Pastorbrentmiller

Home

‘And so at last they came to the Last Homely House, and found its doors flung wide’ – J.R.R. Tolkien

I was walking Rossco, my wonderfully exuberant Aussie-Shepherd/Border Collie, along the creek, when suddenly, I heard scampering to my right. My eyes went wide as I saw, of all things, a groundhog racing toward us faster and fiercer than any of his species had a right to move or be. As he charged up the steep bank, his eyes were like saucers, his mouth open, and his teeth bared. It appeared that he was attempting to launch a preemptive strike on Rossco (and/or me), whom he most certainly considered a threat. I mean, what else could explain his running toward us, rather than away from us.

I braced myself for the onslaught, but when he was about a foot away, thank God, he dove like a submarine and vanished. I had not noticed, could not have noticed, that just below the lip of the bank, just below our feet, was the entrance to his burrow.

As I pulled Rossco away (he of course wanted to follow the varmint into his den), the groundhog’s furry face flashed comically across my mind, and I realized that the look upon it had been one of fear, not ferocity. His mouth had been open, and his teeth bared, not because he was preparing to attack, but because he had been gulping air to fuel his assent up the bank. His eyes had been wide as saucers because, well, if he had possessed a thought balloon, it would have read, ‘Oh [expletive deleted], that dog is about to kill me!’ I had wondered why, instead of running away from us, he had run toward us. Now I knew that as the groundhog’s brain processed the danger posed by our presence, a single word had flashed through his mind.

Home.

And with that, I had to smile. For in that, I had to recognize, not just the wisdom of the groundhog’s choice of direction, but the smiling presence of God.

Home. It is the place where we know we are safe, the place of comfort, warmth, and love. Think about the word for a moment and you will likely conjure up all sorts of lovely images and memories. Baking cookies with your mom. Watching baseball with your Dad. Sitting by the fire on a frosty night. Sipping tea while reading a book or watching your favorite show. Gathering about the table for family game night. Lying next to the one you love. Home is the feeling you get when you think of such things, the ache in your heart to experience them all over again. Even in the absence of the underlying realities that forge such memories, there remains in every heart the hope of their becoming. We all, in one way or another, share what Frederick Buchner calls ‘the longing for home.’ He writes of home as that ‘something that we feel we belong to and that belongs to us.’[1] Deep within each of us is a yearning to be home, whether it be the home of our cherished memories or the home of unfulfilled desires.

And let’s face it: the yearning is real. The world can be a callous and cruel place, filled with dangers. As we navigate the riverbanks of our lives, we encounter many threats. When we do, there is a deep, instinctive drive to run, as the groundhog had run, for the place we call home. To either return to the place where we have felt safe, warm, and loved, or else to find such a place for the very first time. To take refuge there.

Home is like Rivendell, the elvish haven in Tolkien’s world. I have read The Hobbit every couple of years since I was in the fourth grade, and each time I get to the line, ‘And so at last they came to the Last Homely House, and found its doors flung wide,’ I choke up. To me it speaks of the longing for home. In the story, Bilbo and his friends have just escaped the clutches of a clan of trolls, and Rivendell is just the sanctuary they need. It is home, so much so that later in his life, when Bilbo tires of his adventures, he settles there to ‘live happily ever after to the end of his days.’ We all long for a place like that, a place that is more ‘homely’ even than the comfort of our hobbit holes. I know I long for such a home. Not just the home of my childhood (as happy as it was), or even my present home with my wife and children (as wonderful as it is). I am thankful for the refuge of such homes. But even so, I long for the home that lies just beyond my grasp, that place that will put to rest, once and for all, the callousness and cruelty of this world. The home that will possess all the best of all the homes we have known or dreamt of, and then some.

The good news is that there is such a home. There is, in fact, a Rivendell. Even better, in that you can be happy there for days without end. The disciple John describes it at the close of Revelation:

‘I heard a loud shot from heaven’s throne, saying, ‘Behold! The home of God is among his people! He will live with them, and they will be his people. God himself will be with them. He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever’ (21:3-4).

This is the home we long for, the habitation of absolute safety and love. Our home in God. Buechner put it this way: ‘the home we long for and belong to is finally where Christ is.’ It is the place for which we yearn most deeply, the place where, in Christ, we shall one day be.

Until then, we walk as ‘strangers and aliens in the world,’ in search of our ‘homeland’ (see, Hebrews 11:13-14). And as we do, we cherish the foretastes of home we experience even now, for, yes, where Christ is, there is home, and Christ is, praise be, everywhere. He is in everything that causes us to ache for home. He is in His Church, in that moment when a song or a word causes that tear in your eye or that catch in your throat. He is in the bosom of our families, in those moments of wonder that make everything seem worthwhile. He is in the rainbow that dazzles the sky in the wake of a violent storm. He is even, as he was for me the other day, in the wide eyes of a panicky groundhog, racing up a creek bank, reminding me of the importance, and loveliness, of home.

In such things, we catch glimpses of the day when we shall come at last to the Last Homely House, and find its doors flung wide.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] Frederick Buechner, The Longing for Home: Reflections and Recollections.

A Non-Military Solution

‘I never saw no military solution that didn’t always end up as something worse’

– Sting, from the song, If I Ever Lose My Faith in You

A week or so ago, two plus weeks into the Russian invasion of Ukraine, I was listening to one of my favorite podcasts. The hosts are Christians for whom I have the deepest respect. But I became troubled as they began recounting with pride the violent resistance being offered by Ukrainians. Please don’t get me wrong. What Putin and his armies are doing is evil. They are the aggressors, the Ukrainians the victims, and her resisters have shown remarkable courage over the past several weeks. Outmanned and outgunned, they have stood against overwhelming odds. I take nothing away from them in the bravery department. Moreover, I get why they are fighting back. No one wants to see their land, their homes, their national and cultural identity stolen from them. I understand the Ukrainian willingness to fight, the courage being displayed as they do so, and the natural response, even among Christians, to cheer them on.

But here’s the thing, Jesus told us not to.

I’ve written frequently about Jesus’ position on violence (e.g., check out my previous post on Ukraine). Suffice it to say he was against it. He commanded his followers to love their enemies. To turn the other cheek. To offer up creative nonviolent protest, as opposed to violent resistance, in the face of evil. When the powers came for him in Gethsemane, he refrained from calling on the angels of heaven (something he specifically said he could do) and commanded Simon Peter to put away his sword, adding, ‘anyone who lives by the sword will die by the sword’ (Matthew 26:52). At the cross, he really put his money where his mouth was by praying for, as opposed to fighting, his enemies, choosing to love them to the end (and, I might add, winning a couple of them over). Later, after his Resurrection and Ascension (ahem, proof of the wisdom of his approach), he revealed to his disciple John the importance of following the peaceable way of the Lamb rather than the violent way of the dragon (See, generally Revelation). And his disciples, Simon Peter included, threw away their swords forever, forsaking them to pursue the Gospel of peace.

So why would Christians advocate for violent resistance against the Russians? And why are so many seemingly chomping at the bit, increasingly with each passing day, to adopt policies that will only escalate the violence?

Well, again, I kind of get why. The atrocities we are witnessing are horrifying. It is callous, even cruel, to sit by and do nothing. That does not, however, mean that doing something requires violence. There are other options that do not require the sword.

In fact (again, see my previous post), many Ukrainians have been living out those other options. They have prayed and sang hymns. They have resisted nonviolently. They have stood in the way of tanks and made them turn around. They have blocked streets with cranes and cement blocks. They have removed street signs to confuse Russian troops. They have shown comfort and mercy to Russian soldiers. They have demonstrated their dignity and humanity to the oppressor. They have provided witness to the very sort of creative, nonviolent resistance that Jesus encouraged his disciples to engage in. The kind that, believe it or not, has worked repeatedly in history. In Gandhi’s movement for independence in India. In the candlelight vigils and non-violent protests that removed the Iron Curtain in Eastern Europe. In the actions of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and his allies during the American Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 60s. In the 2004 Orange Revolution in…wait for it, Ukraine!

So why aren’t we talking about that? Why are we not telling those inspiring tales? Why are we not talking about mobilizing a sustained non-violent effort against the Russian invaders?

The hard fact is that Putin and his forces are hell bent on taking Ukraine, and a martial response will gain nothing but death (as Edwin Starr sang, ‘war ain’t nothin’ but a heartbreaker/friend only to the undertaker’). People cheered in the days prior to the invasion as Ukraine armed grandmothers and children. Now grandmothers and children are dying. There is no viable military solution here. Strike back at Putin and the Russians, and they fire more bullets and drop more bombs. Get NATO involved, and there will be a broader war with even more bombs. Some of which may be nukes. I repeat: there is no viable military solution here, no way to take up the sword, that doesn’t both result in increased casualties (both military and civilian) and threaten a regional, perhaps even global, war the likes of which we have never seen. We may be able to understand why people would take up arms against an invader, but in the final analysis Jesus was right: those who take up the sword die by the sword even as they kill their enemies. Violence begets violence.

And here’s the bottom line for followers of Jesus (I presume most reading this post are): even if there were a viable military solution, that solution would be off limits for us. We can neither pursue nor champion such a solution, for we belong to the Kingdom of the Lamb. We must, instead, pursue and champion the long hard path of creative, nonviolent resistance.

That is our only option. Not to fight, but to love. Not to strike, but to pray. To wage war not as the world does, but as Christ has (See, 2 Corinthians 10:4).

Again, I understand why Christians are enthralled by the Ukrainian stand and why they want to do something to help. But all Christians, both those in Ukraine and elsewhere, must remember who they are. They, that is, we, must remain true to the Gospel call to creative nonviolent resistance and lift up such means as an alternative to war.

For that, as hard as it may be, is the way of Jesus.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Pray for Peace

‘He is risen, and he reigns in the hearts of the children who will love while the nations rage‘ – Rich Mullins

This morning I awoke to the news that, as expected, Russia had invaded Ukraine. As I searched for some sort of response to this tragedy, a couple of things happened.

The first was that I remembered the story of King Jehoshaphat in 2 Chronicles 20. Jehoshaphat, the King of Judah, received terrible news that an alliance of nations had arrayed against him and was marching on Jerusalem. The Chronicler reports that he was ‘terrified by the news and begged the Lord for guidance.’ Jehoshaphat ordered everyone in Judah to begin fasting, stood before his community in front of the Temple courtyard, and offered up one of the most amazing prayers in all of scripture:

‘O Lord, God of our ancestors, you alone are the God who is in heaven. You are the ruler of all the kingdoms of the earth. You are powerful and mighty; no one can stand against you! O our God, did you not drive out those who lived in this land when your people Israel arrived? And did you not give this land forever to the descendants of your friend Abraham? Your people settled here and built this Temple to honor your name. They said, ‘Whenever we are faced with any calamity, such as war, plague, or famine, we can come to stand in your presence before this Temple where your name is honored. We can cry out to you to save us, and you will hear and rescue us. And now see what the armies of Ammon, Moab, and Mount Seir are doing. You would not let our ancestors invade those nations when Israel left Egypt, so they went around them and did not destroy them. Now see how they reward us! For they have come to throw us out of your land, which you gave us as an inheritance. O our God, won’t you stop them? We are powerless against this mighty army that is about to attack us. We do not know what to do, but we are looking to you for help’ (2 Chronicles 20:6-12, NLT).

In the wake of this prayer, God spoke to the people of Judah through a prophet who told the people not to be afraid, but to go out to meet the enemy, not to fight, but to watch the Lord deliver them. The people received this news by bowing before the Lord and worshipping.

The next morning, they marched out to meet the enemy. At the front were neither warriors nor chariots, but a choir, singing, ‘Give thanks to the Lord; his faithful love endures forever!’ The moment their song began, the armies arrayed against Judah began fighting among themselves. By the time the Judeans arrived at the battlefield, the enemy was gone. Victory had been won without the raising of a single Judean sword, and the Lord established peace for Judah throughout the remainder of Jehoshaphat’s reign.

Now, I know, things don’t always work out like that. It may not in Ukraine. But the story is nonetheless a beautiful example of what can happen when God’s people pray. It is a beautiful example of what God’s people should do when threatened: instead of relying on their own power, or trusting in chariots, as the Psalmist puts it (see, Psalm 20:7), they should rely solely on the power of the Living God. As Jehoshaphat prayed, when we don’t know what to do (and in all honesty and humility, we never do), we must turn to God for help.

The second thing that happened was that I received an image from my son in Rwanda, Emmanuel, of a group of Ukrainian Christians kneeling in the snow, praying for the deliverance of their country.

I didn’t know what the picture was at first, but when Emmanuel told me, tears came to my eyes. Here was the remnant of Jehoshaphat’s people. Here was the Kingdom of the Lamb.

In recent weeks, I have read reports of grandmothers and small children training to fight the Russians when they come (which they now have). The images were startling. It seems that many believe the answer to war is more war; to strike against one’s enemies by using their tactics. As I’ve beheld those images, I’ve recalled Jesus’ warning in Gethsemane to Peter to put his sword away, to not meet violence with violence, because ‘those who live by the sword die by the sword’ (Matthew 26:52).

Jesus teaches us that there are other forms of resistance, other ways to stand against the dark powers that seek our destruction. Paul refers to these other ways in 2 Corinthians 10:3-4, where he wrote:

‘For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of this world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds.’

I love Paul’s use of the words, ‘on the contrary;’ he is telling us that while the weapons of the world do not ultimately work (they only beget more violence), the weapons in the arsenal of Christianity have power to achieve things. Weapons such as prayer and love are, he is telling us, the most powerful weapons in the world. And, more importantly, the only weapons followers of Jesus are permitted to use. In the Kingdom of the Lamb, the only way to overcome enemies is with love and prayer.

Jesus himself is our example in this. As is the early church, who, when beset by enemies, gathered and prayed:

‘Why do the nations rage, and the people’s plot in vain? The kings of the earth prepared for battle; they gathered together against the Lord and his anointed one…Oh Lord, hear their threats, and give us, your servants, boldness in preaching your word. Stretch out your hand with healing power; may miraculous signs and wonders be done through the name of your holy servant Jesus’ (See, Acts 4:25-30).

We need to take the example of Jehoshaphat, the early church, and those Ukrainian believers kneeling in the snow, to heart. We live in unraveling times. The leader of Russia has become (likely has always been) a madman intent on building an empire. China too is eyeing the expansion of their own. In America, we have a former President, who may become one again, praising Putin even as he makes his power grab, and the bitter prospect of rising autocracy within our own borders. What does one do in times such as these?

The nations rage. The peoples plot in vain. Those with worldly minds, who follow the way of the dragon, strike back, meet force with force, violence with violence, hurt with hurt.

But the children of the Lamb pray, in the snow and elsewhere. They sing ‘Give thanks to the Lord; his faithful love endures forever!’ They conquer by the blood of the Lamb and the word of their testimony (see, Revelation 12:11). They pray for the redemption of their enemies, or, failing that, some other intervention by God to establish peace. They do not live by the sword. They live by love. They pray. They model peace. They may not know what to do themselves, but they look to the Living God for help.

Today I ask all who read this to pray. Pray for the people of Ukraine. Pray for the miraculous transformation of Vladimir Putin’s heart. Pray for the transformation of all who would use violence or do evil in this world. Pray for the dramatic intervention of God. Pray for the establishment of peace. Pray believing that the God of Jehoshaphat is still on His throne and still mighty to save. For He most certainly is.

This is the way of the Lamb’s Kingdom.

May we walk in it.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Lessons from Forbidden Island

‘But Among you it will be different’ – Jesus, in Mark 10:42

Game night. My family gathered around the table. On the menu is Forbidden Island, a cooperative adventure game in which players work together to find four magical treasures before the island on which they lie sinks into the sea. Each player picks a character with special powers to help in the quest. It’s a great game and my family always has a wonderful time with it. If you’ve never played, you should check it out. It’s a terrific way to teach your family the value of working together.

Trouble is, this time, the kids got into an argument right at the outset. My ten-year-old son Caleb had his heart set on us searching for treasure as four particular characters, believing his combination would make the game more challenging. My thirteen-year-old daughter, Kaeleigh, however, did not like that Caleb was choosing everyone’s character for them. She wanted to pick her own.

Enter chaos.

‘I want to play with these four characters!’

‘You’re being a dictator! We should each get to pick our own roles!’

‘Mom and Dad don’t care which ones they play with, why should you?!’

‘Because I do!’

‘Okay, which one do you want to be?’

Oddly, Kaeleigh chose the very character Caleb had picked out for her.

‘What!’ Caleb screamed. ‘Why are we arguing! If that’s who you wanted, what’s the big deal! Why on earth didn’t you just accept who I picked out for you!’

‘Because you don’t get to choose for someone else! Everyone should be able to pick for themselves! Everyone should have equal rights! Blame Dad, he’s the one who taught me about fairness and equality!’ (I was proud to hear her say that!).

And that’s when Caleb, desperate to win the argument, said some ridiculous, yet unfortunately descriptive things about the world.

‘Fairness! Equality! What on earth are you talking about? There’s no such thing as fairness or equality! Think about it! Sexism! Racism! Why do you think there are poor people? Nothing’s fair in this world! How can you talk to us about equality?!’

And there it was – a teachable moment. Cooperative play wasn’t the only lesson my family would get that night from Forbidden Island. I could sense my son’s pain as he spoke the words about the world he knows and has every reason to be concerned about. I knew that deep down he didn’t believe we should mirror that world but was only trying to win the argument. But still, there were some things that needed to be said.

‘Caleb,’ I said, ‘you are right. Equality isn’t easily found in the world. It breaks my heart, as I know it does yours, but yes, there is sexism. There is racism. People do not share the way they should. The world is blatantly unfair.’

‘Exactly!’

‘But both of you, listen: in this house, we practice equality. In this house, we stand against racism and sexism. In this house, we share. And not just in our house. In our church too. Why? Because we follow Jesus. Jesus practices equality and wants us to do so as well. We do if for Him, we do it for ourselves, and we do it so that the world around us, as unequal and unfair as it is, gets to see a better way. As followers of Jesus, it is our responsibility to live this way, no matter how people around us are living. We must live differently.’

Caleb didn’t like losing the argument, but he had to admit I was right. ‘Okay. I can’t argue with that. From now on I’ll let everyone pick their own characters.’

And so the game began (sadly, the island sank on us before we retrieved all four treasures, but hey, there’s always next time).

The next day I thought more deeply about my words. I believe they pretty much sum up what it means to live as a citizen of Jesus’ Kingdom. We live in a fallen world, where oh so much is wrong. Much of which we can do little about, just as in the days of the early Church, there was little Christians then could do create immediate change in their world. There’s was a world of inequality and unfairness. A world of oppression and persecution. A world of hatred and violence. Not all that different from our own. So what did the Christians do?

They lived differently.

In a world where equality was a joke, they insisted that in Christ, there were no distinctions, neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female. All were one in Christ Jesus (Galatians 3:28).

In a world of violence, they refused to wage war, employing instead weapons not of this world – such as prayer and enemy love – to overcome the forces arrayed against them (2 Corinthians 10:3-4).

In a world where the ‘have’s’ accumulated while the ‘have not’s’ wanted, they shared their resources to the extent there was not a needy person among them, choosing to consider their possessions the common property of all (Acts 4:32-37).

In a world of hopelessness, they hoped (Romans 8:25).

In a world where the powerful lorded authority over their subjects, they followed the path of servant love (Mark 10:42-45).

In a world that was sinking, they worked together to stay afloat (Ephesians 4:16).

In a world that took up the sword, they took up the Cross (Mark 8:34).

In short, in a world where the shadows not only existed but deepened, they insisted on being the light.

This is still our call today. No matter how unequal, unfair, unjust, or unpeaceable the world around us may be, we who follow Christ must live differently. We must live as citizens of the Kingdom and show the world the way things will one day be.

Most especially when the island seems to be sinking.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

We Need to Talk About Bruno

‘I am the prophet and I smolder and burn. I scream and cry and wonder why you never seem to learn. To hear with your own hears, with your own eyes to see. I am the prophet won’t you listen to me?’

– Michael Card, from the song, The Prophet

It seems everyone these days is talking about not talking about Bruno.

Bruno, of course, is one of the characters in Disney’s most recent cinematic contribution, Encanto, which tells the story of the Madrigal family and their magical house. I’ll try not to ruin the movie much for those who have not seen it, but briefly, the members of the Madrigal family, all except one, Mirabel, have received magical gifts from their magical dwelling. With each gift, however, comes a tremendous burden, none greater than the one carried by the unfortunately un-talked about Bruno.

The problem with Bruno, it seems, is that he’s a bit of a downer. As the song informs us, Bruno has a habit of telling people things they don’t want to hear. On his sister’s wedding day, the sun was shining, and all seemed right with the world. Bruno said, ‘it looks like rain,’ and soon enough – a hurricane! A townsperson is told his fish will die, and it happens the next day. One man complains about being told he would increase in girth over time and, Walla! Beer gut! To another Bruno points out a receding hairline, and of course is blamed when the recipient of this news eventually goes bald. People come to fear his every ‘stuttering or stumbling,’ his ‘muttering or mumbling.’ They come to believe that Bruno is the cause of every impending calamity of which he speaks.

But he isn’t. He’s just a seer. An observer of reality. A truth-teller. If there are storm clouds in the sky, you should probably move the wedding inside. If your fish is sick, you should take care lest it die. If you eat too much, you will gain weight. If your hairline is making a run for your backside, you may as well get used to the idea that you’ll go bald someday. Bruno isn’t the cause of things. He’s just the one who points them out.

Which, I will reveal, remembering my promise not to ruin the movie too much, lands him in exile; hiding in the eaves and crawlspaces of his own home while his family and community do their darndest not to talk about him.

The Bible has people like Bruno. They’re called prophets. Seers and truthtellers. They speak for God, sometimes in the form of divine visions, more often by simply reading the signs of the times and communicating what is wrong and where things may go if certain courses aren’t altered (all under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, of course). Sometimes they tell of hopeful things (as does Bruno) but such words usually get lost in the rush of their chastisements and warnings. Theirs is the reputation of Gandalf in the halls of Rohan. They are seen as the harbingers of bad tidings. Storm crows.

God surely appreciates their efforts and rewards them, if not in life, in eternity. But when it comes to human society, the task of a prophet is a pretty thankless job. People don’t always (usually?) want to hear the truth. The most common reaction to a prophet’s words is exemplified by King Ahab’s response in the wake of Micaiah warning against his plan to go to war: ‘Didn’t I tell you? He never prophecies anything but trouble for me!’ (2 Chronicles 18:17). Jeremiah was, among other things, tossed in a cistern and held in stocks for his troubles. Isaiah, tradition holds, was sawed in half. Zechariah stoned in the courtyard of the Temple. No prophet had it easy. Frederick Buechner noted that ‘no prophet is on record as having asked for the job…like Abraham Lincoln’s story about the man being ridden out of town on a rail, if it wasn’t for the honor of the thing, the prophets would all have rather walked.[1]

But we need prophets. To help us see when we are wrong. To speak truth when the world goes mad. To point the way to sanity. Bruno, who no one wants to talk about, is exactly what the Madrigal family needs. Without him and his ‘prophecies they couldn’t understand,’ there would be no hope for them. Bruno’s truth-telling is what his family most desperately needs (watch the movie and you’ll find out precisely why). Which is why they most certainly need to talk about him, to think about his words and act upon them, just as much as people needed to talk about, listen, and respond to the prophets in Bible times.

Every generation needs its prophets. Its Brunos. Ours is no exception. There is a deplorable dearth of truth in our day. People create their own versions of it, even going so far as to label them ‘alternative facts.’ They stroll along in ignorance in self-created fantasies which harm others (and themselves). They deny evidence of impending calamity, even as they sow its seeds. They prefer to silence serious discussion of important matters for fear of upsetting either themselves or the people around them; like the false prophets and priests of old they cry ‘Peace, peace!’ when there is no peace (see, Jeremiah 6:14). Whether we are talking about political, cultural, environmental, spiritual, medical, scientific, or other realities, too many stick their heads in the sand and ignore the signs of the times. They’d rather pretend their ‘wedding day’ will be lovely, even as a hurricane bears down upon them.

Which is why I thank God for the Brunos in our midst. Yes, they may be downers, they may rain on our parades, but we need them. We dare not forget about them, sending them off to live in the eaves and basements while the world falls apart. We need them to call us to awareness, repentance, and action.

So by all means folks, let’s talk about Bruno.

And, more importantly, listen and respond to what Bruno has to say.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] Frederick Buchner, Wishful Thinking: A Seeker’s ABC, s.v. ‘Prophet.’

MLK and the Theology of Hope

Say not the days are evil – Who’s to blame?

Or fold your hands, as in defeat – O shame!

Stand up, speak out, and bravely,

In God’s name…

It matters not how deep entrenched the wrong,

How hard the battle goes, the day how long,

Faint not. Fight on!

Maltbie D. Babcock

This past week we marked the day that honors the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. No doubt you heard and read many eloquent testimonies to his life, legacy, and patient endurance in the face of evil. Among the words I read were these from the editorial board of The Washington Post:

‘King preached both urgency and patience – nonviolent perseverance in the face of fire hoses, dogs, beatings, lynchings. Every second of marginalization [for African Americans] was intolerable. Yet it took a decade after King’s 1955 Montgomery, Ala., bus boycott for Congress to approve the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1955. Enslaved Americans had been freed a century before. King did not lose hope. He kept working.’

King understood that it takes patience to overcome evil. For King evil was not theoretical. He knew that evil is real and difficult to root out. In the face of all that he and his partners endured in the struggle against evil, the obstacles that stood in the way of progress, and the slow pace of reform, it would have been easy for him to have lost hope and given up. Truth be told, there were moments when he was tempted to do so. But he never did. He kept hoping. He kept working.

In this, I submit, King expressed the Theology of Hope.

The Theology of Hope always endures in the face of evil. It knows that in a fallen, broken world, evil exists, and that from time to time, gains the power to, for a time, have its way. But it does not let that knowledge quench the hope for better days. It believes. It perseveres. It works for better days even when their arrival is delayed. For it knows, as King so famously said (although it was actually the Reverend Theodore Parker who said it first) that ‘the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.’

We need King’s perspective in the times we face. As a new year breaks upon the shore of our lives, there is much that might cause us to despair. America is becoming balkanized. People believe the most bizarre conspiracy theories. A slow-moving coup continues apace. The days when people pulled together and sacrificed for the sake of the general welfare seem to be gone forever; individualism, at least in some quarters, has all but triumphed over communitarian love for neighbor. Truth is both relative and disposable. Democratic principle, the foundation on which our society has been built, however imperfectly, is under assault and crumbling. What happens when the very foundations of a society are broken? When everyone does what is right in their own eyes? When truth is lost, and people are divided? History tells the answer: evil rises and takes over. And yes, my friends, we are witnessing evil rising to do so before our very eyes.

I suppose some at this point may be thinking, ‘Gee, Brent doesn’t sound very hopeful. Where is his Theology of Hope?’ Please bear with me. I confess that I am not extremely hopeful about stopping evil in its tracks at the moment. Evil exists in our society (it always does in any society) and all signs point to its rising. We may well be entering a period of time unlike any experienced in most of our lifetimes, a period when evil men and women take the reins of power and bring down the veil of darkness. Just how dark things may get I cannot say. But darkness does indeed seem to be on the horizon. To say so is not to express the loss of hope. Rather, it is to acknowledge current trends. It is to acknowledge the same reality that King knew, that from time to time, and for a time, evil, which always exists, gains in power.

Hope, you see, is not the fool’s hope that denies the existence of evil, but the solid ground on which we stand even as it rises. Hope abounds, even when evil seems to gain the upper hand. I for one, have not lost hope in these darkening days. For I know what King knew. Evil exists, and evil may prosper for a time. This is the reality of life in a fallen world. But the moral arc of the universe bends toward justice. It bends toward love. And if that is true, and it is, then evil will not endure. It may have its hour, but in the end, it will be cast down. Love and justice will have the final say.

Christian faith proclaims this. It proclaims the Theology of Hope. As a Christian, I believe in the light that shines in the darkness that shall never be overcome. I believe in the God who raises the dead, who can turn the darkest days to the bright morning light. I believe in the day of evil’s destruction and the restoration of all things. I believe in the sun of righteousness that rises with healing in its wings. And I believe that, until that day comes, while the darkness may come from time to time, the darkness will last only a night; everlasting joy will come with the morning.

So what do we do if we live to see days when darkness falls in deepening shades?

There is a great scene in The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, in which Frodo Baggins, having found himself torn from his beloved and peaceful Shire and cast into the center of a cosmic battle between good and evil, laments that such circumstances have come during his lifetime. ‘I wish the ring had never come to me,’ he tells Gandalf, ‘I wish none of this had ever happened.’ Gandalf’s reply is remarkable: ‘So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.’ And then he adds these encouraging words: ‘There are other forces at work in this world beside the will of evil…and that is an encouraging thought.’

Indeed it is. This is why we can have faith that the moral arc of the universe bends toward justice and love. Because there is One who does the bending: the God of love and justice.

And so, when evil days come, we cling to hope. We persevere. We endure. And we work. We speak truth. We strive for justice. We live in such a way that the world sees an alternative to the madness taking place around us. We show the world a different future as we serve as signposts pointing to better days. As Gandalf suggested, we do the best with the time given to us. And we believe that God will use that time, and our efforts, to bring about better days.

That is what Christian faith does when darkness falls. It holds, as King did, to the Theology of Hope.

And waits for morning.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

The Outsiders

‘In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the east came to Jerusalem, asking, ‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?’ For we observed his star at its rising and have come to pay him homage.’ When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all of Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, ‘In Bethlehem of Judea…’ (NRSV).

In his Meditations, Soren Kierkegaard comments on the remarkable fact that the chief priests and scribes of Israel, the very men who knew the prophecies of the Messiah so well they could tell the place of his birth, were not stirred to action at the news of the wise men. Here were the very people who had, supposedly, longed for and preached about his coming, and yet, when he came, they remained in place; only the magi went forward to the town of Bethlehem to behold the long-awaited newborn King. Kierkegaard writes:

‘What vexation it must have been for the kings, that the scribes who gave them the news they wanted remained quiet in Jerusalem! ‘We are being mocked,’ the kings might have thought. For indeed what an atrocious self-contradiction that the scribes should have the knowledge and yet remain still.’

It isn’t hard to see why they remained still. These men were connected to Herod. Perhaps they did not approve of all Herod stood for, indeed it would be hard to believe otherwise, given Herod’s ghastly reputation, but they certainly liked the perks of being connected. They were, in essence, court prophets with easy access to the halls of power. They treasured the honor and authority of their position, the fine and flowing robes that spoke to their prestige, the sumptuous feasts at the table of the king, and their places among the councils of the mighty. Had they left with the wise men, all of that would have been lost. Who would leave such a life to find the one born in the impoverished town of Bethlehem? And so rather than go to see the one they supposedly believed in, they remained in Herod’s court, savoring their insider status and the glories of a lesser kingdom.

Insiders are like that. Men and women of influence, those who enjoy a certain level of what the world calls success, can become so enthralled by the perks of their position and their political, social, or economic masters that they lose sight of what truly matters. Sadly, we live in a world where most want to be insiders. To have access to the halls of power, to possess honor and authority, to wear fine and flowing robes, to feast sumptuously at the tables of influence, to find places in the councils of the mighty, that is what life is all about. Who would trade such a life to follow the one found in impoverished places like Bethlehem? And so as it was in the case of the magi, it remains today. Most, even in the church it seems, would prefer to remain in the halls of Herod than risk their insider status in pursuit of one whose kingdom is of a different nature.

For Jesus’ Kingdom, of course, is of different nature. It does not occupy the halls of power. It does not possess the kind of honor and authority coveted by the insiders of the world. It involves no flowing robes, no sumptuous feasts around tables of influence, no place in the councils of those whom the world calls mighty. Indeed, the only time Jesus spent time in those halls and councils was when he was on trial for his life.

Which is why Jesus’ Kingdom is usually filled with outsiders.

Just take a look at the cross. As Jesus died on Calvary, he didn’t have much of a following. Most had abandoned him. Only one of the twelve, John, was present, along with several women, one of whom was his mother. There was a criminal dying on a cross to his side, and a Centurion, who, while he may have begun the day as an insider, ended it by treasonously declaring Jesus to be God’s Son.[1] None of these would find access to the halls of power. None would ever find positions of honor and authority in the eyes of the world. None would wear fine flowing robes that enhanced their prestige in the eyes of the people. None would feast sumptuously at the tables of a king or take places in the councils of the mighty. Their positions at the foot of the cross marked them out, not only as insignificant men and women in the eyes of the insiders, but as men and women willing to risk their reputations and lives for the sake of an upside-down kingdom. For them, the glories of the world were nothing when compared to the infinite value of simply being near Jesus.

Such is the way of things. The insiders, those with much to lose, are the most reluctant, the most hesitant, to move in the direction of Jesus. But the outsiders, those with little or nothing to lose, or at least those who are willing to give up what they do have for the sake of something better, something real, those who do not love their lives so much that they are afraid to lose them, will always be found leaving the places of honor for a place at Jesus’ side. They will always be found, not in the halls of power, but in impoverished towns, beside lowly mangers, and at the foot of the cross, willing to follow the one who led them there.

This year, may we be found among them.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

[1] Son of God was a title belonging to the Roman Emperor.

The Politics of Christmas

‘At that time, the Roman Emperor, Augustus, decreed that a census should be taken throughout the Empire…’ – Luke 2:1

The second chapter of Luke’s Gospel contains the most widely remembered account of Jesus’ birth. Linus Van Pelt likely has something to do with its fame. For many of us, it just doesn’t feel like Christmas until we hear the story.

We can imagine the scene unfolding before our eyes. There’s Mary and Joseph, racing into the ‘little town of Bethlehem,’ unable to find room at the inn – though they were more likely in a relatives’ home, just downstairs with the animals. Still, it’s a comfy, cozy scene, as Jesus is born into the midst of domestic tranquility – though he really wasn’t. Births are hardly tranquil events. But never mind, there’s baby Jesus, all swaddled and warm, radiant beams emanating from his holy face – well, not really. OK, so maybe the way we imagine Luke’s scene is off a bit, but it’s still a wonderful story – the story of the Living God, the One through whom all things were made, becoming flesh to dwell among us. And of course, adding to the wonder is the presence of the shepherds, outcasts invited in, after first being ‘sore afraid’ and told by angels that they would find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger, complete with a heavenly chorus of ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, goodwill to men.’ Yes, that’s what Christmas is all about Charlie Brown.

What’s interesting though, apart from the little things we get wrong, is the part of the story we miss. Over the years, we listen to sermons on what this story meant to just about everyone involved: Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds, the angels. Then we branch out into other Nativity-related texts, bringing in the Magi, Herod, Zechariah, Elizabeth, Simeon, Anna. We even flash ahead and talk about the ministry of John the Baptist from time to time. But there is one character, prominent in Luke’s account, that we tend to ignore, or, at best, mention briefly without comment.

Augustus Caesar. He’s part of the Nativity story too. Augustus was the Emperor of the Roman Empire at the time of Jesus’ birth. After the death of his adoptive father, Julius Caesar, there had been a power struggle, complete with civil war, throughout the empire. Eventually Augustus emerged victorious, which brought an end to the strife and ushered in a period known as the Pax Romana, or Roman peace, though it was, in truth, the peace of the oppressor, not the oppressed. Nonetheless, at least to the Romans, Augustus was a hero. He was rewarded with absolute power: military, political, and imperial. He was worshipped and adored as the ‘Son of God’ (yes, that was his title) and everyone was expected to pledge their allegiance to him. The world moved at his word, the activity in the wake of his order for a census being a case in point. Augustus said the word, and everyone moved to be registered. If there was one guy on earth of whom it could be said, ‘he holds all the cards,’ it was Augustus Caesar.

The original readers of Luke’s account understood all this. The mere mention of Augustus in the opening line said it all. But reading on, by way of contrast, we discover the son of another King. His name was Joseph, the descendant of David. You would not have known Joseph was descended from kings by looking at him. It had been a while since David had been king; his heirs long removed from the throne. Joseph was a mere craftsman, and an impoverished one at that. He held no military, political, or imperial power. He was neither worshipped nor adored. The world didn’t move for him. He was one of the ‘moved.’

As was his adopted son to be, Jesus. Yes, Jesus and Augustus were both adopted into a royal line. The difference was that while Augustus was adopted into the lap of luxury and power, Jesus was adopted into the lap of poverty and weakness. The contrast between Augustus and Jesus could not have been starker. Like I said, in the eyes of the world, Augustus held all the cards. Jesus held none.

Which was exactly the way God wanted it. The way the story unfolds reveals that God arranged for the arrival of His Son (for, after all that’s who Jesus REALLY is) in a manner that might cause us to rethink what power is all about. Luke tells the story masterfully, using words that, while tame to modern ears after decades of overuse, were, for his first readers, shocking. The angel brought the shepherds ‘Good News of Great joy.’ Good News. The Gospel. In Greek, euangelion. In the Roman world, that word had a specific meaning. It referred to an imperial pronouncement, usually accompanied by flags and political ceremony, that an heir to the empire’s throne had been born, or that a distant battle had been won. The Angel went on to say that someone had indeed been born, calling him both Savior and Lord. Again, in Rome, these words had specific meaning. Savior was a title given to – guess who? Augustus! He was the one who had healed the chaos of Rome and brought the empire into a golden age. Lord, as well, was a title for the Supreme Roman ruler. And then came the song of the heavenly host: ‘Glory to God in the Highest, and peace on earth to those on whom God’s favor rests.’ Similar choruses were sung to Augustus, who, after all, had brought ‘peace’ to the empire. The words to one such ode were inscribed upon a government building in Asia Minor in 6 BC:

‘The most divine Caesar…we should consider equal to the Beginning of all things…for when everything was falling into disorder and tending toward dissolution, he restored it once more and gave the whole world a new aura; Caesar…the common good fortune of all…the beginning of life and vitality…all the cities unanimously adopt the birthday of the divine Caesar as the new beginning of the year…whereas providence which has regulated our whole existence…has brought our life to the climax of perfection in giving to us the emperor Augustus…who being sent to us and our descendants as Savior, has put an end to war and has set all things in order; and whereas having become god manifest, Caesar has fulfilled all the hopes of earlier times…the birthday of the god Augustus has been for the whole world the beginning of the Gospel.’

Get it? To the Roman world, a world focused on military, political, and imperial power, Augustus Caesar was the Good News. He was the Gospel. He was Savior and Lord. He was the one worthy of worship. God manifest among us! But in Luke’s story, the tale is flipped. The angels proclaim Jesus, the manger baby, to be the Good News. Jesus is the Gospel. Jesus is Savior and Lord. He is the one worthy to be worshipped. He is God manifest among us!

This makes the angel’s announcement the most politically subversive in history. It is the proclamation that the world’s glamorization of military, political, and imperial power isn’t all it is cracked up to be. It is the proclamation that in God’s eyes, true power is found in humility and weakness. The proclamation that, despite what the politics of Rome proclaim, God’s politics, the politics of Christmas, points to a different reality: Jesus is Lord and Caesar is not. If you want a Savior, a bringer of peace, you must follow Jesus, not the emperor.

Well, that’s nice. But does it have anything to do with us? Of course, it does. Perhaps, at this moment in history, and in this country, it has more to do with us than at any other time in recent memory. American society is deeply divided. Over what? Over who gets to play Caesar. There’s a lot that needs to happen to bridge that divide. A lot of soul searching, deep listening, and critical thinking needs to happen, for as Jesus said, a house divided against itself cannot stand. But whatever the rest of society chooses to do, we who call ourselves Christians especially need to take a deep breath and search our hearts.

For the great temptation, first presented to Jesus in the wilderness (see, Luke 4:1-13) and us ever since, is that we will place our hope in power games and entangle ourselves in the politics of empire. That we will follow imperial saviors. That we will embrace a false Augustinian gospel, which is, as Paul would put it, no gospel at all (see, Galatians 1:6-9). For you see, we were never meant to sing songs to the empire, be it red, blue, or purple. Be it Roman or American. Our call has been, is, and always will be, to join the chorus of the shepherds and angels and proclaim that there is only one Gospel. One Savior. One Lord. One who is worthy of our worship. He is the one born and laid in a manger, who lived to die on a cross for the sins of the world, who, from the moment of his birth, was proclaimed to rule a different kind of Kingdom; to be a different kind of King.

That’s not to say Jesus would have nothing to say about the issues of our day, or that those who follow him should stay silent in the face of evil. That would be wrong too. But as we discern what we should say and do we must remember that in a world filled with those who still believe that the path to glory is the way of Augustus, who strive for, and pledge allegiance to, military, political, and imperial power, there is but one choice for those who claim the title ‘Christian.’ That choice is to forsake all other allegiances and embrace the politics of Christmas, allowing its author to inform our place and position on all matters. This is the politics that calls us to stand only where Jesus stands and say and do only what he would say and do.

To paraphrase a line from Shane Claiborne and Chris Haw’s Jesus for President, this is the politics that will cause the faithful to say to those political, military, and imperial powers that demand their fealty: ‘Enough your imperial eagles. Enough with your donkeys and elephants. We pledge our allegiance to the Lamb.’

This Christmas, may we all do so.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Note: in addition to the paraphrased quote from Claiborne and Haw, I want to credit their book for the inscription to Caesar, historical references to meaning of ‘Gospel,’ ‘Savior’ and ‘Lord,’ and the overall spirit of this post.

Boo Radley and the Gospel of Christmas

‘When Israel was a child, I loved him, and I called my son out of Egypt. But the more I called to him, the farther he moved from me, offering sacrifices to the images of Baal and burning incense to idols. I myself taught Israel how to walk, leading him along by the hand. But he didn’t know or even care that it was I who took care of him. I led Israel along with my ropes of kindness and love. I lifted the yoke from his neck, and I myself stooped to feed him’ – Hosea 11:1-4 (New Living Translation)

Back in the 1970s, The Animals had a hit song that included the line, ‘I’m just a soul whose intentions are good, O Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood.’ I sometimes think it’s a line God could sing to himself. There are some who adhere to the theology of Homer Simpson, who once prayed, ‘O smiteful One, tell me who to smite and they shall be smoten!’ God, to many, is violent, vengeful, and vindictive.

It doesn’t help that professing Christian promote this idea. Some time ago, a group of ‘Christian’ protestors gathered just a block from the church where I serve bearing signs that proclaimed God’s hatred for the LGBT community, feminists, liberals, and a host of others. And while that’s an extreme example, there are others who, while seeming more respectable, nonetheless, say things that render God unapproachable. It’s a long and inglorious tradition. At the time of Jesus’ birth, some religious leaders peddled a God who could only be approached with extreme trepidation. Indeed, if you were sick, poor, or beset with problems, they said, it was almost certainly your fault, and you needed to clean up your act before God would have anything to do with you. Far from the image of God depicted by Hosea, who led his child by the hand despite his failures, these religious leaders made God out to be the bogeyman.

You can understand how this view came to be. Israel’s history was ripe for misinterpretation. Prophets repeatedly called Israel to faithfulness, warning of the consequences of turning from Yahweh, and again and again, when Israel broke faith, trouble ensued. When she did, it was easy to interpret events to mean that God had brought wrath and violence upon his people. In fact, God did no such thing; the people, by rejecting God’s lifegiving ways, had brought wrath and violence upon themselves. But even as Israel faced the consequences of her foolishness, God never turned from her. Through the same prophets who issued words of warning, God also spoke words of consolation, of his longing for his people to return to him that he might, as Hosea said a bit later in his book of prophecy, ‘love them freely’ (Hosea 14:4). Yes, even when Israel turned, God remained faithful. His love remained unconditional. Somehow though, the religious leaders in the days before (and after) Jesus’ birth missed that. They felt you had to earn God’s love, and if you didn’t, it would probably be best for you to stay away. And so, the image of a vindictive God got all the press, and the image of the God whose sole desire was to comfort his children as a mother comforts hers, was, by and large, lost.

But God had a plan to fix that. Michael W. Smith has a great Christmas Song, The Final Word, wherein he sings, ‘in the space of the beginning, was the living Word of light, when that word was clearly spoken all that came to be was right. All creation had a language, words to say what must be said, all day long the heavens whispered, signing words in scarlet red. Some had failed to understand it, so God spoke the Final Word, on a silent night in Judah’s hills, a baby’s cry was heard.’ Christmas, folks, is God’s answer to our misconceptions about him.

At Christmas, God, who had, as the writer of Hebrews tells us, spoken previously through the prophets, now spoke through the Son, who is no one less than God with us. God became one of us, descending from the infinite reaches of eternity into the womb of a virgin, born as a helpless infant and laid in a feeding trough. He became first a craftsman who understood the labor of men and then the gentle, compassionate teacher who healed the sick, lifted the despondent, shared companionship with notorious sinners, and never, not once, turned anyone away, no matter who they were, where they had been, or what they had done. In the Incarnation, in the person of Jesus, we behold the true image of God. An image that defies the misconceptions that have survived from the first century to our own. Dick Westley put it this way: ‘the old image of a vindictive, mean and jealous God gives way in Jesus to the God of faith who cherishes people, all people, and has made his abode with them. Jesus presented a God who does not demand but gives; does not oppress but raises up; does not wound but heals. A God who forgives instead of condemning and liberates instead of punishing.’

This was the purpose of the Incarnation. To, as Brennan Manning put it, ‘convince us of the faithful love of God.’

Some years ago, I caught a glimpse of this wonderful truth while reading one of my favorite books, To Kill a Mockingbird. Harper Lee’s story is cherished for many reasons. It is a story of racial injustice, of a black man, Tom Robinson, on trial in the south for a crime he didn’t commit. It’s the story of Atticus Finch, a man of integrity who fights for justice in an unjust world (forget the version from that other book!). It’s the coming-of-age story of Atticus’ two children, Scout, his 6-year-old tomboy daughter, and her older brother Jem. But it’s also the story of the enigmatic Arthur Radley, known to all as Boo.

No one really knows Boo. Scout describes his house down the street as a home ‘inhabited by an unknown entity the mere description of whom was enough to make us behave for days on end.’ In truth, this ‘malevolent phantom’ is a 33-year-old man with special needs, but no one knows that. The stories about him are whoppers. Jem insists he’s ‘six feet tall, judging from his tracks,’ and ‘dines on raw squirrels and any cats he can catch.’ The rumor is that he peeps through windows at night, has bloodstained hands, a jagged scar on his face, and yellow teeth. Everyone knows to stay away from the Radley place. No one ever climbs the steps to say ‘hey’ on a Sunday afternoon, no one dares to pick pecans from the tree in the Radley yard. If a baseball was hit into it, ‘it was a lost ball, no questions asked.’

During the course of the story, Scout and Jem become curious about Boo and begin to play games designed to make ‘Boo Radley come out’ so they can get a look at him. They don’t really get anywhere. But along the way, strange things happen that are not in keeping with the stories they’ve heard. Once, while playing in a tire that accidentally rolls all the way up the Radley sidewalk onto the steps, Scout hears someone laughing inside. Another time, after running from a failed attempt to sneak up on Boo’s back porch at night, Jem got his pants caught on barbed wire and had to run home in his underwear. The next morning, when he went back to get them, they were mended and neatly rolled up as if they expected him. And then there were the presents. Scout and Jem would find them in the knothole of a tree in Boo’s yard. Two soap dolls, a boy and girl: images of themselves. A watch and chain. Good luck pennies. A ball of twine. Chewing gum. An old spelling bee medal. An aluminum knife. It should have been obvious who they came from, but with all their misconceptions, Scout and Jem never suspected that Boo was their source.

The year progresses and Atticus tries in vain to defend Tom Robinson. The racist jury convicts him, and the hearts of the children break. Scout thoughts increasingly tend in Boo’s direction. Then one night walking home from a school pageant, Scout and Jem are attacked by the racist Bob Ewell, who is out for revenge against Atticus for making him look like a fool at the trial. He’s out for blood, but suddenly from out of the woods comes the unknown hero who has been listening and watching all along. He saves the children and carries an injured Jem home. As folks gather at the Finch’s to figure out what happened, the hero, who is of course the misunderstood Boo Radley, huddles in the corner out of sight, as if waiting for someone to invite him in. Scout sees he’s nothing like what people have said. She watches as a timid smile breaks across his face. ‘Hey Boo,’ she says. Her father makes the introduction: ‘Jean Louise [Scout’s true name], this is Mr. Arthur Radley. I believe he already knows you.’ Smiling, he whispers to Scout, ‘Will you take me home?’ Scout does, leading Boo by the hand to his front porch. Scout turns and looks at her town, suddenly seeing what the past year must have looked like from Boo’s perspective. And this is what she sees:

‘It was summertime, and two children scampered down the sidewalk toward a man approaching in the distance…still summertime, and the children came closer… Fall, and his children fought on the sidewalk…Fall, and the children trotted to and fro around the corner, the day’s woes and triumphs on their faces. They stopped at an oak tree, delighted, puzzled, apprehensive. Winter, and the children shivered on the front gate…Summer again, and he watched his children’s heart’s break. Autumn again, and Boo’s children needed him. One time, Atticus said you never really know a man until you stand in his shoes and walk around in them. Just standing on the Radley porch was enough.’

This Christmas season, as I stand on Boo’s porch with Scout, I see what it must be like for God to be misunderstood, even feared. Maybe you, reader, are someone who has misunderstood and feared him. Maybe you have been taught to stay away from him just as Jem and Scout were taught to keep away from the Radley place. Maybe you would never ordinarily dare to drop by his house on a Sunday to say ‘hey.’ If so, I want you to know something. He isn’t who you’ve been led to believe. Get the old images out of your head. Imagine instead, a manger. A baby. Can you see him? Let me introduce you. This is Jesus. This is God. I believe he already knows you. He has watched and smiled and laughed while you have played. He has lavished all sorts of gifts upon you. He has hurt when you hurt. And right now, the thing he wants more than anything, is for you to invite him in. He isn’t angry with you. He loves you and wants to be part of your life. This Christmas, I pray you let him in.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Time to Share

‘If you have two shirts, give one to the poor. If you have food, share it with those who are hungry’ – John the Baptist, Luke 3:11

The news hit the day after Thanksgiving. As tens of millions of Americans rushed to stores and online to take advantage of Black Friday sales, the World Health Organization released news about the dreaded Omicron Variant. Stock markets plunged, travel restrictions were imposed, and supply lines came to a stand-still. Suddenly, the prospect of a post-Thanksgiving/holiday Covid surge took on dire new dimensions as people contemplated the news that the new variant boasts a ‘constellation of mutations’ that may enable it to evade both vaccine and natural immunity.

The jury is still out on just how bad this really is, so it is premature to panic. It may well be the case, one can hope, that this will turn out to be much ado about nothing. Nonetheless, the arrival of a new ‘variant of concern’ offers an opportunity to reflect on the world’s response to the pandemic, in particular the failure of the wealthier nations to share their vaccine blessedness with less affluent countries.

Omicron has its origins in South Africa, a nation with a relatively low vaccination rate (35%). Poorer African nations are more severely under-vaccinated. Nigeria, for example, has a rate of 1.7%. Ethiopia, 1.3%. The Democratic Republic of Congo is at 2.1%. The continent as a whole stands at around 4%, with poorer nations averaging, as the examples cited evidence, less than 2%.

And that’s just Africa. Poorer countries around the world are overwhelmingly unvaccinated.

As a Christian, I find this appalling, as I hope you do too. Two reasons, the first being basic fairness. John the Baptist’s observation about sharing clothing and food seems to apply to vaccines just as well. In wealthier nations, including the United States, we throw expired vaccines away every day. We have far more than we need (even if the persistently stubborn were to break down and take a needle, we would have plenty). Seven days ago, America reached the point where 36% of Americans had received a third dose of the vaccine. I myself am so boosted, a decision I weighed carefully, considering the very topic I am currently addressing. I decided to get the shot because they were abundant here in the states and, given the current state of vaccine hesitancy, would go bad if not used. It did pain me somewhat to know I was getting a third shot when hundreds of millions have yet to get one.

This widespread availability of the vaccine at home, and the receipt of boosters, is not necessarily a cause for hand wringing. Citizens of wealthier nations could, if we set our collective mind to it, provide more than enough vaccine for both ourselves and the world. I am no expert, and I am sure there are deep complexities involved, but two steps in particular seem in order. First, wealthier nations could simply create a Marshall-type plan on Covid and appropriate billions of dollars to the purchase and deployment of vaccines throughout the world. Second, the Pharmaceutical companies that created the available vaccines could release their patents, enabling vaccines to be developed at a faster pace throughout the world. Pope Francis called for such a step in October, calling on Pharmaceutical companies to ‘Make a gesture of humanity and allow every country, every people, every human being, to have access to the vaccines.’

‘Oh but we can’t spend our money distributing vaccines everywhere!’ I can hear some say. ‘We need to make sure we have enough vaccine to protect ourselves! Not everyone is vaccinated here. America first!’ Putting aside that Americans here have had plenty of time to get vaccinated, this argument is hollow, self-serving, and certainly contrary to the teachings of Jesus. I love the story of Jesus and the Syro-Phoenician woman in the Gospels. A foreigner came to Jesus asking for healing for her daughter. Jesus, knowing his disciples’ prejudices, initially put her off by saying he had come for the children of Israel, not outsiders, thereby revealing the ugliness of the disciples’ nationalist, ‘Israel first’ mentality. When she persisted in her pleas for help, Jesus delivered the woman’s daughter to wholeness. There are many lessons in the story, but among them is the realization that Jesus didn’t just offer ‘healthcare’ to those close to home. He made it available wherever it was needed.

As for the release of patents, I am sure that I (and the Pope) will be accused of naivete. Do you not understand the nature of the pharmaceutical industry? Or the precedent it would set for the future? Why should companies that invest millions, even billions, not be able to reap the rewards of their labor. To tamper with the invisible hand of the Pharmaceutical marketplace would be to denigrate capitalism. Well, in the first place, these vaccines were produced, at least in the United States (and I’m sure elsewhere) in part with public money, aka taxpayer dollars. And in the second place, this is a crisis moment in which millions of lives are at stake. If Big Pharma chooses profits over human lives at such a time as this, it will reveal the moral bankruptcy of its corporate soul and deserve whatever government encroachment on their turf ensues. As far as I’m concerned, if they will not release their patents voluntarily, they should be made to do so. Cries of socialism be damned.

The second reason I find the current state of vaccine disparity so appalling is this: it is not only morally wrong; it is galactically stupid. Failure to stop the spread of this mutating virus throughout the world means it will have more opportunities to metamorphose as it spreads, producing ever more variants of concern, each potentially more virulent than the last. We are flipping out over the Omicron variant at present. One wonders what happens by the time we get to the last letter of the Greek alphabet. The Omega variant might be one that lives up to its name, to the horror of us all.

The wealthier nations and the Pharmaceutical companies have a choice. We can do the right thing, save millions of lives, and in the process save ourselves. Or we can forsake the advice of John the Baptist to share, cling to what is ours, and watch the world descend into a chaos of our own making.

It’s time to listen to the Baptizer. It’s time to share. If we don’t, we may all live to regret it.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

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