Greetings to You

Well, my friends, the time is nigh. Our mantle is full of cards from friends, near and far, including many of you. Many of them are delightful, a few are heartbreaking. Such is life and this is the time of year when we are open with one another about life in all of its fullness. I think sending Christmas cards is one of our best traditions. We send our best wishes and sentiments to one another, because God sent God’s own love to us in Jesus Christ. So, in that spirit, I offer our family Christmas letter below. More than anything else, the Davis family want you to know how much we treasure you and our call to be part of the church life here at St. Mark. 

 

‘Tis Christmas time in the year twenty-twenty-two,

but surely that is something you already knew.

What you may not know, unless you are psychic,

is how this year went and why the Davisfolk liked it.

 

This year Chris and Mark did something quite radical,

after years of churching, they took a sabbatical.

And now they are fluent in the tongues one should say,

things like “merci, grazie, Laizzes le Bon Temps Rouler.”

 

Mickey, Amanda, and the sweet Miss Tallulah,

delight us with videos, FaceTime, or Zoomah.

They make music and art, raising dog, cats, and kittens,

and live where it’s cold and one has to wear mittens.

 

Luke cooks up a storm, making meals that are scrumptious.

I can’t share his big news – that would be presumptuous.

Just trust when I say that you’ll wear a smile,

when you read next year what he did the meanwhile.

 

Nic labors in law his last year at the ‘Zag;

with torts, contracts, (Lindy), and peer reviewed mags.

But he doesn’t stop there, with some school nerd conforming,

he’s often on stage with his bass while performing.

 

Abigail crossed one thing off her bucket list,

as the last of four children to be a barrista-ist!

She dances and teaches, drives a big ol’ van,

and spends much time hanging with her Lucas man.

 

So that’s how it went for us Davises this year,

and now we do wish you a load of good cheer.

Christmas began with the world’s greatest gift,

so joy, peace, and hope is for you our wish list.

Maddening Repetition and Yearly Advent Hope

 Friends, 

 

Ten years ago today was a Sunday, so I was preaching in Iowa as part of an Advent series called “Great Expectations.” I focused on the part of the Christmas story that originated with the prophet Isaiah – A young woman shall conceive and shall bear a child and you shall call his name ‘Emmanuel’ – and was ruminating about the power of children as symbols of innocence, a fresh start, exuberant possibilities. Then I wrote this: 

 

Friday’s awful tragedy at Sandy Hook elementary school has laid a pall on even our best feelings and sentiments. It reminds us that the prophets, whose voices we hear during the season of Advent, are ever speaking out of a time of dismay – where disasters leave even the mightiest leader speechless and numb. And just when we thought that we had this seasonal celebration figured out, suddenly we find ourselves groping for some way of comprehending the incomprehensible.

 

It is still, ten years later, hard to wrap one’s head around the reality of Sandy Hook. It’s hard to imagine how someone can dehumanize children and teachers to make them targets of murder without hesitation. It’s hard to understand how a nation that pretends to value life seems to love its guns more. It’s hard to comprehend how an unspeakable tragedy like Sandy Hook has been repeated again and again and again. It’s simply wrong that guns are the number one cause of death among children and teens in the US. In an essay on Wednesday, German Lopez offered this chart and the observations that I will cite below it. 

As this chart shows, “The U.S. accounts for 97 percent of gun-related child deaths among similarly large and wealthy countries, despite making up just 46 percent of this group’s overall population.” What makes the US stand out so much, German states, is this: “The U.S. has more guns than people.” (German Lopez, “The Lives They Lived,” The Morning, The New York Times, December 14, 2022.) 

 

Ah, but we’ve heard all this before. We’ve heard the arguments and the counterarguments. We’ve seen the cycle: Hideous act of violence; outrage; gun control activists demanding change; thoughts and prayers from weapons manufacturers and their supporters; very little change, if any. Repeat. I don’t mean to be cynical. There have been some small incremental changes along the way that do matter. But, by and large, it is a frustrating cycle of the same thing over and over. 

 

The endless cycle of violence may be one of the best arguments for repeating the Advent season year after year. Year after year we hear Isaiah longing for a day when weapons are transformed into tools. Year after year we hear John the Baptist calling for radical and systemic transformation. Year after year we proclaim how Jesus came to us as God’s gift to free us from the power of sin and rescue us from our own worst tendencies. Year after year we lean into hope – hope for a new day, a day of peace, and time of justice. And year after year we learn that a baby in the manger doesn’t magically change everything, but invites us into a new way of being where everything can change. So, year after year we embrace hope anew. It is a chastened hope, a hope that remembers last year and the year before that and ten years ago with sober reality. But year after year we proclaim hope because to lose hope is to allow the powers of death and destruction to have the last word. 

 

The season of Advent is much more than just holding our horses a few weeks before celebrating Christmas. It is the performance of hope itself, a hope that resists violence and lives toward peace. Over and over. 

 

May this season fill you with a resilient and persistent hope,

Mark of St. Mark

Songs of Justice; Songs of Hope

 My Friends, 

 

This weekend marks the beginning of the season of Advent. The word “advent” is the Latin term for “coming” and the Season of Advent is the time that we spend deliberately preparing for the coming of Jesus on Christmas. It is the tradition here and in many Christian churches to spend the four weekends prior to Christmas preparing for our Christmas Eve and Christmas Day celebrations. (We do not typically have worship on Christmas Day, but this year Christmas is on a Sunday, so we will!) 

 

For this season, we will be looking at four “Songs” in Luke’s story about Christmas. Perhaps they are not songs proper, but they are poetic in nature, something you can see visually when you read your Bible and the words are arranged in poetic meter, rather than in prose paragraphs. 

 

The songs that we will read together are Mary’s “Magnificat,” Zechariah’s “Benedictus,” Simeon’s “Nunc Dimittis,” and the angels’ “Gloria.” Generally, I don’t like using Latinate terms because I associate the prevalence of Latin with that part of the church’s past when the radicality of following Jesus was compromised as the church became the official religion of the Roman Empire. (That process, the association of the church’s missionary movements with colonization, and the use of Christianity to support racism in the US are what I consider the three greatest sins of our church history.) But, alas, Latinisms are so tightly bound to the history and language of the church that they cannot always be avoided. So, I use the term “Advent” and these titles for the songs with ambivalence. I appreciate the faithfulness that our tradition has handed down over the last two millennia, and I grieve the brokenness and sinfulness that has always been a part of our tradition.  

 

Mary’s “Magnificat” is so called because when her song – which begins with the words, “My soul magnifies the Lord” – was translated into Latin, “Magnificat” is how the word “magnifies” was translated. Likewise, Zechariah’s “Benedictus” is the Latin translation of his opening word that is translated in English Bibles as “Blessed.” (It’s a different word from the first word of the Beatitudes.) And then there’s Simeon’s song, historically called “Nunc Dimittis” because that’s the Latin for the first words, “Now dismiss.” And finally, the angels sing, “Glory to God in the highest,” the first word of which in Latin is “Gloria.” So, there’s Latin all over this Advent season for us. My two whole weeks of studying Latin in graduate school better pay off! 

 

We are calling this time of preparation, “Songs of Justice; Songs of Hope.” And here I will share a story that I’ve shared before, but it is golden: Soren Kierkegaard once went to a Christmas worship service and noticed that the wealthiest people were there, dressed in finery and seated in their paid seats in the ornate sanctuary. Then, someone began singing Mary’s Magnificat. You can find it in Luke 1:46-56. It speaks of God bringing down the high places, lifting up the low, filling the hungry and sending the rich away empty. Kierkegaard began laughing and expected everyone else to join in. But, as he looked around, nobody was laughing with him and he was perplexed. Surely they must have been hearing Mary’s words as a joke, because if they were serious words the people gathered on that day were hearing of their own demise. No one laughed, but it appeared that no one took Mary’s words seriously either. Is that really what we expect with the coming of the Christ? 

 

Kierkegaard was on to something. Mary’s song is about justice. It is more akin to a protest song from Woody Guthrie, or a spiritual that decries slavery than a beautiful aria that displays vocal prowess. It stirs the imagination, loosens our grip on the status quo of inequality, and equips us to see all persons living without excess or deprivation. So, too, are all the songs in Luke’s story. They are songs of justice and songs of hope. 

May God give us ears to hear, mouths to join the song, and hearts that are ready for the great transformation that Jesus’ birth brings. 

 

Mark of St. Mark

Supporting Our Answer to God's Call

Quick Note: This week I have an essay that was published on a blog called The Politics of Scripture. My essay is “Christ the King and the Challenge of Symbols” and you can find it here. 

St. Mark is a unique church. There is vibrancy and joy in the air when we gather. There is purpose and meaning to our worship experiences. There are children of all ages who know that they are the church. We say, “All are welcome” as an extension of God’s steadfast love, which overcomes all of our barriers and welcomes our differences. We hear God’s call to “do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly,” so we give generously to local service organizations, refugees, farmworkers, schools, and homeless services locally, while supporting an orphanage and girls’ school in Kenya, as well as medical ministry and community organizing partners in Nicaragua. We walk alongside local service organizations to encourage and empower their work. We take the Scriptures seriously and find in them the “words of life,” not just rules and traditions. We support the arts in many varieties. We pray for those who are grieving or dance with those who are celebrating. We coalesce our voices to make a difference on matters of LGBTQIA rights, honoring Black lives, Indigenous lives, Brown lives, and standing up against Asian American/Pacific Islander hate. We write letters to support the struggle against hunger, gun violence, and the suppression of women’s choices. We work to ensure health care, nutrition, and access to viable food choices no matter where one lives. We support mission partnerships in the Presbyterian Church (USA), as well as with some of our sister churches in Orange County. We make mental health resources available to all ages. We study deep issues of foreign policy and personal issues of mindfulness or relationship-building. Phew! That’s quite a litany.

 

I’m not bragging. I’m certainly not bragging about myself and not even bragging on you (which I like to do!) I am simply presenting the span of topics that our Elders oversee month after month and our Staff empower week after week. But note this: Many churches are vibrant. Many churches are committed to justice. Not many churches are both. That’s a harsh truth. I’m not kidding when I say that St. Mark is truly a unique church. 

 

Your contributions enable us to do all these things and do them well. And in order to be open to where God is taking us in the future, we need three things: A facility that is fully operational; a staff that is fully compensated; and a robust mission budget that reflects our priorities. Those are our three largest budget items and we need all three of them to be fully funded. 

 

So, how can you help that happen? First, please hold the pledge card that you received this week and ask yourself, “How you I ensure that our church remains both vibrant and dedicated to justice?” We need generous folk in order to do our work well. Second, consider the church in any estate planning you may do. Our Finance Commission can guide you if you have any questions. And finally, pray. Pray at the beginning. Pray without ceasing. Pray while listening. Pray with your feet. Pray with your checkbook. Pray with one another. 

 

And may God bless you as you continue being the unique church called St. Mark.

 

Mark of St. Mark

Alternative Christmas Market

 Friends, 

 This weekend will be filled with joyful and meaningful activity at St. Mark. On Saturday, following worship, we have our “Meet Me at Muldoon’s” gathering, which is always full of joy and energy. Then, on Sunday, following worship, we will host our Alternative Christmas Market, live and in person! Both of these events are meaningful parts of our community life here at St. Mark. The gatherings at Muldoon’s offer us a chance to “be the church” offsite, remembering that the church is the people and not the building site itself. Today I want to focus on the Alternative Christmas Market, since it is an annual event that we have not been able to enjoy in all of its in-person glory for too long. 

 

The number of organizations, volunteers, and even children from St. Mark who have been working hard to make this year’s market a success is remarkable. Under the skillful leadership of Diana Light and Denise Christensen, with able assistance from Sue-Ann Wichman and Judith Hug, and a lot of extra effort by Alex Cardenas and Jeremy Smith, in addition to the volunteers, and guest organizations, this event is an “all hands on deck” phenomenon. The beauty of it all is this: All the preparation, activity, and purchases are signs of our commitment to justice. We will have a chance to purchase fair trade products, products that benefit those who do the work more than those who monopolize the industry, and products that are created with the earth’s safekeeping in mind. This Alternative Christmas Market allows us to participate in a new way of being, even if just for a day.

 

There is a large grocery store in Iowa where I know of two different people weeping in the aisle. The first was a guest from El Salvador who was simply overwhelmed with the plethora of choices, meats upon meats, vegetables upon vegetables, processed foods upon processed foods, all stacked neatly, with constantly rotating stock, in shelves, refrigerators, display buffets, and endcaps. The sheer enormity of the choices for someone who’s morning usually began by walking in the dark to get water from a well, was simply too much. So, she wept. 

 

The second person I saw weeping was in the cereal aisle. It’s no small thing that there is a “cereal aisle,” but this person was not weeping due to the overwhelming excess. She was holding a box of a corn-based cereal that cost $3.69 for puffy cereal that actually contained a small amount of corn. As I was trying to be politely present but not interfering, she looked up at me and said, “The difference between what this company pays us for this corn and what they charge for it is just criminal.” 

 

Those two sobering grocery store encounters displayed something about the system of production and sales in our marketplaces that we easily take for granted. And that was before an app could ensure that we can have goods on our doorstep within minutes. The convenience, choices, and ease of the market is admirable, a gift that serves us well in many ways. But it also hides the hands that create, harvest, and prepare the goods we order. It hides the exploitation of those who work with raw materials and the enrichment of those who exploit them. My suspicion is that if either of those two persons who so prophetically wept in the grocery store were to enter our Alternative Christmas Market, they would weep tears of joy. And that’s what I invite you to do this weekend. Come see the faces and hear the stories of those whose products we can purchase. It is a way of doing justice together. 

 

Mark of St. Mark

 A Thriving Church

Last week during worship I mentioned that I had been invited to a gathering of "pastors of thriving churches." While it seems at times that we are busy rebuilding our momentum following COVID, today's missive to the folks at St. Mark presents a compelling vision of a thriving church. Enjoy! 

This weekend is one of those weekends when we will have a lot of everything, so hang on as I take us through the list! 

On Saturday and Sunday, we have worship. That may be obvious, but it is important to put it out there first, because everything we do is fueled by the grace of God, and worship is our opportunity to gather, remember, give thanks, and ground our life together as a debt of gratitude for God’s grace. So, even in a weekend with lots of everything, worship matters. Let’s say that first. 

During worship on Saturday and Sunday, we will observe “All Saints Weekend,” taking the time to name, honor, and remember those who have died this year. Since our lives are bracketed by the delightful promise that “in life and in death, we belong to God,” we will approach this act of remembrance as a celebration of those who have completed their baptismal journeys. We call those who have died “saints,” not because they were flawless in life, but because of God’s grace, which embraces us in our frailties and elevates us as those who are fearfully and wonderfully made.  

One aspect of our celebration of All Saints Weekend is that we are collecting “Prayer Flags,” a tradition that we began last year after a period of so much loss. You can read a brief description here. Some of these flags will name persons in our lives who have died, but we welcome other forms of loss also: The loss of pets, employment, happiness, opportunity, or anything that troubles the spirit. Like every act of prayer, this tradition will enable us to “weep with those who weep,” one of the most powerful acts of community imaginable. Bring your flags on Saturday and Sunday, and during worship on Sunday we will have an opportunity to hang them. 

During worship on Sunday, we will celebrate the baptism of one of our children, declaring God’s act of grace in his life. Having grown up in a tradition that only practiced “believer’s baptism,” I have found that the baptism of infants and children is one of the most powerful demonstrations that our life of faith begins with God’s gracious act of claiming us from the start. And how appropriate that on the weekend we remember those who have completed their baptismal journeys, we celebrate the baptism of a child of the church. 

Also during worship on Sunday our Handbell Ensemble will play our Introit, marking their first performance for this season as part of our very impressive music ministry at St. Mark. 

After worship on Saturday, we will launch Life Together, a time of connecting and building friendships before we all go our separate ways for supper. Dietrich Bonhoeffer once wrote a book entitled Life Together, where he describes Christian fellowship as “an extraordinary grace.” So, we will meet in the Bonhoeffer Room following worship to live into that beautiful vision. 

On Sunday afternoon we will have our annual Harvest Festival, with the very popular “Trunk or Treat” event outside of the Fellowship Hall. Put on a costume, decorate your vehicle, and bring some nut-free treats to share with the trunk-or-treaters as you enjoy the costume parade. We’ll gather at 4:00, the parade is at 4:20, and the trunk-or-treating begins at 4:30. 

It’s hard to imagine a weekend when we get a better snapshot of what it means to be the church. From birth to death, with joy and sadness, gathering for worship and fellowship, we become the body of Christ, sent out into the world to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly before our God. 

See you in worship this weekend, 

Mark of St. Mark

Beautiful Resilience

 Faithful Friends, 

Last week we read the story of Zechariah, in the temple, lighting the incense, as the faithful were doing their part by standing outside, praying. As I was going through my usual weekly preparation for teaching about that story in our weekly Text Study and preaching about it over the weekend, I couldn’t escape the idea of how Zechariah and those faithful folk were very much like the St. Mark community. We will hear more about this pronouncement this coming weekend, but for now let’s appreciate what Zechariah and those other folks were doing for a moment. 

 

Zechariah was probably at an age when he could have declared himself a “former priest,” or “honorably retired” as we put it in the Presbyterian Church. He could have stepped away and let other people carry the flame for a change. And, when we hear that for many years he and Elizabeth had been praying for a child to no avail, there might be other reasons why Zechariah would walk away – Where is God, anyway, when our prayers go unanswered? Yet Zechariah was there, performing his role, keeping the liturgy going by lighting the flame. It is one of the less appreciated parts of how God’s people have always responded to God’s grace – through what we might call “beautiful resilience.” 

 

We can see it in those folks outside of the temple praying. They easily could have been somewhere else. This temple had not proven to be eternal or magically blessed – having been looted, destroyed, and desecrated time and time again. In no instance did the looter, destroyer, or desecrater die of a divine lightning bolt coming out of the sky. For all of its reputation as a place of divine power, the temple proved often to be just another casualty in power struggles. And even when the king Herod rebuilt the temple into a magnificent structure of beauty, he placed a golden eagle above the entrance gate – a symbol of the Roman God Jupiter and the glory of the Roman Empire. It was an inescapable message to anyone who entered that Rome, and not God, was in charge. When some zealous Jews cut that golden eagle down, they were mercilessly and publicly slaughtered. Those folks who gathered around the temple to pray had every reason to decline and do something else, to be somewhere else. Yet, they were there, praying during the time of incense. Beautiful resilience. 

 

That’s the kind of resilience we see when choir members, Saturday musicians, the kitchen crew, Deacons, Elders, counters, ushers, teachers, advocates, commission members, planners, overseers, cleaners, staff, worship leaders, and others show up, week after week, faithfully, as part of their service to God. Sometimes we see them up front and publicly when the community is gathered. Sometimes they come in when nobody is looking and fill the teeny communion cups, arrange the doughnut holes, or some other invisible service. Sometimes their work involves learning a song at home, writing a prayer to start the meeting, visiting a sick friend, or ordering the other parts of their lives to be available. Everyone who makes that effort has a thousand other things they could be doing instead. But here they are, serving God and serving others out of grateful hearts. Again, beautiful resilience. 

 

I invite you to see yourself and your St. Mark community as the people in the story, keeping the flame of hope alive, keeping the prayers lifted up, when we could easily be doing other things. Thank you for that beautiful resilience. 

 

Mark of St. Mark

Leggo My Ego

 Let Go of My Ego

You may remember a television commercial from yesteryear that began with an waffle popping up on a toaster and two persons at the table grabbing it simultaneously, each of whom glared at the other and said, “Leggo my Eggo!” That inane phrase pops up into my mind very often when I’m praying, because whenever I feel wounded by something that someone has said or done I recognize that part of the woundedness is my ego, that might be bruised or inflated. So, I find myself praying that God will enable me to “leggo my eggo!” or, more accurately, to “Let go of my ego.” 

Letting go of the ego seems like such a proper goal for which to pray, doesn’t it? We commonly think of the ego as something inordinate, such as when we describe someone as ‘egotistical.’ It is akin to what the Scriptures sometimes call “the flesh,” a kind of control center that directs our actions in a selfish manner, as opposed to in a loving manner. Jesus’ call for disciples to “take up your cross and follow me” seems to imply that it is only by dying to our ego that we can live into Christ. And, of course, there is great wisdom and truth to hearing the call to discipleship that way, especially for those of us who have tasted power and privilege in our world, with the presumptions that we are right and our opinions are important. 

However, the Scriptures offer a much more complex approach to the ego than simply a negative one. The word “ego,” for example, is simply a transliteration of the Greek pronoun ἐγὼ, which means “I.” When philosophers use the word “ego,” they tend to use it interchangeably with the word “self.” That is to say, we all have an ego and that is not a criticism. Our ego is the center of our reflective being, from which we perceive the world and act accordingly. Perhaps that is why Jesus describes “the greatest command” with a trilogy of loving God, and loving our neighbor, as we love ourselves. Self-love – perhaps we should say a proper self-love – is a necessary part of being in healthy loving relationships. 

When we listen to the complexity of the Scriptures, the ego appears as more than just a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ thing. Certainly there are insufferable narcissists, so caught up in their reputation and so convinced of their own perspective that they run roughshod over everyone else. That is a form of ‘egoism’ in its worst respect, exactly the kind of ‘self’ that needs to be crucified if one is to be able to form loving relationships and to serve God with humility. At the other extreme are those who have been shamed, browbeaten, silenced, ignored, or otherwise marginalized in life, to where they seem to have lost their ability to stand up for themselves, to speak out when abused, or to expect the kind of dignity and respect on which genuinely loving relationships are built. Both the loss of the ego and an overly inflated ego can result in diminishing life and love. 

Perhaps the Scriptures present a complexity of approaches to tending one’s ego because each of us is different. Some of us seem more disposed toward self-confidence that trends toward conceit, while others seem more disposed toward humility that trends toward self-loathing. Self-confidence and humility can be life-enhancing virtues, while conceit and self-loathing can be life-diminishing vices. I suspect that few of us are simply one extreme or the other, but are constantly in flux. Tension, change, fear, or even success can push us toward extremes, rather than maintaining a healthy balance of self-love and other-love. 

So, how should we pray when we find ourselves feeling wounded? I find my first wave of prayer is precisely a prayer for wisdom to know the difference between inordinate and appropriate self-love. Am I angry because my pride has been wounded, or were someone’s words and actions really inappropriate? Do I love someone well by absorbing their words and actions with quiet grace, or is this an occasion that requires a firm, resolute response? When I feel challenged or wronged, my first impulses are rarely the best response. In those cases, prayer becomes a powerful moment of being re-centered, re-organized, re-ordered in my thoughts and my feelings by intentionally focusing on the trilogy of loving God, neighbor, and self. When it seems that the wound is largely because my pride was inflated, I can move toward an apology, toward change, with the confidence that I am a humbled, but still beloved, child of God. And when it seems that the wound is because someone has not properly respected my gifts, my feelings, my boundaries, or my dignity, I can confront them firmly and lovingly, out of a proper sense of self-love. Sometimes prayer is “Let go of my ego” and sometimes it is “I am God’s work of art.” 

Analytically, it sounds simple. Realistically, this is a long journey of consistent prayer, listening, learning, and loving. May your journeys be filled with grace, patience, and prayer.

Mark of St. Mark

Unity and/or Integrity

 I was gathering with some pastors recently for prayer. That may sound like a typical preacherly thing to do, but this was a challenge. It was clear to me the whole time that what most of them were praying for and what I was praying for were very different. Even when we set out to pray about the same thing – mental health challenges among High School students was one concern someone brought up before we began praying – our prayers were very different. I prayed for students to find wholeness, community, guidance, acceptance, and the ability to live with joy and hope.  Most of them prayed against “the enemy” and one of them prayed with the assumption that the students facing challenges didn’t know Jesus. 

I cannot and do not want to try to read the minds of the other pastors in the room. Nor do I have the ability or warrant to judge their approach to spirituality and faith. But it was an odd experience for me to feel as if much of my unspoken prayer while others were praying aloud was something along the lines of, “Oh, no, God, please do not answer that prayer.” Or, at least, “Gracious God, that is not what I ask of you this day.” So, I took another turn to pray, asking God to forgive the church for the ways that we have stigmatized and marginalized people with mental illness and for greater understanding of how we can love them well. It seemed that the tone of the prayers turned toward a more understanding direction after that. 

It’s not my purpose here, and not my calling in life, to correct others in how they pray (although I have some overly strong opinions on the matter). I do want to raise the question of what “Christian Unity” is supposed to look like in 2022. This was a group of Christian pastors, one of whom – a friend of mine from other circles – invited me. How does a Christian turn down an invitation to pray? How does a pastor turn down an invitation to pray with other pastors? The unity of the church – per Jesus’ prayer in John 17 “that they may be one” – seems to be one of our highest values. We ought to shine as the “light of the world” by our unity and oneness, yes? 

And yet, we also ought to have integrity. Among the other differences I feel when I’m with some other Christian leaders are: I don’t feel that faithful Jews, Hindus, Buddhists, Muslims, etc. need Jesus or else they are going to hell; I don’t feel that there is a “homosexual agenda” out there that is intent on destroying the gospel; I don’t feel that America is called to be a “Christian nation” – at least not in the way others mean that phrase. In fact, I am rather strongly opposed to these ideas. And here is a hard truth: I feel more at home with Interfaith Leaders who are engaged in pursuing peace and justice than Evangelical Christian leaders who pursue this kind of triumphalistic Christianity. 

Too often it feels that the call to “Christian unity” is at odds with the call to seek justice and practice compassion. And, if push ever comes to shove, I hope to err on the side of justice and compassion. 

Oh, how I would love to evangelize and to be an evangelical! But those terms have become ruined by their association. If people heard the term “evangelism” and thought something like, “sharing the joy and justice of the gospel in word and deed,” then I would use that word all the time. If someone heard “evangelical” and thought something like, “passionate commitment to spreading the love and justice of Christ,” then I would vote to put it on our sign! But what people hear with “evangelism” is a tactic that promises heaven or threatens hell if people don’t believe what I believe. And “evangelical” just seems to name a partisan voting bloc in the US that has coopted Christian branding. It’s terribly disappointing and it is part of what makes “Christian Unity” such a difficult thing to pursue. I have read people whom I respect promoting the phrase “holy disunity.” I get it, but I’m not ready to use that language, because but I think it could very easily be coopted toward problematic ends. For me, the tension between unity and integrity is not easily solvable, perhaps not solvable at all in some cases.  

Of course, this whole presentation of that prayer experience reflects my own perspective. The next step in my reflective journey needs to be to turn the table and wonder how someone, who wants to worship at St. Mark but who disagrees strongly with how we see the world, can be welcomed. Most of you are far better at providing that kind of space than I am, and I continue to learn from you every week. When we find ways to provide space where one can have their integrity – even in disagreements – and yet find unity, then we are the church in the best sense of the term.  

Mark of St. Mark

The Ambiguity of Politics and Justice

 Some of you may recall Heidi Worthen Gamble, who we hosted as a guest preacher on July 3rd. Heidi is the Mission Catalyst in the Presbytery of the Pacific and, as such, works with churches and nonprofit agencies on issues of justice. Recently, Heidi shared the good news that a California State Senate bill, which she and others have been working on for the last year-and-a-half, has passed the Assembly and the Senate and is now onto Governor Newsom’s desk. The bill is SB 679, which creates an Affordable Housing Solutions Agency for Los Angeles County. The lack of affordable housing one of the root causes of homelessness in LA County, as it is in Orange County, and this agency will provide ways to help meet the need of providing more affordable homes. The Pacific Presbytery endorsed the bill an expression of being a “Matthew 25” presbytery.  

Similarly, some St. Mark members have been using their voices this week to encourage Governor Newsom to sign AB 2183, the Agricultural Labor Relations Voting Choice Act, which would give California’s agricultural workers greater opportunity to organize and collectively bargain for better wages, benefits, and working conditions. Our congregation has long been sympathetic to the plight of Farm Workers. But sympathy is more than soft feelings. It is about educating ourselves to the manifold ways that Farm Workers are exploited, knowing what their rights are, listening to their needs and demands, and using our voices to ensure that they are treated with the same kind of dignity and respect that we want for ourselves. The Governor has some concerns about some aspects of the bill and has been reluctant to sign, so some St. Mark members have been calling (916-445-2841) and encouraging him to do so. 

I wonder how advocacy of this sort – in the name of the church – feels to you. Most of us have grown up in a context where there has been a “wall” between the church and the state, based on the non-establishment clause in the 1st Amendment of the US Constitution: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof …” As a constitutional amendment, this clause is concerned with the reach and limits of the state when it comes to the free expression of religion. From the other side of the equation, many people of faith have theological convictions that make it ill-advised for a church to use its voice in a partisan political way. First, not everyone in a congregation agrees on issues, particularly as they are often named through the political process. Second, churches – at least Reformed churches – have a long history of embracing the freedom of conscience. The Westminster Confession articulated this principle before the US Constitution did, and was a key influence on the language of the Constitution. Even if one can convince oneself that it is constitutionally valid for churches to engage in partisan politics, there is still the more important question of whether it is theologically valid. 

Even if we all agree that churches should be cautious about or refrain entirely from engaging in partisan politics, we still have some sticky questions to ask. First, some matters are about justice, but there comes a point at which that justice issue is being taken up in the political process. Are churches not to address a matter of justice when it reaches a point of a political vote? Second, the political process tends to be messy. “Mr. Smith” may go to Washington or Sacramento with the purest of motives and the best of intentions. But unless he’s willing to compromise, agree to things that are not his passion in order to obtain support for things that are, etc., then he will get nothing done. And so, expedience often wins out over idealism. Mario Cuomo once said that politicians campaign with poetry but govern with prose. The question for the church is whether the messiness of the political process is a challenge to our values, as well as our call to be holy by not conforming to “the world.” John Calvin argued that the call to governance was among the highest callings, because of the effects on the common good. Reinhold Niebuhr was forthright in arguing that absolute purity is a myth when it comes to human history. At best, he would argue, we aim for “proximate goods” rather than “absolute goods.” That’s why courage and forgiveness are key for us. 

So, we have lots of important, challenging interpretive questions facing us whenever we engage in matters of justice, peacemaking, and environmental sustainability. Can we embrace a bill or a practice that is imperfect, yet offers a more just or verdant possibility? Can we express our passion in the name of our faith, even if others in our faith tradition feel keenly different? On the other side of the equation is this: Can we afford to wait and refuse to act on our convictions only when there is no ambiguity, no mixed motives, or no political compromises involved? That is a form of quietism that often feels the most holy, but I wonder if is ultimately the least faithful of all options when justice is at stake. 

It’s complicated, yet I find myself rooting for those who are willing to take risks for the sake of justice, even the risk of getting one’s hands dirty. 

Mark of St. Mark, who is speaking for himself on this matter

Telling My/Our/God's Story

This week I got an inquiry about our church from someone who is interested in attending, wanting to know a bit about who we are, what we embrace, etc. It’s not an uncommon question and I suspect that if you engage with neighbors about St. Mark you might face the same kinds of questions. This particular inquiry came from someone who has spent most of their life in an evangelical church, so my answer was shaped in that direction. When we tell our story like this, we end up telling a curious blend of “my story,” “our story,” and “God’s story” together. There is no need to try to separate one from the other, because we experience them as an amalgam, not as disparate things. So, let me tell my/our/God’s story below (roughly what I wrote in response to the inquiry, but expanded a bit). And perhaps it will enable you to find fresh ways to tell your/our/God’s story as well. 

Many of us at St. Mark have had journeys from evangelicalism to a church that embraces a more capacious view of the gospel of Jesus Christ. That was my experience, raised and educated in the Pentecostal Holiness Church. Back when I left that church for the Presbyterian Church, it seemed like all of the traffic was moving in the other direction. In the years since I became Presbyterian, a lot of folks have taken the journey, who are sometimes called 'exvangelicals,' finding at St. Mark a meaningful blend of commitment to the gospel and attention to what God is doing in our world today. What I still appreciate from my church upbringing is a dedication to meaningful worship, a deep love for the Scriptures, and a strong commitment to sharing the joy and justice of the gospel. 

I have spent many years learning to embrace the loves I that inherited differently than I was trained to embrace them. Worship at St. Mark is liturgical, in the sense of following the model of Isaiah 6:1-6, which begins with adoration, recognizes that when we encounter God's glory we realize our own unworthiness, so we offer our prayers of confession and hear an assurance of pardon. And then we listen for the Word of God as a way of instructing us in our life journeys. It can feel a little stilted at times, even though we aim for a proper balance of 'order' and 'ardor.' We have a Sunday morning service that would be called “traditional,” with a choir and activities for children or Sunday School (which resumes Sept. 18). We also have a Saturday evening service that follows much of the same form, but with a more contemplative feel, accompanied by a jazz trio. Likewise, we have a very strong weekly Bible Study, where we spend time in a critical study of the Scriptures, with attention to the historical context and the meaning that the Scriptures have in our contemporary world. And our way of sharing the joy and justice of the gospel is not about coercing someone into making a faith profession, but begins with our trust that God is already at work in everyone’s life, making “evangelism” more a matter of discovery than persuasion. 

Much of our church life is shaped around two biblical texts. The first is Micah 6:8, which calls us to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly before God. And much of our faithfulness is driven by the last parable of Matthew 25, where we meet the Christ in the experiences we have with the poor, the imprisoned, and the marginalized. With those Scriptures in our DNA, we are always going to be a church that lives on the cutting edge of justice, whether it is by practicing radical inclusivity, advocating for environmental sustainability, or engaging in anti-racism work. All in all, we are a congregation very committed to inclusion and compassion inwardly, justice externally. 

So, how would you tell your/our/God’s story?

Mark of St. Mark

St. Mark SMARTER Stuff

 Friends, 

 

Today’s missive is about two things: Our COVID policy and our forthcoming Text Study. 

 

This week, following a motion by our Health Ministries Commission, the Session voted to continue the COVID policy at St. Mark that is currently in place. The policy requires masks for those who have been unvaccinated and recommends but does not require masking for those who have been vaccinated. Of course, there is no perfectly right answer to this challenge. You can enter a medical plaza and facemasks are required. Then, you can go into a restaurant and see your doctor there without a mask. It’s not hypocrisy. It is simply that each decision-making body is looking at the science and then making choices based on a balance between the data, the context, and the various states of mind at play. Your Session is one of those decision-making bodies, listening to our health team as well as concerns that others have, and making the best decision we can. Thank you all for understanding that this is not an exact process and for bearing with it. 

 

One thing I’ve really appreciated lately is our Parish Nurse Ann Scott’s acronym of being SMARTER: Shots, Masks, Awareness, Reaction, Testing, Education and RX (treatment). Significantly, the Session’s decision is to invite you to be the one who ultimately decides your best way of ensuring that others are safe. For the Session to offer you that power means that they trust in the common sense and good will of each of our members and guests. I really appreciate their decision-making process and I hope you do as well. 

 

Second thing: Many of you have reached out with interest in participating in our Text Study that begins in September. The first 30-minute video will go up on Monday, September 5 (Labor Day), with the first discussion following on Wednesday, September 7 at 9:30 AM in the Bonhoeffer Room. We will be taking a detailed look at the first portion of Luke’s gospel all the way through our Advent season. I will give out a full schedule of each week’s scripture readings and theme in our first class and email it to those who are on the list. 

 

I am combining the previous email list that we have been using, and adding some of you who have contacted me since last Friday. So, again, if you want to be added to the email list that will alert you to when the videos are ready for viewing, as well as how to view them, please drop me a note here.

 

Third thing (Bonus!): I cannot tell you how delightful it is for each of us when someone finally feels free to return to gathered worship after an extended time away during the pandemic. It is wonderful to see you and I hope you know that. And, if you are still hesitating on making your way back, please remember that when you are ready to do so, we are ready to welcome you with open arms safe gestures of welcome. And we are anxious for you to meet the nine new members that we have received into our church, along with their children, over the last few weeks. 

 

Mark of St. Mark

Text Study and Reading the Scriptures

 Friends, 

 

Our weekly Text Study resumes in September. Every Monday we will upload a 30-minute video of a study onto YouTube, then we will have a one-hour discussion on Wednesday mornings at 9:30 here on the church campus. The discussion will be on zoom and will be recorded, so you can also watch it live or later from home. If you want to get an email each week notifying you when the study is ready and sending the zoom link, please drop me a note here or call Sue-Ann in the church office (949-644-1341). Next week I will describe the focus of our study and list the different texts for each week. I’m trying to coordinate the study with our worship services, so there are some discussions that I need to have with our staff before I present it publicly. I think you will like what we’re cooking up.  

 

This week in worship we will be hearing the story of Luke 13:10-17 during our Saturday and Sunday worship services. It is about a woman who was bent over double and is released from that condition and raised upright. I have an essay on the Political Theology blog about this story that you can read here. Or, I have a verse-by-verse analysis of the story on my blog that you can read here. In most Bibles, this story is prefaced with the subtitle, “Jesus heals a crippled woman.” There are 1,001 reasons why we ought not to use that subtitle, some of which I will address in this weekend’s sermon. For now, I want to address something about the way that we hear healing stories in the gospels, which has a troubling effect on the way we think of abilities and disabilities in real life. 

 

I recently heard a recording of Dick Cavett interviewing Ray Charles during which he asked, “If I could just wave a magic wand and give you your sight back, would you want me to?” Sighted people might imagine an enthusiastic “Yes!” but Ray Charles’ answer was very circumspect. He said he would like to see, perhaps for a short time, to see his children’s faces and perhaps a few works of art and natural beauty. But he was not interested in having his sight restored for the rest of his life. He was happy with the way that he encountered and experienced the world as a blind person, “So, no thanks.” That interview enabled me to see the wisdom behind the story in Mark’s gospel when Jesus encounters a “blind beggar” named Bartimaeus, who is screaming to Jesus for mercy. When Jesus meets him, he asks, “What do you want me to do for you?” In this case, Bartimaeus indeed wanted his sight back. In the ancient stories any disability seems to be treated that way – as a lessening of humanity, a deficit that needs restoring. Ray Charles represented a different way of speaking about his blindness – not as a deficit or a weakness, but as a different and rich way of experiencing the world.  

 

I believe we need to reassess the worldview that is presumed in gospel stories about healing. The point is not to criticize the gospel writers or the culture in which they were embedded. We can assume that they were inspired people doing the best they could with what they were aware of, and so we should aspire to do the best we can with what we are aware of. When we see a person with a disability in the gospels, the presumption of the story is typically that they want or need that disability to be “healed.” That notion of “healing” often becomes either a way that the power of the God ought to be present in our lives today, or a magical view of the world from the past that we dismiss with eye-rolling. I would suggest, instead, that it reflects a worldview present generally (not just among biblical communities) in the 1^st century. As such, that view of disabilities and healing is fair game for us to interrogate as those who take the Bible seriously. When we do so, we see that many of the gospel stories have subtle ways of differentiating between a person’s identity or worth and their struggles or disabilities. But we also see how many of those stories are grounded in assumptions with which we disagree. I think this question about the worldview that is present in healing stories is even more important, or at least prior to, the common question of whether healings still occur today. 

 

There’s so much more to explore here, but I should stop now. One cannot dig oneself out of a hole by digging deeper and deeper. 

 

Mark of St. Mark

Death, with an "I"

 During the last few weeks those of us of a certain age have lost some childhood, teenage, or young adulthood heroes. A friend of mine – a fabulous singer – has taken the death of Olivia Newton John very hard, partly because she was coming into her musical identity as he was developing his own love of music. Another friend was particularly touched by the death of her role model Nichelle Nichols, who played Lieutenant Uhura on the Star Trek television show at a time when few African American women were cast in leadership roles. And many southern Californians heard the news of Vin Scully’s death with fond memories of his comforting voice wishing us “a very pleasant good evening” and informing us that “It’s time for Dodger baseball.” Finally, I had a basketball jersey when I was in elementary school, with the number 9. After the season I got to keep the Jersey and I removed the number so I could flip it and hang Bill Russell’s number 6 on the wall above my bed – my earliest childhood sports hero. It is sobering to see those whose lives are inspirational to use age or die. We know that one or the other is inevitable, but part of admiring folks is holding in our memory a snapshot of their lives as we appreciated it, instead of allowing them to move on. Likewise, it is a curious thing about death – we know it is inevitable, yet it saddens and surprises us all the same. 

 

I recently read a story about a dad telling his son about the chance meeting that brought him and the boy’s mother together. It was a series of incidents, each of which could easily have gone otherwise, and he ended the story by saying, “It’s hard to believe, but your mother and I were very close to never meeting each other.” The son asked, “If you hadn’t met mom, then who would be my dad?” The correct answer to that question would be, “You would not exist.” But the idea of never-having-existed, what the philosophers call “nonbeing,” is a dreadful thought that sends existentialists into lifelong despair. What kind of dad would foist that burden onto a child? So, the dad said, “I guess one of your mom’s old boyfriends would have been your dad.” ~\_(ツ)_/~ 

 

Imagining one’s nonbeing is not just a challenge for children. In his book, The Reason of Following, Robert Scharlemann notes the way we ‘hide ourselves’ in everyday talk about death when we say, “Everyone has to die sometime.” That broad language takes on new meaning when we add, “And I, too, have to die.” Suddenly the “I” that is hidden in the word “Everyone” becomes stark and open. Scharlemann goes on to state “I have to die” differently as, “To die is something that I have.” I carry it around with me; I own it; it is part of who I am. And yet, Scharlemann is right to say that this ‘possession’ is what we hide in everyday talk, partly because we don’t want to appear dreadful or morbid. Some Christian folk quickly point to the resurrection and aver that death is nothing real, but I suspect much of that bravado is just a pious form of ignoring the “I” in “Everyone must die.” 

 

I don’t know if it is healthy or helpful to contemplate our death to a great degree. The “preacher” in Ecclesiastes implies that our inevitable death makes everything else nothing but “vanity.” My own thoughts and faith move in a different direction. Finding the “I” hidden in the phrase, “Everyone must die” can be vastly liberating. Who I am and what I do will always be finite, mortal, temporal, ever “imperfect” in the sense of never-being-completed or perfected. The inescapability of the “I” in “Everyone must die” releases us from grandiose schemes of being eternally young or infinite in our life and accomplishments. Once we let that fantasy go we are open to meeting the Christ of the resurrection, the one for whom death was a reality and yet who lives. If we rush to resurrection too soon, it can be a copout, a way of hiding the “I” in “Everyone.” But, if we find ourselves in the phrase, “Everyone must die,” we reach that moment of finite vulnerability that enables us to embrace as we are embraced by the one who is “the way, the truth, and the life.” 

 

Well, those are my ruminations for this morning. And a very pleasant day to all of you. 

 

Mark of St. Mark

To Gentle the World

 Friends, 

 

Did you happen to read Yesterday’s Daily Meditation from Richard Rohr? (That’s how I start my mornings. It prepares me for reading the news.) Thursday’s meditation began with this story: 

 

Once a brother committed a sin in Scetis, and the elders assembled and sent for Abba Moses. He, however, did not want to go. Then the priest sent a message to him, saying: “Come, everybody is waiting for you.” So he finally got up to go. And he took a worn-out basket with holes, filled it with sand, and carried it along. The people who came to meet him said: “What is this?” Then the old man said: “My sins are running out behind me, yet I do not see them. And today I have come to judge the sins of someone else.” When they heard this, they said nothing to the brother and pardoned him.

 

Then the meditation moved to this profound comment about contemplation by Sister Joan Chittister: “Contemplation breaks us open to ourselves. The fruit of contemplation is self-knowledge, not self-justification. ‘The nearer we draw to God,’ Abba Mateos said, ‘the more we see ourselves as sinners.’ We see ourselves as we really are, and knowing ourselves we cannot condemn the other. We remember with a blush the public sin that made us mortal. We recognize with dismay the private sin that curls within us in fear of exposure. Then the whole world changes when we know ourselves. We gentle it. The fruit of self-knowledge is kindness. Broken ourselves, we bind tenderly the wounds of the other.” 

 

I find that phrase, "We gentle [the whole world]" to be very arresting and worthy of bouncing around the echo chambers of my heart and mind all day long. While I’m not always a fan of verbing nouns and adjectives (see what I did there?), this one is well done. We gentle the whole world. What can I do, day after day, to make the word “gentle” a verb? And, to gentle “the whole world”? That sounds like a tall order. 

 

There are folks in this world whom I think deserve a swift kick in the seat. But that’s the justice of someone who is self-righteous, not someone who is self-knowing, whose self-righteousness has melted in the presence of a truly holy God. For those who have stood, naked and open before God, we can only choose paths that are not filled with judgment, spite, or hate. To “gentle” the world seems a very worthy alternative. 

 

I like this description of contemplation. It is tempting to look at meditation, prayer, mindfulness, and other practices of centering in stillness as simply taking a breather from the madness of the world. What Sister Chittister is describing is different. The breath that we take in contemplation is purposeful, without a prescribed goal other than to be transformed into whatever we are called to be. One thing that makes me grateful for Dr. Gail Sterns, who has led mindfulness meetings here, is that she pushes us to think of mindfulness as more than just something that we are doing in our own heads. It matters that God is present, transforming our space to sacred space. That encounter with a holy and loving God is what allows us to see ourselves in truth – our failures as well as our gifts and beauty. To see ourselves truly, while being loved through it all, is what transforms us from vengeful self-righteousness to people who gentle a world that is often harsh and broken.

 

Oh, I’ve rambled enough. Sister Chittister’s phrase, “We gentle the world,” has captured me and I am a grateful prisoner to it. 

 

Mark of St. Mark

This and That

 Friends, it was absolutely delightful to be in worship with you again last weekend. We use the phrase “Presence of the Holy Spirit” to try to describe that strangely wonderful connection that we feel when we are gathered in worship, even with all our differences of opinion and stages in our faith journeys. It’s a connection that is more powerful than any lingering resentments we may harbor, more sustainable than passing misunderstanding, and more comforting than words can convey. For all the criticisms that one can generate against the church in general or a church in particular, that shared heartbeat makes it all worthwhile. I missed that when I was on sabbatical and at home recuperating from COVID. 

 

Second, I want to speak a bit about our Saturday Evening worship services. As you may recall, we began the “Saturdays @ 5” worship seven years ago, after spending some time exploring and discerning together how we might widen our music and worship repertoire here at St. Mark. After about a year of experimenting with different styles and locations, we settled on a worship experience that was deliberately contemplative and – because of the smaller numbers – intimate. I’ve never cared for the language of “contemporary” and “traditional” or the “worship wars” approach to making worship and musical choices. I’m more inclined to think that each congregation has its own gifts and character that ought to indicate how God is glorified most authentically, rather than relying on popular styles and publishing houses to provide one-size-fits-all worship products. It’s the same reason why I cannot use too many prefabricated worship litanies and prayers that are available for churches. It’s worth the time and effort to write our own liturgy week after week to capture the spirit and power of what God is doing here. And I want to add that I have never tried to siphon off Sunday worshipers to boost the Saturday services. Our Sunday worship experiences is a beautiful thing in its own right, where God uses our gifts and talents marvelously week after week. Our two services are not in competition with one another and never will be.

 

The “Saturdays @ 5” worship services have evolved nicely and continue to provide a very meaningful worship opportunity for St. Mark members and our surrounding community. Up until 2020, the average attendance was climbing each year. But the shutdown during the pandemic affected worship attendance at both of our services (and everywhere else for that matter) and it has been especially noticeable on Saturdays because of the smaller numbers initially. After the shutdown and prior to my sabbatical, our “Saturdays @ 5” services were rebuilding slowly. We decided not to provide the customary “Saturdays @ 5” services during my sabbatical because it would have required housing our guest speakers overnight, providing meals for the entire weekend, and other added costs. As a result, we are again in a mode of rebuilding the momentum of our Saturday worship. 

 

I have often felt that our “Saturdays @ 5” worship might be where those who do not have happy memories of worshiping in their past may find a place that’s just different enough and just familiar enough to be meaningful. If you know of someone searching for a meaningful worship experience, but for whom Sunday morning may not be the right solution, I encourage you to bring them to a Saturday service. But, again, if you are a happy worshiper yourself on Sunday mornings, stay there and keep it sacred. It is a gift. 

 

Third, I want to say that some of you responded very kindly to my invitation to “return to worship” two weeks ago. I was looking forward to starting anew with you after my sabbatical absence. I did not know at the time that I would be down for the count that first weekend, but we are all better now and I look forward to seeing you again. 

 

This weekend we will be welcoming some new members into our congregation and I will be sharing a very personal message with you, which I think is important for understanding our unique ministry and calling as a church. I look forward to seeing in worship either Saturday or Sunday. 

 

Mark of St. Mark 

Catching Up

 Last weekend, in an opening video during worship, I mentioned that moment in Luke’s gospel when Jesus tells his disciples, “With desire I have desired” to eat this meal with you. I felt the depth of that redundancy all last week, as I was so anxious to be in worship with you again and to participate in all the weekend activities that we had planned. With desire I had desired to be with you again! Alas, a better quote might have been the old Yiddish phrase drawn from the 2^ndPsalm, Mann tracht, un Gott lacht, meaning, “Humans plan and God laughs.” With all the tragedy in the world God could use a good laugh, so I’m okay with being the butt of that one. However, I am ready to return this week and be with you physically, not virtually. According to the protocols that we follow for our staff, Tuesday was the end of my 5 day isolation period, which is followed by a 5 day time of extra caution – wearing a mask and keeping social distance. That means I will be in person for Julie Hume’s memorial service on Saturday morning, as well as for worship on Saturday evening and Sunday morning. And, except for those moments when I am actively speaking to the group, I will be wearing my surgical mask and careful about distance. And, once again, thanks all around to our excellent staff and volunteers for stepping up and making all things smooth. Okay, enough about that. Now, for the bitter and the better. 

 

The Bitter: It is astounding how commonplace mass murder has become in the United States. During my sabbatical there were three such events that particularly caught our attention – A racially motivated shooting that killed ten persons and wounded three more at a supermarket in Buffalo, NY; a mass shooting at an elementary school in Uvalde, Texas, killing nineteen students and two teachers, wounding seventeen other people; and a Fourth of July parade shooting in Highland Park, IL, that killed seven people and wounded 46 more either directly or as a result of panicked fleeing. Each of the shooters was a male between the ages of 18-21. 

 

We don’t know if each of these young men had the same politics, if they played the same video games, listened to the same music, or watched the same violent movies. We don’t know if they have similar religious feelings or any such feelings at all. But something enabled three young men to conclude that, whatever itch or grievance they felt that they had, their course of action was to use weapons to murder children and adults, most of whom - if not all of whom - were strangers to them. There is something about our culture – that’s the catch-all term for speaking about all three of these events collectively – that made the action of ‘callously taking the lives of others’ an option. Ours is not a culture that instills such a deep sense of respect for human life that such an act would go unthought. While we might say it is “unthinkable,” it is not. They thought it, they planned it, and they did it. And the worst part of this cultural misanthropy may be that during that same period we hardly noticed other atrocious acts of violence because the numbers weren’t quite as large. 

 

During that same time, the Supreme Court made any governmental action toward regulating the sale and possession of such deadly firearms even more difficult with a ruling that seems incredibly myopic. I’m not a “strict constitutionalist” for the same reasons that I’m not a biblical fundamentalist. As such I don’t see where 1^st century mores regarding marriage should be binding on 21^st century relationships, and I don’t see why late 18^th century dispositions toward firearms should be binding on 21^st century armaments. These opinions, of course, are my own. I am not speaking on behalf of St. Mark or the Presbyterian Church USA, and these are matters on which persons of faith and good will can disagree. My only purpose in mentioning them as forcefully as I am is to recognize the added layer of anger or frustration that many of us have felt on top of the horror of the mass shootings themselves. 

 

All of that is to say that, while I was on sabbatical, I was commiserating with you, experiencing the horror and the frustration of things that lie beyond our immediate control. At the same time, we feel some measure of responsibility. So, we pray. And we educate. And we advocate. And we keep going, using the power of persuasion and good will to work toward justice. 

 

The Better: While we cannot repair the state of our shared culture magically, quickly, or easily, we can provide a better way. One way of doing that is through our youth ministry. This weekend we have four adults and seven youth attending the Youth Conference at the Montreat Presbyterian Conference Center nestled among the Black Mountains of North Carolina. Pastor Hayes will tell you that anyone in the southeastern portion of the Presbyterian Church knows about the beautiful setting of Montreat and the energetic Youth Conferences that they host every summer. If their week goes as we anticipate (see the Yiddish phrase above), we can expect our seven youth and four chaperones to return with energizers and energy, along with a lot of new friends and Instagram followers. While this week should be fun and enjoyable, it is also one way that we cultivate a different way of being in the world, based on compassion, hope, and justice. This week we will lift up our Montreat attendees in prayer as part of our radical hope that our world can be a place of joy and justice. 

 

See you in worship, 

Mark of St. Mark

 

 

Holy Week and Suffering

Holy Week begins with an ecstatic, “Hosanna!” and it closes with a heartbreaking, “Crucify him!” Along the way, we face fears and challenges. We see Jesus confronting religious leaders for turning God’s “house of prayer for all people” into an emporium for profit-making. We see Jesus rejected by those in power, we see justice miscarried, and we even see friends who betray, deny, and abandon Jesus in his hour of need. We hear what may be the most difficult cry in all of literature, when Jesus says, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” It is a week that speaks to the most challenging trials that we can face; and so we rightly call it “Holy Week.” 

 

We cannot get into Jesus’ head, to see how he is able to have such resolve in the face of torture or maintain love through broken friendships. We cannot get into the head of Judas, who once intended to follow Jesus but, in the end, betrayed him. We cannot even get into the head of Simon Peter – as much as his boisterous disclosures try to make his every thought into a bold declaration – when he fails so spectacularly. What we can do is to read the story, see the good and the bad, the hope and the suffering, the ambitions and the failures, to reflect on our own journeys. How does Holy week speak to our fears, our failures, our dashed hopes, and the fragility of our faith? 

 

And I give you this, to accompany your week. The church calls this week “Holy Week” not despite the suffering but precisely because of the suffering that it contains. Not all suffering is holy, of course. Too much suffering in the world is the result of sinful violence, injustice, avarice, and hate. That kind of suffering – especially the imposition of it and any facile attempt to legitimize it – is damnable and I am in no way romanticizing or idealizing it. 

 

However, there is a kind of suffering and grief that comes from the vulnerability of loving. As Glennon Doyle writes, “Grief is love’s souvenir. It’s our proof that we once loved.” Jesus’ grief, so evident in his prayer in the garden and his cry from the cross, was born out of his love. And, likewise, when we lose someone whom we love, when we are betrayed by someone whom we trust, when we are abandoned by someone on whom we rely, we suffer. While their actions may be tragic or inexcusable, our grief itself is a sacred part of our existence. When we suffer because we love, we shed holy tears. It is not a part of our life that we like to think about often, so this week offers us the chance to embrace that vulnerability, to open ourselves to grace, and to know that Christ himself is part of our company in our tears. 

 

I do hope that you will prioritize attending our Maundy Thursday service at 6:30 at St. Mark; our shared Good Friday service at noon at New Hope in Anaheim; and one of our three Easter services: Saturday at 5:00 PM; Sunday at 9:00 AM and 10:30 AM. 

 

Mark of St. Mark