Last night I was privileged to lead the singing of our National Anthem before the final Lebanon Thanksgiving Tournament game of the evening. Though I have sung our National Anthem many times in similar circumstances and venues, something last night was very different . . . and to be honest, I find myself at a loss of words to explain it. Maybe it had to do with the nearness of the U.S. flag in the gymnasium, or maybe it was the number of folks who, indeed, sang along, or maybe, even as I was singing the words, I was hearing them for the first time all over again. I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that, as I was singing, I saw not only the stars and stripes, but also my brother, Larry, who served in the Army in Viet Nam, and my Uncle Del who flew as a gunner in B-17's in WWII and was shot down, surviving the Nazi death marches, and my friend, Dave Harrison, who is a retired AF 'boomer' in tankers, and Nancy's Uncle Ched, who served in the Army and lost his life in WWII in France, and our own son, Ched, as he now attends the AF Academy.
People close to my heart whose lives have included or, in some cases, have been eternally defined by their service to country, commitment to the flag, and a deep respect of our National Anthem are the very ones whose images I felt near, as the words and music filled the gym, uniting us all through the years. It wasn't spooky, it was emotion-filled, memory-comforting, even challenging - and when I sat down to continue the announcing I was shaking, my hands having a hard time holding the microphone. What is it about our National Anthem that it inspires and cajoles us so? What is it about the flag that tugs at the very fabric of our heart and soul? What is it about those who serve which demands our greatest of respect, our deepest of admiration?
Pondering on those who do not rise when a flag passes by in parade, on those who do not remove their hats when our National Anthem is sung, or who won't place their hand over their heart when the Pledge of Allegiance is spoken: it is their Constitutional right to do so. Yet, after last night's experience, I am coming to understand and believe that those who have little investment - have even less commitment. The deeper you are in the trenches, the more the battles mean, whether it regards our country or the church.
Make of this moment what you want but, now more than ever, I am coming to value and reverence the sacrifices of martyrs and saints of every generation who knew not only what their rights were, but gave of themselves to defend the rights and liberties of others. For faith, for country, for all who serve, I am grateful - and pray I never forget the cost they have paid, nor turn away from my responsibility to do the same that all might know life . . . much as the Christ of our faith has taught us.
Blessings on the journey, Pastor Don
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to A Wedding
"Listen and understand: it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles." Matt. 15:10b-11 NRSV
"A funny thing happened on the way to a wedding a few weeks ago."
I know that sounds like a set-up line for a joke, but it isn't . . . or wasn't supposed to be. Nancy and I were invited to attend the wedding of friend in Springfield, Illinois in late July. Upon driving up to the historic downtown Presbyterian Church, I realized that many of the other attendees ahead of me were pulling into the parking lot just South of the church which was clearly marked as belonging to the neighboring Missouri Synod Lutheran Church. Yet, without much thought to it, we parked where others were parking and made our way toward the site of the wedding. Nearing the street where we were to cross, a man came out of the Presbyterian Church announcing to those who could hear, "The Pastor just received a call from the Lutheran Pastor, and if anyone attending the wedding leaves their car in the Lutheran Parking Lot it will be towed during the service." Nancy and I just sort of laughed at the irony, but quickly agreed that she would continue on into the church and I would go back and move our car to a nearby parking garage and meet her in the church later.
Meanwhile, an alarm, which proved to be false, had brought the local Fire Department to the steps of the Presbyterian Church and all of the early arrivals among the guests and wedding party had to be evacuated while it was checked out. Returning from the parking garage after moving our car, I joined Nancy on the steps of the church as wedding guests were, again, being seated. From behind us a rather loud conversation about the 'parking issue' was being held by two men when one of them asked, "Is that a Christian church?" To which the other replied, "Oh, no! That's a Lutheran church!"
The whole crowd on the steps fairly erupted in quiet laughter at both the truth and the irony of what had been spoken, the paradox of which was deepened by the realization that, clearly, neither of the men really understood the significance of what had been stated.
"Listen and understand: it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles."
The easy targets for wry humor in this story are the Lutheran Pastor, who made the reported telephone call about towing cars from the wedding, and the two men who knew so little about mainline Christian churches that neither really understood 'Christian church' and 'Lutheran Church' could be one in the same. Yet, the deeper incongruity lies, not in the story as it is told, but in the heart and soul of nearly everyone else on the steps: for in our nervous laughter at the expense of others is the quiet, undeniable realization of our own culpability in such behaviors. Every one of us has 'ordered cars to be moved' and every one of us has asked the question or given the answer which, in making no sense, told a significant truth about ourselves.
You don't see yourself in this? Remember you are Baptized in the name of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. You are named as a child of God, a disciple of Christ, and a member of the Church universal. Then, remember too . . .
• the times you haven't been charitable about 'that person' who sat in your seat in church;
• the times you haven't been understanding of the child who makes noise in worship;
• the times you didn't like the new hymns;
• the times you gossiped about your neighbor;
• the times you could have offered your hand to a stranger, but turned the other way;
• the times you might have welcomed someone to your table, but didn't;
• the times you said, "I'm sure glad we don't do that here!";
• the times you could have offered forgiveness, but instead held the grudge;
• the times you could have given a few bucks to one in need, but chose not to;
• the times you said, "We have never done it that way before.";
• the times you might have guided the visitor to the sanctuary for worship, but figured they find their own way . . . after all, there are signs everywhere;
• the times you complained about all the hand shaking and hugging in worship;
• the times when you thought 'passing the peace' was just that: passing it on to someone else so it would be their problem now;
• the times you could have offered a ride to your neighbor's children or even your own grandchildren to get to Sunday School, then thought, "Well, it's not my job.";
• the times you thought, "They aren't really in financial need, they just need to plan better";
• the times you could have walked with someone through their tears, but didn't want to deal with the emotions;
• the times you could have stood with Christ in the garden, but ran away from your fears of talking about faith issues;
• the times you could have offered understanding to another, but chose to give them a crown of thorns;
• the times you might have loved the lost, but claimed you didn't have time;
• the times . . . . well, you get it . . . the list if fairly inexhaustible.
At one time or another, we have been either the Lutheran Pastor or the two men on the steps OR in the crowd who stood nearby nervously laughing and said nothing at all about the injustice of any of it. Sometimes, the harshest words spoken are those which are never spoken at all.
"Is that a Christian church?" is right up there with, "Are they really Christian?", "Do Christians really behave that way?", "Is that how Christians really talk?" and "If that's what it means to be a member of the Church or be Christian, then I don't want anything to do with any of it!" It is all a part of the language of the world as it regards the community of the Baptized: Do our words defile or glorify? Do our hearts embrace or reject? Do our actions reflect Presence or absence? And, as Pilate stands before Jesus in the Praetorium once more, with the crowds shouting, "Crucify him! Crucify him!", will you be found at His side or hiding behind the comfort of your closed doors, closed minds, and convenient traditions? Will you order the stranger off the parking lot of your existence? Or, maybe, like I did, laugh at the joke which was never meant to be a joke, and walk away thinking yourself above the fray of another's spiritual wonderment?
A funny thing happened on the way to a wedding a few weeks ago . . .
And Jesus said,
• "Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?" (My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?)
• Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.
And early on the first day of the week, the women went to the tomb and found it empty. God has declared the Truth of God's Word through Christ and the Spirit. What is the truth we declare to the world concerning the Lord of our faith? The words we live reveal the truth in our soul. Somehow, it's not so funny anymore.
"A funny thing happened on the way to a wedding a few weeks ago."
I know that sounds like a set-up line for a joke, but it isn't . . . or wasn't supposed to be. Nancy and I were invited to attend the wedding of friend in Springfield, Illinois in late July. Upon driving up to the historic downtown Presbyterian Church, I realized that many of the other attendees ahead of me were pulling into the parking lot just South of the church which was clearly marked as belonging to the neighboring Missouri Synod Lutheran Church. Yet, without much thought to it, we parked where others were parking and made our way toward the site of the wedding. Nearing the street where we were to cross, a man came out of the Presbyterian Church announcing to those who could hear, "The Pastor just received a call from the Lutheran Pastor, and if anyone attending the wedding leaves their car in the Lutheran Parking Lot it will be towed during the service." Nancy and I just sort of laughed at the irony, but quickly agreed that she would continue on into the church and I would go back and move our car to a nearby parking garage and meet her in the church later.
Meanwhile, an alarm, which proved to be false, had brought the local Fire Department to the steps of the Presbyterian Church and all of the early arrivals among the guests and wedding party had to be evacuated while it was checked out. Returning from the parking garage after moving our car, I joined Nancy on the steps of the church as wedding guests were, again, being seated. From behind us a rather loud conversation about the 'parking issue' was being held by two men when one of them asked, "Is that a Christian church?" To which the other replied, "Oh, no! That's a Lutheran church!"
The whole crowd on the steps fairly erupted in quiet laughter at both the truth and the irony of what had been spoken, the paradox of which was deepened by the realization that, clearly, neither of the men really understood the significance of what had been stated.
"Listen and understand: it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles."
The easy targets for wry humor in this story are the Lutheran Pastor, who made the reported telephone call about towing cars from the wedding, and the two men who knew so little about mainline Christian churches that neither really understood 'Christian church' and 'Lutheran Church' could be one in the same. Yet, the deeper incongruity lies, not in the story as it is told, but in the heart and soul of nearly everyone else on the steps: for in our nervous laughter at the expense of others is the quiet, undeniable realization of our own culpability in such behaviors. Every one of us has 'ordered cars to be moved' and every one of us has asked the question or given the answer which, in making no sense, told a significant truth about ourselves.
You don't see yourself in this? Remember you are Baptized in the name of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. You are named as a child of God, a disciple of Christ, and a member of the Church universal. Then, remember too . . .
• the times you haven't been charitable about 'that person' who sat in your seat in church;
• the times you haven't been understanding of the child who makes noise in worship;
• the times you didn't like the new hymns;
• the times you gossiped about your neighbor;
• the times you could have offered your hand to a stranger, but turned the other way;
• the times you might have welcomed someone to your table, but didn't;
• the times you said, "I'm sure glad we don't do that here!";
• the times you could have offered forgiveness, but instead held the grudge;
• the times you could have given a few bucks to one in need, but chose not to;
• the times you said, "We have never done it that way before.";
• the times you might have guided the visitor to the sanctuary for worship, but figured they find their own way . . . after all, there are signs everywhere;
• the times you complained about all the hand shaking and hugging in worship;
• the times when you thought 'passing the peace' was just that: passing it on to someone else so it would be their problem now;
• the times you could have offered a ride to your neighbor's children or even your own grandchildren to get to Sunday School, then thought, "Well, it's not my job.";
• the times you thought, "They aren't really in financial need, they just need to plan better";
• the times you could have walked with someone through their tears, but didn't want to deal with the emotions;
• the times you could have stood with Christ in the garden, but ran away from your fears of talking about faith issues;
• the times you could have offered understanding to another, but chose to give them a crown of thorns;
• the times you might have loved the lost, but claimed you didn't have time;
• the times . . . . well, you get it . . . the list if fairly inexhaustible.
At one time or another, we have been either the Lutheran Pastor or the two men on the steps OR in the crowd who stood nearby nervously laughing and said nothing at all about the injustice of any of it. Sometimes, the harshest words spoken are those which are never spoken at all.
"Is that a Christian church?" is right up there with, "Are they really Christian?", "Do Christians really behave that way?", "Is that how Christians really talk?" and "If that's what it means to be a member of the Church or be Christian, then I don't want anything to do with any of it!" It is all a part of the language of the world as it regards the community of the Baptized: Do our words defile or glorify? Do our hearts embrace or reject? Do our actions reflect Presence or absence? And, as Pilate stands before Jesus in the Praetorium once more, with the crowds shouting, "Crucify him! Crucify him!", will you be found at His side or hiding behind the comfort of your closed doors, closed minds, and convenient traditions? Will you order the stranger off the parking lot of your existence? Or, maybe, like I did, laugh at the joke which was never meant to be a joke, and walk away thinking yourself above the fray of another's spiritual wonderment?
A funny thing happened on the way to a wedding a few weeks ago . . .
And Jesus said,
• "Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?" (My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?)
• Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.
And early on the first day of the week, the women went to the tomb and found it empty. God has declared the Truth of God's Word through Christ and the Spirit. What is the truth we declare to the world concerning the Lord of our faith? The words we live reveal the truth in our soul. Somehow, it's not so funny anymore.
In Christ's service, Pastor Don
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Getting the Settings Right
In talking with Matt on Sunday evening, he shared with us that in one of his conversations early in the morning a friend had directed him to the 'Mamas and Papas', and their hit, "Monday, Monday"on YouTube. The song found a place with him, so much so that he set up a 'Mamas and Papas' radio station on Pandora and listened to that genre of music all day long.
Having grown up in the generation of the Mamas and Papas, I wasn't sure whether to be glad that Matt had finally 'come to the light' and is now savoring the sounds of 'real music' or get depressed that Matt didn't know that 'Monday, Monday' was a great way to start the week long before he found the video?! Either way, whether the proud father of an emerging music aficionado or a father licking the wounds of his battered pride, my mind started mulling on the whole notion of Pandora and the implications of genre focused music in our daily living.
In an attitude of complete transparency, even as I write these words, the music of the "Wondrous Love" radio station is playing on Pandora on my laptop. I set up that station with the hope that the music played would reflect the hymn "What Wondrous Love Is This?" Instead, I found a rich, varied and eclectic mixture of music that spans generations of hymnody and delves deeply into the diverse genre of cultural and religious experience, often the ready fodder of musical expression. This type of music quiets my soul, stills the busy calendar and focuses my heart on that which is important for the day . . . which brings be back to Matt, "Monday, Monday", and Pandora.
Wouldn't life be better if we could just 'program' what we wanted to hear, what we wanted to see, what we wanted to smell, taste or touch? Wouldn't life be easier if we didn't have to put up with the commercial distractions, the music we didn't like, and the announcers or commentators to which we didn't want to listen? Wouldn't life be more manageable if choices were categorized, if daily decisions could be 'streamed' like satellite radio, and our moment to moment options could find resolution in genre rather than specificity?
Pandora Radio on the Internet hints, in and of its own name, the dichotomy which flows just under the seemingly tranquil surface in opening the box which is Pandora: When you get everything you want and everything you want is exactly the way you want it, how long will it be before 'everything you want' becomes all that you know? Though I'm fairly certain Matt had no idea what his simple Monday evening comment would evoke in my thinking, what he evoked touches much of where we are as a people, as a nation, and as a world: So much time is spent 'getting the settings right' in our lives, making sure that everything we want to hear, see, touch, smell and taste is exactly the way we want it, and that all else is shut out from our daily experience, that we give up the flavor, the wonder and the joy which is the diversity of God's creation. If all animals were giraffe's, if all days were sunny, if all leaves were green, or if all music was the Mamas and Papas, where would be the richness, the sensuousness, the depth of awe in a Black Lab, a rainbow or Bach?
Republicans cannot bear listening to Democrats, just as Democrats won't tolerate the voice of Republicans, even as the Tea Party believes theirs is the only accurate song. The Middle East sees Western cultural aggression, just as the West paints the Middle Eastern desire for sovereignty in tones of religious orthodoxy, and the Far East benefits from everyone else's growing economic debts and military weariness. Christian traditions are denominationally split by the very sacramental practices Jesus instituted to make God's children one, community congregations are divided by 'who's in and who's out' and by 'who's right and who's not', and neighborhoods make distinctions by color, race, economic viability, sexuality, and the employment sector you are in. And, everyone turns to the Pandora station they want to hear, certain little else will meet their needs . . .
Just for the record: Jesus wasn't Christian, nor did He spend all His time in Nazareth, nor would He ignore the lepers, nor would He not feed the hungry, or visit the sick, or tend to the naked, or welcome the stranger, or free the imprisoned. Jesus was not Catholic, nor Protestant. Jesus instituted sacramental living as the way to come to faith, not as a sacramental hammer to batter folks into obedience. Jesus is God's expression of God listening to all the world's music, to hearing all the world's children, and to meeting all the world's needs, not just the ones which agree with God. The Christian tradition which does not reflect the Christ of our faith is neither Christian, nor a tradition, it is just another station on the radio.
You and I might like listening to Pandora, yet in the moment that Pandora Radio becomes the paradigm of our living, life is lost and the freedom we enjoy has become our Master.
Listen to Pandora Radio as one way of experiencing the fullness of all that God offers in the world, not as a way of escaping it. Listen to Pandora as one way of focusing, not as the only way be being. Listen to Pandora as a way of opening the ongoing history of music, not as a way to get stuck in it.
Matt's right: "Monday, Monday" is a great song by the Mamas and Papas. Yet, if we ignore "That Sunday That Summer" by Nat King Cole, we will have missed the rest of the week's music. 'Getting the settings right' in our listening does not mean getting stuck on just one station. Savor all that God is creating and, in so living, God opens us to savor even more.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
The Heart of the Matter
Pastor Don's Corner . . .
"As a father has compassion for his children, so the Lord has compassion for those who fear him. For he knows how we were made; he remembers that we are dust." Psalm 103.13-14
Recently, I was told the story of a home fire in which the father got the wife out, then went back into the blaze to save his young son. Both father and son were lost in the collapsing building. The person telling it recalled the event in tears and with startling clarity given the time which had passed since the event, yet there are some things which happen in our lives which seldom ever leave the depth of our heart's capacity to recall.
Case in point, the current heat and humidity which our region is experiencing: It seems a bane to most yet, for many, it inspires the blessing of memory, reliving the days gone by when air conditioners weren't the norm and families still got by on the grace of screened porches and fans. The number of such stories being told expands exponentially as the temperature goes up, as does the vivid recollection of summer evening neighborhood games among kids and visiting among neighbors. (Author, Phillip Gulley, refers to those days as 'Front Porch' memories and attributes much of the decline in the current culture's civility to the fact that few people have 'front porches' and/or don't sit on them, choosing rather to dwell in air conditioned comfort and isolation.) Amazingly to me, what people recall most in such stories is not the heat, but the feelings of the heart which still evoke an emotional response today. Who knew that a fan in a window or a game of Relievo or cicadas in the trees or a parent's voice calling children home late in the evening or the quiet buzz of neighbors visiting along the dusky street, could bring to mind such joy and peace? "I remember the heat and drought of '57 . . . . we didn't have much, but we had enough . . . . and what we had we shared." The heart doesn't forget what shapes the soul, nor does the soul venture far from what inspires the heart to beat.
A man tells me his wife left him for another man whom, she believes, can give her more than he ever could. Hot tears stream down his face as he wrestles with relocating his life, his residence, his way of being, his love, and his care for their children, yet in the midst of it all, the thing most clear to him is how much he still loves her - and how wonderful their years together were. To him, infidelity is not the issue, his continuing love for her is. His heart remembers only the good and those memories serve to insulate him from the pain she is inflicting upon him, as the heat of the day increases and the home of their marriage collapses around him. His soul won't give in to despair, neither will his heart forget its way.
Some may say such is the way of self-destructive living - and they may be right. Yet, is not this the same sort of behavior for which we pray of God? God, rush back into the fires of my own making and save my life before my world collapses around me! God, remind me of the days when I prayed in the cold of a winter's night for the heat of a summer day and the joy associated with such a day! God, love me beyond my infidelity to you and tend to me even when I have offered my life, my time, and my riches to another! Answer me when I call, O God, for You are steadfast in love and, though my living does not reflect it, it is You my heart remembers, it is You for which my soul longs!
The heart doesn't forget what shapes the soul, nor does the soul venture far from what inspires the heart to beat.
To give oneself for the life of another, to remember with joy the blessings of a better time, and to linger in remembrance of love for consideration of one who chooses no longer to love the way you do: Are these not among the gifts of God come to us in Jesus Christ? Thank you, God!
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don
"As a father has compassion for his children, so the Lord has compassion for those who fear him. For he knows how we were made; he remembers that we are dust." Psalm 103.13-14
Recently, I was told the story of a home fire in which the father got the wife out, then went back into the blaze to save his young son. Both father and son were lost in the collapsing building. The person telling it recalled the event in tears and with startling clarity given the time which had passed since the event, yet there are some things which happen in our lives which seldom ever leave the depth of our heart's capacity to recall.
Case in point, the current heat and humidity which our region is experiencing: It seems a bane to most yet, for many, it inspires the blessing of memory, reliving the days gone by when air conditioners weren't the norm and families still got by on the grace of screened porches and fans. The number of such stories being told expands exponentially as the temperature goes up, as does the vivid recollection of summer evening neighborhood games among kids and visiting among neighbors. (Author, Phillip Gulley, refers to those days as 'Front Porch' memories and attributes much of the decline in the current culture's civility to the fact that few people have 'front porches' and/or don't sit on them, choosing rather to dwell in air conditioned comfort and isolation.) Amazingly to me, what people recall most in such stories is not the heat, but the feelings of the heart which still evoke an emotional response today. Who knew that a fan in a window or a game of Relievo or cicadas in the trees or a parent's voice calling children home late in the evening or the quiet buzz of neighbors visiting along the dusky street, could bring to mind such joy and peace? "I remember the heat and drought of '57 . . . . we didn't have much, but we had enough . . . . and what we had we shared." The heart doesn't forget what shapes the soul, nor does the soul venture far from what inspires the heart to beat.
A man tells me his wife left him for another man whom, she believes, can give her more than he ever could. Hot tears stream down his face as he wrestles with relocating his life, his residence, his way of being, his love, and his care for their children, yet in the midst of it all, the thing most clear to him is how much he still loves her - and how wonderful their years together were. To him, infidelity is not the issue, his continuing love for her is. His heart remembers only the good and those memories serve to insulate him from the pain she is inflicting upon him, as the heat of the day increases and the home of their marriage collapses around him. His soul won't give in to despair, neither will his heart forget its way.
Some may say such is the way of self-destructive living - and they may be right. Yet, is not this the same sort of behavior for which we pray of God? God, rush back into the fires of my own making and save my life before my world collapses around me! God, remind me of the days when I prayed in the cold of a winter's night for the heat of a summer day and the joy associated with such a day! God, love me beyond my infidelity to you and tend to me even when I have offered my life, my time, and my riches to another! Answer me when I call, O God, for You are steadfast in love and, though my living does not reflect it, it is You my heart remembers, it is You for which my soul longs!
The heart doesn't forget what shapes the soul, nor does the soul venture far from what inspires the heart to beat.
To give oneself for the life of another, to remember with joy the blessings of a better time, and to linger in remembrance of love for consideration of one who chooses no longer to love the way you do: Are these not among the gifts of God come to us in Jesus Christ? Thank you, God!
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Fire In the Family
Pastor Don's Corner . . .
* Pastor's note: Before anything more is written, I must confess that my mind and heart are heavily weighed down by the fire in the home of Rhetta Newsome and her son, Kevin. Standing with Kyle and Paula and Kevin as the Lebanon, O'Fallon and Sugar Loaf Township Firemen did their work quickly and well, there just are not adequate words for the feelings that were carried into the sky on the wisps of smoke that once were the wood and fiber of the Newsome home. Watching Rhetta's gentle tears and listening to her low moans of grief, then tending to the scene with Kevin, Kyle and Paula as it became clear that the fire was arson . . . and knowing that heaven's angels had been watching over Rhetta and Kevin, keeping them from harm, brings me to this moment in a both a grateful and a pensive prayer mood. As Kevin said it, "This was personal." Every tire on every car Kevin had on their lot had been flattened. An accelerant had been used on multiple sites on the property. Someone(s) had been intentional about sending a message.
Now it is imperative that the community send a message on behalf of the Newsome's and everyone like them: No more! This behavior will not be tolerated. This lack of respect for the property and livelihood of others will not be overlooked. This lack of basic human concern for the welfare of others will not be ignored. Not here, not there, not ever. No more!
Just as it takes a village to raise a child, so it takes a community living justly to ensure justice. If the burning of the Newsome home does not motivate the Lebanon community, and communities just like us around the world, to live towards a higher plane of faith, behavior and responsibility, expecting of each other that higher plane of faith, behavior and responsibility, then every home, every life is in jeopardy, for what 'that someone(s)' said today is that neither life, nor property matter: "Only what I want, what I believe, and what I think I need matters. And, I will do anything I want, to anybody I want, to get that point across." That, my friends, is base terrorist behavior - and this terrorist is not across the sea.
I am not advocating vigilante justice. I am advocating a faithful Christian expression of life lived well, as a disciple of Jesus Christ who, by the way, did not turn away from injustices, but squarely faced them in the eye and addressed them from the Mount, the Praetorium, and the cross. This is not a yearning for justice which is for the weak of heart. It is a way of life which demands our all.
That said . . .
As I sat before my computer this evening after spending the day with the Newsome's and prayed God's guidance before opening my Bible, I could never have anticipated what text my Bible would open to:
"Then Peter came and said to him, "Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?" Jesus said to him, "Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times."" (Matthew 18.21-22 NRSV)
"Forgiveness?!", I thought. "Great. Nice text, Lord. Next you'll want me to talk about loving my enemies and really putting my faith on the line. All that nice writing about justice in the community just before this, then Your Spirit leads me to this text in Matthew about forgiveness. What's up with that?"
Then I looked up the word translated as 'forgive' in the Greek, did a word study and began to understand a bit more of what the Lord was pointing me towards. The word in the Matthew text translated as 'forgive' is "ă-phā'-sō", meaning "to send away, dismiss, suffer to depart". So, essentially, Peter is asking, "Lord, another member of the church sins against me, how often should I send them away, dismiss them, or suffer them to depart?" Forgiveness, in this context, is not about saying, 'Everything's okay' and forgetting about it. The kind of forgiveness Jesus talks about in this text (and the following story about the unjust servant) is about not carrying the issue with you, thereby giving the offender continued power and influence over you. The king who set the unjust servant free sent him away out of pity, then, later re-jailed the unjust servant for not showing understanding towards another who owed him money. Forgiveness, in this context, does not forget the trespass, but chooses to dismiss the offender, rather than continue to be consumed by the offense.
So, what is it we pray for when we ask God, " . . . and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors . . ."? Do we pray for God to forget our sins? Do we pray that God doesn't notice our sins? Do we pray that God will just forgive our sins? Are we praying to 'make a deal' with God about our sins, according to how we forgive the sins of others? Are we praying that God's sense of justice just overlooks whatever it is that we do? Are we praying for the courage, the will, the faith to forgive others as we pray God forgives us? And, if all is forgiven, where is the justice in this, either for ourselves who offend or for those who offend us? What of justice for God? What is justice before God?
In the Matthew 18 exchange between Peter and Jesus, then again in the following parable about the unjust servant, we need to note: to forgive does not mean the indiscretion, nor the debt, disappears. Rather, the one offended, the one to whom the debt is owed, extends pity over punishment, dismissal over imprisonment, choosing to send away - over dealing with them day after day. Forgiveness, then, is more about the one doing the forgiving than it is about the one being forgiven. The debt owed, the sin committed, speaks loudly enough to the community on its own.
To forgive is to intentionally choose not to give power, nor time, to the one who is unquestionably guilty. Sin's verdict has its own justice and guilt its own punishment. Yet, to forgive is to step away from being the one forced to carry the bad behaviors of others and claim freedom in the simple act of moving on. Forgiveness is to cast off the burden another has placed upon you in favor of the freedom God offers in living justly and equitably with others. Forgiveness is about the one sinned against - and the choices they make. Accepting forgiveness means to live out of the newly found freedom one has been given, extending that 'relief' to another and choosing, too, to live differently.
All that said, forgiveness is hard work, hard work indeed. We are a people skilled in seeing the speck in another's eye, yet boorishly slow in recognizing the log in our own. It is easy to tell others what they need to be forgiving and how they need to live as a people forgiven, yet is it an agonizing trek towards becoming personally forgiving and living as one forgiven of far more than we could ever imagine.
This particular night, I am finding it very hard to even consider forgiveness of those who have done such damage to the Newsome's home, livelihood, and lives, still, I am not sure how far or how long I want to carry those who did this to them. I'm not certain I want them to have that much power, nor am I certain that forgiveness is mine to offer. What I am certain of is that friends of mine are hurting through no fault of their own . . . and I am angry and hungry for justice on their behalf. How forgiveness fits into all of this is something I will have to pray about for a time, even while praying God will find forgiveness in God's heart for me.
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don
* Pastor's note: Before anything more is written, I must confess that my mind and heart are heavily weighed down by the fire in the home of Rhetta Newsome and her son, Kevin. Standing with Kyle and Paula and Kevin as the Lebanon, O'Fallon and Sugar Loaf Township Firemen did their work quickly and well, there just are not adequate words for the feelings that were carried into the sky on the wisps of smoke that once were the wood and fiber of the Newsome home. Watching Rhetta's gentle tears and listening to her low moans of grief, then tending to the scene with Kevin, Kyle and Paula as it became clear that the fire was arson . . . and knowing that heaven's angels had been watching over Rhetta and Kevin, keeping them from harm, brings me to this moment in a both a grateful and a pensive prayer mood. As Kevin said it, "This was personal." Every tire on every car Kevin had on their lot had been flattened. An accelerant had been used on multiple sites on the property. Someone(s) had been intentional about sending a message.
Now it is imperative that the community send a message on behalf of the Newsome's and everyone like them: No more! This behavior will not be tolerated. This lack of respect for the property and livelihood of others will not be overlooked. This lack of basic human concern for the welfare of others will not be ignored. Not here, not there, not ever. No more!
Just as it takes a village to raise a child, so it takes a community living justly to ensure justice. If the burning of the Newsome home does not motivate the Lebanon community, and communities just like us around the world, to live towards a higher plane of faith, behavior and responsibility, expecting of each other that higher plane of faith, behavior and responsibility, then every home, every life is in jeopardy, for what 'that someone(s)' said today is that neither life, nor property matter: "Only what I want, what I believe, and what I think I need matters. And, I will do anything I want, to anybody I want, to get that point across." That, my friends, is base terrorist behavior - and this terrorist is not across the sea.
I am not advocating vigilante justice. I am advocating a faithful Christian expression of life lived well, as a disciple of Jesus Christ who, by the way, did not turn away from injustices, but squarely faced them in the eye and addressed them from the Mount, the Praetorium, and the cross. This is not a yearning for justice which is for the weak of heart. It is a way of life which demands our all.
That said . . .
As I sat before my computer this evening after spending the day with the Newsome's and prayed God's guidance before opening my Bible, I could never have anticipated what text my Bible would open to:
"Then Peter came and said to him, "Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?" Jesus said to him, "Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times."" (Matthew 18.21-22 NRSV)
"Forgiveness?!", I thought. "Great. Nice text, Lord. Next you'll want me to talk about loving my enemies and really putting my faith on the line. All that nice writing about justice in the community just before this, then Your Spirit leads me to this text in Matthew about forgiveness. What's up with that?"
Then I looked up the word translated as 'forgive' in the Greek, did a word study and began to understand a bit more of what the Lord was pointing me towards. The word in the Matthew text translated as 'forgive' is "ă-phā'-sō", meaning "to send away, dismiss, suffer to depart". So, essentially, Peter is asking, "Lord, another member of the church sins against me, how often should I send them away, dismiss them, or suffer them to depart?" Forgiveness, in this context, is not about saying, 'Everything's okay' and forgetting about it. The kind of forgiveness Jesus talks about in this text (and the following story about the unjust servant) is about not carrying the issue with you, thereby giving the offender continued power and influence over you. The king who set the unjust servant free sent him away out of pity, then, later re-jailed the unjust servant for not showing understanding towards another who owed him money. Forgiveness, in this context, does not forget the trespass, but chooses to dismiss the offender, rather than continue to be consumed by the offense.
So, what is it we pray for when we ask God, " . . . and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors . . ."? Do we pray for God to forget our sins? Do we pray that God doesn't notice our sins? Do we pray that God will just forgive our sins? Are we praying to 'make a deal' with God about our sins, according to how we forgive the sins of others? Are we praying that God's sense of justice just overlooks whatever it is that we do? Are we praying for the courage, the will, the faith to forgive others as we pray God forgives us? And, if all is forgiven, where is the justice in this, either for ourselves who offend or for those who offend us? What of justice for God? What is justice before God?
In the Matthew 18 exchange between Peter and Jesus, then again in the following parable about the unjust servant, we need to note: to forgive does not mean the indiscretion, nor the debt, disappears. Rather, the one offended, the one to whom the debt is owed, extends pity over punishment, dismissal over imprisonment, choosing to send away - over dealing with them day after day. Forgiveness, then, is more about the one doing the forgiving than it is about the one being forgiven. The debt owed, the sin committed, speaks loudly enough to the community on its own.
To forgive is to intentionally choose not to give power, nor time, to the one who is unquestionably guilty. Sin's verdict has its own justice and guilt its own punishment. Yet, to forgive is to step away from being the one forced to carry the bad behaviors of others and claim freedom in the simple act of moving on. Forgiveness is to cast off the burden another has placed upon you in favor of the freedom God offers in living justly and equitably with others. Forgiveness is about the one sinned against - and the choices they make. Accepting forgiveness means to live out of the newly found freedom one has been given, extending that 'relief' to another and choosing, too, to live differently.
All that said, forgiveness is hard work, hard work indeed. We are a people skilled in seeing the speck in another's eye, yet boorishly slow in recognizing the log in our own. It is easy to tell others what they need to be forgiving and how they need to live as a people forgiven, yet is it an agonizing trek towards becoming personally forgiving and living as one forgiven of far more than we could ever imagine.
This particular night, I am finding it very hard to even consider forgiveness of those who have done such damage to the Newsome's home, livelihood, and lives, still, I am not sure how far or how long I want to carry those who did this to them. I'm not certain I want them to have that much power, nor am I certain that forgiveness is mine to offer. What I am certain of is that friends of mine are hurting through no fault of their own . . . and I am angry and hungry for justice on their behalf. How forgiveness fits into all of this is something I will have to pray about for a time, even while praying God will find forgiveness in God's heart for me.
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Truth and Lies
"Our town is a quaint little town with little crime and no prejudice whatsoever." "When someone in our family speaks, everyone listens. They have to, there are so many of us!" "I don't have the capacity to be prejudiced. I believe in live and let live, no matter how wrong they are." "I said to her, "I don't care whether you are Catholic or Christian, you just need to go to church somewhere!"" "I believe in God and all that . . . I'm just not so certain God believes in the Church. So, I'm not gonna put my time in there until I know it matters to God." "I'm a Democrat because I can't stand Republicans!" "I'm a Republican because I can't imagine being a liberal Democrat!" "I'm going to wait out the downturn in the economy until my unemployment runs out." "So far I haven't been able to find a job that meets my salary requirements." "I'm overqualified for hourly jobs and underqualified for management." "If it weren't for all the *%@#* (__fill in your favorite category here __), the world would be a better place."
These are just a few of the statements people make to me on a fairly regular basis. It is the world as people see it through their own lens, their own context, their own experience. It is what people choose to believe, to embrace, to advocate. They are the 'truth and lies' of our daily experience.
Why is it easier to believe the lies of generalization than to deal with the truth of particularity? i.e., " . . . there's no prejudice in our town." Does the truth frighten us so much that it is simply safer to speak a lie than to be forced to wrestle the truth in our own life? What do we protect by putting responsibility for . . . whatever . . . on someone or something else? Our honor? Our pride? Our values? Our morals?
Is it simply easier to believe that the Republicans, or the Democrats, or the Catholics, or the Protestants, or the Muslims, or the (name the ethnicity), or the (name the race), or the (name the trade union), or the (name the government agency), or the (name the government program), or the (name the legislator), or the . . . whomever, are responsible for all the issues which daily journey with us than to glance in the mirror of personal choices and own our participation in the outcome?
Is there truth in the lies? Yes. Are there lies in the truth? Yes. Everyone tells the story from their own perspective . . . and nearly everyone is telling exactly what they believe is happening. But, does that grant license to polarize the conversation with our belabored certainites? Only if we fear discerning a truth we can't handle more than living a lie we can manage.
"The mind of fools is in their mouth, but the mouth of the wise is in their mind." Sirach 21.26 It's something to be remembered the next time you hear the words, " . . . and I'm telling you the truth!"
Jesus said, "I am the way, the truth and the life." Let us measure our words, our way, our truth and our lives by the measuring stick of His life.
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
When I Have An Extra Moment
I have a nagging suspicion that, when my days on this earth are over, the headstone my wife and children will place where I am laid to rest will simply read,
Rev. Dr. Donald C. Wagner
"Finally, an extra moment to . . ."
An extra moment to read the books lined up on my shelves; An extra moment to do the writing I've always imagined I could do; An extra moment to play golf with those folks who have been persistent in inviting me; An extra moment to go hunting with my friends who know my passion; An extra moment to get caught up on the correspondence with family; An extra moment to get the Wagner family cousins together for a reunion; An extra moment to see the plays and musicals I have always wanted to see; An extra moment to see the world through Ross Brewer's eyes as I listen to all of his wonderful travel stories; An extra moment to work on the garden I always knew I could grow; An extra moment to landscape our home; An extra moment to build the home of my dreams, in the place of my dreams; An extra moment to listen to Christine Brewer sing; An extra moment to do mission trips; An extra moment to work at disaster relief; An extra moment to plant flowers; An extra moment to savor the music of jazz greats like Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and Sadao Watanabe; An extra moment to visit with my Dad, Melvin, and his wife, Dorothy; An extra moment to visit with my brothers and their families; An extra moment to visit with my wife's family; An extra moment (or two or three) to work on the farm; An extra moment to cherish our children, Matthew (Bethany), Raymond (Kara) and Ched, and our beautiful granddaughters, Mary Cailin, Ava & Norah; and, especially, An extra moment to delight in the love of my life, Nancy.
Notably missing on such a list are: An extra moment to write another liturgy; An extra moment to preach another sermon; An extra moment to attend another meeting; An extra moment to raise money for another worthy project; An extra moment to get caught up on paperwork; and, An extra moment to make sure my calendar is up to date.
Not missing on my first list are: An extra moment with God; An extra moment with Jesus; An extra moment with the Spirit; or, An extra moment in the Body of Christ, the Church. All my moments, regardless of activity, are rooted in such holy relationships: They were before I was born and will be after I am long gone. Thanks be to God!
I have observed with great interest folks around me who seem always to have the time to do whatever it is they want to do. It seems their pace is slower, their countenance more relaxed, their demeanor more intentional AND I am forever bumping into them with smiles on their faces and laughter on their lips. They are so disgusting!
Maybe, when I have an extra moment I can be like them . . . but then, will I be able to be who I am called to be? Gifted to be? Led to be?
Does my life still have meaning if I am not getting everything done? If I'm not toiling 24/7/365? If I am not meeting everyone's expectations? If, even for only a moment, I don't give a thought to making sure everyone else is happy (which I don't always do anyway!)?
I am quite capable of preaching a pretty good sermon about taking Sabbath rest, about caring for the soul as well as the heart, and about putting the important things in life first. Yet, listening to that sermon . . . well, maybe I will give that some time when I have an extra moment . . .
Let's just pray I find it before I have eternity to ponder what that extra moment might have been!
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don
Monday, May 30, 2011
Lessons to Learn on Memorial Day
May 30, 2011 is Memorial Day in the United States of America, a day established by law as a time to remember those who have made the supreme sacrifice of life to defend and preserve the freedoms and liberty enjoyed by the citizens of our nation. Too, this particular Memorial Day is one I pray I will never forget.
As is our family custom, we gathered at the Marissa Cemetery, Marissa, Illinois, near the Veterans Memorial where the Memorial Day Service is held at 11:00 a.m. each Memorial Day. My wife's father, William Norton, Sr., arrived just a few minutes prior to the service, parking his car as close as he could to where the service was to be held. Bill has a hard time 'getting his air' these days and long walks are no longer a part of his regimen, so he was especially grateful for the lawn chair we brought so that he could closely observe the events of the day.
An Army Air Corps veteran of WWII, trained as a tail-gunner in the B-17, Bill has attended and participated in these services for 60 years, never missing one, and he was not about to miss this one, though today he wouldn't be participating as in year's past. His health just wouldn't allow it.
Still, when the colors were advanced to the area, with assistance Bill stood, saluting. Near the end of the service, when the colors were presented, the riflemen volleyed their salute, and the bugler played Taps, Bill stood, saluting, his left arm firmly held by his oldest grandson, our son, Matt, who had his hand over his heart. Bill's health couldn't hold him back from that. Love of country, commitment to defense of our liberties and freedoms, respect for others who have given so much, and understanding of citizenship, all combined in that one moment, that one tin-type picture of grandfather and grandson, saluting the flag as they honored the memory of so many fallen in service to country . . . and I wept. I couldn't help it.
In an age of instantaneous communication and 4G equipment, one man spoke volumes to our nation about patriotism in simply standing when the flag approached, never touching a cell phone or computer. In the midst of rampant cultural concern for political correctness, one man stood saluting what makes such conversations possible. In the milieu of backyard grilling, holiday camping trips, shopping center sales pitches, and relief at having a 'paid day off work', one man stood at attention, supported by a grandson and surrounded by his family, honoring the dead while reminding the living of the cost for such freedoms.
Some accost the American Public Education System for not teaching enough of what children today really need. Yet, after viewing today's events, I would suggest that what children in the United States of America really need begins, not in the classroom, but in the home; not at a computer or cell phone, but with their parents; not in expecting entitlements, but in accepting responsibility; not in claiming the rights of freedom, but in participating in the works of liberty; and not in wearing the stars, bars, and colors of our flag as a fashion statement, but in giving of self as a citizen of the nation to what those things mean, both in our history and to our future as a country.
It is not cliche to stand at attention when the flag passes, nor is it inappropriate to sing the words of the National Anthem as they are played: It is what the flag means and what the words evoke in us that causes us, as those before us, to willingly give the last measure . . . or risk losing it to those of other nations who will.
One 86 year old veteran taught our Nation a lesson today and I am humbled to have been there to witness it. Thank you, Bill, for your continuing service to the United States of America. This Memorial Day, we remember and we will not forget.
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don
Friday, May 27, 2011
Writing Is a Luxury
Sometimes it seems writing is a luxury -
and I am a poor man standing at the showroom window looking in.
For a person who grew up not liking to sit at a desk and do his homework, in my middle years I find myself strangely, even ironically drawn to the miraculous turning of the English language and time spent crafting story and image. It's not a easy craft, either to learn or practice, nor is it an art to be splashed upon the waiting canvas of convention. Rather, at least for me, writing is a gift to be opened slowly, savoring the design of the wrapping, the intricate tying of the bow, and pondering the intention of the giver. To spend a moment of my life allowing my mind to wander, my heart to ponder, and my soul to express faith, is to dive deeply into my origins for, indeed, the God who created me, created me in God's own image. So, to express something of that image is to utter a word of God's own activities through me and that notion alone gives me pause. The fingers of a poor man handle the luxury and sacredness of the word - and I dare not drop it.
Nor can I turn away from it.
Long before the advent of the printing press, before the time of monkish labors over copied text, before scrolls bore the perspiration of those who made them from papyrus, or stones reflected the articulation of chiseled idea, the word existed. Story shaped experience, even as experience found life in the telling, and in the hearing of the word new perspectives found their genesis, and narrative formed community. Cultures chronicled the best places to fish and the right times to plant. Yarns around the fire became legends shared with the young - and the word established the parameters of race and ethnicity, poverty and power, wholeness and despair, triumph and failure, even life and death.
The authority of the word was not in and of itself, but in the reverence it commanded as a gift of the Word from whom all things come. Thus, even today, to misuse a word is to abuse the Word and to render the gift as little more than a tool of manipulation. Similarly, to ignore the word is to deny one's own existence and to forfeit the luxury set in our hands.
Thus, I find myself once again moving from showroom window to cluttered desk, endeavoring with trembling lips to articulate that which is yearning to be known, that which is emerging to be seen, the One who is Word before all words. I pray for the Word in you, as well.
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don
Psalm 30 & Auschwitz-Birkenau
"You have turned my mourning into dancing: you have taken off my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, so that my soul may praise you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever." Psalm 30:11-12 NRSV
Recently, in doing research for worship, I came across a YouTube video that instantly stopped all other work. The video is of modern day snow covered railroad tracks leading into the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp in Oswiecim, Poland, with the voice of Alex Jacobowitz reading Psalm 30 in the original Hebrew. The paradox is stunning and the dichotomy haunting.
Only those who survived such horrors can speak with legitimate and poignant understanding of Hebrew scriptures being recited in places of such deep darkness. Yet, as the words, "O Lord God, forever will I give you thanks" linger on the screen against the background of the train tracks, Auschwitz-Birkenau and Jacobwitz's own footsteps slowly fading away in the snow, even a person such as I am bowed in utter disbelief and disdain, heart scored by the searing hot knife of guilt and horror.
How could such a thing happen? How could our 'civilized' world allow it to happen? And, happen not once, not twice, but millions of times? How is it that brick on brick could be laid knowing that human flesh would fuel the fires of the furnaces being built? How could rail be placed against rail knowing that the trains traveling these same tracks would carry a cargo of sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers, neighbors and friends? How could poisonous gas be offered instead of a drink of water? Or the glut of human greed transform race into a curse, rifling a dead man's pockets to be sure no treasure is lost? How does moldy, worm infested bread and lice ridden rags become the acceptable standard of hospitality? Or the demands of slave labor in abhorrent conditions the acceptable practice?
My mind cannot comprehend it. My heart cannot condone it. My spirit cannot fathom it. Still, someone's mind did comprehend it. Someone's heart did condone it. Someone's spirit did fathom it . . . and the collusion of the three tried to silence the voice of God's people. Like nails through hands and feet, power and arrogant self-righteousness propelled hatred and prejudice through the soft-tissues of God's defenseless children, burning those one who could not be controlled, yoking those would not otherwise submit, and piercing with derision those who would not die.
Still God's Word echoes in Auschwitz-Birkenau. Generation after generation rises up from the ashes of this world's conceit and announces praise of the One true Master. Generation after generation speaks for the silenced, releases the enslaved, and brings hope to the forgotten. Generation after generation tears up the tracks, even as they tear down the ovens and dismantle the camps. Generation after generation announces the praise of God, whose Word is final and whose Life is complete.
"O Lord God, forever will I give you thanks" is both Doxology and Benediction in the liturgy of a people who believe that God, indeed, will turn mourning into dancing and remove from their backs the sackcloth of grieving that they might be clothed with joy. If such a faith can be lived, can be claimed, can be spoken to the powers that be in the name of 'I AM', then who are we in this age to live less prophetically, less faithfully, less fully? "Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning." Ps. 30.5b May the Word of God keep you into every morning.
Recently, in doing research for worship, I came across a YouTube video that instantly stopped all other work. The video is of modern day snow covered railroad tracks leading into the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp in Oswiecim, Poland, with the voice of Alex Jacobowitz reading Psalm 30 in the original Hebrew. The paradox is stunning and the dichotomy haunting.
Only those who survived such horrors can speak with legitimate and poignant understanding of Hebrew scriptures being recited in places of such deep darkness. Yet, as the words, "O Lord God, forever will I give you thanks" linger on the screen against the background of the train tracks, Auschwitz-Birkenau and Jacobwitz's own footsteps slowly fading away in the snow, even a person such as I am bowed in utter disbelief and disdain, heart scored by the searing hot knife of guilt and horror.
How could such a thing happen? How could our 'civilized' world allow it to happen? And, happen not once, not twice, but millions of times? How is it that brick on brick could be laid knowing that human flesh would fuel the fires of the furnaces being built? How could rail be placed against rail knowing that the trains traveling these same tracks would carry a cargo of sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers, neighbors and friends? How could poisonous gas be offered instead of a drink of water? Or the glut of human greed transform race into a curse, rifling a dead man's pockets to be sure no treasure is lost? How does moldy, worm infested bread and lice ridden rags become the acceptable standard of hospitality? Or the demands of slave labor in abhorrent conditions the acceptable practice?
My mind cannot comprehend it. My heart cannot condone it. My spirit cannot fathom it. Still, someone's mind did comprehend it. Someone's heart did condone it. Someone's spirit did fathom it . . . and the collusion of the three tried to silence the voice of God's people. Like nails through hands and feet, power and arrogant self-righteousness propelled hatred and prejudice through the soft-tissues of God's defenseless children, burning those one who could not be controlled, yoking those would not otherwise submit, and piercing with derision those who would not die.
Still God's Word echoes in Auschwitz-Birkenau. Generation after generation rises up from the ashes of this world's conceit and announces praise of the One true Master. Generation after generation speaks for the silenced, releases the enslaved, and brings hope to the forgotten. Generation after generation tears up the tracks, even as they tear down the ovens and dismantle the camps. Generation after generation announces the praise of God, whose Word is final and whose Life is complete.
"O Lord God, forever will I give you thanks" is both Doxology and Benediction in the liturgy of a people who believe that God, indeed, will turn mourning into dancing and remove from their backs the sackcloth of grieving that they might be clothed with joy. If such a faith can be lived, can be claimed, can be spoken to the powers that be in the name of 'I AM', then who are we in this age to live less prophetically, less faithfully, less fully? "Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning." Ps. 30.5b May the Word of God keep you into every morning.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
God vs the Sheen's of the World
"I want you to go to your window, I want you to open it ... I want you to join our chant: winning, winning, winning ..."
copied from MSN.com, 03-29-11: Charlie Sheen regarding recent allegations leading to being fired from CBS
In twenty-two years of ministry, I could never have imagined leading a newsletter article with a quote from Charlie Sheen yet, here it is. Self-proclaimed as 'clean' and 'never more in charge of his faculties', possessing 'tiger's blood' in his veins and a 'vision for the future' in his mind, Sheen is taking on CBS and anyone else who dares to challenge his persona, his wealth, his position, or his life choices. Sheen perceives himself as being 'more' than an ordinary person, he perceives himself as something of a god, with god-like qualities, never-to-be-questioned, never-to-be-doubted, always-to-be-admired. For Charlie Sheen, and all of the other Charlie Sheen's of the world, the world is their tromping ground, their place of pleasure and provision with other 'mere mortals' scrambling to meet their every need, whim and desire. 'Responsibility to others' is little more than a catch-phrase of vocabulary words spewed upon backside-kissing hangers-on who desire to service the position more than the man, the sum of whom, once the money or the fame - or both, run out, will move on to the next 'up-and-coming, rising star' who will care for them, more than they care for themselves.
Seem harsh? Maybe, yet such are the qualities continuing to be possessed by, and possessing, those who treasure themselves above all and at the cost of all. Such was Caiaphas, the high priest, and Annas, his father-in-law. Such was Pilate and Herod of Rome. Such were those who worshipped them and those who tended them. Such were those who incited the crowds in Jerusalem in those fateful days and such were those who drove nails through hands and feet. Such were those who ordered the door of the tomb be sealed and guarded and such were those who persecuted the Apostles who remained.
Identifying threads of commonality between Sheen's behavior in current times with that of folks who lived at the time of Jesus might be something of a stretch, but then again, is it so hard to see those same threads of commonality coming out in the Church itself throughout the ages? In the names of the Inquisition, the Crusades, and the dogmatic controversies which have polarized generations of believers, even into the current generation regarding sexual orientation, AIDS, and birth control, those who proclaim " . . . winning, winning, winning . . ." are united with those who say, "In the name of Christ, death to the heathen." In one way or another, the goodness of God's creation present in each one of us is distorted beyond recognition by the emergence of a narcissistic bent, requiring the world to bow at the feet of those who deem themselves to be god, while countless souls suffer and die like Lazarus, with dogs licking their wounds, or like Jesus, with guards casting lots for his cloak. Where does it stop?
The boorish behavior of the powerful, the rich, the deluded and the self-absorbed stops, not where humanity can stop it, but where God says it will stop: at the door of an empty tomb. When, according to the Gospel of John, Mary Magdalene, herself scorned and reviled by many, yet loved of Jesus, came to the tomb of Jesus early on the third day and saw the angels sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, what she witnessed first-hand is what crystallizes hope and faith in the heart of the believer. In the Risen Christ, God announces God's power, even over death, subjecting the tyrants of every age to a judgment they could never pronounce: LIFE! Easter is God's gift of grace to the world, that all who fear and despair might run to the window and shout to the world, "He lives! He lives! He lives!" and know the true meaning of 'winning'.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)