Saving Jesus

So we've begun saving Jesus at Clarendon. We've tossed him a life-ring of conversation and a rope of discussion. Lots of fun. You should join us.

The Coolest Thing About My Church

Yesterday at worship during the prayers of the people a man (who I'll call 'Joe' for the sake of a bit of privacy) prayed for a bit of peace and comfort. His wife, who serves on our session -- Presbyterian-speak for church board -- was with her father who was dying. In addition to that heavy burden, they had lost their 17-year-old dog earlier in the week. They'd also had a couple of family 'highs' -- birth of a grandchild -- in recent weeks so it had been an emotional roller coaster for the past month or so. He was in tears as he prayed aloud.
As powerful as such moments are, they are, to be sure, nothing particularly out of the ordinary in a small church. Except for this: Joe is Jewish.
We say, every Sunday, that Clarendon Presbyterian Church is a house of prayer for all of God's children. And we mean it. Without exception.
We are clear and unapologetic in proclaiming the good news of Jesus. We pray in Jesus' name. But we trust that God hears everybody's prayers. We know that we do not have hold of all there is of God in our Christian confession and are enriched by the faiths of others. We hear Jesus' words, that his father's house has lots of rooms.
And we trust that there is one for Joe -- not because he comes to church, but because he seeks God and anybody who knocks at the door of God's house is going to find a welcome. So in our little wing of the house, we don't have a litmus test of creed or confession for joining the fellowship, offering prayers, serving the least of these, and finding a little peace in the presence of a loving God.
Will Joe ever "find Jesus"? That question holds little interest for me. Frankly, I think it is the wrong question.
Joe is a sojourner, walking a path in fear and trembling -- as Paul put it -- toward the light of life and love that shines in the darkness. Some will only always interpret that light as Jesus.
On the other hand, if light can be both particle and wave, perhaps the metaphor can be expanded, as well. After all, long before Jesus, God told Moses: I will be who I damn well please.

Changing My Name to ... Fannie Mae

I'll grant that snarky songs don't make for good policy, but still this old Tom Paxson song, performed here by Arlo Guthrie, has been running through my mind this week. Oh to be born with the right name!
At the end of the day, it's better to laugh and sing than to sit quietly and stew. As Emma Goldman said, "if I can't dance I don't want to be part of your revolution." So, stop checking the polls and listening to the spinmeisters bloviate on Bush's speech, and put your favorite tunes on for a while.

Sing Out Against the Darkness

John Bell is coming to town next month and will be doing an evening of songs at my church. I sent out an e-mail blast to invite folks around the area, and one of my good Unitarian friends sent back this note:
"I believe that Emma Goldman said, 'If I can't dance at your revolution, I'm not coming.' If we allow ourselves to feed fears, bathe in despair, and join the chorus of those who know-all, see-all, and realize that all is futility, we do not serve our communities or even ourselves."
Indeed! Sometimes -- often, in fact -- singing is the best response to the darkness of the present moment.

Proving We’re Presbyterian … and Killing Ourselves

I spent the day at a meeting of National Capital Presbytery, and witnessed one of those moments when we prove to ourselves that we are, indeed, Presbyterian. An item of new business was introduced by an ad hoc group of pastors coming from various points along the theological/political spectrum of the church. They recommended that Presbytery suspend its normal mode of operating for one year and use our regularly scheduled meeting times to pursue a discernment model of decision making as a fresh approach to dealing with the issues that have divided the church for decades.
After wrangling about whether or not to refer the question to Presbytery’s council – and wrangling over whether or not to call the question on that referral – we proved our Presbyterian mettle by simply referring the question to the next meeting! While we were in the midst of voting on closing discussion – and confusion reigned over what, exactly, we were voting on – I leaned over to a colleague and said, “this is exactly why we need to try something different; this way of doing business simply doesn’t work for the issues we’re facing.” He said, “get up and say that right now.” I said, “I can’t. It would be out of order.”
The irony of the moment was not lost on us, and it would have been quite funny if it were not quite sad, instead.
The larger, and not unrelated, irony of the day came in the preaching. We were reminded of the deep importance of Sabbath keeping. The irony lay in this: we met at the Presbytery’s beautiful new camp and conference center on a stunningly gorgeous early autumn day … and we spent the entire day, except for a too brief lunch on the porch, indoors. We might as well have met in the fellowship hall of a church in town. At least we would have been honoring creation by not wasting so much gas.
I've spent enough years assisting in outdoor ministries to understand this: it is never worth the trouble of going to a camp if you are not going to use the space.
If we were gathering in a discernment mode, we might go to such a place and spend the morning in silence, free to walk around the hundreds of acres of woods and rolling meadows – to truly celebrate and enjoy creation and praise the Creator. Sabbath time, as Jesus knew and as the preacher reminded us, was created for us. But it is not empty time, worthless time, wasted time. It is time spent refocusing on what is of ultimate concern, on living into our chief purpose: to glorify God and enjoy God forever.
In such joy and praise we discern our callings. Perhaps if Presbytery spent more time in that time we might find new ways of moving forward.
In the meanwhile, we'll meet next time in a fellowship hall and we'll wrangle over something, and we probably won't bring anybody any closer to clarity on that chief purpose.

Prayers for Peace

Today is the International Day of Prayers for Peace. Here's one that we used this morning in worship, and again this afternoon at the Lafayette Park Peace Witness. It comes from the Philippines.
Grant us peace that will
BREAK our silence in the midst of violence
then prophetic voices shall resonate
Grant us peace that will
PULL US DOWN from the steeple of our pride
then we’ll learn to wash each other’s feet
Grant us peace that will
EMPTY us of hate and intolerance
then we’ll turn guns into guitars and sing
Grant us peace that will
SHUT our mouths up when we speak too much
then we’ll learn to listen and understand what others are saying
Grant us peace that will
DISTURB us in our apathy
then we’ll dance together under the sun
Grant us peace that will
BURN our lethargic hearts
then we’ll endure burning and let love and justice glow
Amen.

Responding to Michael Gerson

I sent this to the Washington Post today after reading one of their op ed pieces.
I love Michael Gerson. Only a former Bush speechwriter could so artfully speak out of both sides of his mouth at the same time. In an essay ostensibly taking liberals to task for mocking the religious beliefs of evangelicals he mocks Episcopalians! I suppose it must be simply a matter of whose ox – or sacred cow – is getting gored. Still, Gerson’s two-faced tactics bother me less than the fact that he simply ignores the ideas at stake in looking carefully at the theology proclaimed by Sarah Palin’s church and, indeed, by the governor herself. Her church has called same-sex relationships an illness that can be cured by God, and Gov. Palin has not denounced that idea. As pastor of a congregation that insists that God loves all of us, including gay, lesbian, transgendered and bisexual people, that idea bothers me a lot. Gov. Palin has also insisted that America’s founders intended to create a Christian nation. Never mind that most historians doubt that or that the founders themselves were deeply divided on questions of faith, as a pastor of congregation with the deeply held, Biblical conviction that God’s house has many rooms open to folks of many faiths, and as an American who believes that our religious diversity is one of the nation’s great strengths, Gov. Palin’s idea scares me. I am a Presbyterian, and we often call ourselves “God’s frozen people.” I would love it if our worship was a bit more lively like the “whoop and holler” congregations Gerson describes or the African-American church tradition that has shaped Sen. Obama’s faith convictions. But it is not merely a question of style or cultural differences. Ideas matter. Proclaiming that the end times are very near, and that Alaska has been chosen by God as a place of refuge from the coming deluge, surely has implications for the way one views public policy, international relations and the role of government in general. So as the campaign moves on these next 55 days or so, let us all pay attention to the ideas voiced by the various candidates, their advisors and their spiritual guides and move beyond mocking the styles in which those ideas are expressed.

Coffee Talk: God & Epistemology

I was at my favorite coffee shop this morning solving all the problems of the world with a colleague when the young man at the table next to us chimed in with a couple of comments on our problem-solving skills. We were talking about music and shared with him James McMurtry's CHENEY'S TOY (which you can find at McMurtry's MySpace page but which will not link here for some reason).
None of which is particularly interesting (except for the song, which is a biting anti-war piece). But as our conversation continued and we introduced ourselves as pastors to this young senate staffer the talk turned more compelling.
I invited him to visit us at Clarendon and he politely declined saying that he was not religious. Indeed, he said, "there isn't a place for God in my epistemology."
It was an intelligent, respectful way to decline an invite to church. I was getting ready to leave before the threatening storm so I couldn't follow up, but I hope to run into him again. I'd like to ask him about both his epistemology and his idea of God.
How does God fit into the way we comprehend the world around us? What difference does it make if such comprehension does not include God? What difference does it make in the way we comprehend the world if we understand God differently? That is to say, in terms that are particularly pressing in our present context, does a conservative, evangelic Christian understanding of God lead to a different comprehension, understanding, or knowledge of the world that a post-modern Christian understanding of God? (This is a blog, not an encyclopedia article, so I’m not diving into definitions.) Moreover, would a secularist’s understanding of God lead to a still different understanding of the world?
Or, perhaps, there is no difference between the secularist’s understanding of God and the conservative, evangelical Christian understanding of God. If that is the case, then they are seeing themselves in the mirror and it’s no wonder there is such a gulf between them.
I don’t know, but I hope the young man takes me up on the invitation; his voice would add something important and compelling to the conversation.

Getting Ready for the Wind

Hanna is on her way tonight, so we've pulled in the flag, brought in the Obama sign, battened the hatches.
As the storm, which is not expected to do much more than bring a lot of rain and 35 mph wind our way, heads up the coast I can't help thinking about the times I have traveled to coastal areas to participate in clean-up efforts following previous storms. So I'm thinking about those in harm's way.
At the same time, I cannot help feeling a certain awe at the power of the weather, and an appreciation for its frightening beauty. Even the satellite images are striking.
If worship begins in awe and wonder, consider this a hymn to the God of the storm.

Who Is She? And What is She Running For?

Like many Americans, I'm trying to learn a bit about Gov. Palin beyond the stories about her pregnant daughter. I ran across this video of her preaching that has me scratching my head just a bit. I am wondering what others make of it.
You would have guessed, rightly, that I have many concerns about her policy positions because I am a progressive and she is a conservative. But I also know that the coming of the kingdom is not the exclusive province of either conservatives or progressives. The best judgments we can usually make are after-the-fact assessments of what works and what doesn't.
But I am more concerned about her theology than her policy. It is certainly not Reformed (at least as contemporary Presbyterians -- PC(U.S.A.) -- understand that tradition), and seems much more apocalyptic than anything you would hear in mainline Protestantism. Indeed, I would suggest that she is a theocrat's dream candidate.
Of course, she will be running for vice president not pastor-in-chief. Then again, that may be just the problem. She said last summer that she really doesn't know exactly what the vice president does. Maybe she remains unclear.
I am not making any partisan claims or arguments here. I'm not questioning her fitness to be vice president, her experience or her judgment. I'm just raising a theological concern, which seems appropriate for one whose job is wrestling with just such concerns.
I guess what I really want is some job clarification for Gov. Palin.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe ...

He's back!
After a month off line resting and rehabbing one wing, I'm sufficiently healed to hammer away at the keyboard relatively pain free.
It's been an interesting month. Losing the use of an arm for a while teaches you a lot -- like, there's a reason we have two of these standard issue on most models. Try tying your shoes with one hand. It's a skill that I did not master.
So, I learned a lot about receiving help and asking for it.
One afternoon during the short week I was able to spend at Camp Hanover, I was sitting beside the pool dangling my feet in and wishing that I could dive in to swim. When it was time to leave, I was pulling my socks on and a little boy whom I had not yet met came over. He stopped right in front of me, looked up and said, "do you need help tying your shoes?"
Oh, man, did I ever.
It's probably as close as I will ever come to having my feet washed in a nonliturgical setting. Submitting to helplessness is never easy; at least not in our culture. But when Christ comes in the guise of a cute 10-year-old it's a bit easier.
I am happy to be back tying my own shoes now, but also finding it much easier to ask for help when I need it.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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?

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.