Category Archives: Neighbor Love

Jesus Will Not Be Pimped

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In March 2012, I attended a conference at which Congressman Emmanuel Cleaver II was the keynote speaker. For the record, Congressman Cleaver can P.R.E.A.C.H. He spoke about the current budget crisis in our government, the changes in how congressional leaders relate to and communicate with one another, and the responsibility of all citizens to care about how our money is used. At one point in the sermon keynote address, Cleaver spoke vociferously against people who loosely talk about “God on their side” or who choose to ignore the plight of struggling people, but speak of Jesus’ approval and how Jesus has brought them success. While ignoring Jesus’ teaching, they give him credit for their success and expect him to continue to deliver. However, said Cleaver, “Jesus will not be pimped.”

Jesus will not be pimped.

Can I hear an amen?

Preach it, Brother Cleaver. We cannot ignore Jesus’ plain teaching about loving our neighbor, about dropping our throwin’ stones, about drawing all people to God, about lifting women and children and outcasts of all types, about understanding that kingdom of God is at hand. We cannot ignore those things, but expect the name of Jesus to bring us political victory, economic victory, religious victory.

Jesus will not be pimped.

In Anchorage this week, there was an election fiasco of historical proportions. Many precincts ran out of ballots, which meant that some people did not get to vote or voted on questioned/questionable ballots. Was there an unexpected number of voters? Maybe. This was an election for mayor and there were several ballot propositions up for consideration. Proposition Five proposed to add “same-sex orientation” and “transgendered identity” to the city’s non-discrimination clause. Proposition Five did not pass, by a large margin. My heart aches.

I was part of campaigning for Proposition Five. Yes on Five. I did public work and I did some private negotiating and conversations with people I know and love, but would not normally be inclined to vote yes on this kind of thing. Some people changed their votes. One person was willing to leave the prop blank, unable to vote yes, but willing to not vote no.

Some of the rhetoric from both sides was harsh. However, from my perspective, the No on Five crowd was particularly vitriolic with pastors using the pulpit to spread false information about homosexuals (uncited and incorrect statistics regarding suicide, child abuse, and crime), conflating transgendered identity with transvestitism (not the same at all), spreading incorrect and damaging information about how Prop 5 would affect churches, and using nebulous phrases like “protect your rights” without clarifying the rights that were “threatened”.*

The use of church time, pulpit authority, and church dollars to spread discrimination in the public sector is abhorrent to me. Using the name of Jesus to keep people in the dark of discrimination with regard to jobs, housing, and services is shameful. People are hurting and churches have kicked them when they’re down, in the name of Jesus. And these same churches will be touting how Jesus brought them victory.

Jesus will not be pimped.

Why am I writing this on Good Friday? Because it’s on this day of all days that we tend to hear about the idea that humanity was (and is) so terrible that God had to send his Son to die for all, but the death (and resurrection) only brings redemption to those who believe. God was/is so angry, so hates the people of the world, that the only satisfaction that would work to satisfy God’s angry need for an appropriate sacrifice that is for the Son to come, live as a human,  and then die in a horrible way for all the sins that have been and will ever be committed.

I don’t think so.

Jesus will not be pimped. Not even by the Father.

The attempt to snuff the Second Person of the Trinity, the Death of Jesus, the Murder of the Messiah comes at the hands of people. People who thought they could force God into acting (I’m looking at you, Jewish Zealots of the Roman occupation). People who thought that the Messiah would look a certain way and Jesus was a blasphemer (if not a threat to their power). (I’m looking at you, chief priests and scribes). People who were scared and uncertain and who had little power, even to try to prevent what was happening (I’m looking at you, disciples who steal away in the dark of the garden).

People killed Jesus for a variety of reasons, but

Jesus will not be pimped.

God acted (and acts) in spite of human actions, with their myriad causes, to bring resurrection- life, hope, and the reality of forgiveness. Forgiveness doesn’t require substitution. Forgiveness is about a clean slate, fresh linen, an empty tomb.

Jesus will not be pimped.

If our work in Jesus’ name is not the work of caring, loving, healing, restoration, clarity, forgiveness… if it’s not work Jesus would recognize as his own… we better be careful to whom we attribute the victory.

It’s a bleak day, but resurrection is coming and it looks exactly how God wants it to look…  and not how any of us define.

Jesus will not be pimped.

*I carefully wrote this sentence because of how No on Five people took sentences and thoughts of Yes on Five people out of context.

Remember Trayvon

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Several months ago, I was reading a book to children at church. I pointed out the different skin tones of the kids in the book and asked why the children in the picture looked different. One of the children sitting across from me looked at me like I had crawled out from under a log, “Because they’re people,” he said.

Being “people” means having different skin tones, abilities, hair colors, tendencies, heritage.

It’s great that these 3, 4, and 5-year-olds knew that. May they never forget it.

Apparently, some adults have. Or never knew it.

The stories about Trayvon Martin are breaking my heart. A teenage boy, on his way home from a store, shot to death for being people. For being black people.

There may be enough evidence within a few days or weeks to arrest the shooter, based on witness accounts. (Though, if a black man were suspected of shooting a white teenage, someone would already be under arrest.)

Or Florida’s “Stand Your Ground” laws may protect the shooter, who claims he was defending himself.

I want to see outrage. I want to hear anger. I want to witness righteous foaming at the mouth on the behalf of Trayvon.

I am called to preach forgiveness, but right now not only would I not give the shooter “air in a jug”, I would be likely to beat him with said jug. Remember the presumption of innocence does not mean that someone is actually innocent, just that the court treats them as such.

Then I see a racial slur directed at the president with regard to his re-election: “Don’t Re-Nig in 2012”. Horrible examples here.

I can’t believe I just typed that, but this needs to be called out. I don’t care what you like or don’t like, you don’t say that, print that, wear it, or stick it. Not about the president. Not about anybody.

It’s bad in America for black Americans. Bad. Bad. Bad.

If your response to the sentence above is anything less than, “She’s right”, you’re not paying attention.

The first boy I ever kissed was black. M.W. and I were practicing our multiplication tables when we were 8. We dared each other to kiss. It was chaste, dry, and quick. We went on to memorizing the sixes and no further. This is not my credential, it comes to mind when I think of Trayvon.

Trayvon was someone’s first kiss. Someone’s son. Someone’s friend. Someone’s confidante. Someone’s grandchild. Someone’s customer. Someone’s future employee. Someone’s future employer.

And all that he could have been is no more because of a trigger happy bigot who couldn’t see past the color of Trayvon’s skin. Which was black.

In the Civil Rights era, one could encourage by offering, “Remember the Little Rock 9”, “Think of Rosa Parks”, “Don’t forget the Birmingham 4”, or “Selma”.

If we cannot rise to this occasion by an appeal for justice and neighbor love in Sanford, Florida and across the nation, let us cry out for equality in the name of Trayvon. Remember Trayvon.

Put it in your window. Say it in the prayers at your church. Put it in your Facebook status. Email one Florida politician a day until you’ve gotten to the whole delegation, state and federal. Pray for justice. Pray with your hands, your feet, your dollars, your vote, and, lastly, with your words to God.

If you are not angry enough to speak out for Trayvon, no matter where you live, you cannot delude yourself into thinking that you have been any different than the crowd that will sing “Hosanna” and “Crucify Him” with the same breath.

Yes, I just said that.

If not you, who?

Remember Trayvon. Who died for being black. Who died for being people.

No Elaboration Needed (Sermon 3/11)

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Lent 3 (Narrative Lectionary, Year B)
Mark 12:28-34
            When I was in my first couple months of seminary, there was a guy in a couple of my classes named “Bob”. Bob was one of those people who is not good at picking up on social signals. He talked a little too loudly, asked questions that were a little too personal, and volunteered more information than you might want. He was a very nice guy, though, friendly and well-meaning. No one disliked him, but no one really sought him out either. (Yes, you may point out the painful irony of this behavior in seminarians.)
            One evening, I decided to walk from my apartment to downtown New Haven and I ran into Bob. He had been riding his bike, but he hopped off and walked along with me. We talked and we went to a little diner and had a piece of cake. Then we walked back up the hill to the divinity school. He was really talking and I felt awkward trying to say goodnight, so I invited him in for a cup of tea.
            I called a friend to let her know that Bob was with me, just so someone would know this information. (For the record, there was never any point where I was concerned about my safety with this guy. Otherwise, I would not have allowed him into where I lived.) In the meantime, Bob looked at my shelves and asked about watching a movie. I made tea and he sat in one of my two chairs and I sat in the other. At one point, he was chilly. He asked about a housecoat, but I gave him my huge flannel bathrobe, which he put on over his clothes and a blanket he put over his lap.
            I emailed my friend, “Bob’s STILL here! Watching a movie! Third cup of tea! Wearing my bathrobe over his clothes!” I could practically hear her giggling over the email, “What are you going to do?” I didn’t know what to do, so I sat through the rest of the movie thinking about how to get him out of my apartment. When the movie ended, he announced that it had been a terrible movie and proceeded to go through the reasons why. He brought up things I had never considered and he was right.
            Then he asked to use the bathroom and said he thought he should go home. He asked if he could give me a hug. I opened the door to the apartment and we hugged briefly in the hallway and then he left. At this point, we’d spent about seven hours together. I called my friend and we kept laughing about the oddity of the situation and about “Bob”. Not my finest moment, that.
Many weeks later, he returned a borrowed book to me with a note thanking me for helping him to feel less lonely. Thank you, he said, for being a friend when I wasn’t sure this was a good place for me. Thank you for being so generous with your tea, your housecoat, and your time. Your friend, he said, Bob.
            That note made me want to kick myself and I’ve never forgotten it. I especially remember it in my own Bob moments- when I talk too long, tell a story that doesn’t quite hit the mark, when the words I offer seem woefully inadequate. When I’m trying to love my neighbors as I love myself, even when I’m not sure about how I feel about them or about me.
            The greatest commandment, the Shema of Deuteronomy 6, doesn’t need elaboration. It says what it means and it means what it says, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.” Jesus adds to it from Leviticus 19:18, “And you shall love your neighbor as yourself.” The commands go together and are the foundation of what it means to have faith. These commands are how we respond to the way God has loved us, even in our most human moments… especially in our most human moments.
            We’ve all been welcomed when we were Bob… when we awkward and uncertain…when we have over-stayed a welcome… we’ve had makeshift families or friends in odd places who offered us hospitality… we’ve all let someone who needed to stay longer than we wanted… We will be called to offer that welcome again. And we will receive it again. These are the moments of God-with-us and God-in-us that are the challenges of living in this world.
            Fulfilling these commandments doesn’t make us closer to God, but helps us to perceive God’s nearness to us. In those moments, of welcome and of being welcomed, we are not far from the kingdom of God.
Amen.
           
           

Is God visible to you? (Ash Wednesday Sermon)

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Ash Wednesday (Year B, Narrative Lectionary)
22 February 2012
Isaiah 58:1-17, Mark 9:30-50
            What’s the smallest unit of measure in any society? The individual… Individuals make up our families, whether by blood or choice. The solo person gets added to more solo people and then we have a group… a congregation… a town… a state… and so on. There is no such thing as a self-made individual because everyone has some help along the way. No one makes himself or herself from the ground up. What’s the smallest unit of individual? A child.
            In our society, Western society, the child is the smallest individual. When we look at children, we see the possibility of a future productive individual, so we spend our energy in shaping that person. “What about the children?” is such a central question to our way of thinking that we easily miss what Jesus is saying by using a child as an example in this gospel lesson.
            In this period (and for well beyond it and still in some parts of the world today), children were not the smallest individual unit of society. They were the smallest productive members of the smallest societal unit- the family. If you survived infancy, the relief was not only that you lived, but that now you could help out! You could sweep, run errands, change straw, watch animals, help cook… whatever was appropriate for your gender and your family’s status. And you were socially invisible. A child still didn’t count until he or she was marrying out and cost money or marrying in and bringing money. A child is a non-person, uncounted.  
            So when Jesus, sighing over the disciples’ fight about greatness, calls a child… this should get our attention. First, Jesus separates the Twelve, so there must be a larger group. Secondly, the larger group must have men and women in it because a group of only men wouldn’t have children in it. Thirdly, the children might be invisible, but they can hear and they must have known who Jesus was or heard stories about him.
When Jesus sits the Twelve down and the rest of the crowd is close enough for the Teacher to call a child over, everyoneis listening. And then Jesus goes on to say, “Whoever welcomes on such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me, but the one who sent me.” A non-person, an invisible being represents Jesus, God on earth? An emissary represents his or her sender. The emissary of the king comes glittering and riding a fine horse, even if the king is struggling, because how people perceive the emissary is how they perceive the king.
            Jesus is the Divine Emissary. How Jesus is perceived (and received) is how God is perceived (and received). And here Jesus is telling the disciples (and everyone else) that in order to welcome God, you must train yourself to see what you previously treated as invisible.  Invisible like a child. Like a leper. Like a person with AIDS. Like hungry Africans. Like homeless Alaska Natives. Like a teenager with an eating disorder. Like a friend with depression. Like a lesbian or a gay man. Like a couple after a miscarriage. Like a person who goes to prison for murder. In order to welcome God, you must train yourself to see what you previously treated as invisible.
            In the season of Lent, many of us turn inward- thinking about our personal spiritual practices, our internal habits. There is nothing wrong with this. The ashes on our foreheads are also on our hearts, covering our quiet prayers, our doubts, our inward struggles. But Lent is not only about introspection. The inward reflection must be met with outward actions. Consider the words of Isaiah: Is such the fast that I choose, a day to humble onself? Is it to bow down the head like a bulrush, and to lie in sackcloth and ashes? Will you call this a fast, a day acceptable to the Lord? Is this not the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?”
            Here’s the thing about Lenten discipline. We want to make it about God and me. God and Bob. God and Phyllis. God and Gene. Whether we set aside things that are truly in our way spiritually or whether we take up disciplines to challenge our thinking and our faith, the ultimate result shouldn’t be God and me… it should be God inme. Christ in me. Spirit in me.
            “God and me” is taken care of through Jesus the Christ. But God in me matters to the people I encounter every day. In order to welcome God, we must train ourselves to see what we previously treated as invisible. If you have ashes on your head (or on your heart), if you say you believe, if you wear a cross, if you participate in church activities of any kind… you are an emissary. What you do reflects the one who sends you. What you do reflects on Christ. On your Creator. On your Advocate. The people we miss because they are invisible to us are being denied an experience of Christ because of us. The people whom we engage with grace are having an experience of Christ because of us. Are we willing to open ourselves to greater encounters in Christ and with Christ as we walk toward resurrection?
This Lenten season, are we prepared to die, within ourselves and in our actions, to our prejudices, to our blind spots, to our fears, to our insecurities? Are you prepared to fast from injustice, from anger, from judgment, and from mistrust? Do you believe that you can close your eyes, receive the ashes- that marker of mortality, and have your eyes opened to new possibilities of grace? Are you willing to let Christ do that in you and through you?
             Even on Ash Wednesday, we are Easter people. Resurrection begins right now. You are an ambassador, an emissary for Christ, in Christ, with Christ…
            On each of these forty days, and beyond, God will be encountering you in other people. Do you see them? Do they see Christ?
Amen.