The longer I live in general silence, the more I notice what people say. While I have conceded that I must talk with people during the month- I am living in a new state- one of my goals has been to listen deeply to what other people are saying.
Listening deeply has renewed my interested in semantics. Why do people choose the words that they use to describe the world? Is it local culture? Is it their parents' language? Is it the language used on the news? Why do politicians (or their speech-writers) select certain words over others? Afterall, politicians are in the business of spelling out their positions in order to get a certain crowd to vote for them. But is our use of language all that diverse?
Yes, however...
There are two particular words that I hate- hate with everything inside of me. They are common words, used initially by politicians for which I'd never vote. But now other politicians, for which I would vote, have picked them up and integrated them into their own language. Are they trying to be "centrist?" Do they not think about the words they use? I doubt both of those explanations, but I'm still not sure why they use these two words:
Illegal. Entitlement.
"Illegal" is the word used to describe my brothers and sisters who are caught up in some unjust laws. They are undocumented, not illegal. Have you met an illegal person before? How can a someone even be an "illegal person?" It makes them sound like their are illegitimate as people. Is that the goal with that word, to make them sound like they aren't really human, and therefore may have their human-dignity revoked? Have you been an illegal person before? Crossing the border is a misdemeanor, as is speeding. In that case, I'm illegal, even if I haven't been caught. I bet you are too. Immigrants who have been brought into this country, or came here hoping for a second chance at life and eating and raising healthy kids, are not "illegal" as much as they are "undocumented." If you call one of these brothers or sisters of mine illegal, please do me a favor and call me, and yourself, an "illegal" as well. Though, I would just prefer you afford us all some humanity.
"Entitled." I've hated this word for a long time. In seminary, I defined "entitlement" as "it may be good enough for other people, but it's not good enough for me." As in, "the bad neighborhood might be good enough for those poor people, but I deserve better." Another distinct variation: "that generic-brand purse may be good enough for you, but only Gucci handbags are good enough for me."
The word makes my skin crawl. It makes my blood boil. Who is entitled? Is it the wealthy non-tax payer who claims that making him pay some taxes is equivalent to the pain of the Holocaust, or is it the family so poor that they qualify for welfare and food stamps, and need them to survive temporary unemployment in a bad economy? How about a man who was injured while working a dangerous job, and now he qualifies for disability? How about a woman on maternity leave? Entitled? No. These people don't fit the "entitlement" description.
When it comes to surviving on a basic level- having enough food to eat, having shelter, protecting and raising healthy children- these people, just because they are people and as such deserved to be respected and offered basic dignity, need to survive. No one deserves life that more closely resembles death. Those of us with more than enough resources to survive are obligated by a basic sense of morality and decency and by God to assist them. I, for one, generally trust our government. I know that is totally unpopular right now, but our government reaches people to whom I cannot reach as a pastor and as a small-town citizen. I can reach a lot of Christians, a few non-Christians, and my obligation as a pastor and as a Christian is to care for all of God's children, but I can't reach everyone. The government can. I entrust my tax dollars to the government to care for those people I can't reach. They deserve life, and life in abundance (have you thought of how having any food on your table for dinner is a sign of abundance? If you haven't thought about that lately, maybe you should give thanks to God for your food tonight. Thank God for the whole mass of people it took to bring food to your table).
So to call Social Security, Medicare, etc. "entitlement programs" is to willfully misrepresent the reality of life for the impoverished. Are they perfect programs? Do they do what is needed without creating dependency? No, but that's why you slowly and VERY CAREFULLY revamp them. Imagine running a non-profit homeless shelter that requires a lot of money to operate. Afterall, you are housing everyone that isn't being reached by other non-profits, and that's a lot of people. All the people rejected from other shelters are taken in here. When values change, the shelter is abandoned and everyone is kicked to the curb. Yet you haven't found them jobs. You destroyed most of the public housing slowly over the last few decades. They have no where to go. Their deaths are your responsibility (remember, we're still talking about Medicare/Medicaid too). I thought we were our brother's keeper. Now you've lost interest in taking care of our brothers and sisters, and for what? You want more stuff? You want more money to keep for yourself? You want more power? It's convenient for you to have an entire under-class of desperate unemployed people who will do your cheap labor for you? Are you trying to economically-enslave people, now that we've abolished actual slavery in this country? What kind of society actually requires a group of people to live in an economically-exploited class? Are they our "untouchables?"
When we create deficit in our neighbors, by calling our immigrants "illegals" and the poor among us as "entitled," we also create deficit in ourselves. When we deny the humanity of our neighbor, we deny our own humanity. The "Good News" that I hear in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus is that our old divisions are gone, and the act of restoration of our dignity one day will involve being reconciled to each other (that's right, Fox News anchors. You'll be sitting next to welfare junkies and illegals at the table in the kingdom of God. Or maybe it'll be hell for you to sit next to them and embrace them as brothers and sisters?).
Have you noticed who uses the words reconciliation, community, and dignity? They also reflect certain values. Just as "illegal" and "entitlement" can be used a weapons against people, so "reconciliation" and "community" can heal their wounds. Not to sound too much like a 4th grade teacher...will our words be used to hurt other people, or will they be used to help them heal?
Monday, August 22, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Sermon 8.14.11- First Presbyterian Cedar Falls
Scripture Readings in dialogue:
Reader 1: Luke 15:11-24 (from Table)
Reader 2: Proverbs 3:1-12 (from Pulpit)
Reader 3: Genesis 45:1-15 (from Font)
________________________________________
Reader 1: Then Jesus said, ‘There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, “Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.” So he divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. (Lk 15:11-13)
Reader 2: My child, do not forget my teaching, but let your heart keep my commandments; for length of days and years of life and abundant welfare they will give you. (Pr 3:1-2)
Reader 3: Then Joseph could no longer control himself before all those who stood by him, and he cried out, “Send everyone away from me.” So no one stayed with him when Joseph made himself known to his brothers. And he wept so loudly that the Egyptians heard it, and the household of Pharaoh heard it. Joseph said to his brothers, “I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?” But his brothers could not answer him, so dismayed were they at his presence. (Gen 45:1-3)
Reader 2: Do not let loyalty and faithfulness forsake you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart. So you will find favor and good repute in the sight of God and of people...Honor the Lord with your substance and with the first fruits of all your produce; then your barns will be filled with plenty, and your vats will be bursting with wine. (Pr 3:3-4, 9-10)
Reader 1: When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. (Lk 15:14-16)
Reader 2: Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths. Do not be wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord and turn away from evil. It will be a healing for your flesh and a refreshment for your body. (Pr 3:5-8)
Reader 1: But when he came to himself he said, “How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.’” (Lk 15:17-19)
Reader 3: Then Joseph said to his brothers, “Come closer to me.” And they came closer. He said, “I am your brother, Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt. And now do not be distressed, or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life. For the famine has been in the land these two years; and there are five more years in which there will be neither plowing nor harvest. God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors. So it was not you who sent me here, but God; he has made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house and ruler over all the land of Egypt. Hurry and go up to my father and say to him, 'Thus says your son Joseph, God has made me lord of Goshen, and you shall be near me, you and your children and your children's children, as well as your flocks, your herds, and all that you have. I will provide for you there- since there are five more years of famine to come- so that you and your household, and all that you have, will not come to poverty.' (Gen 45:4-11)
Reader 2: My child, do not despise the Lord's discipline or be weary of his reproof, for the Lord reproves the one he loves, as a father the son in whom he delights. (Pr 3:11-12)
Reader 1: So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. Then the son said to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.” But the father said to his slaves, “Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. (Lk 15:20-23)
Reader 3: And now your eyes and the eyes of my brother Benjamin see that it is my own mouth that speaks to you. You must tell my father how greatly I am honored in Egypt, and all that you have seen. Hurry and bring my father down here.” Then he fell upon his brother Benjamin's neck and wept, while Benjamin wept upon his neck. And he kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; and after that his brothers talked with him. (Gen 45:12-15)
Reader 1: ...for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!” And they began to celebrate. (Lk 15:24)
Sermon:
In our scripture-reading today, we heard three different scripture texts woven together so that they might speak to each other and to us in a new way. I don't know about you, but I heard 2 distinct voices speaking out of that interweaving.
One voice was characterized mostly by the Proverbs reading, about trusting in the Lord over yourself, remaining faithful and loyal, and ultimately having food security because you followed the law- the law which really is for your own good.
In Proverbs 3, verses 9-10, I can't help but hear an “If...then...” clause: “[If you] honor the Lord with your substance and with the first fruits of all your produce; then your barns will be filled with plenty, and your vats will be bursting with wine.” Or in the words of Psalm 23- your “cup runneth over.”
This voice is echoed in Genesis by the initial reaction of Joseph's brothers to the revelation that their long-lost brother, Joseph, whom they once tried to kill and then decided to sell into slavery...yeah that Joseph...he's standing here in front of them. Hmm.. wait, what was that about loyalty? Faithfulness? I think they might be saying “uh-oh” in their heads. The gravity of the law is now standing in front of them, confronting them in a way; they thought it was a bad situation for them in their drought-plagued homeland. Little did they know that the law would catch up with them in Egypt. I wonder if they thought about Joseph after selling him into slavery- it seems like Benjamin and Joseph were close, but what about the others? Did they ever feel guilty about what they did to Joseph? Did they assume it would never come back to haunt them? That he would never come back to haunt them? Before understanding what Joseph was saying to them, they had their dreaded “uh-oh” moment.
Also sustaining the first voice within the readings is in the parable of the Prodigal Son from the Gospel of Luke. The younger son already had his “uh-oh” moment and now he finds that his only employment opportunity leaves him food-insecure. He knows he had plenty of resources before, and he wasted them “in dissolute living.” What was that about not leaning on your own understanding...about how acknowledging God will lead to straight paths, without deviation into poverty and food-insecurity and who-knows-what-else? Hearing the proverb about barns-a-plenty and bursting vats of wine, trusting in the Lord and not yourself...it must leave him feeling pretty mucky, besides the fact that he was in the swine yard. You can hear the muckiness in the scheme that he devises: go back to the father he has so deeply betrayed and beg for forgiveness. Beg for a job as a hired servant. Anything for some security and food. He is condemned by the law and yet trying to survive.
The paralysis of knowing the condemnation of Joseph's brothers and the prodigal son in the eyes of the law, and the knowledge of their hopelessness and insecurity, is joined with yet an even deeper layer.
Verse 3 from the Proverbs reading said: “Do not let loyalty and faithfulness forsake you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart.” This sounds familiar, right? The Proverbs audience would remember that this sounds a lot like when Moses was delivering the Torah to the people Israel, and said: “Bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem on your forehead, and write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates” (Deut 6:8-9). While Moses lived, indeed, many generations after Joseph and his brothers, the same idea was floating around before. The brothers had tried to kill Joseph. The act of selling him into slavery, in itself, was a sort of death-sentence for Joseph- so they thought. God, however, seems to have foiled their plans by bringing Joseph up in power in Egypt, to be in charge over all that stuff he talked about in the scripture reading. Joseph now stood as their last chance to find food and survive the drought. Would he strike them down now? Would he let them starve slowly and painfully? Would he avenge the evil his brothers did to him? It's not looking good for the brothers at this point.
Likewise with the Prodigal Son- he also found himself (perhaps completely by his own doing) on the wrong side of the law. Even asking for half his inheritance from his father in the first place was breaking the commandment of honoring one's father and mother. A writer on the parables, Bernard Brandon Scott, equates this request in the ancient mindset as telling his father to “drop dead.” In a way, the father gave half his life at the request of his son. The son took that life and spent it in “dissolute living.” While it's not entirely clear what “dissolute living” means here (the older brother claimed it was on prostitutes, but it's not clear that that accusation was truth or the embellishment of an angry brother), it is clear that he didn't use his father's gift in any valuable way. Imagine the son feeding the pigs and meditating on our proverb from today's reading: “My child, do not despise the Lord's discipline or be weary of his reproof, for the Lord reproves the one he loves, as a father the son in whom he delights.” If his father is benevolent and still took delight in the son upon his return, it's not clear what sort of “discipline” would be awaiting him. Not only that, but technically, had this whole episode never happened and both sons obediently held out for the father's eventual death, the older son would have by custom received two-thirds of the father's wealth, and the younger son would have shared the other third with any other siblings. Therefore the son-of-dissolute-living also stole from his brother as well. But it only gets worse for this wayward son. The punishment for this crime against his family is death. His crimes, without necessity of trial, will render unto him a death-sentence. A member of the family or community is obligated to kill him upon his return, in order to restore their honor and for the law to be maintained. “Uh-oh.”
So, I said there were 2 voices that came out of this interweaving of texts. Let's talk about the 2nd voice.
The 2nd voice is found primarily in two places within these readings: in the words and actions of Joseph and of the father of the exploitative son. It's something of a counter-witness to the original “if...then...” clause. Remember? [If you remember the proverb's teaching and keep the commandments, then “length of days and years of life and abundant welfare they will give you.” If you keep loyalty and faithfulness bound around your neck, then you will find favor and good repute before God and people. If you honor the Lord with your substance, then you won't find yourself feeding pods to the pigs while you go hungry. Think of it as conditional grace.]
No, the 2nd voice says something else. Joseph said to his brothers: “do not be distressed, or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life.” Then Joseph says: “God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors. So it was not you who sent me here, but God.” Then Joseph tells his brothers: “I will provide for you there- since there are five more years of famine to come- so that you and your household, and all that you have, will not come to poverty.” This really throws off our neat and tidy “If...then...” clauses. So, if you sell your annoying little brother into slavery, the kind of slavery that was an almost-guaranteed death-sentence, then your brother will turn around and save your life. Wait, how does that work again? That makes no sense! Think of it as unconditional grace.
Now, I might be pushing it a little, but I don't think Joseph's method of offering his brothers unconditional grace is as easy as he is making it seem. I've never had anyone try to sell me into slavery before, but I've heard women speak about their experiences of being sold into modern-day slavery and their experiences of human trafficking. They tell stories of pimps and johns, abuse, lies, threats, isolation. The question comes up: how do they forgive those who kept them in bondage? I don’t think God calls us to blind, mindless forgivness in the face of evil. However, I think Joseph had an easier time than this. This scenario of modern-day slavery is not something Joseph would have faced as a man in Pharoh’s household. Even though Genesis chronicles some difficult events for Joseph, he does become, as he says, “a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house and ruler over all the land of Egypt.” Becoming so powerful, he says, was clearly evidence of the work of God. Still, Joseph shows signs of having thought long and hard about why he ended up a slave in Egypt. While it's not clear if his brothers thought much of him after they ditched him, it's clear that he's been working through all these events for a while. Can you imagine the scene? He clears the room, and then cries out so loud that Pharaoh's whole household can hear it! His brothers don't know it's him yet. Then his first words of identity-revelation to them are: “I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?” His brothers must be thinking: “Joseph? Joseph who? What are you talking about? What do you mean “is your father still alive?” What's going on? Wait...Joseph? Our brother? But he's dead. He can't be you.” Clearly, Joseph has been dealing with his feelings about his brothers' betrayal for a long, long time, but his brothers are completely overwhelmed with shock.
Still, after all that time, time he could have used stewing in the bitter juices of hatred and revenge, Joseph shows compassion to them. He shows grace. Unconditional grace. This is clearly not grace because of what they did, but grace in spite of what they did. And in the process of reconciliation, the brothers are delivered out of the hands of the law and the grip of poverty and starvation, and into the hands of grace and a life of sufficiency (maybe even a life of abundance).
Turning back to the father of the prodigal son- remember that this is a parable that Jesus is telling to the crowds of 1st century Palestine, after telling two other parables about rejoicing over finding a sheep and a coin that had been lost but are later found by their owners. Remember, the prodigal son was starving in a foreign land. He devised a scheme to go back home and beg to be a servant, since his father's servants still at least had something to eat. Whether he knew it or not, though, he was entering a trap. Returning to his community meant a death-sentence.
Imagine then that he's walking up the lane. Perhaps no one has seen him yet. Or perhaps he had been spotted and the mob was gathering. Then...his father sees him. This could be the end.
But then, in a moment of reckless abandon and sheer grace, the father runs to meet the son. He literally throws himself around the son, not only to embrace him in welcome but to protect him from harm. Our parable theologian Bernard Brandon Scott reminds that this was not the most flattering scene for the father- it was behavior not particularly befitting an “honorable oriental gentleman.” But notice that Jesus says that the father was “filled with compassion.” The father intends to do anything it takes to save the son's life. It's not the end, but a new beginning. The son starts on his script about not being worthy and wanting to be a servant, but the father doesn't even seem to be listening. He's too busy telling his servants to put the best robe on his son, put a ring on his finger (a symbol of status and importance) and sandals on his feet. On top of that, get the fatted calf ready for supper. Oh yeah, there's gonna be a party tonight!
But at this point, the son didn't even get through the script he had worked out when he was starving in the pigpen, and now he's received as a beloved son. Did he cry? Was he too baffled to cry? Jesus doesn't tell us. We know the party starts and everyone is invited, even the angry older son, but we don't know how the story goes on from here. I would like to think the younger son feels humbled, now that he's wearing the robe, ring, and sandals that are the inheritance of his older brother. All these good things...they really-really don't belong to him. He is given these things out of grace and he did not do anything to deserve them. They were given in spite of his actions. Unconditional grace.
From the father's perspective though, he might still remember when his younger son asked for the inheritance, asked for what was essentially the father's very “life.” Interestingly, when the son comes strolling back home without a penny to his name, his father runs after his son as if running to reclaim his very life. His son has become an essence of his life. It wasn't about the money. The father has become reunited and whole, because he has been reconciled to his lost son. The father is found, because the son is found. In reconciliation, they are both delivered from the rupture of their relationship.
Theologian Paul Tillich speaks of grace in his sermon, aptly named “You are Accepted” like this:
“In grace something is overcome; grace occurs “in spite of” something; grace occurs in spite of separation and estrangement. Grace is the reunion of life with life, the reconciliation of the self with itself. Grace is the acceptance of that which is rejected. Grace transforms fate into a meaningful destiny; it changes guilt into confidence and courage. There is something triumphant in the word 'grace': in spite of the abounding of sin, grace abounds much more.”
I think we see this in our own lives and the lives of those around us too. We hear the story of unconditional grace in the story of the mother and her teenage son, who both need deliverance from the death-grip that drugs have had on the teenager. You can hear it in her voice when she says, “I won't give up on you. If I could infect you with the love I have for you, so that you might learn to love yourself, I would.” We hear the story of unconditional grace in the story of the man who drives his sister to every doctor in the state in order to get the diagnosis she needs, the medicine she needs, in order that she might heal. No, we don't tend to be perfect in these situations. In fact, we tend to mess up like crazy because these aren't easy times and we've never had to deal with this before and it's too much stress and she really is quite selfish and so many other reasons. Still, as we see the in-breaking of the kingdom of heaven in our midst in the stories of the Old and New Testaments, in the pieces of the stories of people we know, in the little glimpses we see in our own lives, we see this beautiful, messy, real thing called compassion, called unconditional grace, called deliverance.
Note that while the law certainly has it's place, in particular to show us how it is that we should live a life of love for God and neighbor, that grace is found more often in the midst of relationships. It is in our relationship with the triune God: Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer, that we learn about this unconditional grace. It is within our relationship with God that we experience first that grace, that compassion, that deliverance. Earlier in the service this morning, we confessed our sin before God and each other in prayer, and afterward we were all assured of our pardon from that sin. I'll tell you a little secret: we preachers and liturgists actually prepare the assurance of pardon ahead of time. We don't even prepare an emergency you-aren't-going-to-be-pardoned-today speech just in case. God hears our prayers before we even are moved to prayer in our hearts. God forgives us not just once, not just seven times, but seventy times seven. In this spirit of deliverance from the captivity of sin and in the spirit of God's compassion for our messy, broken lives, let us go forth and bring the same spirit to our relationships with one another. Amen.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Reflections from a half-way point
If you remember from a couple week ago, or if you read my previous post, I am taking a vow of silence this month of August for many reasons. I am writing this post to update where I am with it.
I want to add a goal to that initial list: to subvert the culture of "mindless talk" in the embodiment of my person. Of course, I have tried this before: to subvert the culture of lazy, air-polluting, lung-destroying car-driving, I walked (and later biked). I don't think many caught on, and I'm okay with that. When time comes such that we can't drive our cars from high gas prices or future debt-ceiling apocalypse, or when poor health demands we do something, I'm here to talk about good shoes, safe paths, staying strong, etc. So while subversion is not my only goal, it is a goal, and I will own up to it.
I must also express my disappointment in not being able to take a full vow of silence. I see some inherent flaws in doing this half-heartedly, the reason being mostly that I must keep up with communications with professional contacts as I start working again. And I can't go a whole month without talking to my family or my husband. Also, being able to talk to some but not others allows my extroverted self to be appeased and quite comfortable. It also comforts my introverted self that I can shut out everyone when I want, because I have a decent excuse (though I think simply being introverted should be good enough). Therefore, I still wish to find a time to stay present but totally silent in the future. It might be a week-long project at some point in the future. But the point is not just silence, or not-talking. The point is learning to listen deeply. For this, I think I am learning quite a bit so far.
On the prayer/fasting-from-words front, I have been begging God for some way to bring people together- not in any uniformity of opinion necessarily, but a way for people to see that we are inherently tied together. When one suffers, we all suffer. When one rejoices, we all rejoice. The more I pray about it, the more I realize how much we already have that brings us together. It's actually quite amazing that we pretend we can individualize our entire lives and ignore whole groups of people, and in a way, ignore everyone but ourselves for most of our lives. It's all about us. Our society encourages that, yes, but our broken humanity does as well.
I drove through a subdivision yesterday where every house looked alike. The color was the same, the patterns in the brick were the same- I had to look hard for the house numbers (all located in the same place on each house with the same font) in order to know where I was going. I came home and told my husband about this, and we joked how even patriotic Americans act like Communists sometimes. This also comes to mind in our traffic patterns- many people like to take vacations around the same days and times, and we often go to the same places. Yet we so often care not for the common good of those people...who seem to do things pretty much exactly like us. How similar must we be before we consider each other friends or neighbors? Is it coincidence that we develop relationships? Random meeting? Circumstances? How much time does it take getting to know someone before we start caring for their welfare? Does it only take one commercial of sad-looking children in a developing country? Or a commercial of sad-looking kitties? Is it just easier caring for strangers, or for innocent animals (in juxtaposition to guilty humans)? Why do we care so little for each other? It's easy to answer with one little word, but I resist such simplification. I am going through my mind every face I remember seeing in my life, and questioning why things worked out the way they did. If they came to me now in need of help, how would I respond? Thinking of their circumstances (i.e. unemployment, child-birthing/maternity leave, food stamps, tax breaks), I question how my vote makes their lives easier or more difficult. Is there a stronger implication about their care if they are unemployed and facing poverty, over situations of abundance? Does our current definition of poverty in this country, particularly as amount of income in relation to family size, really reflect the reality of poverty or the response we should make? Is education really an asset? I want to say yes, but I know some really well-education musicians and professors with doctorates who make very little money. This will take more investigation- perhaps more communally than individually.
On a personal note: I learned two things about myself so far this month.
1) I am a bit of a gloomy preacher. I already knew this. But I looked over my past sermons and I read their accompanying scripture readings, and I see that the Bible has a lot of gloominess. The Bible really isn't all unicorns and puppies and rainbows (to quote Dr. Anna Carter-Florence). I was a little worried that I was simply pessimistic, but the Bible isn't really all that optimistic or falsely-upbeat. I still think I'm a much better pastor in the face of death than in the face of new life though. I wanna learn to dance in reckless abandon like David before the sight of the Lord, and then I want to teach it to others. Recklessly-dancing Presbyterians? Now that might really be a sign of the end times.
2) I have a love-hate relationship with the church. To be more specific, I really love many, many things the church does, and I hate a few of the decisions that people have made on behalf of the church in the past. I won't list my grievances, other than to note crusades (old and new) against people who don't fit into the local culture of the church [which might have more to do with loving certain cultural aspects- we'll call that "Justin-Bieber-ism," as in, Justin Bieber might have little or nothing to do with God and the church, but if you dare forget or choose not to proclaim your undying love for (enter cultural element here, such as Bieber) in the local congregation, then there is no place for you at all in the church]. So my revelation is that my disdain for the church that comes up occasionally is actually the flip side of my love for it. They are one in the same. They are both part of my deep affirmation that the church is important. What we do as the collective body of Christ has massively important implications for other people and for ourselves. I don't just love the church because it makes me feel good about myself- I love the church because it is a witness to the kingdom of God in this place. It is the hands and feet of Christ in this place. It points to God, who is love. When the church lives out its mission well, it is nothing short of connection-making with the divine and each other. When the church starts axing people and drawing lines in the sand about who's in and who's out, it stops pointing to God and starts pointing to itself (and maybe Justin Bieber). It takes on idolatry, and sometimes even self-idolatry. Yes, I know it's part of this broken life; yes, I know that all of us (myself included) do this often in our own lives. But also yes, as a response to this we should keep our eyes open and remind each other that God is our focus, and what that means. So a love-hate relationship with the church is actually a good sign- it means we still care. It means the church is still important. It means that change is coming.
I want to add a goal to that initial list: to subvert the culture of "mindless talk" in the embodiment of my person. Of course, I have tried this before: to subvert the culture of lazy, air-polluting, lung-destroying car-driving, I walked (and later biked). I don't think many caught on, and I'm okay with that. When time comes such that we can't drive our cars from high gas prices or future debt-ceiling apocalypse, or when poor health demands we do something, I'm here to talk about good shoes, safe paths, staying strong, etc. So while subversion is not my only goal, it is a goal, and I will own up to it.
I must also express my disappointment in not being able to take a full vow of silence. I see some inherent flaws in doing this half-heartedly, the reason being mostly that I must keep up with communications with professional contacts as I start working again. And I can't go a whole month without talking to my family or my husband. Also, being able to talk to some but not others allows my extroverted self to be appeased and quite comfortable. It also comforts my introverted self that I can shut out everyone when I want, because I have a decent excuse (though I think simply being introverted should be good enough). Therefore, I still wish to find a time to stay present but totally silent in the future. It might be a week-long project at some point in the future. But the point is not just silence, or not-talking. The point is learning to listen deeply. For this, I think I am learning quite a bit so far.
On the prayer/fasting-from-words front, I have been begging God for some way to bring people together- not in any uniformity of opinion necessarily, but a way for people to see that we are inherently tied together. When one suffers, we all suffer. When one rejoices, we all rejoice. The more I pray about it, the more I realize how much we already have that brings us together. It's actually quite amazing that we pretend we can individualize our entire lives and ignore whole groups of people, and in a way, ignore everyone but ourselves for most of our lives. It's all about us. Our society encourages that, yes, but our broken humanity does as well.
I drove through a subdivision yesterday where every house looked alike. The color was the same, the patterns in the brick were the same- I had to look hard for the house numbers (all located in the same place on each house with the same font) in order to know where I was going. I came home and told my husband about this, and we joked how even patriotic Americans act like Communists sometimes. This also comes to mind in our traffic patterns- many people like to take vacations around the same days and times, and we often go to the same places. Yet we so often care not for the common good of those people...who seem to do things pretty much exactly like us. How similar must we be before we consider each other friends or neighbors? Is it coincidence that we develop relationships? Random meeting? Circumstances? How much time does it take getting to know someone before we start caring for their welfare? Does it only take one commercial of sad-looking children in a developing country? Or a commercial of sad-looking kitties? Is it just easier caring for strangers, or for innocent animals (in juxtaposition to guilty humans)? Why do we care so little for each other? It's easy to answer with one little word, but I resist such simplification. I am going through my mind every face I remember seeing in my life, and questioning why things worked out the way they did. If they came to me now in need of help, how would I respond? Thinking of their circumstances (i.e. unemployment, child-birthing/maternity leave, food stamps, tax breaks), I question how my vote makes their lives easier or more difficult. Is there a stronger implication about their care if they are unemployed and facing poverty, over situations of abundance? Does our current definition of poverty in this country, particularly as amount of income in relation to family size, really reflect the reality of poverty or the response we should make? Is education really an asset? I want to say yes, but I know some really well-education musicians and professors with doctorates who make very little money. This will take more investigation- perhaps more communally than individually.
On a personal note: I learned two things about myself so far this month.
1) I am a bit of a gloomy preacher. I already knew this. But I looked over my past sermons and I read their accompanying scripture readings, and I see that the Bible has a lot of gloominess. The Bible really isn't all unicorns and puppies and rainbows (to quote Dr. Anna Carter-Florence). I was a little worried that I was simply pessimistic, but the Bible isn't really all that optimistic or falsely-upbeat. I still think I'm a much better pastor in the face of death than in the face of new life though. I wanna learn to dance in reckless abandon like David before the sight of the Lord, and then I want to teach it to others. Recklessly-dancing Presbyterians? Now that might really be a sign of the end times.
2) I have a love-hate relationship with the church. To be more specific, I really love many, many things the church does, and I hate a few of the decisions that people have made on behalf of the church in the past. I won't list my grievances, other than to note crusades (old and new) against people who don't fit into the local culture of the church [which might have more to do with loving certain cultural aspects- we'll call that "Justin-Bieber-ism," as in, Justin Bieber might have little or nothing to do with God and the church, but if you dare forget or choose not to proclaim your undying love for (enter cultural element here, such as Bieber) in the local congregation, then there is no place for you at all in the church]. So my revelation is that my disdain for the church that comes up occasionally is actually the flip side of my love for it. They are one in the same. They are both part of my deep affirmation that the church is important. What we do as the collective body of Christ has massively important implications for other people and for ourselves. I don't just love the church because it makes me feel good about myself- I love the church because it is a witness to the kingdom of God in this place. It is the hands and feet of Christ in this place. It points to God, who is love. When the church lives out its mission well, it is nothing short of connection-making with the divine and each other. When the church starts axing people and drawing lines in the sand about who's in and who's out, it stops pointing to God and starts pointing to itself (and maybe Justin Bieber). It takes on idolatry, and sometimes even self-idolatry. Yes, I know it's part of this broken life; yes, I know that all of us (myself included) do this often in our own lives. But also yes, as a response to this we should keep our eyes open and remind each other that God is our focus, and what that means. So a love-hate relationship with the church is actually a good sign- it means we still care. It means the church is still important. It means that change is coming.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)