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