I finally have a pope.

This image appeared in The Mirror.

I finally have a pope. What a weird thing to say. I'm a Methodist, after all. I don't believe in a priesthood. I don't think that the papacy is theologically or ecclesiologically sound. When I look at the ministry of Jesus, I think that he would be appalled at the many trappings of pomp and circumstance, dogma, doctrine, tradition, and liturgy that all of us have crafted. And, this would probably be true for the elevation of someone to what the papacy has become. At the same time, without Jesus actually in front of us, we, like Thomas, need things to poke and prod and touch to help us along in our faith. It's just how human beings are. We teach kids with object lessons. As adults, we learn our lessons through failure and success, i.e., we experience these lessons. We live in a real world, and our traditions, rituals, liturgies, and even dogmas and doctrines helps us touch, if metaphorically, the divine. So, they make sense in real life even though they rub against everything I think I think I should think (get it?). The pope is kind of like this in an odd sort of way. At least, this pope is. So far (I am a Protestant at heart).

Jesus says in John 20:29, "Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed" (NIV). Of course, it's this blind faith that atheists find very upsetting about religion. It isn't rational. Life should be rational. But, life is not rational. We love. We hate. We feel. It isn't rational. Oh, there are things that can help explain our loves, hates, and passions, but there is an ineffability to life as well - it's just beyond words, beyond explanation. We are, indeed, a product of culture, of geometry, of experience, of chemistry, of neurology... We are also more than the sum of those things...at least I think so. That is what spirituality points us toward. And, it is what religion, at its best, helps us organize and live in community around.

I grew up with Pope John Paul II. He seemed like a nice guy to this kid, but he was pretty far away from me. He lived through World War II in Poland, which led him to a deep appreciation for democracy and freedom; that seemed like a good thing to me. I was sad when he was shot (I mean, we should always be sad when someone is shot, right?).  He spoke a lot about peace, and that was great. As a matter of fact, it was the peace movement within Roman Catholicism that spoke to me as a young adult. However, by 2000, his name had become synonymous with battles against women priests and, by extension, an antiquated view on women in general. By the end of 2001, he had become the pope in charge as the stories of abuse began to come at us at alarming rates. He was the pope when the Religious Right in the United States formed a odd relationship with Roman Catholics, lining up along a line of social conservative issues that did not seem, well, right, to me - a relationship, might I add, that would have been unthinkable a mere fifteen years before it began to tear at the fabric of mainline America. So, while there were many things about Pope John Paul II that appealed to me as a young United Methodist, the conflict and disappointment always kept him at a distance. Then came Pope Benedict XVI. I don't think I need to say much about him except to say I didn't have any warm fuzzies for the man.

Enter Pope Francis. He will probably never support women priests (he never has). He will probably continue to oppose LGBTQI rights (he always has). Despite these two very important issues, he has for the moment done something in me and throughout the world that I think Christians of many stripes yearned for - he has made the gospel tactile and real and meaningful. Upon his election, the first public act he did was to ask for prayers from those assembled. The UK newspaper The Telegraph dubbed him "Pope Francis the humble." He famously shirked the ermine cape, rode with the other cardinals rather than taking his private car, picked up his own bags at the pensione, invited the Patriarch of Orthodox Christians to a private meeting as well as to his inauguration, met with interfaith leaders and set a humble and hopeful tone for the future. In his first meeting with the press, out of respect for those of different faiths as well as those who hold fast to no particular faith, he blessed them in silence "respecting the conscience of each one of you, but knowing that each one of you is a child of God. May God bless you." In that same meeting, he explained that he wanted a poor church for the poor. In his first address to cardinals, he said that good shepherds would smell like their sheep. Then, in Holy Week, he went to a detention center to wash feet on Holy Thursday, including Muslims and women in a ritual usually reserved for men, well, to be fair, priests. Ultimately, he decided not to move into the papal apartments, but to live in community in the guest house eating in community, sharing the table with others. Of course, he also kept his old black shoes, too. There, too, are the endless pictures of unexpected things: hugging and kissing a boy with cerebral palsy, greeting people after preaching, and blessing a guide dog. And, last, he is celebrating mass in the Vatican guest house...every day, it  seems...and he sits in the back during prayer.

That's great, some people say, but what about the substance? What about his "stances" on "important issues"?  Just after he was elected, the Christian Science Monitor summed up the new pope on his pre-election views on hot topics. I doubt those views will change. What makes Pope Francis more than these hot button issues is the real substance that he is moving us all toward. The gospel. All of those "symbolic" things that he has been doing along with his easy to follow but deeply spiritual homilies and talks are the substance. He is calling Christians back to a gospel of generosity, love, forgiveness, incarnation, sacrament, community, justice, and compassion. He has spoken about the importance of protecting the environment. He has proclaimed that we should never cease asking for forgiveness because God never tires of extending it. To make my point further, let's look at the recent showing of the Shroud of Turin. I could care less whether it was "real" or "fake," much like I could care less about a whole host of things that could "prove" the Resurrection or the Virgin Birth or... When the pope rose to speak about the shroud, he did not speak of carbon dating or proof, he spoke about mystery and pain and violence and peace: 

Dear Brothers and Sisters, 

I join all of you gathered before the Holy Shroud, and I thank the Lord who, through modern technology, offers us this possibility. 

Even if it takes place in this way, we do not merely “look”, but rather we venerate by a prayerful gaze. I would go further: we are in fact looked upon upon ourselves.

This face has eyes that are closed, it is the face of one who is dead, and yet mysteriously he is watching us, and in silence he speaks to us. 

How is this possible? How is it that the faithful, like you, pause before this icon of a man scourged and crucified? It is because the Man of the Shroud invites us to contemplate Jesus of Nazareth. 

This image, impressed upon the cloth, speaks to our heart and moves us to climb the hill of Calvary, to look upon the wood of the Cross, and to immerse ourselves in the eloquent silence of love. 

Let us therefore allow ourselves to be reached by this look, which is directed not to our eyes but to our heart. In silence, let us listen to what he has to say to us from beyond death itself. By means of the Holy Shroud, the unique and supreme Word of God comes to us: Love made man, incarnate in our history; the merciful love of God who has taken upon himself all the evil of the world to free us from its power. 

This disfigured face resembles all those faces of men and women marred by a life which does not respect their dignity, by war and violence which afflict the weakest… And yet, at the same time, the face in the Shroud conveys a great peace; this tortured body expresses a sovereign majesty. 

It is as if it let a restrained but powerful energy within it shine through, as if to say: have faith, do not lose hope; the power of the love of God, the power of the Risen One overcomes all things. 

So, looking upon the Man of the Shroud, I make my own the prayer which Saint Francis of Assisi prayed before the Crucifix: 

Most High, glorious God, enlighten the shadows of my heart, and grant me a right faith, a certain hope and perfect charity, sense and understanding, Lord, so that I may accomplish your holy and true command. 

Amen.

C'mon. "...immerse ourselves in the eloquent silence of love?????" That's pretty poetic.

These things are important even to Protestants like me. Why? Because they all - the symbolic acts and the words themselves - are substantive calls to a simple, caring, generous, other-centered, poverty-centered, community-centered, loving, and forgiving world. Everything I have heard from this pope has been about God's mission of healing and reconciliation. None of what he has said has been about the survival of the Church, not once, at least not that I have read or heard. In his cardinal days he said of the abuse scandal, "We must never turn a blind eye. ...I do not believe in taking positions that uphold a certain corporate spirit to avoid damaging the image of the institution." That's a big deal.

As a pastor, I am weary of the calls to "turn around the church." I am sick and tired of the adoption of both business language and business practices that have infested the church. I am done with it. As a Christian, I am desperate, as are other Christians, for a church less concerned with itself than with love, compassion, generosity, simplicity, justice, forgiveness, joy, community, sacrament, and incarnation. Many have said what a sad day for Christians that we all fall over ourselves when a pope lives the gospel. While there is a sad truth in that, there is also a reductionistic, oversimplistic sarcasm in it, too. Living the gospel is not easy. Perhaps, this might be especially true for someone can can choose to live in a gilded cage, (literally a home that is gilded!) We see this at play with the easy creature comforts of life in middle America. More often than not, we do not want to live with the dirty, messy, smelly, unruly people who dwell on the sidewalks of our urban areas, camping out in parks and under overpasses. We do not want low income housing springing up next to our homes...nor do we want half way houses...or transitional housing, or... We don't. Most of us don't, anyway. However, radical community is the gospel. It is not part of the gospel. It is the gospel. That is why one cannot be a follower of Jesus, much less a "little Christ" (the literal translation of Christian), on our own. Jesus lived in community. He healed communities. He restored people to community. He loved in community. And his gospel was communal. Based in this world. In community. In between you and me. It is concerned with the stuff of real life.

Despite doctrine and ecclesiology differences, this pope has done something for this follower of Jesus. So, while he may not really be my pope, I thank him for what he is doing. He is offering himself as something to poke and prod, hug, see, touch, listen to, and struggle with. Much like Jesus did. To Thomas. And, that is very much the gospel.

Prayer of the Day for Good Shepherd Sunday

God of peace, as your raised Jesus from the dead, so too you raised your daughter Tabitha. Again and again, you reach into the dead places of our lives and tease out new life. You meet us in the scary and violent places of this world and offer tastes of your heavenly banquet. And when we lose hope and stray, you send your messengers to remind us of your love and to lead us home. Help us to hear the voice of the risen Christ that calls to us still. May we move away from the fences that we make that keep us one from the other and from our most Holy Shepherd, that we might dwell as one flock in unity and love. Amen.

A Christmas Sermon (for Easter), Easter C

Tears. A name. A garden. These are three of the most important images in our gospel reading. Together they reveal the transformative power of love to overcome the powers of this world, including the power of death, and in these images we see how God brings new life and redemption for all creation. All three of these - tears, a name, and a garden - link Mary with Jesus. When John awakens us to new life in the Resurrected Christ, it is through the presence of Mary Magdalene, the witness to the miracle of new life. So who is she?

Mary is found in all four of the gospels. The Bible does not say, as many of us were told growing up, that she was a harlot or a prostitute or even a sinner. 

(Gaddi)

Some traditions like the Roman Catholic Church, following the storyline in John, equate Mary Magdalene with Mary of Bethany, Martha and Lazarus’ sister. This is mostly because, as intimate as Mary, Martha, and Lazarus are with Jesus, they simply fade away from the storyline about the time that Mary Magdalene appears. Both Luke and Mark tell us that Jesus cleanses her of seven demons. All four gospels put Mary as a witness to the crucifixion. Luke says that a group of women followed Jesus from Galilee, including Mary Magdalene. In John, Mary is a unique witness to the burial of Jesus. In all four gospels, Mary is among the women who announce the empty tomb to the apostles. In fact, in John, 

Jesus appears to Mary first among all others, as he does in the extended ending of Mark. And her name? There is a town called Magdala, which indicates that she could be from there. But Luke expressly tells us that she was called Magdalene, in Hebrew “Migdal,” which means fortress. Perhaps Mary was the fortress in the same way that Peter was the rock. Perhaps she was Mary the fortress, the unmoveable witness to Jesus. By the 10th century, she had become known as the Apostle to the Apostles. Traditions and stories of her evangelistic journeys became part of Christian legend.

One such story comes from the Eastern Orthodox church, and it is over 1500 years old. According to this legend, after Jesus releases Mary from the demons, she, coming from a wealthy family, financially supports him and his ministry. As others abandoned him, she remained with him to the cross. The resurrected Christ appeared to her and sent her to proclaim the resurrection. She travelled to Rome to do just this. Because of the status and wealth of her family, she was admitted to the court of Tiberius Caesar, where she dined with him. Over dinner, she picked up and egg and proclaimed that Jesus had risen from the dead. Caesar laughed at the absurdity of such a story, saying that such a thing would be just about as possible as the egg in her hand turning red. And so it did, immediately. In the Eastern Orthodox tradition, eggs are still painted a deep red in remembrance of this act of transformation. 

This story along with Mary’s role at the death and burial of Jesus is why her icon usually depicts her with a jar of anointing oil 

and an egg, sometimes white, 

usually red.

 But what does this have to do with Easter? With Christ himself? With the miracle of this day? Tears. A name. And a garden. On that morning so long ago,

Mary goes while it is still dark out,

while her spirit must have been dark with grief and anger at the injustice of Jesus’ death, while the whole world was dark at the death of the Anointed One. But the dark could not keep her away. She moved in and through it to her beloved Jesus. When she finds the stone removed, she runs to tell the disciples that Jesus’ body had been taken. In the footrace to the tomb, Peter is beaten by the beloved one. There they find evidence of Jesus, but no body. We are told that the beloved one believed but did not understand and so they went home. Mary, once again, is left to be the witness. Love pulled the beloved disciple to the tomb before Peter. Love helped him believe, yet, in his ignorance, he left. But Mary, she stayed. And she wept. Her tears flowed from the years of following Jesus, from the loss of first his life and then his body - after all that he had done for her, to her, and in her presence. Her tears, I imagine could have been enough to saturate the ground. I believe they were enough to open her heart beyond belief into the presence of the risen Christ. It says that, “As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb and she saw two angels in white...” They say to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She answers, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” 

(Duccio di Buonisegna)

She turns and finds a single man, who asks the same question of her. Supposing him to be the gardener, she says, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Then Jesus speaks her name and her steadfast and loving heart is fully opened, “Teacher,” she says. She believes and she understands. Standing in the garden, she tries to hold on to him, but he tells her not to. She must release him. “But go...” he says. And so she does. She goes to the disciples and announces, “I have seen the Lord.”

Today’s sermon has an odd name - “A Christmas Sermon (for Easter).” This is because we often think of Christmas as the holiday of Incarnation. God born into the world. Emmanuel. God with Us. And then, when we get to Easter, Jesus is about the sky and the spirit world, something that happens after death in places we cannot see, smell, touch, taste or hear. But this story is about the Incarnation. About God in this world. Healing in this world. Living. Breathing. Redeeming. Loving. This world. Mary experienced bondage in this world. Jesus liberated her from her demons...in this world. She was with him in real human agony as his body was broken, as he breathed his last breath. She was there at a real tomb where death has the last word, from which there is no escape. She was there to wash and tenderly care for his body. She loved him. In this world. In that garden. When the door to the tomb was rolled away, she did not assume, “Oh, yeah, Jesus is with God.” She wept. She wept in love because his body, his real flesh body, had been stolen. She wept real tears that saturated the real ground. This is sorrow as you and I have experienced it when the unthinkable happens. When love breaks our hearts. Because it does happen. Justice is denied. Pain is real. The story of our faith as told through Mary Magdalene is a story of this world, of Emmanuel, of what happens when love fully takes hold of us. When the resurrected Christ speaks her name, he is with her, and the real ache in her is opened by real love. Right here in this world. Right there. In that garden...

(Alexander Ivanov)  

...In that garden like the first garden, where God began creation with Adam and Eve. The first and the new creation germinate in these places of life and death and life. They are verdant and potent. They smell. They taste. They make sounds. They provide food for nourishment and they offer pleasure. It is no coincidence that as God spoke the first creation into being, Christ speaks Mary into a new creation. So, as God began the first creation in a garden, God begins the second creation in a garden. Jesus as new creation. Mary in the midst of new creation. New creation. Alive in a new way. In the garden. By the breath of the divine. Intimate and holy.

John invites us into garden living, to be called by love into the suffering of the world and to weep at the reality of it all, to hear God speak our name, and to be awakened to the truth that, despite the hardness of it all, the difficulty of it all, God is at work speaking us into newness. Christ is speaking. Creation is awakening. Things are being disturbed. Changed. Transformed. The Easter miracle is not that a white egg magically became red or that a dead body was reanimated. The Easter miracle is love. Transformational love. Through love, all of creation is transformed as only God can do. Like  Mary released from demons. Like Jesus released from the grave. Like us released from.... Set free from... Like all of creation being awakened to something as yet to be experienced.

Tears. A name. A garden. These are all found here on this earth. And they serve to remind us that God is disturbing this world and entering into it fully and deeply, speaking it to new life once again. Amen.

Rape is Violence, Not Sex

Oh, ignorance. It seems to be everywhere. As the two young teenage men accused and convicted of raping a girl during a drunken underage party in Steubenville, Ohio received their sentencing, the news media bemoaned and mourned the sadness of the moment...for the rapists. Unlike many media failures, this one crossed the network/cable line as well as the liberal/conservative line. The following image was plastered across Facebook in response to the major failure of our news media: Today, Steubenville was in the news again, this time because two girls used social media to threaten the rape victim. Here we have three instances of heinous behavior, one by media, one by girls, and one by the male rapists themselves. All three of these behaviors underscore a societal belief that the female body is an object to use, misuse, and abuse at will. And, all hold to a common understanding of rape that is both disturbing and incorrect: 'rape is sex. sex is funny and laughable. and whatever happens with this funny thing that we all do, we have to make it okay for the men because it is really about them all the time anyway.' We all support this twisted thinking. All of us. There is not one of us who doesn't in little and in big ways proffer a juvenile and eventually dehumanizing and violent understanding of sex. Smart, adult, capable women act helpless, bat their eyes, and giggle like children in front of men. On television, whole series use the exploitation of women's bodies (or children's bodies) as a titillating premise around which to craft a story - week after week. A dead body. A raped body. A violated body. A brutalized body. It's just a plot device, after all. The body doesn't really matter. What matters are the beautiful bodies of cops and attorneys that move the plot line along. In comedy, otherwise enlightened people use sexual organs as the crux of their humor. Advertisers rely upon sex, because sex sells, to sell the most unsexy things. Even the most ardent feminist, man or woman, falls prey to this. We all do. It is part of the fabric of our culture. Sex is sexy. And sex is funny. Bodies are sexy. Bodies are funny. We repress our bodies and exploit our bodies, but we do not know how to relate in healthy ways to our bodies. This creates a culture that does not know what to do with bodies. And that is always dangerous.

It is this dangerous game that we all play with embodiment that leads to a profound misunderstanding: rape is sex and so it must be funny and can easily be ignored. This is not true. Rape is not sex; rape is violence. Deep. Soul destroying violence. With lifelong consequences. There is no such thing as "getting over rape." It will be an event that forever changes how the rape victim experiences intimacy, embodiment, trust, relationship, safety, fear, and love. One doesn't just get over it. Time doesn't make the violation go away. There are ways, thank goodness, that rape victims can become rape survivors and eventually take back their souls, souls stolen by greedy people bent on violent acts. Women and men who have been violated can find ways to mend themselves, but there is no going back to a "pre-rape" way of living in the world.

One of the most disappointing moments of media coverage for me came from Candy Crowley on CNN. Candy attended the same woman's college, a United Methodist school, that I did. When I was there, we were taught to honor our bodies, not to pretend to be dumb, incompetent, or unworthy. The faculty and staff at my college did not tolerate a view of womanhood that was dehumanizing. We were challenged to be smart, to excel in all that we did, and to be competent and assertive. Woman power was a part of that school experience. What happened to Candy? I think she fell to the same overwhelming power that comes over all of us. She looked at those boys (because you can't look at the juvenile victim) and they had names, faces, stories, and penises. That made them more real than the faceless victim, although her pain is very real and her life will never be the same, whether she ever really recalls the act of rape or not. She has been dehumanized by the court system, threatened by members of community, and shamed in ways that go so very far beyond that one night of violence. Boys are more real than girls. And boys with faces, stories, and college football futures are certainly more real.

Rape is violence. It is murder. It kills a part of a person's soul. It tears apart the fabric of one's sense of well being. What happened in and around the acts in Steubenville shine a light on how we in America misconstrue violence as sex and belittle its effects. But, it cannot be done because rape is violence. Nothing less.

Confessions from a Talkative Introvert - Complex Spirituality

So, people like to think the world is divided between introverts who like alone time and extroverts who like social time, but reality is much more complicated. Isn't it always the case?

I recently returned from an annual clergywomen's retreat. Every year in February, United Methodist clergywomen gather together for two days of...nothing. It's absolutely wonderful. We worship...very informally so no one has to work too hard to plan and execute a flawless liturgy. We gossip...yes, I won't pretend that we don't. We catch up with old friends. We make new ones. We go for walks. We tuck away in corners to knit or craft. We "check in" and share how things are going. We discuss our work life, our family life, our hopes, and our frustrations. We share wisdom we have gained. We share books we have read. We play games late into the night. It's a precious few days that I never want to miss, but I come home exhausted. Utterly. Completely. Exhausted. Every. Single. Year.

You see, like many people, I am neither a strong extrovert nor a strong introvert. People often mistake me for an extrovert because I talk. A lot. Yes, I am a talker. If you think I talk too much and find it odd that I am aware of this fact, well, I do know it. You might be surprised to learn that a lot of us talkers are perfectly aware that we talk a lot. We just do. I am not a conversation dominator; that's just rude, but I am not shy to talk in a group. However, comfort talking in a group is not the same thing as being an extrovert. The problem comes when people connect the ability to be social with extroversion and link introversion with being shy. It's just not that way. It's complicated, but being an extrovert or an introvert has nothing to do with being shy. Moreover, neither category has anything to do with being "spiritual" (despite a cultural bias that tends to assume that quiet people are more spiritual than outgoing people). Rather, being an extrovert or an introvert concerns how and where a person gains or expels energy. Simply put, extroverts get more energy by sharing time with others. Introverts tend to lose energy around people. But, there are many of us who live our lives on the borderland between being introverted and extroverted. Moreover, it is also true that all of us need some private time and all of us enjoy social time.

To be frank, I am more of an introvert than an extrovert. To be appropriately social, I need a lot of private time. Time alone keeps me grounded, healthy, and able to give freely when I am with others. For me, I need a good full day all by myself every week. And, every day I need several hours spent doing almost anything except in direct conversation with another person. This is possible. It's not a big deal. Even in a social job like being a pastor, part of the job includes non-social things like paperwork, email, correspondence through letter, and so forth. However, unlike true introverts, I can gain energy when I am around people, as well.

Understanding how one gains and expends energy is vital in developing a healthy spiritual self. Knowing how to maneuver through the world, to create appropriate and healthy boundaries, to maintain those boundaries when others think they should be otherwise (because people will always press us to be more outgoing or quiet or physical or...), and to be able to stretch when stretching is needed are part of being mature emotionally and spiritually. You see, coming home tired from a retreat is not a bad thing for me. I lost energy in one way, but I gained energy in another way. I listened to my sisters' stories. I laughed loudly and for prolonged periods of time. I met new people, people I hope to know better over time. I rekindled relationships that floundered amidst the pressures of work and life and due to the disconnection fostered by distance. Being tired is not a bad thing, not for me. The tiredness I felt coming home from the retreat was a good tired. A holy tired. Yet, even in the midst of women I admire and love, I have to protect some boundaries - boundaries that are important. I don't touch. I mean, I touch people, but I don't like to be hugged indiscriminately. I would much rather shake a hand and keep a nice distance. That doesn't mean I don't love the person I'm with or that I have "issues with touch." It's actually a boundary that helps me give more of myself, to be more present with the person in front of me. But, even among clergy who should know better, there is an assumption that closeness requires touch. It doesn't. I can be close, present, giving, loving, and interested without it. As a matter of fact, I insist on it. I hate being told to hold hands with the person next to me in order to pray. I can pray just fine without that, thank you very much. Togetherness is one thing, but don't tell me how much I have to touch someone else. I check out mentally and spiritually; I actually get quite snarky about the whole thing.

In order to maintain equilibrium at events like retreats filled with people chatting, laughing, singing, playing, and otherwise making noise and sharing important emotional moments with one another, it is important to know when to back away. Sometimes I just head up to my room to read a little, to play a video game, or to do nothing at all. Being alone doesn't necessarily mean getting serious or quiet; it means what it says - being alone. Away from the stimulation. It helps when I come back into the group. It's important for all of us to honor our own needs as well as to be respectful of the boundaries that others' set.

To be a healthy spiritual being, it is vital for us to understand that most of us are mixtures of introversion and extroversion. It's important for us to grasp when and where we move from one way of being in the world to the other and to take care about these crossover moments. It's an awful thing to know that we really want company but feel pressured to be "spiritual" by being quiet. Some of us just don't like long walks in the woods alone. That's not how we find God. We find God in the story being told by our conversation partner. We experience God in the laughter around a coffee table. We hear God in the agony of another's struggle. This is spiritual. For all of the extroverts out there, know this about yourself. If you like getting together with lots of people to do silly things, this is holy silliness. Own it. Love it about yourself. The world needs this from you. Don't tamp it down or pretend you have some deep drive to quiet contemplation. Be contemplative with others. That's a beautiful thing. Likewise, introverts often feel pressured to share more, to say more, to "jump in" to conversation. For those who need to lie on a bed and just do nothing but get the batteries recharged, be responsible about this. Take care regularly and intentionally. Otherwise, a nasty monster will rear its head, and it turns us from "quiet" to "taciturn." There's nothing spiritual about a grump. It's up to us to know our boundaries and to keep them. And, it's okay to go back and forth. It's okay to be a person who laughs and laughs with a group and then need to spend some time with our own thoughts.

Spirituality has a lot to do with energy. Healthy energy. God's energy. To key into this energy we have to know ourselves and how we relate to, gather, and expend energy. I came home tired from a retreat. That doesn't mean that the retreat failed or that I failed in "retreating" well. I came home tired, but I also came home energized. I hold those women in my hearts. I am honored to have spent time with them. I offer prayers for their ministries and for their lives. These are good things. I also came home craving a couple of days of sleeping late and talking little. It's my job to ensure these are tended to with care and intention. To that end, I skipped something today that I usually never skip, but it was a group event. As much as I love it, I needed not to go. This weekend will find me spending some extra time alone watching old movies and bad TV. Come Tuesday of next week, I will be even footed again. Here's to spirituality. It's a messy business knowing ourselves and how to be healthy in the world.

Gun Control, Rallies, and Me

Today in Seattle a rally/march was held in support of new gun laws, i.e. changing restrictions on magazine capacity, closing gun show loop holes, stopping the sale of certain kinds of guns, and buying back guns already in the public. Civic and religious leaders joined with Washington Ceasefire and a concerned public to decry violence in our schools, our public spaces, and in our homes.

I am well aware that this platform will not stop violence in its entirety. Our faith story and our lived experience remind us that human beings sadly have creative and inexhaustible ways to hurt and kill one another. However, our faith and our hope compel us to strive for a better society that protects the vulnerable. The question is whether the proposed changes will or could make an appreciable difference in violence and its effects in our communities. Advocates of the platform say "yes" while gun advocates say "no." Several weeks ago, I signed in support of the platform, and I did so as a religious leader. Let me tell you why.

Today was Baptism of The Lord Sunday. In my tradition, Holy Baptism is one of two sacraments. Along with Holy Communion, Holy Baptism draws the individual disciple into the larger community and ties us one to the other, and all of us to our Creator. This is our binding covenant.

As followers of Jesus, one who lived and shared his life in community, Christians, through Holy Baptism, are called to be covenantal people, seeking a general welfare for us all. We are, like our Christ, supposed to be communal people, healing the sick, loving the outcast, welcoming the stranger, helping the poor, and embodying a just compassion in all that we do.

"Shalom," or "peace" is how we refer to this hope, this general welfare, this society. And, God's peace is not a strained abstention from violence. Rather, God's peace refers to a state of well being, wholeness, and interconnectedness. Yet, our current use of the word "peace" robs it of its robust and full biblical meaning. We have watered it down, made it weak, and stripped it of its import. We have begun to live and act as though community is not important, to act as though our communities and towns are just collections of individuals all competing in a zero sum society. God's shalom challenges this assumption. God's shalom is prefaced on an assumption that in covenant we can find enough for all and that all can flourish.

In covenantal life, like marriage, we give up some independence for the health of the relationship. We freely offer ourselves in love to another. We bind ourselves one to the other and pledge our fidelity. I am not so naive as to believe that our greater communities can be considered purely covenantal. After all, we live in cities, states, and country with one another much by circumstance, not because we have freely entered into a promissory relationship with each other. We are not all of the same faith (or any faith at all). That is why we have laws to govern us. But, a society that strives for a better future, hopes the best for one another, doesn't pit one group against another, and fundamentally believes that a common future can be had. Sadly, too often in our public discourse, this hope is lacking. I hear a different message, a different gospel, which says, "I got mine, Jack. You get yours." This is neither the Gospel of Jesus Christ nor a sound foundation for a strong secular society. A commitment to a shared future is what gave rise things like public education, a police force, a publicly funded fire brigade, shared infrastructure, and shared utilities. We do not all build our own roads, dig our own wells, and so forth. Not most of us, anyway.

What has this to do with gun control? For me, what I hear in my family and among my friends, is a debate about "my" "rights." "I have a right to a gun." Well, there is some truth in this statement. However, it is not completely true. We already have placed restrictions on the kinds of weapons a person can own. For example, one cannot own a live grenade or a rocket launcher or a tank. One is not allowed to make a bomb in one's garage. We have, as a society, decided to curb our rights for the safety of us all. "I have a right to own guns" is true, but only in part. Out of a hope for a stronger and safer communal/covenantal existence, we have limited that "right." In our focus on communal health, we step away from certain personal liberties.

I am a huge supporter of individual rights. Anyone who has read this blog will know that I have spent much energy campaigning for LGBTQI rights, for animal rights, for the rights of the poor, right of children, and rights of the dispossessed. Unlike some, I have no desire to repeal the Second Amendment. I do not want to "take your guns away." Rather, I want to restrict the ability to get just a few things that might result in slowing down the evil doer, impede his or her progress, and, hopefully, decrease the effect of his or her violent act.

This is why I signed on to the gun control platform. Now, here is where I may part ways with many gun control advocates. I need more evidence of the effects of certain policies. "It's common sense," say gun control advocates. "Fewer guns, smaller magazines, and limits on who and where guns are bought will, of course, result in less violence." That sure sounds right, but gun sales have been on the decline for years.* Gun related deaths have also been on the decline, and, yet, mass killings "seem" to be more prevalent than ever (and, in fact, do occur more often). Why? It is about access? Is it that we have better and more pervasive media and we just learn about it more easily? Is it that we are more isolated in our communities and act more violent more easily? I do not know. I want to know more.

For those who call for arming teachers, I just cannot find a response that does not sound insulting. My father was an educator as were his father and mother. My sister, who is a gun owner, is a teacher. None of these people find or would have found this argument in the least reasonable. My father was as conservative of a person as I can imagine and this suggestion would have sent him around the bend...for a whole host of reasons. The legal responsibility of a school system for all of those guns would make insurance impossible. The one irresponsible teacher whose actions left a child wounded or dead would shut down a school system. We cannot force teachers to carry weapons. In the same way that I cannot take all of your guns, we also cannot force anyone to carry a gun. The list of objections to this suggestion is inexhaustible...and these are just practical objections. Moral and theological objections open a different conversation altogether.

For those who suggest police in schools: Unlike many of my liberal counterparts, I have no problem with this. None at all. I have one question. Who is going to pay for it? Already across this nation, cities are cutting police officers, fighting police unions, and shrinking city budgets. Placing a police officer in every school would be extremely expensive. Interestingly, this suggestion seems to come from the very quarters that want to reduce taxes or eliminate them altogether. Where, I reiterate, does the money come from? If you have a consistent, ongoing funding stream, I am open for dialogue.

I support gun control because I do not think that reducing the number of bullets allowed in a gun harms gun ownership in an appreciable way. I do not think that slowing down a killer is a bad thing. And, I believe in communal (to be religious, covenantal) life that strives for shalom.

None of us wants more violence, of that I feel confident. Let's start with that and try to find some common ground. If there is no common ground to be had, and, sadly, this may be so, I hope we can at least move forward aware that our goal is the same, i.e. less death and brokenness, rather than castigate one another as "commies wanting to take our guns" or "heartless child killers." I know that most gun owners are responsible, good, wonderful people who believe in sport or self protection or some combination of both. I grew up where every truck had a gun in a rack and most homes had one in a lock box...or, simply, a drawer. Let us stop looking for the worst among us and seek a better future born out of trust and good will. I hope we can do this. I really hope we can.

*Of course, the decline in gun sales has largely taken place among Democrats illustrating that the decline is not fairly spread throughout all segments of the country. This is according to the GSS.

For more information, I refer you to:
Second Amendment Foundation (clearly, anti-gun control, pro-gun ownership).
Washington Post on mass shootings.
Nate Silver on gun ownership.
The General Social Survey includes data regarding ownership and attitudes toward guns.

Enter the Song: The Magnificat

(This is last year's sermon for Advent 4B).

When I was a little girl, one of the things that I loved about visiting my grandparents during the holidays is that I had a special job. My cousin and I, the two youngest kids, were tasked with ringing an old flecked green bell to call people to dinner. There were always gobs of people. We had to walk all through the house, out to the porch where people would be in the rocking chairs and swinging on the porch swing, and we would ring that bell, and everyone knew our message. For two kids who were too young to do much more with the family, this made us feel pretty special. We couldn't understand the conversations about politics or religion. We didn't care to listen about people long dead whom we would never know. We were too short to sit at the adult table. What we had was that green bell, flecked and dented from decades of being rung by the youngest members of the family. The tone of that bell was the music that allowed us a special place in the family. The music of that bell heralded something very special - that 40 or so people who saw each other once, maybe twice, a year would be sitting down to break bread as my family has done for generations. Through the clear tone of that bell, we entered into my family's ever evolving story. Now, we could have just as easily walked around and said, "Dinner's ready" or "Come and eat." But the ritual of ringing a bell passed down from youngest child to the next youngest child made the act holy. By touching the metal of the bell, by holding together the wooden handle that always threatened to fall apart, something bigger and more wonderful transpired. That sound was more than a call to dinner; it was a part of my family's unfolding story. And, it was holy.

Throughout Advent this year, I have invited you to enter into a holy story. We began the first week with an invitation to Enter the Challenge of Advent. The second week the good people from Mary's Place asked us to Enter into the Reality of Advent. Last week, I talked about Entering into the Dream of Advent. And, this week, we Enter the Song of Advent. Today Mary sings her soul for us. She pours out her faith. In the face of tremendous challenge, she is willing to enter into a terrifying reality because of the gift of God's mighty dream. And, her spirit is caught up in a song that remains a cornerstone of our faith. For those who pray the hours every day - a daily rhythm of praying with other Christians at prescribed times in a pattern of prayer that has been done for 1500 years (at least) - every day ends with the Magnificat. Almost every day ends with Mary's outpouring of faith, the dream that the Holy Spirit leaves in her. This song ushers us into a week that culminates with Christmas Day when we welcome the babe into the manger, into our world, into the mess of life.

Music touches us and changes us like no other experience. It is deeply personal.

Despite much tradition around Mary, we don't know much about her. She was probably poor, but so was most everyone around her. She is able to travel to her cousin's house. She is able to stand in the presence of an angel and hold her ground. When given an opportunity to respond to the angel's message, she responds with joy and in song. Moreover, the song that bursts from her is a song that challenges the powers and principalities of this world. She doesn't sing a lullaby or a song about domestic life with her child and husband; she sings about a new world where the rich are brought low and the poor are lifted up. She sings a song of justice and love and compassion. She sings a song born from humility at her own station, and she connects her poverty with the poverty of the world. Her song is intimate and personal, and it is grand and political. It is a song that changes everything. Through it we enter into the meaning of the Christmas, which bears us to a new hope for a world in which the poor and humble find dignity, relief, and release. Through Mary's song, we enter into a hope for how the world might be on December 26. Her words will find resonance in the mouth of her most holy and blessed son when he unrolls the scripture from Isaiah and proclaims the purpose of his life and his ministry. He comes to tear us from our sin, our greed, our self-serving. He comes to rip us from the allegiances that hurt and maim and destroy. He comes to shred the worlds that are erected on the backs of the poor and vulnerable. He comes to scatter us in the imagination of our hearts, that we might be born anew and afresh. And, he comes through Mary, who not only gives birth, but who knows that she is giving birth to this new coming. Aren't we all called to be Marys - to be joyful messengers of God's gospel - to give birth again and again because the world needs Jesus to be born oh so many times? All of us are needed to labor and groan our way to a new hope, to the light that warms the coldest hearts and chases the shadows of injustice away.

If Christmas and the Christ it proclaims are about anything, they are about a God who brings life out of places where there should be no life. Christmas is God entering into the finite, crazy, embodied world fully and without protection. Let's listen for Mary's voice and let her lead us through to the promise of Christ who is coming, of Emmanuel - God with Us. Look through the ancillary and peripheral of life. There is Mary who sings for a new world, who sings for her child whose body will bear the fullness of God's grace and love. Look through and sing with her.

This next week promises to be busy for everyone. Stop once and a while and hear Mary's song. Heck, join in with her. Let it carry you as only music can to a new place and a new hope. Stop and hear her words sung so many years ago - words we still yearn to hear and feel and know. Mary's song is a bell that calls us home, that pulls us from our places of comfort and repose, and brings us back to our story, which is ever unfolding. Let us, with her, sing, "Our souls magnify the Lord." May it be so. Amen.