Dear Mr. President:
I was disappointed and frightened by your long-awaited address to the nation on Iraq. Your words will not leave one person in the entire world unaffected. Therefore, I hope you will feel my love and concern in writing. The "new course" that you propose for Iraq is flawed and will lead to disaster. It will bring more death and destruction to friends and enemies alike. Most of all, it leaves God out of the picture.
Mr. President, I respect you deeply. You are daily in my prayers. Even on TV, it is obvious how lonely you must feel, separated from your fellow Americans and from the entire international community. Yet there are millions of people who would love to help you, and pray for you, if only you would reach out to them. This is why I want to reach out to you and humbly ask that, in this moment of world crisis, you lead our nation by putting your trust in God alone and not in our military superiority.
The world is full of fear because of the events that have occurred since our country started the "War on Terror." No one has become any safer.
We cannot ignore the important lessons that are taught to us in the Old and New Testaments. For God is a jealous God. He will not let Himself be mocked. He wants our leaders to lead us in humility and compassion. When King Ahab realized that he had done wrong, he tore his clothes, and put on sackcloth and fasted (1 King 21:27). When Jonah finally preached the word of God to Nineveh, the king himself rose from his throne and laid down his robe, and covered himself with sackcloth and sat in ashes. When God saw this humility, he relented from the disaster that he had planned to bring upon them (Jonah 3).
In Isaiah 1:15-16, the kings of Judah are warned sternly about leaving God out of the equation:
When you spread out your hands in prayer, I will hide my eyes from you. Even if you offer many prayers, I will not listen. Your hands are full of blood; wash and make yourselves clean. Take your evil deeds out of my sight. Stop doing wrong.
In the same way, the words of the prophet Obadiah speak directly to this moment:
"Behold, I will make you small among the nations; you shall be greatly despised. The pride of your heart has deceived you, you who dwell in the clefts of the rock, whose habitation is high; you who say in your heart, 'Who will bring me down to the ground?' Though you ascend as high as the eagle, and though you set your nest among the stars, from there I will bring you down," says the LORD. (Obadiah l: 2-4)
Mr. President, you profess to be a man of God. Show the world that the words of the prophets are still true today, and pray with us that God will not forsake our nation even in its darkest moment.
God wants to give more grace. That is why the Apostle James writes, "God resists the proud, but gives grace to the humble" (James 4:6).
As a pastor who has worked with government officials for years, I feel a special burden for your task, and would strongly desire to meet with you to discuss these matters further.
Respectfully,
Johann Christoph Arnold (Senior Pastor, Church Communities International)
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Mad Jesus Skilz
by Shane Claiborne
I've been thinking a lot about the ethos of violence that is spreading like a disease through our world. I just read that TV violence is at a record high, with an average of 13 incidents of violence every hour. News headlines tell of the murders down in New Orleans. Homocides here in Philly and Camden have been happening almost every day. And of course there is Iraq.
I just told a group of graduate students I would like to see them do a study comparing the ethos of violence globally with the violence on the streets here in the U.S. Remember how the Columbine shooting happened on the same day that the Clinton-led U.S. bombed Kosovo most intensively? It's hard to imagine that these recent murders and school shootings are somehow separate from the current escalation of violence by our government. After all, we are wrestling against principalities and powers. These are not just lofty thoughts to ponder, but they are realities that sometimes hit pretty close to home. The only incidents of violence I have experienced in the last 10 years of living here in the inner city have been since the Iraq war. One of them was about a week ago. I am including a little account of it here, mostly because I am really proud of my friend Cassim, and how he handled the situation. I think he has some things to teach those who continue to trust in the myth of redemptive violence.
Cassim and I were walking to the post-office, a walk I take several times a week. It's on the "other side of the tracks," in a neighborhood called Port Richmond, where lots of folks say they want to move to get out of Kensington, where we live. In fact, most locals call Kensington "the Badlands." But I always warn folks to be careful with that, lest they think "nothing good can come out of Kensington." After all, that's exactly what folks said about Nazareth, Jesus' neighborhood. God seems to have a special knack for showing up in the Badlands. After all, there are really good kids here, like Cassim. Cassim is one of the gentle kids, one I hope to never see lose his innocence and trust, or his heart grow hard. He likes cooking with us, gardening, getting beat at Othello--even cleaning the house or doing homework. I've always thought it funny and out-of-character that he is in a boxing club run by some Christians around the corner from us. Christian boxing, hmm.
Cassim is 11 and his mom doesn't let him out a lot, so you can imagine that when we got jumped, I was caught a little off-guard. We were walking down the narrow side street, and some teenaged guys started following behind. You could just feel the mischief brewing, and it grew from two young men to four and then eight, until there was a little mob of sorts. They started calling out some names, throwing rocks and sticks, trying to stir up trouble.
It's always hard on the spot like that to know exactly what Jesus would do. I told Cassim, "Let's go say hi." He looked at me skeptically. We turned back and walked towards them (knowing full well that if we had run we may have made it to the post office). "Hey, I'm Shane. And this is my friend Cassim. We live around the corner," I said with my hand out. They weren't really sure what to do with that. A couple of them shook my hand and introduced themselves. Others snickered. One or two refused the handshake. We said, "Nice to meet you guys," and headed on our walk.
With the wind taken out of their sail a bit, they regrouped, and then continued to build momentum towards a violent brawl. They ran after us, throwing some rocks and bottles, and I noticed two of them now carried a couple of broomsticks from the trash. We picked up the pace a bit, and then I looked at Cassim and said, "No, don't run." We turned back, and before we knew it, one of them clocked Cassim on the side of the head with a stick. I said firmly, "Why would you do that? We haven't done anything to hurt you." They laughed. Then they started hitting me with the broomstick until it broke over my back. At this point I decided to bust out a can of holy anger. I looked them in the eyes and said as forcefully as I could, "You are created in the image of God, every single one of you. And you were made for something better than this. Cassim and I are followers of Jesus and we do not fight, but we will love you no matter what you do to us." That wasn't exactly what they expected or hoped for. They looked at each other, startled a bit; for the first time, they were completely quiet. And then they scurried off in every direction.
I'll never forget what Cassim said afterwords. "Shane, why am I taking boxing lessons?" We laughed at the irony of it, having just experienced a prime chance to implement his mad skilz. I asked Cassim frankly what he thought would have happened if he had chosen to fight. "It would have been ugly," he said. "They might have been bloody and we probably would have been real bloody." No one would have left any nicer, that was for sure.
I asked Cassim if he thought Jesus was happy with how we acted. He thought about it, and then nodded with a smile. I told him that, honestly, I wasn't sure exactly what Jesus would have done if he were in our place; but there are two things I know Jesus would not have done. He would not have fought. And he would not have run. I told him Jesus may have thought of something else, or he may have done something weird to throw them off, as he often seems to do--like drawing in the dirt with his finger (or writing on the road with sidewalk chalk, "you are better than this"), or maybe pulling a coin out of a fish's mouth (or pulling a piece of candy out of a pigeon's mouth). But I think Jesus was happy with how we acted, and that we were good representatives--good witnesses--of Christ to them. Cassim agreed, and then we prayed for them together. And finally, as he was leaving, Cassim reminded me that each of those boys has to go to bed thinking about what they did that day, and so did we.
I'm not sure about those other boys, but Cassim and I both slept well that night and woke up a little sore but happy the next morning. Hopefully Cassim's mom will let him come out of the house.
I have told them that Molotov cocktails and rifles would not solve their problems. But they asked, and rightly so, what about Vietnam? They asked if our own nation wasn't using massive doses of violence to solve its problems. Their questions hit home, and I knew that I could never again raise my voice against the violence of the oppressed in the ghettos without having first spoken clearly to the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today--my own government.
--Martin Luther King Jr.
I've been thinking a lot about the ethos of violence that is spreading like a disease through our world. I just read that TV violence is at a record high, with an average of 13 incidents of violence every hour. News headlines tell of the murders down in New Orleans. Homocides here in Philly and Camden have been happening almost every day. And of course there is Iraq.
I just told a group of graduate students I would like to see them do a study comparing the ethos of violence globally with the violence on the streets here in the U.S. Remember how the Columbine shooting happened on the same day that the Clinton-led U.S. bombed Kosovo most intensively? It's hard to imagine that these recent murders and school shootings are somehow separate from the current escalation of violence by our government. After all, we are wrestling against principalities and powers. These are not just lofty thoughts to ponder, but they are realities that sometimes hit pretty close to home. The only incidents of violence I have experienced in the last 10 years of living here in the inner city have been since the Iraq war. One of them was about a week ago. I am including a little account of it here, mostly because I am really proud of my friend Cassim, and how he handled the situation. I think he has some things to teach those who continue to trust in the myth of redemptive violence.
Cassim and I were walking to the post-office, a walk I take several times a week. It's on the "other side of the tracks," in a neighborhood called Port Richmond, where lots of folks say they want to move to get out of Kensington, where we live. In fact, most locals call Kensington "the Badlands." But I always warn folks to be careful with that, lest they think "nothing good can come out of Kensington." After all, that's exactly what folks said about Nazareth, Jesus' neighborhood. God seems to have a special knack for showing up in the Badlands. After all, there are really good kids here, like Cassim. Cassim is one of the gentle kids, one I hope to never see lose his innocence and trust, or his heart grow hard. He likes cooking with us, gardening, getting beat at Othello--even cleaning the house or doing homework. I've always thought it funny and out-of-character that he is in a boxing club run by some Christians around the corner from us. Christian boxing, hmm.
Cassim is 11 and his mom doesn't let him out a lot, so you can imagine that when we got jumped, I was caught a little off-guard. We were walking down the narrow side street, and some teenaged guys started following behind. You could just feel the mischief brewing, and it grew from two young men to four and then eight, until there was a little mob of sorts. They started calling out some names, throwing rocks and sticks, trying to stir up trouble.
It's always hard on the spot like that to know exactly what Jesus would do. I told Cassim, "Let's go say hi." He looked at me skeptically. We turned back and walked towards them (knowing full well that if we had run we may have made it to the post office). "Hey, I'm Shane. And this is my friend Cassim. We live around the corner," I said with my hand out. They weren't really sure what to do with that. A couple of them shook my hand and introduced themselves. Others snickered. One or two refused the handshake. We said, "Nice to meet you guys," and headed on our walk.
With the wind taken out of their sail a bit, they regrouped, and then continued to build momentum towards a violent brawl. They ran after us, throwing some rocks and bottles, and I noticed two of them now carried a couple of broomsticks from the trash. We picked up the pace a bit, and then I looked at Cassim and said, "No, don't run." We turned back, and before we knew it, one of them clocked Cassim on the side of the head with a stick. I said firmly, "Why would you do that? We haven't done anything to hurt you." They laughed. Then they started hitting me with the broomstick until it broke over my back. At this point I decided to bust out a can of holy anger. I looked them in the eyes and said as forcefully as I could, "You are created in the image of God, every single one of you. And you were made for something better than this. Cassim and I are followers of Jesus and we do not fight, but we will love you no matter what you do to us." That wasn't exactly what they expected or hoped for. They looked at each other, startled a bit; for the first time, they were completely quiet. And then they scurried off in every direction.
I'll never forget what Cassim said afterwords. "Shane, why am I taking boxing lessons?" We laughed at the irony of it, having just experienced a prime chance to implement his mad skilz. I asked Cassim frankly what he thought would have happened if he had chosen to fight. "It would have been ugly," he said. "They might have been bloody and we probably would have been real bloody." No one would have left any nicer, that was for sure.
I asked Cassim if he thought Jesus was happy with how we acted. He thought about it, and then nodded with a smile. I told him that, honestly, I wasn't sure exactly what Jesus would have done if he were in our place; but there are two things I know Jesus would not have done. He would not have fought. And he would not have run. I told him Jesus may have thought of something else, or he may have done something weird to throw them off, as he often seems to do--like drawing in the dirt with his finger (or writing on the road with sidewalk chalk, "you are better than this"), or maybe pulling a coin out of a fish's mouth (or pulling a piece of candy out of a pigeon's mouth). But I think Jesus was happy with how we acted, and that we were good representatives--good witnesses--of Christ to them. Cassim agreed, and then we prayed for them together. And finally, as he was leaving, Cassim reminded me that each of those boys has to go to bed thinking about what they did that day, and so did we.
I'm not sure about those other boys, but Cassim and I both slept well that night and woke up a little sore but happy the next morning. Hopefully Cassim's mom will let him come out of the house.
I have told them that Molotov cocktails and rifles would not solve their problems. But they asked, and rightly so, what about Vietnam? They asked if our own nation wasn't using massive doses of violence to solve its problems. Their questions hit home, and I knew that I could never again raise my voice against the violence of the oppressed in the ghettos without having first spoken clearly to the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today--my own government.
--Martin Luther King Jr.
Holy and Absurd
Most of what we do in worldly life is geared toward our staying dry, looking good, not going under. But in baptism, in lakes and rain and tanks and fonts, you agree to do something that's a little sloppy because at the same time it's also holy, and absurd. It's about surrender, giving in to all those things we can't control; it's a willingness to let go of balance and decorum and get drenched.
--Anne Lamott
--Anne Lamott
Monday, January 22, 2007
Make Them Fight All of Us
by Tom Friedman
I’ve heard the president’s surge speech, and I have a reaction, an observation and some advice.
My reaction to the president’s speech was to recall a line from Bill Maher’s book about the war against terrorists: "Make them fight all of us."
Mr. President, you want a surge? I’ll surge. I’ll surge on the condition that you once and for all enlist the entire American people in this war effort, and stop putting it all on the shoulders of 130,000 military families, and now 20,000 more. I’ll surge on the condition that you make them fight all of us--and that means a real energy policy, with a real gasoline tax, that ends our addiction to oil, shrinks the flow of petro-dollars to bad actors and makes America the world’s leader in conservation.
But please, Mr. President, stop insulting our intelligence by telling us that this is the "decisive ideological struggle of our time," but we’re going to put the whole burden of victory on 150,000 U.S. soldiers.
I’ve heard the president’s surge speech, and I have a reaction, an observation and some advice.
My reaction to the president’s speech was to recall a line from Bill Maher’s book about the war against terrorists: "Make them fight all of us."
Mr. President, you want a surge? I’ll surge. I’ll surge on the condition that you once and for all enlist the entire American people in this war effort, and stop putting it all on the shoulders of 130,000 military families, and now 20,000 more. I’ll surge on the condition that you make them fight all of us--and that means a real energy policy, with a real gasoline tax, that ends our addiction to oil, shrinks the flow of petro-dollars to bad actors and makes America the world’s leader in conservation.
But please, Mr. President, stop insulting our intelligence by telling us that this is the "decisive ideological struggle of our time," but we’re going to put the whole burden of victory on 150,000 U.S. soldiers.
Religious Superiority?
by Brian McLaren
I was recently interviewed by a "secular" journalist who had read some of my books. He said, "Your religion doesn't seem to keep you constantly dividing the world into us and them, in and out, good and bad. Is that legitimate, or is that compromise?"
I explained that as a follower of God in the way of Jesus, I am taught to see every person as my neighbor. The first thing I think upon meeting someone is not, "I wonder if she's a Christian?" but "This is my neighbor. This is a beautiful person, a bearer of the image of God, someone I have the opportunity to know and appreciate and perhaps even serve in some way." Seeing others this way isn't a compromise of my Christian commitment; it's an expression of it, I explained.
The reporter responded humorously, "What good is being religious if you can't feel superior to anybody?" We both laughed, but after the interview, I couldn't stop thinking about the serious point conveyed by his ironic comment.
What is religion for? Is it for creating an in-group that feels superior? Or is it for turning us into neighbors who want to appreciate, love, and serve one another?
Of course next to nobody would ever say overtly that the purpose of their religion is to feel superior. In fact, it just struck me that at this very moment, my act of writing, and your act of reading, could turn us into a kind of elite "in-group" who share the superiority of having one kind of religion over another.
The danger of in-grouping and out-grouping is, I think, subtle, inescapable, and universal, whatever the religion (or irreligion, or political party, or ideology) one holds. No wonder Jesus said, "A tree is known by its fruit;" Paul said, "If I don't have love, I'm nothing;" James said, "Faith without works is dead;" and John said, "Anyone who does not do what is right is not a child of God; nor is anyone who does not love his brother."
Last time I checked, three of the top 10 "religious" books were in praise of atheism and against religion in all its forms. In these times of snarky religious cold wars in some quarters and hot religious violence in others, I'm not surprised. Those of us who see religion in a different light--who see religion as a powerful motivation to care for the widow and orphan, to seek justice and peace, to love our neighbors and our enemies--shouldn't feel superior, but we should keep practicing, and preaching, with humility and focus. It's so easy to get distracted, and a lot is at stake.
I was recently interviewed by a "secular" journalist who had read some of my books. He said, "Your religion doesn't seem to keep you constantly dividing the world into us and them, in and out, good and bad. Is that legitimate, or is that compromise?"
I explained that as a follower of God in the way of Jesus, I am taught to see every person as my neighbor. The first thing I think upon meeting someone is not, "I wonder if she's a Christian?" but "This is my neighbor. This is a beautiful person, a bearer of the image of God, someone I have the opportunity to know and appreciate and perhaps even serve in some way." Seeing others this way isn't a compromise of my Christian commitment; it's an expression of it, I explained.
The reporter responded humorously, "What good is being religious if you can't feel superior to anybody?" We both laughed, but after the interview, I couldn't stop thinking about the serious point conveyed by his ironic comment.
What is religion for? Is it for creating an in-group that feels superior? Or is it for turning us into neighbors who want to appreciate, love, and serve one another?
Of course next to nobody would ever say overtly that the purpose of their religion is to feel superior. In fact, it just struck me that at this very moment, my act of writing, and your act of reading, could turn us into a kind of elite "in-group" who share the superiority of having one kind of religion over another.
The danger of in-grouping and out-grouping is, I think, subtle, inescapable, and universal, whatever the religion (or irreligion, or political party, or ideology) one holds. No wonder Jesus said, "A tree is known by its fruit;" Paul said, "If I don't have love, I'm nothing;" James said, "Faith without works is dead;" and John said, "Anyone who does not do what is right is not a child of God; nor is anyone who does not love his brother."
Last time I checked, three of the top 10 "religious" books were in praise of atheism and against religion in all its forms. In these times of snarky religious cold wars in some quarters and hot religious violence in others, I'm not surprised. Those of us who see religion in a different light--who see religion as a powerful motivation to care for the widow and orphan, to seek justice and peace, to love our neighbors and our enemies--shouldn't feel superior, but we should keep practicing, and preaching, with humility and focus. It's so easy to get distracted, and a lot is at stake.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Purpose of the Gospel
The only purpose of the gospel is to reconcile people to God and to each other. A gospel that doesn't reconcile is not a Christian gospel at all. But in America, it seems as if we don't believe that. We don't really believe that the proof of our discipleship is that we love one another (see John 13:35). No, we think the proof is in numbers ... Even if our "converts" continue to hate each other, even if they will not worship with their brothers and sisters in Christ, we point to their "conversion" as evidence of the gospel's success. We have substituted a gospel of church growth for a gospel of reconciliation.
--John Perkins
--John Perkins
Death Penalty Fuels Crime
by Howard Zehr
I am with a group of men in prison. We are in a seminar I have been leading for some weeks. Most are many years into serving life sentences. One young man, however, expects to be released soon.
We get to talking about justice. "When we were outside," the older men say, "if someone dissed (wronged) us, we had to fight but we didn't have to win. Otherwise, we wouldn't be a man."
"You're out of touch," says the younger man. "If someone disses me, I have to waste them--I have to kill them." His classmates - all of whom have been convicted of taking a life--are appalled.
My argument is this: the death penalty fuels the very phenomenon it claims to suppress. Taking a life--whether on the streets or in the courtroom--is driven by the same motive: to do justice. Both are part of the same cycle of violence.
As we move into this new year, it bears considering that this cycle of violence is what Jesus was trying to break when he preached against vengeance, even when someone is clearly wronged, as Jesus was when put to death. This is not just mushy idealism or preachy Christianity. Actually the lesson Jesus taught is supported by current experience.
In Canada, homicides actually decreased when the death penalty was eliminated. Homicides sometimes rise after executions and homicide rates are often higher in locales that use the death penalty. Why?
Perhaps it is linked to an observation made by James Gilligan, a university-based psychiatrist who treated and studied Massachusetts prisoners for more than 10 years: "All violence is an effort to do justice, or to undo injustice." In my experience, Gilligan's observation rings true--whether it is ordinary street crime or terrorism. Violence reflects a tit-for-tat worldview: it is people giving to other people what they "deserve."
No credible evidence exists that the death penalty deters would-be killers or causes the murder rate to go down. Gilligan offers a possible explanation for why the contrary seems to be true. Rather than undermine a tit-for-tat worldview--as Jesus tried to do--it confirms it. Rather than slowing the cycle, it feeds it.
Giving people what they deserve--death for death--thus does not make rational or empirical sense. But it does make emotional and intuitive sense. In working with victims of crimes over many years, I have come to some understanding of why they wish the one who killed their loved one to suffer. Unlike Jesus who said, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do," I too feel the urge for vengeance sometimes. But I try to resist the urge to act on this feeling, as I believe our society should similarly resist it.
I don't discount the need for victims to "balance the score." In fact, I think it reflects the human need for making things even. When you receive a gift, don't you feel an obligation to return the favor in most cases? Ironically, the urge to exchange Christmas gifts and the urge to revenge may come from the same instinct: a need for reciprocity or balance. Yet there are other, more life-giving, ways to achieve this sense of reciprocity and justice.
Victims and society at large need validation and vindication after murder or other violent crimes. The death penalty, however, is not the way to accomplish this. In fact, it apparently leads to more murders. What if Jesus had taught the opposite--if he had told his followers to exact an "eye for an eye" for every wrongdoing committed against them? If so, I doubt many of us Christians would be around to celebrate his birth at this season.
I am with a group of men in prison. We are in a seminar I have been leading for some weeks. Most are many years into serving life sentences. One young man, however, expects to be released soon.
We get to talking about justice. "When we were outside," the older men say, "if someone dissed (wronged) us, we had to fight but we didn't have to win. Otherwise, we wouldn't be a man."
"You're out of touch," says the younger man. "If someone disses me, I have to waste them--I have to kill them." His classmates - all of whom have been convicted of taking a life--are appalled.
My argument is this: the death penalty fuels the very phenomenon it claims to suppress. Taking a life--whether on the streets or in the courtroom--is driven by the same motive: to do justice. Both are part of the same cycle of violence.
As we move into this new year, it bears considering that this cycle of violence is what Jesus was trying to break when he preached against vengeance, even when someone is clearly wronged, as Jesus was when put to death. This is not just mushy idealism or preachy Christianity. Actually the lesson Jesus taught is supported by current experience.
In Canada, homicides actually decreased when the death penalty was eliminated. Homicides sometimes rise after executions and homicide rates are often higher in locales that use the death penalty. Why?
Perhaps it is linked to an observation made by James Gilligan, a university-based psychiatrist who treated and studied Massachusetts prisoners for more than 10 years: "All violence is an effort to do justice, or to undo injustice." In my experience, Gilligan's observation rings true--whether it is ordinary street crime or terrorism. Violence reflects a tit-for-tat worldview: it is people giving to other people what they "deserve."
No credible evidence exists that the death penalty deters would-be killers or causes the murder rate to go down. Gilligan offers a possible explanation for why the contrary seems to be true. Rather than undermine a tit-for-tat worldview--as Jesus tried to do--it confirms it. Rather than slowing the cycle, it feeds it.
Giving people what they deserve--death for death--thus does not make rational or empirical sense. But it does make emotional and intuitive sense. In working with victims of crimes over many years, I have come to some understanding of why they wish the one who killed their loved one to suffer. Unlike Jesus who said, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do," I too feel the urge for vengeance sometimes. But I try to resist the urge to act on this feeling, as I believe our society should similarly resist it.
I don't discount the need for victims to "balance the score." In fact, I think it reflects the human need for making things even. When you receive a gift, don't you feel an obligation to return the favor in most cases? Ironically, the urge to exchange Christmas gifts and the urge to revenge may come from the same instinct: a need for reciprocity or balance. Yet there are other, more life-giving, ways to achieve this sense of reciprocity and justice.
Victims and society at large need validation and vindication after murder or other violent crimes. The death penalty, however, is not the way to accomplish this. In fact, it apparently leads to more murders. What if Jesus had taught the opposite--if he had told his followers to exact an "eye for an eye" for every wrongdoing committed against them? If so, I doubt many of us Christians would be around to celebrate his birth at this season.
King's Radical Message
by Adam Taylor
This weekend, our nation paused once again to remember the life of a modern-day prophet. In pulpits across the country, preachers offered sermons reflecting on Dr. Martin Luther King's seemingly timeless message. While Dr. King's words were quoted across the nation, I fear that the majority of Americans only heard a perfunctory mention of King's dream of racial harmony, with barely a mention of his even bolder words against what he called the "giant triplets of racism, materialism, and militarism."
Too often our churches are guilty of sanitizing and domesticating King's radical message. We embrace the King of Montgomery, Selma, and Birmingham, while ignoring the King who boldly and courageously opposed the Vietnam War, arguing that "America would never invest the necessary funds or energies in rehabilitation of its poor so long as adventures like Vietnam continued to draw men and skills and money like some demonic destructive suction tube."
This weekend, our nation paused once again to remember the life of a modern-day prophet. In pulpits across the country, preachers offered sermons reflecting on Dr. Martin Luther King's seemingly timeless message. While Dr. King's words were quoted across the nation, I fear that the majority of Americans only heard a perfunctory mention of King's dream of racial harmony, with barely a mention of his even bolder words against what he called the "giant triplets of racism, materialism, and militarism."
Too often our churches are guilty of sanitizing and domesticating King's radical message. We embrace the King of Montgomery, Selma, and Birmingham, while ignoring the King who boldly and courageously opposed the Vietnam War, arguing that "America would never invest the necessary funds or energies in rehabilitation of its poor so long as adventures like Vietnam continued to draw men and skills and money like some demonic destructive suction tube."
Friday, January 12, 2007
The Gates of Hell
by Shane Claiborne
I figure anytime you are about to talk about hell it's good to start with a joke, so here we go. It was a busy day in heaven as folks waited in line at the pearly gates. Peter stood as gatekeeper checking each newcomer's name in the Lamb's Book of Life. But there was some confusion, as the numbers were not adding up. Heaven was a little overcrowded, and a bunch of folks were unaccounted for. So some of the angels were sent on a mission to investigate things. And it was not long before two of them returned, "We found the problem," they said. "Jesus is out back, lifting people up over the gate."
I remember as a child hearing all the hellfire and damnation sermons. We had a theater group perform a play called "Heaven's Gates and Hell's Flames" where actors presented scenes of folks being ripped away from loved ones only to be sent to the fiery pits of hell where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth, and we all went forward to repent of all the evil things we had done over our first decade of life, in paralyzing fear of being "left behind." The preacher literally scared the "hell" out of us.
But have you ever noticed that Jesus didn't spend much time on hell? In fact there are really only a couple of times he speaks of weeping and gnashing of teeth, of hell and God's judgment. And both of them have to do with the walls we create between ourselves and our suffering neighbors. One is Matthew 25 where the sheep and the goats are separated, and the goats who did not care for the poor, hungry, homeless, imprisoned. are sent off to endure an agony akin to that experienced by the ones that they neglected on this earth. And then there is the story of the rich man and Lazarus, a parable Jesus tells about a rich man who neglected the poor beggar outside his gate.
In the parable we hear of a wealthy man who builds a gate between himself and the poor man, and that chasm becomes an unbridgeable gap not only with Lazarus but with God. He is no doubt a religious man (he calls out "Father" Abraham and knew the prophets), and undoubtedly he had made a name for himself on earth, but is now a nameless rich man begging the beggar for a drop of water. And Lazarus who lived a nameless life in the shadows of misery is seated next to God, and given a name. Lazarus is the only person named in Jesus' parables, and his name means "the one God rescues." God is in the business of rescuing people from the hells they experience on earth. And God is asking us to love people out of those hells.
Nowadays many of us spend a lot of time pondering and theologizing about heaven on earth and God's Kingdom coming here (and rightly so!), but it seems we would also do well to do a little work with the reality of hell. Hell is not just something that comes after death, but something many are living in this very moment. 1.2 billion people that are groaning for a drop of water each day, over 30,000 kids starving to death each day, 38 million folks dying of AIDS. It seems ludicrous to think of preaching to them about hell. I see Jesus spending far more energy loving the "hell" out of people, and lifting people out of the hells in which they are trapped, than trying to scare them into heaven. And one of the most beautiful things we get to see in community here in Kensington, is people who have been loved out of the hells that they find themselves in--domestic violence, addiction, sex trafficking, loneliness.
C.S. Lewis understood hell, not as a place where God locks people out of heaven, but as a dungeon that we lock ourselves into and that we as a Church hold the keys. I think that gives us new insight when we look at the parable of Lazarus or hear the brilliant words with which Jesus reassures Peter: "The gates of Hell will not prevail against you." As an adolescent, I understood that to mean that the demons and fiery darts of the devil will not hit us. But lately I've done a little more thinking and praying, and I have a bit more insight on the idea of "gates." Gates are not offensive weapons. Gates are defensive--walls and fences we build to keep people out. God is not saying the gates of hell will not prevail as they come at us. God is saying that we are in the business of storming the gates of hell, and the gates will not prevail as we crash through them with grace.
People sometimes ask if we are scared of the inner city. I say that I am more scared of the suburbs. Our Jesus warns that we can fear those things which can hurt our bodies or we can fear those things which can destroy our souls, and we should be far more fearful of the latter. Those are the subtle demons of suburbia. As my mother once told me, "Perhaps there is no more dangerous place for a Christian to be than in safety and comfort, detached from the suffering of others." I'm scared of apathy and complacency, of detaching myself from the suffering. It's hard to see until our 20/20 hindsight hits us--but every time we lock someone out, we lock ourselves further in. Just as we are building walls to keep people out of our comfortable, insulated existence, we are trapping ourselves in a hell of isolation, loneliness and fear. We have "gated communities" where rich folks live. We put up picket fences around our suburban homes. We place barbed wire and razer-wire around our buildings and churches. We put bars on our windows in the ghettos of fear. We build up walls to keep immigrants from entering our country. We guard our borders with those walls--Berlin, Jerusalem, Jericho. And the more walls and gates and fences we have, the closer we are to hell. We, like the rich man, find ourselves locked into our gated homes and far from the tears of Lazarus outside, far from the tears of God.
Let us pray that God would give us the strength to storm the gates of hell, and tear down the walls we have created between those whose suffering would disrupt our comfort. May we become familiar with the suffering of the poor outside our gates, know their names, and taste the salt in their tears. Then when "the ones God has rescued," the Lazaruses of our world--the baby refugees, the mentally-ill wanderers, and the homeless outcasts--are seated next to God, we can say, "We're with them." Jesus has given them the keys to enter the Kingdom. Maybe they will give us a little boost over the gate.
And in the New Jerusalem, the great City of God, "on no day will its gates ever be shut." The gates of the Kingdom will forever be open. (Revelation 21:25)
I figure anytime you are about to talk about hell it's good to start with a joke, so here we go. It was a busy day in heaven as folks waited in line at the pearly gates. Peter stood as gatekeeper checking each newcomer's name in the Lamb's Book of Life. But there was some confusion, as the numbers were not adding up. Heaven was a little overcrowded, and a bunch of folks were unaccounted for. So some of the angels were sent on a mission to investigate things. And it was not long before two of them returned, "We found the problem," they said. "Jesus is out back, lifting people up over the gate."
I remember as a child hearing all the hellfire and damnation sermons. We had a theater group perform a play called "Heaven's Gates and Hell's Flames" where actors presented scenes of folks being ripped away from loved ones only to be sent to the fiery pits of hell where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth, and we all went forward to repent of all the evil things we had done over our first decade of life, in paralyzing fear of being "left behind." The preacher literally scared the "hell" out of us.
But have you ever noticed that Jesus didn't spend much time on hell? In fact there are really only a couple of times he speaks of weeping and gnashing of teeth, of hell and God's judgment. And both of them have to do with the walls we create between ourselves and our suffering neighbors. One is Matthew 25 where the sheep and the goats are separated, and the goats who did not care for the poor, hungry, homeless, imprisoned. are sent off to endure an agony akin to that experienced by the ones that they neglected on this earth. And then there is the story of the rich man and Lazarus, a parable Jesus tells about a rich man who neglected the poor beggar outside his gate.
In the parable we hear of a wealthy man who builds a gate between himself and the poor man, and that chasm becomes an unbridgeable gap not only with Lazarus but with God. He is no doubt a religious man (he calls out "Father" Abraham and knew the prophets), and undoubtedly he had made a name for himself on earth, but is now a nameless rich man begging the beggar for a drop of water. And Lazarus who lived a nameless life in the shadows of misery is seated next to God, and given a name. Lazarus is the only person named in Jesus' parables, and his name means "the one God rescues." God is in the business of rescuing people from the hells they experience on earth. And God is asking us to love people out of those hells.
Nowadays many of us spend a lot of time pondering and theologizing about heaven on earth and God's Kingdom coming here (and rightly so!), but it seems we would also do well to do a little work with the reality of hell. Hell is not just something that comes after death, but something many are living in this very moment. 1.2 billion people that are groaning for a drop of water each day, over 30,000 kids starving to death each day, 38 million folks dying of AIDS. It seems ludicrous to think of preaching to them about hell. I see Jesus spending far more energy loving the "hell" out of people, and lifting people out of the hells in which they are trapped, than trying to scare them into heaven. And one of the most beautiful things we get to see in community here in Kensington, is people who have been loved out of the hells that they find themselves in--domestic violence, addiction, sex trafficking, loneliness.
C.S. Lewis understood hell, not as a place where God locks people out of heaven, but as a dungeon that we lock ourselves into and that we as a Church hold the keys. I think that gives us new insight when we look at the parable of Lazarus or hear the brilliant words with which Jesus reassures Peter: "The gates of Hell will not prevail against you." As an adolescent, I understood that to mean that the demons and fiery darts of the devil will not hit us. But lately I've done a little more thinking and praying, and I have a bit more insight on the idea of "gates." Gates are not offensive weapons. Gates are defensive--walls and fences we build to keep people out. God is not saying the gates of hell will not prevail as they come at us. God is saying that we are in the business of storming the gates of hell, and the gates will not prevail as we crash through them with grace.
People sometimes ask if we are scared of the inner city. I say that I am more scared of the suburbs. Our Jesus warns that we can fear those things which can hurt our bodies or we can fear those things which can destroy our souls, and we should be far more fearful of the latter. Those are the subtle demons of suburbia. As my mother once told me, "Perhaps there is no more dangerous place for a Christian to be than in safety and comfort, detached from the suffering of others." I'm scared of apathy and complacency, of detaching myself from the suffering. It's hard to see until our 20/20 hindsight hits us--but every time we lock someone out, we lock ourselves further in. Just as we are building walls to keep people out of our comfortable, insulated existence, we are trapping ourselves in a hell of isolation, loneliness and fear. We have "gated communities" where rich folks live. We put up picket fences around our suburban homes. We place barbed wire and razer-wire around our buildings and churches. We put bars on our windows in the ghettos of fear. We build up walls to keep immigrants from entering our country. We guard our borders with those walls--Berlin, Jerusalem, Jericho. And the more walls and gates and fences we have, the closer we are to hell. We, like the rich man, find ourselves locked into our gated homes and far from the tears of Lazarus outside, far from the tears of God.
Let us pray that God would give us the strength to storm the gates of hell, and tear down the walls we have created between those whose suffering would disrupt our comfort. May we become familiar with the suffering of the poor outside our gates, know their names, and taste the salt in their tears. Then when "the ones God has rescued," the Lazaruses of our world--the baby refugees, the mentally-ill wanderers, and the homeless outcasts--are seated next to God, we can say, "We're with them." Jesus has given them the keys to enter the Kingdom. Maybe they will give us a little boost over the gate.
And in the New Jerusalem, the great City of God, "on no day will its gates ever be shut." The gates of the Kingdom will forever be open. (Revelation 21:25)
Determined to Make War
George W. Bush is determined to continue making war in Iraq. I agree with Bush on one point--we need a new strategy in Iraq. But last night, George Bush decided to escalate the war and increase the American occupation--which he still doesn't seem to realize is at the center of the problem. Bush stubbornly believes that military solutions are always the best answer, and consistently chooses war over politics. But without a political solution in Iraq, no escalation of the war will succeed. Whether in Iraq, or even in the larger war on terrorism, Bush believes, as he said again last night, that we are in a great "ideological struggle" between us and them, good and evil--and that only military solutions against "them" will suffice. Both wisdom and humility (two religious virtues) suggest that political and diplomatic resolutions to conflict are ultimately required. But last night, Bush again chose the primacy of military solutions.
--Jim Wallis
--Jim Wallis
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
A Critical Reassessment
What made the teaching of Jesus different and apparently so hard to accept then as now, was that it required a critical reassessment of the structures and values and attitudes of human society as his listeners and followers shared in it.
--Monika K. Hellwig
--Monika K. Hellwig
Friday, January 05, 2007
How Does Saddam's Execution Make You Feel?
by Brian McLaren
I see little or no value to weighing in on the subject of capital punishment. People have their opinions and relatively few seem interested in changing them. But I would like to express in personal terms how I felt after the news coverage of Saddam Hussein's hanging. I'd like to share it especially for those who support executions, not to change their opinion necessarily, but simply to make a request of them.
The best word to describe my feeling: dirty.
I felt the same way when the "Shock and Awe" campaign was launched on Baghdad. I thought of all the little children cowering in closets and under beds, feeling (I imagine) that the whole world was coming to an end. I imagined them tearfully asking their moms and dads why this was happening and who was doing this to them, and them answering, "The United States." I felt embarrassed, ashamed, and polluted to be party to frightening innocent people, much less killing them as collateral damage. I thought of how similar "shock and awe" are to "terror," and because I don't want to terrorize anybody, those bombs didn't speak for me. And yet, against my will they did, and I felt dirty.
I know that Saddam was in no way innocent. I know he deserved to be held accountable for his disregard for human rights, for human life. But even if I supported capital punishment, I think I would still have felt dirty. Perhaps I'm too morally thin-skinned, but taking the human life of a person in the name of human life brings no sense of justice or satisfaction to me. Rather, it brings the opposite.
Others see it differently, I know. Some might use Bible verses to justify "eye for eye, tooth for tooth, life for life" (although Jesus seemed to put a rather authoritative spin on those verses, preceding them with "You have heard it said," and following them up with "But I say to you..."). Whether executions are justified or not, I feel dirty and ashamed whenever I hear of an execution, and Saddam's was no different. I hope I don't ever stop feeling that way.
I have friends who have become sexual addicts. They tell me the first time they cheated on their spouses, they felt terrible. But somehow they survived, and the next time, they still felt bad, but a little less so. By the twentieth time or the fiftieth time, they felt the tiniest pang of guilt, nothing much, really. Cheating became easy. The same thing happens with liars and spouse abusers and other addicts.
We've all seen similar patterns in our own lives. We become desensitized to things we shouldn't, and as that happens, we are in such great danger of becoming worse people than we ever imagined being, ever wanted to be.
So, if you felt as I did after the execution of Saddam Hussein, dirty, I wouldn't dismiss the feeling. I would say that it might be a redemptive dirtiness, and without it, I am afraid of what we could become.
I see little or no value to weighing in on the subject of capital punishment. People have their opinions and relatively few seem interested in changing them. But I would like to express in personal terms how I felt after the news coverage of Saddam Hussein's hanging. I'd like to share it especially for those who support executions, not to change their opinion necessarily, but simply to make a request of them.
The best word to describe my feeling: dirty.
I felt the same way when the "Shock and Awe" campaign was launched on Baghdad. I thought of all the little children cowering in closets and under beds, feeling (I imagine) that the whole world was coming to an end. I imagined them tearfully asking their moms and dads why this was happening and who was doing this to them, and them answering, "The United States." I felt embarrassed, ashamed, and polluted to be party to frightening innocent people, much less killing them as collateral damage. I thought of how similar "shock and awe" are to "terror," and because I don't want to terrorize anybody, those bombs didn't speak for me. And yet, against my will they did, and I felt dirty.
I know that Saddam was in no way innocent. I know he deserved to be held accountable for his disregard for human rights, for human life. But even if I supported capital punishment, I think I would still have felt dirty. Perhaps I'm too morally thin-skinned, but taking the human life of a person in the name of human life brings no sense of justice or satisfaction to me. Rather, it brings the opposite.
Others see it differently, I know. Some might use Bible verses to justify "eye for eye, tooth for tooth, life for life" (although Jesus seemed to put a rather authoritative spin on those verses, preceding them with "You have heard it said," and following them up with "But I say to you..."). Whether executions are justified or not, I feel dirty and ashamed whenever I hear of an execution, and Saddam's was no different. I hope I don't ever stop feeling that way.
I have friends who have become sexual addicts. They tell me the first time they cheated on their spouses, they felt terrible. But somehow they survived, and the next time, they still felt bad, but a little less so. By the twentieth time or the fiftieth time, they felt the tiniest pang of guilt, nothing much, really. Cheating became easy. The same thing happens with liars and spouse abusers and other addicts.
We've all seen similar patterns in our own lives. We become desensitized to things we shouldn't, and as that happens, we are in such great danger of becoming worse people than we ever imagined being, ever wanted to be.
So, if you felt as I did after the execution of Saddam Hussein, dirty, I wouldn't dismiss the feeling. I would say that it might be a redemptive dirtiness, and without it, I am afraid of what we could become.
Communicating Through a Noose
by Shane Claiborne
"What do you think of that man?" the old guy asked in a raspy voice as I settled in next to him on the plane. He pointed to the face of Saddam Hussein on the front of his newspaper with a headline story of the looming execution. I gathered myself, and prepared for what could turn out to be a rather chatty plane ride. I replied gently, "I think that man needs some love." And the rather boisterous gentleman sat still, perhaps not exactly the response he predicted. Then he said pensively, "Hmmmm. I think you're right..." And finally, he whispered in a forlorn tone, "And it is hard to communicate love through a noose."
Sometimes we just need permission to say, "It's not okay to kill someone to show everyone how much we hate killing." As Christian artist Derek Webb sings, " Peace by way of war is like purity by way of fornication. It's like saying murder is wrong and showing them by way of execution." I am encouraged by how many Christians I hear voicing an alternative to the myth of redemptive violence in light of the recent killing of Saddam, folks who love Jesus and have the unsettling feeling that Jesus loves evildoers so much he died for them, for us. I have heard many evangelicals who see Saddam's execution as the ultimate act of hopelessness and faithlessness – after all it is humanity stepping in to make the final judgment, that this human created in God's image is beyond redemption. And for those who believe in hell, executing someone who may not yet know of the love and grace of Christ is doubly offensive.
It is rather scandalous to think that we have a God who loves murderers and terrorists like Saul of Tarsus, Osama bin Laden, or Sadaam Hussein – but that is the "good news" isn't it? It's the old eye for an eye thing that gets us. But the more I've studied the Hebrew Scriptures the more I am convinced that this was just a boundary for people who lashed back. As the young exodus people are trying to discover a new way of living outside the empire, God made sure there were some boundaries, like if someone breaks your arm, you cannot go back and break their arm and their leg. If someone kills hundreds of your people, you cannot kill 160,000 of theirs.
We've learned the eye for an eye thing all too well. A shock and awe bombing leads to a shock and awe beheading. A Pearl Harbor leads to a Hiroshima. A murder leads to an execution. A rude look leads to a cold shoulder. An eye for an eye we have indeed heard before and learned its logic all too well. But Jesus comes declaring in his State of the Union Sermon on the Mount address (Matthew 5): "You have heard that it was said, 'Eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,'" but there is a another way. No wonder Jesus wept over Jerusalem because the people "did not know the things that make for peace."
Gandhi and King used to say, "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth leaves the whole world blind" (and with dentures). The gospels tell the story of a group of people who have dragged forward an adulteress and are ready to stone her (this was the legal consequence). Jesus is asked for his support of this death penalty case. His response is this... "You are all adulterers. If you have looked at someone lustfully, you have committed adultery in your heart." And the people drop their stones and walk away with their heads bowed. We want to kill the murderers, and Jesus says to us: "You are all murderers. If you have called your neighbor 'Raca, Fool' you are guilty of murder in your heart." Again the stones drop. We are all murderers and adulterers and terrorists. And we are all precious.
When we have new eyes we can look into the faces of those we don't even like, and see the One we love. We can see God's image in everyone we encounter. As Henri Nouwen puts it: "In the face of the oppressed I recognize my own face and in the hands of the oppressor I recognize my own hands. Their flesh is my flesh, their blood is my blood, their pain is my pain, their smile is my smile." We are made of the same dust. We cry the same tears. No one is beyond redemption and no one is beyond repute. And that is when we are free to imagine a revolution that sets both the oppressed and the oppressors free. The world is starving for grace. And grace is hard to communicate with a noose.
"What do you think of that man?" the old guy asked in a raspy voice as I settled in next to him on the plane. He pointed to the face of Saddam Hussein on the front of his newspaper with a headline story of the looming execution. I gathered myself, and prepared for what could turn out to be a rather chatty plane ride. I replied gently, "I think that man needs some love." And the rather boisterous gentleman sat still, perhaps not exactly the response he predicted. Then he said pensively, "Hmmmm. I think you're right..." And finally, he whispered in a forlorn tone, "And it is hard to communicate love through a noose."
Sometimes we just need permission to say, "It's not okay to kill someone to show everyone how much we hate killing." As Christian artist Derek Webb sings, " Peace by way of war is like purity by way of fornication. It's like saying murder is wrong and showing them by way of execution." I am encouraged by how many Christians I hear voicing an alternative to the myth of redemptive violence in light of the recent killing of Saddam, folks who love Jesus and have the unsettling feeling that Jesus loves evildoers so much he died for them, for us. I have heard many evangelicals who see Saddam's execution as the ultimate act of hopelessness and faithlessness – after all it is humanity stepping in to make the final judgment, that this human created in God's image is beyond redemption. And for those who believe in hell, executing someone who may not yet know of the love and grace of Christ is doubly offensive.
It is rather scandalous to think that we have a God who loves murderers and terrorists like Saul of Tarsus, Osama bin Laden, or Sadaam Hussein – but that is the "good news" isn't it? It's the old eye for an eye thing that gets us. But the more I've studied the Hebrew Scriptures the more I am convinced that this was just a boundary for people who lashed back. As the young exodus people are trying to discover a new way of living outside the empire, God made sure there were some boundaries, like if someone breaks your arm, you cannot go back and break their arm and their leg. If someone kills hundreds of your people, you cannot kill 160,000 of theirs.
We've learned the eye for an eye thing all too well. A shock and awe bombing leads to a shock and awe beheading. A Pearl Harbor leads to a Hiroshima. A murder leads to an execution. A rude look leads to a cold shoulder. An eye for an eye we have indeed heard before and learned its logic all too well. But Jesus comes declaring in his State of the Union Sermon on the Mount address (Matthew 5): "You have heard that it was said, 'Eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,'" but there is a another way. No wonder Jesus wept over Jerusalem because the people "did not know the things that make for peace."
Gandhi and King used to say, "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth leaves the whole world blind" (and with dentures). The gospels tell the story of a group of people who have dragged forward an adulteress and are ready to stone her (this was the legal consequence). Jesus is asked for his support of this death penalty case. His response is this... "You are all adulterers. If you have looked at someone lustfully, you have committed adultery in your heart." And the people drop their stones and walk away with their heads bowed. We want to kill the murderers, and Jesus says to us: "You are all murderers. If you have called your neighbor 'Raca, Fool' you are guilty of murder in your heart." Again the stones drop. We are all murderers and adulterers and terrorists. And we are all precious.
When we have new eyes we can look into the faces of those we don't even like, and see the One we love. We can see God's image in everyone we encounter. As Henri Nouwen puts it: "In the face of the oppressed I recognize my own face and in the hands of the oppressor I recognize my own hands. Their flesh is my flesh, their blood is my blood, their pain is my pain, their smile is my smile." We are made of the same dust. We cry the same tears. No one is beyond redemption and no one is beyond repute. And that is when we are free to imagine a revolution that sets both the oppressed and the oppressors free. The world is starving for grace. And grace is hard to communicate with a noose.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Paradox of Modernity
Why is it that a world dedicated to the pursuit of leisure and of machines that save labor is chiefly marked by its levels of rush, frenetic busyness and stress? The paradox of modernity is that however successful the understanding of time and space, the modern is less at home in the actual time and space of daily living than peoples less touched by [modern] changes. Whatever the integration of space and time in science, in modern life there is at once cultural stagnation and febrile change, a restless movement from place to place, experience to experience, revealing little evidence of a serene dwelling in the body and on the good earth."
--Colin Gunton
--Colin Gunton
Monday, January 01, 2007
Watering Seeds of Future Promise
It helps, now and then, to step back and take the long view. The Kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision. We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God's work. Nothing we do is complete, which is another way of saying that the Kingdom always lies beyond us. No statement says all that can be said. No prayer fully expresses our faith. No confession brings perfection, No pastoral visit brings wholeness. No program accomplishes the church's mission. No set of goals and objectives includes everything. This is what we are about. We plant the seeds that one day will grow. We water seeds already planted knowing that they hold future promise. We lay foundations that will need further development. We provide yeast that produces effects far beyond our capabilities. We cannot do everything and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. That enables us to do something, and to do it very well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest. We may never see the end results. But that is the difference between the master builder and the worker. We are the workers, not the master builders; ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own.
--Archbishop Oscar Romero
--Archbishop Oscar Romero
What the Christmas Story Teaches Us About Security
by Esther Epp Tiessen
The daily newspaper is a lot heavier and bulkier at this time of year — packed with wads of slippery Christmas advertisements and flyers. When I grab the newspaper out of the mailbox each morning, I usually toss the flyers directly into the recycle bin without even looking at them.
But last week my eye caught a flyer advertising a "gift of security" — a fancy home alarm system. "Give your family peace of mind this Christmas," the shiny piece of paper urged. "Install an alarm system that will make them secure."
I suspect that a lot of families will invest in security systems this Christmas. After all, we live in a society that is increasingly obsessed with the need for security. More and more homes have alarm systems. More and more people carry cell phones. Increasing numbers of video cameras watch us as we move about in public places. Airport procedures, border crossings and passport applications have all become much more rigorous.
The "war on terror" also reflects this obsession with security. We are told that the greatest of threats facing the western world is the threat of terrorism. And the way to make the world safe and secure from terrorists is to kill them. Our military forces, so it goes, are fighting to destroy terrorism so that all of us will live with more safety and security.
Distressingly, we as North Americans are learning that the war on terror is actually increasing the insecurity for others, as well as for ourselves. We have forgotten that our own security is intimately linked with the security of others. As Ernie Regehr of Project Ploughshares says, "Our well-being depends on others, as well as ourselves. We can't isolate ourselves within an armed fortress; instead we have to be active participants in transforming the world into a place where interdependence is not regarded as a threat but as the fundamental ingredient of community."
But back to the alarm system. There is something profoundly ironic about the marketing of security systems — and the pursuit of security at all costs — at Christmas time. Christmas is the story of a vulnerable baby entering a violent and dangerous world with no assurance of security. Yet a security company dares to promote an alarm system as the perfect Christmas gift!
The Christmas story teaches us something very different about security. The Jesus whose birthday we celebrate came into the world in total vulnerability. His birthplace was a stable and his bed a manger. His people lived under an authoritarian occupation. While still an infant, his family had to flee to a foreign land, because the King wanted him killed.
When Jesus grew, he chose vulnerability as a lifestyle. He carried no sword, possessed no worldly goods that required protection, and surrounded himself, not with bodyguards, but a ragtag bunch of marginal folks. He taught his friends that they should not harm their enemies but love them and do good to them. He told them that they would find security by serving others. He embodied vulnerability when faced with arrest, torture and even death.
For Christians, the message of Christmas is that our security is found not in alarm systems or military might or a war on terror, but in casting our fears upon the One who says that security is found in relationship, in sharing, and in reaching out to others — indeed, in vulnerability. Perhaps this message can be our Christmas gift to the world.
The daily newspaper is a lot heavier and bulkier at this time of year — packed with wads of slippery Christmas advertisements and flyers. When I grab the newspaper out of the mailbox each morning, I usually toss the flyers directly into the recycle bin without even looking at them.
But last week my eye caught a flyer advertising a "gift of security" — a fancy home alarm system. "Give your family peace of mind this Christmas," the shiny piece of paper urged. "Install an alarm system that will make them secure."
I suspect that a lot of families will invest in security systems this Christmas. After all, we live in a society that is increasingly obsessed with the need for security. More and more homes have alarm systems. More and more people carry cell phones. Increasing numbers of video cameras watch us as we move about in public places. Airport procedures, border crossings and passport applications have all become much more rigorous.
The "war on terror" also reflects this obsession with security. We are told that the greatest of threats facing the western world is the threat of terrorism. And the way to make the world safe and secure from terrorists is to kill them. Our military forces, so it goes, are fighting to destroy terrorism so that all of us will live with more safety and security.
Distressingly, we as North Americans are learning that the war on terror is actually increasing the insecurity for others, as well as for ourselves. We have forgotten that our own security is intimately linked with the security of others. As Ernie Regehr of Project Ploughshares says, "Our well-being depends on others, as well as ourselves. We can't isolate ourselves within an armed fortress; instead we have to be active participants in transforming the world into a place where interdependence is not regarded as a threat but as the fundamental ingredient of community."
But back to the alarm system. There is something profoundly ironic about the marketing of security systems — and the pursuit of security at all costs — at Christmas time. Christmas is the story of a vulnerable baby entering a violent and dangerous world with no assurance of security. Yet a security company dares to promote an alarm system as the perfect Christmas gift!
The Christmas story teaches us something very different about security. The Jesus whose birthday we celebrate came into the world in total vulnerability. His birthplace was a stable and his bed a manger. His people lived under an authoritarian occupation. While still an infant, his family had to flee to a foreign land, because the King wanted him killed.
When Jesus grew, he chose vulnerability as a lifestyle. He carried no sword, possessed no worldly goods that required protection, and surrounded himself, not with bodyguards, but a ragtag bunch of marginal folks. He taught his friends that they should not harm their enemies but love them and do good to them. He told them that they would find security by serving others. He embodied vulnerability when faced with arrest, torture and even death.
For Christians, the message of Christmas is that our security is found not in alarm systems or military might or a war on terror, but in casting our fears upon the One who says that security is found in relationship, in sharing, and in reaching out to others — indeed, in vulnerability. Perhaps this message can be our Christmas gift to the world.
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