What if no one has the answers?

As 2012 moves along much quicker than most of us would prefer, a question has begun to haunt me. We are told that the November elections will be transformative, perhaps the most important of a generation. Who occupies the White House and who controls both houses of congress are said to be of ultimate importance. We are told that the decisions we make in November will have a great effect on the price of gasoline, the unemployment rate, the size of the deficit, the taxes we pay, the make up of our highest court, the health of our healthcare system, the environment, how many wars we will wage, and the futures of our children and grandchildren. I don't think I buy that line of reasoning anymore. I have started to ask a question which seems to go against the commonly held belief of 'American exceptionalism.' It goes against the notion that we are a people and a nation that has an innate ability to solve any problem that appears on the horizon. It recognizes that so-called exceptional empires of the past have fallen even when such a fall seemed unfathomable. Why do we perceive ourselves to be any different?

The incomprehensible question makes much of the political discourse of our time irrelevant. It only surfaces occasionally in the angry 'throw all of the bums out' rhetoric which sees, and rightfully so, a terribly broken and dysfunctional political system. The downward spiral has been expedited by an out of control infusion of money into the coffers of our constantly in campaign mode politicians. Against this backdrop I find myself asking, "What if no one has the answers?" And the answer to that question comes quickly and succinctly. "No one does." Full stop.

The great problem for Americans is that we have failed to realize that we are in exile. Not geographical, mind you. But whatever fantasies we had about our 'manifest destiny' or our nation's ability to easily solve seemingly intractable problems has vanished. We are in a different place in our history. We are exiled from what we thought we were, and if we look honestly at the future, we realize we'll never be able to return to some imagined halcyon time.

I have been spending time this week with one of my favorite authors, Walter Brueggemann. In his excellent book, Cadences of Home: Preaching among Exiles, he makes an important point for those of us who still choose to believe in God. His insight is perhaps the only comfort we can cling to when the realization finally hits us that 'no one has the answers.' Brueggemann writes of what a homecoming for exiles will look like. "The home promised to the exiles, however, is not any nostalgic return to yesteryear, for that home is irreversibly gone. Rather, the home for which the exiles yearn and toward which they hope is the "kingdom of God," an arena in which God's good intention is decisive. The New Testament struggles to speak concretely about that realm and can do so only indirectly and by allusion, for that realm lies beyond all our known categories."

How are we called to live in such a time? The prophet Jeremiah offered these not so encouraging words, but words of resignation to the situation at hand, to the people who had been torn from Jerusalem and exiled to Babylon. "Build houses and settle down; cultivate gardens and eat what they produce. . . Promote the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because your future depends on its welfare." Jeremiah 29:5,7

For those of us who still choose to believe in God these words might be our only hope in a time when 'no one has the answers.' Trust in God might be all we have left.

'Sorry' seems to be the hardest word

"Therefore, if you bring your gift to the altar and there remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift at the altar and go. First make things right with your brother or sister and then come back and offer your gift." Matthew 5:23-24, Common English Bible

In the last few days we have been hearing a lot about apologies and whether a particular apology was spoken with sincerity or not. Most of this talk centers around radio personality Rush Limbaugh and his apology to Susan Fluke -the Georgetown University Law Student. But, there are other discussions about apologies which have found their way into the heated political rhetoric of this election year.

One of the attacks on the President is that 'he goes around the world apologizing to everyone.' Actually, I don't perceive this as true. In fact, I find some of our muted responses when we have killed innocent civilians in our war efforts to lack both sincerity and proper gravity. The President's latest apology, after the burning of copies of the Koran, was in my opinion less about sincerity and more an attempt to protect the lives of Americans still serving in Afghanistan. Whatever the balance between sincerity and protection I applaud the President for this action.

Here's another example of President Obama's apologies: In 2010, the Administration of President Obama, acknowledged that, between 1946 and 1953, members of the US Department of Public Health performed invasive medical tests on more than 5000 Guatemalans infecting at least 1,300 of them with sexually transmitted diseases.

None of the victims, which included prison inmates and people confined to mental institutions, voluntarily consented to undergo these tests, and at least 83 of them died and many more suffered permanent medical damage.

Do we owe the victims, their families and the people of Guatemala and apology for those actions? Coming 57 years after the atrocities were perpetrated it seems to fall short of the mark in terms of sincerity and honesty. Why did it take more than a half century to admit that our government participated in these criminal acts? How can we compensate the victims all these years later? The truth of the matter is, we can't.

Apology is more than saying we are sorry. Apology also requires us to recognize the action or actions that have harmed others. President Obama's apology came far too late for the victims in Guatemala. But if it opens our eyes to atrocities done in our name then it is 'better late than never.'

In Matthew's Sermon on the Mount, Jesus speaks of apology and reconciliation as integral to true worship of God. We can't be right with God when we are in a broken relationship with our brothers and sisters. In a time of inflamed political rhetoric, perhaps those who wear their religion on their sleeves should also recognize that apology is central to the practice of one's faith.

Thoughts on Ash Wednesday

"And when you fast, don't put on a sad face like the hypocrites. They distort their faces so people will know they are fasting. . . When you fast, brush your hair and wash your face. Then you won't look like you are fasting to people, but only to your Father who is present in that secret place. Your Father who sees in secret will reward you." Matthew 6: 16-18

It has always been a disconnect for me. I have imposed ashes on the foreheads of those who come to Ash Wednesday services sporadically. At first, I was keen on the idea. I thought it showed desire to be more ecumenical in our focus. And so, I imposed not only the ashes but my will on some pretty emphatic Calvinists who were wary of such symbology. I must say, most hustled off to the restrooms at the close of service to wipe off the offending smudge before they headed back out into 'the world.'

But as time has gone on the act of placing ashes on one's forehead has become more problematic for me. The texts that we read on Ash Wednesday seem to steer us in exactly the opposite direction. The 'imposition of ashes' ritual seems to fly in the face of what the prophets and Jesus were saying. The prophet Joel warns to people of Israel to 'tear [their] hearts and not their clothing.' Isaiah is even more emphatic, "Is this the kind of fast I chose, a day of self-affliction, of bending one's head like a reed and of lying down in mourning clothing and ashes? Is this what you call a fast, a day acceptable to the Lord?" Isaiah 58: 5 The next words out of Isaiah's mouth speak of what God requires -'releasing wicked restraints, untying the ropes of a yoke, setting free the mistreated, sharing your bread with the hungry, bringing the homeless poor into your house, covering the naked when you see them.' That's a hell of a list and when you look at the task the prophets set out for us, a few ashes on the forehead pale in comparison.

The words of Jesus don't leave much room for dispute. Outward signs of one's faith often make one feel religious, but they don't do much in the way of changing the world, i.e. bringing about the commonwealth of God.

Of course, I do protest too much. I come from a tradition where Ash Wednesday services are poorly attended and there is no expectation that we'll get all 'high churchy' during our Lenten journey. So, the faithful few who do attend Ash Wednesday services probably accept my change of heart with relief. Nor do I wish to condemn my brothers and sisters who still participate in such rituals. I am sure that the pastors and priests who impose ashes on the foreheads of their congregants could give powerful theological justification for the ritual. In fact, they would probably blow my humble musings out of the water.

At this time in our nation's history, when presidential candidates seem to feel it necessary to go on and on about their religious beliefs, I suppose I feel a need to help people discover the subversive nature that following Jesus entails. Showy Christians may have won the day and captured all the attention, but secret, subversive Christians, who go about quietly unnoticed, bringing about the 'day of the Lord', are what we desperately need. "If you remove the yoke from among you, the finger-pointing, the wicked speech; if you open your heart to the hungry, and provide abundantly for those who are afflicted, your light will shine in the darkness, and your gloom will be like the noon." Isaiah 58: 9-10 In this season of Lent those words of Isaiah seem to point toward the Easter at the end of our Lenten journey.

The contraception question

You might know that in this election year every decision that even remotely involves the government will become a topic for spirited debate. So it is with the controversy around contraceptive services for women who work in Catholic institutions.

I have even joined the debate on the church FB page while carefully noting with an electronic signature that the opinion was mine and not necessarily that of my congregation. Which is perhaps the crux of the matter for me and how I am best able to comment on the issue. You see, I don't pretend to be a constitutional scholar. I am best able to approach the issue from my role as an ordained minister in the United Church of Christ.

For me, the problem is an institutional one -and a religious institution, at that. I purposefully chose the United Church of Christ as my theological and religious home because of its congregational polity. Although each congregation is in a covenantal relationship with the larger church we don't abide by a hierarchy that dictates from above the teachings that we are to follow. We honor the individual conscience and even have the belief that the Holy Spirit guides the decisions of congregations!

It seems to me that the Catholic bishops are totally disconnected from the people that they lead. Although the figure might be inflated, we hear that 98% of Catholic women of childbearing age use some form of contraception. Are they lousy Catholics, or has the Holy Spirit led them to make responsible decisions about the size of their family? From my theological perspective I lean toward the latter. I am also a supporter of Planned Parenthood as opposed to the unplanned parenthood that can result from women being denied access to contraception. Monty Python approached the issue with humor in The Meaning of Life. Hierarchical structures which deny the ability of regular folks to make carefully informed decisions about the size of their family are no longer relevant. The vast majority of Catholic couples who fail to follow a central tenet of their church does not mean that they are disobedient. It simply means that God has spoken to them directly, without the filter of a celibate (in most cases) priest who has been appointed to a position of authority by another fallible human being.

After this was initially posted, President Obama offered what sounds like a principled compromise. I'm not holding my breath on how it might be received.

The 'Morning Joeing' of America

Tuesday morning, Joe Scarborough gleefully cheered former House Speaker Newt Gingrich's debate performance the previous evening. Scarborough seemed to feel that Newt's condescending attitude toward Juan Williams and his suggestion that school janitors should be replaced by 30 students who would then earn pocket money and would stay in school earned him an "A" rating. It is unclear if he thought that rating was earned because the idea was particularly good or that it seemed to be a hit with the racously partisan South Carolina crowd.

And that's just the point. Joe Scarborough and the gang that gathers around the table on weekday mornings don't have to become definitive in their opinions unless it serves their own self interest. They talk over one another, the intermix semi-serious discussion with meaningless bumper sticker phrases, and they do it from the comfort of the studio. When they do venture out to Iowa, or New Hampshire or in a few days to South Carolina they will do so in a sterile environment in which the audience will be comfortably sitting around tables, drinking their coffee and hanging on the words of folks who haven't done a decent day's work in many a year.

Joe, Mika and the gang will have a lot more credibility when they do their program from the kitchens of their 'on the road' establishments. Talk to the dishwasher, the cooks, or the servers. Talk to folks who struggle to earn enough money just to pay the rent. Talk to folks who can't afford to go to Starbucks because that would take food of their children's table. That might be the key to recovering your credibility. Quit talking, and if you do talk, talk one at a time. Most of us learned that in kindergarten. Quit talking, and start listening. Your morning chat show would become much more relevant to the majority of the people of America.

Joe on more than one occasion has mentioned Matthew 25 where Jesus speaks about the 'least of these'. I'm sure that Joe is also a charitable fellow. But, Joe, instead of talking about 'the least of these' or offering them charity from your well compensated salary, try listening to them. And drag the gang that sit at table with you along with you. You all might learn something. You might learn that your often inane conversations are out of touch with the people who suffer most in our society. They don't have the time to listen to your show because they are either at work or trying to figure out how to cope with the unfairness of a nation where the 'least of these' struggle, while the wealthy and well-placed can comfortably chat about it.

Morning Joe, January 3 2012

Watched 'Morning Joe' this morning as they discussed the problems confronting our nation with various politicians and pundits. It was one hour and forty five minutes before the words 'poor' or 'poverty' were mentioned. The poor, whose numbers are rapidly increasing, are invisible in our media.

Sermon for the third Sunday of Advent, December 11, 2011

This sermon was delivered on the third Sunday of Advent. The text was John 1:6-9.

I spent some time thinking about the name of our denomination this week. When you think about what was for a time called mainline denominations ours is somewhat unique. You have Lutherans, Episcopalians, Methodists, Presbyterians, Baptists, Roman Catholics, Eastern Orthodox, and Quakers, -but for the most part we are one of the few denominations that can be identified as Christian simply by virtue of our name. Our closet partner ecumenically also shares that distinction; the Disciples of Christ.

We are the United Church of Christ. Does our name matter? Probably not. Should it matter? I think it should.

People of the Christian faith, often fall into a trap that can lead to confusion at best, and can be rather destructive to how we live out our faith, at worst. The trap is this: we often take our rather limited understandings of the nature of God and try to see Jesus through those understandings, when, in fact, we should be taking our rather limited understandings of Jesus and try to see God through those understandings. In the language of the gospel of John, Jesus is the way to God, rather than God being the way to Jesus.

Perhaps the best way to illustrate the differences in these two approaches is through an event that happened this week. On Wednesday, I began to serve on a jury. I returned from Mineola on Wednesday afternoon realizing that I would be spending much of the next week at the courthouse.

That didn’t relieve me of home or vocational duties. And so, on Wednesday evening, with a steady rain falling, I took the dog for her evening walk. That in itself was a blessing, it would give me time to think about what I needed to do over the next week, and how it would fit into my civic duty of sitting on a jury.

Walking is also a stress reliever. But not on this particular evening. We got to the corner of Pea Pond and Saw Mill Roads. We stopped for a truck that was moving through the intersection. Then we entered the crosswalk, but within seconds were hit by a car that had made one of those Long Island rolling stops and turned into us. Jonesy was hit with enough force to pull the collar over her head and I was grazed and spun around by the front fender and mirror.

The driver immediately stopped as I pounded on the side of his Sport Utility Vehicle. I shouted, “You hit my dog!” Actually there were a few more nouns and adjectives thrown in to my statement. I quickly turned and found Jonesy cowering on the sidewalk, shaking and squealing, not so much in pain as in fright. I kneeled down beside her to see if there were any injuries while the man pulled to the side of the street and got out. He immediately said that he was sorry, but then added, “It was your fault. On a rainy night like this you should have been wearing something reflective.”

As I attended to Jonesy I reminded him that we were in a crosswalk, under a streetlight, and that he had failed to stop before making his turn. “I stopped.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I stopped because of the truck.”

“No you didn’t.”

We weren’t getting anywhere and I was more concerned about seeing if Jonesy was injured or just frightened by the experience. I placed the collar and leash back on her and got her to walk. She did, with her tail tucked between her legs. I checked her for cuts (thank goodness for a streetlight) and checked her snout to see if she was bleeding. It became apparent that there were no visible injuries and so as I kneeled beside her and comforted her.

The man who stood beside us for a time kneeled down and petted her. And then, he began to cry, which startled me. “I’m a dog lover. I have two dogs at home. I would have felt terrible if I would have hurt your dog. I am very sorry.”

He said all of these things through a shaky voice. The man who just a few moments before I had seen as irresponsible and reckless was now a man who was suffering more than I.

I didn’t say, I forgive you. That would have seemed condescending. I simply said, I think we’re OK. He stroked Jonesy a couple of more times and then we stood up and went our separate ways. After another mile or so, Jonesy’s tail was upright and wagging.

I got home and wrote on my Facebook page about the incident. Some of my old high school friends made a quick and sympathetic reply. They were glad that we were OK.They wondered if I got the guys license number and insurance information -I didn’t. But a few of them indicated that ‘someone’ was watching out for me and Jonesy.

Was that someone God? Was that someone a guardian angel? That set me wondering. What if we would have been severely injured or even killed? Would those same friends have said, “Why wasn’t God looking out for Ron and his dog?” I don’t think so. We don’t like to think of God as lacking either omniscience or omnipresence.

That’s why we often try to see Jesus through our understanding of God, whether that understanding is correct or not. Advent and Christmas are reminders that our task is not to catch a glimpse of Jesus through our fallible understanding of God -who will always remain a mystery. Our task it to try to catch a fleeting glimpse of God through the life of Jesus and through his humanity. Our two Christmas stories, which we will hear in the next few weeks, remind us that the glorious proclamation of the angels to the shepherds wasn’t enough. They had to go to the stable and see something of God in a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes. The Magi didn’t look up and see a new star in the sky and simply say that a new king had been born. They traveled across the deserts of Northern Africa, to Bethlehem, to see the babe for themselves.

And in both of these metaphorical stories they saw something of God that was revealed in that fully human baby. Two men kneeled over a shaking frightened dog and discovered the mystery of Jesus. “Where two or three are gathered, I am there also.” Those same two men left the corner of Pea Pond and Saw Mill with a new understanding of the God that we find in our human relationships and in our fallible humanity.

The driver left with a new understanding of the importance of driving with extreme care -especially on a dark rainy night. I left, thinking it might be wise to wear a reflective vest when I go for an evening walk. Anger and fear had been replaced by relief and forgiveness. The true light, which enlightens everything, had again broken forth. As it did in Bethlehem so it does in Bellmore. Thanks be to God.