"Born to Die"? Not Exactly.

I haven't updated this blog in a while, and I would not have pictured myself taking the time to do it on Good Friday, but I had a quick reflection stored up.

So, I have a very vivid memory of a Christmas parade in Easton, MD, which made an impression on me. Most of the floats (including the one for the church I was serving at the time) were very much in the spirit of the season: stables and animal costumes and cute little kindergarteners in white robes and angel wings.

And then there was this one church, whose float was a big papier-mache globe, with an even bigger cross in front of it, and huge letters in front of that, saying, "BORN TO DIE." And that was it. Huh.

I know for a fact that this church did not make up this slogan. It's a fairly common refrain among Christian groups. And the reason, I think, is because of the tremendous significance of Good Friday, and of the sacrifice Jesus made for us and for all people. In churches across the world, expect to hear this opening versicle: "Behold the life-giving cross, on which was hung the salvation of the whole world." There you have it. It's huge. Jesus, by his death, destroyed the power of death, so that in his earth-shattering resurrection we would hear an echo from the future: of our own eternal life with God.

But does that translate to "Born to die"? Does the importance of Jesus dying on the cross, the centrality of this event for Christian (and even human) history, overshadow any other significance the life of Jesus might have had? I think the Bible says otherwise.

I remember reading (but can't find the quote just now) from Brian McLaren, in his book, "A Generous Orthodoxy", who speaks of the tragedy of the Christian creeds: that they tend to jump right from Jesus' birth, to his suffering and death. No teaching. No healing. No binding up the broken-hearted. No good news to the poor. no blessings for the meek, the poor in spirit, none of that. He was born, he died for us. End of story.

Now, why the creeds (both Apostles' and Nicene) are formulated that way is a much longer story, on which I'll admit I am not an expert, but long story short, they were meant to settle disagreements. Encased in these words were the winning arguments of theologians on the right side of history. But what happened between Jesus' birth and his death, everybody basically agreed upon, because that was the meat of all four canonical gospels, as well as many of the others people were reading at the time.

So let me ask a painfully obvious question: What did Jesus say he was here to do? Well...

To let the oppressed go free.
To testify to the Truth.
To give abundant life.
To seek out and save the lost.
To serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.

Does this mean Jesus didn't plan to die on the cross? Was the whole thing an unexpected and horrible tragedy? Absolutely not. You can even see in the last quote, that Jesus fully understands the consequence of living a life so committed to love, justice and truth. He wasn't chomping at the bit to make it happen, of course: he prayed earnestly that there'd be some other way. But he knew well that if he embodied his teachings, and practiced what he preached, the cross was the only place this thing could end.

One big danger with "born to die theology"--the tendency to zoom so closely in on the cross that you lose the context of the beautiful life it ended--is that, ironically, it can kind of sanitize what was truly a hideous display of Imperial might and brutality. It somehow feels more "okay" if Jesus was totally cool with it; if he and God the Father shook hands on it before the little Bethlehem excursion; if it was three hours of pain followed by heavenly bliss not only for him but all the billions who would later believe.

Another danger with such a tight close-up on the cross: seeing it as the only important thing Jesus ever did--is it empties Jesus' life of its prophetic power. It erases his weeping for Jerusalem, his turning the tables to expose a society robbing its poor, his free food and healthcare initiatives, for goodness' sakes!

Finally, if we take the cross out of context, it becomes a one-off incidence of suffering: as though in comparison, everything that has ever happened since, is small potatoes. Every unjust trial. Every mocking word. Every dehumanizing policy. Every cold-blooded murder. Every Holocaust. As long as those being politically and socially crucified today can accept Jesus as their savior, and acknowledge his sacrifice on the cross, well, then their suffering doesn't matter anymore, right? Wrong. So, so wrong.

Ironically, to see "only" the cross, empties the cross of its power. To get caught up in the "wonder" of that "wondrous" cross, makes us forget that it wasn't wonderful at all. Nor is the pain and injustice today, which he died to end.

The cross is important because it was the culmination of Jesus' walking the way of the cross: the way of total obedience to God, of making God's kingdom of justice and peace a reality in the world around him. And yes, because the result of that walk--the life, not just the death--was salvation for us and all who can trust in God. But nobody--not even Jesus--was "born to die." God likes life. That's why God invented it.

Sermon: Ash Wednesday 2014

Ash Wednesday: March 5, 2014
2 Corinthians 5:21b-6:10 [really more like 5:16 through 6:10]

I read online from a friend,
That she struggles enough with self-esteem the rest of the year,
And doesn’t appreciate a day like today,
Being told we’re dust:
Dirty, low-down, side-of-the-road,
Wipe on the rug before you track it into God’s house, dust.
I get that. All too well.
When I was in first grade, my mom was busy and I wanted her attention,
So I sat in the garbage can and pouted.
I told her I couldn’t do anything right
and I was just garbage.
Not sure if I understood all the implications,
But it got her attention anyway.
So for many of us,
Who hide our insecurities behind big words, big actions, big prayers, big checks, big smiles,
Those of us who get up each morning
and frantically try to re-mold ourselves
into a seemingly normal, healthy, happy, strong, successful person,
Isn’t it cruel, even abusive,
For us to make you stand up here
While we call you “dust”?
For so many who struggle all our lives with not being “good enough”,
Do we need one more reminder of our sin,
Of our falling short, not just of our own or our family’s expectations, but of God’s?
These questions are valid, even vital,
But to me, the problem for most of us isn’t that we’re so puffed up and think we’re spotless, sinless, clean and lily white.
The problem is we know we’re dust,
And we need God to help us re-frame
what that means.
It’s not about putting ourselves down.
It’s about reconciling, return, restoration.
The psalmist says, “Restore in me the joy of your salvation.”
Paul says, “we entreat you on behalf of Christ,
Be reconciled to God.”
Joel says, “Return to the Lord your God.”
The restoration, the reconciliation, the return, is a return to dust:
Not necessarily in the sense of actually dying,
But rather, of letting our false self crumble.
Returning to the dust by remembering we’re part of the universe, the world God spoke out of nothing, and proclaimed good!
We’re not some uniquely awful, nasty, sinful, irredeemable substance,
We’re dust.
We’re all made out of the same stuff as forests and mountains, stars and supernovae.
The very elements in our body were formed billions of years ago in a dying star,
And they came into being on purpose,
Because God wanted us here.
We all are dust, scooped up in God’s hands, formed in God’s image, breathed to life by God’s breath.
When we say, “You are dust,”
We’re not putting each other down,
We’re lifting each other up.
We are dust: built with the building blocks of God’s creation.
We are dust: the clay God formed once,
and God can re-form.
Yes, we are the ashes of misplaced expectations, and broken relationships, some of which we set fire to ourselves.
Yes, we are the deteriorating remnants, the compost of previous attempts to live in God’s light.
But remember, we are dust: not stone.
We are potential for change.
We are dust: the only place where living seeds can grow.
We are dust: part of the world, which, through Christ, God reconciled to himself.
We are dust; soil, which knows no state or class or ethnic or national boundaries.
We are dust: part of the new creation, begun at the fertile ground, not in Eden,
But at Golgotha. The place where our Lord Jesus became our sin, even though he knew no sin, so we might become the righteousness of God.
The cross was the gateway where he entered into our death, so we and the whole creation could enter into new life.
We are dust: good dust. God’s dust.

When we return to the dust during our lives,
In seasons like this,
It’s to remember that the fake person we keep trying to put together will crumble,
And that’s a good thing.
It’s to remember we’re already connected and reconciled, both to God and each other, through the cross of Christ.
It’s to get some practice with what Paul called the “ministry of reconciliation”: not a ministry of putting down nasty, sinful unbelievers,
But of telling every living person the Good News that they, too, are the dust of God’s making, part of the new creation begun at the cross.
It’s pointing out the reality that even in this brief blink of an eye we call life,
We can be reconciled, to God and each other,
Whether we see it or not, whether we believe it or not.
But when we do believe it,
We can let God’s spirit thaw out and break up that frozen, uptight clod of resentments and failures we had taken to calling our “selves”,
And start being our real selves in Christ.

To repent is to change our spiritual direction;
to reorient our minds; to just tilt our heads ever so slightly and shift our perspective on this heap of ashes: this short span of time
in which we currently move and breathe.
It’s not a makeover. It’s not a diet.
It’s not a costume of piety and prayer we wear for forty days, hoping to fool God and others.
It’s a return to the authentic selves God made.
Young or old, we don’t know how many more ashes will touch our foreheads.
We don’t know how many more times we’ll start this walk, down this dusty road of Lent.
What we do know is each time we do it,
Each time Christ reminds us of our true selves in him, it’s a practice run for the last dawn:
The day when we’ll wake up, we’ll feel warmth and light in the East, and this last time, it won’t be the rising sun, but the sun of righteousness: the light of Christ.
We’ll wake up, newly made, raised from death, like Jesus was, a new creation, formed once again from the infinite potential
Of dust.
Let us return, and thank God that you and I
Are dust.
Dust together.
Dust infused with, and loved by,
and reconciled to God.
Amen.

Practicing Love

"Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive." Colossians 3:13

Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor. Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers. Romans 12:9-13

I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another. John 15:17

This will be a short one, but I need to get this off my chest.

It occurs to me that no small portion of the New Testament is devoted to how Christians ought to treat one another. Almost all of Paul's letters close with exhortations about how to live together as a believing community. Sometimes (as in Philippians 4)he even names names of particular people who need to "up their game" in the love department. Jesus in Matthew 18 sets out a great roadmap for healthy communication between members of a Christian community. And John (both in the Gospel of John and the letters of John) harps incessantly on the theme "love one another." Does this mean you shouldn't also love your neighbor who's not a Christian? Of course not. Does it mean we should focus on loving other Christians and ignore loving our enemies? Um, No, no, double-no! What it means is that, just as we learn how to be a spouse and parent from our family of origin, we learn how to love others in the outside world by practicing on fellow Christians.

And yet...

Our history is pretty rough. Most of what we know about the second- and third-century "heresies" is from the nasty attack ads from the ones who were eventually known as "orthodox" Christians. The second most violent time in the modern era (in pure numbers, taking a back seat only to the First and Second World Wars) is the early 17th century, in which Europe was almost entirely populated by Christians killing other Christians for being the wrong kind of Christian.

And even today, I read more than I care to about this or that pastor, priest, or political pundit who's a complete and total moron for interpreting scripture in a way that's different from how "we" interpret scripture. My facebook feed is blown up with wholesale, ad hominem rants against those cruel, bigoted, inhuman monsters who are so awful at loving their neighbors. It's become a game of "how extremely can I diss and distance myself from my brothers and sisters in Christ", in the hope that all the "nones" who realize we're not "that kind" of Christian, will come running to us and join us in our important work of vilifying the other side.

I've also heard from far too many faithful clergy persons who are being attacked, undermined, sniped at behind their back, and thrown into emotional and spiritual turmoil on a daily basis for the heinous crime of answering God's call to preach and administer the sacraments, loving God's people, and telling them what they need to hear rather than what they want to hear. Folks are being bullied; it's way more common than anybody wants to admit, and it's why rates of depression and substance abuse for Christian clergy are way higher than the average population.

It's time for this nonsense to stop. It's time to be the kind of community, the kind of family, that a normal, sane person might truly want to be adopted into. It's time to let our light shine so that others will see our good works and glorify our Father in heaven. It's time to start loving social conservatives as much as we wish they loved LGBT folks. It's time to start loving theological conservatives as much as we wish they loved persons of other faiths. It's time to start loving Christians on the right as much as we wish they loved folks on the left, and vice versa. And as Jesus taught us, love doesn't always mean agree with, but it can and often does mean sit down and eat with. It does not mean advocating for, but it often does mean listening to. It doesn't mean never criticizing, but it does mean sharing the light of the truth as we've come to know it, with the particular people whose perspective we see as darkened by prejudice.

You want to try loving your enemy this week? Let's try something less convenient that Kim Jong Un, Vladimir Putin or Viktor Yanukovych halfway across the globe, who are indeed hard to love, but who for most of us exist more as concepts than people. What about loving the person who tried to "save your soul" by putting a Chick Pamphlet under your windshield, or by swallowing their nerves and knocking on your door to share their version of the Gospel, even if you find that version offensive? Or how about this...

What about loving our pastors? What about praying for them not just when they're on the right track, but when they seem to be having some trouble? Not just when they're hitting it out of the park, but when they're striking out? Not just when they agree with our concerns, but when they challenge us to look at things differently?

Let's try this love thing, and let's practice on each other. Let's see if by God's help, we can make God's house look like a place folks would like to be.

Four Thoughts on Thoughtful Giving

"Each of you must give as you have made up your mind, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver." 2 Corinthians 9:7

Well I don't know how it is in your house, but in our house, the blitz has begun...we are once again flooded with year-end requests for financial giving, from just about every non-profit we've ever supported. 'Tis the season of the perfect storm, where the spirit of giving in our hearts, meets the logistical reality of getting in those tax-deductible donations, meets the weird pseudo-guilt of realizing that you're going to have to make some space in that attic/garage/living room as a new wave of gifts finds its way under your evergreen of festiveness. It's giving time, and thank God for it. But it may also be time to do a gut-check on how and why to give. So without further ado, let's talk about a few principles of effective charitable giving.

1. With material donations, ALWAYS call first. So, during seminary, I managed the "free table", where students and faculty dropped off all sorts of items--food, toys, books, the works--for others to pick up at will. It was a wonderfully valuable ministry, and a saving grace for a lot of students who were barely making it. But despite a lot of great intentions, it was also where a lot of stuff went to die. I'm talking about used underwear. Broken toys. Expired food. I once came back after a long weekend, during which the building had been locked, to discover a garbage bag full of day-old bagels, that had been rained on.

Now, I say this as pastorally as possible, since I have never had anybody do this with anything but the best of intentions, but...your church/synagogue/local nonprofit is not a dumpster. If you cannot envision any way in which you can continue to use/reuse your item, do not assume that your congregation is more creative or resourceful than you. Now, there are obviously nonprofits that deal in this stuff all the time (Good Will, Salvation Army, etc.) and while they may present moral/theological quandaries of their own, they know how best to reuse/recycle stuff they can't use. And churches often will have yard sales (we have a great Marketplace every year) where they can turn our stuff into money for mission. But we can't handle it 365 days a year. Just give us a call! We might have a great need for your exact toy/piece of furniture/electronic item, but maybe not. I know our intentions are pure, but if it just comes down to not wanting to be the one to throw it away, then we're not helping anybody. Again, as pastorally as possible, maybe the best time to think about the landfill is when we buy new stuff in the first place...

2. Cash is always best. I know it sounds crass to say it, but I've heard it over and over again from every nonprofit I've ever encountered, and churches are no exception. I know it often feels better, more concrete, to give stuff. It's easier to imagine someone actually receiving that thing you gave, and enjoying it. But the fact is, I guarantee you your local food pantry knows where to buy food for half what you spent on it, just for one example. A lot of nonprofits will ask for SPECIFIC materials (usually new), and if they're asking, by all means, give it. But if you believe in their mission, and are able to trust that it will go where it will do the most good, write them a check. (and if you're not sure, charity navigator is a great website that rates nonprofits. Check it out.)

3. The best giving is wind for the sails--not pressure on the rudder. In a free-market economy, we are used to "voting with our dollars." We spend money at the store that sells what we want. We invest in the company we think will be profitable. But speaking from my experience as a pastor, sometimes money with strings attached--i.e., designated gifts to your church--can cause as many problems as it solves. Now, I don't mean this as a blanket statement. Now and then when a congregation begins a project, or feels a call to start a new ministry, the Spirit will blow in the right designated gifts at the right moment. It's exhilarating to watch, and it's stuff like that which helps us determine that we're really doing what God wants us to. But I've also heard of too many congregations that have more than enough money to fix their roof, pay their pastor, and feed the folks who keep knocking on their door, but they can't, because 50 years ago, that money got tied up in an endowment for organ upkeep. Mind you, I believe every parishioner should have a voice in directing the congregation's mission. We can do that by showing up at annual meetings and at worship, serving on mission teams, coming to our congregational leaders when something's bugging us (or, dare I say it, with words of praise?), or even running for congregation council if we feel called. But when we "vote with our dollars", offering more money when we like the direction things are going, less when we don't, we forget that giving is not optional for Christians: it's part of our mission, it's one of our most effective ways of bringing good news to all (especially the poor), and it's a faithful response to a God who blesses us whether we're screwing up or not. Exercise some trust: let your giving energize your congregation's mission, not steer them in the exact way you think they should go.

4. If any of the above makes you less likely to give, forget it all! Look, the most important principle of giving is the now-cliche Nike principle: "Just Do It!" I think I can safely speak for a lot of nonprofits and congregations when I say: when in doubt, give! I would a thousand times rather our congregation have an old couch we can't use, than be empty-handed when we're helping a homeless person furnish his or her first apartment. I would much rather have money for a project that we wouldn't have thought to do, than go right on living without ever having known somebody wanted to help. Yes, everybody values communication, and it always helps to talk with somebody from your church or chosen organization to see what's most helpful, but even if it's a small gift, or you're not sure they'll go for it, make contact! You just might be God's helping hands for someone this season!

So, I hope you'll take these reflections in the spirit in which I offer them: From one disciple of Christ, seeking how best to forward His Mission, to others with the same goal. In celebration of God's greatest gift to us in Bethlehem, let's be gifts to one another.

Prayer in Public: Another Christian View

‘And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. Matthew 6:5-6

This week, the Supreme Court is tackling issues of prayer in public, government settings. The case being brought is from the town council of Greece, New York, in which every monthly meeting for about 15 years has begun with public prayer. And of those 130 instances of public prayer, 126 of them have been from Christian clergy. I have a couple of things I'd like to say about this, but I'd like to start with a thought exercise:


Imagine for a moment, that you're a Christian in the first century. Let's say you live in Ephesus, a predominantly Greek port town in Asia Minor, which is modern-day Turkey. Here's a story from Acts about your congregation.

The patron deity of Ephesus is Artemis, (or Diana, to the Romans), goddess of the hunt. Not only is she a center for religious piety--she's got a big humongous temple in the middle of town--but she also drives the economy. A good chunk of your friends and neighbors are in the silver trade, selling various idols, trinkets and other pieces of Artemis fan-art.

Life is somewhat complicated for you as a new Christian believer. Even something as simple as buying meat in the marketplace is a whole ordeal, because you don't feel comfortable buying meat sacrificed to idols, which is most of the meat for sale. You can't teach in the public schools, because doing so would force you to teach Greek and Roman creation myths as factual accounts to students. Additionally, you and your fellow believers (and also Jews, for that matter) are often falsely accused of atheism, because you have flatly refused to sacrifice to any of the many idols in town, preferring to worship a God whom nobody can see. This hurts your reputation, your ability to do business in town, and in some cases may even subject you to criminal charges.

So, let's say you're a civic-minded individual, and you start attending town council meetings. Of course they start with prayer. Why not? All these pious Greek folks, in a fairly free and open society, it seems like the right thing to do. But when the priest invites all to stand, and opens his mouth...sure enough...a prayer to Artemis. What do you do? Sit back down? Walk out? Just stand there and not make yourself a target of persecution? Well, you decide that just this once, you'll stand there. You pray silently for God's forgiveness, and for the chance to be a witness for Christ by what you say and do. OK. Crisis averted. Until next month.

Well, sure enough, next month they've got another priest. You're hopeful. The prayer begins...Artemis again. Hmmm...well, how many Artemis priests can there be? Imagine this went on for 15 years. Maybe you screwed up your courage and asked to share a Christian prayer, maybe you didn't. But still, month after month, Artemis, Artemis, Artemis. And with each prayer, the message is driven further and further home: "You are a foreigner. You are other. You are not one of us. You are not welcome here."


Okay. So Christianity has traveled a long and convoluted path since then, and you may agree or disagree with me about how closely the position of Christians then matches the position of religious (and secular) minorities today. But my point is, it's been a very long time since Christians have been in any such position, and before we start mouthing off about our own religious persecution, we do well to reflect on what Christian believers of ancient times (and even our brothers and sisters in Christ in other parts of the world) have dealt with. And without wading into constitutional law, the true intent of the First Amendment, and the nuances of this particular case, none of which I feel qualified to address, let me just say this as a Christian and clergy person, who has accepted multiple invitations to pray in public settings:

1. Prayer is not the time for preaching or Christian witness. Jesus covered this. You don't pray in order to be praised by others. You pray in solidarity with others, for your mutual need. This is important to remember even in an all-Christian environment: if you have something to say to a brother or sister, say it. Don't say it to God and hope they'll eavesdrop. That's not the model of communication Christ lifted up.

2. Nobody can stop you from praying whenever, however, and as often as you want. I think Christians should show up to town council and county council meetings. I think Christians should show up to legislative sessions, and PTA meetings, and School Board meetings, and they should show up praying. It is not the job of a local clergy person, or public school teacher, or civic leader to do all the praying on our behalf. Praying is our job. Period. If we Christians spent half as much time praying for our government as we do worrying about the government taking away our right to pray, there'd be a major revival in our country. And think of this: neither Peter, nor Paul, nor any of the apostles through whom the Spirit built this global Jesus movement, had the legal "right" to pray in Jesus' name. But they did it anyway. And with some success, I might add.

3. I'd rather pray silently than be censored by a governing body when praying aloud. In terms of religious liberty, what concerns me more than whether public prayer happens out loud, is what kind of prayer is allowed: namely, will some governmental body, either at the local or national level, be put in charge of which prayers are "sectarian" and which aren't? And what will be the standards? Is government-sponsored public prayer so important that we'll give up our freedom to pray as our conscience dictates in order to keep it going? If so, then maybe it's time to let it be a private, voluntary activity before the official business gets going.

4. Christians can disagree about what public prayer is appropriate. But God still shows up where we least expect. A statement that makes me want to tear my (remaining) hair out is the one that's been going around for ten years or so, where a public school kid asks why God doesn't stop violence in public schools, and God says, "I'm not allowed in public schools." Baloney. Complete and absolute, dangerous, heretical baloney. If God paid any attention at all to where God was "allowed" to go, the Israelites would still be in slavery. the people would never have heard the challenging message of the prophets. There would be no story to tell about God becoming flesh and dwelling among us, bearing our sin to the cross. We didn't invite God to do any of that. According to our human system of laws, none of that is "allowed." But God did it anyway, and will keep doing it. To say that God can only show up where audibly invoked by human beings under sanction of the federal, state, or local governments is nothing short of idolatry, and I want no part of it. God shows up anyway. And thank God for it.

I've already written more than I meant to, so I'll leave off there. But I do encourage you to pray about this. Pray for our Supreme Court Justices, in this sticky and complicated question. Pray for believers of all faiths, that they can feel supported and affirmed to reach out to God however they know how. Pray for those of no faith, that God's wisdom might find them on whatever level they are prepared to receive it. And pray for your brothers and sisters in Christ--some of whom are facing actual persecution that would curl your toes: for strength, faith and perseverance to finish this race.

Why it's OK (And Maybe Even Useful) For Christians to Enjoy Halloween

Though hordes of devils fill the land,
All threat'ning to devour us,
We tremble not, unmoved we stand,
they cannot overpow'r us.
-M. Luther


So, historical luck would have it that we Lutherans celebrate Reformation Day on the anniversary of Martin Luther's posting 95 Theses on the door of Wittenberg Castle Church, which was relevant to him as the eve of All Saints' Day: October 31st. Yeah, that October 31st.

Those of you who remember your history recognize "All Hallows Eve" as "Halloween" in the old English, and would be aware of the bizarre history of the Christian church co-opting a significant pagan festival for its own purposes. So this puts Lutherans in kind of a tough spot, because we want to talk about the ever-reforming church, and grace, and faith, and God's word forever abiding and might fortresses and all, when our surrounding culture wants to talk about ghosts and zombies and stuff. I actually remember trick-or-treating at a Lutheran seminary on Halloween and receiving a Small Catechism from a very earnest seminarian. I was not impressed.

If I were calling the shots, I'd maybe move Reformation Sunday to the summer...maybe June 25th to celebrate the Augsburg Confession (Thereby also not making it all about just Luther?). I say this because I think Lutheran Christians might have something useful to say about Halloween, other than "No, no, bad, bad, evil, evil!"

So before the serious stuff, I thought I'd dust off some Biblical oddities that I always thought would have made great episodes of X-Files... DISCLAIMER: JUST FOR FUN. So below are some links. Just in case you were ever wondering, here are some possible references to...

Aliens in the Bible? Yes, it's a stretch...and a Bible scholar could certainly spoil all your fun and talk about the significance of each one of these images to someone 2,500 years ago, but...a great cloud descending? Amber light? Creatures with 4 faces each? Sounds kind of UFO'y to me... :-)

Vampires in the Bible? So what's with all this preoccupation about drinking blood? Why outlaw it unless people were...like...doing it? OK, Bible scholars, there's the issue of ritual purity, not to mention major public health concerns, so this is once again easily explained away...OR IS IT?*

*yes, pretty much.

Witches and Wizards in the Bible? Well OK, now we're getting somewhere. There are actually a TON of references to wizards, witches, mediums and sorcery in the Bible, and none of them positive. If you were ever wondering about the whole fundamentalist Christian opposition to Harry Potter, there it is in a nutshell. The ancient world was apparently full of people who (it was thought) actually practiced magic and used it in negative ways. The big issue, though, was that unlike Harry Potter, these folks were NOT PRETEND. They were real, and they were into the tribal religion of the areas where the Israelites had settled, which posed a threat to the people's faith in God, and to power that was meant to be reserved only for God. Now, it was a much more violent time, but we can not gloss over the fact that these texts led to some gruesome and abominable violence against innocent people, both in the ancient world, and up to only a couple centuries ago. This is not OK and it does not do God any favors. But anyway, there it is. And just as we don't stone people for eating shellfish anymore, we probably should let this one go.

Ghosts in the Bible? OK, this one is kind of cool, but also very weird. Background: God has rejected Saul as King of Israel and promised the throne to David, which kind of makes Saul go crazy and undergo this whole "Anakin-to Darth-Vader" style transformation and ultimately...drumroll please...put on a Halloween costume and go see a medium. Not winning any points with God on this one, right? He wants to talk to the prophet Samuel about an upcoming battle, and sure enough, the medium conjures up his ghost, who basically tells Saul, "Dude, let me sleep! What part of 'you're not king anymore!' don't you understand?" Very interesting, a little freaky, but pretty much unique in either Testament. no more ghosts.


So, fun, games and wild speculation aside, I think we as Christians can, in fact, have a faithful conversation about Halloween as it's celebrated these days. My talking points:

1)Most of it is PRETEND. Christians do not actually believe in this stuff, any more than secular folks do. Paul lays out for the Corinthian church pretty clearly the conclusion Jewish tradition had reached by this time: OTHER GODS AREN'T REAL. That's not to say there's no such thing as evil, or darkness, or forces and entities we can't explain (more on that below). It's just to say that in the final analysis, most of what we tend to get all worked up about is pretty much bunk, or hokum, or malarkey, or [insert your favorite old-timey word here]. So your kid likes to read fictional books about a fictional character who goes to a fictional school to learn fictional magic? Okay...and the big deal is? Are we equally worked up about fictional Luke Skywalker learning about "the Force?" You know I heard somewhere that Wookiees are not actually real. Go figure. Done right, Halloween can actually teach kids the value of imagination, as distinct from the real world, and help them deal with real stuff that is, in fact, scary, through play.

2)What little of it is NOT pretend, is DEFEATED. Back to Paul again. This time to the Ephesians:

"For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places."

So, the Bible is clear that evil is real, and it's more than the sum of its parts. Whether you want to call it Satan, demonic forces, or just the capacity for the darkness of the human psyche to get completely out of control, it's out there, and it's stronger than we are. BUT [cue trumpets] it's not stronger than God. Not by a landslide. The New testament is full of demons and unclean spirits and exorcisms. They come up against Jesus, anime-style, shouting and screaming, but it's no contest. They know who he is. They believe (even more than Jesus' disciples in fact) he is who he says he is. And (forgive the expression) they run like hell. That, or they get the heavenly beat-down, and then run. This ain't no Clark Kent messiah we're following. This is the Son of Man. The Alpha and Omega. Sin, Death and the Devil, you better recognize.

All this is to say, we need to talk with kids about evil. And maybe Halloween might be a good time. But they also need to know about the sign of the cross on their forehead, made at their baptism, which is a sealed deal for all time. There's no evil in all creation that can remove it. Christ is with you, and the Devil can't do nothing about that.

3) A favorite quote from Luther:
“I often laugh at Satan, and there is nothing that makes him so angry as when I attack him to his face, and tell him that through God I am more than a match for him.”

That sums it up. Every Sunday we believers do a big, fabulous, over the top, end-zone victory dance right in evil's face, not because of any good deed or anything within us, but because by the cross death is defeated. So we can laugh. We can joke. We can even have some fun at death's expense. And what better time than All Hallow's Eve?

So this is the long way around to saying: Why not dress up? Why not encourage kids to be creative, and use their imaginations? I'm personally not down with the guts and gore, nor the pitch forks and red suits, and I'm certainly not down with society seeking out yet another chance to objectify women through costumes. That kind of stuff will not be taking place at my house. But fun will be had...oh yes...much fun...

Fuzzy Reception

Now to one who works, wages are not reckoned as a gift but as something due. But to one who without works trusts him who justifies the ungodly, such faith is reckoned as righteousness. Romans 4:4-5

Sometimes we get fuzzy reception at church. Or more precisely, we get fuzzy about the concept "receiving": namely, that we need to do it.

Lutherans, ironically, can get so uptight about preaching justification as a free gift of God's grace--the idea that we can't "get right" with God, but only God's grace can "make" us right--that sometimes even our frenzy of focusing on God's grace can itself become a good work. I've chuckled before at the statement, "just preach the damn gospel!", but not just because I resonate with the frustration it expresses in an era of "self-help" sermons: also because saying "just preach the damn gospel!" is a law statement, meaning it commands a human action rather than announcing God's.

But as uptight as we can get about preaching grace, the grace does not necessarily find its way into our daily lives, especially our lives of faith. How many people do you know who have a "thing" at church: a particular way of serving, that they've probably done for years or decades, that they just wouldn't feel quite right not doing? I, and pretty much every clergy person, can relate to that. That's how we got here, after all. I love to lead worship. I love to share good news, especially when it's God's. I'm not exactly sure what I'd do on Sunday mornings if not that.

And see, that's kind of the point I'm making. My piety--the way I practice my faith--is all about doing. It's about serving. It's about making stuff happen. It's about "asking not what my church can do for me, but what I can do for my church." In short, when this kind of piety runs amok, it's all about me. The gift becomes something I am giving to God, rather than what I'm receiving from God.

Mind you: OF COURSE, doing stuff is good. If you want to vent to me about how volunteerism seems to be dying, I'll listen, and I'll happily vent some myself. Just yesterday, I was doing the CROP walk. I was pushing my son's stroller through the streets of Catonsville in the truly incomprehensible 90-degree weather of an October Sunday in Maryland, when my phone rang. And who was it, but the good old Red Cross, asking me to donate blood. Has it been six weeks already? I politely said it was not a good time, but that I would get online to find a time to donate real soon. And I probably will. But as I wiped the sweat off my forehead, I thought, "You know, if a few more people my age took the time away from 'Breaking Bad' to do something for somebody else, I'd feel an awful lot less guilty about taking a nap right about now, and it probably wouldn't even be interrupted by the Red Cross." That's where my head went, and I'm not happy about that. Because when I think like that, my faith becomes about me.

Christians for whom Communion is a regular thing, let me ask you something: do you "take" Communion, or do you "receive" it? Not to quibble about words, but there's a difference. To "take" Communion is to walk right down that aisle, and grab your salvation with your own five fingers. To stick your paws right up there and snatch that bread and wine, and make that grace thing happen. Or...do you receive Communion? Do you walk down that aisle hardly able to believe the good fortune that the Holy Spirit has breathed life into you, and given you trust enough to show up, even if your every question is not resolved? Do you hold your hands out like a beggar's, bewildered that such a treasure could fall into them even once, let alone once a year, or for goodness' sake, once a week! Do you "receive" in the sense of a passive verb: in which God is truly understood as the active "giver"?

I say this next bit understanding that there are legitimate, grace-filled reasons to disagree with me, but here's what I think: I would rather not hear my own name spoken by the one who's giving me Communion, because heaven forbid that I ever believe "Tim" brought a single, solitary thing into that equation. I bring nothing, and I deserve nothing. At the table, my name is "for you," because it is Christ who gave his body, shed his blood, and rose again. I am simply receiving.

Maybe this doesn't make much sense, because the life of a "giver/worker" versus the life of a "receiver" of God's grace, might not look all that different. Both would likely help an old lady with her groceries, or make a fool of themselves collecting money to fight hunger, or take time out of their schedule to vote or give blood or whatever. But I've seen the paths diverge more as folks grow older.

Most all of us hardworking American types are more comfortable being the "giver/worker", which makes it all the more difficult when we feel we have less to give than we used to. I've sat with folks who are ill, and folks who have spent years or even decades just gradually slowing down, and if those folks are not used to just "receiving," this time of their life can be confusing. I am losing count of the number of people who have wondered aloud why God wants them alive. As if their ability to set up chairs or cook for potlucks or write notes is what merits their walking this earth and breathing this air. I have a feeling that Jesus would strongly disagree with such an assessment.

I've done some reading about the Jewish concept of Sabbath, and I think that if you do it right, it's just about the most grace-filled thing you can imagine. It's a time of laying low, and remembering that our running and doing and serving never did keep this world turning around. God does that just fine without us. And so we sit, and listen, and receive: we connect ourselves back to our infancy, when that was all we could do, and forward to our final days, and our death, when that will again be the case. And I haven't been through it, obviously, but I think that some practice will make those days easier.

So my suggestion (and I want to figure out how to follow it myself) is that every person of faith take a Friday, Saturday or Sunday (depending on your tradition) now and then, and make it your job to "receive." to work on not working. To serve by giving others a chance to serve. Let God be God. God will do it one way or another, but this time, maybe we'll notice.