Hello, Newmal

 I love coining new terms. Sometimes they are just dumb old puns and sometimes they are a tad more clever. I gather a group of pastors every Thursday and I call it the “Synagaggle,” which would literally mean “a gaggling together” if the Oxford English Dictionary would pay attention to me and grant it some legitimacy. Still, I think it is one of my better attempts at moving the English language along in a helpful way. So, You’re welcome. 

 

Now, I have another term: “Newmal.” It’s not “normal” as in “getting back to normal” because that kind of retrogression isn’t always automatically a positive step. It’s not “new” because we often seem to imagine that anything “new” is likewise “improved” and that’s not always the case either. And it’s not the “new normal” which is a term that we optimistically imply will arise when some chaotic episode destroys the “old normal,” but too often simply looks like a way of keeping the powers intact that got us into a mess in the first place. In order to avoid ‘normal’ and ‘new’ and ‘new normal,’ I offer “Newmal.” 

 

Here’s how I define “Newmal”: The opportunity following a disruption to re-assess; to discover that some things we took for granted are quite precious and we need them; to realize that some things were simply what we did by momentum or inertia; to accept that a disruption can be devastating in so many ways and yet still hold some promise to re-focus on who we are called to be. As one can see in the word, there is acknowledgment of the “new,” but not with the arrogance that we have greater wisdom than our forebears. And the word acknowledges what we once thought of as “normal,” but not in a way that it grants the past unquestioned authority. The power of the “Newmal” is that it arises from the dynamic interplay of both the great things God has done and the new thing God is doing. 

 

My inspiration for the “Newmal” is the early church in Antioch. They were driven there by persecution in Jerusalem and a diaspora to places abroad. Yet, when they got there they found a golden opportunity to rethink what the church was, how it could look, and how it could operate. Perhaps it was less that they “thought” about as much as they simply found new doors ajar and pushed through them. Some folks started sharing the gospel with Gentiles and, hey, they welcomed it! Someone went and fetched a person who had been a nemesis but who had a change of heart and, hey, they got Paul as one of their teachers. Someone felt the need to help victims of a famine and, hey, they sent out the first missionaries with relief money. The book of Acts didn’t preserve the minutes of the Antiochene Strategic Planning Committee, but somehow or another they still managed to live into the opportunities that God opened up. 

 

So, now, we can do the same. When we find ourselves wanting to “get back to …” we should simply pause long enough to ask if that’s what God is calling us to now. To do so is not a criticism of what we did once upon a time, but an awareness that sometimes what was becomes a springboard for what can be. And when we find ourselves assuming that the new way is the only way, we should simply pause long enough to discern what the past was all about. To do so it not to say, “We’ve never done it that way before” but to listen for what God has done as an indicator of what God will do. 

 

Why be normal when we can be “Newmal”? 

 

Mark of St. Mark 

The Church and Its Pentecost Effects

For the last several weeks, I’ve been reflecting on the recent studies showing that many folks in the US do not consider themselves a part of any particular faith community. Some have left because they find the church to be too judgmental, too hypocritical, too liberal, too conservative, too boring, or too much of an imposition on their busy week, etc. What I suggested last week is the possibility that some folks feel as if they have “graduated” from church. That is to say, they may primarily see the church as a place where one goes to “become a better person.” And, since they more or less agree with the church’s ethical teaching, they are happy to go about living the kind of life without all of the trappings of religion. 

 

I think there is something to be said for that way of thinking. For example, if someone eschews a lucrative law career in order to be a public defender because they are convinced that everyone deserves equal representation in matters of justice, is that commitment not what the prophet calls us to do when he says, “Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly”? Do they need to believe in God to do “what God commands”? I have met persons who began attending progressive churches like St. Mark because they were part of the LGBTQIA community and needed to find a safe refuge from the church in which they grew up. Once they learned to accept themselves as beloved children of God, they left church because they felt like they had what they needed to move on. In truth, I think a non-religious person committed to justice is more christian (as an adjective) than someone whose religion is all about living their best life now and going to heaven when they die. Nonetheless, at the expense of sounding like a “company shill,” I want to push back against the idea that living a good or justice-oriented life makes the church irrelevant.

I believe the church is greater than the sum of its part. Being the church is more than learning the Bible, believing doctrines, formation as a “better person,” worshiping with others, doing one’s part, and participating in a community. Much like a body is fingers, toes, eyeballs, brains, organs, blood, etc., but the experience of living as an embodied person is far more than what those parts do, being the church involves all kinds of things, but is more than all of them put together. Here’s my favorite example, but I’m sure you can think of more. 

 

A three-year-old often categorizes adults in a church as either parenty or grandparenty and not much more besides. That child does not know the joy or pain of anyone’s life story and often not even their names. They just know that when they offer an answer to a question during Young Church or sing a song on Christmas Eve, everyone loves it. What they may not know is that those “old” people know their names, remember their birth, and hold them up in prayer often. Speaking as a former three-year-old, that experience of being welcomed, of people having real joy over the mere fact that one exists, shapes us far more deeply than we can ever know. This experience of being welcomed and loved by the church is how we first experience being welcomed and loved by God. The life-shaping of being loved – in a way that is eternal and not just contingent on our latest action – is as close to a miracle as anything we can name. This life-giving miracle is not the Bible Study, the programs, or any of the disparate parts of church life – it is the power that animates all of those parts of the church life. In this time of Pentecost, we call this power the Holy Spirit. If we only see the church as an institution, we might reach a place where we’re ready to “graduate” from it. But, if we see the church as a body that is empowered by the Holy Spirit, being the church is far than “what we get out of it” or even “what we contribute to it.”  

 

I invite you to join us in worship this weekend and let the Holy Spirit of Pentecost fill you with new life, new breath, new fire, and new ways of expressing the good news of the gospel. 

 

Mark of St. Mark 

 

The Effects of the Church, Again

Last week I wrote about a radio commercial for Mother’s Day flowers, honoring a variety of ways that we are mothered or nurtured by others. I noted that the language of the commercial was similar to the kind of expansive language that many of us in the church have been trying to cultivate over the years with the language and direction of our liturgy. At the end of last week’s “Extra,” I mentioned that the commercial raises the question of the relationship between the church and the culture in which we are embedded. Does the flower commercial show that the church has been quite effective in all of our laborious cultivation of capacious language? I’m not suggesting that the church is the only institution that has been engaged in this cultivation, but it has indeed been a real goal of the church to expand the sense of what Mother’s Day means. Let me offer another example of how the church’s efforts have made a difference. 

 

In Thursday’s L.A. Times this week there is a marvelous article about “microfarms” that are being cultivated in the city. It is part of a trend among African American communities to combat the maldistribution of grocery stores among less affluent neighborhoods by replacing decorative grass yards with small community gardens. You can read the article itself here. At the center of the article is Jamiah Hargins, a winsome and inspiring proponent of microfarming, described at one point as having “the easygoing but determined disposition of a youth minister.” When asked about his commitment to setting aside 10% of his produce for needy families, Hargins said, “It’s a community tithe. That’s what I’ve been calling it. I guess it comes from my church days.” 

 

I can’t say for sure, but the reference, “from my church days,” seems to imply that Hargins no longer attends church. For the sake of this essay, let’s just assume that Hargins does not currently attend church. If that’s the case, Mr. Hargins would be numbered among those who are often called the “nones,” or “Spiritual, but not religious,” or the “dones” – all of which are ways of naming folks who have “left” the church. It means that he, and folks like him, are the ones to whom people point when they say that the church is “losing its relevance” or that the country is “no longer religious.” It’s what makes church proponents purse their lips and church critics nod their heads. But, let me ask this: Could it mean that Mr. Hargins has “graduated?” 

 

It’s not unheard of. The Apostle Paul referred to “the law” – the primary religious structure in his own religious upbringing – as a “tutor,” or a “disciplinarian,” which served a purpose for a time, but was never intended to be the permanent structure of faith. Is it possible that the church’s whole purpose is to “Christianize the social order” (a phrase from the Social Gospel prophet, Walter Rauschenbusch), and to make its own institutional structure irrelevant?  To be sure, the naïve optimism of the late 19^th century about the extent to which the social order in the west had been “Christianized” was devasted by two world wars, a depression, and the technological threat of atomic weaponry. But, on a much smaller scale, would Mr. Hargins present us with someone whose religious training in church was quite successful and whose work in the world is, in fact, one way of seeing “the church,” even if he no longer “belongs to” or attends a church? 

 

I see the inherent danger in raising this question, especially as a pastor whose own “success” is often measured in how adroitly I am able to draw people to the church that I serve. But, ever since Jeremiah described the “new covenant” as one in which it would no longer be necessary for people like me to say, “Know the Lord!” because everyone would know the Lord, we pastors have always seen our best “success” lies in working our way out of a job. And perhaps that is true of the church also. 

 

On the other hand, there are plenty of reasons to suggest that, even if the church’s role is to produce disciples like Mr. Hargins and send them out of the church doors into the community garden, the church itself would remain necessary. That’s the thread where I’ll pick up this topic next week. I think there is a better way than the either/or of church. 

   

 

Mark of St. Mark

Mother's Day and the Effects of the Church

I heard a radio commercial the other day for flowers – as one often does when Mother’s Day approaches. Since Mother’s Day always falls on a Sunday, it presents a challenge for churches that meet to worship on Sunday. (Father’s Day falls on Sundays also, but for some reason, there doesn’t seem to be the same kind of meaning ascribed to it. I blame all those years of dads receiving “soap-on-a-rope.”) The challenge for churches has two parts. Liturgically, Mother’s Day is not really a significant day on the church calendar – no more than May Day, Star Wars Day, Cinco de Mayo, Memorial Day, or any of the other celebrations that happen in May. But, “Liturgy, schmiturgy,” say some people. It seems almost a blow to family values – to Eve, the mother of all living! – not to say something mother-wise during worship on Mother’s Day. So, the first challenge churches face is the gap between the cultural calendar and the liturgical calendar. 

The second challenge is that, in the Christian church, we feel compelled to think and speak expansively. We know that some women are not mothers, either by choice or circumstance. Some mothers struggle to mother well, leaving both the experience of mothering and the experience of being mothered as painful legacies, not something to celebrate with flowers. We know that some families have the adjectives “step,” “foster,” or “adopted” in them, which points to the complexities of the family system. We know that some mothers have lost children in some way, and some children have lost mothers. We know that some of our families have two dads or two moms, not the family structure of old sitcoms. The approach and language of worship has the task of naming the breadth of human experience, not just a two-dimensional version of it. And, more recently, matters of gender identity have even challenged our use of words like “brother, sister, father, mother” in worship, because there are folks who are gender neutral or transgender and the language we use might suggest a distinction between the ‘norm’ and the ‘exception.’ 

So, the groups with which I have planned worship over the years have sought to acknowledge the meaning that Mother’s Day does have for many people, without ‘normalizing’ the mothering experience in a way that excludes those for whom this can be a painful day of remembrance. To that end, we have spoken of “mothering” and “people who have provided nurture.” We have pointed to images of God’s hesed, the feminine Hebrew word often translated as “steadfast love.” Hesed could be translated “motherly love.” In other words, we have tried to expand “Mother’s Day” to something like “a celebration of family,” or “celebrating the nurturing people in our lives.” It doesn’t quite satisfy everybody, but there is a difference between aiming for liturgy and language that is appropriate and trying to make everyone happy.

So, I heard a radio commercial the other day for flowers – as one often does when Mother’s Day approaches. But, lo and behold, the language of the commercial sounded like it was lifted straight out of bulletins that I’ve worked on over the years for the Sundays of Mother’s Day. It mentioned “Mom,” but it also mentioned adoption, foster care, and “anyone who has nurtured us along the way.” It didn’t mention some of the more difficult aspects of mothering and childhood, but, after all, they had wares to sell not prayers to offer. Still, I was impressed that the language and focus of the commercial was far more inclusive than what one might have been expecting from a national chain capitalizing on one of its most profitable holidays.

The church has an annual challenge of acknowledging Mother’s Day while addressing its complexities and without practicing exclusion. Now a national flower commercial is acknowledging the same complexities of Mother’s Day that the church has been addressing for several decades. The whole phenomenon raises the issue of the relationship between the church and the culture in which we are embedded. I’ll pick up that topic in next week’s “Extra.” 

Until then, as the church empowered by the Spirit, may the hesed of God be with you, 

Mark of St. Mark

What to Do about the Church’s Demise, Part 2

Today I will conclude an essay that I began last week with an overview of studies that portend the demise of the church.  

When pressed, my response to studies proclaiming the decline of religion in general or Christianity in particular, including the latest one, is “Meh.” I even shock myself at times with that response, so what follows is my attempt to understand how one can be as invested in the Christian church as I am and still not be moved by another declaration that it is on life support. Again, I will confine my remarks to the Christianity that I know and love.

 

One reason for the “Meh” is that much of what is being lost is not Christianity but Christendom. The original Christian community was a minority group willing to risk life, livelihood, and reputation to declare fealty to someone who had been branded a blasphemer and a seditious criminal. There are ongoing arguments of whether the situation of being outside of power and popularity is simply a matter of historical accident or whether that is, in fact, how the church is meant to be. When church and state become comfortable with each other, at times hardly distinguishable, does it come at too great a cost of the church’s theological integrity? If the church had strictly opposed slavery would there still be streets in the south with church buildings on every corner? If the church refused military service would the Senate or military still have chaplains? If the church provided healing and health to anyone in need or lent without expecting repayment, would we still be tax exempt, get housing allowance privileges, or PPP loans? Can there actually be a “Christian nation” if the church put the kinship of the Reign of God above national allegiance? If nothing else the demise of Christendom may offer the church a route toward renewing ourselves in a way more befitting followers of the crucified Christ. 

 

But that path would be unpopular, which means loss of members and revenue, which means failure, according to our capitalistic manner of thinking. It is true that, in the book of Acts, the church’s faithfulness often resulted in the exultant note that many people were added to the church. But, that manner of measuring faithfulness goes away after the first few chapters, when the stories of persecution, martyrdom, diaspora, and internal discord begins to take over. And Paul’s extraordinary mission journeys end with Paul’s journey to Rome, to be imprisoned, tried, and possibly martyred. The myth of “success” – inscribed deeply into the church’s psyche by the Church Growth Movement – comes at a huge cost. Perhaps the question is not whether people are rejecting the church but whether people have actually ever seen the church. 

 

I think a question for hand-wringers is whether they are grieving the loss of a Christianity that is inherently connected to Jesus Christ, or a commodified version of it.  

 

On the other hand, the church has never been perfect, the relationship between followers of Christ and citizenship in the state has always been problematic, and despite it all there is still some very powerful, viable witness taking place in Christian circles. One thing churches are doing – which many external critics fail to recognize – is some powerful soul-searching. I wish my cousin would realize that Bishop Spong has already raised all of his objections about theism and, frankly, more insightfully and pointedly than he does. I wish my neighbor wouldn’t read an Op Ed by Bart Ehrman and imagine that the church has never heard of biblical criticism. And I wish my activist friends knew the economic analyses of Leonardo Boff, the womanist theology of Katie Geneva Cannon, and the eschatology of Barbara Rossing before they assume that all of the church is represented by the mansplaining likes of Franklin Graham and Tim LaHaye. 

 

So, what do I make of the latest reports alleging “the godlessness of America”? I say “Meh,” if the question is whether I am concerned about the institutional predominance of the Christian church in America. I think a church that simply digs in and tries to preach the same thing “more harder” is ignoring real questions. But, a deeper response would go two ways. First, I feel repentant because the church has such a beautiful call to proclaim the joy and justice of the gospel as we live in the spirit of Christ. To a large extent, we have failed to do that very thing. But, second, I feel some hope, because a chastened church, a church that is open to honest questions and genuine criticisms – that’s a community that I’m all in on cultivating. Let’s have predominantly White churches doing serious audits of our history and complicity in White Supremacy – with an eye toward transformation. Let’s have a church interrogate our historic patriarchy, with more than just pointing at more female denominational leaders. Let’s have a church that values integrity over preserving convention. And let’s have a church that continues to reject the easy answers that we’ve often offered to complex questions, particularly if the point of the answer is to shame the one asking the question in the first place. None of these ideas is a prescription for church growth, but with this kind of energy, we would be the kind of community that we’re called to be.  

 

Mark of St. Mark

 

 

What to Do about the Church’s Demise, Part 1

This week I’m going to begin an essay that I will conclude next week. I’ll begin with an overview as Part 1 and move toward a response in Part 2: 

It seems like every few years a study emerges which, once again, proclaims that the death of religion is right around the next corner. News of faith’s imminent demise has likely been an ongoing phenomenon for centuries, and, to be sure, there is some truth in each instance. In my time of service to the Christian church, there have been a few such notable moments, each of which was met with some hand-wringing, some calls for “change or die,” and some “I told you so” comments. The March 29 publication of a Gallup Poll showing that more than half of adults in the US do not belong to a religious congregation is the latest of such studies, threatening to make Christian churches, along with Jewish synagogues and Islamist mosques, irrelevant soon, if not extinct eventually. 

I’ll let other faiths speak for themselves, but for the Christian church I think it is important to note that the anxiety of our demise is rooted in what we have wrongly defined as our “success.” Christians commonly assume that a movement that began with the death of a fairly unknown Galilean then expanded to a global religion is all the proof we need that God is alive. Embedded in this story is an unspoken arrogance that those places and peoples where Christianity has historically been most influential are the leading lights of education and civilization throughout the world. But, that “success” story only sharpens the question of the moment. If the global expanse of the church was proof that Christianity had been fueled by God, then what does the decline of the church signify? 

The historical confidence that the globalization of the church seemed to show from a historical perspective became prescriptive during the Church Growth movement. The stagnant to falling numbers in so-called “mainline” denominations and the rising numbers in so-called “evangelical” churches caused some panic and reaction at every level among historic, mainline churches. The word “evangelism” was conjoined with the phrase “church growth,” making it a matter of faithfulness for the church to increase its rolls and worship attendance. Mega-churches became the leading lights and their pastors became the role models, book sellers, and plenary presenters at workshops. The more liberal edges of theology were trimmed, not by conviction, but in order to “reach more people.” Bible studies avoided critical interpretation in order to focus on “application.” Behind all of these changes was the assumption that the downward trend of the mainline and the upward trend of evangelicals meant that the real sniff test of whether the church is being faithful can be demonstrated numerically. 

Then, there was “Sheilaism,” the term offered by Robert Bellah and his collaborators in their book Habits of the Heart. The term was based on a woman named Sheila who seemed to show an alarming trend that threatened Christianity. Sheila was Christian enough, but also Buddhist in some ways, a bit of Jewish here and there, mostly choosing her meal not from the menu but à la carte. That kind of non-traditional religion was a threat to established religious movements of all kinds, because the ultimate arbiter of religious truth and meaning was … Sheila. Some churches dug into tradition as the better source of truth; others expanded the menu to offer yoga classes with a Christian mantra. Whether digging in or opening up, the primary motive still seemed to be that unless the church is growing numerically something is amiss. 

Alas, on came the “Nones,” those who marked surveys claiming no religious affiliation at all. Often, the rationale would be that the church is both hypercritical and hypocritical. Scandal-free, inclusive-minded congregations took hope that their challenge was simply to show that they were not the kind of church that the “Nones” and company rejected. But, it turned out that the “Nones” were more or less “None and Done.” And, there was a changing point of view that really challenged the church’s presumed centrality, as the question shifted from “Why don’t you go to church?” to “Why do you go to church?” I once led a congregation through a series of question about their relationship with the church and, by far, the number one reason the faithful, church-attending, active folk gave for going to church was “the feeling of community.” After years of sermons warning against the church becoming a social club, who knew clubbing would be the church’s strong suit? The “Nones,” “Dones,” and “Whatevers” seem to have largely realized that a feeling of community can be found in many places. So, they left. And now they seem to outnumber the religious folks. And that’s were we’ll leave it for this week. Next week, I’ll offer a response.

Mark of St. Mark

A Verse A Day (Day 20)

 A Verse A Day 

 

In the 84^th Psalm, the psalmist makes this arresting claim: “I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than live in the tents of wickedness.” 

 

You know, those tents of wickedness are pretty enticing. Perhaps it is the wickedness that one can imagine going on inside, debauchery dressed up as progressiveness, excess, profanely shedding the stiff clothing of conventionality behind the curtains. Perhaps it is the sheer luxury of those tents, baths of asses milk, silk from the east, abundant wine from the finest vineyards, rich sweetmeats, a table spread with fresh fruits and nuts, the best musicians offering songs of delight, elegant everything. Perhaps it is the status, the pride, the hubris of ownership, the “it” factor, the joy of knowing that anyone who is someone wants to be you, the influencer of all influencers. 

 

And then there’s the doorkeeper. The doorkeeper doesn’t actually live in the house. It might be a fearsome guardian, who would take off the head of anyone who might try to meander in uninvited or by stealth. It might be an old sleepy fixture who has to be awakened to greet people properly as they enter. Nothing about this person says “me.” The uniform belongs to the house, the house belongs to the owner, the smile the greeting are all part of the script, an act, lending an air of dignity, while playing into the theater of owners who are too entitled to open their own door themselves. How many doorkeepers secretly loathe the person who calls them by their first name but who is always called with the utmost measure of respect? 

 

The psalmist is ultimately saying, “I’d rather debase myself for the Lord than luxuriate for myself.” That sentiment can only make sense if the owner of the house is worthy beyond one’s own self-worth. That’s what I am holding today. 

A Verse A Day (Day 15)

“The firmament proclaims God’s handiwork,” according to the 19^th psalm. Here’s a shout out to the translators for choosing the word “handiwork.’ It’s a perfect term. Whether it refers to making paper cranes, intricate drawings, carving, doodling, swaddling, stitching, stirring, painting, braiding, tattooing, or designing – handiwork is what we do when we’re doing. 

 

So, if I imagine the firmament – the heavens, outer space, nebula, dark holes, galaxies, suns, stars, multiverses, and all that is therein – as God’s handiwork, what do I see? What if God is like Banksy – the incredible artist whose works take glimpses of the inner city and re-imagine them in ways that are truly revelatory? What if God’s is like Alice Walker, who uses ordinary language to convey extraordinary truth? What if God is like Leonardo, ambidextrous, inventive, and the master of form? And what if God is like that tinkerer who took the dissatisfaction with previous designs and modified them to become a zipper? Seeing God in these different ways might enable me to see the firmament and all creation in a different way. 

 

For me, a profound metaphor for God’s handiwork might be the Tibetan Buddhists that create the sand mandalas. It is intricate work. There is a melodic, constant humming that accompanies the concentrated silence. The artists are intensely focused on every grain of sand and how they create patterns, color, and meaning. It takes a long time of sustained effort. Then, when it is done and its beauty is fulfilled, they dismantle it, to reflect the transitory nature of life. The dismantling itself is a ritually deliberate process, before the sand is returned to the river and reabsorbed into the elements. 

 

What if that’s the kind of artist God is? What if God’s handiwork is to create a universe, which lasts for eons to us and mere billions of years to God, only to reabsorb it into the dark matter before another universe bursts into being? The heavens are telling the glory of God and the firmament proclaims God’s handiwork – do I even have the capacity to hear and see? 

 

A Verse A Day (Day 13)

“The heavens are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims God’s handiwork.” Psalm 19:1 

 

Firmament. What a strangely familiar/unfamiliar term. I remember it chiefly from this snatch of the 19^th Psalm, and from a few measures of a song my college choir rehearsed and sang, when the tenors finally got to sing a high note in full voice. Even now when I read the word I hear it as an F with the dotted-eighth, sixteenth, and accented E quarter note rhythm. It feels much more majestic that way. 

 

The psalmist might be singing, but is also – literally and metaphorically – reaching for the stars. The great blue yonder, that dome above the earth, the heavens, the “there” that is “up there” but so far beyond our reach that we can only point to it and wonder. The real that is so unlike reality that we cannot describe it. Of course today we know that the firmament is not “up there” like a dome but “out there” from every perspective point of the globe. We have explored and probed and landed and fetched; we have sent moving telescopes out into the depths, only to be astounded anew at the abundance, the beginnings and endings, the constancy of change. 

 

The firmament. To those of us in the space age it seems like the final frontier, but the psalmist sees more. Even when we speak of the firmament as infinite, ever-expanding space, the psalmist has something to say: Beyond it all is something more, namely, God.  

 

I’m going to hold this claim, “the firmament proclaims God’s handiwork” all week long. 

A Verse A Day (Day 12)

For the last five days, the daily psalm reading for Lent has been the latter part of Psalm 22. The beginning of Psalm 22 is the most familiar part, the painful lament that Jesus utters from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? … Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer; and by night, but find no rest.” “I am ... scorned by others, and despised by the people.” Those who scorn say, “Commit your cause to the Lord; let him deliver – let him rescue the one in whom he delights!” It’s easy to see how the gospel writers found the 22^nd Psalm in the crucifixion. 

 

By the time we get to the end of it, this Psalm has traveled a long way. The psalmist has moved from lamenting God’s absence in a time of distress to giving God praise for not ignoring the afflictions of the afflicted; from “Why have you forsaken me?” to a God who “did not hide his face from me, but heard when I cried to him.” 

 

The change of tone is curious. Did the psalmist lose nerve? Was the psalm written in retrospect, capturing both the angst of the moment and the composed reassurance of the aftermath? I have known folks whose perspectives have changed dramatically – sometimes as a result of a conscious or religious experience, and sometimes finding what Karl Rahner called “consolation without a cause.” Is that what’s happening here? Or, maybe this psalm is just a snapshot of life. 

 

Sometimes we live at the beginning of the psalm, when the most faithful thing one can do is to express doubts, anxieties, and questions. The rawness of the lament psalm is the liberty to howl that Western theology and culture have refined out of us. At other times we look back and see how far we have come, how many things we have been able to do, despite ourselves, and how patiently God has been at work among us. Perhaps then we need the liberty to rejoice without caution, without having to account for our earlier words. Maybe it is simply the case that sometimes we live in the hope of new life and sometimes we tremble with the prospect of death. What startles me about this psalm is how both are simply sewn together without hesitation or apology. 

A Verse A Day (Day 11, I write other things on Fridays so I skipped day 10)

I’m still digesting the 22nd Psalm’s recognition of both the specific location of the psalmist – self-identifying as part of the people of Jacob/Israel – and the universal scope of the psalmist’s outlook – “all the ends of the earth,” “all the families of the nations.” Of course, the psalmist’s own location between the local and the global corresponds with the theology at play here. God is, for the psalmist, both “our God” before whom the “offspring of Jacob” stand in awe, and the God to whom dominion over the nations belongs. So universal in breadth is God that even the dead and the yet unborn will offer praise as part of the “great congregation.” 

If we can describe the life of faith as “us before God and God before us,” then there seem to be four quadrants at play in the life of faith. There is (1) the human in both the specific location; (2) the human in the general location; and there is (3) God as specifically perceived; and (4) God as universally perceived. 

(1) European idealists strove mightily to explore the specific location of the human identity, beginning with Descartes’ famous dictum, “I think, therefore I am.” 

(2) The African philosophical concept of Ubuntu offers a counterpoint to the extreme subjectivity of the European quest. Ubuntu means, “I am because we are.” 

(3) The existence of different religions, different sects or denominations within different religions, and the personalistic experiences of salvation, contemplation, prayer, commitment, and so on – all point to the possibility of God or the divine being experienced by and expressed from a specific perspective. 

(4) Almost every religious expression has a universal scope in view, either implicitly through its language regarding the divine or explicitly through its mission or witness to the world. 

Many things have been and can be said regarding these four quadrants, including questioning whether “quadrant” is the right term to express them. It strikes me that the 22nd Psalm does not presume to select one over the others, but struggles to live faithfully by fluidly moving in and out of each of them. That will be my thought throughout this day. 

A Verse A Day (Day 9)

The daily reading guide that I am following has shifted from the 77^th Psalm to the 22^nd Psalm, particularly vv. 23-31.

 

Psalm 22 speaks to a fundamental part of the religious experience – or, I think one could say, the human experience. In v.23 it seems addressed to “you offspring of Jacob” and “you offspring of Israel.” As such, it is speaking to people with a particular history, a particular heritage, and so a particular identity. To be an offspring of Jacob/Israel (the same person whose name was changed as a result of “wresting with God,” which is what “Isra-el” means), is to be part of a tradition that knows God in a particular way. God is the God of the covenant, whose faithfulness is never-ending. And that way of knowing God is the source of much wrestling, especially when one feels forgotten and unseen by God in times of personal distress or communal catastrophe. The old adage is that a man went to his rabbi and said, “Rabbi! I can’t pray anymore. I just don’t believe there is a Gd in this world!” The rabbi replied, “Oh my! You should pray about that.” Some seasons of prayer are exactly that kind of questioning of God’s presence, God’s reality, or God’s love. But, the beauty of the story is that the covenant tradition welcomes those questions and sees prayer as the place to enter and hold those questions. That speaks to a very deep identity, beyond just birthright or national affiliation. 

 

Soon the psalm starts speaking in much more universal, global terms. V. 27 says, “All the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the Lord.” Now we’re in a realm of religious experience that transcends particular national, familial, or even a specific religious identity. The earth has ever been a large place, full of diversity and differences. Among those differences are not just the cultural habits, languages, or locations, but religion. And yet, in a world with religious difference, which is the basis for using such specific language as “offspring of Jacob/Israel,” there is also a deeper unity. Because God is one, because God is the God of heaven and earth, because God is eternal and omnipresent, the psalmist – out of his particular experience – can also speak of the ‘ends of the earth’ as well as the dead (v.29) and the yet unborn (v.31). 

 

Because we are human, religious experience is specific to some kind of order, tradition, or lineage. Because God is God, religious experience is larger than our minds and imaginations can conceive. What shall we call it? That’s today’s quest. 

A Verse A Day (Day 8)

 I continue to be taught by the 77^th Psalm, much to my chagrin. 

 

I had originally thought, and stated, that the psalmist begins with expressing present misery, then, strangely, turns to remembering the past as a way of finding encouragement. That was the source of my struggle with this text and began my reflections on the relation between the past and the present. Along the way, I’m realizing how culturally-driven our assumptions about past and present are and, all along, I am remembering how such terms are unavoidable and powerful for us, but not for God. Since God is eternal, then for God every moment is what one theologian called “The Eternal Now.” 

 

But, my beginning premise was not exactly right. Before the psalmist turns to the past to remember (vv.10-20), and while the psalmist is expressing his present misery (vv. 1-10), he looks backward (vv.5-6), saying, “I thought about the former days, the years of long ago;  I remembered my songs in the night.” Oh, those songs in the night! Those odes that call us to remember, that find their way into our dreams, where we connect with our ancestors and who we are beyond the simple horizon of our lifespan. The everpresence of the past – not the dead weight of things that matter no more, but the cumulative presence of our identity – the past! It’s not something we can turn off and on like a spigot. If we feel despair now it is because something wells within us from of old, that life is meant for joy and meaning, not something to be blown back and forth with every wind. 

 

The past, it seems, can be a source for encouragement. But, the past, it seems, is equally a source for our present misery. The past – whether we can remember it clearly or whether it is simply buried into our mitochondrial DNA – the past tells us that whatever befalls us does not define us. Even in our most wretched state, there is a vestigial remnant of that original glory, the breath of God that enlivened the dustling into life. In revealing our brokenness, the past shows us our path. 

A Verse A Day (Day 7)

 I continue to hold, and to struggle with, the 77^th Psalm. 

 

Yesterday, I wondered how the psalmist could find hope in remembering God’s great deeds of the past when he was experiencing God’s absence or unresponsiveness in the present. It reminds me that my American-trained notion of the past, present, and future is not necessarily what every other time or culture assumes. A friend told me recently that in Japan, when they refer to the past, they often gesture in front of them, not behind them. For the future they gesture behind them – which is the opposite of what we do in America, where aspiring politicians always declare, “The future is right in front of us!” The Japanese gesture suggests that the past is where we can see it, know it, learn from it, and honor it. The American gesture suggests that the past is behind us and we’re moving on. 

 

The same kind of different perspective is at work in the story when Jesus questions why the scribes refer to the Messiah as “Son of David.” Jesus argues that David himself, in Psalm 110, refers to the Messiah as “My Lord.” Jesus’ argument – which is not fleshed out because his audience took this for granted – makes sense because for David (and the scribes, I presume), the elder is always greater than the younger, the parent greater than the child, the ancestor greater than the descendent, the former greater than the latter, the past greater than the present or future. (Jesus will defy that assumption on occasion, but his argument here relies on this notion of the past being greater than what follows as what his audience believes.) 

 

As one who is trained differently from both the Japanese gestures and Jewish assumptions, I have to recognize and then bracket some of my own assumptions in order to appreciate how the psalmist is able to start this psalm with his present misery and find hope in God’s past deeds. What I initially want to dismiss as nonsensical may be the place where I need to learn anew. 

A Verse A Day (Day 6)

 I don’t know what to make of the 77th Psalm. 

It starts out provocatively, with the psalmist, identified as Jeduthun, speaking frankly about God’s troubling unresponsiveness to prayers. It may not be as profane, but this kind of disarming honesty is similar to the lament that Levee Green makes in “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom,” remembering how his mother cried out, “Help me, Jesus” when being raped by a gang of white men, and Jesus was nowhere to be found. If that kind of questioning feels uncomfortable, then the psalmist’s question will as well: “Has God forgotten to be gracious?” If God forgets to be gracious, is God even God? It would be like water that isn’t wet. 

To that extent, the 77th Psalm really speaks to human experience in a way that most pious folks would never do aloud. Finally comes the declaration: “It is my grief that the right hand of the Most High has changed.” Water is not wet; God is not just. It grieves the psalmist/us to say it. 

Then, the psalm takes a very curious turn. The psalmist, in response to God’s present absence, looks to the past and remembers the powerful deeds of old that God once did. God did this, God did that, clouds poured out water, thunder crashed, the sea parted. It all ends abruptly, “You led your people like a flock by the hand of Moses and Aaron.” Fini. Caput. Show’s over. 

What I cannot understand is how the remembrances of the past tense resolve questions in the present tense. I need to hold this psalm for a long time and quiz myself about my own reactions. It’s not going to be fun. 

 A Verse A Day (Day 5)

The 25^th psalm has a puzzling line: “God instructs sinners in the way.” 

 

Taken in isolation, this snatch of the psalm could imply many things, since the phrase “the way” is left ambiguously undefined. But, the phrase is only undefined if we take it apart from the rest of the psalm. The psalmist has already said, “Make me to know your ways,” “Teach me your paths,” adding that God’s mercy and steadfast love have been God’s manner from of old. And the psalm will go on to say, “All the paths of the Lord are steadfast love and faithfulness.” So, the itty bit of the line is much clearer when we put it in its full verse: Good and upright is the Lord; therefore God instructs sinners in the way.” 

 

It’s an interesting theology, considering the competition. There were competing doctrines, largely gathered under the idea or personification of “fate,” which argued that us “sinners” were more or less destined for wealth or destitution, greatness or servitude. There were competing theologies of the gods who were angered by “sinners,” and therefore required some kind of appeasing sacrifice, whether a prized bull or a selected virgin. There were competing visions of the good life, mostly through hedonistic, misogynistic, and intensely violent exertions of power against others. 

 

The development of theologies and doctrines is an interesting subject in itself, but will have to wait for another day. Suffice it to say, though, that these competing doctrines of fate, appeasement, and power as proof of divine pleasure all find their way into the Scriptures along the way, because even competing theologies are grounded in the same mess of human experience and encounter the same questions that arise from it. But, those doctrines do not ultimately define the God of this psalm. 

 

The 25^th Psalm simply presumes that God is good and upright, that God’s love is steadfast, and that, therefore, God’s manner with sinners is not to leave them to their fate, to lash out in anger, or to equip them to fight it out, but to change them with instruction. We can be taught! – says the psalmist. And God teaches. That brings me hope. 

A Verse A Day (Day 4)

In the 25th Psalm, the psalmist says, “Do not remember the sins of my youth and my rebellious ways; according to your love remember me, for you, Lord, are good.”

We often imagine that, unless otherwise attributed, David wrote all of the psalms. Reading his story, however, it seems pretty clear that he saved his most egregious sins for the latter part of this life. The writer of this psalm looks at his youthful years with regret – as I do so often. I remember how blithely I went along with racists assumptions 7th grade, even though my best friend was black. I remember how thirsty I was for attention in High School, causing me to barely notice some of my classmates who, it turns out now, seem like terrific people. I remember how crassly I tried to live into the cis-gender, heteronormative ideal of a stud as a young man, while barely recognizing the full humanity in the others that I saw. And I remember vividly how cocksure I was in my faith that I ran roughshod over the other ways that God was at work in people’s lives, in order to force my experience on them. I’m sure I left a far greater trail of tears behind me to which I am still blind, but these I remember all too well.

So, what’s the point of retrospection with regret? Is the psalmist, and am I, simply reaching that stage of life when we look back with either a feeling of accomplishment or regret? Well, with apologies to Erik Erikson, I think there’s more to it than that. The reason I remember those expressions of sinfulness so powerfully is because they are still me. Despite maturations, born again experiences, getting woke, or lessons learned, there is a thread of identity that connects the me that regrets with the me that is regretted. The psalmist prays for God to see him/her apart from that part of life, and I echo the hope.

What a balanced, nuanced, keenly and refreshingly honest expression of humility is presented here. Just as we are and as we have been. God have mercy.

A Verse A Day (day 3)

 In the 25th Psalm, the psalmist writes, “No one who hopes in you will ever be put to shame, but shame will come on those who are treacherous without cause.” 

Shame, hmm... Is this a viable term today? 

For many years, “shame” was the taunt of racist, sexist, hetero-normative, cis-gender, or commercially-driven images of “normal” or even “perfection.” The phrase “Shame on you” rightly administered, perhaps, to a child who did some kind of willful misbehavior became “You should be ashamed” of someone who simply did not fit the manufactured mold of perfection. Too many lives have been crushed under the weight of the unwieldy accusation of “shame.”

Today, the tide has changed, at least with regard to explicit comments if not internal opinions. In the circles where I live, one is more likely to hear someone criticized for “body shaming” than for not fitting into the mold of perfection. The term “shame” has become associated with being judgmental. Curiously, it seems an acceptable form of shaming to shame someone for shaming someone else. 

The psalmist invites us to remember an older, different way of thinking about shame. It is the feeling of guilt that one suffers when they have, in fact, committed wrongdoing. For the king of old or the politician of today who exploits their office for personal gain – shame! For the powerful to oppress another, the wealthy to exploit the poor, a caregiver to neglect the patient, a pastor/priest to harm young children – shame! It was a protest, the declaration that called out treachery and demanded justice. It relied on truth as its authorizing power, not power to create “truth.” And it meant something, but only in a world where one believes in justice that is rooted in the eternal. 

There is both a need to set aside accusations of “shame” that are based on a manufactured mold of perfection; and a need to call out shameful behavior when it destroys life and community. Discerning the difference is part of the Lenten journey.

A Verse A Day (day 2)

 In the 9th chapter of Daniel is a prayer of confession that includes: “We have not listened to your servants the prophets, who spoke in your name to our kings, our princes and our ancestors, and to all the people of the land.”

Most of us think that Daniel himself is a prophet, especially in these last six chapters when he says things that we think are predictive of the “end times.” But, Daniel is speaking of a more powerful way of hearing and either accepting or rejecting prophets: Prophets are those voices that speak God’s truth to power, that is, to kings, princes, ancestors, and even the popular sentiment of the people.

Prophetic voices continue to speak truth to power: to kings and king-makers who gather their power by pillaging the earth; to princes who inherit their authority and imagine themselves great; to those ancestors who slaughtered Native Americans, enslaved Africans, belittled African-Americans, exploited LatinX, dehumanized Asians, and left a legacy of White Supremacy; and to the people who now live within that legacy, often blind or callous toward it.

The prophet is not the point. The prophecy – the word of truth, the naming of sin, the disclosure of that which is often hidden, the call for genuine change of direction – is what matters. My prayer today is a broken confession that we still do not listen to God’s servants, the prophets. God, have mercy.

A Verse A Day (Day 1)

“You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” What stirring words of honesty meet us here in the 3^rd chapter of Genesis. “You are dust” literally connects us to the genesis of the created order, not just in the imaginative story of Genesis, but also in the scientific theory of the Big Bang, which spread stardust particles throughout the universe, bearing the carbon that became the resource for what we know as life. The science gives us some degree of satisfaction, that our minds are free to explore, to question, to allow the evidence to affirm or rebut our theories; while the stories offer an avenue of wonder, allowing our minds to soar to the heights and depths, then beyond. 

 

“You are dust.” What a glorious, global, universal, multiversal connection! 

 

Ah, but “You are dust” is also humbling. No matter our blandishments, conceits, or fame; no matter if we are influencers, superstars, on the spectrum, rich, poor, struggling, or sliver spooned; we are never more than dustlings that bear the breath of life. When we add the second piece, “to dust you shall return,” we slam up against the conundrum that has discomfited thinkers and intuitives alike – we die. We die and we decay back to the elemental dust. We may lie in a sealed tomb, a lavish pyramid, a bronze coffin fit within a concrete vault, or an urn. No matter – we die and we return to the dust, our native state. 

 

How profound that we begin our Lenten journey with this reminder, “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” With such magnificent, yet humbling news, we step into this journey.

 

A Verse a Day

 A Verse A Day 

 

“You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” 

What stirring words of honesty meet us here in the 3^rd chapter of Genesis. “You are dust” literally connects us to the genesis of the created order, not just in the imaginative story of Genesis, but also in the scientific theory of the Big Bang, which spread stardust particles throughout the universe, bearing the carbon that became the resource for what we know as life. The science gives us some degree of satisfaction, that our minds are free to explore, to question, to allow the evidence to affirm or rebut our theories; while the stories offer an avenue of wonder, allowing our minds to soar to the heights and depths, then beyond. 

 

“You are dust.” What a glorious, global, universal, multiversal connection! 

 

Ah, but “You are dust” is also humbling. No matter our blandishments, conceits, or fame; no matter if we are influencers, superstars, on the spectrum, rich, poor, struggling, or sliver spooned; we are never more than dustlings that bear the breath of life. When we add the second piece, “to dust you shall return,” we slam up against the conundrum that has discomfited thinkers and intuitives alike – we die. We die and we decay back to the elemental dust. We may lie in a sealed tomb, a lavish pyramid, a bronze coffin fit within a concrete vault, or an urn. No matter – we die and we return to the dust, our native state. 

 

How profound that we begin our Lenten journey with this reminder, “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” With such magnificent, yet humbling news, we step into this journey.

 

On Lent and Worship

 Today’s message has two Big Topics and begins with a Quick Note: 

Our Ash Wednesday service will be an interactive one! Pots, soil, and seeds are on a table outside of the church’s sanctuary doors ready for you to pick up and take home, so you can join in the work. For more information, see last week’s Friday Blast here. 

Big Topic #1: Lent

Ash Wednesday begins the season of Lent, a journey of 40 day (not including Sundays) prior to Easter. This year, our theme is “Again and Again,” using worship and educational materials from a wonderful group called “A Sanctified Art.” There is a Daily Lenten Reading, Powerful Artwork with reflections by the artists, and lots of materials that we will be using in worship. Our friends at New Hope Presbyterian Church will be walking alongside of us for the journey, including a weekly zoom meeting of our two congregations, to share responses to the daily readings.  From 6:30 – 7:00PM each Tuesday of Lent we will have time to share ourselves with one another. The zoom information will be on the calendar of the church’s website.

The theme “Again and Again” triggers a number of thoughts. I used to teach youth groups that the tri-fold plot of Scripture is “God is faithful; We are not; God loves us anyway.” The fact that God is faithful, again and again and we fail, again and again, is reason enough for a season dedicated to introspection, confession, and repentance. Nonetheless, I do not hear the phrase “Again and Again” as a circle, endlessly going but ‘round and ‘round, but getting nowhere. I hear it as a spiral, where each experience of falling and rising moves the process to another plane. I think of that phrase from Leonard Cohen’s marvelous song, “Hallelujah” that names the “minor fall and major lift.” That’s what enables the circularity to be upwardly spiral in nature. 

Big Topic #2: Worship 

The Supreme Court recently handed down a decision striking down some of Governor Newsom’s ban on gathered worship for churches in California. The decision came down last Friday. On Saturday I had several inquiries of whether we would be “open for worship” on Sunday. Right now, the answer at the moment is “no.” I want to lay out the process that we are following to make decisions about gathering. 

A. The ultimate decision rests with our Session. We will not get a directive from the Presbytery or any other higher governing body of the Presbyterian Church (USA). Our church constitution makes it quite clear that this decision falls to our Session, since you elected them for moments like this. They are the ones who will listen, consider, discern, and decide. Pray for them. 

B. Early on, the Session authorized a “Faithful Phasing Team” that meets periodically to assess the science and healthcare aspects of the pandemic, in order to offer guidance to the Session’s decision-making. This team looks at the numbers and trends, particularly of hospitalizations, deaths, and now vaccinations – all guided by an epidemiologist on the team. We give less attention to ‘testing’ and ‘infection’ rates, because they often fluctuate due to many non-health-related reasons. Frankly, when Governor Newsom began color-coding each country according to the same kinds of numbers, our job became a lot clearer. We consult this page quite often, and you can too. It is a summary and springboard for more information.

C. Orange County is still in the “Purple Tier” of this pandemic, the worst tier, with numbers that none of us imagined we might be seeing a year or even six months ago. Since the numbers have gotten worse gradually and in “surges,” we have not felt the shock that we probably should feel about these numbers. They are as bad as we wished they would never be. 

D. So, from a science and healthcare perspective, the Faithful Phasing Team is not recommending that we begin gathered worship at this time. The Supreme Court ruled, not on the wisdom, but on the constitutionality of banning worship, based on the 1st Amendment. Rightly or wrongly, their ruling is just one aspect of our Session’s decision. They have said that, legally, we can gather; the Session decides when we, wisely, ought to gather. 

GOOD NEWS: I feel that there is light at the end of this tunnel and it is growing brighter, although it has nothing to do with the Supreme Court’s ruling. Between the expanded number of folks who have received the vaccine (including a lot of you, for whom I am glad!), the number of folks who have already had COVID-19 and have developed some degree of immunity, and the continued practice of wearing masks, practicing distance, etc., we are beginning to see the numbers trend in the right direction. And while there may be setbacks (like a post-Super Bowl surge), the directional trend is good. So, we are in the “heartbreak hill” phase of this marathon, where the last portion is the most challenging and we are already exhausted. But, if we run this race with perseverance, we will get there. Together. 

Mark of St. Mark

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

Most years it seems like Ash Wednesday impatiently arrives too early - just after we get the baby Jesus born we start plotting his death. This year feels a little different. Since Christmas we’ve had New Years Day (good riddance 2020!); a failed palace coup; Martin Luther King, Jr. Day; an inauguration; ordinations and installations; and a vaccine rollout starting to actually reach people. January was an eventful month. 

But, as predicted, Ash Wednesday is coming soon – February 17, in fact – and with it comes the season of Lent. We’ll have more to say about Lent in future Friday Messages, particularly how we are taking that journey alongside of our sister churches New Hope and Canvas this year. For today I want to focus on Ash Wednesday itself. First, with a little history and second with some very important information for you. 

Getting smudged with ashes seems like a very exotic, deeply religious, once-a-year kind of phenomenon, but it was not always so. In biblical times – as well as later church history – ashes were fairly common parts of every household. Cooking and heating were based on wood-burning and the deposition of ashes was typically some unfortunate child’s household chore. Sometimes the ashes would be scattered, but sometimes they were put to more practical use. (I can testify from a small, disastrous Ash Wednesday experience that mixing olive oil with ashes makes for some very effective, hard-to-remove stains.) During biblical times, one would put ashes on themselves as a sign of mourning or fasting and, in many cultures, ashes symbolized death, since many persons were cremated after dying. Somewhere along the line the church started the practice of taking the palm branches from Palm Sunday and burning them to be the ashes for the following Ash Wednesday. These days if you want that kind of authentic ashes, you have to go to a Catholic Liturgical Supplies store. 

My point is that while ashes seem to be an exotic, religious symbol today, they were initially a common part of everyday life. Ashes were so common that they were associated with dirt, the ground, the humus of creation, the “dust of the earth” in the phrase, “From dust you have come, to dust you will return.” 

This year, since we will not gather for Ash Wednesday worship and the imposition of ashes, we decided to use different common items as our symbols for the Lenten journey, namely dirt, seeds, and water. Along with New Hope and Canvas, we are going to produce an Ash Wednesday video that will lead you in interactive worship. 

Here’s what you want to have on hand by February 17 to actively engage in Ash Wednesday worship: 

A pot – Any size or quality, from a Dixie Cup to an ornate vase. We have some available at the church. 

Seeds – We will have Wheatgrass, Easter Egg Radish, and Mung seeds available at the church. Of course, you can use your own seed. We encourage you to choose something that will grow visibly during the Lenten season. 

Dirt – Any old dirt. We have some organic potting soil in quart-sized bags at the church. 

Water – in a pitcher, a jar, glass, cup, or watering can. We’ll let you get this yourself. 

If you have these items ready in a place where you can make a little mess, you will be ready to join us in worship on Ash Wednesday. And, as I said, we’ll have the supplies you need at the church on a table by the front doors of the sanctuary. You don’t need to make an appointment, just come and get ‘em!  

Mark of St. Mark

COVID, Vaccinations, and the Challenge of Patience

About ten years, ago our family spent a week on the campus of Buena Vista College for an event called Synod School. There was another small group on campus that week, of Japanese students, for a separate event. One of those students wore a mask whenever we would see her in the cafeteria or other common areas. It was an odd thing to see. Until then, the only time we might have seen someone wearing a mask was in a hospital setting or perhaps in news footage of a city that was smog-infested. And, it bothered some people, for reasons that were not entirely clear, though perhaps xenophobic in nature. 

 

What a difference ten years makes! What a difference the last year has made! Now the roles have been reversed and people practice the “stare of shame” for those who either refuse to wear a mask or who think a mask over their chin or short of their nose is somehow magically effective. For the better part of a year our social lives, family gatherings, work, play, and even worship have been shaped by a rapidly spreading and often-deadly coronavirus, which has forced us to adopt new norms. We don’t need to recount the number of changes that we have all had to make, either joyfully, willingly, or kicking and screaming. We don’t need to rehearse the devastating effects the shutdowns and other precautions have brought about on businesses, particularly small businesses with slim profit margins to rely on. We mourn together the losses and near-losses that every single family in America has known. And we don’t need reminding that one of the less enviable consequences of our mutual concerns has been the creation and perpetuation of misleading stories, misread “facts,” and fears masqueraded as bravado. It has been a trying year, to put it very mildly. 

 

But, there is light at the end of this tunnel. It is dim and it is distant, but it is in sight. Between the vaccinations that are available, the “herd immunity” that we get from vaccines and other forms of antibody development, and the best practices that we have developed, we do hope that we will attain some semblance of renewal in the future. I am hesitant to say anything about “when,” since I remember last year during Lent I was imagining that we’d be through the worst of it by Pentecost. We were not. We are, in fact, still in the worst of it right now. But still, there is hope. For now, we will continue to be the church in our moment of distancing, we will continue to err on the side of caution, we will continue to listen to the science and embrace best practices, and we will plan our steps so that we can move into our newness of life when the way is clear. To that end, here are some practical steps that I encourage you to take. 

 

1. Be patient. 

2. Get vaccinated. If you have serious reservations about vaccinations in general, I am not trying to disregard your feelings, although I disagree with them. I do, however, want to encourage those of you who have been holding back so that others can get their’s first. The rollout nationally has been so mishandled that your good intentions simply do not ensure that someone more needy or worthy is next in line. So, perhaps you can think of it as good selfishness. You are taking it on the arm so that others may breathe more freely. 

3. Be patient. The problem with patience is that when we practice it we are often rewarded with simply more opportunities to keep practicing it. 

 

4. Ask for help. We have a church member who has successfully helped some neighbors navigate the process of signing up for a vaccine and we have folks who can help with transportation and accompany you. And if you know of someone else who needs this kind of community support, please ask. Call the church office, explain what you need, and we will find the right person who can respond to the best of our ability. 

5. And finally, be patient. The problem with patience is that when we practice it we are often rewarded with simply more opportunities to keep practicing it. Nonetheless, it is right to do.

 

We can and we will get through this best if we do so together. The church is simply one of the many collective groups that we are part of, but we have the specific mandate to love one another well. So, I invite you to live into that call as patiently and powerfully as you can.

 

Mark of St. Mark

 

Hopeful Realism

The nation swore President Joe Biden and Madam Vice-President Kamala Harris into office on Wednesday. It is a change in leadership that many people welcomed gladly and others less so. Personally, I felt that President Biden’s inaugural address was incredibly conciliatory and Father Leo Donovan’s invocation, Amanda Gorman’s poetry, and Rev. Dr. Silvester Beaman’s benediction were all very well done, as was all the music. It seemed to be a hopeful, hope-filled event, but there was plenty of recognition of the tragic losses that COVID-19 has wrought, as well as the significant divides that our nation’s people are experiencing. It puts me in mind of a powerful book that my mentor Douglas Ottati wrote called Hopeful Realism. (If that title sounds familiar, I spoke about it in my “St. Mark Minuscule Morning Moment” on Wednesday. It’s in my head, y’all.) 

Dr. Ottati describes hopeful realism in the Christian tradition as a way of life that is different from the kind of managerial process that we often take for community leadership these days. The Reign of God, specifically, is intended to be a banquet, a party, and celebratory event into which the least likely candidates are invited and welcomed. Undergirding this celebration is hope – hope in God and, therefore, hope in the prospects of life. But, it’s not a simplistic hope. It is hope in tandem with realism. 

So, within that framework let me muse a bit about hopeful realism. 

Some of the challenges we face as a human community – or any subsection thereof, such as a nation, a church, or a family – are written into the human condition. Right now, apart from any ideology or belief system, there are 7,800,000,000 people in this world. That is 7.8 billion people to feed; 7.8 billion people to house, 7.8 billion people who need healthcare, 7.8 billion people whose lives matter, 7.8 billion people who are true gems in God’s eyes. And, it is 7.8 billion people, among whom there are fundamental differences in beliefs, aspirations, experiences, and dispositions. The challenge of having a world where everyone receives the kind of dignity and equality that is ideal is enormous. And that challenge continues to be enormous even if we break it down from 7.8 billion people to a nation of 328 million people, just as it is for a family of four. These challenges are simply germane to being part of the human community. I’ve often thought that our liturgies need to supplement our familiar “Prayer of Confession” with a “Prayer of Condition.” Perhaps that is the role that prayers of lament and even those hideous prayers of imprecation in the Psalms intend to play. Being human-in-community is hard and often heart-breaking. 

And some of the challenges that we face as a human community are because of human sin. The word “sin” is a musty old thing that has been used so improperly to bludgeon people and perspectives over the years. I hesitate to use it because it has been so misused; or else it has been watered down to the extent that it hardly names anything of substance any more. I think our Reformed tradition invites us to think of the word “sin” as “anything that is destructive of life and community.” Honestly, the challenges of the human condition are hard enough, but when we add hate, racism, selfishness, greed, bullying, and the like into the mix, it ensures that some people will never experience the dignity of housing, nutrition, healthcare, acceptance, justice, and peace that they ought to experience. I think one reason the biblical writers gave. Us stories of Cain killing Abel and other moments of egregious violence is because injustice is so wrong, yet so predictable. Reinhold Niebuhr once called sin, “inevitable, but not necessary.” What a hauntingly precise depiction. 

Hopeful realism takes the human condition and human sin into account as true words, but not the last words. Only hope has the privilege of the last word. As such, it is the power that saves us from despair, and enables us to be honest in confessing sin, pursuing justice, and telling the truth. 

That’s enough for now. Thanks for listening.

Mark of St. Mark

Honoring the Legacy and Ministry of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Monday is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, in honor of the legacy of the Rev. Dr. King. This weekend also is when SueJeanne Koh begins her work with St. Mark and New Hope Presbyterian Churches as our Director of Adult Education and Resident Theologian. So, today’s missive includes reflections from Rev. Chineta Goodjoin, pastor of New Hope, and Dr. SueJeanne Koh, and Rev. Mark Davis about this weekend and how each of us can approach it in a way that genuinely honors Dr. King’s legacy and ministry. 

 

Chineta: When we remember and reflect upon the life and sacrifice of Dr. Martin Luther King, we are affirmed in our commitment to seek justice, peace, and freedom in the world. This one weekend is a motivating reminder that the work of reconciliation and peace is not to simply be memorialized, but more so actualized by the ways in which we choose to see the humanity of God in others. We are responsible to God and each other in building the Beloved Community in which Dr. King envisioned as a society based on social, political and economic justice—a place of equal opportunity, and love of one’s fellow human beings. Luke 4:18 reminds us that Jesus was a radical liberator who came to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, and to let the oppressed go free. This weekend is a prophetic booster shot for long suffering in the continued fight for freedom. I pray that our spirits are awakened to God’s promise and our potential to be the change agents who embrace the dream of freedom and equality for all people. MLK weekend means that the work of reconciliation is not finished and that we have the opportunity to work together for a new peace and a greater unity. New Hope has created a resource website that allows people to participate in a variety of virtual lectures, prayer gatherings and book studies centered on love, reconciliation, non-violent resistance and the Beloved Community. There is also a Jamboard on this site in which you can interact with others and share ideas about how we can help to build the Beloved Community. Click here to access MLK events and opportunities.

 

SueJeanne: To remember Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. this weekend is to reread and be challenged by his “Letter from Birmingham City Jail,” which you can find here. King writes that he is not afraid of “crisis” or “tension”—“Nonviolent direct action seeks to create such a crisis and establish such creative tension that a community that has constantly refused to negotiate is forced to confront the issue.” Reading this causes me to reflect on the particular social crises and witness that helped create that kind of creative tension in myself, that spurred me to act and think differently about my faith. Nonviolent action isn’t passive inaction but rather a challenge and call for transformative justice. 

 

What does nonviolent resistance look like for you? This is an ongoing question with no one answer. Given Dr. King’s enormous impact, it may feel like an impossible task for us to step into. I know that I am, we are, tired. But there are small ways that we can start. To resist reminds me that we are mutually interdependent rather than politically divided along racial, social, and economic lines. I believe that our congregations coming together to collaborate on racial justice is a creative act of resistance. Community service, too, can be an act of resistance—resisting the notion that our time is too precious, or that such a limited act can do anything in the grand scheme of things. To that end, one such opportunity is One OC’s MLK Day of Service, which includes a socially distanced food bank drop off as well as a dinner and dialogue reflecting on King’s legacy. Signing up may feel challenging, but also coming together in this way can be a small but powerful example of nonviolence resistance. You can register here to participate.

 

Mark: Whenever MLKing Day approaches, I remember something that Allan Boesak once said. Dr. Boesak argued that while some White Christians joined alongside Dr. King because they shared his theological vision of “the beloved community” and racial justice, many White Christians only hesitatingly and reluctantly turned to Dr. King because he offered them a safe alternative to the more radical vision of Malcolm X. Boesak’s insight continues to be true. Many White Christians love to quote Dr. King’s words about nonviolence and love, but seem to have forgotten his prophetic words about resisting the “giant triplets of racism, economic exploitation, and militarism.” Nonviolence and love require a radical dedication to truth, or else they descend into platitudes that merely salve the conscience of those who benefit from injustice. So, this weekend is an appropriate time to lean into some of the more pointed words that Dr. King spoke, the kind that put him on an FBI watch list and led to his imprisonment, beatings, constant harassment, and ultimately to his assassination. No one is so ill-treated because they speak gentle words of loving and getting along – Jesus is the prime example of that. Prophets are killed because their critiques require us to either repent or silence the critiques. As we remember Dr. King and honor his legacy and ministry this weekend, I hope we can do so with integrity and not simply romanticize his work in a way that misses the point. 

 

In service to the love and justice of Jesus Christ, 

Chineta Goodjoin, SueJeanne Koh, and Mark Davis