Climate Change and All the Things

There have been many reports lately about Climate Change in local, regional, national, and worldwide news. Some reports have been passing references, where an unusual weather event is attributed to climate change. Some reports have been in reference to agricultural practices, with aquifers drying up or different groups contending over water rights. Some reports are focused on animal life, with different species disappearing or migrating to new places due to heat or melting ice. And some reports are about businesses, such as major insurance carriers moving away from insuring homes in areas endangered by wildfires or flooding. Referring to climate change as a reality with real, every day consequences is a relatively new phenomenon in some circles. By and large most sources of information are no longer speaking of climate change as a “theory” or a fringe idea, but simply as a reality, even if the precise relationship between human activity and climate activity continues to be understood differently. 

 

Years ago, I used to listen to a show on Iowa Public Radio with a bright radio host in conversation with a Political Science professor from one of the state universities. It was informative, but the show had one habit that bothered me to no end. They would offer, as a prize for whoever answered the week’s trivia question, a copy of The Worldwatch Institute’s annual State of the World publication. That, in itself, was fine, but they would speak of the publication dismissively, as being too alarmist, too pessimistic, and unrealistic. In fact, much of the language about climate change that is now taken for granted is precisely what the Worldwatch Institute said would result if we did not lessen our dependence on fossil fuels and reduce wasteful practices. The biblical proverb is “no prophet is accepted in one’s own country,” but it is equally true that “no prophet is accepted in one’s own time.” What the Worldwatch Institute foresaw is largely what we now hear every day as news. 

 

In our moment, there are some subtle nuances that I think we ought to be aware of. For example, we should be aware of the difference between prevention and reaction. We may be past the point of preventing humanly-exacerbated climate change. John Cobb is one of the few theologians willing to raise that possibility in his book, Is It Too Late (and he wrote that book initially in 1972!) Most of us hold to hopes that we can change our behaviors enough, and perhaps develop new technologies along the way, to lessen the effects of climate change enough to pull the world back from catastrophe. However, there is a shift taking place from preventing climate change to reacting to it. The decision by corporations to quit offering new home insurance in danger zones is one such reaction, as are building codes, raising seawalls, and requiring smart planting. It takes a fairly advanced economy for a country to take such reactionary measures. Poor island nations, like the ones described in this UN report, struggle against the twin challenges of climate change and poverty. I worry that climate change will ultimately cause us to lean into competition more than cooperation, “each nation for itself” thinking. We fall into competitive thinking over cooperative thinking when we feel threatened when things like water, crops, and energy are seen chiefly as matters of security. When that happens, we can expect that competitive penchant to kick in. As we move from trying to prevent climate change to reacting to climate change, we can expect our language to change from ‘world’ to ‘nation/state/community’ and from cooperation to competition. 

 

Another nuance of climate change was highlighted in a story entitled “Chilly Times for U.S. Climate Movement?” that was originally published in “Boiling Point,” an email newsletter about climate change and the environment in California and the American West. The story pointed toward the different visions of environmental activists and clean energy businesses over some aspects of the energy policies of the Inflation Reduction Act. Traditional environmentalists wanted to focus on reducing fossil fuels entirely, while some market-friendly approaches to environmental change wanted to focus on market competition that would ultimately help green technologies and squeeze out fossil fuels. It is something of a question of trusting legislation or the market to address climate change more effectively. A similar tension lies between technologies that produce green energy at the cost of upsetting the balance of flora and fauna, and whether the point is to reduce fossil fuels or to make the earth greener in a wider sense. One large challenge facing environmentalists is whether we are anthropocentric in our approach or whether flora, fauna, even the earth itself have value beyond the degree to which they benefit humans. 

 

When the psalmists say, “The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it,” we hear a call to be environmentally invested in some way or another. We need each other in times like this, to bring clarity, encouragement, and some sense of community in days that can be frightening and disheartening. One benefit that you and I have is our trust that God’s love endures forever, as well as our joy of having one another as companions on this journey. 

 

Mark of St. Mark 

The Purpose and Meaning of Advent Liturgy

Annually observing the waiting and anticipation of Advent prior to celebrating Christmas is the burden of doing ministry in a liturgically minded church. The big mega-church down the street doesn’t give a fig about the season of Advent, the twelve days of Christmas – eleven of which follow Christmas day – or any of those things that one is taught and perhaps even believes for oneself are important for the celebration of the incarnation. No purple for them, no hesitation and discernment over whether to sing Christmas songs or to wait, no attempt to find our place alongside of the people of ancient Israel as they live under the spell and promise of the coming one. For the church down the street, it’s all red and green, lights upon lights, jolly now, merry now, Jesus now, Christmas now, with the décor coming down by New Years Day. They don’t need the liturgical calendar because they are following the most obvious calendar of them all – the countdown to Christmas while celebrating Christmas. 

This is not going to be a whinefest or a superiority declaration that we have it right and they have it wrong. I think they do have it wrong, but not for reasons that one might expect. Liturgically-minded churches often criticize others for having no respect for church tradition. So, they violate the church calendar or ignore the liturgical seasons. But, that criticism is a bit thin, if we remember how critical the Apostle Paul was about such observances. In truth, we observe seasons, times, and years, not because they have the authority of Scripture, but because we need seasons, times, and years. Paul could have thrown away his calendar because he anticipated the Second Coming to happen immediately. For those of us who exist many generations later – because it was not as immediate as Paul thought – seasons, times, and years resonate with the rhythm of life. At best, at least from a Pauline perspective, our observance of seasons is a concession to human weakness and need, not something inherent to the Christian message itself. (As long as we’re being honest, that seems to be Paul’s perspective toward marriage also.) 

 

In other words, people of faith are free to accept or reject the liturgical calendar as a human creation, in part to meet our rhythmic needs. And that is quite liberating, even for those of us who choose to follow the liturgical calendar. It is no great expose to argue that December 25^th is based less on the actual historical birth of Jesus than on its proximity to the Winter solstice. Nor is it particularly bothersome to argue that celebrations of the Winter solstice are rooted in long pagan traditions. One can grant all that, and grant it happily, because that is simply a way of saying that ancient pagans were as rhythmically human as modern Christians. There is nothing sacred about December 25^th and it is wasted effort to argue that Jesus was born on that exact date. What is sacred is that God was in Christ, really and historically immersing Godself into our story with radical vulnerability and solidarity. And, as people who need seasons, times, and years; as people who live among the rhythmic patterns of the universe; as people who do best with times of intense remembering as well as times of rest; observing the incarnation once a year can be a way of living faithfully. But, again, one can observe the incarnation faithfully apart from the liturgical calendar itself. 

 

My argument with the mega-church down the street that hosts Christmas all December long is not that they need to follow the fullness of the liturgical calendar. It is that the gospel stories themselves – Matthew and Luke, anyway – do not simply jump into the Christmas story with the journey to Bethlehem. They begin with longing, repeatedly citing the prophets from ages past. In doing so, they remember not only the promises under which God’s people live, but also the long periods of non-fulfillment, the in-between ages, when faith is hard to maintain. Those times of waiting are not ancillary, but germane to the story of the birth. Luke describes Zechariah and Elizabeth, an aging, repeatedly disappointed couple, whose frustrations over childbearing seem metaphorically representative of the people of Israel’s frustrations over the years. “We’re doing our part. Why isn’t God doing God’s part?” Likewise, Luke shows how young Mary’s hesitation and disbelief – similar in form but different in kind from Zechariah’s hesitation and disbelief – is transformed into a powerful, defiant song of conviction, even before the child is born. Surely Luke’s comment about how Mary “treasured these things in her heart” after the birth is part of the same thread of experience with Mary’s initial question “How can these things be?” and her defiant song of hope prior to the birth. The question and the Magnificat go together, as unfulfilled anticipation and joyful celebration go together. 

 

Matthew also gives attention to the long history of anticipation, constantly citing Old Testament texts in a way that most New Testament professors would describe as “proof-texting” if he were a first-year seminarian. Those texts are important for Matthew’s story, not because they prove anything but because they situate the reader into this tradition of longing, waiting, questioning, and wondering. And silent Joseph’s dilemma, then consent and obedience throughout Matthew’s story is probably more like the average person of faith than all of the heroic canticles combined. This coming of this Messiah is a happening thing, which fulfills all the longings of the past while it breaks all of the rules of our present order. What else is there to do but to go along and wonder at it all? 

 

Simply put, the Christmas story has a backstory. Without that backstory, it is just an ahistorical myth of God bursting into human life in a weirdly sentimental way. With the backstory, it is the God who – to many folks along the way – shows up quite a bit later than anticipated. With the backstory, the decree that went out from Caesar Augustus is more than just a contextual nuisance that moves the story from wherever to Bethlehem. It is part of the history of imperial aggression to which the people of Israel were subject while striving to believe in the promises. With the backstory, Zechariah’s expression of disbelief is in tension with the larger ongoing act of faith that kept priests like him lighting the candles in the first place. How many wicks must have been burnt in hopes that God would finally redeem God’s people from their captivity! The backstory gives those who “greet the new morn” the salience of having kept watch through the many and long darks nights.  

 

And that is why Advent is important. It is not because the church calendar is sacred, old and wise though it may be. It is not because we Protestants have suffered from liturgy envy and now fully embrace all things Latinate. It is not because we liturgical folk are addicted to suffering so we make sure that Advent is to Christmas what Lent is to Easter. It is because the story of Christmas has context, a backstory of longing, anticipating, being frustrated, and struggling to hold onto a shred of faith. To hear the second chapter of Luke well, one must read the first chapter of Luke and get with the flow. Or, to put it another way, to celebrate the red and green of the season, one must hold the purple for a while. The crèche must have an empty manger for a while. The songs must be anticipatory rather than declaratory for a while. That is how the story is given, so that is how it should be read, told, and lived. Even if the speakers in the malls are singing “Joy to the World” the day after Thanksgiving. 

On Preaching, pt.2

 Last week I said that I think the purpose of preaching is more about being than doing, more about identity than activity, more about “Who we are” than “What do we do now?” I think that’s an important distinction and I want to explain it. I also think it’s a fine distinction, because ‘doing’ and ‘being’ are so closely intertwined at every step. I need to repeat from last week that I’m not advocating quietism, a kind of ‘do nothing’ or ‘it doesn’t matter’ attitude. Part of who we’re called to be are those who do justice, practice compassion, visit the sick, pray for one another, and so forth. Sometimes our ‘doing’ shapes our ‘being,’ and our practices form our identity. It seems to me, however, that when doing flows from being, when identity leads to action, we are on better footing as children of God and disciples of Christ. Otherwise, I think we end up trying to earn our way into God’s favor by proving our worth, which leads to all manner of frustrations and problems. 

 

Let me illustrate with this: I have a friend from the past who recently started posting very strong messages on Facebook, like “What will it take for us to refuse to take it anymore?” and “When they come after our children, that’s when we act!” One might think she’s a mother of a trans child in Florida and think, “You go, sistah!” But she’s not. Her cisgender straight kids are grown. Nobody’s coming after them. Her posts indicate that she’s believes that if her public library has a story about a kid with two moms then it’s out to indoctrinate all the children of the world to be queer. So, she’s resisting it and waging holy war in Christian language. To be fair, I have another friend who takes the same tactics – sometimes almost word for word – to declare his determination to defend his gay son, so this is not something that is only found on one side or the other of our political spectrum.

 

I’ve never been sure how best to respond to holy warriors, especially those whom I have known and loved for many years. My first inclination – not a good one, I don’t think – is to joust word for word, perhaps even with snarky responses, which is the kind of damaging communication that gives social media a bad name. A better response, I think, would be to hug her/him/them and assure them that they are loved by God beyond their wildest imagination. And that this same God loves their children with that same kind of unimaginable love. And that nothing they say, do, or leave unsaid or undone will erase that love. They are beloved children of God, regardless of how they do or do not engage in this cultural conflict. 

 

I know, I know, we might be thinking, “Aw, that’s sweet. Why don’t you just sing Kum by yah” and see if the world sprouts flowers?” But let’s give it a second. What if my friend were convinced that she’s accepted and loved as she is – along with her cisgender straight kids, and the trans kid in Florida, and the kid with two moms, and the two moms and the gay kid whose dad wants to take her on? And what if she were convinced that she is loved because that’s simply how God is with us? What if she doesn’t have to prove her commitment by becoming God’s warrior, but gets to live her life and behold other people’s lives with the assurance that when we say “God is love,” we are also saying, “We are loved” and we are saying “They are loved”?  In some ways, this is the issue behind the old Reformation argument that we are “saved by grace through faith” rather than by “works righteousness.” Sure, we are called to “do” things. But we are called to “do” by the God who always already loves us for no good reason at all. And if that’s who God is, then God loves even those with whom we differ strongly with that same kind of inexplicable love. Our identity is important because it is grounded in who God is. We are loved because God is love.  

 

I suppose I’m going on and on about this because I cannot help but believe that a proper sense of who we are, grounded in a proper sense of who God is, changes everything. Our opposition does not have to be scorched earth, holy war on those who differ from us. And I’m trying to learn this lesson as much as anyone, believe me. The powerful part of leaning into our identity as beloved children of God is that it is animated by the hope that good overcomes evil and love overcomes hate. 

 

Mark of St. Mark

On Preaching

 For this week and next, I want to reflect a bit on the purpose and intent of preaching. I realize this is not something normal people think about often. Preaching is more or less part of what we have grown accustomed to expecting when we participate in worship. Even us preachers don’t give the purpose and intent of preaching that much thought, because we’re typically focused on weekly productivity. That said, here are some of my thoughts on it and I hope they make some sense. My thoughts are not terribly systematic, because I, too, spend less time engaging in homiletical naval-gazing and more time preparing for preaching most weeks. 

 

First, preaching is not a matter of going on and on about pet peeves. The process of preaching is a disciplined one, trying to hear the Word of the Lord as it is presented in the ancient Scriptures in order to proclaim the Word of the Lord in our present world. 

 

Second, the key connection between the ancient Scriptures and the current world is not the preacher’s cleverness or great books, but the salvific presence of God that permeates all time. What God was doing to conquer sin and save human life back then is important because God is present in our own world of sin, injustice, hatred. It’s the saving God that we’re endeavoring to hear in the ancient texts, because it’s the saving God we’re endeavoring to serve today. 

 

At the same time, we all have pet peeves. We all have deep convictions. Both the peeves and convictions come into play in how we hear the text, how we see them applying to the world, and how we feel called to proclaim them today. Most of the tools of discipline that preachers follow – translation, interpretation, commentaries, and like – are intended to help us distinguish between the peeves that come and go and those convictions that sustain us as God’s people. 

 

One place where I often differ with my preaching colleagues is in the relationship between the preacher and the congregation. Simply put, I always contend that we’re on the same team. Sometimes when preachers gather, we get our one and only chance to name some of the frustrations that come with preaching out loud. Often it comes out as “us against them” where the preacher is the one who is not mired in the past or hostile to the sharp edges of the gospel, trying valiantly to drag along the recalcitrant congregation. That’s especially how preaching is described when someone uses the adjective prophetic preaching. I heard someone say recently, “If they ain’t mad, you ain’t preaching.” That’s where I step off. 

 

The frustration of preaching is real, but it’s not the frustration of the preacher being ‘all in’ while the congregation is dragging its feet. None of us lives into the sharper edges of justice, compassion, loving enemies, giving away our possessions, befriending the prisoner, or proclaiming jubilee as we ought. Preacher, listener, faithful, unfaithful – it doesn’t matter, the call of the gospel is a call to take up our cross and none of us finds that degree of self-denying commitment to be easy. In fact, I know that every week I face people who are more ‘all in’ than I am, people who have climbed mountains I can only imagine, people whose act of getting out of bed in the morning takes more courage than I have ever had to exercise. The gospel is easy for none of us, but embraces all of us. That’s the frustration and joy of it. But it’s always “us.” 

 

Finally, let me say something, about which I may completely wrong. I don’t think the primary purpose of preaching is to fire up people to go out and do something. I think proclaiming the gospel is more about being than doing, identity than activity. I think the question is less, “What do we do now?” than “Who are we?” I’m not saying I believe we do nothing. Part, but only part,  of the answer to the question “Who are we?” is that we are those who are called to do justice. Doing is a responsive act, an ‘in the moment’ act, the specifics of which change over time and context. Identity, however, is something that stays with us, even as the context around us changes. That’s what I want to reflect on with you next week. 

 

In the meantime, I am honored to be,

Mark of St. Mark

Migration Stories (again)

 Migration Stories (again) 

 

We continue exploring Migration Stories in Genesis for the month of July. This weekend we will fast-forward a few chapters, so before we move ahead, let’s circle back and remember where we have been. In our first story (Genesis 12:1-9), God called Abram to “Go,” but it was more of a “Go from …” than “Go to …” since the destination is vaguely, “to the place where I will show you.” In other words, Abram was commanded to leave behind everything that gave him identity and security – his country, his kindred, and his father’s house. It is important to remember that not every migration story begins with a catastrophe or crisis. This one began with a call. The second story (Genesis 12:10-20) was initiated by a famine. This is one of the most common causes of migration, especially mass migration, throughout human history (and a recurring cause in the Scriptures). This part of the story puts Abram and Sarai in solidarity with so many people in the world today and – I suspect – even more people tomorrow who will be driven by changing climates. 

 

The third story (Genesis 13), which we heard last week, was not driven by deprivation, such as a famine, but by surplus. Abram was very rich; Lot was also wealthy. Their herders began to compete for watering or grazing resources. This, too, was a migration story that was not driven by despair or tragedy, but by wealth with a threatening tone of violence. The story has a moment of tension that is quite common: When Abram’s and Lot’s herders began jostling over water and grazing, the moment was fraught with the potential for violence. 

 

I think one of the best analyses of a moment like this, when communities begin to compete over resources, is a book from 1986 by Andrew Bard Schmookler entitled, The Parable of the Tribes. It is a long and detailed book, but it begins with a profound “parable” of some tribes, living in close proximity and how when one of those tribes decides to respond to the anxieties of limited resources by pursuing the path of violence, the other tribes have no choice but to submit, flee, or imitate the aggressive tribe. Schmookler then analyses much of human history through this lens of the parable, along with theories about war, economics, nationhood, colonialization, and other ways of interpreting history. The story of Abram and Lot threatens to reach that point: Their herders are on the verge of aggression and violence. And that is where Abram’s story takes a dramatic turn from much of history and from much of human tendency. Abram – who is the wealthier, the elder, and therefore in the position of greater power – reaches out with generosity. Abram believed in God’s promises to take care of him, and therefore he was able to respond to the common human anxiety about limited resources with generosity. 

 

I think this connection between faith in God’s provision and generosity can help us stipulate a difference between ‘wealth’ and ‘abundance.’ Wealth – as I am using it here – becomes concerned about protecting itself, increasing itself, and establishing itself as security. The parable in Luke 12:16-21 is a moment when Jesus addresses this kind of wealth-dependency thinking. What it leaves out of the equation is the God who gives life. Abundance – as I am using it here – looks like wealth in many ways. Abram had cattle, herds, servants, gold, and silver after all. But Abram’s trust was in God’s provision and therefore he was able to be generous, offering Lot his first choice of where to settle and make his way. In many ways, wealth has a way of taking hold of us, where abundance is a gift that we can share. 

 

I am trying to hear these stories as a way of structuring my own life – my anxieties, my investments, my giving, my spending, my dreams, and so forth. For now, despite all his flaws elsewhere, that ability of Abram to be generous when the human tendency is to be anxious is something that I am carrying around in my heart. Is my trust in God enabling me to be non-anxious and generous? Is yours? How can we lean in together with one another, recognizing that we often have legitimate worries, but always have a compassionate and abundant God who cares for us? That’s what I am finding profound about this third story in the Abram saga. 

 

This weekend we are moving ahead in our Migration stories. I hope to see you in worship! And please keep our youth in your prayers as they leave for Montreat today. 

 

Mark of St. Mark

The Grace of Doing Nothing

 The Grace of Doing Nothing 

Exodus 3:1-5; Luke 10:38-42

July 16^th/17^th 2022

St. Mark Presbyterian Church

D. Mark Davis

 

So, about six weeks into my sabbatical I started wondering, “What will be the Scripture text when I return?” I had decided ahead of time to follow the Common Lectionary for Worship, so that I could know what was coming and that Ryan and Alicia could plan ahead with me having to supply them with a sermon series or something of our own creation. It just seemed simpler to say, “When I get back we’ll follow the lectionary for a while, until we decide to do something else.” So, I looked it up and “Lo and Behold!” it was a story about a woman who gets criticized for not doing anything. One sister is working furiously and the other is just sitting there soaking it all in and the busy bee complains to Jesus about the sitter and Jesus actually sides with the one who is not working. THAT WOULD BE A PERFECT TEXT WHEN COMING BACK FROM A SABBATICAL, ESPECIALLY IF THERE ARE FOLKS OUT THERE WHO HAVE BEEN COMPLAINING, “WHY DOES HE GET TO DO NOTHING; I DON’T GET TO DO NOTHING!” The problem is nobody around here has been making that complaint – at least not out loud. On the contrary, you all have been incredibly supportive and encouraging to me throughout this time of being away, even if my absence did put some more work on some of your shoulders. So, we have this story and we do not need to use it as a bludgeon against those who are suspect of people who aren’t working hard enough. 

 

In fact, I want to begin by being sympathetic to Martha, the busy bee sister in this story, whose complaint to Jesus seems to get shot down in the end. It is true that Martha’s complaint about Mary is not sustained in this story – I’ve always felt that if we don’t like the way a story goes then we need to go find ourselves another story. But even so, that doesn’t mean that Martha is an awful person or being totally unreasonable. In fact, we can make the case that Martha is being exactly the kind of disciple that Jesus is calling, one who sets aside their own self-interest and looks to the needs of others. Look at the way that Martha welcomes Jesus into her home. The word that Luke uses here for “welcome” is used 3 other times in the New Testament, each one as an example of someone doing the right thing. And, frankly, Jesus needs to eat at some point. He may be the son of God but he’s the son of God in human flesh and humans need food to keep living. And Jesus has an entourage, so it’s not just a matter of adding a bit of water to the soup. Hospitality is a very important and central value in the Scriptures, so to the extent that Martha is offering hospitality to Jesus and his crew, she is doing the right and just thing. So, let’s start there. It’s not that “doing” is a problem or that having a servant’s heart is wrong. 

So, then, what is the problem? Luke uses a word that our version of the bible translates as “distracted.” That’s a fine translation, but the root of the word, “spao” is the word from which we get our words “spasm” and “spastic.” So, the issue here is not that Martha is doing something, that she’s serving, that she’s ensuring that the food gets from the pot to the bowls, that the drinks get from the pitcher into the cup, that everyone has what they need. The problem is that it’s all one big, giant tangled ball of need and frenzy and it causes Martha not only to serve but to lash out at the one whom she feels isn’t pulling her weight. We recognize that this is all set within a patriarchal setting and Martha doesn’t ask Jesus to tell Simon or Bartholomew to get up and shake a leg. But she does lash out at her sister and tries to get Jesus to join her, to make it a righteous indignation, not a matter of spastic frenzy. And that is not the kind of service that Jesus is willing to defend.  

 

Back in 1934, when Japan invaded Manchuria, there were a lot of folks in Europe and in the US, remembering the awful events of the First World War who began rattling their sabers and demanding military intervention to stop the aggression. And that is when Richard Niebuhr, an excellent theologian and ethicist, published an article in The Christian Century entitled, “The Grace of Doing Nothing.” Niebuhr was not arguing for quietism generally or passivity in times of trouble. He was addressing a specific moment that he put this way, “We are chafing at the bit, we are eager to do something constructive; but there is nothing constructive, it seems, that we can do.” Niebuhr said that I moments like this, “The problem we face is often that of choice between various kinds of inactivity rather than of choice between action and inaction.” 

 

There are different ways of “doing nothing.” There is laziness; there is fear; there is apathy; there is a lack of intervention because it doesn’t serve our own self-interest; there is a jaded way of hoping that the system will destroy itself in order to start anew. What Niebuhr was arguing for, in a situation where there was nothing constructive that could be done, was a kind of inactivity that “appears to be highly impracticable because it rests on the well-nigh-obsolete faith that there is a God—a real God.” For all of the language that we cultivate in church there is still a very deep skepticism even among Christian people that, when it comes to serious events of justice in the world, there is a God – a real God – who is active in history. This kind of faithful “doing nothing” is grounded in the self-awareness of our own faults, that whenever we intervene and act we are just as likely to make matters worse as to make matters right. So, this kind of “doing nothing” is grounded in repentance. Perhaps what is driving Niebuhr at this point is the observation that John Calvin made that the more we see God’s glory the more we can see human frailty. This kind of inactivity is not about being superior to others, but being aware of the God in the midst of it all.

 

In our story, Martha is serving and serving others is a manifestly Christian activity. But, spastic frenzy is a different matter. It is possible to be so attentive to getting the food from the pot to the bowls, the drinks from the pitcher into the cup, to stopping human trafficking, to curbing climate change, to enacting gun control, to giving women their right over what happens inside of their own bodies, to housing those who are without a home, to justice for the oppressed, to reversing the history of racism, to fixing all that is broken that we can overlook the presence of Christ, right here in our midst. That may be one reason why many people of faith – especially those of us who consider ourselves progressives, fighting for justice in the world – are often impatient with worship. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, to God be the glory, now let’s get moving!” 

 

Mary shows us another means of being faithful, which Jesus says is her way of choosing the good part. She is sitting at Jesus’ feet – not the place of someone in charge of things. And unlike Martha, whom Jesus says is anxious and perturbed about many things, she is focused on one thing –hearing Jesus’ word. And there are times that even in the midst of many things that need doing, even in the moment when we know that something must be done, even when the injustices of the world seem to be piling up one on top of the other bring us to a frenzied state of trying to fix everything all at once – there are times when grace lies in doing nothing, just sitting and listening to the word of the Lord. 

 

I am being very careful to say “there are times.” I cannot imagine that Mary’s inactivity is the only way of being faithful and we will hear another story next week that makes that very clear. In fact, one month after Richard Niebuhr published his essay entitled, “The Grace of Doing Nothing,” his brother Reinhold Niebuhr published a furious rebuttal entitled, “Must We Do Nothing?” We will hear Reinhold’s approach to the matter – much in line with Martha in our story – next week. But, today, I invite you to give Mary her moment and consider that even when, perhaps especially when, we feel the need to fix everything everywhere all at once, there is a peculiar grace of doing nothing that is grounded in trusting the God in our midst. 

 

 

 

Migrant Stories #2

 As you’ve heard me say, we are spending the month of July looking at “Migration Stories” in the book of Genesis. We started last week, looking at God’s call to Abram (later, Abraham) that started with the command to “Go from your country, your kindred, and your father’s house.” That simple beginning shows the enormous costs of migration – unrooting oneself from those places, customs, and relationships that give us our identity and security. It may be hard for those of us with cell phones and international means of communicating to feel the intensity of this moment. Migration begins with leaving. Leaving it all behind. And that is true whether one migrates willingly, like my Welsh ancestors coming to the US, or forcibly, like victims of war, or someone escaping domestic violence. 

 

Over the last week, many of you have reminded me of how present migration is in our own lifetimes. After worship someone introduced herself to me as a “second-generation immigrant.” Others remembered how St. Mark was heavily involved in resettling refugees from Viet Nam, a part of the migration story of Vu Tran that I mentioned in my sermon. Another person remembered the experiences of those who fled the dust bowl in Oklahoma and found it challenging to be accepted in other states, such as California. And last weekend, Bobbi Dauderman joined a group from one of our sister presbyteries that traveled down to the border to engage in “accompaniment” with migrants. If you want to learn more about this calling, you can watch John Fanestil’s remarkable presentation on it here. Migration has always been a part of human existence, initiated by any number of factors. And making a home, being in one’s place, having a rooting in culture, language, and space has also been a value. Let’s explore for a moment the tension between the migrant experience as the human experience and making a home as the human experience. 

 

One worship practice that the Hebrew people had – after they had settled in the Promised Land – was to remember their migrant roots. In Deuteronomy 26, there is a litany that one would recite when presenting an offering of “first fruits” from the harvest, that began with the words remembering Abram, “My father was a wandering Aramean.” The power of this litany was to remember one’s identity, one’s history, one’s roots, which is so easy to forget over time and when one is prosperous. I suspect US policies – both national and neighborhood – toward immigrants would be kinder and more just if every European descendent began their day with the words, “My ancestors, too, came to this land with hopes for a better life.” Part of the reason we offer an occasional “Land Acknowledgment” in worship is so that we don’t forget who we are by remembering where we are. 

 

The Christian Church also had to address the tension between being a migrant people and making a home. This conversation often took the form of how to practice a faith that is rooted in Jesus, a faithful Jew, and practice it among peoples who were not traditionally Jewish. That’s why I find Paul’s letter to the church in Rome to be such a powerful part of our faith. Here is a church, some with Jewish roots and some with Gentile (i.e. non-Jewish) roots, worshiping God and claiming Jesus Christ – a Jew condemned by his own religious leaders and executed by the Roman Empire. That church in Rome didn’t fit anywhere! Perhaps this is why Stanley Hauerwas and William Willimon describe the Christian Church as “resident aliens,” never quite fitting in a world that is often shaped by violence and greed, antithetical to the Christian message. 

 

My point is that these migrant stories in Genesis are not just historical phenomena, and they are not just part of the story of general mass migrations. They show us what is at stake when one pulls up roots, leaves the identity and security of one’s own people behind, and follows God’s call with vulnerability. That is why I find the call to Abram in Genesis 12 to be akin to Jesus’ call for his followers to “take up our cross” and leave our securities behind. 

 

This week, we will hear a story during worship that shows how vulnerable Abram and his family were when answering God’s call. It is a maddening story, mostly because it is a true-to-life story. 

 

See you in worship,

MD