May the Force…uh…Not be with You?

From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and the violent take it by force – Matthew 11:12 NRSV

I love Star Wars.  It’s been a part of my life since I was nine.  As a kid, I loved it for the light sabers, lasers, and quirky space characters.  As the years have rolled by, I’ve loved it for its decades’ long exposition of the battle between light and darkness, the downright biblical struggle of ordinary people fighting the forces of empire.  Star Wars has made more than a few appearances in my sermons over the years, and I have often compared the Way of Jesus to the Rebel Alliance. 

But I’m starting to realize I need to be careful there.  The comparison is a good one insofar as it reminds us that in a world full of imperialists, we need rebels to stand up for what’s right and present the option of another way.  But it’s not so good in terms of the way the rebels of Star Wars do that.  The rebels in Star Wars, you see, are violent.  You might say they are ‘forceful.’  The ‘god’ of the Star Wars universe is called, appropriately enough, ‘the Force.’  The rebels use ‘the Force,’ violently, just as they instinctively use other less mystical forms of violence to achieve their ends.  In doing so, they wind up fighting, at least to some degree, on the empire’s terms. 

That seems to work in the Star Wars universe.  But I’m beginning to see that it doesn’t work so well in the real world. 

Let me explain.

The forceful tend to have their way in our world.  Selfish men and women have used their power to construct a society that preserves their interests at the expense of the interests of others.  This typically means that the wealthy, the powerful, and the privileged are the ones who benefit from the way a society is organized.  This is true in all societies, even in supposedly democratic ones.  As a friend commented the other day, when we rail against the violence, corruption, and injustice inherent in our systems, we need to bear in mind that the problem with those systems isn’t that they are broken.  The problem is that they are working fine.  They are achieving exactly what they were designed to do. 

Take the present political scene as an example.  For years, many, myself included, have railed against an administration straight out of the Star Wars universe.  Our Palpatine may have orange hair, and his apprentice may not wear a black helmet, but the similarities are nonetheless present.  Day after day, we ‘rebels’ have imagined ourselves following in the footsteps of our Star Wars heroes, battling an administration that is undermining democratic principles and thrusting the nation in the direction of dictatorship.  Our tactics don’t involve lasers and light sabers, but we are fighting the battle on the enemy’s terms, that is, by means of power politics. 

And it isn’t working. 

Our enemies are simply too good at what they do.  They know how to use the systems they created.  And so, as we fight against them on their own turf, using their own means, we find ourselves losing.  I would go so far as to say that in the present crisis, we may have already lost.  Many of us have pinned our hopes on the 2020 election in the effort to rid the ‘galaxy’ of its current emperor. But I have become convinced that for all the rightness of our cause, we may in the end still come out on the losing side. The emperor, despite our best efforts and current polling, stands a good chance of being re-elected.  Indeed I believe that’s likely. Why?  Because the system has been rigged by the violent, and violent men and women know how win by force. Sure, I hope I’m wrong. But you have to admit, it’s at least a distinct possibility.

Which leads me to believe there must be a better way.

And that takes me to Jesus. 

Jesus had a different approach.  Instead of battling the kingdoms of the forceful by using their means, he wrote a new script for insurrection.  He eschewed, not just violence, but all tactics of the imperialists.  He created an alternative community and called it to live at the heart of the empire.  His followers, he envisioned, would follow in his steps.  They would not seek political power.  Their movement would be ‘political‘ in the sense that it would challenge the current order, but it would not be political in the sense the imperialists used that word. They would not fight on the enemy’s terms.  They would love, sacrifice, and serve.  They would do these things even as the empire attacked them, even as it killed them.  Living this way, God’s way, they would offer the world another path.  This would be the way to bring in God’s Kingdom.  This, in fact, would be God’s Kingdom.

A movie series about such a rebellion taking place a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away probably wouldn’t sell as many tickets as the Skywalker saga.  But here’s the thing: in the real world, this form of rebellion actually works.  We know this because God’s word tells us so.  One day, when history draws to a close, it will be those who participated in this rebellion who will be hailed, alongside of Jesus, as the world’s true heroes (see, e.g., Revelation 7:9-17). 

I’ve been thinking about this kind of thing a lot lately.  In a time when evil politicians plot and scheme, my forty plus years of immersion in the Star Wars universe makes me want to fight.  I read the news.  I see the cruel, foolish, life-endangering acts of the imperialists, and my heart and soul cries to unite with Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Leia Organa, and Rey Skywalker (nee Palpatine).  And while I do not turn to physical violence, the alignment of my heart to fight on the empire’s terms does spiritual violence to my soul.  I become angry, to the point of coming close to forsaking the call to love my enemies and follow Jesus’ path of downward mobility.  I am tempted to align myself with those who can take power and change the world from the top down, instead of from the bottom up.  And while I convince myself that I am fighting the good fight, I neglect the subtle danger that comes with aligning oneself with another, more benign version of empire, another attempt to establish a kingdom by force. 

And that is not Jesus’ way.

Don’t get me wrong.  It’s not that those who follow Jesus’ way need to be silent doormats who say nothing while the imperialists cause them harm, or worse, say nothing while they hurt and harm others.  And it isn’t that we should refrain from taking sides in the struggle for justice (a tactic only the privileged can afford to take). That isn’t Jesus’ way either.  It is incumbent upon us to speak truth to power, challenge the empire, and present alternative ways of living.  It is incumbent upon us to demonstrate, in word and deed, the truth of Jesus’ Kingdom. 

But I, we, need to be careful of what we allow into our hearts.  We need to be careful lest we begin a journey that employs force instead of love, plays into the enemy’s hands, and forsakes the winning way of Jesus. 

And so, today, I’m committing myself anew to the rebellion of Jesus.  The rebellion of love.  And I’m praying and thinking hard about how to best do that.  If you are interested in making the same commitment, I’d love to hear from you.  Perhaps together we can find our way, which is and always must be the way of Jesus.    

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

White America – This is on Us

‘I can’t breathe.  And you still can’t hear me’ – Nick Cannon

‘A riot is the language of the unheard’ – The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

The riots.  They started because of what happened to George Floyd.  A 46-year-old African American man murdered facedown with a white police officer’s knee on his neck. 

No.  That’s wrong.  They didn’t begin there.  That was just the most recent catalyst.  The riots began, perhaps, with Ahmaud Arbery, gunned down by two white vigilantes guarding a construction site. 

Or did it begin with Michael Brown?  Or Freddie Gray.  Or maybe Eric Garner.  Or Trayvon Martin.  Or maybe we need to go back even further.  Maybe it was Rodney King. 

Or maybe it was even before that. 

Just when did the violence begin?

It began with America. 

Despite what you may have been indoctrinated to believe, our conception as a nation was steeped as much in violence, racism, and genocide as it was in liberty.  Liberty was for the property-owning white man.  Brutality, slavery, and slaughter were the lot of African Americans, Native Americans, and other people of color.    This is how our nation began.  You might say that was a long time ago, but here’s the problem: this is how we began, and we have never come to terms with it as a nation.

Instead, we have re-imagined violence and racism against people of color in every generation.  We could talk about how this has affected various peoples, but for our present purposes we will focus on the effect on Black lives.  Slavery ends.  The Black Codes come into being.  Then Sharecropping.  Lynching.  Segregation.  White flight.  Mass Incarceration.  Unequal School funding.  Police brutality.  Each, along with thousands of others, an act of mass violence against people of color.  And all the while, the African American community has cried out.  They have marched peaceably.  They have shouted for our attention.  They have begged us to listen to their pain.  They have cried, over and over, that their lives matter.  That they can’t breathe.  That they need us to stop putting our knees on their necks. 

And how have we responded?  Well, some have listened.  Even acted.  But most have not.  And even those who have acted have not done enough.  Overall, the response has been one of dismissal, outrage, or perhaps worst of all, silence.  When African Americans cry, ‘Black Lives Matter,’ we dismissively say, ‘All Lives Matter,’ which is of course a lie unless and until Black Lives Matter.  When Colin Kaepernick peacefully took a knee on the sideline during the playing of the national anthem to protest the lack of value for Black Life, the response of white America was largely one of outrage.  How dare he?  He and the others he inspired were told to ‘shut up and play football.’  The President of the United States called him a ‘son of a bitch’ and demanded that the NFL stop the protests, which they did.  And worst of all, as story after story of brutality committed against unarmed blacks mounted, what did most of white America do?  Nothing.  We were silent.  Either because we didn’t care, or we were too afraid to disturb the serenity of our privileged lives and relationships.  Don’t say anything in church; we wouldn’t want to offend anyone.  Don’t confront your racist family members; we need to maintain harmony.  Don’t speak up in mixed political company; we need to avoid uncomfortable conversations.  Better to keep your mouth shut.  Better to turn off the sounds and cries of the hurting Black community and pretend that everything is OK. 

And then, when we have thoroughly ignored those cries, when we have expressed outrage or otherwise dismissed the concerns of hurting people, when we have allowed the collective weight of four hundred years of oppression to bear down on people’s necks until they can’t breathe any longer, and when SOME protestors (and please note that – MOST of the protests have been peaceful) decide that peaceful protest is not enough to make people pay attention, and resort to violence and rioting, what do we do?  We act surprised.  Quite frankly, the only thing we should be surprised about is the remarkable level of restraint exercised by the African American community throughout our history.  I bet you anything that if white people were treated a hundredth as bad for a mere three weeks, we would be rioting en masse. 

The rioting we see on the news right now is the inevitable result of our history, our hatred, our callousness, and our silence.  The riots, my white American friends, are on us.  Martin Luther King, who denounced riots that were taking place in his day, said this:

‘It is not enough for me to stand before you tonight and condemn riots.  It would be morally irresponsible for me to do that without, at the same time, condemning the contingent, intolerable conditions that exist in our society.  These conditions are the things that cause individuals to feel they have no alternative than to engage in violent rebellions to get attention.  And I must say tonight that a riot is the language of the unheard.  And what is it America has failed to hear?  It has failed to hear that the plight of the Negro poor has worsened…It has failed to hear that the promises of freedom and justice have not been met.  And it has failed to hear that large segments of white society are more concerned with tranquility and the status quo than about justice and humanity.’

Amen.

I sit at my desk today, typing, and feel those words in my very marrow.  I, like Dr. King, condemn the violence we see in the riots.  Violence is simply not the answer.  As a follower of Jesus, I say with Dr. King that the answers to the problems we face will not be found by employing the tactics of our enemies.   Violence will not cure the violence that has been perpetrated against African Americans and other people of color.  Only love can do that.  That may sound naïve, but I believe it to my core.  I believe it, first, because it is the way of Jesus.  But I also believe it because history has shown that where violence fails, love wins.  Love has the capacity to change the world.  I have written enough of this in other blogs, books, and sermons not to belabor the point, but it is true.  Love works.  Love prevails.  From Calvary to Gandhi to the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s to the present day.  Love advances the Kingdom of Love and Light.  But violence only begets more violence.

Which takes me to last night.  Monday.  June 1, 2020.  A day that one can only hope will represent the low point of this present crisis.  Most of us saw it on the news.  The President, eager for a photo op in front of an historic church, set in motion an event that should shock the collective conscience of the nation, as tear gas and rubber bullets were launched against a group of peaceful protestors outside of the White House.  Worse, he is presently threatening to unleash military hell on protestors throughout the nation.  That the President would do this should come as no surprise.  For one thing, no one in our time serves as a better representative of the hate, callousness, and dismissiveness of the value of Black and Brown life.  This is the man who called Colin Kaepernick a son of a bitch.  This is the man who has sown seeds of hate and violence throughout his presidency (and before that, his candidacy).  This is the man who praised white supremacist protestors as ‘good people,’ who championed armed white fanatics who opposed stay at home orders during the current pandemic, yet immediately labeled those protesting in the wake of George Floyd’s death as ‘thugs.’  But beyond this man’s personal penchant for racial divisiveness, this is what power does.  The power that created this nation in violence is still using violence to maintain its privilege and position.  And, I fear, will continue to do so, using the violence of the oppressed to justify further oppression.  It is a vicious cycle we have seen too many times in this nation.  The white dominant society perpetrates violence (including the violence of silence) against a minority group.  The minority group’s cries go unheard.  Their unheard cries erupt in acts of violence.  The ‘system’ responds brutally.  And then there is a lull.  Until the next time.  Lather.  Rinse.  Repeat.  On and on it goes, and when it will stop, nobody knows. 

But it can stop.  It can stop if we pledge right now to end the violence.  And by this, I mean of course, in part, that those who have resorted to violence to express their pain refrain from further acts of violence.  I know that’s hard and may sound like the voice of a privileged white man, but I say it out of love, as the father of an African American son, and from a sincere desire to make things better – for him and for everyone.  But even more, I mean that those of us who have for too long done nothing to address the violence experienced by the African American community and other communities of color, those of us who have, by our dismissiveness and silence become perpetrators of violence ourselves, do violence no more. 

It is time to end the violence of our history. It is time to end the violence perpetrated against black and brown bodies.  It is time to end the violence of racist, authoritarian leaders at every level of government by voting them out of office.  It is time to work tenaciously for change.  It is time to end the violence of our silence. 

White America, this is on us.  It is up to us to speak up.  To value black life more than our neighborhood tranquility.  To let those we have hurt know that we are sorry, and that we are ready to do something about it.

It is time for all of us to stand up and by our words and actions let everyone know that Black Lives Matter.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Bread and Circuses

‘Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel’ – Samuel Johnson

I’ll admit the Blue Angels are cool .  I remember seeing them as a kid at the Lakehurst Naval Air station.  My Mom and I watched the expert flyers execute their exacting maneuvers in the sky.  It was an awesome day.  I was totally wowed by their stunts and formations. 

So it was kind of cool when they flew overhead a few weeks ago.  It was cool again when the New Jersey Air National Guard performed a similar fly over the following week.    The coolest thing was that the flyovers were intended to honor frontline health care workers.  Having seen these workers caring for my Dad, who recently died of Covid-19, I can only say that we cannot honor these heroes enough. 

So I should probably have been on the streets cheering for the planes as they flew overhead, right?

Unfortunately, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.  Not because I don’t honor our frontline heroes, but because I know this is the kind of distraction that inept governments routinely employ to hide corruption and incompetence. And I can’t help but feel that is precisely why the present administration in Washington D.C. suggested the flyovers in the first place.

The Pandemic has been raging for months.  What has the Administration done?  Well, before it even hit, the President had already eliminated the White House Office for Pandemic Response.  Then, when it hit, he called it a hoax for weeks.  His response since has been a slow train wreck.  No national strategy.  Lackluster testing and tracing.  Political attacks on Blue State Governors (and a couple of Red State Governors for that matter).  A near total disregard for the advice and opinions of the CDC and epidemiologists.  Firing health officials who dare point out the inadequacy of the federal response.  Forcing states to compete for supplies.  Eliminating and ignoring guidelines and pushing to reopen the economy in their absence.  Encouraging protestors, many of whom are armed and/or carrying nooses, swastikas, and confederate flags.  Refusing to wear a mask – and mocking those who do. Refusing to address shortages of PPE and other lifesaving equipment.  Blaming everything on the Chinese (because, after all, wouldn’t all the problems we face have to be the fault of foreign devils?).   Pushing untested drugs (and taking them!). And perhaps most infamously, suggesting cleaning agents such as Lysol or Clorox be used to clean our bodies from the inside out (and no, he wasn’t kidding). 

We are being led, in a time of crisis, by a narcissistic buffoon who cares only for his own political prospects.  If you object to my calling the President a narcissistic buffoon, I can only say, as former Republican campaign consultant Steve Schmidt recently noted while using similar terms, that I do not use them to be insulting; I use them because they are the precise words available in the English language to describe his character. The President has handled this crisis with all the aplomb of a petulant toddler who hasn’t gotten his cookies at snack time. 

But hey, don’t worry!  Look up the sky!  Listen to the sound of the jets!  Get out your American flags and wave them!  It’s the sight and sound of America being made great again!

Or is it rather the sight and sound of a great distraction? 

The Romans had payoffs and gladiatorial contests to distract their people from imperial incompetence and corruption.  It was part of what they called ‘bread and circuses.’ In 2020, we have the Blue Angels. 

I’m not falling for it.  If you want to honor our frontline health workers, and I certainly do, then tell the President and his cronies to come up with a scientifically based national strategy for fighting this pandemic.  Tell him to stop politicizing his response and to give our frontline heroes the supplies and systems they need to fight this thing. 

Until that happens, the flyovers, while cool, are little more than a modern version of bread and circuses. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

The Great Divide

They dress the wound of my people as though it were not serious. ‘Peace, peace,’ they say, when there is no peace – Jeremiah 6:14

As I walk through this time of pandemic, as I come to terms with the realities of this season, and as I make decisions about how to protect my family, the church I have been called to pastor, and my community, my mind keeps going back to an episode of Little House on the Prairie. 

It’s Christmas Eve, and Miss Beadle, the schoolteacher of Walnut Grove, decides to give her students an early present.   There is a light snowfall, and she announces that they can all go home early.  What she doesn’t know is that the light snowfall is about to turn into a blizzard.  As the kids make their way home, they are overtaken by the storm.  Many make it safely to their nearby homes.  But those who live farther away from town, like the Ingles girls, wind up caught in the storm with no sense of direction and no hope of finding their way home. 

The town soon pulls together to deal with the crisis.  Doc Baker enlists the women of the town to gather at the schoolhouse (which is also the town church) to get fires going and prepare to treat any of the children who are recovered and in need of care.  The Men of Walnut Grove are organized into search parties and begin to scour the routes that lead out of the town’s center.  It’s hard going.  The wind is fierce, and they are practically snow blind.  One of the men, desperate to find his son, pushes too far.   Not wearing the proper clothing, he is especially vulnerable to the elements, and they eventually take him down.  He falls in the woods.

The search parties eventually come across his dead body.  Because the children are still missing, there is nothing they can do but let his corpse lie in the woods where it is slowly covered with snow.

The search continues long into the night, as children are slowly found and returned to the school/church.  On Christmas morning, the last of the children are finally found, and there is a celebration.  The parents rejoice.  Talk about tidings of comfort and joy!  All the children have been found!  Everyone is safe!   Everyone is so happy. 

But then Charles notices that ‘everyone’ doesn’t mean everyone.  Standing alone on the other side of the building is the widow and son of the man who had fallen in the woods.  The crisis may have ended well for most of Walnut Grove, but for those who lost their loved one, the dawn brought no peace, no comfort, and no joy.   Compassionately, Charles moves to the pulpit and reads words of comfort from the Bible, drawing everyone’s attention to the family’s grief.  This ends the celebration, but it reminds the people of the reality of the crisis they have passed through.  Not everyone is happy.  Some have suffered, and will continue to suffer, profound loss. 

There is a great divide in America right now.  Actually, there are many in these divisive times.  But one of the deepest and cruelest is the one between those who have lost someone they love to the pandemic and those who have not. 

Having lost my Dad to this crisis, I have to say that the existence of this divide cuts deep.  I have been blessed by many friends who have understood my grief, and am thankful for the many people who have, like Charles Ingles, chosen to stand on my side of the divide.  But it is hard to watch the reactions of those on the other side.   It is difficult to listen to people claim this ‘plandemic’ is a hoax.  Or selfishly protest reasonable and scientifically grounded policies designed to save vulnerable lives.  Or say that it’s no big deal because, after all, it’s only the vulnerable, weak, old, and unhealthy who die anyway (which isn’t even always the case).  Or that the inconvenience of all this has gone on long enough and they want to just get back to normal so they can get their hair cut, go on vacation, go to church, or sit downtown and sip their double mocha lattes again on Thursday afternoons.  That it’s time to open everything up again without reasonable restriction or caution because, well, the crisis hasn’t affected them and probably won’t, so who the hell cares about anyone else. 

Like the woman and her son, those of us who have lost loved ones to Covid-19 can only stand apart and wonder how people can be so self-absorbed, how they can care so little for the ongoing loss of and risk to vulnerable life. 

I know.  I’m a killjoy.  I’m harshing everyone’s buzz as they prepare for the glorious day when things ‘get back to normal.’   Sorry to be such an inconvenience.  But those of us who have lost loved ones, and there are many of us, know several things the celebrants don’t seem to fully appreciate. 

We know that this virus kills.  Hard and fast.  We know that it steals loved ones away. 

We know that frontline health care workers are risking their lives every day.  Not just because we read about it in the papers, but because we’ve watched them caring for our loved ones. 

We know what’s it’s like to have to say goodbye to someone you love on Face Time.   What it feels like to not be able to hold their hand or embrace them one last time.  And we know what it’s like to grieve their loss without any of the traditional means and methods of mourning. 

We know that it’s both selfish and cruel to act as if all is right with the world in the presence of those who know such things. 

And we know that the storm is still raging. 

So, as we stand off in the corner, on our side of the great divide, all we can do is scratch our heads at the foolishness and selfishness of those who celebrate the end of a blizzard that is, in fact, far from over. 

Under Christ’s Mercy

Brent

A Father’s Love

There are a few stories I could tell today, but this one rises to the forefront of my mind. 

I was in sixth grade, and my basketball team was returning from a father and son outing to see the Nets play the Knicks at the Meadowlands.  I can’t remember who won, but I certainly remember what happened on the way home.  We were cruising back down the Garden State Parkway in a greyhound bus when the driver asked all the rowdy kids to quiet down and remain in their seats.  It wasn’t a simple matter of his being distracted. There was a serious problem. 

The bus’s accelerator was stuck, and the driver couldn’t slow it down.  (No, Keanu Reeves does not enter this story).   

As first, the kids (including myself) thought this was awesome, especially as we zoomed through our first toll booth.  Our dads took it a bit more seriously, and as the adventure continued, their concerned looks convinced us that this was no laughing matter.  I soon realized that unless something happened to slow the bus down, we would eventually run out of highway, and that would not be a good thing. 

Our escapade continued for over an hour, complete with police cars racing ahead to clear the way.  As I sat in my seat, I kept looking at my father, who was sitting next to me.  While he seemed a bit concerned, he kept telling me not to worry, that things would be alright, smiling confidently as he spoke, which went a long way toward putting my mind at ease.  Thankfully, after a while, the bus driver managed to regain control of the bus, and we arrived safely at our destination.  When we did, the whole thing didn’t seem so bad – more like a grand adventure, one that I and the other kids were sure to brag about the next day at school. 

But the most important part of this so-called adventure was what I overheard later that night.  My Dad was talking to my Mom about what happened.  As I said, on the bus, my Dad kept projecting an attitude of calm confidence.  But when he talked to my Mom, all of that shattered.  He had been really shaken up by the whole thing.  He really thought that we were going to crash.  And as I continued to listen (I was a bad little eavesdropper, I suppose), I heard my Dad say something I will never forget.  He said, with his heart rising in his throat, that he had been ready to put me on the floor and wrap himself around me to protect me from being hurt in the crash.  The words sank into my mind with lightning speed –my Dad was saying that if the bus had crashed, he would have been willing to put himself in a position to absorb the full impact of the disaster, giving up his own life in the process, in order to save mine. 

Looking back, I can say this was one of the most impactful moments of my life.  I already knew my Dad loved me.  But to hear him say he was willing to give his life for me – that told me how much he loved me.  And when you know that you are loved to that extent, well, that really changes the way you feel about yourself.  That changes the way you feel about – everything.  Life is never the same again once you know that someone sees you as worth dying for.  It lets you know you are more than a little special in their eyes. 

It was years before I communicated to my Father what that meant to me.  But eventually I did.  In the past few days, I had the opportunity to remind him.  I credit my Dad, in this and other instances I could write about, for teaching me what the love of a father looks like.  And I credit my Dad, in this and other instances I could write about, for teaching me what the love of God looks like.  It looks like Calvary.  It looks like a love willing to wrap itself around the beloved and absorb the full impact of a disaster, giving up its own life in the process in order to save the beloved. 

Yeah, my Dad taught me that.  In the love he showed to me, I saw the love of God. 

Yesterday morning, I lost my Dad to Covid-19.  We had suspected he had it for a week, and when the test came back positive, we knew there was a good chance that this would be it.  As we talked again and again, my Dad remained my Dad.  He never once seemed concerned about himself.  His only concern was that the rest of his family was safe and well.  And if he could have, he would have gladly wrapped himself around each of us, and absorbed the full impact of the disaster, to save even just one of us. 

That was my Dad.  And now, he is face to face with the One who wrapped his arms around him. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Above Mirkwood

‘I will refresh the weary and satisfy the faint’ – Jeremiah 31:25

‘Is there no end to this accursed forest?’ – Bilbo Baggins, in The Hobbit

Bilbo and the Dwarves were spent.  Passing through Mirkwood had proven to be even more of a challenge than expected.  During the opening days of their passage, they experienced occasional beams of sunlight that slipped through the canopy above, but as they moved deeper into the forest, light became a memory.  Tolkien writes:

‘The nights were the worst.  It then became pitch-dark – not what you call pitch dark, but really pitch; so black that you really could see nothing.  Bilbo tried flapping his hand in front of his nose, but he could not see it at all.  Well, perhaps that is not true to say that they could see nothing; they could see eyes.  They slept all closely huddled together, and took it in turns to watch; and when it was Bilbo’s turn he would see gleams in the darkness round them, and sometimes pairs of yellow or red or green eyes would stare at him from a little distance, and then slowly fade and disappear and slowly shine out again in another place.  And sometimes they would gleam down from the branches above him; and that was most terrifying.’

Before many days passed, they ran low on supplies, and then, following a most unfortunate attempt to cross a stream, lost what little remained.  They were out of food and water, and nearly out of hope.  It seemed the journey through the darkness would never end. 

Finally, Thorin Oakenshield, the dwarves’ leader, suggested that ‘someone’ climb a tree to see if the edge of the forest could be seen.  ‘Someone,’ of course, meant Bilbo Baggins. 

And so up Bilbo went.  He didn’t have much experience climbing trees, but he made the best effort he could.  This too was hard going.  He had to push his way through branches, catching many a ‘slap in the eye’ as he did, and nearly fell several times.  But at long last he made his way to the top. 

Where he was amply rewarded for his trouble.  At first, he was nearly blinded by the light after having lived in darkness so many days.  But as his eyes adjusted, he took in a brilliant view.  The sun shone in all its glory.  He felt its warmth upon his face.  Beneath and all around he beheld a sea of dark green, rippling with every breeze, and thousands of butterflies.  Bilbo looked at the butterflies a long time, basking in the sunlight and breeze.  After so many days in a dark forest, it was a taste of heaven. 

Sadly, he didn’t see the end of the forest, and so, when he went back down, didn’t have any definitive answers for the dwarves as to how much longer their dark journey might last.  But the beauty he glimpsed atop the boughs of Mirkwood were lifegiving and sustaining, which may explain why, for those who know the story, while the dwarves would lose their heads in coming days, Bilbo would be able to keep his. 

Walking through this weird COVID-19 experience, my mind has returned over and again to this episode in The Hobbit.   I find myself yearning for, and thankfully finding, moments ‘above Mirkwood.’  At times it feels as if we are traveling through a darkness that seems to have no end, or at least no end in sight.  And once in a while, we look out and see ‘eyes:’ nasty tidbits in the news; reports from hospitals; stories of friends, neighbors and even family who are infected; bills we may not be able to pay; pantries running low on supplies and grocery stores with bare shelves; outrageous remarks from leaders who should be leading but are instead grandstanding and acting like fools (yeah, I’m talking about him); and other nonsense that only serves to heighten our anxiety.  The eyes disappear for a time, but then reappear, and it is eerie beyond belief.  Indeed, it is at times most terrifying. 

Which is why it is so important to find time above Mirkwood.  How do we do that?  Well, climbing trees might help, but I think the idea is that we need to rise above the darkness and stand in the presence of the One who makes all things bright and beautiful.  Perhaps you don’t have much experience in doing that, but that’s OK, just be like Bilbo and do your best.  Perhaps you are so overwhelmed with things to do that it seems you cannot find time for God.  That’s OK too.  Just push your way through the branches.  If you slip a few times and fall short, just try again.  Eventually you’ll make it. 

When you do, I promise you will be rewarded for your effort.  You will feel the warmth of God in the core of your being.  You will sense signs of beauty and new life around you.  You will sample a taste of heaven.  And even if, when you come back down, you are still unable to know when things will ‘get back to normal,’ you will at least have found strength for the journey, and be better positioned to keep your head in the days to come.  The lifegiving and sustaining experience of God works wonders for the soul. 

Folks, these are dark and scary times, and we won’t make it if all we do is stare into the darkness.  We need to spend time in the presence of the God who refreshes the weary and satisfies the faint. 

We need to spend time above Mirkwood. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

The Greatest Wake Up Call Ever – a Word for Holy Week

‘Pilate replied, ‘You are a king then?’  ‘You say that I am a King, and you are right,’ Jesus said.  ‘I was born for that purpose.  And I came to bring truth into the world.  All who love the truth recognize that what I say is true.  ‘What is truth?’ Pilate asked (John 19:37-38(a) NLT). 

Pilate was a cruel and brutal man.  History records that he routinely executed men without benefit of trial.  He was the kind of guy who would as soon crucify you as look at you, and not lose a wink of sleep.  His delighted in provoking the Jewish people at every conceivable opportunity.  This style of governance resulted in many savage outbreaks of violence, followed by just as many bloody crackdowns, and the historical evidence suggests that he had been warned by Rome that no further mistakes on his part would be tolerated. 

One might therefore have expected that when asked to deal with Jesus, a man who had purportedly defied Caesar by claiming to be ‘King of the Jews,’ Pilate would have ordered a summary execution.  Instead, he equivocated.  Not to his credit, unfortunately.  His equivocations were most likely due to concern for his own skin.  Jerusalem was a tinder box.  The city had swelled to the point of bursting with Passover pilgrims.  Of all the times for a riot to start, this was not it.  And so, it seems that Pilate’s hesitation in deciding Jesus’ case was simply to ascertain the direction of the political wind.  Would a riot be more likely if he killed Jesus, or if he set him free?  By morning’s end, it was clear his safest course of action was the former.  Jesus was a man of peace, neither he nor his followers would riot if he were killed.  On the other hand, as the religious leaders had not so subtly threatened, if Pilate released Jesus, word would surely reach Caesar that he had failed to execute a man who challenged Roman authority (see, John 19:12).  And so, Pilate’s decision was made.  He sentenced Jesus, as he had sentenced many others, to death on a cross.   He might have at least had the decency to spare him the flogging.  But remember, Pilate was a cruel and brutal man.

And yet.  When we look at the Gospel narratives concerning the encounter between Pilate and Jesus, we see two things happening simultaneously.  First, Jesus reached out to Pilate.  He explained to Pilate the nature of his Kingdom.  He practically begged him to listen to his voice and hear the truth.  When Pilate asked his famous question, ‘Que Veritas?’ or ‘What is truth?’ Jesus just stood there.  Get it.  He just stood there, as if to say, ‘Here I am Pilate.  I am the truth.’  You must remember, of course, that Jesus gave his life for Pilate as much as for anyone else.  Remember John 3:16: ‘For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son that whoever [Pilate, Caiaphas, Judas…] might not perish, but have everlasting life?’    Yes, in the encounter between Jesus and Pilate, Jesus reached out.  He wasn’t going to force himself on Pilate, but if Pilate wanted him, well, he was right there. 

Secondly, as Jesus reached out, Pilate’s world was seriously disturbed.  True, his ultimate decision was cold hearted, practical and selfish.  But it is impossible to read the accounts of the encounter between Pilate and Jesus and not sense that Jesus had called into question everything Pilate had ever believed, and Pilate felt it.  So much so that even a cruel and brutal man like Pilate was given pause. 

A few years back a woman named Susan Boyle auditioned for Britain’s Got Talent.  She was 47 and in no danger of being asked to pose for the cover of Glamour Magazine.  As she took the stage, the audience snickered.  They were, like Pilate, proud, hard-hearted, cynical, and cruel.  Nonetheless, the judges (feeling rather smug themselves) let Susan sing.  Her song choice was I Dreamed a Dream from Les Misérables, and the audience laughed out loud when she announced it (who was she to have dreams?).  

But then the music started, and she began to sing. 

Susan Boyle sang with the voice of an angel.  Five notes in, and the once cruel and cynical audience was cheering wildly.  The judges were stunned.  Mean old Simon Cowell looked like a schoolgirl who had just caught her first glimpse of the High School Football Captain.  Ms. Boyle literally took his breath away.  By the time she had finished, everyone was on their feet.  Every member of her audience, the proud, the glamorous, the hard-hearted, the cynical, and the cruel, had been won over by the beautiful, yes, beautiful, Susan Boyle.  Susan’s performance was, as one of the judges said so well, the biggest wake-up call ever. 

As soon as she finished, she put the mike down and began to walk off the stage, as if she had done what she had come to do, and that was that.  But of course, that wasn’t that.  The judges and audience begged her to come back.  And of course she did – she wouldn’t force herself on them, but if they asked, well, she was more than willing to come back into their lives. 

Keats said that beauty is truth, and truth beauty.  And if that’s true, and it is, I wonder if perhaps behind Pilate’s question, ‘what is truth?’ may have been his desire to discover the true and beautiful.  I wonder if perhaps, as he stood in the presence of Jesus equivocating, deep down there a part was reacting like that audience when they first heard Susan Boyle sing.  True, it wasn’t a large part of him that day.  He didn’t have his breath taken away by Jesus, as Simon Cowell did by Susan Boyle.  Clearly, he did the wrong thing.  But I have always wondered if, at some point, the memory of Jesus might have eventually taken his breath away – and brought him to his knees.  If perhaps Pilate, thinking back on the song that Jesus had sung on that dark day of Calvary, thinking back on both the truth and beauty that Jesus was and is, perhaps experienced his biggest wake-up call ever.  If perhaps Pilate, realizing that everything he had ever believed had in fact been wrong, finally got it, and embraced the truth and beauty of Jesus. 

We have no way of knowing, of course.  At least not until we touch eternity, or perhaps I should say, until eternity touches us.    It may well be that Pilate’s heart was too hard.  Not everyone appreciates the beauty of Susan Boyle.  And not everyone appreciates the beauty of Jesus.  But make no mistake people.  Jesus is beautiful.  Jesus is truth.  And in the final analysis, I believe that most people – if given the chance to see Jesus in all his beauty and truth, as someday all will – will have their breath taken away.  Most will fall to their knees.  Yes, in the final analysis, there is hope for everyone, Pilate included.  And if there is hope for a brutal, cruel man like Pontius Pilate, surely there is hope for you.

Do me a favor, will you?  Just for a moment, close your eyes.  Imagine the cross of Jesus Christ.  Do you see him?  Do you see his love?  Do you see his beauty?  Do you see his truth?  Do you?  It surely takes your breath away doesn’t it?  It surely is the biggest wake-up call ever.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

The Value of Dots

Would you feel pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever? – Harry Lime, in The Third Man

Harry Lime was a scoundrel.  Working in post WWII Berlin, he made a killing stealing penicillin from military hospitals, watering it down, and then selling it on the black market to desperate people who could not afford it elsewhere.  People were dying as a result. 

Such is the plot of the film, The Third Man, an intense drama starring Orson Welles and Joseph Cotton (and written by Graham Greene).  The film is perhaps best known for its ‘Ferris Wheel Scene,’ in which Lime (Welles) is confronted with his crimes by his long-time friend, Holly Martins (Cotton).   The two men ride a Ferris wheel to its apex, at which point Martins asks Lime if he knows any of his victims.  Lime derisively directs Martins’ attention to the fairground far below, where people appear as mere dots moving around, and says the following in defense of his crimes:

‘Would you feel pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever?  If I offered you 20,000 pounds for every dot that stopped, would you really, old man, tell me to keep the money?  Or would you calculate how many dots you could afford to spare?  Free of income tax, old man…free of income tax.  It’s the only way to save money these days.’ 

Such is the moral system of Harry Lime.  Dots, that is, human lives, are expendable. At least from a distance.  And for the right price. 

I hear echoes of Lime’s philosophy in our world today.  Ours is a time of crisis.  A novel virus is spreading, and the government has sensibly imposed certain restrictions.  Social distancing.  Stay at home orders. The closing of non-essential businesses.  All designed to slow the spread and save lives.  The science behind such moves is indisputable.  But these steps come with an economic cost.  People have been laid off, some temporarily, some perhaps permanently.  Businesses are on the brink.  The stock market has plunged.  There may well be a global recession, or worse, a depression.  The actions we are taking to save lives are having a deleterious effect upon the economy. 

And that has made some people angry.  In an infamous post on social media that has generated tremendous debate, a California attorney made the case that we should not sabotage the economy to save lives.  Especially because, in this attorney’s view, those most at risk are unproductive.  In other words, the elderly, the immune-compromised, and the weaker ‘dots’ in our society are expendable, all in service to the national economy.  And he is not alone.  Many in our society, and our government, are echoing the same sentiments, even if expressed in more subtle terms.  Heck, even some Christians, who supposedly follow a Savior who cherished the most vulnerable, have come down on the side of saving the economy over saving lives. 

And so the question resounds across our land – and in the church: is it worth risking the economy to save lives?

Before answering that question, I want to acknowledge that I know this is not just a question of what happens to the money of billionaires.  Ordinary people are hurting.  Workers have lost jobs.  Small businesses face closure.  In all of this, it will surely be the poor who suffer most.  This is real.  It is therefore encouraging that there are many in government who are at least trying to ameliorate the effects of social distancing on the economy.  I applaud the effort, and encourage elected officials on both sides of the aisle to use this opportunity to not only aid those impacted by this crisis, but to restructure society and systems to ensure that everyone, and especially the poor and vulnerable, in both times of prosperity and times of crisis, has enough.  And I would certainly encourage the Church to use its resources to help those who are hurting.  John the Baptizer’s advice for people with two tunics to share with those who have none is crucial for these times (see, Luke 3:11).  If our neighbors are hurting, those in the Church with resources to help must give generously to ensure those most impacted by this crisis receive the assistance they need. 

But at the end of the day, the answer to the question of whether it is worth risking the economy to save lives is a resounding, ‘Yes!’  Of course it is worth risking the economy to save human lives!  Why?  Well, if you really need it spelled out for you, it’s because each one of those lives, each one of those ‘dots,’ even the weakest, most vulnerable, and unproductive, matter. 

They certainly matter to God.  During Holy Week, we remember that they matter so much to God that he was willing to send Jesus to die on a cross for every one of them.

And if dots have that much value in the eyes of God, if they matter so much that he was willing to pay such a price for them, then certainly we can stay home and watch Netflix, all the while looking out for each other, in order to protect them.  Can’t we?

Or are we no better than Harry Lime?

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Wind and Waves

But when he saw the wind and waves, he was terrified and began to sink – Matthew 14:30

In the fourteenth chapter of his Gospel, Matthew tells of a time when the disciples were overtaken by a storm at sea.  It was hardly the first time.  Many of them were fishermen, and even those who weren’t had at least once been in a similar situation (See, Matthew 8:23-27).  On that occasion, the disciples had simply run to Jesus, who had been sawing wood in the stern of the ship as if nothing were happening.  Jesus woke up, rubbed his eyes, looked around, and shouted, ‘Silence!  Be still!’  And just like that there was a dead calm.  The disciples learned that day that even the wind and waves obeyed their Master. 

But this time, things were different.  This time, Jesus wasn’t with them. 

He had insisted that they cross the sea alone while he went into the hills to pray.  Then, when the disciples found themselves far from shore, the storm hit.  They battled the wind and waves long into the night but were no match for them.  They were in over their heads.  All hope seemed to be lost. 

Jesus, however, had sensed their distress.  We can imagine that as soon as the storm arose, he looked seaward.  There, intermittently illuminated by flashes of lightning, he saw his struggling friends.  And so, he left the hills and walked to the shore.  And then kept walking – on the sea. 

As he drew close, he shouted, ‘Take courage!  I am here!’  

Simon Peter, filled with fresh courage, shouted, ‘Lord, if it’s really you tell me to come to you!’

Jesus beckoned to his impetuous friend.  ‘Yes, come!’

Simon Peter stepped from the boat and began to walk on the water, fixing his eyes on Jesus.  It was amazing.  But then, well, most of us know the story: ‘when he saw the wind and waves, he was terrified and began to sink.’

Jesus doesn’t let him sink of course. But we are going to stop right there for an important lesson. It’s a lesson many of us have heard before.  I first learned it as a kid in Sunday School.  In fact, it’s such a familiar lesson that you may wonder why I would take time to repeat it.  The reason is that sometimes, the simplest lessons are the ones that bear repeating.  So here it is:

Simon Peter was fine so long as he fixed his eyes on Jesus.  It was when he turned his attention to the wind and the waves that he began to sink. 

Right now my friends, there is a storm raging.  It’s called the Covid-19 virus.  It has us all scared.  We are doing our best to fight against it, but like the disciples battling the storm, we know that we are in over our heads. 

But just as Jesus saw the disciples in their distress, he sees us in ours, and as surely as he does, we know he will come to us. 

The question for us is therefore the same as it was for Simon: will we fix our attention on Jesus, or the storm. 

John Eldredge issued a short message the other day noting that in the current crisis, the battle is for our attention.  Will we focus on the storm and lose peace?  Or will we focus on Jesus and find it. 

As things continue to unfold in coming weeks, it will of course be important for us to pay attention, use common sense, and adhere to safe practices to ensure the health and safety of ourselves, our families, and our neighbors.  But as we do so, let’s not become so fixated on the storm that we begin to sink.  Let’s remember there is one who sees us with every flash of lightning.  There is one who comes to us in our distress.  There is one who calls us to fix our eyes on him and rise above the stormy sea. 

Fix your eyes on Jesus.  The Master of the wind and waves.  He is the one who will save us from the storm. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

P.S. – I continue to recommend John Eldredge’s Pause App as a tool to help keep your eyes on Jesus in this time.  It is free, and you can find it here or in the the App store.  It has been a tremendous help to me, and I hope it will be the same to you. 

God’s Economics

‘Speak up for the poor and helpless, and see that they get justice’ – Proverbs 31:9

A couple of weeks ago, a friend forwarded an article by an Evangelical author who posited that it was the duty of every Christian to support Donald Trump because, among other things, he is the only thing standing in the way of the United States becoming a ‘Socialist Country.’  He argued that all Democrats are Socialists and had to be stopped at all costs.

It’s hardly a new argument.  I’ve listened to it most of my life.  A Democrat (or wayward Republican) proposes a program to help the poor, and suddenly Karl Marx is at the door. 

(Never mind the vast difference between Marxism and the various degrees of Socialism; it’s all the same to those who ring such alarm bells.  I once had such a person nearly shout at me, ‘Haven’t you read Animal Farm?’ only to be reduced to incoherent rambling when I explained that Orwell was warning against communism, and was himself, in fact, a Socialist). 

As recently as a couple of weeks ago, it seemed likely that Bernie Sanders, a self-described Democratic Socialist, was destined to become the Democrats standard bearer against Trump in the 2020 General Election. Trump and his minions were practically salivating, so thrilled were they at the prospect of pitting their right-wing extremism against the great bugbear of Socialism. Things have changed dramatically since then, with former Vice-President Joe Biden (not a Socialist) mounting a tremendous political comeback, but that hasn’t changed anything.   It remains the plan of conservatives to play the ‘S’ card in 2020. Indeed, the recently completed Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC) repeatedly billed the upcoming contest as ‘America v. Socialism.’   In other words, it won’t matter who the Democrats nominate, because, as the evangelical author noted above says, all Democrats are Socialists. Anyone who wants to even marginally level the playing field between the ‘haves’ and ‘have nots’ is.

But even if that were true (it isn’t, but let’s just run with it for argument’s sake), would the election of a socialist, or even a socialist-leaning Democrat, be so wrong?  Is it really the duty of every Christian to oppose socialism – in all its forms and gradations? 

It’s not my intention to describe all of socialism’s forms in this post.  I’d certainly oppose National Socialism for instance (which is one reason I speak out against Trump; too many parallels there).  Nor is it to defend Bernie Sanders’ brand. It is simply to question why providing for the poor in the manner Sanders and others propose would be considered by so many Christians to be morally wrong?    

So indulge me for a moment in a thought experiment.  Let’s say that a new world has just been discovered.  It has ample resources and abundant land.  As we enter this new land, a decision is made by our leaders.  Every household will be given an equal portion of land.  Every family will then work their land, utilize its resources, and live off its bounty.  They will also be free to sell their land if they desire, or, if they run into problems while working it.  This will, of course, result in others having more land than they.  But that’s OK, because it is to be expected that some will manage land more productively than others, and so, we will allow this (free market economics).  However, in order to prevent any one household or group of households from acquiring too much land over time, we will impose a rule: every few decades, the system will reset.  All land that was purchased will revert to the original owners (or their descendants) free of charge.

The rationale for the rule is this: we want to allow those with greater gifts and expertise to make the most productive use of the land (hence they can buy it and use it for decades at a stretch).  But we do not want to allow any one household or group of households to get so far ahead that we create a permanent upper and lower class.  We want to provide for learning curves and fresh starts.  And so we will not allow a scenario where the rich forever get richer while the poor forever get poorer.  We will restart the game from time to time. 

In between restarts, we will have other rules.  For example, we will offer assistance programs to ensure that everyone, especially the vulnerable (those who have suffered loss through natural disasters, death of a spouse or parents, etc.), has sufficient resources to live.  We will do this by requiring those with the resources, aka the rich, to make a portion of what they possess available to those who have fallen behind. 

Additionally, given that those who fall behind might incur debts as they go about the business of daily living, and might even make contracts that obligate them to serve the rich, we will make further rules that will require debt forgiveness and the termination of such contracts every several years.  This will provide further protection for the poor and will prevent their exploitation at the hands of the rich.

Basically, every several years, everyone gets a mini-fresh start, and in the longer term, a brand-new start.  And all along the way, everyone will be able to participate as dignified members of the new society.  No one will be left behind. 

Is that Socialism? 

I know many Christians who would answer yes.  Equal distribution of land. Limits on wealth accumulation.  Forced sharing with the poor.  Debt forgiveness.  Returning property to the people who couldn’t handle it in the first place, property that had been lawfully acquired with hard earned cash – and worked for decades – for free!   Good God, if any politician proposed such a system today, he or she would be branded a Socialist for the rest of his or her life. 

But here’s the thing (and some of you know this already).  I didn’t make that system up. 

God did. 

When the Israelites came into the Promised Land, this is exactly what he told his people to do.  He divided the land (Joshua 18 and Numbers 26).  He imposed a fifty year give back program called the Year of Jubilee (Leviticus 25; Deuteronomy 15).  He instituted a Sabbatical year that forgave debts and set indentured servants and slaves free every seven years (Deuteronomy 15:1-6; 12-18).  He instituted laws on tithing and gleaning to help the poor and vulnerable (Deuteronomy 14:28-29; 26:12-15; Leviticus 27:30-32; Numbers 18:21-32).  Heck, he even imposed environmental restrictions on the use of land to prevent people from depleting its resources (Exodus 23:10-11; Leviticus 25:2-7). 

Sounds like God’s a bit of a Socialist. 

Before you flip out, you should know that I’m not actually labeling God a Socialist.  I am, however, saying that leveling the playing field and making provision for the poor are ideals God cares about very much.  Jesus himself gave away free health care.  He created a food program that fed thousands (Luke 9:10-17).  He shared a common purse that was used to help the poor (John 13:29).  And he created a community of brothers and sisters who shared resources to such an extent that there were no needy persons among them (Acts 4:34). 

And if all that is true, and it is, then is it really the duty of every Christian to oppose policies aimed to achieve the same things? 

Of course not. 

Look, I’m no economic expert. I’m just a theologian. But as such I know that in the Old Testament and through Jesus, God commands us to care for the poor.  Call the plans and programs to do so ‘Socialist’ if you want.  But don’t tell me that I’m doing wrong if I am in favor of them. 

Because it isn’t my Christian duty to oppose policies that help the poor.

It is my Christian duty to support them. 

That’s God’s economics.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Thank you to Ronald J. Sider, my Professor and Mentor from seminary, for his seminal work, Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger, from which I gleaned the Bible passages quoted above.