martin Luther!

I do have a few theories on what the motivation for this sort of hateful discourse might be:

Theory #1:  We really do believe that an American life has more value than an Afghan life, or a Pakistani life, or the life of anyone else who might be found in the crosshairs of a sniper's rifle.

Theory #2:  We no longer feel that anyone truly listens to what we say.  So we say it in such a way that it cannot be avoided.  We speak in sweeping generalizations, in shocking language, in profanity--in much the same way that a six-year-old will smack another child just to get attention.  We'll take the negative if we can't get the positive.

Theory #3:  We are becoming an increasingly polarized people who turn to hateful discourse out of anger at our lack of power, or perceived lack of power.

It could be any of those, or something else.  It's likely a hybrid of all three, added to the convenience of sharing our thoughts anonymously, semi-anonymously, or at least at a distance, on so many digital formats these days.  Like this blog, for instance.

So we have a problem and it is perhaps merely attributable to sin and therefore a part of the human condition, but I'm inclined to think there is a solution.  First we have to ask a few questions.  I would pose these:

-->How do we recover peace in our discourse?

-->How do we learn to speak out of love and not anger?

-->And when anger is unavoidable--when there are children going hungry in a prosperous country (or any country, for that matter), when American soldiers and marines are dying for reasons that seem abstract or fictitious, when the gap between rich and poor passes "obscene" and heads for "absurd"--when injustice is the order of the day, and we are obligated by faith and/or reason to speak out, how do we do so in a way that doesn't alienate those who really need to hear our message?

I am increasingly convinced that we need to stop and answer those questions, before we're going to solve much else.

A Briefly Curved-in Jesus

I actually wrote an hour-long presentation under that name, which began with the story of a Gentile woman and Jesus, found in Mark 7 and Matthew 15.  The idea was to talk about welcome in our churches, specifically welcome of LGBTQ folks.  I spent a really long time talking about the passage, though, which is, for me, the most challenging text in the gospels.

In case you don't know the story, here's the brief recap:  Jesus is traveling up in Tyre, a big coastal region on the Mediterranean.  He goes into a house for a little quiet, but he can't get it; a woman follows him in.  She has a daughter with a demon, and she begs Jesus to cast it out.  Important detail:  "Now the woman was a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin."  (In Matthew she is called a "Canaanite woman," which doesn't change the meaning.)  At first, Jesus refuses to help her, saying “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”  She responds that even the dogs get to eat the crumbs on the floor. 

There are so many things to say about this story.  There are so many ways to feel about this story.  There are  dozens of ways of reinterpreting the story to save Jesus from his humanness.  I've read them.  Here's one:  the word isn't really "dogs;" it's something more akin to "puppies."  I guess it's a little better to be called a "puppy" than a "dog."  I guess.

So here's what I'm thinking this morning, because I am postmodern enough to know that the space in which I read affects the text:  Jesus is human.  We proclaim that in the Creeds, and we talk about it at Christmastime especially (since our Lord being a "baby" is a little easier to take than him being a "man").  God became flesh and dwelt among us and every once in a while that fleshy human being did or said something dumb.

He wanted to be alone.  He was tired, having been followed through hill and vale and wilderness and lakeshore and into houses and up mountains.  He wanted a moment and he didn't get it and so he whined.  A moment of selfishness.  Been there.  Ooh, I have been there.  A few minutes ago, in fact.

It's a rare moment, and serves as the exception that proves a rule about Jesus, which is that he is not so selfish.  When the disciples wanted to send away the great hordes who followed Jesus so that they could all get something to eat, Jesus caused food to appear for all of them.  Then he got in a boat and crossed the lake, where people commenced to bring all of the sick people to him to be healed.

He healed them, because that's what he did.  He healed everyone who came, and he preached when he was weary to the bone.  He was Jesus, and that's what Jesus did.  He healed the sick and he proclaimed the kingdom and when he had given away his power and his voice, he laid down his life.

He did have a moment, up in Tyre--a very human moment, the sort of moment that people like me have all of the time.  He had a moment and then he bounced out of it and cured a Syrophoenician woman's daughter and doggone it, that's a really good lesson for all of us who give in to the tendency to be what the reformers referred to as incurvatus in se.  That phrase, attributed first to St. Augustine and used by Luther in his commentary on Romans, refers to the human tendency to be "curved in on ourselves," instead of out toward God and our neighbors.  For Augustine, it was a sign of original sin; for Luther, it spoke of our need for God's grace (no, those are not mutually exclusive--very good!).

It is so easy to turn in on ourselves.  It's easy for our needs to overtake the world's.  It's so easy to feel as if our troubles are insurmountable.  It's easy to check out, to crawl into a dark hole of despair and dare our friends and family to pull us out.  Sometimes we need that help, because our despair is chemically induced, and we simply can't manage it.

And sometimes we need to follow Jesus.  Wait...always we need to follow Jesus.  Sometimes we need to follow his example of being incurvatus ex se--curved out from ourselves and toward God and neighbor...even when we're not feeling it.  It might even wrench us away from the tendency to see our troubles as insurmountable, which they rarely are.

I Coined a Word!

When I writes, I pours.

In the course of attending to my blog today, I found that I had five comments awaiting moderation.  One of them was on a post called "How about 'Sortadox'?" in which I was complaining about the need for a name for the folks in between the Pope and Christopher Hitchens.  David Brooks had used the term "quasi-religious" to describe the folks in between; that term is quasi-awful.  So I suggested "sortadox."  And a commenter, one jules the bassist, wrote to say that s/he had Googled "sortadox," and my blog was the first thing that came up.

I just did it, and its still true.  How fun.

Hope and Peace Pastor

So a few things have happened over the past two years--since I last posted on this poor neglected blog.  I'm thinking it's time to fix that...though I've thought that before...

Abiding Peace merged with St. Mark, which already had members from Fountain of Hope, so now we are St. Mark Hope and Peace Lutheran Church. Yes, it's a long name.  We're part of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, which has fewer words but many more syllables.  We kept it to monosyllables as best we could.  So do pronounce the "Hope and Peace."

The world needs more hope and peace.  There is a ferocious cynicism in our public discourse.  Russ Douthat's recent column "Can Liberal Christianity Be Saved?" is a good case-in-point.  Douthat is a conservative, so one would expect him to be critical of "liberal Christianity," by which he means whole denominations like the Episcopal Church (United States) and most certainly the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, my denominational home.  We are fair game, of course, having both (Episcopalians and ELCA Lutherans) made some progressive moves in the past few years, most notably on the issue of gay clergy and same gender unions.

But Douthat is way over the top in declaring that the Episcopal Church has become "flexible to the point of indifference on dogma, friendly to sexual liberation in almost every form, willing to blend Christianity  with other faiths, and eager to downplay theology entirely in favor of secular political causes."  That link will take you to a column in Christianity Today (which describes itself as "a globally minded evangelical magazine").  The article is about concern about Episcopal syncretism, which Christianity Today apparently defines as openness to the possibility of salvation through means other than adherence to Christian doctrine and dogma.  


Read Douthat's column.  He makes some interesting points at the end, about losing our grounding.  I'm not prepared to argue with him on that one, though he overstates once again.  The civil rights movement was able to proclaim Christ while demanding social change.  It's harder to do that today, when that declaration is often considered quaint.  Then read Diana Butler Bass's book Christianity for the Rest of Us, which describes mainline Christian congregations which are thriving, and are also rooted in some traditional practices and a clear understanding of the gospel of Jesus Christ.  Read them all today--you'll thank me.

You might also enjoy the response of Episcopal Rector Matthew Lawrence, provocatively titled "Russ Douthat Is a Fruit Fly."  He links a great response that Butler Bass has provided.  Go to his to get to hers.  That's the way this thing works.

Hope!  Peace!