January 2021 The Lights of this City on a Hill have been Dimmed

 

The Lights of this City on a Hill have been Dimmed

Given the conditions of newspaper publishing, I began working on this column the week of the Capitol riots, so that it could be published the week of President Joe Biden’s inauguration. Watching the riots at the time, my mind was a furious blank. But over time, some memories assembled.

In 2010, I joined my daughter on a mission trip to Kenya, to support the Tumaini Children’s Ministry in Nyeri. Our trip was to conclude with a tour of Nairobi, Kenya’s capitol, before flying home.

Instead, we spent our time locked inside a gated church complex. After all, no one could have anticipated that on that day Kenyans would be voting on their new Constitution, their third in less than sixty years. Given their past history, neither our hosts nor the country honestly knew if violence would break out in the streets, especially those of the capitol.

The television was on late into the night, watching the results come in. Though people had been quick to give us copies of the proposed Constitution, we did not know the issues at hand or the fairness of the document. We just knew the country was on knife’s edge, waiting. But despite the fears, there was no rioting or protest.

Fast-forward five years. Our Kenyan hosts came to visit us. When we took them to Philadelphia, we thought we understood their excitement. They were going to this big and famous American city. But we had no idea.

Going to Independence Hall was akin to Muslims going to Mecca, or Roman Catholics going to the Vatican. Our Kenyan friends knew early American history as well as – maybe better than – most citizens. They posed proudly with statues of George Washington and other Founding Fathers, the Liberty Bell, standing for photos where the Declaration of Independence and Constitution were signed. These weren’t tourists, taking in the sites; this was The American Experience.

And seen anew through their eyes, I felt a swell of national pride and patriotism. The United States and its ideals were a source of hope, a light on a hill for all to see. Around the world, Kenyans and so many others aspired to this hope, a sign of what their country could be.

And now that light has been dimmed.

While too many American citizens have been denied their full constitutional rights, others, like myself, are fish who have always swum in democracy. We don’t just take our freedoms for granted; they are so much a part of our reality we don’t even think about them.

Until a day like January 6, 2021 happens. When we see violence and riot in our halls of government. When we see just how easily those elected to represent us, those called to serve and protect us, can be harmed in service to their country. Not by some foreign adversary, but by people claiming those same freedoms. And the world is watching.

Joni Mitchell sang, “Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.” Or perhaps like I was in Philadelphia, we do know what we have. We just never imagined we could lose it.

That isn’t to say we no longer have the democracy we’ve known for nearly 250 years, or that the country can’t somehow emerge from our divisions better than ever. Faith tells us that with God, all things are possible. But January’s riots left a mark that may prove indelible. A wound not as long as the Civil War, but no less deep.

It is said that to sing once is to pray twice. In what might have been our national anthem, may we join Katherine Bates in this prayer so appropriate at this time: “America! America! God mend thine ev'ry flaw, confirm thy soul in self-control, thy liberty in law.” May it be so.

 

September 2020 COVID-19 as a Spiritual Discipline

 

A lifetime ago, in February, many of us entered Lent prepared to give up something, like chocolate, or to take on something, perhaps a prayer practice, out of desire to grow closer to God. And then March happened, COVID-19 happened. I can’t even remember what my Lenten discipline was anymore, let alone whether I stuck with it until Easter. But what about today’s discipline?

Every week, I share my deepest desires for you, including that you will “Find God in everyone and in every thing.” What would it mean for us to find God even in COVID-19? Including the people who are frustrating us by wearing or not wearing a mask. Including the disruptions and disappointments? More than weeks of Lent, can we live these months as a spiritual discipline?

I only recently came to this place of understanding, and I admit, I’m only beginning to grasp the potential. But whether I recognized it or not, coronavirus has changed my relationship with God. It has helped me in some ways to draw closer to God, even as it has revealed places where I need and want further growth.

For example, I’ve had a spiritual practice for nearly thirty years that I’ve learned to  ̶  had to  ̶  change. Since 1993 it has been: Monday  ̶  read the next Sunday’s scripture lessons. Thursday  ̶  first sermon draft. Sunday  ̶  preach. Rinse and repeat, for nearly half of my life. Until March.

It isn’t simply that I’ve learned to re-adjust my calendar to make sure recordings and bulletins are available on time. It means I’ve had to let go of the comfort of that routine. To rely on God to have a sermon ready by Wednesday. To trust God that I’ll know that sermon enough after a few hours and not a few days. To surrender that it is not my well-formed words but God’s Holy Spirit who will share God’s truth. As some people can tell you, I didn’t come to these realizations easily or willingly.

A big part of it is that I have no choice. Five weeks into Lent, I can get chocolate if I want or put a devotional away. But COVID-19 is the spiritual cauldron that we can’t escape even if we want to.

On one hand that is oppressive. Believe me, I understand. On the other hand, however, that I can’t escape when I want means I have to sit with this. I have to. I have no choice.

Moment by moment we are changed, like water dripping on hard stone and over millennium shaping rock. But like it or not, coronavirus is an unrelenting wave, pounding that same hard rock into sand. We may not like ocean waves or their powers of erosion. They may scare us. But we can’t stop them.

Such is the spiritual discipline set before us. We can resist. We can protest. But we will still be changed. Can we find God in all things? Even this thing? May it be so.

October 2020 Faith and Politics

 

I recently observed the anniversary of my ordination to the Ministry of Word and Sacrament in the Presbyterian Church (USA), marking nearly half of my life that I’ve been called “pastor.” In that time, every four years, I  ̶  and I suspect most pastors  ̶  have looked to presidential elections with some trepidation. Congregations usually have some diversity of opinion on candidates and positions, even if unspoken. And the Bible is complicated enough that even contradictory political positions can often find nominal support.

There are laws that prevent the pulpit from becoming a political tool. Since 1954 the Internal Revenue Service has had guidelines, with penalty, for churches and certain non-profit organizations on the bounds of their politicking. There are also laws of self-preservation, when a pastor tries to avoid conflict with parishioners, that may then result in conflict with family when forced to move.

It is a high wire act, trying to walk the line of “good trouble,” as the late congressman John Lewis put it. Say too much and you risk the wrath of some. Say nothing about the day’s events, as if in a religious bubble, and you risk making the church irrelevant. In 2020, the election is one in a long queue of hot topics, even as it sheds its own light on pandemic, economy, racial injustice, and violence in our cities.

It is a fine line to walk. For years, trying to be “all things to all people” (1 Corinthians 9:22), I wouldn’t put a political bumper sticker on my car or a sign in my yard. But as I got older, the poet Mary Oliver’s question rang true for me: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” I realized that I only have one life to share what I believe. The faith I preach is the same faith that informs life as I know it. Up went bumper sticker and sign. Not befriending current church members on Facebook, so I can freely express my political views.

I’m careful about what I say, and sometimes I err, but I can say this. First, in no uncertain terms, vote. To abdicate this responsibility is an affront to every person who risked their life, or died, for this right. Theologian and pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer, executed for trying to assassinate Hitler, wrote, “Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.” There is no moral high ground in doing nothing. To do nothing, in the words of priest and social activist Thomas Merton, is to be a “guilty bystander.”

Secondly, while the Bible is full of do’s and don’ts, God gives some succinct direction. Micah asks, “What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” In three gospels Jesus is asked, “Which commandment is the first of all?” and in each he answers ‘love the Lord your God and love your neighbor as yourself.’

This Great Commandment finds its origins in the Hebrew Scripture, in Deuteronomy and Leviticus. Islam prioritizes love of God, and also teaches love of neighbor. That means three world religions share these commands.

Additionally, thirteen world religions share versions of the Golden Rule, from Jesus saying, “do to others as you would have them do to you,” Buddha’s “Treat not others in ways that you yourself would find hurtful” or Hinduism’s “do not do to others what would cause pain if done to you.”

So vote. If your faith is important to you, it should guide your decision-making. Understand “love God and love neighbor,” don’t ignore it. Voting for all as you would for yourself is a fair and faithful standard.

I can’t tell you how to vote, but I can strongly encourage you to vote, and to honestly and faithfully tie your faith to your politics.