Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Even Jerry Falwell Recanted

For some reason, as I consider the shootings Sunday morning at the Unitarian church in Knoxville, I keep thinking back to the late Jerry Falwell, and his remarks after September 11, 2001 when he blamed liberals for the terror attacks. I don’t want to sound like Jerry Falwell, but I can’t help wondering if he bears some responsibility for the Knoxville shootings which apparently were motivated in part by the shooters hatred of liberals.

Jerry is not alone, of course, and bears no direct responsibility, but I am wondering who demonized liberals over the past 30 years so much that a desperate, unstable, bitter man might choose to take out his frustrations on a congregations of strangers known to him only by the epithet, “liberal”?

I think back to one of the signature moments of the 2004 presidential debates when George Bush responded to one of John Kerry’s positions by saying, “there’s a word for that: it’s called liberalism.” He spat out the last word as if it he’d been sucking on lemons.

When powerful people cast such aspersions so often that a word becomes like a scarlet letter, how surprised should we be that the targets of the words become, eventually, the targets of more lethal weapons?

Of course, liberal leaders over the past 30 years bear a burden as well for failing to counter the verbal attacks with strong defense of a governing philosophy that gave us social security, Medicare, Medicaid, voting rights and fair housing laws among other accomplishments. Too often, in the face of a mainstream media machine that happily plays along with the conservative noise machine, liberal leaders have been too timid to respond.

Meanwhile that media machine seeks the lowest common denominator and reports political discourse as if it were a sporting event. Campaigns become horse races and issues become political footballs. Never mind that there are real losers when health care systems fail to cover tens of millions of Americans or when U.S. military might is brought to bear or when gays and lesbians are denied basic civil rights. Rather than serious conversation about real solutions to genuine problems, political discourse is reduced to sound bites.

Eventually, partisans on both sides get lost in the media miasma that they helped create and all of politics becomes nothing more than scoring points. So the nation is divided into red and blue as if we were girding for another civil war, never mind that we are often talking about the slimmest of margins at the polls and differences among neighbors at the street level.

When the rhetoric is hijacked by fierce and angry partisans, it becomes all too simple to demonize any supporter of a candidate or position with which you disagree. Most folks confine their shouting to the echo chamber of left- or right-wing web sites. You do not have to scroll through too many entries in the comments sections of such sites to uncover seething anger.

In that uncivil discourse Dubya is still stealing elections and Obama is a Muslim. It doesn’t have to be that way. I’m an Obama supporter. The woman who cuts my hair doesn’t trust Obama, but I trust her with sharp implements next to my throat. We can talk with each other about political differences without calling each other names. We don’t have to lose sight of our common humanity, and of our common deep self interest as Americans: to enjoy the unalienable rights with which all of us have been endowed.

The divides between left and right are properly differences over the political paths and strategies we believe will best secure those rights to ourselves and our posterity. Those distinctions are significant and where we fall on that spectrum says a good deal about how we conceive of the “all” of “all men are created equal” or the “we” of “we the people.” The balance between the individual and the collective is worthy of continuing political contest.

But when we fight, instead, over who is in and who is out of “all” or “we,” the differences in strategies of finding the most auspicious balance become deep divides that throw the entire polis out of balance altogether. Historically, that’s the point when conservative demagogues demonize some as outsiders whether they be racial minorities, women, sexual minorities, immigrants. Those on the political left have historically been those arguing for broadening the definition of “all” or “we” to include those marginalized outsiders.

That’s what the Unitarian congregation in Knoxville has been doing for years.

It is not a Rodney King moment. It is not time to plead that we all just get along. It is, rather, time to insist that those who would erect walls around we the people to keep out those who have not yet found their place cease their fulminations against those of us who want to tear down such walls.

You can argue about the proper role of walls and the timing of putting them up or tearing them down. You can argue about the proper path for including previous outsiders into the commonwheel. You can certainly argue about the most fair and efficient means of providing public service to all of us.

However, calling those who disagree with you unpatriotic, ungodly or un-American not only deepens and hardens our differences, but it also invites violence. Even Jerry Falwell recanted.

Monday, July 28, 2008

A Stylish Sling

Away for a while ...

Your somewhat faithful occasional blogger is going dark for a while following shoulder surgery scheduled early Wednesday morning. When my arm gets out of its sling, then I'll be back. Meanwhile, pray and act for peace.

Kingdom Economics

Yesterday morning during the talk-back time after the sermon, someone brought up a section of the scripture that I had not touched on. After a series of sayings about the kingdom of God, Jesus says, "So it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come out and separate the evil from the righteous and throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth."
Before I could open my mouth to respond, John spoke up. John is a mid-50s man who in most contexts is probably considered developmentally disabled. I would label him that if I'd just met him and didn't know him. But over the course of the five years I have been lucky enough to be his pastor I have come to deeply appreciate that he is, truly, differently abled. He has a knack for speaking profound truth quite simply.
Yesterday morning he said something to the effect of, "you know, there's too much of that all around us right now. I try to focus on what's good."
He went on to name some of the good. For him it is always family, food and classical music.
As I listened to him, I knew that he had put the truth far more eloquently than I was prepared to as I was spinning theological reflections through my mind. They amounted to the same thing: that if the kingdom of God is near, among us, as Jesus put it, then surely so is hell precisely what we make of it here and now. We don't need the angels to separate the evil from the righteous, we do it ourselves all the time. Indeed, we do it within ourselves, living divided lives as the better angels of our natures contest with alienation in our souls.
John spoke it much more clearly, and it was a kingdom moment. For in the broader culture and economy surely he is considered among the least of these, not worth much to the ledger's bottom line. But in the kingdom economy, plain wisdom is a pearl of great value.

Sunday, July 27, 2008

July Witness

Last Sunday evening down at Lafayette Park, my friend Noah Budin sang what I’ve long considered a kind of hoary old folk song: Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream.

Last night I had the strangest dream

I'd ever dreamed before

I dreamed the world had all agreed

To put an end to war

As Noah sang, a crowd of tourists gathered to watch and listen to our small band of folks who had come together in front of the White House to pray for peace. I don’t know what the tourists thought. Some may have thought, “bunch of naïve fools,” others may have thought, “nice voice,” still others may have thought, “right on,” and some may have thought, “cool, protesters, now my DC tourist experience is complete.”

To a great extent, it does not matter what others think of the dream and visions that we give voice to as we witness for peace. God calls us to witness to a vision of a commonwealth of belovedness marked by compassion, justice and peace. God calls us to dream kingdom dreams.

So we will continue the witness. Placing one small stone at a time until we change the landscape. We gather again on August 17 at 6:00 p.m.

In the meantime, here’s a poem that Noah wrote inspired by our witness.

Stone In My Pocket

And if I feel you’ve left me bare and wasted

In the presence of the absence of your love

And the signs you send are hard, obscure and hidden

I may need to look no further than my hands

And when I heard him speak that day I realized

One can’t move a mountain using words alone

Nor can hearts be changed by might and power

But gestures small and subtle kindle flames

I closed my hand around

A piece of quartz no bigger than my thumb

It came 400 miles just to find me

But I dismissed it, put it in my pocket. Gone.

And the next day when I found it I just kept it

And the next day after that and then the next

And I thought of Lafayette Park and people praying

Where that stone was witness there to hymns of peace

It was laid upon the fence as a reminder

Of the shards of broken souls and wounded hearts

Of the shreds of fabric crashing through the windows

Of a shattered nation, tired, scorched, engulfed

Now it goes where I go

At times it jabs my thigh and leaves a mark

But I can live with that small and spare discomfort

For I wrestle with the damage every day

And here’s the thing about a piece of quartz

It just may be the oldest stone on earth

And it’s found in every land around the globe

And if you listen you can hear it softly weep

This one I keep to remind me of the present

Was here long before the planet knew our names

And it will remain long after earthly flesh has faded

And sometimes signs are hidden in plain sight

So when I feel you’ve left me bare and standing

In the presence of the absence of your love

I may need to look no further than my pocket

And hear the crying of that stone. Our job’s not done.

© Noah Budin 2008

Friday, July 18, 2008

Vacation Is Over

Do you usually need a vacation after your vacation?
One week is not enough, except to disrupt sleep patterns.
And the piles of messages and e-mails.
And the stuff left undone that looms even larger now.
And the note that you find when you dig to the bottom of the pile that reminds you of something you were supposed to do yesterday.
And it's 97 degrees with 200-percent humidity.
I can't even find the to-do list.
I need a vacation.

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

away message

I'm happily on vacation! I hope to not have a serious thought for at least a week, and if I pick up a church-related book, someone please slap me silly.

Saturday, July 05, 2008

God & Country

I saw purple mountains once. I will never forget it. We were driving up Interstate 81 through the Shanandoah Valley at dusk on an early spring evening, and the fading sunlight hit the mountains just right and they were deep purple.
So I can truly say, I have seen purple mountains majesty. I’ve seen the amber waves of grain, too, on drives across the Illinois prairie. I have seen the prodigious spires of the Colorado Rockies, and I have looked into the vast depths and stark beauty of the Grand Canyon. I have hiked a mountain in Maine and stood on its bald peak and pondered the beauty of northern forests. I have dipped my toes in the waters to two oceans and strolled lonely beaches at sunset.
I have walked across the Golden Gate Bridge and marveled at the audacity of those who built it, and I have stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and marveled at the audacity of the timeless dream that Martin Luther King articulated on that spot. I have climbed the steps of the Statue of Liberty on the 4th of July, and marveled at the audacity of liberty itself, and of this country conceived in that liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all of us are created equal.
I have seen America, and I love her dearly.
I have also seen mountains in Eastern Kentucky stripped of their peaks, standing naked against the sky, opened like some sprawling tin can so mining companies in distant cities can take the coal and leave not much behind but mountains moved and wealth removed.
I have seen the people in the hollows in the shadows of those stripped mountains, with their satellite dishes pointed toward distant dreams, struggling to make ends meet in an economy that has left them behind without a second thought.
I have seen the children playing in open fire hydrants in the July heat of Chicago’s West Side, blissfully ignorant of the social and economic and political forces that have conspired to leave them with inadequate housing, “underperforming” schools and crime-ridden streets.
I have seen the homeless on the front porches of Manhattan churches – dirty, disheveled, dispirited seeking sanctuary at the doors to the sanctuary.
I have seen the highways crisscrossing the land, jammed with July vacationers and heard in my mind Jack Kerouac’s line: “all that road going, all the people dreaming.”
I have seen America. And I love her dearly.
I have seen faithful people trying to make a difference in all of these places: an orthopedic surgeon relocating his practice to an Appalachian clinic; successful business people working to create opportunities in the inner city of Cleveland; teenagers hammering in the hills and in the cities to help where they can with what they’ve got to give; I have stood with the demonstrators joining in the spiritual discipline of political action saying “no” to war, saying “no” to unjust economic practices, and saying “yes” to equal rights and equal access to the wealth of this nation. I have marched with the crowds protesting war, calling for justice and shouting “this is what democracy looks like.” I have walked with faithful people holding audacious hope for the future in spite of the evidence of the present time, and danced with joy with them as the evidence itself changed and we marveled that God might, indeed, be doing a new thing in this country.
I have seen America. And I love her dearly.
I have heard New Yorkers curse as Greg Maddux hurled a shutout in Yankee Stadium. I have heard the crowd explode as Michael Jordan amazed the old Chicago Stadium. I have heard Bob Dylan sing Blowin in the Wind, and I’ve heard the Cleveland Symphony under the baton of John Williams playing the theme from Star Wars as lightning cracked around us and the heavens themselves echoed applause – I kid you not. And I have heard homeless men singing in a church choir, and heard, too, the cry of forgotten children.
I have heard America. And I love her dearly.
Many times, I have played pickup basketball in the crowded parks along the shores of Lake Michigan in Chicago. I’ve played capture the flag with middle schoolers running around under a Kentucky moon. I’ve jumped off a cliff into a lake in West Virginia as my youth group looked on and said, “well, if David’s gonna jump, I’m gonna jump, too.” And they did – into cold, clear water that was like a joyous baptismal font. And no matter that I was run out of town by the leaders of the church whose young people jumped off a cliff after me – I see signs all around that our nation is moving, too slowly but moving still, to ever broader understandings of who is included when we say “all men are created equal”; and our church is moving as well, all too slowly, but still moving, to ever broader understanding of who is included when we say that God calls “women and men to all ministries of the church.” More and more, all means all – regardless of gender, race, sexual orientation or any other distinction all are created equal and all are called to serve. I see this, and I believe that God is doing a new thing.
I have worshipped across this country: sitting in silence in a Quaker meeting in Sante Fe; praying at a Temple service in Kentucky; receiving communion – against the Pope’s wishes – at a Roman Catholic wedding service in Chicago; I have sung praises to our God with teenagers on a mountain top in Colorado and on a rooftop in Manhattan; I have sung with my Jewish brothers and sisters; prayed with Imams; and worshipped with several thousand of my closest Presbyterian friends. I have barely tasted the rich religious diversity of this nation, but it makes me think that God might just be doing a new thing in this country.
I have seen and heard and felt and tasted and prayed with and for America. And I love her dearly.
It does not strike me as wrong, as inappropriate, as unfaithful to my calling to be a voice of progressive Christian faith to say, also, that I love my country.
If you drive past our house this week, you will see the American flag flying out front. I went right out and bought it after I heard that conservatives, in their voter registration and get out the vote drives target houses flying American flags because they have decided that only conservatives display the flag. I figure if nothing else, I’ll confuse them!
Since when, I want to know, do conservatives have a corner on patriotism, on love of country? Since when, I want to know, can only conservatives sing O Beautiful for Spacious Skies? Since when, I want to know, can only conservatives pause, this time of year, and speak of God and country?
I am not here to sing a naïve love song to this country. I will continue deep and profound criticism of her present leadership and its direction, of her militarism, her unjust economic practices at home and abroad, her willed-ignorance of international affairs and her abiding racism, sexism and homophobia. Indeed, true patriotism must always arise in the tension between the nation’s founding ideas and its present reality. True patriotism is a lover’s quarrel.
As William Sloan Coffin put it,
How do you love America? Don’t say, “My country, right or wrong.” That’s like saying, “My grandmother, drunk or sober”; it doesn’t get you anywhere. Don’t just salute the flag, and don’t burn it either. Wash it. Make it clean."
How do you love America? With the vision and compassion of Christ, with a transcendent ethic that alone can fulfill “the patriot’s dream that sees beyond the years, her alabaster cities gleam undimmed by human tears.”
You see, the signal theological insight that we progressive people of faith can give to the nation is both simple and profound – and it strikes me as quintessentially American, too. It’s captured in a passage from Isaiah: “God is about to do a new thing! Behold! Can you not see it?”
Sure, we sing the songs of this nation this week, because that’s what we do on her birthday. But we sing them knowing that the God we worship is not America’s God, but rather the God who spins the whirling planets and holds all of creation – all nations and all peoples – in loving hands.
So I’ll sing the old national songs with gusto this week – because I’ve heard Arlo Guthrie sing This Land is Your Land; I’ve heard Aaron Copland conduct the National Symphony on the steps of the Capitol; and I’ve heard the Beach Boys sing California Girls in the shadow of the Washington Monument on the 4th of July – and all of that incredible mix of music rises like of hymn and fills my heart.
Indeed, when we pause to give thanks for the incredible richness that we enjoy in this nation, how can we keep from singing?

Thursday, July 03, 2008

Making Music

I've been spending a good deal of time over the past week and a half at the Virginia Theological Seminary at a program for pastors of small congregations. Much good fun and learning to be sure, but the highlight for me came this morning when I had the opportunity to join John Bell in accompanying the closing worship. He and I played one of his hymns for worship. As one who has long admired the worship from the Iona Community, it was quite a rush to play with John. If you do not know his music, you should check it out.

Friday, June 27, 2008

The Way from San Jose

It is with joy and humility that we receive the news, via streaming video, that the 218th General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) has just voted (54%-46%) to send to the Presbyteries an amendment to the Book of Order, the church's constitution, that will replace G-6.0106b with this language:
Those who are called to ordained service in the church, by their assent to the constitutional questions for ordination and installation (W-4.4003), pledge themselves to live lives obedient to Jesus Christ the Head of the Church, striving to follow where he leads through the witness of the Scriptures, and to understand the Scriptures through the instruction of the Confessions. In so doing, they declare their fidelity to the standards of the Church. Each governing body charged with examination for ordination and/or installation (G-14.0240 and G-14.0450) establishes the candidate's sincere efforts to adhere to these standards.
This language is essentially the same as that recommended by our session last fall. The proposed amendment now returns to the Presbyteries for voting. If it is approved by a majority of the Presbyteries, then G-6.0106b will no longer stand as a stumbling block to the ordination of faithful gay and lesbian brothers and sisters called to ordained ministry in our denomination.
As GA Moderator Bruce Reyes-Chow prayed at the close of the vote this morning in San Jose, "open our hearts and minds to each other that we might be drawn closer to You."

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Not just for Geeks

I am either a total GA geek, weird church geek, or, perhaps, simple a "L" loser, but here it is 10:30 p.m., and I'm happily sitting at the kitchen table with cheese, crackers and a glass of white wine waiting for the 10:30 e.d.t. beginning of the evening plenary session of the 218th General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) to go live on streaming video! It's like I'm waiting for tip-off of a West Coast playoff basketball game or something.
I'll either wear the geek label proudly or suggest that this is not just for geeks. True, you have to sift -- and sit -- through a lot of long and boring stretches to find the nuggets of profound faithfulness, but they are there and there are many of them.
Last evening I tuned in long enough to hear greetings from His Eminence Avak Asadourian, Primate of the Armenian Apostolic Church in Iraq. He spoke of the profound difficulties facing the Christian community in Iraq, and pleaded, "whatever promises were made at the time of the invasion must be kept."
Peacemaking for Iraq at this point includes more than merely withdrawing American combat troops; it requires of us that we honor promises made to the Iraqi people and it requires that we be in relationship with them as we work to see that promises are kept.
This stuff comes up at GA. The Spirit moves. God acts. And sometimes, at its best, the church becomes the vessel for that movement and action.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Dobson and Obama

You can count on empire's defender to be lousy theologians. The spat between Pat Dobson and Barack Obama is a case in point. Whatever your politics, this is a classic case of imperial "Christianity" speaking in support of empire and, not surprisingly, getting its Biblical citations confused as well.

Don’t get me wrong here. I am not suggesting that Sen. Obama brings some profoundly anti-imperial perspective to the table, but rather that he was not only right from the perspective of the U.S. Constitution in suggesting that a government based solely on Christian scripture might be problematic in a multi-ethnic, multi-religious society of 300 million, but he was also right Biblically about issues such as slavery while Mr. Dobson missed the boat by a long shot in suggesting that Obama was attributing to Christian scripture passages from the Old Testament. Never mind that we Christians are supposed to wrestle with all of scripture, but, in point of fact, approval of slavery is not confined to the first Testament. Indeed, “slaves obey your masters” comes from the Apostle Paul’s letter to the young Ephesian church and is repeated in the letter to the Colossians, in the same Christian New Testament that instructs wives to be subject to their husbands and women to keep silent in the assembly.

So Mr. Dobson gets his scripture wrong – which is forgivable, even for one who claims as much familiarity and authority as he does – but what is more important is how wrong he gets his core theology.

What bothers me most in all of this is that nowhere have I seen a member of the mainstream media call Dobson to account. They merely serve as scribes for both sides.

Moreover, I don't see Obama offering to repeat what he said about the Sermon on the Mount, either. In the present context, "loving enemies" is probably not a good electoral strategy -- even if it is, well, pretty Biblical.

I would be well to remember, above all, that we are, in fact, electing a president, not a pastor-in-chief or resident theologian. Thanks be to God.

Friday, June 20, 2008

Hitched

I was asked to record a comment for NPR's Tell Me More on California's sanction of same-sex marriages. Check it out.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Liturgy

Monday is my day off, and I usually include a run as part of my Sabbath keeping. As I was pushing my way up the big hill that dominates my chosen route I was thinking about something my friend the Rev. Mary Ganz, who serves the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Arlington, said Sunday evening during the monthly witness in Lafayette Park. We were in the midst of a walking prayer that Mary, pictured to the right with our peace witness sign, was leading and she said “it might not seem like much when we lay a few stones at the gates of the White House, but if we continue then eventually we will lay enough stones to change the landscape.”

We were engaged in a walking prayer because, in this month’s twist on the rules that govern the space in front of the White House, the guards informed us that we could not stand still in the space between the two light posts between which the White House is centered. Of course, the entire time we were walking back and forth one group of young tourists stood anchored to the spot directly in the center of the space. But they were not gathered to exercise any Constitutionally protected rights, so they were not doing anything – the landscape was not disturbed by their loitering.

Nevertheless, the landscape is changing. While I would not presume to suggest that we’ve played any part in any such change, I can say that the powers that be notice our gathering each month (and hassle us accordingly).

This time around, only a handful of us gathered to share in prayer and song, to lift up the names of the dead and to remember the victims of torture and abuse. But the power of the witness itself far exceeds the numbers of those who stand quietly to worship in the spirit of truth and recite a liturgy of remembrance.

Liturgy – literally the work of the people – is a strange kind of work for it does not aim to accomplish anything. There are dozens of distinctive definitions and uses of the word “work” and they all include some notion of purpose or necessity, of outcome or effect, of shaping, forming or improving, of cultivating or influencing, provoking or fermenting, of moving or making.

In some sense, I suppose, our work of witnessing does aim to move and shape and influence, but on a deeper level our liturgy aims at nothing other than standing before God precisely as God’s own work, as those moved, shaped, and formed by God. Our liturgy is simply to be who we have been created to be: children of God, in other words, the ones Jesus called peacemakers. Our witness is simply to stand as peacemakers and trust that God is working in us and through us to change the landscape.

Sunday evening, as we gathered in a circle in Lafayette Park, we set a small pile of stones on top of a larger rock that I brought home from Montreat last Saturday. It had been used – blessed, I would say – during the closing worship of the partners of Christian Peace Witness for Iraq. Each of us brought a stone to that service and placed it in the center of our circle as a mark of the promises we were making to one another to continue participating in the work of the Spirit of peace.

We will continue that work in DC next month on Sunday, July 20, at 6:00 p.m. I hope that you can join us.

Is This What We're Afraid Of?

Now you, too, can find out what all the fuss is about: http://www.redlasso.com/ClipPlayer.aspx?id=965dd1b2-1769-49b9-b602-466cd34d1dbb.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Whose Table?

I came across another story today about conservative Roman Catholic priests using their control over communion to beat on Obama supporters. My first reaction to most such stories is pique, followed by "who does he think he is, anyway?" A more reasoned response comes later when I wonder, whose table does he think it is?
Whatever one thinks of the politics and positions of Obama or McCain on abortion, poverty, war, peace, taxes, global warming, women's rights or anything else on the laundry list, no election will bring about the coming of the kingdom. We're not voting for Messiah, after all.
I'm sure most of the folks in my congregation can guess which candidate I support, and I can likewise surmise their leanings as well. But I cannot imagine thinking that I had either the right or the responsibility to deny them what is not mine to give in the first place.
The table belongs to Jesus, who had a pretty well-established track record of breaking bread with all kinds of folks. He knew that relationships are built in the breaking of bread and that truth is revealed there, as well. Only through such relationships and by way of such truths can lives be transformed. Barriers never build relationships.
So, given my politics on this, I suppose I should be happy to see another conservative priest building up barriers. But not really.

Thursday, June 05, 2008

A Kiss is Just a Kiss

Ran across a story from Seattle this morning about a lesbian couple being asked to stop kissing at a baseball game because their smooches were making someone uncomfortable. I thought back to an experience in Savannah about 15 years ago when I was in the hotel lobby gift shop of a Hyatt or Hilton with a colleague from the Council of State Governments. We were picking up gum or some such thing, and as we paid an inter-racial couple walked past the window holding hands. The clerk muttered under her breath, "just makes you want to go get a gun." I don't think she thought anyone could hear her, but my colleague did and said to me, "can you believe what she just said?"
We were appalled, but not terribly surprised. It was, after all, Savannah, circa 1990, and the remark was uttered by an older white woman who, considering where she worked, was probably not particularly worldly or well educated.
But Seattle? 2008? You'd think folks there might be a little less concerned about a kiss.
Apparently the "incident" has stirred up the blogosphere there (and here, obviously). I wonder if there were any random acts of senseless violence in Seattle that night. Probably so. They seem to happen. And we don't get too stirred up. But a random act of love? Well, that's something to boil the blood apparently.

Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Audacious Hope

No matter what partisan perspective you hold, Barack Obama's victory in the long slog of the Democratic Party's nominating process must be a sign of remarkable hope for this country. For those of us who are roughly contemporaries of Sen. Obama, we can look back at coming of age during the midst of the Civil Rights era and feel viscerally just how far this nation has traveled during our lifetimes as we collectively try to live out the creed that all of us are created equal. For those of us who are Southerners, who were born into the Jim Crow South in places where black folks registered to vote at risk to their lives, the nomination of Sen. Obama is part of the fulfillment of the truly audacious hope that the Civil Rights Movement embodied.
None of that is to say that he is anything like a perfect vessel for carrying forth such hope. Indeed, no one is. Nevertheless, the entire nominating process -- the long, long, long, slow march ... -- has been itself an imperfect vessel for carrying forth the audacious hope that all of us, black folks and white folks, men and women, are created equal. Given time, we might come closer to embodying that hope as a people. As we do, this particular season will be seen always as a milestone along the way.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

Meanwhile in Oklahoma

Doors may be opening in California and New York, but some folks seem bound and determined to slam the door and bash those who might dare walk through them. Last month, Oklahoma Republican Rep. Sally Kern told a local GOP meeting about a looming threat to America:

"Studies show that no society that has totally embraced homosexuality has lasted more than, you know, a few decades. So it's the death knell of this country. I honestly think it's the biggest threat our nation has, even more than terrorism or Islam, which I think is a big threat. OK?

"'Cause what's happening now is they are going after, in schools, 2-year-olds, and this stuff is deadly, and it's spreading, and it will destroy our young people, and it will destroy this nation."

Kern claims that her comments, widely viewed on YouTube, have been taken out of context, but, with reference to the Bible, she offered no apologies. Her fellow Oklahoma Republicans seem to be standing behind her, and her supporters have staged rallies at the state Capitol.

"I told the people when I was running for this office that I was a Christian candidate and that I believed we were in a cultural war for the very existence of our Judeo-Christian values," Kern said.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

We Are All Witnesses

As those who know me will attest, I am a hoops junky. I am never happier than when I'm in the midst of a heated basketball game, especially when my jump shot is falling! I've been playing for more than 40 years, and though my game no longer takes place at the rim – not even in the same zip code, alas – I love playing now perhaps even more than when I was a kid. Playing is one of my most important spiritual disciplines: sacred hoops, as it were.

When I can't play, I am happy to watch. We lived in Chicago during the Jordan years, and I recall each of the six championships the Bulls won in those days. But I'm no basketball snob. I'll watch the pros happily, but I'm just as content watching my son's high school rec league team. I simply love hoops.

So, you can imagine the way I felt Sunday afternoon when the time to head down to Lafayette Park for the interfaith peace witness came, and I had to leave in the middle of the seventh and deciding game of the NBA playoff series between the storied Celtics of Boston and Lebron James' Cleveland Cavs. Let's just say, I left feeling duty-bound and obliged to show up, but not filled with any joy or inspiration.

But, since I had the official permit from the park police and a trunk full of rocks, I pretty much had to go.

And, yet again, my own heart was filled and spirits lifted simply by being there with a dozen or so faithful witness determined to remember the dead, and witness to the truth that we are called to build a future in which such memorials will no longer be necessary. We gathered in the park, sang, prayed, read the names of those American service men and women who have been killed since our April witness and laid stones at the White House fence. It was, as it always is, simple and powerful.

In what at first struck me as an unrelated vein, a member of my congregation at Clarendon was wondering aloud on Sunday morning why it is that we continue to give money to the national More Light Presbyterians and the Covenant Network of Presbyterians when year after year they seem to move the church no closer to their stated goals of changing the denomination's constitutional barriers to ordination of partnered gay and lesbian people of faith thus to create a church as generous and just as God's grace.

My answer to that question is the same as my answer to why continue to show up month after month in front of a White House that has no intention of ending a senseless war and imperial occupation: because we are witnesses. It is vital that power be watched, and that there be witnesses to history. What is not witnessed will be forgotten. What is forgotten will be repeated. While that is true for the unfolding events of history, there is a related truth concerning the faith that sustains us through history: if we do not witness to that faith, it will be forgotten. If it is forgotten, it will not be repeated; it will be lost.

We are faithful, in this regard and in this historical moment, precisely to the extent to which we live into our calling to be peacemakers. In this, we are all witnesses.

Hm … we are all witnesses. I believe that is the tagline for a Lebron James' ad for Nike. I knew there had to be some deep connection between hoops and peace!

The next Lafayette Park witness will be Sunday, June 15, at 6:00 p.m. – probably just in time for a seventh game of the NBA Finals! One more reason for me to hate this war and occupation.

If you'd like to help plan the June witness, please send me a note. I'd like to get together on Friday, May 30, perhaps at Busboys & Poets in Shirlington.