A Christmas Memory

I grew up in a small town where, for whatever reasons, my church became the center of my life. I have thought about it so often, and I think of the people, the Sunday school teachers, our pastor, my scoutmaster, most of whom are gone now. It was a community where we kids were accepted as we were, and I think that is really true, because even the kids who were picked on in school were treated lovingly at the church. One of my fondest memories there is of a Christmas Eve service when I was thirteen years old. The church may have had such services for years, but this was the first that I ever attended. What made it even more special was that my whole family attended, which indeed was a rare event. The church was packed, and it seemed as if everyone was happy and radiant. At the end of the service, we sang "Silent Night" as the lights were extinguished, and I remember seeing the faces of the senior and junior choir bathed in candlelight. It was a beautiful event, and is a very warm memory. Three months later, the church was destroyed by fire, never to be rebuilt. Members of the congregation fought over the judicatory's decision not to allow us to rebuild. Within a year, the congregation split, with two-thirds of the membership founding a new church. I remained with the original congregation, even though the rest of my friends went with the breakaway group. As a result, I learned a difficult lesson about human nature. I learned that church people are human beings who are imperfect, who bicker and gossip and take sides. Years later, after I had graduated from divinity school and was serving my own churches, I learned from the man who had been our pastor at the time that we could have rebuilt the church, if only members would have agreed to install an outreach ministry in the new building, since our church lot bordered what is now known as a transitional neighborhood. But the folks in power at the time refused. And some of the most obstinate were the very people who had nurtured the members of the youth group so lovingly. Members of my extended family now attend the church that broke away, and my home church, or what was left of it, merged with another congregation in town. A parking lot now occupies the space where a church had stood for one-hundred-fifty years, with no marker or anything to indicate that a house of worship had once stood there. I was the last in a long line of youth from that church who entered the Christian ministry, and I am the last who is still serving actively. The very real and hard lessons I learned about human nature since the fire have not dimmed the mental picture I retain of the beautiful candlelight service in that gorgeous edifice, when I felt as if we were all members of one family. Truth is, we were, and remain so. That, I think, is the heart of the Christmas message: God came to earth that we all might be one. Merry Christmas.

Forgive My Rant!

I have been doing some hard thinking, so I am about to sound-off. Don't say you weren't warned. With all of the lights and sounds (tacky, for the most part) of the season around us, why is it so hard to get the attention of people who claim to follow the Christian faith, but who have little time to participate in it? Perhaps the warm weather has made it difficult for some to get into that holiday spirit that was never present at the original Christmas event, but shall forever be identified with it, thanks to Irving Berlin and White Christmas. Many of the students and faculty with whom I work are quite tired at this point in the semester. Soon, classes will end, and finals will conclude and we will all go home. Then it begins all over again next semester. Such has been the rhythm of my professional life for the past twenty-five years. I spend most of my time working with young adults, whose attention spans have been forever shortened by our electronic culture and its demand for immediate answers. Who can blame them if they have little interest in listening to the story of a man who lived, and died, long ago? Nor are they easily impressed with talk of his still being with us, though in a form not easily seen. This problem with attention span lies not only with young adults, but also with a large portion of the American church, at least. One can read voluminous material about why the old ways the church reached out are not longer relevant, and why new ways have to be adapted to the contemporary realities in which we find ourselves. I do not disagree; I have had to adapt the ways in which I relate to students, and they have changed over time. But the basic need for them to hear the story has not changed, though it is difficult to get folks to take the time to listen. And so, sometimes we pander, to young adults and older adults, enticing them with the promise of much in exchange for little demand on them. I recall asking a campus minister if he spent much time talking about the controversial issues facing our denomination, and faith, with his students. His reply was, "Well, I could do that, and have maybe forty students, or I can avoid it and have two-hundred." And that is what he chose to do. With thinking like that, is it any wonder that American Christians tend to have a theology that is skin-deep? Our Christmas message focuses on the baby, because it is easier to love a baby who never made any demands on anyone, save for his mother and father, than it is to talk about the man that baby would become, a man who made people uncomfortable for the sake of a cause greater than himself. So, we have mainline churches who have stood by their social justice-infused theology struggling to keep their doors open. And we have mega-churches that emphasize "Jesus and me" and individual salvation, instead of the salvation of all people, and they are packed to the rafters. When did the Advent season lose its punch? As it is, those who attend church during Advent see it as the season when the pastor won't allow them to sing Christmas carols as early as they would like. So, Advent is simply that annoying time, leading up to Christmas, that we have to wait out. Many folks who fill churches on Christmas Eve were not in church doing the Advent season, which helps us to make sense of the holiday. We don't like having to wait for the payoff, we want it right away. Why in the world don't people want to hear the Advent message about God "breaking into" our world so that the kingdom may come for all people? Perhaps the trouble worsened when it became legal to be a Christian. Prior to Constantine, Christians were a marginalized people who existed on the fringes of society. When Helen, Constantine's mother, made it clear to her son that she expected him to follow her into this new faith, his subsequent conversion meant that Christianity was now legal, and the oppressed became the oppressor. The closest some American Christians come to feeling persecuted is when they are criticized by others for their intolerance of persons who they believe live outside the house of faith. In America, the Christian faith and the culture wars have become almost indistinguishable from one another. Christians are the "haves" and all others are the "have nots." Well, this Christian believes that Advent is the time to shout out that business as usual is not the will of God, not according to the early witnesses of the faith. I would rather run a small campus ministry that struggles with the tough issues, than have a large one that has no idea what it means to step outside the comfort zone of spiritual security. Advent should fill us with excitement, and make us "stand on the tiptoe of expectation" as the prophet Isaiah once stated. I won't give up on my recalcitrant students, and I believe, with all of my heart, that God has not given up on us, either.

Christ the King in This Skeptical Age.

We have celebrated the Sunday of Christ the King, the last Sunday of the Christian year. The scripture, from Matthew, speaks of Christ who will be seated on high and who will separate the sheep from the goats. We spend much of our faithful lives trying to line up with the sheep, even though it's much more fun to act like a goat. The scene of that final judgment can send chills through the most ardent sheep, because it tells us that, whatever we have done to the least of God's children, we have done to God. I cannot help but think of the gathering of polarized goats we refer to as Congress. Many of the Tea Party darlings speak eloquently of "family values" while cutting programs that aid the marginalized of society. We have many on the left who chide believers as being in love with a fairy tale, and who go so far as to state, with seeming certainty, that Jesus of Nazareth never existed. How does one prove a negative, I wonder? For the record, any serious scholar worth his or her salt has studied the evidence closely and all agree that Jesus is a real person from history. Obviously, what cannot be proven is the certitude of his divinity. We live in a time when there is no real respect given to the idea of religious belief, when a sabbath day is present only in memory, and when immediate personal gratification is the order of the day. No wonder that there is no interest in hearing of a "King" of any type being a standard bearer for the faithful. It takes a lifetime, or at least, it has for this writer, to begin to understand the magnitude of what Christianity claims as its central tenet: God became human and identified with the least and the lost. What passes for Christianity in many parts of the world, and certainly in America, has little in common with that original vision. Christianity has became synonymous with winners and power brokers and people "like us." Working on college and university campuses for the past twenty-five years, I have seen the proportion of students who avail themselves of the services of the religious and spiritual life programs shrink continually. Students arrive at college with no religious "memory," that is, they have little or no experience as a part of a faith community, so why would they choose to affiliate with a program now? So, this is the situation out of which we proclaim Christ as King. Well, this writer will continue to do that, because we need the vision of a great and powerful leader who sides with the poor and dispossessed. When it comes right down to it, every one of us has felt dispossessed, even if we have not been financially poor. More and more of us are at risk of becoming financially poor, and risk falling through the cracks as social programs are cut in favor of tax cuts that curry to the wealthy and powerful. In Advent, Christians have the audacity to proclaim that a baby will be the symbol of a new world order. For a few moments, people will come together to sing carols and light candles. Meanwhile, we will be chastised for failing to spend quite enough on gifts to boost the economy, and the King will again be placed on the shelf until next year. But the image of God as loving the dispossessed will not be hidden, and it will continue to make us uncomfortable and to feel embarrassed when someone asks us if we really believe that stuff about Jesus. And the sheep and goats continue their journey along the road that meanders to the Kingdom of God.

Writer's Block, During This Time in Our History?

My posts have fallen off as of late. I have been puzzling over that fact for the past few days. Are there fewer problems in the world about which to lament? No. Are there no inspirational stories to be found in scripture? Of course not. After the October snowstorm, have we not had the most gorgeous fall weather imaginable? Yes, we have. So, what is going on in this addled brain of mine? Ah, glad you asked. I have been laboring in the field of academia for twenty-five years now, and my moods and energy levels seem to follow the rhythms of the college calendar. We are sloshing through that odd period after midterm and before finals. Thanksgiving is a mere two weeks away, and, after that, there is barely a whisper until the semester will end. Our whole family will be together at Christmas, which is indeed rare. I am in that in-between place, you see, and sometimes the ideas and originality are slow to percolate through the substrata of my inner sanctum. It's difficult, sometimes, to focus on the present when the end is in sight! However, I will offer a commentary on an event here that was not new, but that did serve to renew my flagging spirit. Our Muslim Student Association hosted an Eid - al - Adha this past Sunday evening. They opened with prayers, some corny jokes and a sincere welcome to all. Then we feasted on some of the best Indian food to be enjoyed on this side of the Atlantic. The evening was fun and the place was jam-packed with people. Imagine a large hall, filled with Muslims, Jews, Christians, Hindus and people of no particular faith tradition. And imagine all of those people being very glad that they have come there. Well, that was our event. And it is the norm around here, and also at other campuses where we have hosted interfaith events. Though nothing in my background and formative years would have laid the foundations for an inclination towards interfaith work, it is there that I feel most useful and most fulfilled. I cannot help but feel that God rejoices as much as we do when we gather together. It should be stated clearly that interfaith gathering does not imply that we forget our differences and just celebrate an amorphous amalgamation of watered-down faith traditions so that no one is made to feel that any one tradition is on display. This gathering was for Eid - al - Adha, celebrating Abraham's offering of Ishmael for sacrifice, and God's deliverance of Ishmael before it was too late. What's that, you say, you thought it was Isaac who was offered? Well, it was, as it was Ishmael. You see, the various traditions represented at the gathering are not of one mind regarding the dramatis personae in the story. We do not try to ignore our differences, but affirm them. Truthfully, it is after midterm, and I am tired and we still have several weeks of the semester to go. But even during this strange time, I am keenly aware of how fortunate I am to share in the life of this multi-faith community. My Christian faith would be so impoverished without it. God is never more real and authentic for me than when I am in the midst of a group such as I was Sunday evening. Even in the dips in energy past mid-semester, there are mountaintops that never cease to surprise and energize.

A Film You Don't Want to See, but Must!

Several months ago, my wife and I came across a documentary on HBO entitled "How to Die in Oregon." It was described as a film that follows several folks who were terminally ill as they made decisions about their care, and mode of death, some involving Oregon's "Right to Die" law. So, of course, I tuned in. The film was inspiring, shattering, heartbreaking...in other words, my kind of movie! We noticed that it then disappeared from HBO's broadcast schedule, and I could find it nowhere. On a hunch, I contacted the producer and asked it the film would be available anytime soon. Sure enough, it was to be released during the first week of October. I placed my order, the film arrived and I screened it for my death and dying class. They were quite reserved after viewing, even more than they usually are. However, one can understand their understated response in light of the emotional wallop that the film delivers. I have viewed the film three times, and have searched for every review of it that I could find. Most of the reviews have been very positive. I found a review in a conservative Christian magazine, and, as might be expected, the reviewer was lukewarm in his opinion of the film, and seemed to not be able to get past the whole idea of "death with dignity". As a result, he did not deal with the film in any meaningful way. This is evident because he does not even mention the name of a person who became the centerpiece of the film. Cody Curtis was a professional woman, a wife and mother who was given a terminal diagnosis after a recurrence of liver cancer. She and her family allowed the producer of the film into their lives during the final year of her life. Her gentle nature, honesty, and wide-eyed wonder of the illness and its unpredictable course would have been enough to insure that her image remains with a viewer for a long time. But it is the grace with which she dealt with her illness, and the love that she exemplifies for her family and friends that takes a hold and won't let go. I do not know if she professed any faith tradition, and it does not matter to me if she did, or did not. In the glimpse of her life offered in the film I saw perhaps one of the greatest examples that I have witnessed of someone giving flesh and bone to Jesus' promise that those who are poor in spirit will be truly blessed. She approached the end of her life with a dignity, humility, honesty and wisdom that are far from commonplace. I hope that during the rest of my life, and in my dying, I may remember her life and exemplify even a small portion of her grace.

Enough to Send Us Running - Isaiah 45:1 - 7

The Hebrew Bible lesson this week describes how King Cyrus, a Persian, became, for a little while, the holder of the title, "Messiah." Indeed, in Isaiah 45:1, Cyrus is referred to as "anointed one." Whoa there! How does Persia, long an enemy of Israel, get to produce a messiah? Well, think of it as "acting messiah." I work on a college campus where we have acting Deans and Directors somewhere, in some division, almost all the time. They hold the position and title while a person for the permanent position is being sought. So it was with Cyrus: he was a placeholder for the real anointed one, a port in a storm, if you will. The Israelites who had been exiled to Babylon longed to return home, at least, many of them did. Cyrus became the instrument by which God was able to accomplish that feat. I have seen the color drain from the faces of folks when I ask them if they have ever heard that the Wonderful Counselor, Mighty King  that is spoken about in Handel's "Messiah" might have been referring to King Cyrus. We are so used to projecting everything in the Hebrew Bible forward onto Jesus that we can barely entertain the idea that the writer of Isaiah may have been writing about someone else, at least in the case of chapter 45. After all, if some yahoo from Persia could get to be an instrument of God just by allowing some of the residents in a country he had just conquered to go home, then anybody anywhere at any time could have a chance to be an instrument of God. Yikes! That is about as frightening a thought as we are likely to have, ever! If God would choose to use as as instruments, it might mean that our schedules would be thrown into chaos. We like the predictability of our lives, don't we? Our routines are sacred times, and they are ingrained into us and we feel comfortable there. One need not read very far in the Hebrew Bible or New Testament until the idea that God likes to upset comfortable lives becomes readily apparent. We don't know what Cyrus thought of the whole thing, though we do know that he possessed a very healthy ego. Not long after conquering Babylon, Cyrus allowed all exiled peoples to return to their homelands.  The version of this edict on the famous Cyrus cylinder states, "I am Cyrus, king of the world, great king, legitimate king, king of Babylon." However, in Isaiah's account, God's attributes are listed numerous times, with Cyrus being mentioned by name only twice. In the eyes of Isaiah, Cyrus was the actor, but God was the writer, stage manager and director. Cyrus was the icing, God was the cake. In a time in America when political egos are larger than ever, and politicians of a certain ilk are only too happy to proclaim their divine credentials, the story of King Cyrus is a cautionary tale. Cyrus was probably the most powerful guy on the planet in his day. But he gets only brief mention in the story of faith, because he was an almost accidental tourist on the itinerary of stops on the way to the coming of the Kingdom of God. What would we give to make such an impact on the lives of the faithful where we live? And why don't we make such an impact?

The Same Old Story?

I attended a discussion the other night entitled "Are Christianity and Homosexuality Incompatible?" There was a large contingent of students from a gay-straight alliance on campus, many from an evangelical Christian group, and a few from the more progressive Christian group that actually sponsored the event. I slipped into the role of moderator, since it was obvious that we needed one. The discussion was civil, but the old underlying tension caused by the slogan, "Love the sinner, hate the sin" was alive and well. It was clear within a very short time that there was a wall that would not be breached: there are those who interpret scripture literally, and those who do not. When that reality interjects itself, forward progress almost always ceases. I often feel embarrassed when GLBT people attend a discussion where Christianity's views are debated. If Christians are supported, others will say that they do not respect the authority of scripture. If other Christians condemn homosexual activity based on their understanding of scripture, they are perceived as bigoted. Is there a way out of this morass? I wish I knew. There are progressive Christians, and by that, I mean Christians who see their faith as a way forward to heal a broken world. Undoubtedly, many conservative Christians see their faith in a similar way. However, the brand of evangelical Christianity that is most familiar in America as reported through the media, is a type of faith that insists that the world conform to a standard based upon a literal understanding of scripture. I read recently an article that asserted that literal interpretation of scripture is really only about three hundred years old, and that, before that, Christians used scripture in its richest form.  They looked to scripture for inspiration and guidance, not as a step-by-step book of rules and prohibitions. During our campus discussion, it was evident that some of the students who insisted on a literal interpretation of scripture had no other basis for their faith, should that lone pillar be removed. Other, more moderate Christians tried to make the argument that scripture is really not relevant to the discussion. In that case, the baby went out with the bath water! I left the meeting discouraged, because I realized that I have seen no forward movement, at least on this issue, among the conservative group of students who was there, during the entire time that I have been at this institution. And I am very frustrated with students whose views are more inclusive and welcoming, but who will not take the time and exert the effort to be a part of the discussions. I realize that this dynamic reflects the larger society as a whole. Our more progressive mainline churches will continue to falter and disappear, because they cannot capture, and hold, the attention of the populace with a message that Christ messes with the "common theology" of twenty-first century America. Unless one embraces a restrictive view of Christianity, that promises a payoff for few, after this life, what is the upside? Who wants to practice a faith that espouses acceptance of people different from oneself and a throwing open of the doors to all who will come, as they are. Yes, there ARE standards for Christian living, and they are not for everyone. But to insist that one change an in-born or acquired sexual orientation just for admission to the flock is to demand that one sell one's soul not to God, but to those who have set themselves up as God's gatekeepers. No one wins.

It Must Make Us Feel Better

Troy Davis was executed last night, after a last minute flurry of activity to spare his life by staying his execution. But, if Americans have shown anything, it is that they will not be denied their revenge. It's not as if Troy Davis did anything to us, personally. But, he was a convicted murderer, and, perhaps owing to our "wild west" mentality, those who kill must be killed. Never mind that, in the years since his conviction for the crime, seven of nine witnesses recanted their stories. It does not matter that physical evidence linking him to the crime was never discovered. It is not about guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, because there was certainly reasonable doubt in his case. I don't know if he committed the crime for which he was charged, or not. But I do know that there was enough doubt about his guilt that he never should have been executed. But, it does not matter in America, because we are a people who love to exact revenge. Look at the films that we view. Look at the violence in them, and the vicarious sense of sweet revenge we get from them when the bad guys get what they deserve. Have you ever noticed how many Christians are among those holding signs outside prisons whenever an execution is scheduled? One knows that they are Christians because they carry signs proclaiming that fact, they wear crosses, and they are happy to tell any who will listen that they are Christian. What is often missing from that tableau is a reporter who asks a Christian how he or she can mesh their belief in capital punishment with their Christian faith. One will always see signs reminding us of "an eye for an eye."  Again, why does no one ever ask about the rest of that verse, about how Jesus ended the thought. He said that we are to turn the other cheek, which is also greatly misunderstood, but that's for another day's blog entry. Recently, Ray Krone, a convicted murderer was on our campus. You may wonder how we were able to arrange for a convicted murderer to appear on our campus. Ray was convicted of raping and murdering a waitress and was sentenced to death and placed on Arizona's death row. Just as Troy Davis did, Ray protested his conviction and asserted his innocence. However, in Ray's case, annoying evidence of his innocence began to appear, and re-appear. No matter how loudly the prosecutor proclaimed Ray's guilt, the voices proclaiming his innocence would not be silenced. Finally, justice was won and Ray was released from prison after DNA evidence exonerated him. Troy Davis was willing to take a polygraph test yesterday, but he was not permitted to do so. There was no way that the state of Georgia was going to be denied its pound of flesh. Another execution was carried out in Texas last night, and still another is scheduled for tonight in Alabama. Americans love executions, they love wild-west justice, they love revenge. And, to this point in time, no state has agreed to allow the filming of an execution, and one has to wonder why. If state-sanctioned executions are such a great idea, would we not wish to show them off? One would think that politicians who run on a platform of getting tough on crime would want to show an execution so that folks know that they are serious. I am guessing that we will never see a televised execution, because it would reveal that the emperor has no clothes. If folks could see the cool and calculated premeditation that goes along with the process for themselves, they just might be horrified, having a difficult time differentiating what the convicted murderer did from that which the state did to the murderer. Troy Davis may have been innocent, but it does not mater now. Those calling for revenge still shout louder than those calling for justice. And those calling for revenge, in the name of God, remain deaf to their folly.

A Parable We Love to Hate Matthew 20:1 - 16

I have found that, sometimes, the hardest medicine to take, theologically, is an occasion when a saying or parable of Jesus can cause some embarrassment when telling it to another. Such is the case with the parable of the landowner and workers found in Matthew's gospel. I cannot count the times when students, and others, have reacted to the story with cries of "That's not fair" and "those guys got a raw deal." Indeed, if we read the story with our everyday eyes, we will be left unsatisfied, with a lingering discomfort. And, God forbid, that anything in scripture should make American Christians uncomfortable. I wonder if a survey would show that the most popular churches today are those where the uncomfortable side of Christian discipleship is emphasized? I wouldn't count on that. Matthew's parable flies in the face of every value we are taught about the rewards of hard work and honesty. Should those who worked for just one hour receive the same wage as those who worked for twelve hours? Well, look at the deal the landowner made with each worker: a day's wage for work completed. So, did he lie to anyone? No, he offered exactly what he had promised. So, then, why all of the grumbling? Perhaps because of one human trait that has not changed in the course of two thousand years: we love extra credit for working hard. We expect it from our employers, and my students expect it from me. The men who worked twelve hours had agreed to do so for a day's wage, an amount of money that would enable them to survive for a day. When they saw that the last hired were given that wage, they imagined that they were due some extra incentive, because they had worked  a full day, not just one hour. I have read a commentary, or two, that accuse the landowner of being a sadistic power-hungry cretin who liked nothing better than to remind the populace of his superiority. Really? Come on now. First, we must remember that this story is a parable, not an historical account of a true event. And second, Jesus was trying to convey an important message: God's order is not always consistent with our order. What is the real point of this story? In the words of William Loader, of the Uniting Church in Australia, "The story opens new vistas. The employer kept the contract he had made with the first hired but also gave the last hired what they needed to live. The last hired received their denarius, their living. Viewed from this perspective the practice comes close to what for us is a norm: unemployment benefit, making sure people have enough to live on. A different standard is applied: need, not earning rights. To view it in this way puts many things in a new perspective. It does not smooth out all the rough edges, but it is enough to open the door to a different way of thinking." In other words, the landowner gave the workers what they needed, not necessarily what the wanted or thought they deserved. Imagine the effect on the silly season of American politics if those running for public office were to promise the populace to find ways to procure for them what they need, not what they want. And does it strike anyone else as in-congruent that, those candidates who claim to have the strongest Christian credentials are the very people who resent "entitlements?" The parable cuts through such nonsense and teaches a lesson about giving people not what they deserve, but what they need. A parable we love to hate? Very likely. A parable we desperately need to hear in this politically and theologically shallow time in which we live? For certain.

A Fitting September 11th Observance

Though I should not be surprised, I was caught a bit off-guard when our local news station began Monday's newscast with about seven minutes worth of stories relating to Sept. 11th. They then direct folks to their website and assure us that they will offer "continuing coverage" regarding the World Trade Center attacks all week long. And so we jump headlong into media saturation of an event that occurred ten years ago. We set up markers for ourselves, usually in multiples of five, to commemorate significant events. For some reason, ten seems much bigger as it relates to September 11th than did the fifth anniversary. I must offer a disclaimer here and admit that, for my family, September 11th is a day of mixed blessings which count more for us on a personal level that does commemorating the World Trade Center attacks. Our son was born on September 11th, and from that time forward it has always been an immensely joyful day around our house. Our children are our greatest gift, and so their observances come first. Conversely, my father died on September 11th, on our son's eighteenth birthday. So, for me, the day is about blessing and loss on a most personal level. Nonetheless, I realize the magnitude of the day for the general population. For that reason, I knew that I would plan an interfaith worship service for that day, since this will be the tenth anniversary. The service is full of readings from diverse religious traditions, affirmations of faith and prayers for peace. Only for a moment, at the beginning of the service will we look backwards, and remember. After that, we will give thanks for the tapestry of people and religious traditions that compose our campus community. I have taught a course on death, dying and bereavement for many years, so I know well the various ways in which people grieve, both individually, and corporately. Some folks will arrive at some kind of closure regarding personal losses, others will find it much more difficult. My discomfort with the various ways in which the media will play and replay the images from September 11, 2001 is that it will serve mostly to remind us of our differences, and of those responsible for the attacks. I hope I am wrong and that the coverage shows, instead, the ways in which the survivors have grown over the years and have used their tragic losses as an energizing force to work for understanding. If one remembers the hoopla made a couple of years ago about the mosque that was planned for a site several blocks from, and not even within the sight of, Ground Zero, one knows that we have a long way to go in ceasing to marginalize those whose beliefs and dress may be different from our own. I pray that this tenth anniversary will cause all of us to stop and reflect and to give thanks to a faithful God who does not desert us in our grief and anger, but points us to new avenues of understanding and service.

ABLC

In United Methodist ecclesiastical language, the term for people like me who serve in ministries other than the local church used to be Appointed Beyond the Local Church, or ABLC. For years, I was used to being referred to by that moniker. When I was asked to address the clergy session of my annual conference about what it means to be an ABLC, I told them, tongue-in-cheek, that I believed that most folks believed that ABLC stood for Another Brother Left the Church. There was uproarious laughter, and I knew that I had hit a nerve. I pleaded with them to refer to us as pastors, because we have never stopped serving out our callings as such. Imagine my disappointment when, upon reading minutes of that meeting, I discovered that the conference secretary stated "John Colatch gave an informative presentation on ABLC's."
I have been reading Dick Van Dyke's autobiography, My Lucky Life, In and Out of Show Business. I was surprised to read that he had been very active in his Presbyterian Church during the height of his fame in the 1960's. It was refreshing to read that someone remained a part of a faith community, even when he was part of a working culture that was far removed from any overt talk of religious life. He spoke of the time when his pastor left to serve another church, and he was part of a group of members suggesting that their all-white church extend an invitation to a local African-American congregation to share worship services and hospitality. Van Dyke recounts the opposition that arose to the suggestion and it was voted down. He states that he left his church, and organized religion at that point, and has never returned.
It is all too common in this country that, when people are disappointed if something goes wrong in the local church, they cut and run and disavow any connection with any church or organized religious body.
The biblical witness tells of prophets who disagreed strongly with their religious leaders and structures, and yet, they remained true to the faith and worship of their tradition, trying to create change from within. The American Christian Church has become so accommodating that, when leaders in the church do take a prophetic stand, the members flee, until they find another body that conforms with what they already believe. Or, they simply drop out and disparage all talk of religious and faith. I work in an academic community and know well the fashionable agnosticism that arises from such cases.
I was really disappointed that Dick Van Dyke left his church, because the church needed his prophetic spirit to go against the racism that was institutionalized. If only he had continued to work for justice within the faith community. He certainly has done do from outside, and he is to be admired for his commitment. Our young adults need mentors in their faith communities who can serve as examples of what it means to work for change from within. It is so easy to cut and run, and I see the results of this all of the time in students whose families decided against raising them in any faith tradition, even though the parents were raised in one. Another Brother/Sister Left the Church. And soon, there were none.

The Debt Crisis - What Would Jesus Do?

It is interesting to me that, with many of the folks who are demanding that the debt ceiling not be raised until we have a constitutional amendment requiring a balanced budget, little to nothing has come forth regarding their religious reasons for wanting such. Any other time, the religious fervor is worn on the sleeves, and many speak forth on behalf of the Almighty. Those voices have been strangely silent in the midst of the mess that is Washington. Could it be that there is a sense of embarrassment regarding cuts in social program that many in the Tea Party and the Republican party are calling for. Is there is sense of dis-ease in trying to defend not demanding an end to tax breaks for the wealthiest Americans and corporations? After all, sacrifices are being called for by.....well, by the middle class and poor. With all of the political blather aside, it becomes very difficult to justify such a philosophy in the name of Jesus when he was squarely on the side of the poor. And why have not the mainline religious folk been calling the political/pseudo-prophets on the carpet about this hypocrisy? Well, actually, they have been doing just that. Members of The Interfaith Alliance were arrested for peacefully protesting in the capitol. Walter Wink wrote about the power of domination systems to control the discussion and squelch dissent. We are seeing it on full display. Those of us who claim to be followers of Christ had best not be silent in all of this. When the immediate crisis has passed and the election cycle revs up and candidates and incumbents begin speaking self-righteously about the kind of country that God wants and Jesus demands, we had best not be silent. Lives are on the line here. The poor have been punished and pushed to the fringes in the richest country in the world, because their presence among us in an inconvenient reminder of our calling. It's time for religious people to take up the oft' quoted phrase, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!"

Sitting in Silence, but Not in Church

Earlier today I found myself sitting in silence, not wanting to hear anyone speak, and not wanting to leave the place. However, the lights came up and we had to go out of the theater to make room for people attending the next showing. There have been precious few times during my life when a film caused me to sit in awe and wonder. The Elephant Man was that kind of film, as was Chariots of Fire. I had not planned on seeing The Tree of Life, but I had read several reviews during the past week, including one published in the Christian Century, and they were very good reviews. There are so few films worth seeing these days that I really do pay attention when many agree on the merits of a particular film. So, I went in to see the film not knowing what to expect, aside from the common wisdom that one will not understand all of it, rather like 2001: A Space Odyssey. I was one of the few people in my college dorm who liked that movie, probably because I had read the book in high school and had figured out at least most of it, except for the ending. From the moment Tree of Life began, I was taken into the story and the images and the music. I won't give away the plot or the scenes other than to say that portions of all of our lives are touched upon during that film.  Life, death, God, prayer, family, fairness and unfairness, adolescence...it's all there. I thought the movie had ended several times before it did, and I could not even guess what was coming next.
I was sad that the lights came up the moment the credits began. I wanted to sit there and allow it to wash over me. It seemed somehow sacrilegious to speak, because the journey I had just been on took me to holy ground. I will spend good portions of time during the coming weeks pondering the film and its images and the places whence I was transported. I will relive difficult moments in my own life that came to mind while viewing it, and I will look back fondly on simpler times during my early life. I have read reviews since viewing the film written by those who have no patience for messages that are not obvious, people whose attention spans are barely longer that that of gnats. And some were dismayed that a religious message could possibly be found in the film, as if that, if it does in fact exist there, cheapened the artistic merit of said film. I think of about the only phrase I recall in reading Schliermacher in divinity school, when he directed one of his works to his friends, the "cultured despisers of religion." So, if you can find an art theater that is showing this film, because the commercial chains will not touch something so ponderous, go and take a look. How often do you have occasion to sit in silence and awe and wonder?

Going Back to the Wellspring

I have written previously about the spiritual regeneration that occurred when I began to attend a local Episcopal church back in January. I continue to love the ritual, theology and social justice outlook of the church. We have just returned from visiting our daughter and son-in-law in England, and it was inevitable that we should attend the Anglican services there. First, we attended the Sunday service at the little church in the village where our son-in-law's family resides. It happened to be the annual service where the church recognized the local civic leaders. The building itself is ancient, going back to the middle ages. The service was not what I expected, as it was very Methodist in many ways, and not the high ritual I had hoped for. Still, it was nice to experience life in a small village church.
The next day we traveled to Durham, home of one of the most ancient cathedrals in Europe. We had been there before, many years ago, so it was not a new experience in that regard. However, the day held a nice surprise for me. It so happened that an afternoon Eucharistic service was offered, and so my wife and daughter and I attended. The service was very similar to the weekly service at our local cathedral church, and that was wonderful. Couple that with the ancient surroundings, in a cathedral that was already centuries old when the Church of England was born, and the service took on special meaning. I kept thinking of the phrase "so great a cloud of witnesses" as I thought about the tens of thousands who had worshiped there before me for almost one thousand years. In addition, having our daughter worship with us, knowing how deeply her faith affects her life in a country where not a great many young adults attend church, was a deeply moving experience. I guess I am writing this to encourage anyone who may read these words to seek out a congregation that nourishes you in a way the meets your own unique needs. For me, it meant choosing a denomination other than the one in which I was ordained, and that has caused me a great deal of soul-searching. I have always loved the beauty of the ritual and majesty of the Anglican tradition, and felt guilty for not being satisfied with the continual diluting of the ritual of my own denomination, which is a direct descendant of the Anglican Communion. While many prefer a simple service with "praise" music and very little ritual, I find the ancient rituals, coupled with the choral music of the masters, to be a spiritual experience like no other. Whatever your tradition, learn its history and seek to understand why the service is conducted the way in which it is, and you will find added enrichment to your own spiritual tradition.

Still Here, and Glad to Be So.

Before I offered my Baccalaureate address this past Saturday, I told those gathered that I had never before presided at a Baccalaureate service held on a day that the world was predicted to end. I told them that, should something happen and some of them be taken away, I would still be there preaching for those who remained behind. Truth is, I would much rather hang out with those who are seeking answers than to spend eternity with those who want to be a part of the 2 - 3% of the earth's population spared from a final cataclysmic event. I hung out with enough of those types in college to last me for a lifetime. How is it that the faith that teaches the most benevolent and grace-filled message of all religions attracts those who like to keep score even more than my mean old third grade teacher? When I took a course in Pauline theology in college, our professor talked about the now-famous verse in I Thessalonians 4 that has come to be know as the "rapture" (a word which never appears in scripture!). Paul expected the coming of Christ at any minute at that point in his career. However, as one reads other, later letters of Paul, it becomes clear that he expected to die before Christ ever returned. I guess that my wonder at such Bible illiteracy is tied up with my on-going question as to why my theology and knowledge of the Bible is suspect by some, while that of those with no training in biblical studies is not. I learned a long time ago in my parish work that, no matter how many years of theological training one has under his or her belt, one always loses out to what "grandma" told a family member. I find it fascinating that, although the mainstream media dismisses the modern day prophets of doom, they spent countless time covering their predictions. They also have no interest in what educated people have to say on the subject. Face it, the world WILL end someday. While I doubt very much that it will happen in my lifetime, I don't know that for certain. If I am a person of faith, as I claim to be, then I must assert that, whenever it happens, God will care for all of God's people, not only for a fortunate few who enjoyed reading the tea leaves.

Christ is Risen! Osama is Dead! And We Want to See His Photo?

Since my wife and I switched churches about five months ago, our experiences of Holy Week and Easter were magnified and enriched in ways that we had not foreseen. Easter Sunday was glorious, joyful, and one woman was overheard exclaiming while leaving the sanctuary, "This is the place to be on Easter!" And so we celebrated the resurrection of our Lord, with spring finally coming to the Lehigh Valley. Just one week later, our students gathered on the Quad at midnight, with beer and fireworks, to celebrate the news that Osama bin Laden had been killed. The news media has spoken of little else since then, even though thousands of Americans are dealing with devastation caused by tornadoes and flooding in the Midwest and South. At Bible study on Monday, I asked the students how they felt about all of the hoopla. They said that they understood the celebrations, even though some of them were not even in their teens when the World Trade Center attacks occurred. There was a sense of dis-ease as they talked, and I asked why they felt a bit of discomfort. It came down to the same discomfort I had been experiencing: should Christians really be celebrating the death of anyone? We talked about who is a child of God, and the consensus was that all people are children of God, though some run from the positive potentials that such a birthright entails. Hitler, Bin Laden and others were born as God's children. They then chose to take the path of evil, but they never could move out of the sphere of God's love. Such words will cause some to wince, I know. We love to hate our enemies and to see them get what they deserve. There is great debate now as to whether or not the photos of the dead Bin Laden will be, or should be, released. My belief: they will be released, but should not be released. The man is dead and buried at sea, but the book is not closed on his reign of terror. We want to revel in his defeat, because we want the pain of those attacks ten years ago to recede, though, in reality, for those who lost loved ones, they never shall recede fully. We mourn our loved ones who have died because our lives seem empty without them. Our grief is a tribute to their impact upon us, and their absence causes us pain. Somewhere, someone is grieving the death of Osama, because he was someone's son and brother, spouse and father. I do not grieve for him because I did not know him, and certainly did not understand his madness. I do grieve for those who celebrate his death, who want to see the photos of his corpse, because, for them, the rage and anger and horror at his atrocities will not abate. It is very difficult to give up our need to get even, to feel that justice has been served. It is difficult, but not impossible. The message of Easter is that all of our attitudes, our fears and our hatred can be subsumed in the resurrection and we can rise to a new level of living in which we need not hate. For many Christians, the resurrection has only to do with life after death, but with no practical application here in this life. Christ's death and resurrection makes it unnecessary for us to need vengeance, because God has taken care of settling scores once and for all. Not even monsters like Hitler and Bin Laden get to have the final word. In life, in death, in life beyond death, we are not alone. God is with us. Thanks be to God.

Another Holy Week.

Holy Week is again upon us. Palm/Passion Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter Sunday.  Some years, these days bring special reflection and introspection. Other years, they seem like just another day on the calendar. No matter what kind of year I had been having, time was when Lent and Holy Week elevated my spiritual life in a way that sustained me through the rest of the year. I remember in high school, when my spiritual life was really in a growth spurt, that Good Friday was a day that transformed me and made the whole Easter celebration real in a way that it had never been before.  Through college and divinity school, I always found a way to kick-start my spiritual life that enabled me to do my academic work with a sense of purpose. During the time that I served churches, I strove to make the whole Lenten/Holy Week/Easter experience something that could be transformative to my congregations. I met a huge challenge while serving a three-point charge in eastern North Carolina and discovered that Maundy Thursday was not something the people there had ever heard of, and they were not accustomed to coming to worship on Good Friday either. So, I grew in ways I had not expected in order to adapt to the local customs. Then I entered the wonderful world of campus ministry and was based at a large church that made the most of all religious holidays. We had Maundy Thursday services with stripping of the church, and Easter sunrise services with paschal fire, and a glorious service of resurrection, packed to the rafters and featuring magnificent choral music.
Since that time, I have been on my own, pretty much, to design worship and other experiences to appeal to small numbers of students who take the time for such observances. I was happy that my own daughter, for whom I was chaplain for two years, always took the time for such observances. She and I are so similar in the way that the religious holidays and observances shape our lives. At this point in my career and ministry, I had come to expect not much new when Holy Week rolls around. When I was able to get away on a Sunday morning, I attended a local United Methodist Church, just as I have all of my life.  In the past years, I began to lose enthusiasm, for my church, and for the Christian year as it came round and round. Then I made the decision to find a church that speaks to me, liturgically and in terms of a commitment to social justice. In January I took a chance and attended the cathedral church of the local Episcopal diocese. Aside from a breathtakingly beautiful sanctuary, I found solid preaching, and a good mix of different people who made up the congregation. So, the next week I went back, with my wife and son joining me. Ever since, we have attend the cathedral, usually on Saturday evening for the Eucharistic service, since I have Sunday morning duties on campus. Occasionally, we are able to make it on a Sunday, and find our worship enriched by beautiful music, liturgies that bring the historic traditions of the church alive, and preaching that continues to challenge not just spiritually, but intellectually as well. Often, when pastors, especially those who work in higher education as I have done for almost twenty-five years, get to this stage of their careers and life, they become a bit more agnostic about the traditions and theologies of the church. I was certainly among them in the recent past. But this year, Holy Week holds great attraction for me, as a leader, and as a Christian. By recovering some of the wonderful liturgical traditions of my Methodist-Anglican heritage, I have reawakened to the message and challenge that is the mystery of our faith. My wish for you during this holiest of seasons is that the mystery of the passion, death and resurrection of our Lord may capture your spirit in a way that is new, familiar and utterly transformative. May you never be the same!

The Problem With Men...Sometimes. John 4:5 - 42

Ever notice how women in the Bible are sometimes ascribed characteristics that are no where attributed to them in the text? Mary Magdalene was a prostitute, because that is how she is portrayed in "Jesus Christ Superstar" right? It must be for that reason, because there is no text that states that she is, or was a prostitute. In this Sunday's text, we have a meeting between a Samaritan woman and Jesus, at a well. She has become known as the "woman at the well", always announced with a change in tone of voice by many male pastors. She was an immoral woman, because Jesus sees through her and reminds her that she has had five husbands, and the man with whom she is currently residing is not her husband. Case closed..slut! Really? Does Jesus call her that? Does the text refer to her as that? The text gives us the facts. David Lose, who teaches at Luther Seminary, makes the point that, when Jesus talks about her five husbands and the current co-habitor, he does not pass judgment. Lose can take one's breath away when he states that the woman could have been abandoned by some of those husbands, as it was a common practice. The man with whom she currently resided could have been there to provide for her welfare, a household of convenience. The reason I find Lose's take on this passage so remarkable is that, after Jesus tells the woman all of these things about her personal life, he has not alienated her. Instead, she states "I see you are a prophet." Lose tells us that sometimes the word "see" is an indication of faith. So, maybe the woman at the well recognized Jesus as a prophet, one who dared to speak to a woman, a Samaritan woman, no less. In the preceding chapter, Nicodemus did not understand who Jesus was, and yet the woman at the well "got" who Jesus was, almost right away. Why? Is it a story about power and who really has access to it? Those who live on the margins are more likely to recognize the prophets among us, because they have fewer things competing for their attention.  The woman runs home, forgetting her water jug, and tells her friends and neighbors about the remarkable prophet she has just met.  In John's gospel, she is the first evangelist for Jesus.
So why have we not heard such an interpretation very often? Could it be because, historically, men in the church have not been great about giving women credit for their role in the establishment of the early church? Lose thanks a female friend for a discussion that engendered his thinking and commentary on the text. Sometimes, not always, but sometimes, guys just don't get it.

How Much Do We Believe in God? Matthew 6:24 - 34

There is a huge sycamore tree in our front yard that has a hole high up in the trunk where two large branches converge. We have a great view of that tree from our living room window. Often I have sat there, transfixed and amused by the carryings on of the many squirrels who live in our yard. That hole in the trunk is a popular destination, and, on any given day, squirrels can be seen carrying dried leaves and twigs into it, making a nest that must be comfy and warm. I have even seen birds and squirrels vie for the spot: when one leaves to get more fluff for the nest, the other quickly reclaims the hole. Possession seems to last until the latest resident has to leave and the other comes back. I once observed a squirrel carrying a load of leaves in its mouth that was too wide to get through the entrance to the nest. After several unsuccessful attempts to enter, the squirrel went back down the tree, returning a moment later with a more manageable load and was able to successfully navigate the entrance. The squirrels seem patient and even cheerful as they do their work, day after day. I have often wondered if they have bad days and moody times. They just seem to carry on, regardless of weather or circumstance. They really are quite miraculous creatures.
Jesus' remarks about the lilies of the field are among the most beautiful and imaginative in all of the gospels, in this writer's opinion. There is a majesty in the text that paints the most vivid pictures to underscore the meaning of the words. In our twenty-first century lifestyles of comfort and abundance, it may be difficult to capture the original intent of the words that Jesus spoke in their context. Most of the people in Jesus' time and place were desperately poor, and survival was very much a day to day operation. Many people tried to scratch out a living by working in the soil, or by fishing. The lilies of the field image was directed to the farmers in his midst. He reminds them that, though their lives are tied to the soil and to the creatures who also get their food from it, they are not called to become actual lilies or birds. The ultimate meaning of their lives is not defined by the soil in which they work, but is rooted in God's providential care for all creatures. The birds of the air, the flowers in the meadow, the men and women who struggle to subsist on the barest of essentials: all of these are under the providential care of God. The text reminds its readers that, though the needs of men and women are greater than those of plants and animals, God's love and sustaining care are adequate for the survival of all.
If our lives are to have true meaning, then they must serve something outside of ourselves. If a man or woman farms, and cares only about the actual work of farming, for example, he or she makes an idol of work. In addition, such a person may also begin to covet those things which he or she does not have because the financial resources are so limited. The rich may idolize the possessions which they have accumulated, and the poor may come to idolize those things which they do not possess. In either case, there is an insecurity born of a lack of trust. Do we really trust God for our immediate, as well as our ultimate survival? Can we find the confidence to state honestly that we believe that God does care for us? The answer to that question may sound very different coming from someone who has a good job and adequate shelter over against someone who is wandering the streets. But Jesus' message is clear: those who would call themselves his followers must possess the inner peace and fortitude to believe that their lives cannot fall out of the realm of God's loving care. We can have lengthy discussions about how that care is best demonstrated, and about what happens to our perceptions of that care when tragedy strikes, jobs are lost and dreams are shattered. But before we can move on to discuss those larger issues, we must be able to discern for ourselves if we really believe what Jesus says in this passage. To what extent do we really believe that God cares for us?

Don't Just Resist, Stand Against (With thanks to Walter Wink) Matthew 5:38 - 48

One of the most oft used phrases in the English language has to be "turn the other cheek." We use it to denote times when we did not return anger for anger. More often than not, however, it takes on the connotation of someone who acts as a "doormat" and allows other to walk all over him or her. "Turn the other cheek" has come to mean a willingness to take abuse. Nothing could be further from the meaning Jesus intended when he used the phrase. Jesus does not tell his followers not to respond to evildoers, he tells them to resist without resorting to violence. One need not look deeply into scripture to read of allusions to non-violent resistance: Rejoice when you are persecuted, pray for deliverance from evil, love your enemies, pray for those who persecute you.
When Jesus admonished his followers to turn the other cheek, he was not telling them to acquiesce, but to stand against the persecutor. A superior would use the right hand to slap an underling, because the left hand was used only for unclean functions. In order to show superiority, the superior would use the back of the hand to strike the underling. If the underling then turns the other cheek and invites another slap, the superior is placed in the precarious position of having to use the palm of the hand to strike the underling or to not even try. To strike with the palm is to covey some sense of social equality. Even though the superior may choose to flog the underling mercilessly for the impudence shown, the action illustrates what is what is known as "standing against" and it has been used effectively recently in Egypt and other Middle Eastern countries where people's movements have sprung up. Sadly, the people have not always protested non-violently, nor have the governments responded non-violently. Thus, a cycle of violence has sometimes emerged, which is exactly what Jesus was speaking against.
Some have mistakenly called what Jesus taught a form of "passive resistance." Truth be told, there is nothing passive about it. In his day, a person who was owed a debt could take everything from the debtor, including his outer cloak. However, the cloak had to be returned at night, as many people had only their cloaks to keep them warm while sleeping. Jesus admonished his followers to give the upper cloak as well, which meant the debtor would stand stark naked before the lender. In keeping with the cultural mores of the day, the nakedness of the debtor brings shame to the person who observes his nakedness, not to the debtor. Conquering armies could require prisoners to carry their backpack for one-thousand paces. Rules of war being what they were, impelling someone to carry the pack any further than that could subject the soldier to disciplinary actions. So, carrying the pack more than the one-thousand paces could make a soldier very nervous, and the underling thus gained an advantage.
So, you see, there was noting wimpy about what Jesus suggested that his followers do when they were being persecuted. Standing against an oppressor puts that person or authority off-balance. It does not mean that retribution for the embarrassment will not be forthcoming for the underling, but it does mean that the one in power must act in the full light of the exposure which has been brought about by the underling standing against the powerful. It says "I am a human being just like you. I am a child of God. You can't put me down, even if you kill me." Martin Luther King, Jr. understood this concept, which is the reason his demonstrations and acts of civil disobedience changed a society. We need to reclaim Jesus' mandate never to return hate for hate and violence for violence. Instead we must claim the power inherent in recognizing all people as children of God. When an injustice is committed against one, it is commuted against all.

Justice Denied? Micah 6: 1 - 8

Nearly one year ago, on a bright and sunny April afternoon, our home was robbed. My wife and I walked through the house, afraid of each discovery of something missing that we had not noticed before. The sight of the broken kitchen door, the confused look on the face of our cat who had just become a resident of our home the week before, the empty spaces where computers and radios had been just that morning, the vacant dresser-top where the wedding bands for our daughter's upcoming wedding had rested - it was almost too much to take in. Several weeks later the culprits were caught while robbing another home in the area. None of our possessions were recovered, but we had the chance to come face to face with our adversaries recently. Over a year after their crime spree began, the two men responsible for the string of robberies appeared in court for a preliminary hearing to determine if they should be bound over for trial. They were made to sit and listen as each of us who had been robbed gave testimony as to how we discovered the robberies and recounted what had been taken. I discovered that some individuals lost much more than we did, some of them also experiencing the death of spouses immediately before, or after, the burglaries. The defense attorneys each asked me if I had ever seen his client before. I looked each middle-aged man in the eyes, and one of them began to smile at me, and then, thinking better, perhaps, he dropped his gaze. No, I had never seen either one of them before that day in court. After the hearing, the men were bound over for jury trial, unless they plead out first.
While reflecting on this difficult year, my eyes came across the very familiar and beloved passage from the prophet Micah. "What does the Lord require of you, but to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God?" If one reads the verses that come before this final passage, one understands that Micah was not offering a harmless platitude here. His meaning is clear: God wants justice, not worship. God wants justice, not oppression. God wants us to love seriously, which is fair to the meaning of hesed, the elusive word in the Hebrew Scriptures that may be translated as steadfast love. If one loves seriously, justice will be served. Justice will be real when it is achieved for those for whom justice has always been denied. Looking into the eyes of our burglars, I could not help but try to imagine each as a young child, when he was innocent and looked at each day with wonder. What happened to change them? Was this crime spree a way of life, a lark, an act of desperation? Will the sentence meted out result in justice? I have no doubt that, for those of us who were robbed, there will be some sense of satisfaction and closure. But, for me, it will be a troubled peace, to be sure. Our penal system will not rehabilitate these men, but make them harder and more determined to be more careful next time. Our system of justice in this country is predicated on punishment, not reform. We will not "do justice" to them, for to do so would mean to forgive each man and work with him so that he will have a better and more productive and honest life in the future. Instead, as individuals, we will trust the system to deal with each man. We will worship, we will try to love others, and we will move on. And justice, I am afraid, will not be served. At least, not in the way Micah had envisioned.

Where is God?

Whenever a tragedy occurs, it is inevitable among people of faith that the question will arise, "Where is God?" I would think that those who are skeptical of religion in general would also be asking that question right about now.Most of the victims of the shooting in Tuscon were active in their communities of faith. Should that not offer some form of protection? Should we just say to the families of those who were killed, "Well, God loves you." Even worse, folks will utter the blasphemous phrase, "It was God's will."
We have a need to make sense of tragedy. That is a normal response. Trouble is, sometimes we cannot make sense of tragedy, no matter what we say, or think, or do. and the shootings in Tuscon will never make sense to the families of those who died, or were injured. So, what can people of faith say at such a time? May I suggest that we take the example of Job's friends during the first week of his suffering. They sat in silence while he wailed and protested his innocence. When people are suffering and asking why something happened, do we think that they really want an answer? Does explaining the mental illness of the shooter really help make the event more palatable for the families and victims who survive? Will they be mollified by us explaining the ridiculous gun registration laws in Arizona? Does standing up and defending God to them make any sense? I would say no, it does not. God does not need us to act as defense attorneys. Job's friends ceased to be friends when they began to speak as to the reasons for his suffering. When tragedy occurs, what is needed is a love and silence that envelopes the suffering to let them know that they are not alone. The crazies from Westboro Baptist church have announced that they will picket the funerals of the victims of the shootings. Citizens in Tuscon have responded by planning an "angel action" whereby the families and attendees at the funerals will be shielded from the protesters by a phalanx of persons dressed in angels wings that are large enough to abscond the view of the protesters. Silent, prayerful presence is what they will offer. And that may be exactly what the families need right now, as they try to formulate their own questions. Let us be vigilant, prayerful and in awe of the reality that God will not abandon those who suffer, and never has. That does not mean that all questions are answered. After all, Job never did get answers to his questions or his protests of innocence. What he got, instead, was God. Could he have asked for more? Can we?