Irony

Irony

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Sermon preached Palm Sunday at the Deer Isle/Sunset Congregational Church, UCC …

We stand at the head of Holy Week, a week that begins with hosannas of Palm Sunday and ends with the hallelujahs of Easter, a journey from joy to joy.

But it is not an easy journey.  We get from here to there, we can only get from here to there, by way of Maundy Thursday, by way of the shock and betrayal and abandonment of Maundy Thursday.  And we get from here to there, we can only get from here to there, by way of the horror and darkness and emptiness of Good Friday.  The journey from life to life is not an easy one, for Jesus or for us.

But today is Palm Sunday, the head of the week, a most enigmatic day.  It’s a day filled with excitement, but also an undercurrent of foreboding.  The crowds joyfully welcome the one they call king, but he choses deliberately to enter the city riding humbly on a donkey’s colt.  They are loud and effusive, he is quiet and subdued.  Palm Sunday is a day filled with contradictions.  Palm Sunday is a day filled with irony.

The parade wasn’t planned.  Jesus‘ disciples procured the donkey’s colt at his request, but they didn’t recruit the crowds.  It just happened.  The people just came, flocking to Jesus as he rode toward the city.  John’s gospel says they came because of Lazarus, because they had seen that startling miracle or had heard tell of it.  Luke simply says they came because of “all the great things that they had seen.”

All the great things.  They had seen enough, they had heard enough.  Enough to believe.  Enough to believe that this man came to them from God, came from God for them.  Enough to believe that the time was near when they would be saved, when their nation would be restored at last, when their dignity would be given back to them, when their disgrace as a people would be lifted from them, when the Lord would set them free again just as he once brought their ancestors out of slavery in Egypt.  The crowd of disciples saw the edge of the promise.  They were filled with hope, believing that the moment had come at last when everything would be changed.

I remember a November night eleven years ago when 240,000 people gathered in Grant Park in Chicago to celebrate a victory and welcome a new leader promising hope and promising change.  I remember the images, the images of the faces, dark faces, African-American faces, tears streaming down their faces.  Regardless of what this man would or would not accomplish in office, regardless of what this man did or did not accomplish in office, for a whole race of people that night was a watershed moment.  The way things always had been wasn’t  anymore.  It was a day of new possibilities, for black people, but also for all Americans.  It was a day of a new reality, when things would never be the same again.  It was a day of promise.

That’s the way Jesus’ followers felt that day as they watched him ride toward the city.  The way things always had been, the way things seemed to have to be, didn’t have to be anymore.  Things would never be the same.  They saw the edge of the promise, because Jesus was coming to Jerusalem.  “God bless the king who comes in the name of the Lord!  Peace in heaven and glory to God!”

But Jesus gave no speeches and if he acknowledged the cheering crowds, the gospel writers don’t report it.  Mark’s gospel says merely that Jesus entered the city, “went into the Temple, and looked around at everything.”  Jesus is quiet, subdued, introspective.  He surely believes the promise as much as they do, but he knows far better than they do what it will take to deliver on that promise.

It is a day of irony, Jesus surrounded by adoring people, but never more alone.

The city Jesus entered was Jerusalem, the city of David, the holy city, the city built on a hill, the city intended by God’s call to be a light to the world, the city, the prophets say, to which all nations will come seeking justice and righteousness and peace.  Jerusalem is meant to be a place of living witness to a living God, to a living God of mercy, slow to anger and full of constant love, a God whose desire and whose way is nothing less than joy for all God’s people, joy for all creation.

That is what Jerusalem was meant to be.  But there were moneychangers in the Temple and whitewashed sepulchers in the pulpits.  Justice and mercy were set aside for ritual and legalism.  There were no more prophets, only priests, priests and rabbis dedicated not to transformation, but to preservation, preserving the tradition, preserving their livelihoods, preserving themselves.

In Jerusalem, God was not still speaking, or at least God’s people had long stopped listening.  In Jerusalem, God was not still doing.  Oh, yes, they prayed for the peace of Jerusalem, but they didn’t actually expect God to do anything.  They took up the slack where God left off by doing their best to keep things quiet and under control.  They did their best to keep themselves safe by not posing any kind of threat to Rome.

It’s was Rome’s light, Rome’s way, the way of power and wealth and empire, that filled their hearts and minds, not God’s way, the way of humility and sacrifice and love.  Jerusalem, the holy city, the city meant to be a place of living witness to the living God, instead silences God’s witnesses and kills God’s prophets.  And Jerusalem killed Jesus.

Friends, do not miss the irony.  May we not substitute self-preservation for justice.  May we not care more about personal security than love.  May we not turn a living, breathing, ever-changing, ever-growing faith into some kind of frozen relic, some kind of pacifier to soothe us in the midst of a daunting world.  The church is not meant to be a place to which we come for safe retreat from the world, but a place from which we are sent out to love God by changing the world, changing the world by loving our neighbors, all our neighbors, in real and risky ways.

We are called together here, not to protect and preserve the way of life we already have, but to be living witnesses to the way of life that will be when God’s kingdom comes, when God’s will is done.

They didn’t see it — the Pharisees.  They told Jesus to order his disciples to be quiet.  They didn’t see hope, they saw disturbing the peace.  They didn’t the edge of the promise, they saw a looming threat.  They didn’t see a message or a messenger from God, they saw impudence, heresy, blasphemy.  They didn’t see the kairos, the moment on which the course of history itself hung in the balance.

Jesus answered: “I tell you that if they keep quiet, the stones themselves will start shouting.”  Friends, this is not hyperbole!  This is not a metaphor!  Jesus means what he says.  He means the stones themselves will start shouting!

Because all of creation waits with eager longing for God to set it free from its slavery to decay!  All of creation groans with pain, like the pain of childbirth.  All of creation is on alert waiting for God to come.  Isn’t it?

But they don’t see it.  They don’t see what is at stake here.  The fate of humanity, the fate of the world, the fate of God’s promise, their own fate is at stake.  They think this is about one pesky rabbi whose popularity has gotten a little bit out of control.  It is a day of irony.

There is one more irony.  On this day when the future of humanity hangs in the balance, on this day when our own future hangs in the balance, there is nothing we can do.  Later there will be much we can do.  Later there will be much we must do.  But on this day, there is nothing we can do.

We cannot go where Jesus goes.  We cannot do what Jesus does.  We cannot walk the path of obedience all the way to death and we cannot die to take away the sins of the world, let alone our own sins.  We cannot fulfill the promise.

But Jesus can and Jesus will.  Jesus will fulfill the promise.  Jesus will walk the path of obedience all the way to death.  Jesus will die, innocently executed, because of jealousy, because of fear, because of shame, because of despair.  And in dying he will swallow up jealousy in humility.  He will swallow up fear in love.  He will swallow up shame in forgiveness.  And he will swallow up despair in a hope that does not disappoint.  Jesus will die … for us, for all of us, for the world.

That is gospel.  That is good news.

The purpose of this week is to remind us of gospel, to remind us that the heart of our faith is grace, not what we must do to please God, but what God has done for us out of God’s own good pleasure.  The heart of our faith is love, God’s love, God’s love for us, God’s love for this beautiful and fragile earth, God’s love for all us beautiful and flawed creatures.  God comes to us, in Jesus, to set us and all creation free from the laws of sin and death.  So we can live!  So we can live well!  So we can live well and be well and make well!

May the Lord be with you, may the Lord be with me, as we make the journey this week from life to life.

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Worship as protest

Worship as protest

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For many years, it was my job to go to church. But now that I am retired from active ministry, I still make the choice to get up on a Sunday morning, as many of you do, put on some decent clothes, as many of you do, and go to church, as many of you do.

There are a variety of reasons we choose to go: for the experience of community, to see friends, for comfort, for edification, out of a sense of duty, out of a desire to express to God, to demonstrate to God, our gratitude. And by going, we serve a variety of purposes: maintaining an institution that serves us and the public, nurturing and strengthening that sense of community that we desire and so many need, helping to motivate and mobilize our communal mission, and honoring God, simply honoring God by our worship.

But as I drove home from church on Deer Isle a couple of Sundays ago, I thought that, regardless of what I might get or of what I might give, the simple act of going to church, by itself, is a powerful act, an act of protest.

Worship is an act of protest, an act of civil disobedience, protesting, disobeying, defying the “rules,” the laws, written and unwritten, that form the basis of accepted social norms and expectations: more is better, stronger is safer, the will of the majority is primary.

When we go to church, we go to hear and to declare allegiance to a gospel that turns these norms upside down! We declare that our love for God, our allegiance to God, supersedes all other loves, all other allegiances: to party, to creed, to nation, and even to family. We will do will of God, not the will of the people, not bend to the pressure of popular opinion or pledge allegiance before all else to a flag or a president.

We declare that one matters, any one, even the tiniest, weakest, poorest, sickest, “most expendable,” even the one who is our enemy. Especially the tiniest, weakest, poorest, sickest, “most expendable.” Especially the one who is our enemy.

And we declare that power, true power, is manifested, not by overcoming, but by serving, not by securing borders, but by welcoming the stranger, not by protecting our future (as if we could!) but by taking risks to live fully in the present.

We live in a tumultuous and perplexing and scary time, in a world torn apart by division and conflict, by accusation and recrimination, by bitterness and fear, all seemingly ruled by the law of self-protection, self-actualization, self-aggrandizement, self-entitlement. When we go to church, we register our protest. We say, “No!” There is a better way to be. There is a better world, envisioned in God’s imagination and now in ours, a world that not only could be, but will be.

Your will be done! Your kingdom come!

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So help me, God

So help me, God

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Robert Kraft, George Pell, Donald Trump. Three men at the height of their powers, having reached the pinnacle of their professions. The owner of one of the most storied sports franchises, the third highest official of the Roman Catholic Church, the president of the United States. Three men called to represent the best of the worlds of business and government and the church. And three men in the last few days all credibly accused, and in one case convicted, of sexual exploitation of vulnerable persons.

It is alarming. We expect better from those who should, by all rights, command our deepest honor and respect. I am a Patriots fan, a fan of the team the Robert Kraft has built, a fan of the way this team wins, by utilizing every player, by motivating every player from one to fifty-three to fulfill their particular role. The reports of Kraft’s solicitation of sexual favors from likely victims of human trafficking are embarrassing, shameful, baffling, disgusting.

George Pell is supposed to represent Jesus, my Jesus, the protector of the poor and vulnerable, the bearer of mercy and grace, but instead he is the newest face of the deepest failures of the church of Jesus Christ. He makes gospel a lie by his actions. May God have mercy on us, on all those whom he has hurt and all those whose faith he has undermined. And may God have mercy on him.

The news of a campaign worker’s accusations of an unwanted kiss from Donald Trump doesn’t command much attention, because that’s the kind of behavior we have come to expect of him. He has bragged of his power to take what he wants from whomever he wants whenever he wants. And we hardly bat an eye …

It makes me tremble. I tremble at the frailty of the human condition. Exploitation, deceit, hypocrisy, selfishness, callousness are rampant. And, if we are honest, the seeds of all of these things, if not the fruit, are in all of us.

It brings me grief, great grief, because there seem so few who can honestly command our honor and respect, so few among who should be the archetypes of human accomplishment who genuinely model fidelity or integrity or selflessness or righteousness, which is simply to say, doing the right thing because it is the right thing.

We cannot expect our icons to be perfect. We are all equally human, all of us equally fragile in heart and will, in our ability to choose always what is best, to do always what is right. Which is why the most essential of human virtues for any of us, president or school teacher, entrepreneur or soldier, priest or convenience store clerk, is humility.

Humility means knowing what and who we are, acknowledging and admitting our frailty, acknowledging and admitting that we need help, that each of us need help, in being and becoming who we are meant to be as human beings, help from each other and help from God. “So help me, God” is not an oath, but a plea, a heartfelt plea for God to guide and strengthen, and, when we fall short, to forgive.

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a biblical mandate

a biblical mandate

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In case you missed it … Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez quotes the Bible.

Last month White House press secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders condescendingly dismissed Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’ Green New Deal saying:

I don’t think we’re going to listen to her on much of anything, particularly not on matters that we’re going to leave in to the hands of a much, much higher authority … [The country should leave the fate of the planet in] the hands of something and someone much more powerful than any of us.

Ocasio-Cortez tweeted in reply:

She’s right. Taking care of this planet is our human responsibility, our delegated responsibility, from the One in whose image we are made. Like the One who made us, we possess the power to build up or tear down, to protect or to destroy, to care … or not.

How can we claim to love God and not love (care for) this earth that God has created? How can we claim to love our neighbors and not care for the home which sustains their life and all life?

Christian environmentalist is not an oxymoron. Environmentalism is an essential and necessary part of our Christian identity!

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Film Review: “First Reformed”

Film Review: “First Reformed”

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I watched “First Reformed” last evening, the 2017 film written and directed by Paul Schrader.  Actually I only watched about an hour of the movie, then turned it off and returned it to its Netflix envelope. So I don’t know what becomes of Rev. Toller or what transpires at the celebration of the 250th anniversary of First Reformed, but I can guess.

I turned it off because the film disturbed me, and not in a good way. I like movies that disturb me, in a good way, movies that provoke a struggle of thought and emotion, movies that challenge or reframe my way of thinking about the world and myself.

I was eager to see “First Reformed” because I expected it to be that kind of movie. I expected to see a nuanced portrait of a minister in crisis, struggling with the relevance and efficacy and authenticity of the faith, of the God, to which and to whom he was called to witness.

But there was no nuance here, no faith, and no God. Rev. Toller is an empty man, empty of any meaningful relationships, empty of meaning in his ministry, and empty of faith. He does not pray, but journals, substituting that as a kind of prayer, since he cannot pray. But his journaling is narrow in scope, little more than a diary, focussed entirely on himself. He does not invite God in or open his life up for examination as another soul searching for the place of God in this world did: “Examine me, O God, and know my mind; test me, and discover my thoughts. Find out if there is any evil in me and guide me in the everlasting way.”

But what disturbed me most about the film, as a minister, was its caricatured portrayal of ministry. At every point, the possibility of the presence of authentic faith, of genuine seeking after God, was undercut. The teenaged singer rehearsing a praise song with the Abundant Life choir tries to “feel up” the girl standing in front of him. The female director has slept with Rev. Toller and now is crazy to have him. The pastor of the “big box” Abundant Life church jokes that Martin Luther wrote “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” while pooping. And his televised devotional is canned, cliched, overproduced.

Ministry itself is assumed to be inauthentic, self-serving, a sham, a scam. Nobody really believes in what they are doing. That is not to say that much of what pretends to be ministry today is not inauthentic, self-serving, a sham, a scam, because much is. But it can only be shown as such in contrast to a kind of ministry that is authentic, humble, sincere in its desire to help and to serve … and to be faithful and accountable to God.

But here there is no contrast.  Ministry itself is no more than showmanship and the church either a soundstage (Abundant Life) or a museum (First Reformed). And the only way to find meaning is to escape (or destroy) the church and to abandon even any attempt at faith.

I can imagine a film beginning in the same place with the same people in the same circumstances as this film and telling an entirely different story.  I wish “First Reformed” had been that film …

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Pray for Haiti

Pray for Haiti

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Please pray for the people of Haiti!

I have not seen it in the news, but I received this email today from the executive director of Fonkoze, an organization I support. Fonkoze supports Haitians, primarily females, in raising themselves and their families out of poverty by providing microcredit loans and banking services. Here is the email …

Dear Timothy,

As you may have heard, the socio-political crisis in Haiti has in recent weeks become increasingly worse. Massive numbers of protestors are taking to the streets to voice their demands for justice and accountability from President Jovenel Moise.

In some areas, the demonstrations have unfortunately been accompanied by looting and violence. Police forces are doing their best to manage the situation, but the shortage of personnel is making this difficult. Many of the roads are blocked by barricades, rocks and/or burning tires. And as a result, businesses in these cities are not able to operate. Thankfully, so far none of Fonkoze’s staff have been victims of violence.

The staff at Fonkoze Financial Services are doing everything they can to keep as many branches open as possible. Logistically, this is a challenge, but our brave colleagues are determined to serve our clients as best they can even in situations as these. Enforcing its internal crisis communication and action plans, Fonkoze is working to ensure its staff and clients are well equipped to handle the challenges this crisis is presenting each day.

We hope the political leaders of Haiti will be able to find a solution to this crisis as soon as possible – one that will restore hope and set the country on a path to better governance and improved economic conditions for the majority of the population who are suffering terribly from rising food prices and lack of jobs.

We will keep you informed about the situation as it evolves.

With hope in solidarity,

Mabel Valdivia
Executive Director
Fonkoze USA

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The rules of the game

The rules of the game

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Yesterday, in response to Elizabeth Warren’s announcement of her candidacy for president, President Trump tweeted:

Today Elizabeth Warren, sometimes referred to by me as Pocahontas, joined the race for President. Will she run as our first Native American presidential candidate, or has she decided that after 32 years, this is not playing so well anymore? See you on the campaign TRAIL, Liz!

“See you on the TRAIL, Liz?” Those words, that tone, that uninvited familiarity, that disturbing reference to a most terrible moment in American history coming from the head of state of the land of “liberty and justice for all?” Hardly presidential.  But isn’t that the point? Is it not Mr. Trump’s selling point that he is not like other politicians and presidents, that he will not be PC, that he doesn’t do “official-speak,” but tells it like it is?

But “See you on the TRAIL, Liz?” This is not telling it like it is.  This is petulant, petty, demeaning, cruel, not different in kind or intent from the taunts of any elementary school bully. This is not refreshingly candid. This is childish and despicable.

As I compose these words, I find my face flushing and my teeth clenching … and there is the problem, not Mr. Trump’s problem, but mine.  I am angry, bitterly angry, incensed at this man’s barbarity. And I want to lash out, put him down, put him in his place, defame him! But then, I am just like him.

There is nothing wrong with being angry, but I must not let the anger change me, change my way of being, change my commitment to love — to love God, always, and to prove my love for God by loving my neighbor, each neighbor. 

Hateful rhetoric hurts, hurts people in tangible ways, but it can wreak even more damage by changing the game, getting its targets to play by its rules. Hate wins when it elicits hate in return.

Hate must not win.  And so I pray.  I pray for Mr. Trump, for a change of heart, for a softening of heart, for eyes to hear and ears to hear the people, all the people, for whom he acts and on whose behalf he leads. I pray that he would be inclined to justice, moved by compassion, that he would be humbled — not humiliated, but humbled, by the enormity of his responsibility and the utter insignificance of his own person.

And I watch my language. I will be angry and I will call this president out, but I pray that I will not be petty, that I will not be cruel, that I will not demean, that I will never play by his rules, but by Jesus’ rules …

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axiom brass

axiom brass

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I heard Chicago-based Axiom Brass Quintet in concert this afternoon in Blue Hill. They were fabulous — terrific musicians and great entertainers. The quintet played Holborne, Bach, Jorgensen, Ulery and Piazolla. It would be very difficult for me to pick a favorite from among the pieces. They were all delightful and quite diverse in style. Here’s a sample, a YouTube video recording of the second movement of the Piazolla suite they played …

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