This afternoon I discovered that I am a lousy Christian. I’ve always sort of known this. But today I found just how deep this vein runs. Here’s the scenario.
I needed to get gas for the LightMobile and I was running on the knife edge of being late for an appointment. I stopped at a gas station. For some reason, best known only to the prince of the powers of the air, the pumps were flashing a sign that said, “Pay cashier before pumping gas.” So I did. I pumped my gas. Just as I finished and climbed into my seat to pull away, a guy in a shiny, expensive Acura backed into the pump in front of me. There was a truck pulled in, waiting, behind me. I had to wait. The guy in the Acura was about 50 and far too proud of his muscles and his wraparound RayBans. He had the gall to wave and nod at me. I did not wave back. I did not think kind and gracious thoughts about him. Then I was late for my appointment. But it had nothing to do with Mr. Musclehead.
Life gets busy around the LightHouse sometimes. We don’t always get to have dinner together. Tonight was one of those nights. LightHusband was late getting home from a meeting and had just enough time to change from his suit to casual clothes and run out the door with LightGirl to her hockey practice. This left LightBoy and I with the opportunity to go out to dinner together. He picked IHOP. Yum. He had a Belgian Waffle with blueberry compote on top and bacon. I had Harvest Grain ‘Nuts pancakes, eggs and sausage.
There were several loud conversations going on around us. Not loud, as in tense. Just loud. As in the people who were having them had big voices and one was sort of forced to listen to them.
One was an early teenager whining and being disrespectful to her mother and generally mean to her younger brother. She was sullen and I was finding it very difficult to have gracious loving thoughts about her. In fact, I was finding it impossible.
The other loudmouth was part of a group. There looked to be a couple with two very young children and then the parents of one of the couple. The loudmouth was the husband/father of the young children. He was dominating the conversation. In the way that no one else seemed to be talking. He seemed to be speaking to the older lady and he spoke in such a way that it looked as though he was talking down to her. I thought that was sort of demeaning, especially since he wasn’t so smart himself. It became clear that he was talking about the current state of affairs between Japan and North Korea and the fact that North Korea had just completed nuclear arms testing. He began holding forth a somewhat simplistic and limited vision of mutually assured destruction. It included this moment of brilliance, “Well, we dropped one, no, two of ’em on Japan and it worked out okay.” I thought to myself, “I wonder what all the Japanese who used to work and live in Hiroshima and Nagasaki might say to that?” I wonder about all the cancer victims and orphans. But I guess it’s all okay because no Americans died and we intimidated the Soviets. I had a bloody tongue by this time. But he continued, completely oblivious to my distress. “Well the Russians knew to leave us alone. The Chinese … they know to leave us alone. We know to leave them alone. It all works out. But these other radicals. There’s no keeping them in one place. They just do what they want. [by this time he was waving his fat arms around … and I was sitting on my hands]” Somehow he had jumped from mutually assured destruction to the war on terror (which is complete fiction) and nuclear war and dealing with terrorists in one large illogical step. I had to leave.
On the other hand, our server was the kindest, most gracious lady I’ve met under those circumstances. She was brilliant. Even with whiny, sullen teenager, she sparkled and shone. It was miraculous. I’m not sure how she did it.
By the way, for every member of the Democratic National Committee who reads this blog: running Hillary Rodham Clinton for president in 2008 will be the biggest mistake in the history of the Democratic Party … bar none. You heard it here first, there is literally not one other person in the party who is so guaranteed to draw out the vote against a Democrat as she is. If you want to guarantee a HUGE Republican turnout in 2008, then run HRC, she’ll be your best bet to get the Republicans out in droves or should I say Roves.
I’ve posted on this issue before. But MaggieDawn posted this impressive speech on her site. I’ve never read Sojourner Truth before. I associate her name with emancipation, not with feminism. What is interesting to me is that we continue to associate the two issues. The church (most unfortunately) has not lead the charge, nor has it changed much at all in the intervening years.
Sojourner Truth Isabella Van Wagenen was born into slavery in Hurley, New York in 1797. She was one of 13 children but she never got to know her brothers and sisters because they were quickly sold as slaves. Her master, Mr. Dumont arranged for her to marry a slave named Thomas. She had 5 children with him, but her master sold some of them. She was released following the New York Anti Slavery Law of 1827, however slavery was not abolished nationwide for 35 years. She lived for a time with a Quaker family who gave her the only education she ever received. They also helped her get back one of her children. She became an outspoken advocate of women’s rights as well as blacks’ rights. In 1843, she changed her name to Sojourner Truth . Everywhere she spoke she made a lasting impression. She was physically strong and over six feet tall and she had a powerful, booming voice. She actively supported the Black troops during ther Civil War and helped get the government to give these soldiers land. She continued to travel and preach throughout the northeast and midwest from her home in Battle Creek. Michigan where she died at the age of 84 in 1883. Ain’t I a Woman? Sojourner Truth gave her famous “Ain’t I a Woman?” speech at the 1851 Women’s Rights Convention in Akron, Ohio. (The women’s rights movement grew in large part out of the anti-slavery movement.) No formal record of the speech exists, but Frances Gage, an abolitionist and president of the Convention, recounted Truth’s words. There is debate about the accuracy of this account because Gage did not record the account until 1863 and her record differs somewhat from newspaper accounts of 1851. However it is Gage’s report that endures and it is clear that, whatever the exact words, “Ain’t I a Woman?” made a great impact at the Convention and has become a classic expression of women’s rights. The Classic Report Several ministers attended the second day of the Woman’s Rights Convention, and were not shy in voicing their opinion of man’s superiority over women. One claimed “superior intellect”, one spoke of the “manhood of Christ,” and still another referred to the “sin of our first mother.”Suddenly, Sojourner Truth rose from her seat in the corner of the church. “For God’s sake, Mrs.Gage, don’t let her speak!” half a dozen women whispered loudly, fearing that their cause would be mixed up with Abolition. Sojourner walked to the podium and slowly took off her sunbonnet. Her six-foot frame towered over the audience. She began to speak in her deep, resonant voice: “Well, children, where there is so much racket, there must be something out of kilter, I think between the Negroes of the South and the women of the North – all talking about rights – the white men will be in a fix pretty soon. But what’s all this talking about?” Sojourner pointed to one of the ministers. “That man over there says that women need to be helped into carriages, and lifted over ditches, and to have the best place everywhere. Nobody helps me any best place. And ain’t I a woman?” Sojourner raised herself to her full height. “Look at me! Look at my arm.” She bared her right arm and flexed her powerful muscles. “I have plowed, I have planted and I have gathered into barns. And no man could head me. And ain’t I a woman?” “I could work as much, and eat as much as man – when I could get it – and bear the lash as well! And ain’t I a woman? I have borne children and seen most of them sold into slavery, and when I cried out with a mother’s grief, none but Jesus heard me. And ain’t I a woman?” The women in the audience began to cheer wildly. She pointed to another minister. “He talks about this thing in the head. What’s that they call it?” “Intellect,” whispered a woman nearby. “That’s it, honey. What’s intellect got to do with women’s rights or black folks’ rights? If my cup won’t hold but a pint and yours holds a quart, wouldn’t you be mean not to let me have my little half-measure full?” “That little man in black there! He says women can’t have as much rights as men. ‘Cause Christ wasn’t a woman. She stood with outstretched arms and eyes of fire. “Where did your Christ come from?” “Where did your Christ come from?”, she thundered again. “From God and a Woman! Man had nothing to do with him!” The entire church now roared with deafening applause. “If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these women together ought to be able to turn it back and get it right-side up again. And now that they are asking to do it the men better let them.” A Contemporaneous Account From the Anti-Slavery Bugle, Salem, Ohio, June 21, 1851. One of the most unique and interesting speeches of the Convention was made by Sojourner Truth, an emancipated slave. It is impossible to transfer it to paper, or convey any adequate idea of the effect it produced upon the audience. Those only can appreciate it who saw her powerful form, her whole-souled, earnest gesture, and listened to her strong and truthful tones. She came forward to the platform and addressing the President (Frances Gage) said with great simplicity:May I say a few words? Receiving an affirmative answer, she proceeded; I want to say a few words about this matter. I am for woman’s rights. I have as much muscle as any man, and can do as much work as any man. I have plowed and reaped and husked and chopped and mowed, and can any man do more than that? I have heard much about the sexes being equal; I can carry as much as any man, and can eat as much too, if I can get it. I am as strong as any man that is now. As for intellect, all I can say is, if woman have a pint and a man a quart — why can’t she have her little pint full? You need not be afraid to give us our rights for fear we will take too much — for we won’t take more than our pint will hold. The poor men seem to be all in confusion and don’t know what to do. Why children, if you have woman’s rights give it to her and you will feel better. You will have your own rights, and there won’t be so much trouble.
Sojourner Truth
Isabella Van Wagenen was born into slavery in Hurley, New York in 1797. She was one of 13 children but she never got to know her brothers and sisters because they were quickly sold as slaves.
Her master, Mr. Dumont arranged for her to marry a slave named Thomas. She had 5 children with him, but her master sold some of them.
She was released following the New York Anti Slavery Law of 1827, however slavery was not abolished nationwide for 35 years. She lived for a time with a Quaker family who gave her the only education she ever received. They also helped her get back one of her children.
She became an outspoken advocate of women’s rights as well as blacks’ rights. In 1843, she changed her name to Sojourner Truth . Everywhere she spoke she made a lasting impression. She was physically strong and over six feet tall and she had a powerful, booming voice.
She actively supported the Black troops during ther Civil War and helped get the government to give these soldiers land. She continued to travel and preach throughout the northeast and midwest from her home in Battle Creek. Michigan where she died at the age of 84 in 1883.
Sojourner Truth gave her famous “Ain’t I a Woman?” speech at the 1851 Women’s Rights Convention in Akron, Ohio. (The women’s rights movement grew in large part out of the anti-slavery movement.) No formal record of the speech exists, but Frances Gage, an abolitionist and president of the Convention, recounted Truth’s words. There is debate about the accuracy of this account because Gage did not record the account until 1863 and her record differs somewhat from newspaper accounts of 1851. However it is Gage’s report that endures and it is clear that, whatever the exact words, “Ain’t I a Woman?” made a great impact at the Convention and has become a classic expression of women’s rights.
Several ministers attended the second day of the Woman’s Rights Convention, and were not shy in voicing their opinion of man’s superiority over women. One claimed “superior intellect”, one spoke of the “manhood of Christ,” and still another referred to the “sin of our first mother.”Suddenly, Sojourner Truth rose from her seat in the corner of the church.
“For God’s sake, Mrs.Gage, don’t let her speak!” half a dozen women whispered loudly, fearing that their cause would be mixed up with Abolition.
Sojourner walked to the podium and slowly took off her sunbonnet. Her six-foot frame towered over the audience. She began to speak in her deep, resonant voice: “Well, children, where there is so much racket, there must be something out of kilter, I think between the Negroes of the South and the women of the North – all talking about rights – the white men will be in a fix pretty soon. But what’s all this talking about?”
Sojourner pointed to one of the ministers. “That man over there says that women need to be helped into carriages, and lifted over ditches, and to have the best place everywhere. Nobody helps me any best place. And ain’t I a woman?”
Sojourner raised herself to her full height. “Look at me! Look at my arm.” She bared her right arm and flexed her powerful muscles. “I have plowed, I have planted and I have gathered into barns. And no man could head me. And ain’t I a woman?”
“I could work as much, and eat as much as man – when I could get it – and bear the lash as well! And ain’t I a woman? I have borne children and seen most of them sold into slavery, and when I cried out with a mother’s grief, none but Jesus heard me. And ain’t I a woman?”
The women in the audience began to cheer wildly.
She pointed to another minister. “He talks about this thing in the head. What’s that they call it?”
“Intellect,” whispered a woman nearby.
“That’s it, honey. What’s intellect got to do with women’s rights or black folks’ rights? If my cup won’t hold but a pint and yours holds a quart, wouldn’t you be mean not to let me have my little half-measure full?”
“That little man in black there! He says women can’t have as much rights as men. ‘Cause Christ wasn’t a woman. She stood with outstretched arms and eyes of fire. “Where did your Christ come from?”
“Where did your Christ come from?”, she thundered again. “From God and a Woman! Man had nothing to do with him!”
The entire church now roared with deafening applause.
“If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these women together ought to be able to turn it back and get it right-side up again. And now that they are asking to do it the men better let them.”
From the Anti-Slavery Bugle, Salem, Ohio, June 21, 1851. One of the most unique and interesting speeches of the Convention was made by Sojourner Truth, an emancipated slave. It is impossible to transfer it to paper, or convey any adequate idea of the effect it produced upon the audience. Those only can appreciate it who saw her powerful form, her whole-souled, earnest gesture, and listened to her strong and truthful tones. She came forward to the platform and addressing the President (Frances Gage) said with great simplicity:May I say a few words? Receiving an affirmative answer, she proceeded; I want to say a few words about this matter. I am for woman’s rights. I have as much muscle as any man, and can do as much work as any man. I have plowed and reaped and husked and chopped and mowed, and can any man do more than that? I have heard much about the sexes being equal; I can carry as much as any man, and can eat as much too, if I can get it. I am as strong as any man that is now.
As for intellect, all I can say is, if woman have a pint and a man a quart — why can’t she have her little pint full? You need not be afraid to give us our rights for fear we will take too much — for we won’t take more than our pint will hold.
The poor men seem to be all in confusion and don’t know what to do. Why children, if you have woman’s rights give it to her and you will feel better. You will have your own rights, and there won’t be so much trouble.
Over the centuries it may be said that the church has come to be about power. Walk into any Christian bookstore or look up Christian Book Distributors on-line and you will find a plethora of books on how to operate churches. Far too many of them read like a corporate business model, with one exception, the equal treatment of women. There are many men in the church (institutional, main-line, evangelical and emerging) who are afraid of women. They are afraid that sharing their real estate at the top of the heap with women means that there will be less real estate for more leaders, thus less to go around. I’ve got a news flash for all of them … the last time I checked, the red words in the Bible talked about the last being first, that leaders should be servants, and most of all none of us should be anxious to call ourselves leaders. In other words, all of us have it bass-ackwards. For leaders, there is no top of the heap. There is no power sharing. There is no fear. Get past your bad selves. Stop drawing artificial lines of exclusion and start looking at who God wants to use in His Kingdom and how. God’s will be done on earth as it is in heaven!
The evil liberals at The New York Times are dissing the evangelicals again.
Evangelicals Fear the Loss of Their Teenagers
This article is really making the rounds on blogs that consider things churchy and otherwise. Having spent a number of years working in youth ministry I’ve got some thoughts on this issue.
The first is why all the fear? As with all things evangelical these days the fear-mongers seem to be out in full force. They were running rampant when I was in the evangelical church and the cries became more shrill after 9/11. The culture wars are being won by the heathens and pagans. As I began to look around with a more objective lens, I saw that the so-called culture wars were being fought on one side. No one else was fighting. The same goes for some of the statistics mentioned in this article such as the 4 percent solution. This begs the question 4 percent of what? What does that statement mean … Bible-believing? How is it defined? How does one live out those tenets?
When we’re talking about the next generation using narrowly defined texts seems to severly limit the number of those who will follow in our footsteps. Having made a hobby of history throughout my life, it seems that each generation likes to do this. It gives them a sense of self-importance. A sense of legacy that will not be lived up to. “No one can do what we did so it will die with us,” if you will. We like to think we’re the only ones who can carry the banner and no one will be available to pick it up for us.
Having said all of that, I believe that this article does indeed indict youth ministry in this country. It does so quite fairly. I believe we are raising children in our churches to believe some very backward ideas about what church is and how they should respond to it and behave within it. I think that the emerging church/conversation is on the verge of changing some of those ideas. But it’s going to take some radically different solutions to how we view and raise children within the context of the Body of Christ to swing the pendulum in a different direction. Here’s the quote that really caught my eye:
Apparently, the strategy can show results. In Chicago, Eric Soto said he returned from a stadium event in Detroit in the spring to find that other teenagers in the hallways were also wearing “Acquire the Fire†T-shirts. “You were there? You’re a Christian?†he said the young people would say to one another. “The fire doesn’t die once you leave the stadium. But it’s a challenge to keep it burning.â€
Apparently, the strategy can show results. In Chicago, Eric Soto said he returned from a stadium event in Detroit in the spring to find that other teenagers in the hallways were also wearing “Acquire the Fire†T-shirts.
“You were there? You’re a Christian?†he said the young people would say to one another. “The fire doesn’t die once you leave the stadium. But it’s a challenge to keep it burning.â€
It’s the final two paragraphs in the article. It caught my eye for a couple of reasons; they are all wrapped in together so I’ll try to unwrap them in a logical manner.
We’re studying the Jewish holidays at my church this year. I’ve been given the lead on doing the research to find the theology behind all of them. So we are not simply finding the rituals and copying them; we’re diving into the theology and re-inventing it for our church to find out how Jesus might have reimagined it for the people of his day. It’s been a joy for my researcher’s heart and lead me down some wonderful paths. I am discovering quite a bit of marvelous synchronicity in the Jewish faith. Most of the holidays have a yin and a yang (for lack of a better term). Today we celebrated Sukkot (the Feast of Tabernacles or Booths) a few days early by Jewish reckoning. As best I understand it, Sukkot celebrates the tension between storing up the harvest one has just brought in and the daily reliance upon God for survival modelled by the Israelites during their 40 years in the desert. Day in and day out they harvested manna, not too much though or it would rot and become infested with maggots. This is contradictory to the philosophy of farming and harvesting crops to tide a family and community over through not just one winter, but potentially several winters.
It is said that Sukkot is the epilogue for Passover. That Passover celebrates faith and Sukkot celebrates faithfulness. Sukkot is the holiday that celebrates 14,600 days and nights in the desert … 14,600 raising of the booths and lowering as well. Gritty, hasty lunches. Children whining, “Manna aaagggain. We just had that last night.” It celebrates perserverance and tenacity. It is the holiday for marathoners, quilters, artists, musicians, mothers, fathers, lawyers, doctors, programmers, athletes, and in short anyone who believes that s/he can methodically move a mountain one rock at a time.
Paradoxically, I believe this is where we are selling our children short. If we sell them a faith that is all about mountaintops and Passover and fail to help them through to the celebration of Sukkot we are not helping them to become fully fledged adults who are ready to take on life. Adults need the occasional Passover, but mostly we know that life is about Sukkot; it’s putting one foot in front of the other. It’s not about keeping a whole fire burning, but about keeping the ember from dying.
I believe the whole idea of youth ministry and youth group needs to be reimagined. Currently we segregate the youth and give them fun and games church until they are 18 or perhaps 21. Then we deem that they are old enough to be “with the adults.” This they find boring (as would I if I’d been in youth ministry for my whole life). Not surprisingly, they leave the church in droves, because church is no longer fun, no longer a mountain top and no one has given them any tools for remaining there. There has to be some middle ground between creating segregated youth and adult church systems and fully integrated systems which is, admittedly, not wholly appropriate for teens.
Preparing for this service, as for all of the Jewish holidays, has forced me to think and then rethink many of my unspoken and often unacknowledged assumptions about my faith, my faith practices and their roots. This looking backwards for thousands of years has also given me hope to look forward. The coming generations will have faith. It may not look like mine. Future generations may not remain in organized church systems; they may reimagine church entirely. But I’ve found a way to look beyond the fear and see that the ways of faith are as diverse as the people on this planet. It’s a beautiful thing!
Lately I’ve seen some sights around town that made me look twice and think thrice. Since I just got back from my long drive (to East Overshoe to our CSA farm) and I need to wind down, here are a few of them.
The other day I was driving past a church. The sign out front advertised a family movie night on Friday and an open house on Sunday. “Huh?” I thought, “And here I thought everyday was open house for a church! What was I thinking??!!” Today I drove past it and they are advertising “World Communion” for this Sunday.
I saw a young guy walking down the street. I know I’m firmly implanted in my middle years. But I’m used to seeing all sorts of clothing and not being phased by it. I don’t remember specifics, I just remember remarking to Sizzling Ewe that perhaps this particular young man ought to cease purchasing his fashion sense at Montgomery Ward, since they’ve gone out of business.
I found it remarkable today that the two vehicles that were the most aggravating to drive behind were SUVs with dealer tags. They were aggravating because the drivers were having issues handling them. They didn’t even want to go the speed limit and braked at every turn. It was annoying.
There’s a church I pass on the way to East Overshoe called Believers Baptist Church. For some reason this name makes me laugh. It also makes me want to stop and ask the pastor what sort of believers they are looking for. There is something about that name that is officious and pompous. It sounds like hiked-up pants and slick hair.
I love the drive going out to East Overshoe. It gets progressively less congested and more beautiful. I hate the drive coming home. It’s everything in reverse and I’m driving into rush hour traffic. Bleh….
We made butter in the Osgiliath Classical School Potions class the other day. That’s chemistry for all you who might be wondering. We were investigating the different states of matter. It gave me renewed appreciation for my colonial mothers. We made butter with just one cup of cream and we had a cold storage unit handy. If it didn’t work, so what? But my colonial mothers had to do this and much more every day … every, every, EVERY day. Or their families went hungry and cold. We have so much convenience in our lives we don’t even know what to do with it. We don’t even recognize most of it.
LightBoy’s current ambition is be Mr. Spock from the original Star Trek. This morning he brought me his sister’s eyeliner and asked me to draw Spock eyebrows on him. I complied, but it’s been very unsettling to look at him today. He has, essentially, two sets of eyebrows on his sweet round face and one set makes him look sinister. Of course, he thinks this is very wonderful. We are now in the market for a Mr. Spock costume for Halloween. Oh … yay. Then LightGirl decided she would like to be Lt. Uhura (with the very short dress). I said, “No. You will not be Lt. Uhura (with the very short dress).”
Back in March, you may remember that LightGirl entered a contest called Fashion Revue with a pair of pants she had sewn. She won a blue ribbon for her efforts. At that time, I fought a full scale battle to get her to wear a little eye shadow, mascara and blush for the contest as she had to model her outfit for some judges. It was just to make her look well put together. Finished, as it were. Now (less than 6 months later) she wears full makeup every day. I finally asked her one morning if we should expect this from now on. She said we should. The other morning tho, I had to object. I think that when eyeliner can be measured with a ruler in eighth inch increments, it has been applied too liberally. She has backed off a little since then.
We began walking again this morning. I should say huffing and puffing. It wasn’t pretty. It was interesting to see all the gardens on the far side of the season. Then I felt sad. I realized how much I’ve missed by not walking through the summer. I could have seen all the comings and goings of the flowers and other crops, but I was lazy and I missed it. I did part of the loop alone. I couldn’t have done that last winter because I was so scared. And I left the house without any wallet or identification … another huge step for me. I am much stronger now.
Well … those are some snapshots of life in the LightHouse and more frightening still, into my mind recently. I’ll try to keep these posts to a minimum.
Remember Sylvester’s adventures with his son? He always had a much higher opinion of his abilities than he was capable of achieving. The escapades usually ended with the son facing the camera, shaking his head, bowed, saying, “Oh, the shame of it.” I remember once he appeared with a paper bag on his head.
That scene played in my head this morning as I read this article in Time magazine. Oh the shame of it. According to the beloved disciple, we Christians are to be known by our love for one another. But now we are becoming known by our love of money. Jesus proclaimed that a man cannot serve two masters, for one will always take priority over the other. The wind was sown, and the whirlwind must be reaped.
Perhaps I’ll just wear a paperbag over my head.
It’s later in the morning than I usually awaken. +OneFriend has a cold and is struggling with quite a cough in the night, so LightHusband and I were up with him a good bit last night. It is one of the miracles of this place that I am able to sleep in a bit when necessary.
We probably should not have gone out for creemees (as softserve icecream is called up in these parts) last night. The ride home required that we have the windows open to air out the fumes from the gas can we had filled for the boat rides taken during the day (tubing in the afternoon and fishing after dinner). The cool pollen filled air started +OneFriend’s coughing jag and he just couldn’t get past it.
So it’s been later than usual for me to come out to the porch and sit with my coffee and cruller. The clouds are puffy as a fresh snowbank over the ridge across the bay and the boats are lolling in no particular direction, at ease awaiting their next orders from the currents and winds. Children and parents are playing at various camps around the cove, and LightBoy is fishing.
I’ve been musing about the various pillars which support human relationships this morning. Mostly I’ve been thinking about trust. I’ve been remembering how +OneFriend came in the dark of night, trusting that when I told him to awaken me if he needed to, I would respond. Of course I did. LightHusband and I sat with him for the hour it took to quieten his cough and relax and go back to sleep. For the most part, children trust very easily. They believe the things that they are told by adults. Their minds do not have the ability to question or challenge. They do not bother with the things that are beneath the surface. There are no icebergs. It is only when we become adults that we begin searching for hidden meanings, the lines between the lines, the hurts and betrayals.
There are two things that Jesus said that I’ve been musing about this morning. The first is that we (all of us … especially the adults) should come to Him with faith like children. The second is that we should be wise as serpents and gentle as doves. Now before you begin taking me to task for taking those verses out of context, I know I did that! Those are some fairly standard teachings of Jesus and I’m musing on my porch about trust and I don’t have my Bible/concordance/commentary open next to me. I merely think that in regards to trust issues, those two teachings put us in a place of tension. It is difficult to hold faith with child-like trust, yet be wise as a serpent. I think it requires that we overlook an awful lot of hurts done to us. Perhaps it even puts us in the place where we forgive others seventy times seven. I think it requires that we sometimes conciously not look for lines between lines or hidden meanings. I wonder, if, perhaps, that tension isn’t a most difficult aspect of my faith.
Update – 11:40 p.m.: the following is meant to be very tongue-in-cheek. Especially please understand that I mean the last paragraph in terms of the title of the post … it is “My Lack” of generosity and love that I am mocking.
My friend, Golden Girl, has a nice post today reflecting on how Jesus talked to people. She makes you think about how we might want to talk to people. I’ve been thinking about that this afternoon as I cut out pieces for some quilt blocks I’m working on.
In many respects, I’m a fairly easy going person. If I were more outgoing I’d probably talk to more people. But I’m uncomfortable talking to strangers of any stripe, so I have a hard time talking to new people whether they are rich or homeless … both are just as scary to me. I’d like to think there isn’t anyone I’d have dinner with under the right circumstances.
I have, however, decided that there is a group of people who are untouchables in my world. People that I will not invite to dinner. I’m aware that Jesus does not like this behavior on my part. He and I will have to work on this together. But here goes … they are the people who own barking dogs and do nothing to shut them up. In fact, they go so far as to allow the barking dogs to bark uninhibited while the rest of us suffer. People with barking dogs should suffer an eternity with their barking dogs … but I should get to go to heaven without them. I have suffered enough right here.
… for a fellow RevGal who is going through a rough stretch with her community. You can read about it here and then click on “next entry” four or five times to get the whole story. It’s a terrible tragedy.
May God shed the light of His grace and mercy and compassion on Cheesehead and all of her people during this time of tragedy and trial. We pray you gracious God to send your peace which passes all understanding to all of the family members of the victim; that they might know Your redeeming love in ways deeper and wider than ever. That they might experience redemption in such a way that their relationships might be redeemed at some point in the future. Father we especially hold Cheesehead up to you during this time and ask for extra helpings of strength and grace for her as she tends to your flock, binding up the brokenhearted, and tending to her own wounds as well. Lord, it is not enough for us to know that the world is full of evil, we beseech you for reminders that You are good. That it is in You we will find our strength and our joy regardless of the situation. We thank you for your steady right hand supporting Cheesehead and your loving left arm that is embracing her as she goes. It is in the name of your precious Son, given that we might live, that we pray this night … Amen.
So … last Sunday (Jan. 8 ) we began a series on the minor prophets at my church. They are called minor only because they wrote short books. We began our series with a bang of a service where there were 12 prophet stations (with a nod to Grace for the idea) where we all got a taste of each prophet and his message brought to us by a different member of our church.
This immediately past Sunday it was my turn to give the message or “content” (or “non-sermonic exploration” as we irreverently call it). I say “turn,” but I asked for this Sunday, because it was Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday and I loved that man and I wanted the chance to give a message on his birthday. I didn’t care what prophet got put on that Sunday. The Design Team (this is the team that I’m a part of that puts together the service each week) gave me … or maybe God gave me … the book of Amos. So I read Amos. And I read Amos again and I loved Amos. Then I read MLK’s speeches again and my universe shifted. Suddenly I knew where his vision of justice came from!! It wasn’t all from Jesus (although certainly he started there). It wasn’t all from Gandhi (although that’s where he got some of his non-violence from). But Martin Luther King, Jr’s vision of justice and mercy and racial harmony came out of the Old Testament and it came from the prophets!! And suddenly I realized that Jesus had been preaching a very old message all along. It was nowhere near as revolutionary as I’d always thought it was. What I mean is that I knew it wasn’t that revolutionary, but now I **knew** it!! Does that make any sense??
Dang! I love it when God grabs your shoulders like that, shakes you up and makes you see things fresh again. So I wanted my peeps to hear it that way too. So I tried to “channel” Amos to grab their attention and get them to hear what God might be crying out about in the world today. So what follows is the “rant” I opened up with to give my church the experience of having a prophet in their midst. If you should stumble through here and don’t know me, please try to understand the context of what you are about to read. Please make sure you’ve read the Book of Amos before you comment here. I am not necessarily advocating all of this.
AMOS:
God roars out of Israel He shouts from the rooftops of Jersusalem Fields dry up and mountains crumble when the voice of the Lord roars past …
Hear the voice of the Lord in the Lion’s roar!
1. I’ve told Wal-Mart 3 times and NOW they are on my last nerve! I am just DONE with them – for oppressing the poor, creating shoddy products that are costly and keep the poor under their thumb and forcing people to work on the Sabbath, I will take their owners and lead them away in chains f
2. I’ve told Exxon 3 times and NOW they are on my last nerve! I am just DONE with them – for taking advantage of misery and death to earn more money more money more money; they will die poor and on the streets
3. I’ve told China 3 times and NOW they are on my last nerve! I am just DONE with them – for enslaving her people, abusing them in factories not fit for dogs, for treating them like grain in a threshing machine; I will march her kings to Taiwan and South Korea to live out their days in imprisoned there abused in their minds as they have abused others.
4. I’ve told Sudan 3 times and NOW they are on my last nerve! I am just DONE with them – she deports whole towns; her leaders are greedy for land; they enslave and rape women and children; for this she will burn and see my justice complete.
5. I’ve told Saddleback Church 3 times and NOW they are on my last nerve! I am just DONE with them – spreads apostasy in that abomination of 40 Days of Purpose. So many unwittingly choose death through that, and they gather wealth into their coffers building large fancy temples while the poor starve under their fat noses. I will strike those buildings down unto the foundations.
6. I’ve told Willowcreek Church 3 times and NOW they are on my last nerve! I am just DONE with them – they water down My message and because they try to be all things to all people they have become nothing to everyone. They are an empty shell full to overflowing of dead people who think they are alive. I will scatter them to the four winds in the hope that they may find Me and then find life.
WHY DO YOU LOOK SO SMUG? Do you think you’re any better than these?
I’ve told you three times and now you’re on my last nerve too. I am done with you. What makes you think that working at a homeless ministry one day a month absolves you of your sin?
How many homeless do you walk by on your way to work? Do you know their faces? their names? Do you look the other way?
I said to you, sell everything to follow me … have you done that yet?
What do you do with your time? When do you feed the poor among you? Or do you just sit and bemoan it to each other while feeding your well-fed faces and children? You have time to exercise, but not to clothe those without jackets in winter. You have time to play games, but you don’t have time to work a soup kitchen? Hah! I have time for you now and you will spend time in eternity wishing you had spent your time on the things that are important to Me.
You cows of Fairfax who think you can come here each week to prove your goodness to each other and the world are merely showing me the blackness in your hearts. You do not change … you keep doing the same things and they are NOT the things of My Way. You cannot follow me if you will not pick up your feet and walk.
Yet you run to follow these fancy musicians and slick talkers …their music is filthy trash in my ears.
You just don’t get it, do you? If you cannot have the same priorities in life that I have then you are not about what I am about and I will not know you … I will not call you by name … I will turn my face from you and condemn you to the everlasting pit.
I am talking to you … Y had better hear me now!
LightHusband told me to work myself up into a real lather and get angry. But when push came to shove … I couldn’t do it. I’m a failure as a prophet. A real prophet-weenie. Or prophet-mallow. I looked out at the people (my peeps) and as I railed, they curled up. I got three sentences into the part about them (Israel in the real Amos) and I could go no further. My heart is too soft for the prophet business. So I cut it short, left off a big chunk and finished early, mostly to make my stomach stop hurting. Because I’m a chicken. LightHusband was disappointed. He still is. He’ll have to live with it.
Then we talked all together about Amos and his picture of justice and most importantly what does racial justice look like. We began by looking at the Remember Segregation website. No, we began by listening to a portion of “I Have A Dream.” and then looking at the website. The website is a shocking reminder of how blatant segregation was. A lot of ideas were thrown around. I liked this one … racial justice will include giving hope to each generation that they will grow up and be able to have opportunity. I’ve been thinking about that a lot since Sunday and how we’ve done away with the blatant signs of segregation, but we continue to withhold hope from so many children and parents. We’re not so much closer to that dream of measuring people by the content of their character.
The beauty was that in our lily-white church this one particular Sunday, a man with very dark skin came to partake in the worship of God with us. I gave him the last word in the discussion for no particular reason other than that he raised his hand and we were over time and it seemed like the right thing to do. He reminded us that in the church we are neither Jew nor Greek, neither slave nor free, neither male nor female, but all are one in Christ Jesus called to bring His Kingdom here on earth. It was lovely.
So I looked up this week and LightGirl has grown again. She needs new clothes … AGAIN! I think there must be laws against growing this fast or this much. And I think it must be painful, although she doesn’t complain. So off we went this evening to get some bottoms; some shorts (because it’s still warm enough, especially in North Carolina) and some long pants. We went to a large department store here in town. I also needed to replace my purse. I hate that chore. Once I get a purse, I like to keep it for a long time. This latest one did not last long enough. I just got used to it when the strap broke.
There we were in the department store. The selection was dizzying. I cannot really handle all those choices. It literally makes my head spin. I’m un-American in this … I do not enjoy shopping. In fact, I cringe when I think of it and I try to avoid it. We did manage to find two pairs of shorts and two pairs of long pants, and a pair of flip flops for LightGirl and a new purse for me which promises to completely organize my whole life for $20.80 … well $32.00, but it was 35% off.
What really bothers me is how many items are “Made in China” or “Made in Sri Lanka” or some other Asian country. It’s not that I don’t want to buy from Asian countries because I have something against Asians. I don’t. Or that I think the products are cheap. It’s that the products **are** cheap. They are too cheap. You see, I’ve come to realize that everything, every single thing that is for sale in this country and indeed, every where, costs a certain amount of money to make. If I (as the final customer) do not pay that price for that product, then someone else must absorb the cost of production, transportation, etc. Usually that someone else is the lowest man on the totem pole … a woman or child in the factory that produced the item in China or Sri Lanka. The next someone would be the person or people who are working the modes of transportation to get the stuff to me here (boats, and trucks). The last someones would be the people working the floor of the store where I buy it. Those people are all absorbing my “low prices.” When I don’t pay the actual price that something costs, someone else absorbs the difference and pays with their hunger, and their health and their well-being. And somehow that just doesn’t seem right.
