You know what I mean, and some of us might remember exactly the scene: you’re minding your own business, maybe just sitting at a school desk, when someone next to you, or behind you perhaps, flicks you on your shoulder, or your hand.

Just thinking about it makes me tense up.

You ask them to please stop.

They go back to work, you do too.

And then, sure enough, they flick you again.

You glare at them, and again, maybe with a firmer voice, you ask them to stop.

They smile sweetly at you, and then return to whatever they were doing, and you do too.

And then they flick you again.

And it goes on like this for a spell of far too long until you finally raise your voice and holler out, “KNOCK IT OFF!”

Your anger, though, your righteous indignation, your claim that your body is yours and they may not infringe on it, is met with a “Sheesh, no need to get so upset. Can’t you take a joke? Just chill.”

And to finish off the scene, they scowl at you, as if you’re the one with the problem.

There are all sorts of variations to this theme, right?

Dysfunctional work environments where people in power silo, distort, manipulate, and intimidate; an employee adapts, accommodates, offers humble suggestions for a different way, and finally finds the courage to stand up and assert some healthy boundaries…and then is promptly fired for insubordination.

Marriages where one person routinely disparages, demeans, disrespects, abuses a spouse and family; pleas are offered, counseling is tried, and finally the limit is reached and divorce is filed…which is met with a “It’s supposed to be forever! You can’t do that! You’re destroying me!”

I just had a circumstance in my world: for six months of having my critical correspondence and communication ignored by an organization, a meeting was held to attempt some resolution.  During this little tête-à-tête, I learned that the refusal to acknowledge me was actually an administration-directed intentional tactic.

Yes it was.

To find this out, I needed to repeatedly ask why each and every email since last May was met with utter silence, and as I asked again, and again, and my question was avoided, and deferred, which only caused me to become increasingly indignant and, in fact, downright angry, at which point we were informed that the meeting was “going off the rails.”

Going off the rails, I was.

I was not in line.

Made me think a little bit of the words of advice born out of a story much more tragically potent than my woeful tail of being ignored, the one that the star of “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel,” actor Alex Borstein, retold after winning her recent Emmy Award for Best Supporting Actress:

“To my mother … to my grandmother,” she said. “They are immigrants, they are Holocaust survivors. My grandmother turned to a guard. She was in line to be shot into a pit. She said, ‘What happens if I step out of line?’ And he said, ‘I don’t have the heart to shoot you but somebody will,’ and she stepped out of line. And for that, I am here and my children are here. So step out of line, ladies, step out of line.”

Step out of line.

The thing of it is, of course, that when you step out of line, when you go off the rails, you upset the order of things.

And the order of things, of course, is established by people who have the power to create the order.

The deal these days, though, the deal is that people are upset.

People of color, women, the GLBTQIA community, immigrants, the poor, the uninsured (for starters), people who have suffered a mess of Scheisse for a really, really long time, who’ve been flicked one too many times, they are upset.

And they don’t mind if the figurative meetings go off the rails, because they didn’t like the rails that were set in the first place.

I’ve been noticing, these days, an increasing call for people to unite, to be nice, to be calm.

And I’ve been noticing too that when people don’t, a couple of things happen:

a) the people who are responding to unjust circumstances or are simply done with micro-aggressions that create a sum total of a macro-problem are judged to be acting out of line;

b) their anger gets more attention than the source of their anger.

c) their anger is judged more than the source of it is.

This dynamic seems to reveal in turn another series of observations.

a) People don’t like anger;

b) People do like reliable systems;

c) People in power prefer reliable systems to any expressed anger about those systems;

d) But interestingly, the people who benefit from the systems, or haven’t really noticed or cared about how the systems don’t benefit others, are actually angry in their own right: they are angry that they are losing their power.

Now, speaking quite widely and broadly, the people who have had the most power are white men.

Second to that are privileged white men.

After that comes white people in general.

And then we have the wealthy.

And then the cishet community.

And generally speaking, and with different emphases, these collective groups really don’t like the anger of the people of color, women, the GLBTQIA community, immigrants, the poor, the uninsured (for starters), people who have suffered a mess of Scheisse for a really, really long time, who’ve been flicked one too many times.

But different reasons and to varying degrees, though, these latter groups have some crossover grounds for fatigue, for irritation, for indignation, and for outright anger.

And it’s not just to being merely flicked.

For example, this one, this one makes me cry every time: Black Senator Stephanie Flowers in Arkansas, being told to be silent by a white male Senator, and informed that the debate over Stand Your Ground legislation would end, this righteous woman yells, swears, and points fingers.

The patronizing quieting voice of Sen. Alex Clark only infuriates her more.

Please, if you do nothing else today, click the link for the summary of the entire exchange, but at least look at these stills, which are anything but still.

In the video, you can tell that she is furious from the get-go, but where her voice really begins to rise is when she says, “And I have a son.”

I have a son.

He is my son, and he is also victim of a system of racism that might kill him.

This system might kill him just as it has and might continue to kill all sorts of other black boys and black girls.

Because of that history and because of them I will not be silenced.

This, of course, is exactly what Sen. Clark seeks to do.

It’s so achingly powerful.

But it is also achingly illustrative about how unprivileged people, how people who are there to upset a system that upsets them, are not allowed to be upset.

Of course, they aren’t allowed to be upset in the name of civility and all.

But I’ve come to decide that when certain people call for civility, what they are really calling for is passivity.

A few more examples—and there are so so very many that for the sake of space and time I selected just a few:

The misogyny directed at Prof. Pam Karlan, who testified at the Impeachment hearings, as experienced vicariously and detailed by Prof. Richard Primus, Constitutional Law Professor at the University of Michigan.

We have articles like this one, by Michael Harriot, who uses language some might call offensive to call out decisions and speech that, well, that some might call offensive. (It’s worthy of note that Buttigieg replied to the article by ringing up Harriot: you can find how that played out here).

We have Joe Biden, who was impossibly rude to a questioner at a public forum the other day. In response to the voter’s questions about politics, Biden personalized his retort which became an attack, both body-shaming the man and telling him that he was a ‘damn liar.’

This post asks whether women and people of color could ever have a right to be as angry as Joe Biden, even for matters of justice.

The other day, I saw this tweet, a pre-Thanksgiving Dinner tweet, a singular tweet elegantly styled in keyboard characters of a person poising almost as if in a dance, with the words, “‘civility’ is a luxury of privilege call out ur relatives.”

Instead of anger, that is, people who are harmed are urged these days to be kind.

Now, I understand the impetus: Donald Trump and the culture which he both represents and fosters is toxic.

Kindness is good.

Meanness is bad.

There is too much meanness in the world.

Buuutttt that’s fairly simplistic, it turns out.

Even the deservedly beloved Ellen DeGeneres doesn’t seem to get the nuance.

She initiated a bit of a kerfuffle with a monologue she offered, in the face of a picture taken of her smiling with George Bush at a pro-football game.  After a mess of blowback she received about the photo, she opted to use some time with her audience to emphasize kindness.

“Here’s the thing,” said DeGeneres. “I’m friends with George Bush, in fact I’m friends with a lot of people who don’t share the same beliefs that I have. We are all different and I think we’ve forgotten that that’s OK that we’re all different…Just because I don’t agree with someone on everything does not mean I’m not going to be friends with them. When I say be kind to one another, I don’t mean only the people that think the same as you do, I mean be kind to everyone.”

Gosh I bristled at that, and then I happily found that I was not alone.

Take this article about the matter, written by Shannon Keating, who is having none of it.  She writes:

Ellen’s defense might make it seem like people were expecting her to shove Bush out of his box seat on sight, when in reality the majority of her dissenters aren’t advocating against surface-level agreeability and politeness. Rather, they’re asking her to rethink the choice to elevate a cordial interaction with the former leader of the historically anti-gay Republican Party to some kind of admirable act of rising-above-it kindness. But the more powerful and insulated a celebrity gets, it seems, the less likely they are to do the work of distinguishing between the demands of petty trolls and good-faith critics.

That last part, there, that distinction between “petty trolls” and “good-faith critics” is a crucial one.  Far too often, people who express worthy anger are dismissed as being either petty about the issue at hand, or too-much-free-time-too-tightly-wound trolls.

But that, says Keating, was far from the issue with people’s distress at DeGeneres happily sitting and smiling next to George Bush, nor to their distress as DeGeneres’ reaction to people’s dismay.

Instead, angry critics of DeGeneres are agitated because in her worldview, kindness becomes a virtue, and the call for justice is reduced to an angry vice.

Keating writes, referring to CNN’s Chris Cilizza’s take on the whole matter:

Because Trump’s bread and butter is discord and division, Cillizza argued, anyone who now dares to be divisive — including Democrats — are “unwittingly giving his worldview that much more power.” To pundits like Cillizza, and everyone else celebrating Ellen’s call for unqualified kindness, the supposed antidote to Trumpism is not justice at the expense of “niceness,” or what in politics is often called “civility,” but niceness at the expense of justice.

See, the anger that is expressed by the Sen. Flowers’ of the world, the Serena Williams’ of the world, the April Ryans of the world, the Elizabeth Warrens of the world (times two—this one also as the recipient of, curiously enough, Joe Biden [who may in fact have an anger issue?]), the Michael Harriots of the world, GLBTQIA anger, female clergy, righteous anger is not an expression of meanness.

Righteous anger is an expression of justice.

This tweet captures the point: it was offered in response to a brilliantly generous thread idea about listing the best advice gleaned at therapy, so “that way everyone else can get free therapy!” It reads:

“The best way to abuse or oppress someone is to tell them that they are not allowed to get/appear angry.  Anger is what motivates you to leave or change your situation.  That’s why we tell women and POC, especially black women, that anger is specifically unacceptable for them.”

Oddly, as mentioned above re: Joe Biden (twice), it seems there there is (sit down, I’m sure) a double standard here, as we have seen when contrasting the composure of women under pressure in, say, Congressional hearings, such as Ambassador Hillary Clinton, Ambassador Marie Yovanovitch, Dr. Fiona Hill, and Prof. Pamela Karlan, vs., say, Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh, Rep. Jim Jordan, Rep. Matt Gaetz, and Senator Lindsey Graham.

Dr. Fiona Hill herself noted, “I have to say that when women show anger it’s not always fully appreciated.”

No, no it is not.

Righteous anger rarely is appreciated, at least by those to whom it is directed.

This afternoon, a pastoral colleague and friend of mine, Pastor Brendan Johnston, came by to help me figure out some techie stuff.  I told  him about this blog I was working on, and (in addition to mentioning this NPR podcast, “It’s Been A Minute,” which in this episode addresses women’s rage), he reminded me of this blog from Sojourners Magazine, “A Woman’s Rage is a Holy Thing,” written by Dr. Nancy Hightower.

In it, she says:

Rage is probably the most terrifying emotion for a Christian to negotiate given the bad rap it’s been given. While there are sermons and verses warning us against the dangers of unrestrained anger, there are few, if any, that argue how righteous rage can be the most revolutionary emotion.

Remember that Jesus used his rage to purge sin from the temple (John 2:13-16). He didn’t politely ask the merchants and moneychangers to leave or bring his complaint to the elders. Instead, he overturned tables and used a whip to drive out those who turned the temple into a business. It was spirit-filled rage that enabled Samson to kill one thousand Philistines using only the jawbone of a donkey (Judges 15:14-17). When outnumbered or outmatched, directed rage can be a great equalizer for the marginalized.

Perhaps now, more than ever, Christians need to redefine their relationship to rage — particularly women’s rage. The nation watched Dr. Christine Ford testify about her alleged assault while maintaining a gracious demeanor whereas Brett Kavanaugh was allowed to rant about his supposed mistreatment. This double standard stems from centuries of social conditioning, as well as a rather sexist interpretation of the Bible that argues women are to be silent and submissive.

Senator Flowers is here to tell us that she will not be silenced, and I’m here to tell you that she is not alone.

In fact, she’s got a great cloud of witnesses who are loud and angry right with her.

~~~~~

So into this mix, we have these texts for this Sunday, the Second Sunday of Advent.

I took the liberty of highlighting a few passages.

Isaiah 11:1-10

Psalm 72

¹Give the king your justice, O God, and your righteousness to a king’s son.

²May he judge your people with righteousness, and your poor with justice.

³May the mountains yield prosperity for the people, and the hills, in righteousness.

⁴May he defend the cause of the poor of the people, give deliverance to the needy, and crush the oppressor.

⁵May he live while the sun endures, and as long as the moon, throughout all generations.

⁶May he be like rain that falls on the mown grass, like showers that water the earth.

⁷In his days may righteousness flourish and peace abound, until the moon is no more.

⁸May he have dominion from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth.

⁹May his foes bow down before him, and his enemies lick the dust.

¹⁰May the kings of Tarshish and of the isles render him tribute, may the kings of Sheba and Seba bring gifts.

¹¹May all kings fall down before him, all nations give him service.

¹²For he delivers the needy when they call, the poor and those who have no helper.

¹³He has pity on the weak and the needy, and saves the lives of the needy.

¹⁴From oppression and violence he redeems their life; and precious is their blood in his sight.

¹⁵Long may he live! May gold of Sheba be given to him. May prayer be made for him continually, and blessings invoked for him all day long.

¹⁶May there be abundance of grain in the land; may it wave on the tops of the mountains; may its fruit be like Lebanon; and may people blossom in the cities like the grass of the field.

¹⁷May his name endure forever, his fame continue as long as the sun. May all nations be blessed in him; may they pronounce him happy.

¹⁸Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel, who alone does wondrous things.

¹⁹Blessed be his glorious name forever; may his glory fill the whole earth. Amen and Amen.

²⁰The prayers of David son of Jesse are ended.

Matthew 3:1-12

I don’t know about you, but as much as I love “Don’t Worry, Be Happy!” and “Keep on the Sunny Side of Life,” I’m telling you what: It sure sounds to me that neither Isaiah, nor the psalmist, nor John the Baptist are humming these tunes.

Nope.

They are angry.

And guess what:

They are angry at the very people and the very systems and the very things that people of color, women, the GLBTQIA community, immigrants, the poor, the uninsured (for starters), people who have suffered a mess of Scheisse for a really, really long time, who’ve been flicked one too many times, are angry about too.

We have holy role models, that is, people!

Righteous anger is in our history and on our side.

~~~~~

Advent is a time of waiting.

I get that.

It’s exactly why, as for me and my house, we fiercely and joyfully protect Advent from an encroaching Christmas, waiting until the very last minute to decorate our tree, and in the meantime, we hang lights, and we place about angels, and we find the perfect spot for our Nissemann filled with Advent treats, and we light candles, and we deck our railings and outside walls with wreaths and garlands.

We’ve learned, that is, that you can wait, you can anticipate patiently.

But for a variety of reasons, we have also learned that you can just as righteously wait impatiently.

Sometimes even at the same time.

True story.

Sometimes, that is, despite Advent expressly being a time of waiting, it can also be a time of expressly being completely over waiting for what should already be.

Perhaps Advent is a time to be impatient; a time to clamor for righteousness; a time to call the power-brokers the vipers that they are, to tell them that if they continue in their ways of unrighteousness they will be but chaff, to announce that their tongues should get really moistened because they are going to lick a hell of a lot of dust, that they will be crushed, that the very breath of God which gives life has come to take it as well, when they opt to use their lives to oppress others; a time to be enraged.

If it’s good enough for John the Baptist, seems to me…

Now, when people like me point to texts such as these, and the implications of passages such as these, at this juncture, we are accustomed to hearing words of tempering: that is not the way of Christians, we are told, and we (in contrast to those…biblical folks?…) are about forgiveness.

At that juncture, I like to remind such people of Jesus.

Turns out that he turned over some tables in his time, and called people vipers just as well as John the Baptist did, and who, in Matthew 25, pointed out that those who do not feed, offer drink, offer welcome to the stranger, clothe, heal, and visit the least of these, are goats.

Specifically, “And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.’”

Make no mistake, I am all about forgiveness.

I believe it will be for all.

But it is entirely possible that there will be some righteous dust to lick before we get there.

I have, that is, no time for cheap grace.

Neither did Bonhoeffer.

Neither, I believe, does God.

Advent might just be the very time, the perfect time, the time for which we have been waiting for the Church to come to terms with holy anger, righteous indignation, and the grace of fury.

In related news, a word to the wise: don’t flick with me.

Also, unquantifiably moreso, don’t flick with God.

And don’t flick with people of color, women, the GLBTQIA community, immigrants, the poor, the uninsured (for starters), people who have suffered a mess of Scheisse for a really, really long time, who’ve been flicked one too many times.

We are stepping out of line, because the line is yours, and not ours, and not God’s.

Because this stuff about which we’re angry, about which Isaiah was angry, about which the psalmist was angry, about which John the Baptist was angry, about which Jesus was angry?

We can’t take a joke that, in fact, isn’t one, and we are not laughing.

Instead, we’re angry, in a holy, righteous, ‘tis the season to be angry sort of way.

We will be our Lord’s advocates for the powerless, the poor, the lonely, the exploited, the deprived, the rejected.

We will resist any governmental, social, economic, or ideological force which would blunt justice or demean persons.

We will work with those who will be helpful us to respect all, care for all, and aim at freedom for all.

Thus committed, we look to Almighty God for direction.

In Jesus Christ and through the prophets, God gives us the vision of a world made new for a life of social justice and mercy, of reconciliation and peace, of promise and fulfillment.

We rely on the Spirt to give us power to do that which a faith active in love demands us.

Our hope is in God.” Mandate for Peacemaking, 1982, American Lutheran Church

Last weekend (although not by any means for the first time) I mentioned Trump and the Republican Party and GOP policies by name in some presentations I gave at a synod assembly.

The bulk of the presentations, the point of the presentations, of course, was not Trump, and was not about the Republicans or their policies.

Instead, my keynotes (linked below) were about our interconnection with one another. I based them all on the brilliant and succinct mission statement of the synod, namely that we are called to walk together, to love Christ together, and to love all together, for the sake of the world.

Because I’m a nerd, I delved a bit into some lessons that quantum physics can offer people of faith. It’s a stretch of mind, not gonna lie, to think about quantum physics, but once a person does, it is not a stretch of the imagination to see how faith and physics play in the same sandbox nicely together: both concern our mysterious relationship with all people, all creation, and all things; both defy reason; and yet both depend on it too.

But most important to me was to ground everything I said (and say, and do) less in quantum physics, and instead all in the Gospel.

As I pointed out to those gathered, I am absolutely convinced that we in the church are facing a crisis of the First Commandment: who, or what, is our God?

I’m of the mind that as Christians, our God is to be understood by way of Jesus: his life, his death which came about precisely because of his life, and his resurrection, which confirmed God’s way of being in the world, as seen in Jesus’ life and death.

The gospel, as I understand it, is that Jesus is risen from the dead.

That is the Good News, and it is news that still affects us—if we let it, of course.

So in the course of those presentations, I said (as I have in blogs, and presentations, and will in the book to come out which you can happily pre-order here [granted, this theme is a bit of a present-day passion of mine]) that if we identify as Christians (aka, Christ-ians, to make the point that we believe that Jesus was the Christ because he is risen from the dead), we identify with all with all that Jesus was about when walking about on this green earth, because the whole of his way of being in the world—feeding, healing, welcoming, serving, forgiving, and even calling-outing—were affirmed by the resurrection as revealing of God’s agenda.

It was in a name-calling-outing mode that I named Trump, and I named the present day Republican Party, and I named some of their policies.

The first question thrown my way was great: with a smile, the guy more or less said, “You know that everything you said could get you thrown out of most churches, right?”

I laughed, and then agreed, and pointed out that for better or for worse, I know something about that from somewhat mind-bending personal experience (you can read about that saga in my blog “Spent Dandelion, and Truth Mattering.”)

But, mindful of the risks, the gospel up and calls a person forth anyway—and, in fact, precisely because of the risks.  If they weren’t present, of course, nothing would need to be said or done in the first place, right?

Now, it may surprise some people that I don’t, actually, have a lick of vested interest in and commitment to the Democrat Party, in and of itself.

In fact, although I admit that I’m registered as a Democrat, technically, if anything, were you to sketch out my views, I’m pretty much of the Democratic Socialist persuasion.

Also, in fact, I have a record of calling out my own people, as you see here, and here, and as I did in letters to President Obama when he let down Standing Rock during the Dakota Access Pipeline matter, when he and the Democrats snubbed single-payer health coverage (a review of his evolving ideas on the matter here), when the Obama administration initially made horrible decisions regarding immigration (a review of which you’ll find here), didn’t raise the minimum wage, didn’t close Guantanamo, didn’t enact tougher environmental taxes and regulations, didn’t close the income gap…well, you can find a bunch of the disappointments and my-ire-inducing decisions of his administration here.

The point for me is not, that is, to be an unflinching Democrat.

The point for me is to be an unflinching Christian.

What that means is gleaned from the life of Jesus.

To paraphrase a contemporary line from political activism, I’m with him.

Everything about my politics gets is grounded not in party identity, not in national identity, not in self-interest identity, but in this question: given the messiness of matters, who or what will bring about the closest approximation to Jesus’ way of being in this world in this moment?

It’s basic Lord’s Prayer, stuff, right?  “Hallowed by your name, your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven…for the kingdom, the power, the glory are yours….”

But in a very under-appreciated way, part of Jesus’ way of being on this earth was spent calling people out.

Like, take a look at Matthew 23, when Jesus called out, by name, people (arguably his people).

Moreover, not because of what they were teaching, but because what they were teaching and purporting to believe wasn’t consistent with what they were doing, he up and called them snakes, hypocrites, and fools.

Yep, why yes he did. (Also, to refer back to my first question, he too pretty much got thrown out of that place, when you flip to the end of the gospels…)

In fact, the Greek word used here for fools is where we get our word, wait for it, moron.

Not making it up.

(Also, for the record, not advocating.)

He also called out by name the ruler of his day, King Herod (the one from whom Jesus and his parents had to flee and find asylum in another land: fortunately, they, in contrast to present-day refugees here at the borders of the US, were let in) a fox, which would have been heard as a weasel, which would not have gone over any better with Herod (and his supporters) than it would Trump (and his supporters).

He also called a woman a bitch, which completely rankles me, and so I wrote a blog about it.

Jesus, in other words, Jesus himself called religious and political leaders alike out by name and just up and called them names!

Luther had a knack for doing the same thing, as it happens. In fact, I even pointed out this website where, for free, you can be insulted by Luther, 500 years later.  It’s really quite impressive, the names and slurs he came up with for those he believed were against the gospel.

Now, in 1518, Luther wrote a little ditty called The Heidelberg Disputation.  In it, he objected to people who believed that God was seen where there was no suffering, and where all was apparently good and merry.  Instead, Luther made the case that where you see—and, in fact, only when you see—suffering, you see God.  He drew up several “theses,” the 21st of which said, “A theologian of glory calls evil good and good evil. A theologian of the cross calls the thing [by name] what it actually is.”

(Also, again to refer to my first question, if you take a peek at the whole Diet of Worms escapade, thereafter he pretty much got thrown out of church, and the town too….)

Jump forward to the days of Hitler, the days when Dietrich Bonhoeffer and others whom we laud as courageous saints of the church took this sort of calling-out mandate to heart.

The Barmen Declaration (linked to here on the Lutheran Church of Germany’s website—in English) was written by Christian leaders directly to address the crisis created by the threat of Hitler and the Nazi party. It’s worth noting that Bonhoeffer felt as if the Barmen declaration did not go far enough, saying “This is the capitulation of the church to politics!“

Willing to go further, just days away from only age 27, he criticized Hitler by name on a radio show…and was, unsurprisingly, cut off.

Of course, for these sorts of naming-words—and for the fact that he participated in an assassination plot to end Hitler’s life—Bonhoeffer not only was thrown out of church and town: he was killed.

Turns out that this naming-habit, this calling-a-thing-what-it-is habit, it’s a long-standing heritage, you see: a religious, a Christian, a Lutheran, a rostered-leadery sort of heritage.

So.

With all of that, as I see it, these days, mindful of the risks, a Christian perspective—one defined by the life of Jesus, and his death due to the threat he posed to the authorities by way of his social, political, and religious statements and actions, and by his resurrection, which frees us to no longer fear the risk of calling a thing what it is—leads a person to not really run out of things to criticize by name about this current administration, an administration which itself has a name: the Trump administration.

As but a brief summary:

• Its persistent rejection of immigrants.
• Its animosity toward refugees. This distressing, disheartening NYT article, just published, references not just my state, but my congressional district, CD8!
• Its commitment to a wall which Mexico, USMCA, US taxpayers and military will fund.
• Its creation of hurdles for all people to access affordable health care.
• Its  consistent and subtly wielded racism.
• Its  bigoted views on Islam.
• Its mocking and threatening the livelihoods and security of disabled people.
• Its creation of policies that harm impoverished people.
• Trump’s incessant lying.
• A litany of sexual assault allegations against Trump, and derogatory (and recorded and broadcast for all to hear) comments made by him about women from decades back.
• Its abominable track record of curtailing, rescinding, and removing rights and safety of the GLBTQIA community.
• Its separation of children from parents, guardians, and adults, holding them in what many—including Holocaust experts—are likening to concentration camps (the youngest prisoner is now believed to be four months old), and neglecting their care.
• The felonization of humanitarian aid.
• Its rejection of science to fit its own policy and economic needs.
• Its refusal to care for creation.
• Trumps incessant bullying (despite his wife’s “Be Best” efforts) which is only creating and condoning widespread bullying.
• Its economic policies which harm the middle-class and poor.
• Its equation of Christianity with nationalism and vice versa (in fact, studies show that the highest indicator for support for Trump was just that: Christian nationalism).
• And, in this article from Slate Magazine, you can see its dismissal of stunningly long survey of Christian moral tenets (all linked) which are pooh-poohed by Trump and his white evangelical supporters.

Now, some people, compelled by their faith to object to abortion, see Trump’s views on abortion as worth the scandals above.

But on several fronts, that is a questionable pass.

Women who are forced to carry an unwanted pregnancy to term suffer extremely adverse health affects; suffer far more tendencies toward suicide, depression, substance abuse, and mental health issues when the pregnancy is due to rape or incest; and bring their child into a world shaped by GOP policies which are bent against poor and single mothers.

Too, if abortion is the key GOP platform plank, then clearly all life is valued, which means then that clearly the GOP ought to be in radical favor of health care for all (not least of all to attend to the health care of women who do carry a baby to term), a living wage (not least of all to attend to the financial needs of women who do carry a baby to term), equal pay for women (to attend to the financial needs of women), paid maternity and paternity leaves (to attend to the financial and mental-health needs of women and the children whom they bear, and as do, say, European countries [I know: I received them]), not to mention be for welcoming all lives who are desperate for help and safety (even the babies and grown adults seeking protection at the border were, presumably, once sought to be protected in the womb) and be against the death penalty (the mass murderer was once an unborn child).

Right-to-life must mean right to all life, and secure, healthy life at that, right?

But, alas, nope.

(It is why, even though I disagree with the Roman Catholic stance on abortion, I respect its theological consistency, for in contrast to White Evangelical Protestantism, you generally see Roman Catholic social justice policy fighting for human rights and against the death penalty.)

(Also, the ELCA has a marvelous, sensitive social statement on abortion, which you can read here.)

Now, circle back to the quote at the top of this blog.  It is excerpted from a 1982 document of the old American Lutheran Church (ALC), the equivalent of our present day ELCA social statements.  It is called, “Mandate for Peacemaking.”

Just the word “mandate” alone ought to catch our attention: it comes from the same word from which we get “commandment” and, not to be missed, “Maundy,” as in Maundy Thursday, as in the day when Jesus broke bread and gave wine, and not only said that we were to do that in his name, but also “Love One Another,” a commandment which did not go unnoticed by the crafters of the synod’s mission statement.

In this singular paragraph quoted above, we get the whole schmear: An acknowledgement of the risks of prophetic speech and action, a centering of the faith in advocacy for the Least of These, a call to be involved in the dismantling of systemic oppression, an affirmation of resistance, an exhortation to network with others who care about justice and compassion, a reminder of where our trust is to be located, and a naming of this way of life as a mandate.

A mandate! And not just for rostered leaders, but for all people of faith!

That said, if you look at the ELCA Visions and Expectations (a document not without its troubles, to be sure, and notorious for its Page 13), you see another series of mandates for rostered leaders in the section under “Faithful Witness:”

Compassion
Christians are called by God to participate in compassionate care for those in need. This church expects its ordained ministers to follow the example of Jesus and to lead the church in compassionate care of the suffering….
Hospitality
Just as Jesus received sinners and ate with them, the church is called to welcome the stranger and to open its life to those who are “outside” and alienated. This church expects its ordained ministers to be models of ap- propriate hospitality in their personal lives, to preside at the Eucharistic table where God welcomes sinners and to lead the church in its witness to divine hospitality.
Peacemaking
The culmination of God’s eschatological salvation will be the overcoming of every enmity and the reconciliation of the whole creation. Yet even in the present time, God’s peace is a reality. This church expects its ordained ministers to be witnesses to and instruments of God’s peace and reconcili- ation for the world.
Justice
The church is to witness to God’s call for justice in every aspect of life, including testimony against injustice and oppression, whether personal or systemic. This church expects its ordained ministers to be committed to justice in the life of the church, in society, and in the world. The ordained minister is expected to oppose all forms of harassment and assault.
Stewardship of the Earth
The people of God are called to the care and redemption of all that God has made. This includes the need to speak on behalf of this earth, its environ- ment and natural resources and its inhabitants. This church expects that its ordained ministers will be exemplary stewards of the earth’s resources, and that they will lead this church in the stewardship of God’s creation.

Rostered leaders agreed to this as a recognized mandate of their rostered leadership.

And, insofar as congregations call rostered leaders, congregations should expect that their rostered leaders engage actively in the above, even and perhaps most especially in the pulpit.

You see, the Gospel is not partisan.

But it is political.

Just today, I came across this quote by Richard Rohr, from his book The Universal Christ.

“There is no such thing as a nonpolitical Christianity. To refuse to critique the system or the status quo is to fully support it—which is a political act well disguised.”

Or, what John Shelley wrote in the preface to the late German theologian Dorothee Sölle’s book Political Theology, “Thus the question of meaning—What do we mean when we speak of God?—must be supplemented by the more practical question: ‘What are the social and political consequences of speaking of God, or remaining silent in a particular situation?’”

Or, as Desmond Tutu once said, “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.  If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality.”

You see, I was not speaking in a partisan way, when I publicly named Trump and his administration—again, I have a long record of calling out the Democrats, not to mention voting against them and for an Independent (i.e. Bernie, who, for the record, does not get my vote this time around).

But I sure as heck was speaking in a political way…based on what I hope is a solid reading of the Gospel.

If a person says that these faith claims “don’t work in the real world,” or are fine in theory but aren’t meant to be put into practice, then I ask you: what, then, is the point of being a Christian?

Is it only to “be saved” in a post-death sort of way?

If this is one’s religious approach, then it may be worth flipping, and stat, to Matthew 25: 31-46:

When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?” And the king will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” Then he will say to those at his left hand, “You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.” Then they also will answer, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?” Then he will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.” And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.’

Like, what are we about, if not radical hospitality, radical inclusion, radical love?

It’s our M.O., people of God!

If a person claims to be a Christian, then one claims that everything—not just some things, not just when politically/culturally/economically/institutionally/congregationally convenient, but all-the-time-everything—is to be in accord with Jesus.

I fail to see how separating families at the borders, putting children in cages, refusing to recognize climate science and therefore global warming, lying, grabbing women’s “pussies,” refusing to aid the poor, rejecting refugees and (legal!!) asylum seekers, bullying, racism, religious bigotry, mocking the disabled, threatening GLBTQIA folk, and identifying any country—including the USA—with God any more than any other country is, is by any stretch of the imagination in keeping with Christ…let alone something that even the most ardent Trump supporters would do, were they to be face-to-face with the revealed Jesus as a child in a cage, or as a disabled journalist, or as a critter on its way to extinction, or as a person with a home flooded because of climate change.

Upshot: as I see it, based on my reading of the gospel, many of the agendas of the present administration and of the GOP do not not not line up with the agenda of God.

Draw a direct line between the gospel and separated, wailing, frightened, hungry babies; walled off nations; the mocking of people like my son; white extremism; policies that harm the poor; lack of access to health care; discrimination; sexual assault; lying; and preventable global warming, and I’ll change my mind.

Rostered leaders are compelled and emboldened by our mandates, and by the gospel, to Call A Thing What It Is.

We just are.

That’s our vocation.

It’s what we are called to do.

And it is damn risky: that old ALC document called that thing exactly what it is.

It is also prophetic.

Annnndddddd, all evidence sometimes to the contrary, it is pastoral—pastoral to those who are being excluded, for they need to hear and experience the tangible Gospel, and pastoral to those who are doing the excluding, for they need to hear and experience the tangible Gospel too.

Even though it may feel like Law.

That’s often what happens, when a Thing is Called what it is.

It feels like an insult.

But actually, actually, it’s extended, if uncomfortable, grace.

For just as this particular synod’s mission statement says, we are called to walk together, to love Christ together, and to love all together, for the sake of the world.

The three keynote presentations I offered can be found here.

A hearty thank you again for the overwhelming and generous welcome from the Northern Illinois Synod.

I was so, so glad to be with you all.

Clearly, in sitting amongst you and hearing of the way you are God’s hands in the world, you do indeed do so much for all people, in the name of Jesus, and for the sake of the world.

Peace.

————-

You can pre-order Anna’s new book I Can Do No Other: The Church’s New Here We Stand Moment here!

This is That Moment, plain and simple.

Our president speaks of other nations as ‘shitholes.’

People who were promised stays are being deported, separated from families, returned to poverty, oppression, and death.

Health care is threatened.

Food is threatened.

Creation is threatened.

Rights are threatened.

The question that this Moment asks us isn’t, “What Would Jesus Do.”

We know that answer.

He sided with the oppressed, the poor, the vulnerable, the sick, the outcasts, and those from shithole places—he was from one, after all (“Can anything good come from Nazareth?”)

The question, instead, that this Moment asks each of us is, “What will I do?”

Each of these people below were faced with a different Moment but the same question.

Each of these people answered with courage born of their faith, a faith that freed them in the knowledge and trust that death doesn’t win.

Even their own.

Read their stories.

Add your name to their stories.

In your own small—or big—way, you can transform this national Good Friday moment into an Easter one.

Death is real. Life is real-er.

These people knew and know that.

You. Do. Too.

________

Sojourner Truth, 1797-1883. US Pentecostal Resister to Systemic Racism and White Women’s Privilege

Harriet Tubman, c 1820-1913. US Christian Conductor of the Underground Railroad.

Martin Niemöller, 1892-1980. German Lutheran Nationalist, Harsh Critic of Hitler.

Dorothy Day, 1897-1980. U.S. Roman Catholic Social Justice Advocate.

Kaj Munk, 1898-1944. Danish Lutheran Pastor, Resister to the Nazis.

Witold Pilecki, 1901-1948. Polish Roman Catholic Resister to the Nazi Regime. Martyr.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, 1906-1943. German Lutheran Resister to the Nazi Regime. Martyr.

Irena Sendler, 1910-2008. Polish Roman Catholic Smuggler of Jewish Children, Rescuer of More Jews Than Any Other Citizen During the Holocaust.

Óscar Arnulfo Romero y Galdámez, 1917-1980. El Salvadoran Roman Catholic Archbishop, Outspoken Critic Against Governmental Repression and Hostility to Human Rights. Martyr.

Martin Luther King, Jr. 1929-1968. U.S. Baptist Resister to Systemic Racism. Martyr.

Dorothee Sölle, 1931-2003. German Protestant Liberation Theologian and Political Activisit.

Desmond Tutu, 1931-. South African Anglican Archbishop, Anti-Apartheid and Human Rights Advocate.

Helen Prejean, 1939-. US Roman Catholic Nun, Advocate Against the Death Penalty.

John Floberg, US Episcopalian Priest, Pipeline Protestor at Standing Rock Reservation, North Dakota.

Anita C. Hill, 1951-. US Lutheran Pastor and Advocate for GLBTQ Full Inclusion in the Church.

Wendell Griffen, 1952-. US Baptist Minister, Judge, Political Advocate, Protestor of the Death Penalty.

(Please comment below with more names to add to the list. Just as acquiescence is contagious, so is courage.)

Dr. Lester Meyer was his Old Testament counterpart, and his good friend. Dad was, in style and approach anyway, a bit Oscar Madison to Les’ Felix Unger.

Soon after Les arrived, he gave a new faculty lecture, and decided to do a bit on the prophet Amos.

Amos, of course, lived in a time of economic prosperity, in early-to-mid 7th Century BCE.

Precisely when the going was good for the elite few, God called Amos–previously a shepherd and a fig tree farmer–to preach justice and equity: balm to those who were oppressed, but really irritating to those who were the oppressors.

A few choice passages:

Hear this word, you cows of Bashan who are on Mount Samaria, who oppress the poor, who crush the needy, who say to their husbands, ‘”Bring something to drink!” the Lord God has sworn by his holiness: The time is surely coming upon you, when they shall take you away with hooks, even the last of you weigh fishooks… (4:1-2)

That exquisite example of righteous fury was directed to wealthy women of Samaria, those who lounged while the poor languished.

(Imagine a pastor calling rich women in the congregation such a thing from the pulpit today…and how long it would be until the commentaries on Amos and the pastor would be sailing away on a moving truck.)

Or this one, God’s fury at religious leaders and followers who simply went to church and called their faith life good, believing that they and God were therefore square and fair:

I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.  Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them; and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals I will not look upon.  Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps.  But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. (5:21-23)

(It is worth noting that Martin Luther King Jr. depended on this text for his “I Have a Dream” speech, as did the candidate I hoped would win the White House, Bernie Sanders.)

Here’s a healthy handful of judgment on ordinary people who engage in economic injustice:

Hear this, you that trample on the needy, and bring to ruin the poor of the land, saying, “When will the new moon be over so that we may sell grain; and the sabbath, so that we may offer wheat for sale? We will make the ephah small and the shekel great, and practice deceit with false balances, buying the poor for silver and the needy for a pair of sandals, and selling the sweepings of the wheat”…On that day, says the Lord God, I will make the sun go down at noon, and darken the earth in broad daylight. I will turn your feasts into mourning, and all your songs into lamentation; I will bring sackcloth on all loins, and baldness on every head; I will make it like the mourning for an only son, and the end of it like a bitter day.” (8:4-6, 9-10)

Amos, in other words, wasn’t known for euphemism.

So, back to Les and Dad.

After Les’ presentation, a lecture that was a resounding affirmation of Amos’ chutzpah, the crowd began to filter out of the room, and across the campus lawn.

Dad, surrounded by other faculty, took the public moment, a perfect one to play with the New Guy, and hollered out to Les: “Amos was a milksop!”

Amos, of course, was anything but a milksop, which was precisely Dad’s point.

MY point is that after the election of Donald Trump on Tuesday, we need to out-Amos even Amos.

I am convinced that God is really, over-the-top furious that Donald Trump won, and furious in the wrathful way that only God can do with those who made it happen, and who let it happen.

Amos tells me that.

Hosea tells me that.

Isaiah tells me that.

Micah tells me that.

Jesus tells me that.

Hannah and Mary and the Samaritan woman tell me that.

But now that it’s happened, it’s time for modern-day Amoses to step up to the plate.

Note the plural, there.

We need more than one.

As religious leaders and religious people, we are called by God, called by the very gospel, in the name of God and the Gospel to denounce sexual predator Donald Trump and the support of religious bigotry, homophobia, racism, the degredation of the environment, misogyny, and the vile rhetoric against the Least of These that got this man in the Oval Office.

I have heard those who voted for him protest that they aren’t bigoted, or racist, or a misogynist, or homophobes, or accepting of demeaning words against the disabled and approving of sexual assault against women.

I say bull-pucky.

If you voted for him, you are, because you voted those stances into power.

All the worse if you are a person of faith who backed him with your ballot.

Putin, the KKK, and ISIS are thrilled with you.  If that’s the sort of company with whom you want to keep, you all can kick up your heels and and raise your glasses together.

Your vote pleases people like these immensely, and your vote approved all of the above.

As furious as God is with you, I find comfort in knowing that after you are judged, my faith assures me God will have mercy on you.

HOWEVER, I’m not only calling you out.

I’m also calling out the Democrats, my party.

I’m calling out me, therefore, too.

We are the party who should have been for the poor white rural voters who threw in their vote, and, I would argue, threw in their towels to Trump too.

We should have been there for them.

We should have perceived their anger and their disdain.

We should have heard how we weren’t attentive to their concerns.

We should have done a better job of pointing out how they may be disillusioned with the Dems, but they are even more disillusioned by Trump, who habitually, gleefully, and unrepentantly tramples on their lives and livliehoods.

They have been fooled, duped, and exploited.

We should have made that clearer.

Bernie tried.

God bless Bernie.

And I am calling out the Church.

I am, for the record, part of the Church I’m calling out.

Some time back, a Republican legislator in SD was striving to protect payday lenders, lenders who were just thankfully defeated, thanks to a movement to cap the rate.  Prior to the legislation, these usurers were charging an average of 574% interest.

Turns out that this woman was also a Lutheran.

So in my correspondence with her, I made reference to that, Lutheran-to-Lutheran, and said that nothing in our shared faith, nor in our shared denomination, supported or affirmed usurious practices.

Her response was to say, simply, “The churches have failed the poor.”

That struck me to the core.

She was right.

But she wasn’t right in the way she thought she was.

In my reply to her, then, I said this:

The churches have failed, but not in the way you have suggested.

We are strapped financially to do all that needs to be done on behalf of the Least of These, not least of all because of all the programs for the poor being whittled away by the SD government: your vote against Medicaid Expansion is yet another instance of your abdication of the principles of Matthew 25.

Where we, the Church, have failed, then, is making more clear and concrete the direct connections between faith and life and politics.

Your vote matters, and is a reflection of that in which you truly trust.

In this case, I assure you, it is not God as understood by the Christian tradition.

We, the Church, have failed.  We the leaders, the ones who are supposed to be preachers and prophets, have failed.

In our fear about (and misunderstanding of) the separation of Church and State, in our fear of offending the cows of Bashaan in our congregations, in our fear of calling out false and flimsy religiousity, in our (extremely understandable) fear of losing our calls, we have failed to announce that homophobia, sexual assault, misogyny, racial bigotry, the denial of human-caused climate change, and the  mocking of the disabled are essentially, unequivocally, undeniably not welcome or part of the expression of our faith.

Our historical inability to out-Amos Amos has led Donald Trump straight to Washington DC, perhaps the safest place to be on Inauguration Day, because so many ISIS leaders will be there to offer their congratulations to the new President.

We have been milksops.

Judgment needs to be sounded: sounded against Trump, sounded against those who supported him, sounded against the Democrats, and sounded against the Church.

I appreciate all of the calls for healing and for reconciliation.

But as another OT writer said, Quoholeth, a cranky buzzard, “For everything there is the time.”

This is not the time to speak of that.

This is the time for righteous indignation.

This is the time for naming the dasterdliness that has occurred, and lingering there, so that we begin to comprehend it.

Those who encourage reconciliation may have the best intentions in mind, but the urge to reconcile is all too often a veiled urge to avoid the hard truth of terrible damage done.

Blanket absolutions and pretend happy gatherings where there are more elephants than people in the room are shams.

Trump and his ascendancy put people already at risk–GLBTQ, women, people of color, immigrants, Muslims, the disabled, the environment, and, thanks to Trump, journalists–all the more terrified now.

Time for us to tap into our inner Amos.  To make the ancient Amos proud.  To out-Amos Amos.

Those who voted for Trump should repent by, now that they’ve voted him in, committing to speak out when–not if–Trump endorses and enacts the very things for which they claim they did not vote (but, quite actually, did).

Democrats should repent, by figuring out how we missed the signs, missed the voices, missed the courage to call out the leaders in our own party who couldn’t hear, who refused to hear, who sought to stifle the Amos in our party, like Bernie, who called it years ago.

And the Church should repent, by figuring out how to raise up both lay and clergy Amoses, and how to support theses Amoses, and how to protect Amoses, and how to help the Amoses be heard.

This is not about GOP vs. Democrat.  This is about rebuking hate-mongering, exploitation, and oppression, and doing so in the name of God.

Given the stakes, perhaps exorcism is not too strong a word here.

I realize that to do so, one invites a real threat of death: vocations can be lost, congregations can break apart, feelings can be hurt.

Freelance though I am, I am not immune to this threat: my income is based on OMG-related work.  I realize that this post alone could cost me presentations and consults and writing invites, let alone friendships.

I get it.

But I also get this: death happens if we don’t.

With the election of Donald Trump, our nation voted in an intensely dangerous and dark and deadly Good Friday.  Talk even of Holy Saturday is premature.  The Least of Those–including even our planet–who were already vulnerable, are even more so now, wondering when the tomb of his policies and rhetoric will be opened for them.

The situation in our nation, and in the Democratic party (I haven’t even mentioned the Republican party, who, as my daughter said, helped create the monster they have been trying to kill), and in our Church is dire.

Amos wasn’t known for words of hope.  But there are a few at the tail end of his book.

Perhaps, with God’s mercy, Amos’ near-final announcements from God will be spoken to us in the USA too:

The time is surely coming, says the Lord, when the one who plows shall overtake the one who reaps, and the treader of grapes the one who sows the seeds; the mountains shall drop sweet wine, and all the hills shall flow with it. I will restore the fortunes of my people Israel, and they shall rebuild the ruined cities and inhabit them. (Amos 9:13-14).

AN ADDITIONAL COMMENT

Given the way that this blog has generated much attention and many lies, I feel compelled to add another few words to it here.

I understand that many have been offended by my words, not least of all those directed to those who voted for Trump.

I also understand the reason for offense.

Here’s the challenge for those of all called to be ordained preachers:

Our call is to comfort, and also to call out.

It has been said that we are to follow the maxim to comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable.

There is a long history within Scripture of prophets and teachers and preachers directing offensive language at those who threaten or actually do harm the Least of These.

Amos was but one such man: precisely why I lead with him above.  Hosea was another. Jesus was another (have you read how he called those who believed themselves to be faithful a “brood of vipers?” How about when he upturned the tables in the temple? The man was hardly meek and mild, all Christmas carols to the contrary, and he offended enough people that he got himself crucified).

I have found not one thing that Donald Trump has said or done that consistently reflects the God of Amos, of Jesus, of Luke, of Paul.

Instead, his rhetoric and behavior–and the rhetoric and behavior that he has condoned and inspired–has been consistently belittling, derogatory, demeaning, and threatening to the very ones we are called by Christians to most protect.

As a Christian, and as a pastor, I am called to name that uncomfortable truth, to, as Martin Luther said in his Heidelberg Disputation, call a thing what it is.

And, it is worth noting, particularly in light of those who seem to be most agitated by this post, I stand with conservative, evangelical Christian leaders in this regard too.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/why-these-evangelical-leaders-are-firmly-against-trump_us_578d0d14e4b0fa896c3f6fc2

http://religionnews.com/2016/06/21/7-conservative-christians-who-are-not-supporting-trump/

http://thefederalist.com/2016/10/12/christians-support-trump-undermines-public-witness/

We, conservative and liberal Christian pastors alike, are called to be preachers of the Good News.

Sometimes, however, Good News sounds like Bad when it insists that we give up something we have come to love and trust, or hold dear, or believe to be true, when, it fact, it isn’t.

By no means am I untouched by the hard words and implications of faith.

I, too, cringe about any number of texts and the consequent expectations of my religious beliefs.

But my religious beliefs trump, if you will, everything else, even my personal privilege and preferences.

No vote offered is for some sinless saint.

But when one votes, one has to choose between the choices one has.

And your choice, as a person of faith, is not about what makes you feels safest, what is most helpful for you, what protects your interests most: your choice, as a person of faith, is to choose the one who most closely reflects your God and the agenda of that God.

Mocking disabled people, shamelessly and repeatedly groping women, registering people on the basis of religious belief, bullying people on Twitter, disputing climate science, currying the favor of dictators like Putin, urging violence on those who disagree, establishing walls against people maligned as criminals and rapists, and claiming to be a Christian who brags that he doesn’t ever need or ask for forgiveness, and not knowing that it is 2nd Corinthians rather than Two Corinthians: all of these and more are impossible to reconcile with the God of the Old and New Testaments, and most certainly the one to whom Mary sang when she found out she was pregnant with the Jesus whose birth we are about to celebrate:

And Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.”

or the one to whom John the Baptist’s father Zechariah prayed:

“Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them. He has raised up a mighty savior for us in the house of his servant David, as he spoke through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old, that we would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us. Thus he has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors, and has remembered his holy covenant, the oath that he swore to our ancestor Abraham, to grant us that we, being rescued from the hands of our enemies, might serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness before him all our days. And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins. By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

May, now, our feet be guided in just that very way.

Peace.

Anna

It always should be, as we have the top two poorest counties in the nation, and three of the top four.

Yep.

Right here.

South Dakota.

This time, though, poverty in South Dakota garnered national attention thanks to a Republican contender for the U.S. Senate, Annette Bosworth.  Last week, she posted a meme crudely comparing food stamp recipients to wild animals who become dependent on handouts.

Lots about this episode is shocking: the insulting initial comparison; the number of people who emphatically agree with Dr. Bosworth; and her repeated (and widely-flung) references to herself as a politician informed by her Christian identity.

It’s hard for me to imagine Jesus comparing hungry people with wild animals; he pulled the vipers barb out of his pocket every now and again, but to poke into the powerful religious authorities who were more interested in preserving their legalistic interpretations of law rather than engendering and celebrating mercy and grace.

(Hmmm.  It just dawned on me, interestingly, that it is possible to find Amos, an Old Testament prophet, comparing wealthy women who exploit the poor to livestock.   They became the “cows of Bashaan.”)

It won’t be a surprise to many regular readers that Annette Bosworth’s politics and mine differ in the extreme.

But that’s not the point.

This post isn’t about politics, though I wade into them in this post.

It’s about religious perspectives.

Scripture matters.

One could argue that interpretation of it matters even more.

~~~~~~~~

“Just like it says in the Bible: ‘God helps those who help themselves.'”

Except that the Bible doesn’t say that.

Instead, there is a long history (the “proper” term is Heilsgeschichte, namely salvation history, the story thread throughout Scripture of God’s involvement in the world) of God’s commitment first to the poor, to those who are helpless in so many simple and complex ways.

Erma Bombeck (and who doesn’t miss Erma Bombeck) wrote a piece called “My Favorite Child.”  In it she admits that yes, yes she does have a favorite child.  And then, in detailing a child in various and sundry states of trouble and pain, she wraps it up by saying “All mothers have their favorite child.  It is always the same one: the one who needs you at the moment.”

God’s history shows that yes, yes God does have a favorite child: the poor one. The sick one.  The vulnerable one.

Liberation theology has given us this phrase: God gives preferential treatment to the poor.

If we identify ourselves with God’s name, I figure that we, too, are called to give preferential treatment to the poor.

Among other things, that suggests that as Christian policy makers and voters, our decisions are to be made from their vantage point.  Not from the vantage point of those with an abundance of resources.  But from the vantage point of those with exactly a scarcity of resources.

The Republican-led Congress of 2010 threatened to dismantle, and, in fact, succeeded in dismantling, a variety of social assistance for God’s favorite children. The outcry from religious traditions was loud, both before and after the decisions.  One movement called the Circle of Protection has signatures from a wide swath of Christian traditions, and calls out those who vote to reduce SNAP, who reduce corporate taxes while disproportionately taxing the poor (as in, for example, the food tax, which, again to our shame, South Dakota still employs), and the threatened end of emergency unemployment benefits.

Several states, including South Dakota, are refusing Medicaid Expansion.  Even as I write this, news is coming from Missouri with protestors flooding the Senate because of their government’s resistance to expand this critical aid to the poor.

Of course, not only are Christians dismayed by policies that harm the Least of These.  Here in January 2013 I reviewed the faith traditions of nationally elected officials and their stated religious affiliation’s official statements on economic justice.  I was simply curious about how votes mirrored religious alignments; not only those of Christians, but of Jews and Muslims too.

The review of religious stances demonstrates wide religious distress at policy decisions which work against the poor.

The idea of dependency which Annette Bosworth raises (though in an extremely tactless way) is worthy of consideration…and when considered, reveals that while an issue, it is not, in fact, a big issue…for the poor.

For the rich, on the other hand, governmental assistance seems to be a more significant addiction.

Interestingly, the attack on Food Stamps seems to be an easier target than, say, corporate subsidies, as my husband and I have noted and addressed in the past.

I sincerely doubt that, if weaned off of large tax breaks, the children of big oil execs would suffer in the same way as the children of the working poor, or the disabled poor, or the ill poor.

In other words, Annette Bosworth is right about one thing: the children of the poor are dependent on the system.

Now, I began this blog by saying that Scripture matters, as does interpretation.

There are scads of texts about poverty and our calling (as Jews and Christians) to be their advocates, to not exploit them, and to serve them: over 2000.

There are no texts that come to mind to suggest that God’s people are to become wealthy for wealth’s sake (in fact, of Luke it’s been said that a basic message of this gospel is that just as the poor are to be redeemed of their poverty, the rich are to be redeemed of their wealth).

There are no texts that come to mind to suggest that political or social systems that benefit the wealthy while causing harm to the poor are consistent with God’s agenda (in fact, Matthew 25 warns of grave consequences to those nations which don’t feed, and heal, and clothe, and visit the most vulnerable).

There is one text that is about poverty that has been mis-adapted to be not about poverty.  The destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah has been construed to be evidence of God’s displeasure about homosexuality.

In fact, Ezekiel 16:49-50 states that the judgment rendered against these cities was rather because they did not aid the poor and needy.

That, ahem, totally reframes the notion of anti-sodomy laws, doesn’t it.

There are two texts that seem to be oft-referenced to legitimate refusing to relentlessly help the poor.

One is Matthew 26:6-13.  The famous line is “The poor will always be with you.”  It’s often used as a statement of fact, as in “Well, there’s nothing you can do about that.  It’s a reality as true as the sun rising in the East and setting in the West.”

Read literally, it’s easy to assume that’s the gist of it.

Read contextually, read historically, read in light of God’s Heilsgeschichte, then you come out in a different place.

First, it isn’t a statement of fact to be left there. Instead, it’s set up to be a contrast with the following statement: Jesus won’t always be with them.

This isn’t a minor quibble.

Not only does this text follow almost exactly after the Matthew 25 text I mentioned above.

It follows right before Jesus’ execution.

Taken in its entirety, the point is far more rather that this woman couldn’t save him from crucifixion (a death brought about because of his entire ministry on behalf of the Least of These), but she could anoint him king…and this was her only shot at it.

And a woman was his anointer!

It’s an extraordinary text.

Another is this one, from 2 Thessalonians.  “For even when we were with you, we gave you this command: Anyone unwilling to work should not eat.”

Oh, this one grates me when it is misused.

Note that the text comes from 2 Thessalonians.  Not 1 Thessalonians.  But 2 Thessalonians.

Earlier, Paul had come to the Thessalonian community to spread his grasp of the gospel.  Later, this same community began to be confused, because they had believed that no one would die before Jesus would return.  But people were dying.  So, what was up with that, the people wondered.

Paul had to clarify his point, then, but still there were people who were so convinced that Jesus was coming any moment that they simply stopped bothering to work.

They didn’t, however, stop getting hungry.  And so they expected other members, members who weren’t so sure that Jesus would come before their next lunch, to feed those who were.

Behind this, however, is yet another important piece.  The community was just that: communal.  Everyone was to participate in the entire community, toward the entire community, to the benefit of the entire community, as each could for each who needed.

And all of this is done in Jesus’ name.

And this is my interpretive lens, my hermeneutic (to use more theo-lingo).

If we do anything in Jesus’ name, then we have to think and act like Jesus.

The thing of it is, from the long tradition in the First Testament (Old Testament) of God’s deep commitment to the vulnerable; from the moment that Mary learned of her pregnancy (the Magnificat) and sung of her God–this same God–who lifted up the lowly, filled up the hungry, and sent the rich away empty; through Jesus’ life of feeding the poor, healing the sick, and forgiving the sinners; to his death where he forgave his oppressors; to his resurrection which announced that life wins, well….one has to squint to make Scripture say that we should denigrate and subjugate the poor.

Now, it is true: dependency can become a way of life, for the poor–and for the rich.

But rarely is this tendency reduced to an individual habit.  It’s a systemic issue.

In the case of the rich, the system (governmental, educational, social) facilitates their continued success.

In the case of the poor, the system (governmental, educational, social) facilitates their continued struggle.

So again, the liberation theologians speak to us: we should have preferential treatment of the poor and vulnerable.  Everything that we do should be from their perspective first.

Perhaps, as a result, we allow a few poor dependents a free pass.

But I’d rather be judged for that than be rebuked and later called by Jesus a wild animal, a snake, for example, for turning my back on God’s favorite children.

~~~~~~~~

Last Sunday carried my latest Argus Leader Faith and Doubt column.  This article was dedicated to the notion of compassion, as it is threaded through the major religions.  You can read that here.

That’s what a pastor friend of mine said in a large group conversation about the changing views in the Church around homosexuality, and all the recent stirred up trouble and pain and dicey discussions and risky decisions made by people of faith with deeply conflicting views.

Today is Pentecost, and many Christians are gettin’ their red on, and we are praying “Come, Holy Spirit.”

Because that’s what you do, on Pentecost.  You pray fervently for the Holy Spirit to come.

Check out this powerful ancient prayer: Veni Sancte Spiritus:

Come, Holy Spirit,

send forth the heavenly

radiance of your light.

grant eternal joy.

grant the deliverance of salvation,

Come, father of the poor,

come, giver of gifts,

come, light of the heart.

Greatest comforter,

sweet guest of the soul,

sweet consolation.

In labor, rest,

in heat, temperance,

in tears, solace.

O most blessed light,

fill the inmost heart

of your faithful.

Without your grace,

there is nothing in us,

nothing that is not harmful.

Cleanse that which is unclean,

water that which is dry,

heal that which is wounded.

Bend that which is inflexible,

fire that which is chilled,

correct what goes astray.

Give to your faithful,

those who trust in you,

the sevenfold gifts.

Grant the reward of virtue

grant the deliverance of salvation,

grant eternal joy.

Read it again.

Those are some serious petitions.

Now trying praying it.

I dare you.

Try really praying it.

“Cleanse that which is unclean, water that which is dry, heal that which is wounded. Bend that which is inflexible, fire that which is chilled, correct what goes astray…”

If I were Montoya, I’d be led to say, “I do not think the Holy Spirit means what you think She means.”

I heard it said recently, but for the life of me I can’t track it down, that whenever the Holy Spirit shows up in Scripture, change is in the air.

What you had presumed to be safe, isn’t.

The Holy Spirit isn’t safe.

Two weeks ago in church, a small child wandered up to the children’s sermon with a grin and a helmet on.  I was reminded of this quote by Annie Dillard:

Why do people in church seem like cheerful, brainless tourists on a packaged tour of the Absolute? … Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake someday and take offense, or the waking god may draw us to where we can never return. Teaching a Stone to Talk: Expeditions and Encounters (New York: Harper & Row, 1982), pp. 40-41.

There are a lot of people in the church these days reaching for helmets and life preservers and seatbelts for protection.

It’s dangerous, here, these days.

When you think about it, though, danger infuses something as necessary as driving in a car, as adventurous as hopping on a rocket, as fun an amusement park ride.

The necessary and the adventurous and the fun are all dangerous.

That’s sort of where we are in the church these days; a dangerous fusion of the necessary and the adventurous and the fun.

I think we are there, right in that dangerous intersection of the necessary and the adventurous and the fun, because I think that the Holy Spirit has heard us.

I think she’s come.

I think she’s stirring up trouble, knowing that we mistake placidness for faithfulness.

I think she’s setting us–and some of our sacred cows–on fire.

I think she’s birthing newness, and birth is never painless, never not messy.

I think she’s teaching us new words for a new culture.

I think she’s blowing a wind that is hurling all sorts of our idols through the air and out the door.

I do think she may have forgotten to supply us with helmets, but that’s a quibble.

Come, Holy Spirit.

Really.

…..

Gulp.

___________________

Two brief matters:

First, here are two links to previous Pentecosty OMG blogs.  It’s been suggested that I link to previous pieces I’ve written on similar topics, so here goes:

http://omgcenter.com/2011/06/holy-adjectives-pentecosty-musings/

http://omgcenter.com/2012/09/detecting-the-holy-spirit/

Second, I apologize that there has been such a delay between the last post and this one.

A few matters have caused a delay: among them, I have a bug in my brain to introduce OMG readers to different Big Deal theologians.  Pastors “meet” these world-shakers and shapers in seminary but then have few occasions to get laity to get to know them too.  Because of some great questions that I’ve gotten post-Easter about the historicity of the resurrection, I’ve been brushing up on my Bultmann.  That’s taken some time and strong drink of the caffeinated and non-caffeinated variety.

Second, we’ve found out in the recent weeks that my mother’s cancer is fiercer than we wish.  We are not conceding the battle, of course, but therefore posts may be less frequent as we shore up our fortresses and fight the good fight.  For those of you new to OMG, you can learn a bit more about my mother here.

Come, Holy Spirit,

Cleanse that which is unclean,water that which is dry,heal that which is wounded.

Last week, I got this query:

Hello Anna,

As I walked to work this morning I saw posters for a “Hell-oween” event…I called the number on the poster and learned that it is going to be a haunted house similar to “Hell House”  which highlights “real-life” terror such as abortion, suicide, homosexuality, etc.

I am concerned, and frustrated. You can’t argue, you can’t call them out publicly, but at the same time I can’t just sit here.

What would your response be? As a human I fear for the teenagers that enter on Friday night and walk out with such intense, misguided understandings.

First, I apologize that I am only now getting to it: sick kids have dominated my thoughts this past week, and their yuck has been frightful enough!

I know of these houses.

Whenever I disagree with somebody, I try to get into their mindset.  It’s a trained habit, forcing me to move out of a reptilian, amygdala-fired reactionary frenzy and toward a thoughtful, perhaps even mindful, consideration of what is being presented and why.

It’s practiced caritas.

So, in the spirit of charity (which stems etymologically from the word caritas), people who create these houses of horror think that they are saving souls.  They think that if people would only “have eyes to see” the eternal consequences of their “immoral” choices, they would abstain and therefore regain their place in heaven.

While many of us find this “evangelism technique” distressing (to say the least) many of us would not hesitate, say, sending our children to a talk against drunk driving given by someone terribly maimed by their decision to do just that.  It’s not Schadenfreude, but rather cause-and-effect made manifest with the goal of averting disaster.

How much more, they figure, ought we literally scare the hell out of people?

We are doing it for their own good!

And let’s face it: it gets people’s attention.

Young people’s impressionable attention in particular.

But here’s the thing about young people: they are in the process of maturing.

And they are ripe (that’s the meaning of the word ‘mature’) for owning their own opinions, their own beliefs.

They are beginning the process of emancipation from the obligatory acceptance of Authority’s opinion, a move which frees them to learn not only that there are other ways of thinking about matters, but that it is acceptable to think!

And so I see these houses as an opportunity to empower them with the gift of some questions at exactly this fortuitous moment in their development into adults.

These questions, for example, aren’t a bad place to begin:

1. Where in Scripture does one see this notion of God’s desire to eternally damn people?

2. What is going on in those texts, and in the time in which those text were written?

3. Where do you see in Scripture contrary notions of God?

In other words, what does a teenager love to do as much as anything, but question authority?

And these houses try to gain authority by scaring the hell out of them.

So the teen has an opportunity to own what they believe, and why they believe it.

They also have the opportunity to learn how arguments are made.

Those who use this approach to make someone come to their understanding of God use coercion via fear as a primary tool.

“Believe or die” can be effective…though the integrity of the effect is questionable.

And so here are more questions:

1. Why use fear as a way to convince people to act or believe in a certain way?

2. How does fear as a catalyst for belief shape the nature of the end-result belief?

3. How does this method reflect the group’s/person’s understanding of God’s essence, or at least God’s way of engaging?

And then I wouldn’t hesitate asking yet another set of questions:

1. Why these terrors?

2. What do they seem to have in common?

3. What sort of terror might those who consider having abortions, or those who have suicidal thoughts, or those who fear coming out, be experiencing here and now?

4.How might we be complicit in their terror?

5. What of other terrors like starving children, the ill, the destitute?  Or of terrors such as greed, monopoly of power, of apathy, of ignorance?

6. Are we as ready to offer help and compassion as we are to condemn?

In short, it seems to me like these “Houses of Horror” are horrible indeed.

But for different reasons than they like to think.

And one can redeem them by inviting those who might be influenced by them to steer clear of the anxiety they produce, to remain calm, and to ask the questions.

One more thing:

Today is Reformation Day.

The key piece of the Reformation is that we are saved by grace and not by works.

That also suggests that we are also not damned by them either.

And it seems to me that that notion, the notion of grace for all, is more frightful to some then hell.

Maybe across the street from your friendly neighborhood “Hell-oween,” you could hold a Counter-Event , a “House of Heaven,” on All Saints’ Day, tomorrow.  You could call it, “Hello, even’ you?”

I’ll stick with my day job.

1.  I do not believe that people who do not believe in my notion of God–or any other notion, for that matter–are going to hell.

2.  This conviction translates into really, honestly, having no drive to convert anyone to Christianity away from some other framework of belief.

It should also be said that I like being a Christian, I think that there is much to be said for Christianity, and I am not afraid to talk about what I think Christianity is about and what it can offer to the table.

But I have no compulsion whatsoever to “save souls for Jesus.”

I don’t even understand the notion, and frankly it makes me start to hyperventilate.

Suffice it to say that I’ve never been asked to serve on an evangelism committee.

Engage in mutual conversation? Yes.

Engage in conversion for the sake of conversion?

No.

I trust in grace entirely.

And I trust that I may have it wrong.

3.  I do not believe that there is such a thing as an atheist.

The word, in Greek, breaks down to mean no-God: a-theist.  Someone who is an atheist is someone who believes that there is no God.  (An agnostic, then, breaks down to mean “someone who doesn’t know: a-gnosis).

I am in line with Luther and Tillich who believe that a person’s god is that in which or in whom you place your ultimate trust.

That can change, from moment to moment, but generally we all have some guiding principles, the most central belief(s) that shape and inform who we are.  It could even be that our god is ourselves, or our trust in reason, or science, or, to take it a different way, my children, or in yet down another path, an addiction, a relationship for which we’ll sacrifice all things, a pursuit after money or fame, and so forth.

That is: there is nothing innate about the word “God” that necessarily implies something “supernatural.”  In fact, strictly speaking, the notion of a supernatural god is decidedly not Jewish, and therefore not Christian.  It is Greek, however, and that influence undoubtedly shaped the early Church…and everything that came after.

That said, I know that the word has a commonly understood meaning, namely one who does not believe in a specific “supernatural” god who is worshiped through rituals and actions.

I’ll work with that, then.

Even so……

4. The question is less whether god exists, and more which god is it in which you believe?

This is not a minor point.

Often, when I hear people tell me that they don’t believe in God, I ask them what they understand God to be, and it turns out that I don’t believe in that God either.

So before conversation begins about God, in any way, shape, or form, the conversation partners have to have a common working definition about what they are talking about!

Pat Robertson, Fred Phelps, the Pope, and I…we all have very different notions of God.  That shapes what we think about following God.

Often, I’m discovering, those who argue against Christianity argue against a notion of God that many don’t hold anymore: a God who looks awfully Zeusian.  I’m all for indignation, but before I get my undies and innards in a knot, I’d rather make sure that we’re in agreement that we ought to be arguing in the first place, and in the second, that we’re in agreement about what we’re arguing.

Again, even self-identified Christians can’t agree what God means.

5. This is all to say that a Christian is not a Christian is not a Christian.

Regardless of the group being considered  (women, blacks, gays, Muslims….Christians) we run into problems when we speak of  the “them” as a monolithic group.  Not least of all, en masse-speak furthers stereotypes and misrepresentations, and reveals more about the teller’s lack of knowledge and nuance than it reveals about the subject of the teller’s telling.

The same, of course, is true of atheists: i.e., an atheist is not an atheist is not an atheist.

6.  I like atheists.

Not all atheists.  I don’t like all Christians or all Democrats either, for that matter (I do tend to like all my family, thankfully, but you get my point).

But often, atheists pose valid questions, and keep people of other faiths engaged in their claims.

And remember, my husband was killed and my son suffered a traumatic brain injury, a trauma that affected more than just his beautiful brain.

There is reason to raise questions about God.

I get that.

I respect that.

7. Yes, I did say “of other faiths.”

Atheists have faith in their belief system, as do Christians and Muslims and Jews and so on and so forth.

Faith is trust in something that is not provable.  One cannot prove that there is a supernatural God.  One cannot prove that there is not.  One might be able to prove that there was a big bang (though there are different “denominations” of beliefs about that within the scientific community) but one cannot prove what happened immediately prior to it, or how whatever happened was there to have something happen to it in the first place.

They have faith.

_____________________

That’s the background for the intent of this blog, which is really about the rising angry rhetoric from atheist fundamentalists.

Yep.

Religious Fundamentalism is not just for Christians or Muslims anymore.

Atheists got game here too.

Let me throw a couple of links your way, an increasing array of articles written with such vehemence, such vitriol and misunderstanding that I am moved to put a few thoughts to the blog.

http://www.politicususa.com/en/the-second-oldest-profession-lying-for-christ

Note the title, here: “The Second Oldest Profession–Lying for Christ.”

It’s an interesting piece, a glowing review of Bart Ehrman’s recent book Forged.

It’s true that Ehrman is a well-trained biblical scholar.  His M.Div. and Ph.D. are from Princeton, he studied under a premier scholar of Greek, Bruce Metzger, and now he teaches at the University of Chapel Hill in North Carolina.  He has served in the leadership of the Society of Biblical Literature, the reigning professional association for biblical theologians.

All of these facts make it all the stranger that he writes what he does.

For example:

Ehrman provides an example from these early days, the New Testament’s letter to the Ephesians:

• “Fasten the belt of truth around your waist (6:14);
• The gospel as “the word of truth” (1:13);
• The “truth is in Jesus” (4:21);
• “Speak the truth” to your neighbors (4:24-25); and,
• The “fruit of the light” is found in “truth” (5:9);[3]

The problem, after all this truth-talking, is that the author of Ephesians is as dishonest as the day is long. As Ehrman says, it’s ironic that the author of Ephesians is lying about who he is, pretending to be Paul of Tarsus. That he is, in fact, a forger. A liar.

Jeepers.

That’s quite a way to begin a conversation.

The author of the review explicitly calls Christians liars (not to mention the implication that we are prostituting ourselves, following on the heels of the fabled “oldest” profession in the world), and the author of the book, Ehrman, calls the author of Ephesians a forger and a liar.

There are a number of ways to go about responding.  I’m not interested in doing a point-by-point refutation, but I do think it’s worth noting that not all biblical scholars believe that Ephesians is pseudographical (namely written by one person in the name of another) and in noting that many believe that what to us, now, smacks as plagiarism was then a form of honoring a teacher.  You can read a bit more about both claims here:

http://bible.org/seriespage/ephesians-introduction-argument-and-outline

http://www.biblicalstudies.org.uk/pdf/vox/vol01/pseudepigrapha_guthrie.pdf

These are but two online links (volumes about this matter have been written, not that one would know that to read Ehrman) to discover information that points out that it’s hardly as simply as forgery and lying…and scholar Ehrman ought to know better than to suggest that it is.  Ironically, his blithe dismissal of an extended conversation in the world of biblical scholarship suggests his own proclivity to telling untruths.

(I’m not the only one who is concerned about Ehrman’s approach.  Here’s just one person who has similar objections: http://www.americanthinker.com/2007/03/review_of_bart_d_ehrmans_misqu.html)

But Christians are not only called liars amongst atheist extremists, but hypocrites who “cherry pick” our own beliefs.

Take a look here:

http://www.alternet.org/story/152210/progressive_religious_believers’_big_hypocrisy:_cherry-picking_the_parts_of_religion_they_like_and_ditching_the_rest?page=entire

This author directs her attention not only to the conservatives, but rather to the progressives, who, although well-intentioned, still miss the fact that they arbitrarily pick and choose what parts of the Bible they like.  Listen:

See, that’s the thing about “looking into your heart” to decide which of your religion’s cherries are the good, tasty ones that you should gobble right up, and which are the nasty, rotten, poisoned ones you should avoid at all costs. Believers tend to conveniently overlook the fact that other believers are looking just as deeply into their hearts… and are coming up with the exact opposite answers to these questions. Some people sincerely believe that God intends marriage to be strictly between one man and one woman — others sincerely believe that God intends marriage to be between any two people who love each other and want to make a lifetime commitment. Some people sincerely believe that God created women and men as equals, to live their lives as they best see fit — others sincerely believe that God created women and men with radically different roles in life, and that women’s divinely ordained role is to be subordinate to men. Etc. Etc. Etc.

And there’s no way to find out which of them is right.

Trouble, is, it’s not like that–or at least not consistently.

The Bible is also known as the Canon.  It comes from a word meaning “yardstick.”  It’s the check to make sure that something is “measuring up.”

But there is indeed another phrase called “The canon within the canon.”  Lutherans, for example, we’re all over Paul.  We love Paul.  And we tend to read more Pauline inspired texts than, say, James.

The author is right, that there is a danger of cherry-picking.  Three things, however:

1. This is why I love being a systematic theologian.

We get to consider the texts, recognize that there are inconsistencies to them, and then say, “What is an appropriate framework for interpreting what this says and what this means?”

It’s like a constitutional lawyer.  Or a parent.  “I know I said you could stay up late last Sunday night, but not tonight!  This Sunday night Mama is watching Masterpiece Mystery! Now Go To Bed!”

It’s called thinking. Not hypocrisy.  Not cherry-picking.  Thinking.

2. One “cherry-picker test” is to note what cherries is a person going after.

A cherry picker is going to find the best of the offerings.  But generally, Jesus offers instead some bitter crabapples.  “Take up your cross.” “Sell what you have.” “Those who lose their lives will save them.”

At least among a fair portion of Christians, we follow the idea that we are to act on behalf of the poor, the oppressed, the hungry…even if that means that we give up something that would benefit us.  We believe we might just be called to, how did the author put it? Oh yes:  pick “the nasty, rotten, poisoned ones” that others might “avoid at all costs.”

3.  Atheists have the same quandary and quagmire.

An atheist is not an atheist is not an atheist.  At the end of the day, an atheist makes a choice.  What is the rule of thumb?  Is it consistently applied?  Why or why not?  Are there allowable exceptions to rules?  Who choses when that might be?

It behooves all of us, Christians and atheists alike, to be aware of our moral code and how we have come to it and whether we apply it uniformly or, well, cherry pick it.

Then we have gleeful Ding-Dong-The-Witch-Is-Deady articles, like this one:

http://www.alternet.org/belief/151947/goodbye_religion_how_godlessness_is_increasing_with_each_new_generation/?page=entire

Read this:

Most large Christian sects, both Catholic and Protestant, have made fighting against gay rights and women’s rights their all-consuming crusade. And young people have gotten this message loud and clear: polls find that the most common impressions of Christianity are that it’s hostile, judgmental and hypocritical. In particular, an incredible 91% of young non-Christians say that Christianity is “anti-homosexual“, and significant majorities say that Christianity treats being gay as a bigger sin than anything else. (When right-wing politicians thunder that same-sex marriage is worse than terrorism, it’s not hard to see where people have gotten this impression.)

On other social issues as well, the gap between Gen Nexters and the church looms increasingly wide. Younger folks favor full access to the morning-after pill by a larger margin than older generations (59% vs. 46%). They reject the notion that women should return to “traditional roles” — already a minority position, but they disagree with it even more strongly than others. And they’re by far the least likely of all age groups to say that they have “old-fashioned” values about family and marriage (67% say this, as compared to 85% of other age groups).

While it is true that the Roman Catholic tradition has not welcomed gays and lesbians into their pulpits, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America has, as have the Episcopalians, the Presbyterians, the United Church of Christ members, some Mennonites, the Metropolitan Community Church….

And while it is true that some Christian traditions encourage “traditional roles,” Lutherans, Methodists, Episcopalians, UCCers, Presbyterians, and on and on would scratch their heads at this claim.

The author would be advised to read Diana Butler Bass’ recent book entitled Christianity for the Rest of Us, or to learn about the Emerging Church movement, and get caught up to speed on the dynamism and progressivism that is becoming the norm; is and has been the norm for many years.

Interestingly, one can make the case that there is a strand of atheism that is positively evangelical.  Take a look at this:

http://www.daylightatheism.org/2009/12/happy-holidays-atheism-is-growing.html

Note the euphoric emphasis on material success (not a hallmark of progressive Christianity, which instead emphasizes the call to give up for the sake of the other), and more interestingly this line:

These people are the low-hanging fruit whom atheists can reach. We need to deliver a strong, effective message that belief in God is not necessary for the things human beings care about – that nonbelievers can justify morality with reason and conscience, and build a secular community without reference to faith. And given that our audience’s sympathies are already leaning in that direction, we should continue to make the case that religious belief is archaic superstition, contains many immoral rules, and has no solutions for the ethical problems humanity faces today. Let the theologians and mystics continue to carp and complain that atheists are being disrespectful, that we’re not acknowledging the magnificence of the emperor’s new clothes. We don’t require their consent, and they’re not our target audience anyway. The continuing growth of atheism throughout the world is all the encouragement we need to speak out.

“Low-hanging fruit whom atheists can reach?” “Build a secular community?” “The continuing growth of atheism throughout the world is all the encouragement we need to speak out?”

Jeepers.

All they’re missing is “Go out to all the world, and don’t baptize in atheism’s name!”

If one really is an atheist, then I’d expect one to have the kind of conversionist’s bent that I do.

Rod Liddle, a British BBC journalist, recently produced a documentary entitled “The Trouble with Atheism.”  You can see it here: http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/trouble-with-atheism/.

It’s worth the 47 minutes to watch it.

He makes an awfully persuasive case for the religious extremism of some pockets of atheism, and is concerned that it is picking up steam.

Additionally, he interviews leading atheists and leading scientists and even a theologian, John Polkinghorne, who is both a scientist and a theologian.

He’s interested neither in saying that there is a God, nor that there isn’t.

He is interested in saying that Dawkins (note here some assumptions about Christians and the uniformity of belief) and others who assert with no hesitation that Christianity is “stupid” or “wrong” and that atheists are “right” and “they have no doubt” are, well, arrogant.

So, again:

I like the questions that many atheists raise.

I appreciate entertainer Penn, to a degree, who in this article writes with articulate humility that he doesn’t know…although later he states, “I’m not going to use faith to fill in the gaps.”

But if he doesn’t know (and who does, really?) that’s exactly what he is doing.  Using faith to fill in the gaps.

It’s what we’re all doing.

These sites below show how atheists can raise really good questions, and do it in a way that doesn’t demean Christians, or any other faith group.

http://being.publicradio.org/programs/atheism-religion/index.shtml

http://blog.onbeing.org/post/5800224899/sam-harriss-scientific-fundamentalism-couched-in

http://being.publicradio.org/programs/new_humanism/index.shtml

http://blog.onbeing.org/post/86951938/theres-a-new-power-in-america-atheism

And if you’re into longer literary interludes, check out this book called The Divinity of Doubt: An Agnostic Probes the God Question.

Upshot?

My problem isn’t with atheism per se.  If it were, I wouldn’t be the advocate for ecumenical conversation and cooperation that I am.  I recognize that I might be wrong, and others (atheists included) might be right.

And that’s o.k.

I trust in grace entirely.

My problem is with the haughty atheist contingent which demonstrates the very vim and vigor and contempt and arrogance and ignorance of the Christian extremism they ostensibly detest.

And so when I read the articles like I do above, I think of the quote that I have read to Christians with the same purpose, a quote from Czeslaw Milosz from his book The Captive Mind.  It is from “an Old Jew of Galacia,” who said:

When someone is honestly 55% right, that’s very good and there’s no use wrangling. And if someone is 60% right, it’s wonderful, it’s great luck, and let him thank God. But what’s to be said about 75% right? Wise people say this is suspicious. Well, and what about 100% right? Whoever say he’s 100% right is a fanatic, a thug, and the worst kind of rascal.

Regardless of one’s faith, I believe that this old Jew might not be wrong.

Dang.

There’s always gotta be one in the crowd who listens and then in their free time chases something that bugs them.

So this fine woman sent me this question because she participated in Family Camp at Outlaw Ranch, near Custer, South Dakota. (Insert shameless Outlaw Ranch plug.  ELCA bishop Dave Zellmer and I are leading camp again over the week of July 4th, 2012, aided by the musical talents of Paul Tietjan. It’s way fun, and so you should sign up.  Info is here.)

And I went off on my radical grace schtick.

And she went off and found her Bible.

It has been said that systematic theologians read more about the Bible than the Bible.

Perhaps.

But the Bible is always read with an interpretive bent: the question is whether that bent is manifest or latent.

I just happen to have a manifest bent because I get to be a systematic theologian.

And my bent is Easter.

That’s key to mention at the outset.

That means that my way of thinking through scripture is not to believe that it is literally true, for example.  (Why that is so is another question, but the blogs I’ve written here and here and here might give a hint). Instead, I believe that the defining event for Christians is that Jesus is no longer dead.  So everything is seen and read and thought about through that lens.

Death, in all its forms, doesn’t win.

With that in mind, let’s take a look at the text. The part you’re most curious about is italicized at the tail end, but is informed by the beginning and middle of the really really long section below.

13That same day Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the sea.²Such great crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat there, while the whole crowd stood on the beach. ³And he told them many things in parables, saying: “Listen! A sower went out to sow.⁴And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. ⁵Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil.⁶But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away. ⁷Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. ⁸Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. ⁹Let anyone with ears listen!” ¹⁰Then the disciples came and asked him, “Why do you speak to them in parables?” ¹¹He answered, “To you it has been given to know the secrets of the kingdom of heaven, but to them it has not been given. ¹²For to those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away. ¹³The reason I speak to them in parables is that ‘seeing they do not perceive, and hearing they do not listen, nor do they understand.’ ¹⁴With them indeed is fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah that says: ‘You will indeed listen, but never understand, and you will indeed look, but never perceive. ¹⁵For this people’s heart has grown dull, and their ears are hard of hearing, and they have shut their eyes; so that they might not look with their eyes, and listen with their ears, and understand with their heart and turn— and I would heal them.’ ¹⁶But blessed are your eyes, for they see, and your ears, for they hear. ¹⁷Truly I tell you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see, but did not see it, and to hear what you hear, but did not hear it.¹⁸“Hear then the parable of the sower. ¹⁹When anyone hears the word of the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what is sown in the heart; this is what was sown on the path. ²⁰As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; ²¹yet such a person has no root, but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away. ²²As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing. ²³But as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields, in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty.”

²⁴He put before them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field; ²⁵but while everybody was asleep, an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and then went away. ²⁶So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared as well. ²⁷And the slaves of the householder came and said to him, ‘Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then, did these weeds come from?’ ²⁸He answered, ‘An enemy has done this.’ The slaves said to him, ‘Then do you want us to go and gather them?’ ²⁹But he replied, ‘No; for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. ³⁰Let both of them grow together until the harvest; and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.’” ³¹He put before them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; ³²it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.” ³³He told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.” ³⁴Jesus told the crowds all these things in parables; without a parable he told them nothing. ³⁵This was to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet: “I will open my mouth to speak in parables; I will proclaim what has been hidden from the foundation of the world.” ³⁶Then he left the crowds and went into the house. And his disciples approached him, saying, “Explain to us the parable of the weeds of the field.” ³⁷He answered, “The one who sows the good seed is the Son of Man; ³⁸the field is the world, and the good seed are the children of the kingdom; the weeds are the children of the evil one, ³⁹and the enemy who sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the age, and the reapers are angels.⁴⁰Just as the weeds are collected and burned up with fire, so will it be at the end of the age. ⁴¹The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, ⁴²and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. ⁴³Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Let anyone with ears listen!

I’m going to turn to two sources here: Robert Farrar Capon and Brian Stoffregen.

The first time I came across Capon was when I was a student at St. Olaf.

My English professor came into my classroom with a cookbook in hand.  He sat down, and said, “I must read to you from this cookbook.” And he proceeded to relay Capon’s essay “The Heavenly Onion” taken from The Supper of the Lamb. (Wish I could find a link to the text, but I can’t. Tons of references to it, but no actual text.  Please send one if you know of one!).  My professor had tears in his eyes, either because Capon’s writing was so moving, or because Capon’s writing was so vivid that the virtual onion caused his eyes to water!

Capon, an Episcopalian priest as well as gourmet, has written a three-volume series about the parables.  It’s brilliant. The Parables of the Kingdom, The Parables of Grace, and The Parables of Judgment have all shaped me and my way of thinking through Scripture.

In his text The Parables of the Kingdom (note, not the Parables of Judgment), Capon tackles the text.

He gets pleasantly hung up on the Greek word aphete, which can be translated as “let,” “permit,” “suffer,” (!).  In this context, the sense is that the wheat and the weeds ought to grow together.

But then he brings us on an etymological journey, and instructs us that not only does the word lend itself to that meaning, but is also translated as “forgive!” Poking around in the King James Version, Capon says that 47 of the 156 versions of aphienai find their way into some form of the word “forgive.” (106).

As far as Capon is concerned, this implies that (note the snarkines in his writing below–has anyone else noticed that word surfacing more and more as of late?  I like it. Capon’s snarky):

On the basis of the parable as told, the farmer has announced, publicly and in advance (do you seriously think the servants told nobody about his crazy plan to leave the weeds alone?) that his enemy is quite free to come back any night he chooses and sow any weeds he likes.  Not just more zizania [weeds], but purslane, dock, bindweed, pigweed, or even–when he finally runs out of seriously mischievous ideas–New Zealand spinach.

There is more.  On the basis of Jesus’ ministry as lived and died, God has announced the very same thing.  No enemy–not the devil, not you, not me, and not anybody else–is going to get it in the neck, in this life, for any evil he has done…

And then there’s the clincher.  On the basis of jesus’ ministry as risen, there is no change in that policy.  He comes forth from the tomb and ascends into heaven with nail prints in his hands and feet and a spear wound in his risen side–with eternal, glorious scars to remind God, angels, and us that he is not about to go back on his word from the cross.” (108-109)

Capon is not oblivious to that final verse: you know, that bit about the weeds being collected and burned.

He has a couple of things to say here:

1) Proportionately, the parable is about the aphesis of evil, “not about the avenging of it.”

2) God gave us what we want.  A little fear-inducing, behavior-shaping, yikes-y stuff.  But with it, he writes: “The human race is hooked on eschatology [notions about the endtimes]: give us one drag on it, and we proceed to party away our whole forgiven life in fantasies about a final score-settling session that none of us, except for forgiveness, could possibly survive” (109-110). And then:

When we dwell too simplistically on the Final Judgment, we almost always picture it as the day when God finally takes off the gloves of mystery with which he has so far handled with world and gives his enemies a decisive taste of eschatological bare knuckles.  That image, however, leaves one important truth out of account: the judgment occurs only after the general resurrection of the dead.  And since the resurrection of the dead (of the just and the unjust alike) is something that happens to them solely by virtue of  Jesus’ resurrection–about which we have very little unparadoxial information–we should be very slow to imagine scenarios for it that are based on simplistic extrapolations of our present experience.  Everything that happens after the second coming of Jesus–judgment, heaven, and even hell–happens within the triumphantly reconciling power of his death and resurrection.  We simply don’t know how or to what degree that power affects the eschatological situation.

Take, for example, the question of whether we are in a position to discuss the meaning or even the possibility of ultimate human rejection of the reconciliation.  To be sure, Scripture says clearly enough that the sovereign, healing power of Jesus can and will be refused by some.  I have no problem with that.  What I do object to, however, are the hell-enthusiasts who act as if God’s whole New Testament method of dealing with evil will, in the last day, simply go back to some Old Testament “square one”–as if Jesus hadn’t done a blessed or merciful thing in between, and as if we could, therefore skip all the paradoxes of mercy when we talk about hte Last Day and simply concentrate on plain old gun-barrel justice.” (113-114).

Let me be clear: I could quote Capon all day, but you would stop reading.  His lawyers might not, however, and I’d get in a mess of trouble for breaches of copyright.

But I’m sorely tempted to quote him ad nauseum because Capon understands mystery and he understands grace and he sees that Easter makes all the difference in the world.

So does Brian Stoffregen.  He’s a Lutheran pastor who writes illuminating textual notes on the weekly Gospel verses.  You can find his insight and honest, well-written prose here.  Here he writes on the parable-at-hand (I know it’s a long excerpt, but if you’re into grace and humility, here’s some good fodder for you):

I notice that the angels collect “out of his kingdom”. Earlier the field was defined as “the world” (kosmos, v. 38). Does Jesus/Matthew intend us to think that “his kingdom” is the same as “the world,” or, as I’ve discovered in other passages, there is a greater judgment for those on the inside, who don’t measure up in some way.

Those that are gathered for punishment are defined as “all causes of sin” and “all evildoers” (NRSV). These need further comments.

“causes of sin” is skandala. This word originally referred to a trap — most likely the type held up by a stick; then, metaphorically, to something that causes a person to be trapped, caught, be stuck where they don’t want to be — that is something that was offensive to them. Finally, came to refer to things that tempted others to stray or sin. The word is used three times in Matthew (once in Luke and no occurrences in Mark or John).

On one hand, especially with the verb, skandalizo, there is the sense that such things have to be removed, e.g., if a part of your body causes you to sin, remove it (5:29, 30; 18:6, 8, 9). The noun is used three times in 18:7 to refer to the dangers of being a cause of sin to others.

Besides seeing “causes of sin” as people within the community who are leading others astray, they could also be within each individual — parts of us that remain under the power of sin and continually tempt us to stray away from the faithful life. The parable suggests that the day will come will all of that will be destroyed. Then, we, as truly and fully righteous will shine like the sun. To use Luther’s terms, presently we are simultaneous sinner and saint; but the day will come with the “sinner” part will be removed and destroy. All that will be left is the saintly part.

The other use of the noun presents an interesting problem. In 16:23 Jesus turns and says to Peter: “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

Similarly, the verb is used of the disciples in 26:31: “Then Jesus said to them, “You will all become deserters because of me this night; for it is written, ‘I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock will be scattered.’

Peter and the disciples are “causes of sin,” but will they be gathered and thrown into the blazing furnace?

Perhaps we can say that they deserve that kind of punishment, but by God’s grace they don’t receive it.

“all evildoers” is more literally “the ones doing lawlessness”. They are those living as though there were no law. Matthew has made it clear that Jesus came to fulfill the law (5:17-18) not to do away with it. (I might phrase it, “He came to restore the law to its proper uses.”) My hunch is that there may have been some within Matthew’s community who proclaimed that the law no longer applied to them, and lived without it. For Matthew, “lawlessness” is not just outward acts, but one can be “lawless” inwardly (23:28), perhaps not inwardly wanting to obey the law, but putting on an outward show of obedience.

The images of “furnace of fire” and “weeping and gnashing of teeth” seem to be Matthian. Only Matthew uses “furnace” (kaminos) as a picture of punishment (13:42, 50). (Its other uses are Rev 1:15; 9:2).

It is used often in the OT as a picture of refinement (Is 48:10; Sir 2:5; 27:5; 31:26) — so this text could be interpreted as refining those who are in the kingdom. They are purged of all the sins and lawlessness that is within them through the fires of God’s judgment.

The phrase “weeping and gnashing of teeth” occurs six times in Matthew (8:12; 13:42, 50; 22:13; 24:51; 25:30) and once in Luke (13:28), and no where else in the NT. Thus, it seems to be a strong emphasis in Matthew.

What I find interesting about Matthew’s six uses is that those who will weep and gnash their teeth, all seem to have been “insiders”!

• 8:12 it is the “heirs of the kingdom” (probably Jews vs. many from east and west)
• 13:42 some from “out of his kingdom”
• 13:50 evil from righteous, but both are “caught in the same net”
• 22:13 someone at the wedding banquet, but not wearing the wedding robe
• 24:51 wicked slave (as a slave, he was part of the household)
• 25:30 worthless slave (as a slave, he was part of the household)

It seems to me that this harsh judgment is uttered against those within the community of faith, but who fail to bear the proper fruit of living in Christ. As was true in the OT, God’s harshest judgments were pronounced against his own people. So, too, Matthew does in his gospel.

So Capon and Stoffregen do not deny that there is judgment in this story.

They do deny that it need be ultimate.

And that’s where I’m at too.

I have never said that one can’t find texts that suggest the possibility/probability/assured existence of eternal damnation.

I have said that a) there are other texts that would dispute that assertion; and b) I think Easter trumps any text that trumpets eternal damnation.

I think God’s ultimate agenda is reconciliation.

It is aphete.

And aphete does not preclude judgement.

Instead, it comes before, during, and after it.

It’s precisely what makes judgement–with the aim of restoring, or refining–possible.

Even to those within the Christian community.

And that’s mysterious grace for sure.

I hope that that aided in your thinking about the text!

And I hope you sign up for our week next year again.

Pax.