Shame on you republicans (continued)

So, a young reader asked me why Trump’s comments about the Tiananmen Square Massacre is a big deal, and why it, not his comments about suppressing the 1^st amendment, or describing Mexicans as rapists and Muslims as hate filled terrorists, set me off.

Well, dear young reader, click here to read about the event. 

In broad outline, a million Chinese took to the streets in protest, calling for modest reforms of their government, and their government responded by sending in the military with live ammo and tanks, ultimately killing around 1,000 protestors.

Trump calling those protestors “rioters” and saying the government's response was “strong,” is plainly wrongheaded.

But why did it especially shake me?

I was a six-year-old living on a NATO base when the massacre took place. All the adults on the base talked about how this was why they fought, this was why America was engaged in that great Cold War against authoritarian communism, because no government is legitimate that murders its citizens and suppresses basic speech and dissent with the bullet.

Yes, of course, at 32 I am much more aware of the faults of my own country and the many layered hypocrisies and deals with the devil America engaged in during the Cold War… but still,

to laugh at the very ideals we fought for, to side with a violent authoritarian government against the little guy speaking up to make his country better… I just can’t imagine someone who wants to lead the free world saying that.

Shame on you Republicans!

The Two Brothers

The Two Brothers

         One was coming, the other going—two brothers passing in the night. Two brothers—one lost, the other resentful…

that’s not quite right,

both lost, both resentful, truth be told.

Prayer

         The younger—resents his status as the junior member of the family, destined for a limited inheritance

—and he tests his father’s graces, taking that which does not belong to him

—asking for inheritance, which can only be offered after his father’s death

—inheritance, the majority of which is rightfully his brothers.

         And he leaves, what a scandal,

going down to Egypt,

off to Babylon,

into the big city.

         He takes on strange customs, spends not only his money there—but his identity too.

Gives it away in gobs as he lives the “good” life—a life his father never would understand, or so he thinks.

He drains that bank account, and with it his very life force, vitality, and soul.

         Until he finds himself in the gutter

—the fine clothing he bought smeared with the muck of the street,

the seal of his house pawned long ago for a simple meal, or maybe a fix,

his sandals split with walking aimlessly about

—his stomach, like so many of those around him there in the gutter of life

—rumbling with hunger.

         He works as a foreign laborer

—paid under the table, paid less than a citizen of that country.

He works with pigs, demeaning himself still further

—empty,

alone,

and now unclean to the hilt.

So empty he’d eat the food of creatures to be turned into unclean food.

         He begs, there far off

—but no one gave him anything.

         Isn’t it sad, in time of famine he has no family to take him in.

In time of want, no one wants him.

He’s an outsider,

of the wrong background,

from the wrong country,

a foreigner participating in the vices of their country,

the moral underground of their nation.

         No one gave him anything—and he is dying of hunger.

         And, as he watches the pigs snorting in that slop, abandoned by everyone in the society he’s chosen to associate with,

the one he’s immigrated to and thrown all his money at,

only to be spit back out

—in the mess of all that, he remembers.

         He remembers he was a son,

He think maybe he could be again…

at least a hired hand…

no more honored at home than there,

but at least he’d be home…

home, where someone might give him something. Maybe the better beasts of the soul might pull compassion out of a people from the same country…

maybe a poor man would be honored at home, if not abroad.

         And so he goes, the soles of his sandals outside matching the disposition of his soul inside

—so threadbare they are useless.

         He prepares his pitch—asking his father for a job, after taking half the money,

kinda humiliating right?

A pitch

—the poor become great at pitches, not because they’re more crafty than anyone else, but because it is a matter of life and death.

        

         But thanks be to God, the pitch, the humiliating ask, dies in his mouth.

His father runs… like a Scotsman in a kilt

—all rather unseemly

—he runs, and he kisses him, calling him back into the family!

         He clothes him

—covering his shame,

the father shaming himself to spare his child suffering!

         Stained clothing replaced,

family sigil returned to his ring finger,

sole of sandal and soul of son, returned.

         The father shamed a second time

—the first at his youngest son’s leaving,

the second at his return.

         But no matter, his child who was dead, is alive.

His son who sold himself into slavery, has become a son again

—how can that not be celebrated?

--how can he not be returned to the community with a party?

         The elder son though, thinks differently.

         He was undercut by the younger from the start, his property properly stolen by that son of a…

son of his father.

His younger brother had made him

to be Esau,

to be Ishmael,

to be the dispossessed older son,

to loose his inheritance,

to diminish the family…

         And in response he soldiers on, that first son,

each step with the plow,

each time he breaks up the hard ground…

each longing look his father makes, off toward that foreign land…

it not only breaks his heart,

it breeds resentment

it poisons his mind.

         Why don’t you look at me, Dad?

Why don’t you long for me, Dad?

Look, Dad, I’m doing the work he wouldn’t do!

         He doesn’t understand what his brother

—that son of his father

—is going through,

he doesn’t know what it is like to be lost…

or maybe he does…

for he is loosing his connection to his father too…

the resentment of staying, can slaughter the soul.

         Staying and slaving away, doing those things that need to be done

—those proper things that sons do. Working the land he will one day inherit… working when it was given, given! to the second son.

         Working, like a slave.

Working for a wage

—his inheritance…

a hired hand on his own land.

         Oh, resentment can lose you just as readily as desolate living.

Shackled to responsibilities,

being the good son,

being the one who gets things done

—it can sour the soul and make you believe you’re earning that love,

buying that inheritance,

it can make you insist something in yours, as fully and wrongly and gratuitously as the younger son insisted that half of the inheritance was his.

         This molders in his chest,

doing it right,

doing it right,

doing it right,

until he is ripe for that moment when song sweeps out into the field.

         A party. Perhaps for me? For all I’ve done.

         And he gets there. Oh, God, he gets there, socked in the stomach by the slave who announces the happy return of that… other son.

         He balkes, he refuses the feast…

         Yet another insult for his father, the host

—shamed again…

having to leave his guests to salve the soul of a sulking son.

The guests watch from afar as the older son rips into him:

         He wanted you dead and you gave him my inheritance and sent him off whoring.

I’ve toiled for all I have,

I’ve never asked for anything…

I’ve never got a party like this,

I’ve never broken the rules,

But that sinner!

That son of yours, gets it all.

You pour out yourself for him.

You give him chance after chance…

but it feels like I only got one!

And I had to work for it!

         His father responds:

You’re my son. He’s my son. I gave him everything he asked for, and gave you everything you asked for.

         You’ve stayed here, with me.  Look at the life you’ve had, that you live, with me. Be thankful for that, see it for what it is, the bounty of it!

         As for your brother. He was lost. He was dead to us. He’s returned to us. He’s been found.

Amen.

Sermon: Hunger and Thirst

Hunger and Thirst

          Hey! Hey you. You thirst for clean good water, drink freely!

          Hey! Hey you. You hunger, eat your fill, have a sumptuous meal, free of charge.

          Hey! Hey you. You are worn and tired, find rest, abide at the bosom of God.

          Hey! Hey you. You are isolated from those you love and those you hate—God will gather you together.

           Let us pray

          I look out and see,

a society that has cleaved itself into little enclaves. Sunday is often the most racially segregated hour in America, even whole towns and neighborhoods have separated out, and not just racially,

but these days you are more likely to live next to someone who:

looks like you,

and thinks like you,

and votes like you,

and spends money like you, than every before.

          It’s easy to believe the other guy is evil or an idiot, when you’ve never even met him.

          Why do we divide ourselves when our hearts yearn for unity?

          I peer out and see,

a bunch of stressed out people. You are strapped for time and killing time—at the same time.

Multi-tasking until you’ve cheapened every task and made them all unimportant. Shouldering activity after activity, until you are squished and it all means nothing.

You rush from your screen at work to a phone/TV/Computer screen at home.

          How have we managed to even make rest into a chore?

          I look out there and what do I see?

 People so hungry in the 3^rd world that a flavoring for dirt is a big-ticket item—because then it can at least be swallowed and the belly filled. 

And before the rest of you get cocky, you better ask why there is essentially sawdust mixed into the meat of your fast food meals.

For that matter, I see kids on street corners looking out for cops for the local drug dealer, for a chicken box—risking arrest for two legs and a Styrofoam container of mashed potatoes, because their parents can’t afford to put food on the table.

I see too, people who demonize these hungry and ill-fed people, because it is an easier task than feeding them!

          Why do we choose the hungry belly over the full?

          I look out there and see,

oceans that will soon have more plastic waste than fish in them.

I see a town in Michigan where it took nearly 2 years for anyone to notice that 90,000 of its residents were being poisoned with Lead in their water.

          Why do we poison one of the main building blocks of life—water?

          Listen, sisters and brothers, lean close so that you can hear.

          There is a steam of living water that can make you clean, a clear brook that can quench your every thirst.

Being found baptized in the blood of the Lamb, drinking from the Well that is Jesus Christ.

If you drink of other streams,

if you are washed in other baths,

you will need to return to them,

but this water is forever and free.

          Listen, sisters and brothers, lean a little closer to make sure you can hear me.

          There is bread enough for all

—come to the table and eat of the bread of life and drink of the cup of salvation. Consume the meal that fills and satisfies and makes you what you are.

          Listen, family, turn up your hearing aid if you need to, what I say is important.

          St. Augustine writes: “We do not rest until we rest in him.”

There is a calm, a strong, spot of safety

—a holy timelessness that we can stand upon and be free.

In the face of all urgings and anxiety, we can lay our head upon the rock of Christ and simply be!

          Listen, all of you, wiggle your ears so that you can hear me.

          Whenever a line is drawn, whenever we separate ourselves from one another—Jesus will be on the other side of that line, he is with the excluded.

He goes to barriers and breaks them, he hears Samaritans are stigmatized and stands up for them. His welcoming arms are outstretched on the cross for everyone, even for you and for me!

          Seek the LORD while he may be found.

Call upon him while he is near.

Forsake deeds that are deadening and return from all of your unrighteous paths.

Return to the LORD, for God is merciful and full of abundant pardon

—God’s ways are bizarre to us, but thank God for them!

          Repent or perish, repent, and in so doing be fruitful, be fed, accept abundant life in God.

          Seek your neighbor that you might love him!

Find in him Christ hidden and revealed for you. Welcome one another into fellowship with our Lord Jesus Christ.

          Seek that strong place in which to rest.

Find Sabbath, find the embracing peace that is both inside and outside of time. Be shaped by sacred time.

          Seek the bread that satisfies.

Find and eat of this free meal, and share it

—give as you’ve been given, respond to this kindness with kindness,

see that you are full and that you overflow, and pass it on.

          Seek the water of life, find it and drink of it and be made clean

—in the dryness of this weary world show them all the oasis that is here in Christ Jesus.

God’s ways are bizarre to us, but thank God for them!

Amen.

Sermon: Fox and Hen

Sermon: Fox and Hen

            Two boys were out in the street of their cul-de-sac playing soccer. They would rush back to their driveway when cars come through.

            And so it went…

            But one time, a car was driving by, and they didn’t notice, until one of the boys kicked their soccer ball hard, and whack! it hit the side of the car driving by.

            The car stopped.

            A man started to get out.

            The boys ran.

            They ran passed the driveway,

            They jumped over their own fence,

            And continued to run away.

            The man, picked up the soccer ball and deposited it back in their yard. He’d stopped and got out of his car because he wanted to make sure no one, not even the ball, was hurt.

            The soccer-playing boys were expecting wrath, but the man just wanted to make sure everyone was okay.

            And that’s part of the story of humanity

—all of us

—so often we expect a fox, but we’re being offered a hen

—we expect God to be a carnivore, but God is looking to protect us.

Let us pray.

            Paul is gripped with disappointment at what he sees among his people in Philippi. They are settling on a Jesus plus kind of Gospel. They’ve assumed Jesus is great, but not enough to finally stand as the bedrock upon which to build their life. They ought to be citizens of heaven, but they’ve instead accepted a dual citizenship,

a Jesus passport and an earthly passport.

They do not see their Identity in Christ as sufficient ground to standing firm on in this life.

            In a parallel way, the Pharisees come to warn Jesus off of doing his gospel work…

They warn of Herod’s wrath

—Herod who, to Luke’s eyes is a gadfly, a goofball interested in Jesus

—a powerful person who wants to come and see Jesus, but not a threat until he links up with Pilate at the end of Luke’s Gospel.

            But Jesus stands up to say,  “I know what I’m doing, in the face of a potential danger, you don’t see the real danger. The danger is not being under his wings, the danger is not being there with Jesus doing his Gospel work!”

           

            Paul warns the Philippians that they are trying to keeping safe with a Jesus plus strategy, and Jesus warns the Pharisees they are trying to keep safe with a Jesus Minus strategy.

            One worries Jesus isn’t sufficient, the other that Jesus isn’t even an option.

           

            And both, both are caught up in a lie.

They’ve bought into the strength of that fox Herod, the power of the enemies of the Cross of Christ.

Both over and against the magnificent power found in the weakness of the cross of Jesus Christ.

            And how does that happen?

            How do we decide Jesus isn’t enough for us?

            I suppose these days it is because we buy into what our culture tells us, becoming citizens of Heaven and America, just as the Philippians were citizens of Heaven and Rome.

            We buy into the myth of scarcity and the fallacy of choice.

            Think of it, we can get so revved up by the messages of our society:

That success and having more are one in the same

That we have such a limited life that we have to spend every ounce of it getting the best!

            We can grasp onto these messages so tightly that we loose our grasp on God.

            I think of the comedian Aziz An-sari, who describes these phenomena well in his book “Modern Romance” and his TV show “Master of None.”

In one scene, he is ready for Lunch and he wants Tacos, so he looks up on Yelp where the best Taco stand is, and there are so many different metrics you can use to judge a Taco, that by the time he makes a decision on where to eat, the place is closed.

            So too, he finds woman after woman to date on a dating site, and ultimately he can’t decide who is the best person to contact, and therefore goes away single.

            Or look at TV, for every half hour we get 8 minutes where we’re told we’re worthless unless we choose the best product.

            The world we live in is so anxious about getting “the best” of everything that it can’t settle for anything.

            We’ve bought what the world is selling. We’ve managed to forget the resurrection and have come to believe our life is such a scarce thing that we must be so very careful how to spend it.

            Listen to that… spend it. Spend our life. We’ve made ourselves into a thing instead of a person!

            We’ve forgotten that we’ve been given this life! Our life is not a commodity to be horded and sparingly spent, but a gift.

            A gift… a free gift.

            Think of that strange covenant God makes with Abram. If it was a sensible covenant both parties would sign it

—both God and Abram would walk through the blood and guts of these sacrificial animals

—but no, the smoke and flame of the presence of God goes through alone

—it is an unconditional promise, one predicated on God’s gift to Abram.

            And so too, the citizenship Paul preaches, we’re citizens of heaven because the heavenly one is transforming us from humiliation into glory. It is a gift of God.

            And so too, this warm shelter at the hen’s bosom, calling her chicks to rest in the safety of her wings. Pleading that we take her gift, her motherly love,  and get away from the world when it insists on being fox-like!

           

            And so too, our lives! Gift!

            Let us hold fast to the promise of God, that God is for us and therefore none can be against us.

That life isn’t for spending, but for living, living this great gift God has given us.

            Living it! Knowing our choices, though they matter greatly, do not matter as much as the choice God has made through Jesus Christ. Therefore we can live freely,

nestled gently under the wing of the Mother Hen.

Living boldly the gospel in the face of all that would stand against it.

Living as citizens of Heaven, here on earth.

            Trust that this life isn’t one of constant fleeing, jumping our own fence when God comes to check if we’re alright, and give us back our ball.

            Trust that God isn’t a fox, trying to eat us.

Life isn’t the struggle of carnivore against carnivore,

each choice we make some kind of blood sport,

a maelstrom of anxiety.

            No. God is not a meat eater.

God is our Shelter in times of trouble, our Helper and our Salvation in all times of need.

Amen.