I was in Price Chopper last week and noticed teeny little shopping carts with “Customer in Training” written on the side. It occurred to me that training was a very appropriate word to use in that situation. Our entire culture trains us to be good consumers from the time when we are young enough to walk and talk. We are trained to believe in the power of scarcity. We are trained to believe that security lies in our ability to take all we can for ourselves in this dog-eat-dog world. Most of us have been so well-trained that we cannot even imagine society being other than it is.
The radical message of Advent and Christmas is that the way things are is not the way things have to be. With Christ’s entrance into history, a new world becomes possible. The life of Jesus demonstrated a deep and personal trust in the sheer abundance of providence. He dressed like the lilies of the field and feasted like the birds of the air. In the upside-down economy of heaven, one’s supply of love increases as it is given away. In the new world that Christ ushers in, power is obtained through service, security through sacrifice, and justice through mercy. The presence of Immanuel (‘God with us’) is meant to inspire our imaginations into visualizing and actualizing this new reality here and now. Faith is the measure of our ability to trust the word of Christ over and against the way of the world. Will we give ourselves over to this faith in the coming holiday season?
As I walked back out to my car after seeing the “Customer in Training” cart at Price Chopper, an SUV pulled into the parking lot with music so loud I could hear the lyrics as I put my groceries into my trunk: “I barely get by! I barely get by!”
This is the heart-song of our society. Its message of scarcity, competition, and consumerism trains us to believe that we’re always only “barely getting by”. So, after a single Thursday of giving thanks, we charge out into the deep darkness of Black Friday, intent to grab all we can before someone else gets it. Last year, a store employee was trampled to death. This year, customers used pepper spray on each other. So desperate are we to fulfill our perceived wants and needs! So convinced are we that we’re only ever “barely getting by”!
During this Advent and Christmas season, let’s trust in the word of Christ, who “came that they may have life, and have it abundantly”, according to John 10:10. We are not “barely getting by”. We are blessed. Let’s give thanks by giving back, in whatever way we can, out of the abundance that has been heaped upon us.
The following prayer, attributed to St. Francis of Assisi, speaks to me as the prayer of a heart soaked in abundance. Let this be our prayer as we journey from Thanksgiving, through Advent, to Christmas:
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith. Where there is despair, hope. Where there is darkness, light. Where there is sadness, joy. O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console; to be understood, as to understand; to be loved, as to love. For it is in giving that we receive. It is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life. Amen.
This post is a follow-up to my previous one (see ‘Internet Heretic Superstar‘). A former seminary classmate asked me over Facebook why I chose to use the term ‘heretic’ in describing myself in that post. This is my response to her question. Many thanks to Ahna Phillips for getting me to explore interesting questions!
I use the term heretic in a (somewhat) sarcastic way. Do I really think of myself as a heretic? No and yes. No, I don’t think that I’ve been deceived by lies and led away from the truth to the peril of my soul. On the other hand, the word ‘heretic’ comes from the Greek word for ‘choice’. As you know, it initially referred to those who embraced their own ‘chosen’ faith rather than orthodox tradition. In that sense, one could say there is a ‘heretical’ element to all Liberal, Evangelical, Reformed, Protestant, and Christian faith. Each of these broke with its mother tradition at some point in order to pursue a new vision of faithfulness. Jesus himself was once branded as an insane and demon-possessed terrorist/heretic. One could argue that being called a heretic is indeed a badge of honor insofar as it puts one in a position of solidarity with the Christ.
As for me personally, I use the term ‘heretic’ intentionally in order to describe a theological shift that’s been happening in me this past year. For the last decade or so, I’ve hovered on the very edge of the Evangelical world (in the territory generally occupied by the so-called ‘Emergent’ types). Over the last twelve months, certain events have transpired that lead me to realize that I cannot authentically or conscientiously continue to identify myself as an ‘Evangelical’ (even in the ‘Emergent’ sense).
I’ll discuss two of these events here:
First, I resigned from the priesthood in the Free Episcopal Church for various ethical, professional, and personal reasons. An unfortunate side-effect of this move is that I was cut-off from the more catholic expression of my faith, which had been a kind of anchor for me. Without that particular expression of worship, there was apparently little to keep me in conformity with traditional doctrine. I’ve continued my ministry in the Presbyterian Church (USA), where the liturgical/sacramental aspect is not emphasized as much. There is considerable theological diversity in the PC(USA), ranging from conservative/evangelical to progressive/liberal. The colleagues with whom I associate and the presbytery in which I serve (Utica) are generally representative of the latter. Iron sharpens iron, as they say.
Second, I came under intense fire last summer when I went on local TV as a pastor in support of my state’s new same-sex marriage legislation. While many of my committed Evangelical friends and family were extremely understanding, respectful, and supportive of me, the backlash from the broader community was astounding. The Rescue Mission of Utica, where I had worked and volunteered for over five years banned me from preaching in their chapel services. An Orthodox priest I know is no longer on speaking terms with me because I supposedly “blasphemed the Holy Spirit” by supporting this legislation. Violent hate mail directed toward me poured in through newspapers and the TV station. I realized then that the Christianity they practice bears little resemblance to the Christianity I practice. Self-identifying as Evangelical would be both inaccurate and disrespectful to Evangelicals and to me.
On the other hand, I’m finding that personal distance from the term ‘Evangelical’ is allowing me to appreciate certain things about their tradition that I would otherwise miss because I was too busy trying to fight back and prove myself as ‘one of them’. For example, I’m finding that I respect the Evangelical commitment to studying the Bible, personal spirituality, and engaging in mission. These are gifts from which the larger Christian community can reap blessings. Too many folks in the progressive/liberal mainline are stuck in old patterns of institutional maintenance, dry rote, and biblical illiteracy. Evangelicals have something to teach me, even if I can no longer count myself as one of them.
You know you’re a real Internet Heretic Superstar when you get requests for interviews.
But I don’t think it counts when it comes from your former roommate (shades of Spaceballs: “I am your father’s brother’s nephew’s cousin’s former roommate“).
This particular request came from Brian Kingbird, who I bunked with during my Freshman year at Appalachian State. Our conversation is part of Brian’s ordination process in the United Methodist Church. Send him your best thoughts, prayers, vibes, and/or small animal sacrifices (I’ll donate one of my cats if you don’t want to use your own).
As I was typing my answers, my only intent was to be honest. When I was done, my answers surprised me. This year, I’ve come to new levels of honesty with myself over just how far I’ve traveled from the theological territory where I started my journey. I remember shaking my head at people like me only ten years ago. Now, I’ve become “that guy”.
Anyway, here’s what I wrote:
How has your relationship with God developed over your lifetime?
Life with God, for me, has been a long and meandering process of evolution. I use the term evolution deliberately, despite the controversy surrounding its use in church. One of the core principles of evolution (in the biological sense) is the emergence of life from death. Organisms pass on their DNA to future generations and further the growth and development of species. In the spiritual sense, the concept of evolution bears striking resemblance to the way of the cross, as described by Jesus. Out of his death, new life was born. He taught his followers to follow him in this respect. Jesus says, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” In another place he says, “Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” New life is born out of death and it is as I follow the way of the cross that I discover an ongoing resurrection taking place within me. This continual path of death and resurrection has led me into, between, and through several different corners of the Christian world: from evangelicalism to the charismatic movement, the Episcopal priesthood, and most recently to congregational ministry in a Presbyterian church.
I also find that many of my own thoughts and opinions about theology, morality, and spirituality have undergone a similar process of evolution over time. There has been death and resurrection there as well. For example, I never could have imagined in high school or college that I would one day have a ministry as a chaplain to the gay and lesbian community. God has led me to become a spiritual companion to people who have been exiled from their churches of origin because of their sexual orientation. Being an advocate for their equal rights has become a major part of my work as a pastor. This particular aspect of my ministry has brought me into no small amount of conflict with many in the church who believe the Bible speaks clearly about homosexuality as sinful.
For me, my faith in Jesus, Christianity, and Bible has brought me to a place where grace trumps legalism and intelligent faith trumps blind faith. I am comfortable with ideas like same-sex marriage and the theory of evolution. I value the blessings of interfaith dialogue and fully expect to encounter many faithful non-Christians in the kingdom of heaven. Rather than a move away from Christian faith, these developments have arisen out of my ongoing attempt to take Jesus, Christianity, and the Bible seriously. I am continually and pleasantly surprised to find that Christianity still has much inspiration and guidance to offer me as I move into ideological territory that would have been unthinkable for me only a few years ago. I go forward into the future, trying to stay open-minded, and fully expecting to be surprised at what God has in store for me as my faith continues to evolve.
How does being Christian affect your daily life?
If I had a favorite Bible verse, it would be 1 John 4:16: “God is love and those who live in love live in God, and God lives in them.” These words provide me with ample fuel for spiritual and ethical meditation. What it says to me is that God is not some distant and all-powerful authority figure who sits on some golden throne above the clouds in an alternate dimension. Instead, God is a mysterious and loving presence who can be experienced here, on this earth and in this life. If I want to serve God, I can only do so by loving my fellow human beings. Anywhere there is love, there is God, regardless of whether the name of God is verbally spoken or not. As Jesus told his followers in Matthew 25: “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” I love the baptismal vows in the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer, where the new Christian pledges to “seek and serve Christ in all persons” and “strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being”. At the end of every Sunday service, I charge my congregation with these words from the Presbyterian Book of Common Worship: “Go out into the world in peace; have courage; hold on to what is good; return no one evil for evil; strengthen the fainthearted; support the weak, and help the suffering; honor all people; love and serve the Lord, rejoicing in the power of the Holy Spirit.” For me, this is what it means to be a Christian in my daily life.
How are you in (your) ministry in the world?
My “ministry in the world” is largely shaped by the principles outlined in the previous question. I find that working as a pastor is the easiest way for me to live out that universal Christian calling. Specifically, I am interested in ministries of social justice and mercy: alleviating the effects of poverty and eliminating the causes of poverty. I try to nurture relationships with those who exist outside the bounds of institutional religion. I have already mentioned my work with the gay and lesbian community. Another issue close to my heart is homelessness. I spent several years of my life during and after seminary working with people on the street who struggle with hunger, illness, and addiction. My first job was to be a faithful friend and my second job was to provide assistance where possible. Sometimes, this would lead to conversations about religion and spirituality. Sometimes, people would start coming to my church or seek a more active and conscious relationship with God. I was always open about my faith and inviting people into Christian community, but I am careful to never make conversion a prerequisite for relationship or assistance. My hope is that others will see Christ in me as I try to “seek and serve” Christ in them.
I am also passionate about the liturgical aspect of my ministry. The nurture of the church’s ministry through Word and Sacrament is, in my mind, what makes us uniquely Christian. I try to help people open the Bible for themselves and listen for inspiration and guidance from the Holy Spirit through its pages. I lead a weekly Bible study using the lectio divina method of simultaneous prayer and reading. I am also an advocate for more regular celebrations of the sacrament of the Eucharist (also known as the Lord’s Supper or Holy Communion) in our church. I believe that Christ is truly present in this mystery, feeding and empowering the people of God with his very self. As we come to recognize Christ’s presence in these physical elements, I believe we will be more able to recognize Christ’s presence in the rest of the world. The meaning of this sacrament is quite simple and can be taught in a single Sunday school lesson, but the regular and frequent experience of this sacrament opens us up to ever deepening levels of truth and spiritual reality. In essence, Communion is caught, not taught.
What (do you think) are the gifts of discipleship?
There are two ways I might answer that question. First, I could understand “the gifts of discipleship” to be gifts given by the Holy Spirit to empower us in our daily Christian living. On the other hand, I could see “the gifts of discipleship” as the blessings that arise from the process of being Christ’s disciple. For the sake of brevity, clarity, and simplicity, I will choose to take the second meaning as the one I will keep in mind as I answer the question. The primary blessing that I receive in my life as a disciple is a growing sense of connectedness. I love that the Latin word religion literally means “to re-connect”. Through Christ, I re-connect with God, myself, my neighbors, and creation. Paraphrasing the words of theologian Paul Tillich, sin is separation from these things (God/self/neighbor/creation). Through grace, I am reconnected with them. I honor God’s grace by passing it on in deeds of love and mercy. Grace becomes an experienced reality of connectedness and restored relationship.
What are the challenges (to your ministry), if any?
In a general sense, the biggest challenges to my ministry come from my own ego and selfish failings. The phone rings with one more person needing assistance or another annoying drunk person who wants to spend all day chatting. I get so busy with sermon writing and bulletin printing that I ignore my daughter’s pleas for attention. I exhaust myself at work to the point where I take no time to care for myself with proper food and rest.
On a more specific level, my most recent ministry challenges have to do with the specific issues that arise within congregational ministry. In the first two years after my ordination as an Episcopal priest, I worked as a chaplain. There was a constantly changing stream of people who came through my office seeking help. This is the first time that I’ve worked with a larger organization with long-term members. I am also more involved in practical administration and daily leadership. This requires that I develop a new set of skills and nurture deeper and more long-term relationships with the people under my care. It’s a new challenge for me, but a welcome one.
It’s almost always a dangerous thing to mention presidential politics from the pulpit. At no time in recent history has this been truer than it is right now, when sanity and civility are so conspicuously absent from all ends of the political spectrum in our country. I sometimes fear that our centuries-old commitment to a democratic government “of the people, by the people, and for the people” is quickly degenerating into a spectator sport where each side cheers for their favorite team and boos at the other side whenever they score a goal. Accordingly, I will choose my words carefully. I begin with a disclaimer: this is not a sermon about presidential politics, nor is it a political speech that should be misconstrued as an endorsement or denouncement of any particular party or candidate. I’ll be using some of the buzzwords that factored highly in the last presidential election, but I do so in order to draw attention to the words themselves, not to the people with whom those words were associated.
Now, with that awkward business aside, the buzzwords to which I want to draw your attention are hope and change. We heard a lot about hope and change in 2008. Some people got really excited about those words. They liked the idea that things could somehow be different (i.e. better) than they already were in this country. In the years since then, some of the people who were initially excited have begun to feel frustrated because things still seem to be pretty much the same as they were before. We’re still living in the same country with the same old problems. This frustration has led other public figures to ask (cynically), “Hey America, how’s all that hopey-changey stuff working out for you?” The hard lesson that people are (re)learning is this: without real change there is no real hope. And the change necessary to inspire hope is beyond that which any political candidate, party, or ideology can offer.
In the absence of real hope, there are basically two responses that people can make. First, they can jump on board the bandwagon with whatever big idea comes along next with flashy presentation and inspirational rhetoric. Like bumblebees, they float from flower to flower, collecting whatever small grains of hope they can find to sustain their meager faith in the system. Second, people can give up hope entirely. They can sit back and cynically fold their arms saying, “Nothing ever changes. Just give me what is rightfully mine and then leave me alone.” I would argue that neither of these responses is wholly adequate to ease the pain we feel when our hopes are frustrated (in life as well as politics). There has to be another way to preserve hope, even when our favorite human institutions have failed us.
The earliest Christians, just as much as (if not more so than) us, lived in a time of extreme political tension and unfulfilled hopes. The land of Judea was occupied by the Roman Empire. The people longed for some sign of hope that things might someday be different, but they were divided amongst themselves over what that hope should look like. Some Jews, like the Zealots, picked up swords and sought to take back their homeland with divinely inspired military might. Other Jews, like the Sadducees, worked with the Roman government to maintain order and preserve whatever religious and cultural freedoms they could.
Eventually, these tensions came to a head in the year 66 when war broke out between the Jewish people and the Roman Empire. The government dedicated itself to crushing this rebellion and eventually did so with its might as a military superpower. The ultimate symbol of Jewish defeat came in the year 70 when the Roman forces invaded Jerusalem and their sacred temple, the ultimate symbol of their national and religious life, was burned to the ground.
It was around this same time that Mark’s gospel was first written. The Christian Church was just emerging as an independent movement within Judaism. Christians wondered among themselves, “What should we do? Should we fight the Romans or try to work with them? Should we put our hope in each new self-proclaimed revolutionary leader that comes along or throw our hands up and admit that nothing (not even God) can defeat military juggernaut of the Roman Empire?”
The author of Mark’s gospel saw both of these options as deficient. Neither the false hope of revolution nor the cynicism of collaboration embodied a faithful response to the very real hope that was made manifest by God in Christ. So the author of Mark’s gospel made sure to include in chapter 13 of this book a particular story about Jesus that might provide some helpful guidance for the Christian Church in that day.
It begins as Jesus and his disciples were walking out of the great Jewish temple one day. One of the disciples stopped to admire the architecture of the building. Jesus responded in words that would ring eerily true to the Christians in Mark’s day, who would see this very thing happen in their own lifetime: “Do you see these great buildings?” Jesus said, “Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”
He was speaking of the temple of course, the cultural icon and center of religious devotion. Jesus’ own ancestors had fought and died to preserve everything for which it stood. How could he, a Jew, speak so glibly about its destruction? He didn’t stop there either. He went on to speak so insightfully about the coming crisis that some later regarded his words as a prophetic prediction. Instead of glorious victory and freedom, he spoke of war, earthquake, famine, and persecution. What’s even worse is that Jesus then told his followers to do the exact opposite thing that their brave and faithful ancestors had done when Israel was threatened. “[W]hen you see the desolating sacrilege set up where it ought not to be,” he said, “then those in Judea must flee to the mountains.” In other words, Jesus ordered them to run and hide rather than stand and fight to protect that which their nation held most dear.
How could Jesus be so offensive toward his patriotic Jewish audience? The answer lies in verse 26 of the passage we read this morning. He makes reference to “’the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory.” This would have been a familiar image to his educated Jewish audience. This phrase is taken from the book of the prophet Daniel. In 7:13, Daniel describes “one like a human being (i.e. ‘son of man’) coming with the clouds of heaven.” According to the vision, God would one day take the corrupt and destructive empires of this world and place them under the authority of this human being (son of man). The powers that be would be divinely transformed and made to serve real human interests rather than their own animal-like greed. Real change was bound to happen in this world, not because of violent revolution or political cunning, but because God wills it. God will establish true “liberty and justice for all” regardless of what goes on in the halls of power. The temple could be destroyed and the battle lost and God would still see this vision through to its fulfillment. This is the source of Jesus’ hope. It is a prophetic vision embedded deep within his Jewish heritage. It transcends ideology, victory, even history itself. Prophets and visionaries in every age have held onto this inexorable and eternal vision. Many have laid down their very lives because of its promise. Dr. Martin Luther King reiterated its core principle when he said, “The arc of the universe is long but it bends toward justice.” Archbishop Oscar Romero proclaimed, “If they kill me I shall rise again in the Salvadoran people.” Jesus himself willing went to his cross while trusting in the final victory of God’s vision over the powers that be.
Change is coming, therefore there is hope. Real change, lasting change, God’s change. It won’t come through any particular candidate, party, or ideology. It won’t come through military might or violent revolution. It won’t come about through our diligent plans or valiant efforts. God’s kingdom will come and God’s will be done on earth as it is in heaven. We pray for this and proclaim our faith in this vision every Sunday. Jesus had faith in this vision. He was willing to stake his life on it. That’s why the thought of Jewish defeat or the temple’s destruction didn’t bother him that much.
The author of Mark’s gospel was impressed with Jesus’ faith in God’s ultimate vision. The early Christians needed that faith as well. The Church needed an anchor that would hold them steady while the storms of war and persecution blew over the deck of their boat. If they cut the line, they would drift and drown with their neighbors. So it was that the early Christians took these words to heart and refused to fight in defense of Jerusalem or the temple. They ran for the hills when the invasion came. This was an unforgivable sin to their Jewish neighbors. Christians were branded as cowards and traitors within the Jewish community. Relations had been strained up to that point, but from then on, Christianity was cut off from the rest of Judaism.
As we meditate on these events this morning, we find ourselves at the first Sunday of Advent. Thanksgiving and Black Friday have passed and so we now begin our preparations for Christmas. For most people, this takes on a decidedly nostalgic tone as Bing Crosby dominates the radio waves. There is a lot of talk about “peace on earth”, “the light of the world”, and “hope”. But we start this season on an intentionally apocalyptic note. We know that hope cannot exist without change, yet we know that change is coming, therefore we have hope. None of the powers that be in Washington or on Wall Street can claim to be the fulfillment of God’s vision, yet neither can they stop God’s vision from being fulfilled.
In the absence of real hope, people tend to embrace false hopes or else bitter cynicism. I believe that Jesus offers us a third way. We can hold onto hope that transcends the fleeting promises of ideology and history. We can live as prophets of hope in a hopeless world. Like Jesus, we can look deep into the heritage of our faith and cling to God’s vision of a world that can be changed… that will be changed.
There is currently a beer commercial on TV that features “the most interesting man in the world”. At the end of the advert he looks into the camera and says, “Stay thirsty, my friends.” As he said to them, so I say to you: Stay thirsty, my friends. I can think of no better way to sum up the call to action that arises from Jesus’ vision of hope and change. While other people are dying of their thirst for hope and cursing the sky in cynicism, I say to you, “Stay thirsty, my friends.” While others around you are desperately trying to slake their thirst for hope with things that will only lead to more despair, I say to you, “Stay thirsty, my friends.” Stay thirsty for hope. Stay thirsty for change. It’s coming. God will not let us down. “Stay thirsty, my friends.”
Note: I recently discovered that I unintentionally plagiarized this poem. Call it a case of unconscious memory. When I first wrote this post, I thought it was original to me, but then I went back and picked up the book EverythingBelongs by Richard Rohr and found this same poem within its pages. Oh, the embarrassment! So, mea culpa: this poem is not original to me, but can be found on page 62 of Everything Belongs by Richard Rohr. Apologies.
Modern psychology has a word that is probably used more than any other word. It is the word “maladjusted.” Now we all should seek to live a well—adjusted life in order to avoid neurotic and schizophrenic personalities. But there are some things within our social order to which I am proud to be maladjusted and to which I call upon you to be maladjusted. I never intend to adjust myself to segregation and discrimination. I never intend to adjust myself to mob rule. I never intend to adjust myself to the tragic effects of the methods of physical violence and to tragic militarism. I call upon you to be maladjusted to such things. I call upon you to be as maladjusted to such things. I call upon you to be as maladjusted as Amos who in the midst of the injustices of his day cried out in words that echo across the generation, “Let judgment run down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.” As maladjusted as Abraham Lincoln who had the vision to see that this nation could not exist half slave and half free. As maladjusted as Jefferson, who in the midst of an age amazingly adjusted to slavery could cry out, “All men are created equal and are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights and that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” As maladjusted as Jesus of Nazareth who dreamed a dream of the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man. God grant that we will be so maladjusted that we will be able to go out and change our world and our civilization. And then we will be able to move from the bleak and desolate midnight of man’s inhumanity to man to the bright and glittering daybreak of freedom and justice.
"Human salvation lies in the hands of the creatively maladjusted." -MLK
The only "long-term commitment" that should be happening in this movie is the one that involves this woman and a psychiatric hospital.
My two and a half year-old daughter is currently obsessed with Disney princess movies. If I have to sit through them daily, then I reserve the right to watch them from a professional perspective. This is for anyone out there who has ever wanted a ‘fairy tale wedding’.
Let’s pretend that I was the minister who was asked to solemnize Cinderella’s wedding at the end of the movie…
“Let me get this straight, Cinderella:
You grew up as a workaholic orphan with no self-esteem in a psychologically abusive foster home.
You have delusions of talking to animals and make miniature clothes for the rodents infesting the attic where you sleep.
You have audio-visual hallucinations of a ‘fairy godmother’ who magically turns fresh produce into transportation (but only for a few hours at a time).
In order to escape your unhappy home-life, you are determined to impulsively marry this admittedly irresponsible (but wealthy) young man who you’ve met only once and whose name you don’t even know (yet you are convinced that this is what true love is).
As for him, his primary criterion for a spouse is her shoe size and he plans to continue living with his father, who has been shown to have severe tendencies toward verbal abuse and domestic violence.”
“I’m sorry, but I cannot ethically participate in this wedding ceremony.”
Hopping Hadrian's Wall 