Holy Week Begins

 Friends, 

 

On Monday Mohannad Malas will be the presenter during our final Great Decisions event for the year. Mohannad is well-known to many of us, having been part of a “tables of 8” group that we formed years ago to gather Christians and Muslims around tables and conversation. Many people from that group continue to gather and remain close friends. Mohannad co-founded IRA Capital, a real estate firm based in Irvine. In addition, he also serves on the Board of Trustees and established a chair in Islamic Studies at both UCI and Claremont Graduate University. Mohannad is also a film producer of PBS series and Oscar nominated films. The Great Decisions finale begins Monday at 7:00pm in the Fellowship Hall and on Zoom. You can access the zoom through the calendar on the church website. 

 

This weekend marks the beginning of Holy Week with the event that we call “Palm Sunday” and that some describe as Jesus’ “Triumphal Entry” into Jerusalem. It is a significant moment, because Jesus had repeatedly told the disciples that it was imperative for him to go to Jerusalem, where he would be put to death before being raised again. “Palm Sunday” is the day when Jesus makes that entry. And it is the occasion when we enter into that series of events that lead to Jesus’ death, which lead us to the resurrection on Easter. 

 

In many churches, for all manner of reasons, attendance on weekend services far outweigh the attendance at midweek services. Gone are the days when village shops would close during Holy Week so villagers could walk over to the church for services. So, if we adhered strictly to the liturgical calendars that were created during such times, most of our folks would enjoy the giddy, symbolic parade of Palm Sunday and then the next time they enter worship would be Easter, arguably the most joyful of all Christian celebrations. But moving from one mountaintop of joy to the next is a problem because, in between, is the awful valley where we encounter the last supper, the disclosure and reality of betrayal, the tears in the garden, the arrest and abandonment, the trial, the torture, and ultimately the death and burial. That difficult part of the week is often called the “Passion” (or “suffering”) of Christ. So, in order to assure that we hear the fuller story, we will hear both the Palm and Passion stories this weekend. 

 

Not long ago, Pastor Hayes and I reached out to other pastors in Newport Beach whom I know to be kindred spirits, namely Pastor Paul Capetz and Christ Church by the Sea (United Methodist) on the Balboa Peninsula, Rev. Ray Jordan and Kathy Kipp of Community Church, Congregational (United Church of Christ) on Heliotrope, and Father Shane Scott-Hamblen of St. Michael and All Angels, on Pacific View Drive. We met for lunch, because some of us had not met and none of us knew everyone else. It was time well spent, and we decided to join together with Fr. Shane and the congregation of St. Mikes for a Good Friday service. (Episcopalians are typically much traditional than the rest of us, and their Good Friday liturgy is closely associated with their Maundy Thursday and Saturday Vigil liturgy, so it was an easy choice.) 

 

So, despite the fact that our context is far different from the days of old, I encourage you to lean into the stories of Holy Week by attending our Maundy Thursday service next Thursday, at 6:30pm and the Good Friday service with our sister CDM churches, at St. Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church next Friday at noon. 

 

See you in worship, 

Mark of St. Mark

Parables Open the Space in Between

Throughout the Lenten season we have been exploring the space “in between” - in between friend and stranger, faith and works, lost and found, and so on. I have been uplifted by the way that many of you have taken the time to reflect on and respond to the work of seeing this space in between differences as where discipleship happens. By reading biblical stories as “tensions within polarities” instead of “a choice between opposites,” perhaps we will be able to see life more dynamically. What a gift that is when we are tempted to buy into either/or, us/them choices. 

 

One of the brilliant qualities of Jesus’ preaching and teaching is his use of parables. People often treat parables like sermon illustrations, a dumbing down of difficult concepts so everyone can understand them better. Others treat parables like allegories, where every detail “represents” something in particular, even if one has to perform mental gymnastics to make them fit. And, indeed, there are times when a parable seems to clarify or serves as an allegory. But many parables obfuscate instead of clarify, because they overturn our expectations we have of how life typically works. And every allegory tends to break down sooner or later. With most parables, sooner more than later. 

 

One biblical scholar who has shaped my approach to parables is the late William Herzog II.  In his book, Parables as Subversive Speech, Herzog take an old adage about parables and corrects it. Parables are often described as “earthly stories with heavenly meaning.” Herzog describes them as “earthy stories with heavy meaning.” The difference is enormous. As earthy stories parables are often set in difficult contexts – demanding landowners, abusive bosses, upper-level decisions that can be devastating to poor folk below, etc. In such a world, some parables wrap up nicely, some take dramatic and unexpected turns, and some just end with no apparent resolution. For example, did the Fig Tree we read about two weeks ago respond to the year-long treatment and begin producing fruit? We don’t know. Herzog’s subtitle is “Jesus as Pedagogue of the Oppressed,” meaning Jesus’ whole teaching approach is oriented toward those who are living under the shadow of the Empire, so those who suffer the effects of imperial power today are in the best position to appreciate the parables. For example, perhaps the non-ending of the Fig Tree parable calls us to shift our focus – what if productivity is not the point? That would take the wind out of the sails of a whole section of books in Barnes and Noble, wouldn’t it? (I’m tempted to get clever and write an alliterative paragraph of how “parables puncture pretentious presumptions,” but, alas, I’m out of space.) 

 

This week’s Scripture will give us a story, not a parable, and it will enable us to explore that space between “righteousness and mercy.” I’m looking forward to it and hope to see you there. 

 

Mark of St. Mark

Difference and Opposition, part 2

 Friends, 

I want to continue following the idea from last week, exploring the distinction between ‘difference’ and ‘opposition.’ To review, when we treat differences as opposition, we shut of the tension of the space in between them – negotiation, compromise, openness to learning from others, etc. – and place ourselves into an either/or posture against our “opponents.” Last week I wrote about the influences in my own journey that help me see the tension between differences is a rich and promising place for discipleship. However, I don’t want to leave you with a misunderstanding. So, this week I am thinking of the cautionary tale of Buridan’s Ass: Buridan tied his ass to a stake and set two bales of hay equidistant from it on opposite sides. The ass was hungry and wanted to eat the best hay, but neither bale offered a clear reason for it to choose one over the other or to forsake one or the other. As the ass vacillated in indecision, the poor thing eventually starved to death. 

I like this tale because sometimes we face two options, neither of which is altogether good or bad, so it is hard to accept one and reject the other. In fact, our Presbyterian heritage insists that until the Reign of God comes in its fullness, none of our choices will be altogether good. But I don’t mean to imply that our only option is to die of starvation. “Living in the tension between differences,” is not simply dithering and avoiding choices because none of our options are perfect. 

So, how can we be faithful in those moments when oppositional thinking presents us with either/or choices, yet we know that neither is absolutely good? I’m not sure that there is a single, final answer to this question, so, we live in a constant state of discernment. At times we “hold our nose and vote,” because not voting may allow a worse option to win the day. At times we refuse to cooperate with an unjust system, even to the point of suffering for that refusal. At times we prophetically offer an alternative to the unjust system, like the early church choosing to live simply in order to sustain one another. 

Here’s some good news: That Presbyterian heritage I mentioned above can be very constructive. We start with the belief that, until the Reign of God has come in its fullness, we will not have perfect choices. That means no political party, nation-state, family, individual, institution, or even religion is untainted by some kind of shortcoming or sinfulness. Yet, within that awareness, early American Presbyterians insisted on democracy as the best form of government. They did not embrace democracy because they thought a 51% opinion is always right. The majority is also affected by sin. They supported democracy because it was less exploitable than aristocracy, oligarchy, monarchy, theocracy, and other systems that concentrated too much power into too few hands of sinful people. I still think that is a compelling reason for faithful Christians to support democracy, as well as balancing the three branches of government, honoring subsidiarity, and other practices that disperse power. Each of those ideas is a way of attaining what Reinhold Niebuhr called “proximate goods” in a fallen world.  

Each week we offer prayers of confession during worship, not because we are all creepy people deep inside, but because even when we strive to do what is right we often participate in sinfulness. That practice is prophetic in itself, demonstrating to the world that we can be honest, realistic, and genuine about our failings, and still come before God with bold humility. And then we “Hear the Good News” because our sinfulness may be a true word about our lives, but God’s grace is always the final word. 

Mark of St. Mark

Difference v. Opposition

 Friends, 

I won’t be the first or last to observe that we have deep divisions in our society. However, without descending into rose-colored glasses, I want to push back on this notion a little bit. We tend to name our differences in the most oppositional terms - red/blue, us/them, in/out, left/right. During our Lenten season, we are very deliberately trying to address those differences as polarities, and our discipleship journey as living in the tension between those polarities. Last week, for example, we looked at the story and the context around the Parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37), to explore what it means to live between “neighbor” and “stranger.” This week we are looking at the story of Mary and Martha (Luke 10:38-42), to explore what it means to live between “faith” and “action.” We do this work liturgically and sermonically during Saturday and Sunday worship, and explore them more deeply through our Text Studies, which you can see here.

In my own faith journey, I have found two ideas to be particularly helpful when trying to live as a disciple of Jesus Christ in a world that often defines itself in terms of extreme either/or choices. The first was a simple passing statement that I once read – written by or about Jaques Derrida – that we have the tendency to treat “difference” as “opposition.” Once we adopt oppositional thinking, then for one idea to be “right” the other must necessarily be “wrong.” If one is “good” the other is “bad.” When differences are entrenched as oppositions, we lose the language of “better or worse” and the art of compromise becomes “selling out” or “caving in.”  When we structure challenges as “red/blue,” “us/them,” it becomes easy to identify ourselves by our differences and ignore our commonalities. A better approach is to recognize that the “opposition party” (see how we talk?) is not always wrong and we’re not always right. To act otherwise is both unwise and contrary to some good Presbyterian theology that sin is universal (affecting “us” as well as “them.”) 

The second idea that I have found helpful is more of an approach than a comment. The theologian Paul Tillich began his systematic theology by describing “ontological polarities” of human existence. By “ontological,” Tillich is attempting to name something that is true about human beings generally, deeper than our cultural or historical particularities. By “polarities,” Tillich is recognizing that human life is often lived within the pull of very different, but real parts of who we are. For example, we live within the tension of “freedom and destiny.” Of course we have freedom. We think, we deliberate, we choose, and we either reap the rewards or suffer the consequences. On the other hand, of course we are destined. We didn’t choose to be left-handed or right-handed; tall or short; straight, bi, or gay; or to be born in our country during our time. All of that was given to us and we cannot escape it. Still, we have freedom. One could say the destiny of our DNA, culture, disposition, etc. set the menu from which we exercise our freedom. It’s not freedom or destiny; we live within the polarities of freedom and destiny. 

To me, it seems altogether insightful and true to experience to approach theology – God before us and us before God – in terms of the polarities that structure our experience. That is why I appreciate the approach that our resource, “A Sanctified Art,” has provided for us during Lent. Last weekend, we looked at the tension between “neighbor and stranger” and this week “faith and works.” We do not approach those differences as incompatible oppositions. We can explore living in then tension between them, not simply living according to one or the other. 

And that brings us back to the starting point of this missive. One outcome of our Lenten journey may be that we develop an ability to resist the oppositional presumptions of red/blue, us/them, in/out, and left/right. Perhaps we will recognize within ourselves principled opinions that cross over oppositional thinking. Perhaps we can recognize that quality within our neighbor as well. Part of the reason Paul Tillich begins his theology with recognizing our “ontological polarities” is to remember that whenever we speak of God we are always doing so from a limited human framework. That is a humble starting point and one that we can exercise with regard to the big questions that vex us politically as well as the differences we see between ourselves and our neighbors. If our Lenten journey can get us a little farther down that road of walking humbly, it will be a faithful journey indeed. 

Mark of St. Mark 

Interrogating the Prejudice Within

During our Ash Wednesday service, we read an episode from Luke’s gospel regarding Jesus’ journey toward Jerusalem. The most direct route from Galilee to Jerusalem would go through the region called “Samaria.” Samaritans were part of the broad Jewish faith, but with some significant uniqueness, and there was a long history of mutual suspicion between Jews and Samaritans. Still, it was not unusual for Jews to travel through Samaria and to stay overnight along the way. When Jesus sent messengers ahead of him to find accommodations in Samaria, the Samaritans refused to let him stay, because he was making his way to Jerusalem. I don’t understand all the particulars of the Samaritans’ refusal, but we all know quite well the dynamics at play. 

 We know borders. We know the tensions that arise between “us” and “them.” We know the power that “landowners” have over “trespassers.” We know historic mistrust. We know how to perpetuate stereotypes. We know tribalism and xenophobia. We know what it means to view someone else as “other.” While we don’t know the particular history and culture at work between Jews and Samaritans in this story, we know the dynamics of the story all too well. 

 

During our Ash Wednesday service, we each received a small slip of paper with the word “Prejudice” printed on it. Prejudice: literally to pre-judge. It is a way of holding a framework that shapes our expectations, blinds us to exceptions, and offers confirmation bias to our presumptions. In other words, 

 

Prejudice is something that we all hold. We like to imagine that we’re not prejudice, and I’m sure that we make anti-prejudicial choices often. But prejudice goes far beyond the likes of Bull Connor, the Police Commissioner in Alabama who used firehoses and dogs to attack civil rights marchers. It is a part of the human condition of sin. It is part of our biology and psychology, as we are born into a particular family with particular features that speak a particular language, follow particular habits and worship (or don’t worship) a particular god. We are wired to observe and be shaped by that environment, part of which is to “learn” how to conduct ourselves, how to relate to others, how to protect ourselves, and so on. When we do, we also develop a sense of what is “normal,” and, behold, it is us. Once we establish that we – our ways, our faith, our leanings, our sexuality, our gender identification, and so on – are “normal,” we have the basis on which prejudice is fixed. 

 

When we began planning Ash Wednesday, Sue-Ann Wichman and I came up with the idea of putting the word “prejudice” on a slip of dissolvable paper, and as an act of confession, to put our paper into the baptismal font and watch it disappear. However, after ordering the dissolvable paper, we ran a test and discovered that the paper will indeed dissolve (some), but the ink and therefore the word “prejudice” sticks around. And then, quite by accident, I discovered a new parable in the font. Prejudice will not magically disappear when we confess our sins and turn to God for forgiveness. Prejudice has staying power; it sticks around. But the assumptions, the certainties, the opinions on which we carry our prejudice can be dissolved by the waters of baptism. That allows us to reframe our prejudice and to “pre-judge” everyone we see as a beloved child of a gracious God. 

 

What a beautiful possibility for our Lenten journey. Will you take a moment and watch this video. It’s only 90 seconds long and is best if you view it in silence. You can find it here. 

 

Mark of St. Mark

Prophetic Spirituality and Lent

 Friends,  

The season of Lent begins next week, starting with our Ash Wednesday service at 6:30pm. It will be a very tactile service, and I do not think you will want to miss it. This weekend during worship you will receive a brochure with lots of information about the season. This year we are using materials from an excellent resource called A Sanctified Art. Here are some highlights: Our theme is “Everything in Between: Meeting God in the Midst of Extremes.”  Each week, we will reinterpret binary oppositions as polarities and explore the tension of living between them, instead of choosing one or the other. Each Monday I will upload a Text Study video on the forthcoming weekend’s biblical text from Luke. Then, each Wednesday at 10:00am we will have and record a discussion of the text. Each week our Faith in Action and my Friday Extra will link to a something called “Visio Divina,” a contemplative practice of a guided meditation on the week’s Scripture beginning with an artistic presentation of it. And, a devotional from A Sanctified Art is available in hard copy (in the church office) or digitally, which you can obtain by contacting the church office here. 

 

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For the last month, I’ve been writing about “scapegoating,” as well as a subset of scapegoating that I have coined, “monsterizing.” Scapegoating has a long history as both a religious ritual (such as in the 16^th chapter of Leviticus), and a strategic practice by those in power (such as with Caiaphas in John 11:50). Any time we hear political, religious, or community leaders begin to identify and vilify a particular group of people, we ought to be wary of this tendency. And it is a practice that crosses over political and religious identities. For every politician that Scapegoats George Soros and his left-wing money, there is a politician singing the same song but substituting “the Koch brothers” as the right-wing villain. Scapegoating has been and will be with us for a long time, because it is an effective way of raising money, garnering votes, galvanizing support, or rallying troops. I have been writing about Scapegoating and Monsterizing as we lead up to the season of Lent, because I believe this season offers us an opportunity to explore how Scapegoating and Monsterizing affect us, both prophetically and spiritually. 

 

For many years, prophetic speech was the province of a few persons called specifically to that work. Since the Day of Pentecost, when God’s Spirit was poured out onto all believers - across genders, ages, ethnicities, and languages - the Christian church has been called to be a prophetic community, where we have the role of proclaiming the Word of the Lord in our moment. And, as the prophetic Christian community, our prophetic voice reflects the liberative good news to the poor, such as Jesus proclaimed in Luke 4:16-20. In other words, every believer is endowed with God’s Spirit for the purpose of proclaiming God’s good new to the poor, the stranger, the imprisoned, the sick, and those oppressed by evil. That good news comes in the forms of economic justice, immigration justice, carceral justice, as well as the provision of physical and mental healthcare. Actions can range from volunteering, to advocating, to letter-writing, to protesting. During the season of Lent, by focusing on the polarities in which we live, rather than oppositional binaries, we want to find ways to speak prophetically to the injustices of our world, without resorting to scapegoating or monsterizing those with whom we disagree. It is hard work, but it is our work.

 

Spiritually, we can only be this prophetic community if we are open to our own tendencies to buy into scapegoating and monsterizing. With confidence in God’s love for us, with the power of God’s call on us, we have the courage to explore, discover, and confess our participation in dehumanizing others, downplaying ideas that do not match our own, considering those who disagree with us as either “stupid” or “evil.” The Lenten journey for a prophetic community is the spiritual discipline of remembering that we do not struggle against flesh and blood, but against powers at work in our world, such as scapegoating and monsterizing, which we can only overcome through the power of love. This kind of spirituality does not come easily. It is a “discipline” in the deepest sense of the word – a deliberate, God-driven journey of unlearning old habits and taking on new ones. 

 

Lenten disciplines – whether giving up alcohol, walking the labyrinth weekly, fasting, learning to practice the visio divina, or setting up a family “cussing jar” – are means by which we dedicate this season to being aware of God’s presence in our world and being responsive to it. I hope and pray that this season will be a time where you find your spiritual discipline and your prophetic voice. 

 

Mark of St. Mark 

 

p.s. Many of you asked about the “Golden Rule” poster that we displayed during worship last week. It is a product of Scarboro Mission, a Canadian Catholic organization. You can order one in the US from the Interfaith Marketplace by clicking here.  

Monsterizing

For the last few weeks, I’ve been writing about scapegoating, the practice of imputing our sins, angers, discontent, frustrations, brokenness, on another who then bears it away either by going into exile or by being sacrificed. This week I want to address a way that we often participate in scapegoating, by “monsterizing” others. 

My spellcheck doesn’t recognize the word “monsterize,” so I guess I ought to stipulate a definition for it. Think of how “monsters” play in our imagination, in books, movies, and as a reference for people who we deem to be awful. Monsters represent a type of chaos that threatens our peace personally or our order collectively. In the Scriptures, the creation story in Genesis 1 shows how God brings order out of the primordial chaos, making the world a “good” place for human thriving. Various figures in the Old Testament would represent “monsters” that threaten to undo the order of creation – the serpent in the garden in Genesis 3; the “Nephilim” in Genesis 6; Behemoth and Leviathan; and so on. In the New Testament, we might think of the host of powers named variously as evil spirits, demons, unclean spirits, or devils. And, of course, throughout the Scriptures as well as subsequent Jewish and Christian tradition there are references to Satan, the Devil, Lucifer, etc., who embodies the ultimate form of an enemy intent on destruction. These “monster stories” try to account for evil that seems inhuman, but ever-present in the human story. 

Monsters have a curious effect on people. Imagine the crowd of angry villagers bearing torches and pitchforks, setting aside whatever differences they might otherwise have to attack the monster with their strength in numbers. And once the monster has been eradicated there is a modicum of peace in the village. Think about that storyline when you read the story at the beginning of Mark 5, where Jesus in confronted by “a man out of the tombs with an unclean spirit.” The villagers often tried to restrain him with shackles and chains, but he shattered them and spent his time in the wild howling and hurting himself. 

We know that, in the end, Jesus will not shackle or shame this person but will find a way to separate him from the unclean spirits, sending them into a herd of swine and leaving the man, “sitting there, clothed and in his right mind.” Before we jump to the end of the story, however, I want to imagine the untold beginning. Think of the stories parents told their children about him, the attempts the villagers make to subdue him or get rid of him. Think of the role he played in giving those villagers a common fear, common enemy, common quest to protect themselves. Once upon a time he was someone’s son suffering an inexplicable malady. Over time, he lost his personhood and simply became the “Mad Howler of the Tombs.” That is, he was monsterized. 

W e should monsterize things that are monstrous – a Nazi regime that systematically destroyed millions of lives; a Stalinist regime that murdered enemies and starved peasants; an institution of slavery and Jim Crow laws that systematically dehumanized persons for centuries. There are times that the symbol of a “monster” is precisely what we need to name the depth of evil. But the power to monsterize is often a mechanism by which ordinary people do awful things. When I was young, I was taught that a homosexual was a pervert. Period. The people who taught me that weren’t intending to be evil. It’s what they were taught. And the people who taught them were taught the same thing. So, our society ghettoized gay people into gay bars because they weren’t accepted in polite company, then we vilified them for always hanging around dens of iniquity like gay bars. This past Wednesday was the anniversary of when the US monsterized Japanese-Americans by putting them in internment camps. More recently we have monsterized homeless persons, immigrants, persons with mental illness or addictions, Arabs, and so on. When that happens, persons who otherwise try to exercise good will join in something awful because we imagine it is necessary to keep us safe. When we monsterize, we reduce our humanity by denying the humanity of others. Next week, I’ll try to tie all these essays on scapegoating and monsterizing into a way for us to enter the Lenten season that begins on Ash Wednesday, March 5. 

Mark of St. Mark

Scapegoating, pt.3

 Friends, 

Two weeks ago, I wrote the second of two essays on scapegoating, the practice of identifying someone on whom we place blame for the things that vex us, since there is nothing that draws people together more effectively than a common enemy – real or perceived. I interrupted that sequence last week to tell you about the “red cards” that we have produce, but will circle back now to pick up the thread. I will try not to retread old ground, but to finish my thought and I will try to set it up for those who did not read the earlier essays. 

René Girard is the thinker who has influenced my own understanding of “the Scapegoat Mechanism” the most. Girard argues that scapegoating is effective, which is why persons in power employ it again and again. Girard points to the words of the High Priest Caiaphas as the epitome of the scapegoating rationale when he said, “it is better for you to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed” (John 11:50).  

Notice how close Caiaphas’ words are to a common Christian refrain that Jesus died as the substitution for us – “better for Jesus to die than for all of humankind to pay for our sins,” so to speak. Girard invites us to see Jesus’ crucifixion differently. Instead of seeing Jesus’ death as a sacrifice to appease God’s righteous anger toward us, Girard invites us to see Jesus as a scapegoat. Delivered into Roman hands by the religious leadership to secure their own power; tortured and executed by Roman hands to secure the power of the Empire. To keep the peace, either for the leaders of occupied Israel to follow the Pax Romana, or for the Empire itself to keep its subjects subjugated, someone must be identified as the sacrifice, whose death will bring peace. In that sense, for Girard, Jesus is no different from scapegoats throughout history who have been forced to bear pain on behalf of others. 

What makes the scapegoating of Jesus different is that we know that Jesus is innocent. He is sent from God to proclaim God’s reign and call us to a new way of seeing the world. He teaches God’s way and embodies God’s presence. He heals the sick, forgives sins, and takes away the stigma of those who have been called “sinners” – even before his death. Jesus’ innocent death exposes that the scapegoating mechanism itself is built on a lie. And the resurrection is God’s way of overturning the scapegoating mechanism. 

There are numerous ways that people have tried to identify the process of scapegoating others. Next week, I want to offer my own version of that story, stipulating a verb that I call “monsterizing.” 

Tune in next week,

Mark of St. Mark

Red Cards

 Last week, St. Mark's staff spent several hours printing “Red Cards.” We were asked by a school board member to print 1,000 of them and they work best if they are printed on cardstock, a firm and long-lasting kind of paper that takes a lot of time to duplicate and cut. There were some challenges with the template we received that we did not anticipate, but St. Mark's staff are determined folk and were anxious to fulfill the request to produce these cards. The red cards contain information about the constitutional rights of both citizens and non-citizens. We were asked to produce Spanish cards, based on the persons they were intended for. The cards are available in many languages and in English they read: 

You have constitutional rights

• DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR if an immigration agent is knocking on the door.

• DO NOT ANSWER ANY QUESTIONS from an immigration agent if they try to talk to you. You have the right to remain silent.

• DO NOT SIGN ANYTHING without first speaking to a lawyer. You have the right to speak with a lawyer.

• If you are outside of your home, ask the agent if you are free to leave and if they say yes, leave calmly.

• GIVE THIS CARD TO THE AGENT. If you are inside of your home, show the card through the window or slide it under the door.

The message on the other side of the card that one is giving to an agent reads: 

“I do not wish to speak with you, answer your questions, or sign or hand you any documents based on my 5th Amendment rights under the United States Constitution. I do not give you permission to enter my home based on my 4th Amendment rights under the United States Constitution unless you have a warrant to enter, signed by a judge or magistrate with my name on it that you slide under the door. I do not give you permission to search any of my belongings based on my 4th Amendment rights. I choose to exercise my constitutional rights.” 

Your staff did marvelous work last week in making these cards. Now I want to ask you to do two things. First, please read the information on this card from the perspective of someone who may feel the need to keep a copy of it in their wallet or by their front door. At the least, read it as an ally, who appreciates the meaning of the phrase, “constitutional rights.” 

Second, you may want to have one of these cards for yourself. In addition, I want you to imagine someone in your life who may want to have this card in their wallet or by their front door. You can order the template or some pre-made cards themselves here. 

I don’t know how you feel about immigration policy or the enforcement thereof. For the faith community, our political opinions are less relevant than our call to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly. Likewise, Border Patrol agents swear their loyalty to the constitution, not partisan politics. For immigration agents, then, these cards do not represent defiance. They simply enable someone to exercise the rights that the constitution ensures both citizens and non-citizens alike.

Where these cards are ineffective are when vigilantes feel empowered to take matter into their own hands or when neighbors look askance at someone whom they feel “doesn’t belong” here. Where they are ineffective are in the constant microaggressions that people often exercise against others, based on ethnicity, color, or language. I once heard that when a white person speaks more than one language, we consider them educated and sophisticated, but when a brown person speaks more than one language, it marks them as an immigrant. These cards cannot cure the malady of prejudice; only repentance and transformation can do so. Inviting others to repent and be transformed is also part of our call.  

Still, I encourage you to ensure that anyone in your life who may feel threatened by the immigration policies and rhetoric of the day has one of these cards. It’s the least we can do.

Mark of St. Mark

Scapegoating, pt. 2

 Friends, 

In last week’s post, I wrote about “scapegoating,” a process that gets its name from a communal rite in the book of Leviticus. (If you missed it, click here.) It also points to a larger phenomenon that lurks behind much of human history and our collective psyche, as I tried to show in the words of Caiaphas, the high priest who argued for Jesus’ death on the basis that it is better for one person to die than the whole nation to suffer. I am not original in showing the relationship between the biblical texts and cultural expressions of scapegoating. The term “scapegoat” has long been used by folks who never read Leviticus and has often been invoked by persons who never heard of Caiaphas. The writer who has most influenced my way of understanding both the biblical texts and the cultural meaning of scapegoating, is the French literary critic, René Girard. 

Girard wrote voluminously and his interests cover a wide span, with books that are challenging to read. Girard speaks of scapegoating as a “mechanism,” like a process that takes place in and around us, which shapes us and in which we participate, without necessarily consciously doing so. The Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy offers this summary, which I will try to break open a bit: “Over the years [Girard] has developed a mimetic theory. According to this theory human beings imitate each other, and this eventually gives rise to rivalries and violent conflicts. Such conflicts are partially solved by a scapegoat mechanism, but ultimately, Christianity is the best antidote to violence.”  

“Mimetic theory” is Girard’s insightful argument that we haven’t really matured much since our nursery school days. We can observe two children playing and how a toy sits unused and unnoticed, until one child picks it up. Then, suddenly, it is the pearl of great price that the other child must have immediately. After a brief period of screaming, yanking, and parental intervention, the toy once again sits unused and unnoticed by both children. It is not that the second child wanted the toy itself; it is that the second child wanted what the first child had – a form of imitation or “mimesis” for Girard. It’s the same rationale behind commercials that show famous beautiful persons using a product, so now we want it as well. “Mimetic theory” is this kind of imitation at work and often leads to rivalries, resentment, and conflict (all of which are key terms for Girard.) One effective tool to resolve those rivalries, resentments, and conflicts is the scapegoating mechanism, by which we impute those tensions on a common enemy, allowing “us” to achieve peace by condemning “them.” And it works. 

Scapegoating is effective, but only insofar as those who participate in it buy into pretense that the scapegoat is guilty. Rivalries, resentment, and conflicts have such a powerful hold on us that we are often altogether willing to join the pretense. Notice that Caiaphas’ words, “Better for one man to die than the whole nation to suffer,” is a calculation that has nothing to do with Jesus’ actual guilt or innocence. It just works. It works because we go along with the pretense; we go along with the pretense because it works. Both are true.  

The effectiveness of scapegoating makes it an enticing tool for those who are able to invoke it – usually those with some kind of power or influence. Of course, it’s a whole different matter for those who are chosen to suffer for it – usually those lacking power or influence. To buy into the pretense of scapegoating, we have to set aside our commitment to justice and truth. It is one expression of gaining the world by losing our soul.

And that is one thing that makes the Christian faith so curious. We serve, follow, and worship Christ as God’s incarnate presence among us. And, on the cross, Christ was the scapegoat, the one powerless one sacrificed – as Caiaphas prophesied – to save the people. And here is where Girard makes what I think is a brilliant argument: The Gospel message is that Jesus is innocent. The innocent one is put to death as if he were guilty, which exposes the whole deceptive nature of scapegoating, no matter how effective it might be. It is a lie. Jesus was innocent; he was crucified as one who is guilty; and the resurrection is the story of how God overturns the scapegoating mechanism. So, Girard argued that while scapegoating is an effective tool, the Christian faith exposes it as a lie and offers forgiveness as a better response to rivalries, resentments, and conflict. 

I know we’ve crawled deep into the weeds here, but I find Girard’s argument very instructive. Next week I want to explore the ways that I/we tend to buy into the scapegoating mechanism and how the crucified and risen Christ can save us from it. 

Mark of St. Mark

Scapegoating, pt. 1

 Friends, 

I walked out of the first interfaith event that I attended after moving to Orange County eleven years ago. I was torn about it. I had been the president of The Interfaith Alliance of Iowa when I served my previous church, so as a strong supporter of interfaith dialogue it was an was honor to be welcomed with tremendous hospitality at a local Islamic Center. The speaker for the event was a former undersecretary of something in the Clinton administration. After his opening remarks, he made a comment that I thought I misheard, because it seemed to presume that all of us in the room were opposed to same-sex relationships. I had not misheard. He dug in with an argument that one thing that can unify our different faith communities could be to stop the gay agenda in the US, in order to protect the family structure that all our religious traditions cherish.  

 

Please remember, I didn’t know anyone in the room, so I had no idea whether he was saying something with which they agreed personally and collectively or not. I just knew that, as much as I love unity and interfaith dialogue, I have no interest in a unity that comes at the cost of throwing the LGBTQ community – or any other marginalized community – under the bus. So I left. I didn’t make a scene, I didn’t disrupt, I was conscious of the fact that I was a guest and that for a white Christian man to get up and disrupt an event at an Islamic Center would be an act of white privilege presumption and historical unawareness that is problematic in itself. But I did leave. One woman noticed me get up, leave the room, put on my shoes and head out the main door, and she followed. She got my attention, introduced herself, and promised me repeatedly that the speaker’s comments were not how these meetings generally go. We had a lovely conversation, during which she convinced me to try this interfaith organization again. She was right. The speaker’s plea was an anomaly and over subsequent years I have found the Newport Mesa Irvine Interfaith Council to be a positive voice of compassion and justice for our community. So, today’s missive is not about the interfaith council. It is about scapegoating. 

 

Do you remember that movie when all the nations of the earth set aside their wars and differences to defeat the aliens who have come to attack us? The title is, “Every Movie about Aliens Ever” and it is a repeatable plot because nothing gathers people more than a common enemy. Sometimes that common enemy really is an enemy, such as when the US and the Soviet Union collaborated to defeat Nazism. It was an uneasy alliance. One Senator from Missouri (who later became president) suggested as the US entered the war that we ought to defeat Germany then keep marching east and defeat the USSR. Still, the photos of Roosevelt, Stalin, and Churchill at Potsdam are examples of how a common enemy can create unlikely allies. 

 

Scapegoating happens when we create that common enemy, in order to gloss over our real differences. The term comes from Leviticus chapter 16, when the Hebrew people would literally select a goat and impute on it all the pain, anger, and discord of the community – their sins, so to speak – and send it away, taking all of their sins with it. It was an uniquely insightful way of dealing with resentments that build up over time in every community and it steered the community away from its worst tendency, which is to scapegoat others, usually the most vulnerable. We create “them,” vilify the “other,” who threaten us and our tranquility. The Hebrews knew this experience because when they were in Egypt they were scapegoated and became the common enemy of their Egyptian masters. The public act of scapegoating was both a method of social healing and a confession that we have tensions, anger, and resentment, and we do not know how to resolve them. 

 

In the New Testament, the signature line for scapegoating came from Caiaphas, the high priest in Jerusalem, when the council wondered what to do about an upstart named Jesus and Caiaphas replied, “You do not understand that it is better for you to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed” (John 11:50). We select the one – one person, one people, one race, one ethnicity – and we impose on them all the things we fear, and we allow ourselves to engage in cruelty and injustice because, “It’s better for one man [race, etc.] to suffer than for us all to suffer.” In the interfaith event that I attended, the speaker sought to build our interfaith unity on the perceived threat by the “gay agenda.” It was clearly an attempt at scapegoating that I am happy to say did not define the unity of the interfaith council. Next week, we will circle back to Caiaphas and explore the irony of the cross when it comes to scapegoating. 

 

Mark of St. Mark

Fires, Homelessness, Immigration - Challenges We Are Called to Meet

 Friends, 

 

A lot of things are happening all at once, demonstrating how much we need one another as a community that walks intentionally toward justice, earth care, and compassion. 

 

First, for anyone who has family or friends who have been displaced by the recent fires and are staying in Newport Beach: Newport Beach staff and community groups are hosting an informal gathering on Saturday, January 25 from 9 to 11 a.m. at the OASIS Center (801 Narcissus Ave.) to provide information and answer questions over coffee and snacks. 

 

Second, every year United to End Homelessness gives an update on the state of homelessness in Orange County. The next presentation will be online on Wednesday, January 29, from noon – 1:00pm. You can register for the event here.

 

The topics of those displaced by the fires and the ongoing challenge of homelessness overlap. I met with some Newport Beach city councilors this week, who anticipate that the need for housing will rise at every level of home values and, as a result, the housing market will be squeezed. As is often the case, those who can least afford housing will probably be most affected long-term. So, while there is immediate work to be done – temporary housing, clothing, etc. - the long-term work will endure, and we will be looking for meaningful and effective ways to respond. 

 

For those who want to make a monetary donation, we should be aware that scammers are shamelessly notorious for exploiting moments like this. So, our challenge is to find donation sites that we know are trustworthy and whose work is most helpful. One site, of course, is the Presbyterian Disaster Assistance, to which you can donate by clicking here. Another site – which I have not personally vetted but was recommended by the L.A. Times – is directed specifically toward domestic workers, over half of whom are women of color. You can donate to the National Domestic Workers Alliance here.

 

Another looming challenge for the church has to do with immigration. The incoming presidential administration has promised to ramp up efforts to deport as many non-documented immigrants as possible. However we are inclined politically and however we might feel about the legal processes surrounding immigration, the biblical call to ensure justice to the aliens/foreigners among us is consistent and clear. In our context, we ought to be thinking about domestic workers, caregivers, landscapers, farm workers, food service providers, and day laborers, whom many of us employ and rely on. Likewise, we ought to be thinking about students, from Glenn Martin Elementary to UCI and our local Community Colleges, many of whom may suddenly lose their family and support systems. 

 

I attended a workshop this week by the U.S. Immigration Law Group, to see what kind of resources we ought to gather and distribute to those who need them. I heard lots of good ideas and am gathering some resources that we can make available. I will try to keep you posted as we gather them, so you can take advantage of them as well. Please stay tuned. 

 

As I said, there’s a lot going on right now and the church is ever called to be a place of practicing justice, earth care, and compassion. Your pledges and contributions to the church continue to enable us to support our networking partners, educate, and amplify the good work that is being done, while trusting in God to empower us. 

 

Thank you for being the church,

Mark of St. Mark 

Where Luke's Story Has Taken Us

Luke, cc. 1-3 

From people of old there came two old people,  

their gametes had failed, they were growing quite feeble. 

An angel appeared to bring them some elation, 

a child was now coming, a next generation. 

 

Elsewhere was a woman, young and betrothed, 

the angel now entered into her abode, 

to say she was favored and having a child, 

the news was a miracle, the whole idea wild.  

 

The young mother paid the old one a visit, 

their joy was profound, their encounter exquisite. 

Their wombs were in sync, one danced as a portend; 

they prophesied hope and reversals of fortune. 

 

c. 2

Christ’s birth in the night brought celestial sensations, 

the angel, with others, paid a night visitation, 

to shepherds (of all folk) ennobling their worth, 

and sang of God’s glory and peace on the earth.

 

And after the child’s snipping and presentation,

they went to the temple for purification.

Two elders were there who spoke bright affirmations, 

they saw in this child God’s work of salvation. 

 

With annual treks for the feasts of Passover, 

when Jesus was twelve he chose to stay over. 

Confounding the wise with question he raised, 

his mother was worried but also amazed.  

 

c. 3

While some folks were rulers and other were priestly, 

the Word of the Lord came to someone quite beastly. 

He stood by the Jordan and called for deep change, 

then John warned the people their hearts were estranged. 

 

With mountains brought low and rough places made smooth, 

John’s message was not intended to sooth. 

It called for repentance, for things made anew; 

so sinners came asking what are we to do? 

 

The answers were simple, their effects were far-reaching,

“Share clothing, share food,” was the change John was preaching.

And to those who used power, who oppressed and extorted, 

“Be happy when you have enough,” he retorted.

 

“Could you be the Christ?” they asked the baptizer. 

“No, one is coming, one who is mightier. 

He’ll bring Spirit and fire, for a time of great cleansing,

he’ll show who is in and who’s just pretending.” 

 

One day Jesus came and he, too, stepped in, 

he too was baptized, who knew no sin! 

The sky was torn open, the Spirit alighted, 

a voice said, “My loved one in whom I’m delighted!”  

 

From people of old to the child of delight, 

with stories encompassing bright days and dark nights, 

the waters continue to offer a place, 

where we’re called “beloved” by dint of God’s grace. 

 

The Story of the Magi and Its Discontents

Matthew’s second chapter gives us a story about Magi coming to worship the newborn King of the Jews. “Magi” is a transliteration of the Greek term μάγοι, the plural form of μάγος, and it is related to our English term “magic.” So, why do we call them “Wise men” or “Kings”? I can only offer some preliminary responses to those questions, but largely I suspect Matthew’s story is just too raw and uncomfortable for many folks to take at face value. 

The people of Israel had a difficult history with astrology. Much of the Old Testament seems to have been written during or immediately after the exile, when Israelites spent several generations in Babylon, surrounded by its devotion to astral cults. I heard an Old Testament professor say that the casual way that Genesis describes God creating “the heavens and the earth” was, to protest against astral cults and relocate “the heavens” as a part of God’s creation, not as divine in itself. So, a story about Magi, who saw a star at its rising and discerned that a new King of Israel had been born, might at least deserve a footnote about how Matthew is not intending to give astrology any credit. Matthew offers no such footnote, but translators and interpreters of Matthew’s story have tried to “fix” Matthew’s story over the years.

I’m not entirely sure how the phrase “Wise Men” came to be a way of translating μάγοι. The annotations in different translations of the Bible that are comical in how they try to maintain translation integrity, without ruining a story that we have come to love. When the word “magi” first appears in v. 1, the New International Version reads “Magi” but annotates, “traditionally called wise men,” whereas the English Standard Version goes the other way by reading, “wise men” and annotating “Greek: magi.” The New Revised Standard Version reads, “wise men” and annotates “or astrologers; Greek: magi.” It’s a lovely hodgepodge of nobody simply translating μάγοι as “magi” and certainly not as “magicians” or “astrologers.” The only other times variations of the word μάγος are used in the New Testament are in the book of Acts (cc. 8 and 13). In each case, the person described is translated as a “sorcerer” or “magician,” and what they practice is “sorcery” or “magic,” with no annotations suggesting that they might be “wise.” 

The tradition of calling the Magi “Kings” is easier to trace. Isaiah 60 has long been embraced as a prophecy about Matthew’s story, since it mentions visitors who come bringing “gold and incense.”  In part, it reads, “Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.” At least one early hymnodist, John Henry Hopkins, took his cue from Isaiah and wrote the song “We Three Kings,” which has solidified the idea that the Magi were royals ever since. Mr. Hopkins took another liberty in writing this song, although he was not the first by any means. Matthew mentions three types of gifts – gold, frankincense, and myrrh – but never number of Magi themselves. Through the years, church tradition has decided there were three of them, that they were Wise Men and/or Kings, granted them names (Gaspar, Balthasar, and Melchior), and even identified which countries they came from. 

In the end, Matthew’s sparseness makes this story so fascinating to me. He offers no explanation or apology for a story where certain Magi read the stars, saw the truth in them, and came to worship the newborn. In that same story, Bible scholars read the Scriptures and concluded that the promised one would be born in Bethlehem, but none of them traveled to Bethlehem to worship, leaving us with an uncomfortable story where stargazers were more in touch with what God was doing in the world than the Bible readers. I suspect that contrast is part of the reason the church has worked so hard to make the Magi exotic and downplay their magical interest and astrological reading.   

There’s a lot more to Matthew’s story that is worth exploring - not the least of which are the political implications. It is a fabulous, fascinating, and tragic story that doesn’t need us to sanitize of fix it, but to be humbled and learn from it. 

Mark of St. Mark