Christian Nationalism, Christian Zionism, and the Diversity of Views

 Friends, 

 

Save the Date! On Sunday, June 9 at 1:00, St. Mark will host a documentary film entitled, “True Believer.” Brian McLaren describes “True Believer” as “an insider account, supported by a wide array of experts and informants, who brings us along on [a] journey of discovery and departure from white, right-wing Evangelicalism.” St. Mark member Robin Voss is one of the film’s Executive Producers and we will have a panel discussion following the film with Diana Butler Bass, Lisa Sharon Harper, Julie Ingersoll, and Randall Balmer, as well as Kristen Irving, the movie’s subject and director. More details and an opportunity to register are forthcoming. For now, I encourage you to save the date and plan to attend. 

 

Over the last two weeks, I have had a number of experiences that remind me of both the challenges and the opportunities that face us as we seek to do justice in our world. 

 

Last Thursday I attended a webinar on “Confronting Christian Zionism” that was sponsored by the Presbyterian Church (USA) Christian Zionism working group. In 2004, the 216^th General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church approved active opposition to Christian Zionism and called on churches to engage with it in study and advocacy. Many of our mission partners in the Middle East are asking us to put more energy into that calling, and a similar overture will be brought to the floor of the General Assembly when it meets this summer. 

 

The webinar had a three-person panel and was hosted by Rev. Dr. Cynthia Holder Rich, a Presbyterian pastor and member of the Israel/Palestine Mission Network. The panelists were Rev. Dr. Munther Isaac, a Palestinian Christian pastor and theologian who is the academic dean of Bethlehem Bible College and pastor of the Lutheran Christmas Church in Bethlehem; Rabbi Brant Rosen, leader of Tzedek Chicago and co-founder of the Jewish Voice for Peace Rabbinical Council; and Rev. Marietta Macy, Associate Pastor for Christian Education at First Presbyterian Church in Charleston, West Virginia. 

 

You can read a summary of the 90-minute webinar here, and watch it by clicking here.

 

Dr. Isaac was particularly passionate in querying why more Christians are not raising their voices in response to the utter destruction that is taking place in Gaza and made several references to a book by Dr. Mitri Raheb, who has spoken here at St. Mark in the past, entitled Decolonizing Palestine: The Land, The People, The Bible. You can find the book here. What impacted me the most was Rabbi Rosen’s comments. He was in complete agreement with Dr. Isaac and disclosed his own personal struggle to operate within the bounds of his rabbinical order, because of his opposition to Zionism. I found his remarks to be very candid and authentic.

 

Likewise, I was part of a discussion on Passover last week with a Jewish peace activist. She told about a special Passover Seder written especially to call her people to seek justice in Palestine, in light of the Jewish liberation story of Passover. While there are many Jewish persons who are supportive of the attacks on Gaza, those two voices last week reminded me how I often underestimate the spectrum of opinions that exists among people of faith. 

 

Another case in point came to light when I sat down with three different Evangelical faith leaders from Orange County to discuss my concerns about Christian Nationalism and to let them know that we would be hosting a film that is critical of it. I anticipated that two of them might differ with me strongly, but all three of them agreed that they were quite concerned about the encroachment that many Evangelical pastors have made into politics and that many politicians have made into Evangelicalism. While it is easy to imagine that Evangelicals and Christian Nationalists are all one and the same, there is a spectrum within that faith community as well. And doors that can open for fruitful dialogue. 

 

Oh, my friends, there are many difficult roads to navigate to be faithful in these times,

Mark of St. Mark

 

The Presentation of Easter

This past Wednesday I was asked to address the Newport Mesa Irvine Interfaith Council on what Easter means to the Christian church. I was one of five speakers, so we also heard about Passover, Ramadan, Bahai, and the Zoroastrian holy days. The challenge for me was to speak about Easter to those who may not know our story, and to decide what to leave on the cutting floor in order to meet the ten-minute limit. I decided to offer an overview of biblical and theological representations of the significance of Easter, then conclude with a suggestion that is my own. Here goes.

Jesus of Nazareth was a Galilean Jew living in the first century of the common era, whose life and teachings are described in the first four books of the Christian New Testament known as the Gospels. The arrest, trial, crucifixion, and resurrection of Jesus is described narratively in the Gospels of Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John, which most biblical scholars agree were written between forty and sixty years after the events. But while the stories took some time to pass through oral traditions into writings, the meaning of Jesus’ death and resurrection was a matter of immediate consequence for the Jesus’ followers, which is made plain in the letters that an apostle named Paul wrote to various Christian churches within a decade or so after Jesus’ death and resurrection. So, first we’ll look at the storied accounts of Easter, before turning to what Paul – the first significant theologian of the Christian church – had to say. 

 

Each of the gospels tell a story about the first Easter morning. Each of them shows that it was women who first saw the empty tomb and who became the first evangelists about the good news that Christ was risen. Each of them attests that Jesus was, in fact, dead and buried, and then raised from death as he promised. At the same time, the gospel stories differ in many ways, from details about who was there, what they saw, what they did with what they saw, as well as in stories of the risen Christ visiting with his followers. For someone who wants to reconcile all the stories as historically factual without difference, the gospel accounts can be frustrating. Personally, I find it a gift that the early church, which preserved and gathered and granted to us these gospel stories, did not try to reconcile them all into the same thing, but was willing to accept diverse ways that people experience and relate what happened on Easter morning. So, if one wants to read about Easter morning and the day of Jesus’ resurrection, these gospel accounts are where one wants to go, and Christians churches do that on Easter Sunday year after year. 

 

For a more theologically-driven approach to Easter – and to resurrection more generally – one is better off turning to the Apostle Paul. Paul never met Jesus before the crucifixion, but Paul did encounter the resurrected Christ and claimed to have as much of a relationship with Jesus as those who were present throughout the Gospel stories. For Paul and for the Christian Church, Jesus was not just an inspiring teacher, profound prophet, or courageous martyr. The resurrection means that Jesus is really present in the world, even after death and even today. Paul’s writings address the resurrection in 3 respects: Personally, communally, and cosmically. 

 

Paul’s insistence that he had met the risen Christ just as really as some of the disciples who were with Jesus all along, is an incredible claim. It means that Jesus’ resurrection was not just a daylong event, or a 40-day excursion as some of the gospels tell the story, but an everyday, ongoing reality. Christ was raised, but Christ is alive and present among us. For Paul, that was a personal and life-transforming reality, and for the Christian church it is why we use the present tense in speaking about the presence of Christ among us. The personal presence of Christ that Paul had, and which Christians generally share, comes out in our language about the real presence of Christ when we break bread and share wine together, as well as when we speak of Christ as the head of the body, which is the church. 

 

There is another way that Paul and the church speak about the resurrection. We see the resurrection of Jesus as the “firstfruit” of our own promise of resurrected life. This is the communal aspect of the resurrection. Paul says, “Just as Jesus shared in a death like ours, so too will we share in a resurrection like his.” This is a promise that has brought comfort to many persons facing their own death or grieving the death of others; and it has brought courage to many who face tyranny and the threat of death by others. 

 

And finally, Paul had a cosmic view of what the resurrection means. It’s not just Jesus, not just Christians, and not just humans who are implicated in the promise that Jesus’ resurrection brings. It is all of creation, which Paul describes as “groaning” under the threat of death, awaiting new life. Simply put, the resurrection puts an end to the domination of death. Insightful persons have reflected for years on how the reality of having to die has been the motive for many human anxieties and practices. The threat of death is often the main tool by which tyrants rule and the fear of death has often led to the exploitation of women so men could leave a prodigy. For Paul, when God raises Jesus from death, the power of death is broken, and creation is freed from the bondage of sin and death. That is no small thing. 

At first glance, one might think that Easter is what distinguishes Christianity from other religions the most, since it is rooted in the resurrection of the one whom we call the Christ. But I want to offer just one last thought. When Jesus spoke of resurrection, he used a metaphor that was grounded in nature. “Unless a seed falls into the ground and dies, it remains a single seed. But if it falls into the ground and dies, it produces much fruit.” In the end, the mystery of the resurrection is something that we see every day. 

Mark of St. Mark

The Little Gate to God

 Friends, 

 

Lately I’ve circled back to read the writings of Walter Rauschenbusch, remembered chiefly for his tremendous influence on what became known as “the Social Gospel.” I would list Rauschenbusch’s Christianity and the Social Crisis (first published in 1907) as one of the most influential books in my own spiritual journey from the hyper-personalized approach to faith that I grew up with, to an expression of faith that reflects more adequately the call to justice that permeates the writings of the prophets and the preaching of Jesus. On the 100^thanniversary of the publication of Christianity and the Social Crisis, Rauschenbusch’s great-grandson, Paul Rauschenbusch, republished Christianity and the Social Crisis with accompanying responses to each chapter by a spectrum of Christian and non-Christian writers. In the Foreword to the book, Paul cites a poem that his great-grandfather had written at the end of this life about prayer, entitled “The Little Gate to God.” The poem is rather long, so I will only cite portions of it here. I cannot express how beautifully Rauschenbusch was able to meld together his biting social critique – partly informed by his work as a pastor in “Hell’s Kitchen” in New York – and his genuine, Christ-centered piety. This ode to prayer demonstrates that blend powerfully and has been a true influence in my own calling. And I will resist my temptation to make the words more inclusive, although I suspect Rauschenbusch himself would have been open to that progress in the use of language about both humanity and God.

 

The Little Gate to God

In the castle of my soul

Is a little postern gate,

Whearat, when I enter, 

I am in the presence of God. 

In a moment, in the turning of a thought,

I am where God is. 

This is a fact. 

 

This world of ours has length and breadth, 

A superficial and horizontal world.

When I am with God

I look deep down and high up. 

And all is changed. 

The world of man is made of jangling noises. 

With God it is a great silence. 

But that silence is a melody

Sweet as the contentment of love, 

Thrilling as a touch of flame. 

 

In this world my days are few

And full of trouble.

I strive and have not;

I seek and find not; 

I ask and learn not. 

Its joys are so fleeting,

Its pains are so enduring,

I am in doubt if life be worth living. 

When I enter into God, 

All life has a meaning. 
Without asking, I know; 

My desires are even now fulfilled, 

My fever is gone

In the great quiet of God. 

My troubles are but pebbles on the road,

My joys are like the everlasting hills, 

So it is when I step through the gate of prayer

From time to eternity.[1]

 

May we enter that postern gate regularly, 

Mark of St. Mark

 

---

[1] Paul B. Rauschenbusch, Christianity and the Social Crisis in the 21^st Century: The Classic that Woke Up the Church, (New York: Harper Collins Publishers), 2007, pp. xv-xvi.

Good Friday and The Easter Paradox

 Friends,  

This Saturday (5:00PM) and Sunday (9:00 and 10:30AM), it is guaranteed that you will hear the best sermon ever (by someone not named Jesus.) It feels immodest to put it out there like that, but it’s true. 

 

Ah, Good Friday. What an odd adjective for such a tragic day. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, “The earliest known use of ‘guode Friday’ is found in The South English Legendary, a text from around 1290. There are various explanations why “good” is used for such an awful event, none of which is entirely convincing. It is certainly a matter of perspective. On that fateful day itself, it is hard to imagine anything good about it. But, from the hindsight of the resurrection, what that death accomplished ended up being salvation itself. Keep that in mind: Something tragic in itself can, in fact, be something salvific by God’s grace. I’m going to coin a term for it here: “The Easter Paradox.” 

 

“The Easter Paradox” may be the best way we have for looking at Judas and his betrayal. The motivation of Judas’ act is described in different ways among the gospels. One minute he looks like a cad from the start, dipping his hand into the treasury instead of keeping it as he should. Jesus even tells him that it would have been better if he had never been born – think about how awful that idea is. On the other hand, there is a kind of destiny to what Judas is doing, with his betrayal as one of those “it is necessary” kinds of events. One might even think that Judas was zealously trying to kick this Reign of God movement into high gear, after such a glorious entry into Jerusalem. And, by no means was he the only disciple who thought Jesus should become the king by some way other than death. They all thought that. In “The Easter Paradox,” what Judas deigned to do – out of zeal or perfidy – was what needed to happen. 

 

“The Easter Paradox” is evident in Jesus’ prayer in the garden also. Jesus prays repeatedly that, if it were possible, he be spared of what lay ahead. But, in the end, he relented his will to God’s will saying – as we are supposed to pray – “your will be done.” Karl Barth notes that in this prayer, what Jesus’ enemies want is the same as what God wants. In “The Easter Paradox,” God can use even the evil intentions of Jesus’ enemies to bring about something good. 

 

Additionally, “The Easter Paradox” is evident in the words of the High Priest Caiaphas, who accidentally prophesied when he said, “It is better for one man to die than for the whole nation to suffer.” What Caiaphas was reckoning is the kind of scapegoating mechanism that leaders have followed for centuries. The best way to keep the peace is to find a common scapegoat that we can all despise and get rid of together. It was why Native American, then African Americans, then Japanese Americans, then Muslim Americans were so easily dehumanized and mistreated legally. It’s still being done when preachers rail on and on about the destructive power of transgender children, or politicians stir up their base by blaming all our societal ills on immigrants. When Caiaphas invoked the age-old scapegoating song, that too became something that God was able to make into an Easter miracle. 

 

When all these folks were participating in the death of Jesus, they were culpable of doing evil. “The Easter Paradox” does not deny that. What “The Easter Paradox” does, however, is to ensure that denying, betraying, scapegoating, torturing, and so on do not have the last word. In a world like ours, it’s the only hope we have. 

 

That’s why you need to be in worship celebrating “The Easter Paradox” this weekend.

 

Mark of St. Mark

Our Journey with Holy Week

 Dear Friends, 

 

Four years ago, my Friday “Extra” going into Holy Week was all about how we were going to be able to observe Palm Sunday, Passion Sunday, and Maundy Thursday virtually. We invited people to come by the church and pick up palms, so they could wave them while watching worship from home. We invited people to come by the campus throughout the week, faces fully girded with masks and socially distant from others, to walk through the prayer stations that we set up in the Fellowship Hall. Oh, just reading that email makes me feel a variety of feelings – from admiring how quickly we were able to pivot from in person gatherings to virtual ways of being community, to feeling sick to my stomach over how weird and exhausting that whole process was. 

 

Three years ago, we were just starting to gather for in person worship again. We decided to start a couple of weeks before Easter, so we could figure out our process before the typical larger-than-usual Easter gatherings. That ended up being a wise move on our part because it was yet another learning curve that we figured out in conversation with other churches and with the confidence that we were all simply doing our best. So, in that year’s Friday missive I was walking us through the registration process, our masking policy, and our mantra of “respect the noodle!” as we tried to be distant and together at the same time. 

 

How lovely it is that this year we are not on those same tenterhooks. We are cautious and respectful of one another, yet we gather with very few of the precautions that were once our best attempt to love one another well. In that vein, I invite you to join us for our celebration of Palm and Passion stories this Saturday and Sunday. I invite you to join us for our Maundy Thursday service, at 6:30pm on March 28. We will remember the night Jesus shared his bread and wine with those who would betray, deny, and abandon him. And, of course, the weekend of March 30-31, join us for our Easter celebrations at 5:00pm on Saturday, then 9:00 or 10:30am on Sunday. I’ll speak more about those services in next week’s message. 

 

For now, let’s reflect on where the pandemic experience has left us. I am utterly grateful that there is not a raging pandemic ongoing that is keeping us in a mode of hyper-vigilance. Our hearts now are turned toward some of the effects of the pandemic – long COVID, people who lost loved ones and were unable to grieve or observe that loss in the ways that we ordinarily do, and the odd effects of that experience on our country politically. It seems that everyone was radicalized in some ways during the pandemic. Normal healthy questions about science and health were exaggerated into absolute dogmas and charges of conspiracy at every level. Typical political tensions were amplified into physical confrontations or family and friends who could no longer speak. I think we were as unprepared for the onslaught of social challenges as we were for the scientific and medical challenges of pandemic. And it has left many bruises on our national psyche. 

 

So, this weekend, we will see the whole gamut of communal experience in our biblical stories, from the defiant celebration of Jesus as a new king in broad daylight, to the shameful seizing of Jesus under the shadow of night. And we will look specifically at how “the crowd” is changed through this traumatic event. It is haunting. Yet it opens up some space for us to consider how even the most well-intended or zealously religious among us can be thrown into chaos when the center of our expectations breaks down. If I may, this weekend gives us a chance to celebrate the parade and grieve the charade.

 

Mark of St. Mark

 

 

This and That

 Friends,  

I am happy to announce some upcoming Staff changes that will begin at St. Mark on April 1^st. Judith Hug, our Business Manager, has been wearing two hats for quite some time, handling both the business management duties and overseeing the facility maintenance, upkeep, and replacement projects. And, as the campus has aged a bit, the facility duties have grown a lot. In addition, Judith is ready to begin the slow tread toward retirement, but neither she nor we are ready for her to take the plunge. So, starting April 1, Judith will become our Business Manager exclusively, at 75% time. This is a very happy outcome for all of us. Also starting April 1, Kathy Roberts, our Event Coordinator, will take on the additional role as our Facilities Manager. Kathy’s long experience in property management, as well as her service here as our Event Coordinator, makes this a very good hire for us. Please join me in offering thanks and congratulations to both Judith and Kathy as they embark on their newly revised roles in April. (And for anyone who is wondering, the job changes are lateral and will not add more costs to our budget. Another win!) 

 

Last weekend was full of joy. We welcomed three new members into our church family, two of whom were received by profession of faith with baptism. Also last weekend,14 of our youth and 8 adults attended a “Confirmation Retreat,” during which the youth studied and considered what it means to confirm the vows that we made on their behalf in their baptism. Eleven of them are submitting their Statements of Faith to the Session this weekend, as an indication of their desire to join the church. All in all, an extraordinary weekend. 

 

And we continue to have good things ahead. This weekend we will introduce some new musical instrumentation during our Saturday service, the handbell ensemble will play during our Sunday service, and our youth will provide a Pancake Breakfast fundraiser following Sunday worship. It is such a joy to see so much active and talented participation in our worship and community leadership. 

 

Throughout this week, we’ve been inviting you to hold this question: What challenge before me scares me the most? We might call that challenge our “cross to bear,” which raises a second question: “How would my life change if I saw that cross as an opportunity to serve God and extend God’s live to others?” Many people treat Christianity almost as an escape from life’s painful journeys and hard places. Our hope is that our Christianity provides the strength and courage to face those journeys with hope. 

 

As we continue our Lenten journey, let’s encounter those challenges together. 

 

Mark of St. Mark 

 

 

Immigration and Learning

 Friends, 

 

You know it is electoral season when the word “immigration” is consistently followed by “crisis” and presumptive presidential candidates have competing photo opportunities on the border between the US and Mexico. 

 

Immigration is no small issue, whether it is electoral season or not, because immigrants have always been a part of the story of the US. However, it is and always has been a complex issue. In no particular order, let me name some aspects of that complexity. 

- The causes of immigration are often violent or heart-rendering. 

- Immigrants typically contribute to the US economy, as well as the economy of their home country through sending “remittances” to their families. 

- The Scriptures consistently call for the “alien” among us to be treated with dignity and justice, since the people of Israel had been immigrants once. 

- Immigration stories are often stories of injustice, mistreatment, and exploitation, whether by “coyotes” who transport them illegally across borders, or by employers who know that without proper papers an immigrant worker has little legal recourse against abuse. 

- Immigration can overwhelm some populations, especially border cities or border states. 

- The process for housing, settling, supporting, and tracking immigration is both labor- and money-intensive. 

 

This is not an exhaustive list by any means, but merely an attempt to appreciate how complex the immigration is. And it is complex long before it reaches the border itself. I’ve seen small communities in El Salvador gather around a family trying to dissuade their son from emigrating to the US because of gang violence. And I’ve seen those same communities gather around in support for a family when one of their members decided that emigrating was their only choice. At no point in the migrant journey is there simplicity.

 

That’s why I am wary of partisan political pronouncements about immigration. Campaign rhetoric always errs on the side of exaggeration, if not outright fabrication. Mario Cuomo once said that politicians campaign with poetry and govern with prose. That may be as generous of a description as one can muster. 

 

Many of us only have a small perspective of the realities of immigration and what is happening on our southern border. That’s why I encourage you to consider joining the CIEL US/Mexico Border trip that is coming up May 21-24. CIEL (Center for Experiential International Learning) is a tremendous organization that sponsors international trips with particular attention to helping us understand some of the complexities from many perspectives. I went with CIEL to North Ireland during my sabbatical and it was an amazing, educational event. Many of you are familiar with CIEL’s Executive Director, Daniel Wehrenfennig, from his work with The Olive Tree Initiative in the past. CIEL is also the organization that was going to organize our trip to Israel and Palestine, until the situation there became so catastrophic. 

 

If you are interested in joining the US/Mexico border trip, you can find more information here. While you are on the website, you may want to check out the page dedicated to honoring the work of Larry and Dulcie Kugelman in supporting CIEL here. Scroll through the photos and you will smile. 

 

I have just signed up for this trip and hope some of you will do so as well. I think it will give us some insight into the very complex matter that looms so large, in the electoral season and beyond.

 

Mark of St. Mark

Bleep Day: An Ode of Celebration

 Today is, perhaps, one of my favorite religious holidays! (Notice the exclamation point, denoting the emotion often called "excitement." It is not an emotion that I visit often, so I wanted to point that out.) 

To repeat, today is, perhaps, one of my favorite religious holidays! (Again, exclamation, and this time a repetition. Wow. I must be stoked.) 

The reason I use the caveat "perhaps" is not because I doubt my own favoritisms of this day. It is because I am unaware of whether the PCUSA, NCC, RCC, DOC, AB, SBC, UMC, AG, PH, ECO, COE, COG, COGIC, or or any of the other acronymical religious bodies in the world have formally declared today to be a religious holiday. And, believe me, if the annual calendar we publish is any kind of witness, the Presbyterian Church (aforementioned PCUSA) seems anxious to grant every day some kind of religious significance.

Nonetheless, I think today - in its very essence - is a religious observation. Think of it, every four years, we dedicate a whole day to acknowledge that we don't really know what we're doing.

We use phrases like, "It's clear as day" and yet, what is a "day," exactly? We criticize people with the dismissive, "They don't know the time of day," and yet we can't find a way of making an annual calendar without having to add a once-in-every-four-years "day" to correct us and get us back on course. I'm convinced that the only reason we continue to arrogate the inane practice of "Daylight Savings Time" is to pretend that we are, somehow, the manufacturers of time itself, able to "change" it simply by pushing our clocks back or forth. Today is the antidote to such arrogance. For all of our pushing and pulling, for all of our so-called "Greenwich Mean Time," for all of our observatories and atomic clocks and nanosecond technologies - we have to dedicate a whole day, every four years, to correct ourselves. 

Does anyone really know what time it is? Does anyone really care? (I have long presumed that the answer to these two questions is "25 or 6 to 4" but there we go, making up numbers and pretending that they mean something again.) 

So, today, in solemn jubilation, I invite you to join me for a celebration of Bleep Day! It is a day when we correct the inadvertencies of life, the unintended consequences of our limited abilities, the 'oopsies', the 'dang its', and the 'whatevers!' Bring your slip ups, your oversights, and other raw human frailties and let's simply confess them together, laughing at how righteously we try to sally forth despite them, and and then let them slip away like the scapegoat from the village. 

Happy Bleep Day, you Bleepin' Bleepers

What's In a Name?

 Friends, 

 

This weekend we will continue our Lenten series, “Between Our Rock and Hard Places,” by focusing on two Scriptural texts where names are changed. As a way of focusing, the Community Engagement Commission put together a collection of questions that speak to our theme this week. The first few questions are, “What’s in a name? Where did my surname originate? Has it been changed over time? Where did my given name originate?” as well as, “How do my names really name me?”

 

I’ll start the process by reflecting on my names, the origins of which sound biblical, but that may be as a much of an accident as anything else. The Welsh surname “Davis” is a derivative from “Davidson” which originally started out as “David’s Son.” I don’t know if there was a “David” whose son was declaimed as “Davidson” along the way, or whether it was an attempt by pietistic ancestors to locate themselves in the family of King David. Likewise, the name “Mark” has obvious biblical connotations and was one of the most popular names throughout the Roman Empire during New Testament times, since it is derived from Mars, the god of war. I was not named after either the gospel or the god. My mom told me that Mark was the name of a cute guy on a soap opera that she liked, so she gave it to me. (I missed my call to be melodramatic eye candy.) 

 

Some of my family names evolved slightly (Smythe to Smith, Adamson to Adams, etc.), but as far as I know none of them was changed because immigration officials couldn’t pronounce them, or to accommodate the prevailing WASP culture to which my families emigrated. When we ask, “What’s in a name,” we want to be sensitive to those whose names have been marred by inept officials, anglicized in order to mask ethnicity, or changed in other ways in order to “fit in.” We also want to be sensitive to those who have chosen to change their name. Some feel the need to distance themselves from a namesake, others change their name because they were assigned a gender at birth that does not fit their identity, and others change their name to reclaim a lost attachment. The question, “What’s in a name?” has many layers of stories.

 

The other questions that we developed for this week move toward the names that we receive along the way such as, “Do I have a nickname? Have I ever been called names that were unkind?” Those kinds of questions can rake up pleasant or unpleasant memories, perhaps some of both. Nicknames can sometimes be endearing, but often are meant to tease someone’s physical features, abilities, or mannerisms. They may offer us a chance to live into, reject, endure, or ignore them, as far as we have a say in the matter. 

 

The final question we developed will be addressed explicitly in this week’s Scripture readings, “What is God’s name for me?” The short answer to that question is what we heard in the baptism story last week: “Beloved.” That’s your name. You are God’s beloved child. No one can take that away from you and trusting in that name can bring tremendous comfort and strength when we are tested. I hope you hear that often, if not in your own mind, at least when we speak to one another at St. Mark. In life and in death, you are God’s Beloved Child, because nothing imaginable can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. 

 

We will read two stories this week when God and Jesus give names. God renames Abram and Sarai, then Jesus renames Peter. The contrast between these two stories will show that naming not only has the capacity to lift up the lowly, it is also a powerful way of bringing down the haughty, by making something plain and bringing into words what might otherwise be hidden. In Peter’s case, it will be a moment of difficult truth. Oh, Simon Peter, bless his heart. And God be with those of us who find ourselves more like him than not. 

 

That’s a teaser, folks! See you in worship this weekend. And plan to stay for a while after worship for our Town Hall meeting featuring our Deacons! They are up to lots of good. 

 

Mark of St. Mark

The Disposition of Worship during Lent

 Friends, 

 

Last week’s worship services were, in my mind, an uplifting blend of celebration and discipleship. We sang songs of joy and we expressed our thanks for the prodigal abundance of creation. We offered ourselves in prayer and we marveled at the story of the Transfiguration. We even acknowledged the hoopla of an event that we make out of the Super Bowl, as we far surpassed our collections of goods and donations for the Souper Bowl of Sharing. What a joyous weekend it was, with costumes and masks adorning our praise and worship.  

 

Then, on Wednesday, our Ash Wednesday service was meaningful in a very different way. We approached the chancel three times. First, we remembered our baptism, after hearing the story of how the Christ stepped into the waters of baptism as a way of “fulfilling all righteousness.” Marvel about this: Jesus “fulfilled all righteousness” by being in solidarity with those of us who need repentance and transformation. Second, we experience the real presence of Christ in our collective spirits by celebrating the Lord’s Supper. We remember that grim occasion, when Jesus forthrightly says that one of the twelve would betray him, Simon would deny him, and all of them would abandon him. Even so, Jesus broke the bread and poured the cup and shared it with them saying, “This is my body, broken for you; this is my blood, shed for the forgiveness of many.” Finally, we acknowledged our mortality through receiving the imposition of ashes. From dust we have come, to dust we will go. I’ve always been struck as how I cannot see my own ashes, but when I see the ashes on my friends, when we wear those smudges together, I become more aware of my own mortality. 

 

“Celebration” is one voice of worship, but there are others. Lenten worship is often seen as “sad” or “morbid,” but I prefer to think of it as a season to be serious and reflective about the very thing we celebrate. The disciples came down from their bedazzling mountaintop experience that we celebrated last weekend, hearing about Jesus’ forthcoming death and resurrection. Likewise, we spend the season of Lent looking at what it means to follow the Christ who was celebrated but also betrayed, who was followed but also crucified, who taught and healed but was also killed and buried. The original twelve Apostles were all on board when Jesus was healing and liberating and feeding the crowds, but when Jesus began to speak about his forthcoming trial, they faltered. 

 

That’s the part of discipleship that we consider expressly during Lent. When we follow the one whose death was demanded by the crowds, who was stripped bare, and executed by the Empire, we are following one whose way of changing the world is not through popularity, wealth, or coercion. This shadow of the cross is what makes Jesus’ sermons different from a Ted Talk – it is a call to think differently, act differently, and be part of God’s Reign, based on an ethic of love and service. It can be liberating for those of us who are bound by the machinations of popularity, wealth, and coercion. But it can also be difficult to accept when we have been coopted by the machinations of popularity, wealth, and coercion. 

 

However you observe Lent – whether you shed a habit, take on a new practice, join some of our ongoing opportunities to live reflectively, or simply stop to look up with wonder each day – I pray that you will experience a deep sense of grace. Our Lenten practices do not manufacture grace, they offer us opportunities to recognize that grace that fills our lives. 

 

Mark of St. Mark 

 

 

Lent

 Our theme for the Lenten season is, Between Our Rock and Hard Places. Each week we will look to God’s steadfast, covenantal love for us – that’s the rock. And we will listen for how that rock can support us when we go through our trials – those are the hard places. 

 

We’ll begin our season with an Ash Wednesday service on February 14, at 6:30pm. Each week we will have a Text Study of the forthcoming Gospel reading, with a 30-minute video posted every Monday and a one-hour discussion every Wednesday morning in the Bonhoeffer Room at 9:30am. That discussion will be on zoom and will be recorded for those who are not free to join or watch during that hour. And, except for this coming Wednesday (because of our Ash Wednesday service), we will continue to have our half-hour zoom discussion of our readings from Brian McLaren’s book, We Make the Road by Walking. That has proven to be a lovely time that always leaves us wanting more. And each week we will post a question for you to hold in reflection, both on our Facebook and Instagram pages, as well as in our Faith In Action newsletter. For a copy of our brochure with all of our worship times, weekly themes, and events, click here. 

 

For this weekend, come celebrate the love of God made known to us in the Christ. Laissez le bon temps rouler !

 

Mark of St. Mark

The Gift of Enough

 As I write this, I am sitting in one of the humble rooms at the Serra Retreat Center on a brief break during the annual Pastors’ Retreat for the Presbytery of Los Ranchos. It sounds like a joke, to refer to this room as “humble,” when this retreat center is located on the top of a mountain in Malibu. There is no end to the irony that Franciscans – who take a vow of poverty – own this property which has to be worth north of $100 million. It was left to them in an estate, so now several Franciscan monks live here and, with a relatively small staff, run the retreat center. The intersection of green and stone throughout the grounds is lovely, the Spanish tilework brings color and geometric symmetry together, and the view of the ocean is spectacular. All of that makes Serra a beautiful spot, but, to me, it is the simplicity of the rooms that makes it a wonderful retreat center. Each room has two single beds, which leave little space for the desk and armoire, along with a sink. I’m fairly sure that the rooms were originally built with only one single bed in mind, since I have to sit on the edge of one bed to type on my computer, because I can’t fit the chair in between them. There is a shared bathroom in between every two rooms, so neighbors have to learn to negotiate that. When we enter, each bed was made with new sheets, etc., by the last person to stay there, so we are to offer a prayer for them. Then, before we leave, we will make the bed with another fresh set of sheets, so they will offer a prayer for us. It is wonderfully unMarriotty. 

 

And yet, it is enough. What a wonderful gift St. Francis and his movement offer to us – to be thankful for enough. Imagine how charitable we could be if we learned well how to be thankful for enough. Instead, we are conditioned to think that our house is fine, but a house a little larger in a bit of a nicer location would be better. Our job is fine, but the trajectory of our career ought always to be on the up and up. Our wardrobe is fine, but if we’re tired of looking at the same outfits over and over, off we go to the store. It all comes quite naturally to us, and we don’t even realize that the presumption of “ever-expanding” is really a learned disposition, not simply the way things are. Enter the Franciscans. There are benches everywhere among the paths and flora, but no television in each room. There are Stations of the Cross, symbols, and statues everywhere to remind us of God’s provision, but no pool, sauna, hot tub, or boutique. And it is enough. 

 

I don’t want to go overboard. Because the room is built for one, yet accommodates two twin beds, the outlets require quite a few undignified contortions to plug in my hearing aid charger or my laptop. And the Franciscans provide Wi-Fi everywhere, a concession to obsession. And there’s Starbucks down at the bottom of the hill. So, we’re not deprived of creaturely comforts. But the simple absence of one or two things, and the mild encouragement to participate in making the center a welcoming space for the next person – those small things awaken me to a whole lot of potential new things that I can do to de-clutter my life and live more intentionally. 

 

Oh my, it sounds like the season of Lent is calling! And it is, starting on Ash Wednesday, February 14. So, I’ll say more about the small changes that awaken us to life next week. I’m supposed to be retreating right now. 

 

In peace, 
Mark of St. Mark

The Crowded Self

 This week’s gospel reading from Mark 1:21-28 has left me ruminating all week on what I am calling “the crowded self.” It is a story about a man “with an unclean spirit.” The language of the story – both the narrator’s descriptions and Jesus’ words to the man – fluctuate between identifying the man and the unclean spirit as both one entity and as different entities. From some of the other biblical stories about persons with unclean spirits, we can see why, on the one hand this unclean spirit could make him a fearsome terror, and, on the other hand, we could still look at him and feel sorry for him. In my translation blog, that you can read here, I refer to this situation as “a man and his cage.” 

 

The language of “unclean spirit” seems very pre-scientific and almost spooky, but I think the attempt to name the difference between our identity and our struggles – or our accomplishments, for that matter – is ongoing work. Not long ago I was giving myself three minutes a day to devote to Duolingo, to try to build up my Spanish. Occasionally the app would issue a phrase that always gave me pause: “Now you will be able to recall this skill more easily from your brain.” The fact that "I" would be able to “recall” “this skill" from "my brain" was odd to me. What is the distinction between the “I” who is able to recall, and “this skill” that I have learned, and “my brain”? Is “my brain” just some kind of passive card catalog that “I” can rummage in to find things? If so, what part of me is doing the rummaging? What part of me is deciding to rummage my brain? It left me asking, “Who am I?” Or, apparently, I ought to ask, "Who are I"? 

 

The same identity issue seemed to be at play in a news article about two attorneys who were disgraced when their former firm released a trove of emails they had sent that were full of racist, sexist, anti-Semitic/Asian comments. They issued this apology. “The last 72 hours have been the most difficult of our lives, as we have had to acknowledge and reckon with those emails," adding, "They are not, in any way, reflections of the contents of our hearts, or our true values.” But if those horrible emails came from something other than their hearts or true values, from whence did they come? If those emails were not "in any way" reflections of the heart or values, what exactly were they reflecting? 

 

It is ever a difficult challenge to name the unity and multiplicity of the human personality. In Deuteronomy 6:4-5, there is a formula called “the Shema,” named after the first Hebrew word, that reads, “Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.” Notice the unity that is ascribed to God, “the Lord alone,” which could also be translated, “the Lord is one.” And notice the tripartite human condition composed of heart, soul and might. What is at play is the attempt to recognize what I call “the crowded self.” We express it sometimes as “me, myself, and I” or in Freudian terms of the “ego, id, and superego” or in Jungian terms of the “self and shadow self” or President Lincoln’s appeal to our “better angels” and so on. Practically every self-help book, New Year’s resolution, and even Lenten disciplines are predicated on a part of our personality introducing new to or excluding old habits from the rest of our personality, to become a better personality. And when part of us resists and another part of us feels ashamed and another part of us speaks encouragement - we may find ourselves thinking, “It’s awful crowded in here.” 

 

So, here’s a word for that part of us what aspires to do better, and for that part of us who is chagrined that we need to do better, and for that part that fails, and here’s to that part that shames, and that part that encourages, and that part that referees among the other parts: Grace. Grace abounds. Grace forgives. Grace redeems. Grace heals. Grace. Grace is the lens through which God views the crowded space we call “me.” 

 

Mark of St. Mark

Happy Ash Valentine’s Wednesday

Since it is not too often that Ash Wednesday falls on Valentine's Day, I decided to write an ode. Or a poem. Maybe a rap. I don't know what it is, but here it is. Enjoy.

When once there was ash, 

This year there’s a mash 

Of love that is sent 

And hearts that repent

 

When once there’s a smudge 

This year there’s some fudge 

There’s a lover that falls

And the Savior that calls

 

When once it was dour

This year there are flowers

The cross Christ imposes 

And the vase full of roses

 

When once it was serious

This year seems delirious

Black ash on the head

With garments of red

 

When once it was focused

This year’s hocus-pocused 

Reserving a dinner 

Redeeming a sinner

 

Ashes to Ashes 

Dust to Lust

One love calls for a fast

The other a repast

Finding Christian Truth in Non-Christian Religions

 Friends, 

 

Have you been tracking our new study of Brian McLaren’s book, We Make the Road by Walking? If not, I think you might be missing out on a valuable opportunity for personal and spiritual growth. Brian McLaren has emerged as a significant voice for progressive Christianity and spirituality over the last few years. He has advocated for a practice of Christianity that draws strength and wisdom not only from traditional Christian sources but from other faith traditions, and in ways that respect the best insights of psychology and science. That is part of the reason why McLaren is often featured in Richard Rohr’s daily meditations from the Center for Action and Contemplation. In the book, We Make the Road by Walking, McLaren offers very manageable chapters for reading week by week over the course of a year. SueJeanne Koh has been offering a weekly opportunity for you to gather with others from St. Mark to reflect on each week’s reading and those conversations have been excellent. Thanks for everyone who has been part of those conversations. If you want to jump in or have questions, you can contact SueJeanne here. 

 

McLaren’s approach to interreligious appreciation is related to something that I wanted to say about last weekend’s sermon. I was inviting you to marvel with me at the fact that Matthew – after grounding the story of Jesus’ birth so firmly within the Abrahamic tradition – suddenly introduces Magi, astrologers, from the east. In the end, they are the only ones in Matthew’s birth story who come to worship the Christ. That turn in Matthew’s story would have been hard to imagine for many of his readers in the Abrahamic tradition, where practicing arts like astrology was forbidden. I likened it to someone pointing out strong resonance between Buddhism and the Christian message. While I was not thinking about Brian McLaren at the moment, he is precisely the kind of thinker that invites us to appreciate the insights of those religions that many Christians would simply dismiss because they are not Christian. 

 

What I want to emphasize is that Matthew did not have to reach outside of his tradition in order to see the wisdom and insight of the Magi’s eastern religion. That’s a key point for those of us who believe that our Christian faith can often resonate with other faith traditions – we do not have to step outside of our Christian faith to appreciate that resonance. We can appreciate it as faithful Christians. 

 

At the same time, I’m not suggesting that all religions are the same. For me, that claim reduces the depth and particularity of religious movements. I also shy away from picking and choosing bits and piece of various religions, like an a la carte approach to truth. To do so would make me the final judge of truth and I question whether once can really understand religious thought as a dabbler and not as a disciple. 

 

Matthew’s story invites us to see the Magi and their distinctive religious way of being as part of the story of the birth of the distinctively Jewish Christ. Matthew lets the Magi speak for themselves. He honors their religious quest. He notes that they escape Herod’s plot to find and kill the child by being warned in a dream – the same way that God will enable Joseph to rescue the child from Herod. And, in the end, the Magi go back to the east, go back to their religion, as those who have found the Christ and worshiped him. That seems to me to be a model of how to honor other religions and find spaces of resonance with them, without caricaturizing, absorbing, or proselytizing them into something that they are not. That seems promising to me in a time when almost every mode of thinking is cast into a binary “right or wrong’ mold. 

 

Mark of St. Mark

Those New Year Resolutions

 Friends, 

 

When we lived in Iowa, we were minutes away from a YMCA, where three of our five family members worked at one point and all of us exercised regularly during the cold months. Except January. In January it was ridiculous. At times there were clipboards on the treadmill and elliptical machines, to sign up and wait for an opening. Spin, Zoomba, kickboxing, and all the other cardio classes would fill up ten minutes before start time. And those folks wrapped in towels waiting for a swimming lane, oh man. Over time we all learned that it would all be back to normal by the end of the month, so it was simply a matter of waiting. 

 

That’s how New Year’s resolutions often go, isn’t it? 

 

One challenge of making resolutions is the question of identity. Essentially, a resolution is me, telling myself, that I am going to change my habits. That kind of collective action among my multiple and often contrary impulses is a tall order. The same is true for just about any approach to “self-improvement.” It is worth noting, however, that some of those folks who started showing up at the Y in early January actually did become regulars, and many of the regulars had begun their regular habits once upon a time in early January. So, while keeping a resolution is a tall order, it is not unattainable. 

 

Another challenge of making resolutions is to look beyond our own interests or self-absorption. This point was articulated by Roger Rosenblatt in a powerful essay this week on aspiring toward other-centered commitments as a better path than the typical New Year’s resolutions. I think he is too dismissive about personal resolutions since they often pertain to matters of health and well-being. Still, Rosenblatt makes an excellent point. When we make resolutions about our actions with the larger world in view – protesting war, preserving endangered species, visiting prisoners, or writing encouraging letters to a friend – our actions can have far-reaching effects. Serendipitously, committing ourselves to others is also an act of “self-improvement.” In the great ethical paradox of Jesus, loving one’s neighbor and loving oneself can be one and the same. 

 

A huge challenge to making other-centered resolutions is that much of the results are out of our hands. A letter to an estranged friend may not be acknowledged. Advocacy to the local school board may be drowned out by other voices. A quest for justice may lose out to a generous political donation. And the sheer intractability of challenges like climate change, war, and homelessness often leaves us little to show for our actions. 

 

In the end, whether personal or otherwise, resolutions and commitments are costly. The declaration, “I will lose twenty pounds” in January is a commitment to still be exercising in August. The resolution to become a climate activist is simply the first step of a long and tiring journey. Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s challenging book, The Cost of Discipleship, describes well how essential costly commitments are to being a follower of Christ. The declaration, “I have decided to follow Jesus” is a commitment to love one’s neighbor, even when that includes enemies. Commitment is costly, so making a resolution means counting the costs. 

 

How can we proceed when we count the costs, whether it is toward our own health and well-being, toward making the world more just and verdant, toward loving God and neighbor as we love ourselves, or all of the above? What keeps us moving when we failed before, or when our greatest efforts seem to be a small and forgettable speck in the large world? 

 

I suspect there is great wisdom in setting our aspirations both ideally and realistically. There are some resolutions that we can make that are measurable and achievable within our own control, whether dietary, exercise-related, or lifestyle choices. They give us specific aims for each day, and we can celebrate each step along the way. There are other resolutions that are not measurable and lie outside of our control, but are important to make anyway: To rid the world of human trafficking, to preserve the ocean by eliminating micro plastics, to bring immigration justice to the US border. Commitments of that sort may never be crossed off our ‘to do’ list, but they give us orientation and direction for our life journey. 

 

However you are resolved to live today, throughout 2024, and for the remainder of your life journey, I hope you imbibe deeply in the grace and hope of knowing that whatever you do and however you do it, you do so as God’s beloved child. 

 

Mark of St Mark