Guest Post: “Our church is just like a family.”

A blogless friend asked me to post this for her--some interesting thoughts:

 

“Our church is just like a family.”

It sounds nice. Frequently it IS nice. It's meant in a nice way. My belief, however, is that this (frequently) is one of the biggest issues facing the church today.

(How dare you say such a thing!)

Hear me out. Mind, this is not scientific. This is not based in a double-blind, survey laden study. It is based on my own intuition and experience. I don't have a silver bullet. I don't have a plan for you. I know there is a range of churches between “new starts” and the “dysfunctional” ones that I will reference. I know that this is not “in every case”. Oh, and I use quotes around “young” because I don't think that this is about age so much as action. Now that the disclaimers are out of the way, here's what I see:

I happen to be a pastor. I am a single lady in my late thirties. Like many people my age, my family dynamics have changed over the years. As siblings grow and some reproduce, family priorities change. As people move and lives change, family gatherings change. As traditions are harder to keep going, frustrations arise. As frustrations and emotions arise my family does what every good family does. We shoot the occasional miffed zinger at each other and then miserably suppress the rest of our anger. What does this result in? Personally, it results in my own realization that I have lost interest in family gatherings. That I no longer want to go out of my way to attend them. That I would prefer to find some “family of choice” to spend holidays with. Increasingly, this is what I lean towards.

My magic ball...er...Facebook feed tells me that many of my friends and acquaintances find themselves at “Friends-giving” rather than a family Thanksgiving meal. What's this? It's Thanksgiving, with people who you have chosen, even desire to be with on a special day. The host or hostess are the benevolent and fairly democratic matriarchs/patriarchs of this chosen family. Assignments are doled out for dishes. Pinterest and the rest of the internet is pored over. Fancy or unique versions of traditional dishes are created. Special attention is given to making beautiful place settings. Cranberry sauce can still come out of a can.

It's fun. It's new. It gives people a sense of having control over something important. It makes for a gathering of people who are happy to talk to each other. What it lacks are deep rooted historical family issues. It generally lacks people who have nothing in common. Traditions are able to change without great emotional consequence. It is easier for new people to enter and participate fully.

So, I figure. Everyone has at least some dysfunction in their own family. I had thought mine to be fairly functional but the older I get the less I believe this. So, here's the the thing. If you say that your church is like a family, there is a good chance (in my opinion) that you are right: That you belong to a church with people who love each other and who drive each other up the stinkin' wall. That you belong to a church where there are matriarchs who dictate what will happen. That you belong to a church with many historic and deep rooted fights. Many of which have been repressed and rear their ugly head over trivial matters (the fights are likely themselves, trivial). This may work for you. It's familiar. The Word is preached, the sacraments administered. Three or more are gathered in Christ's name and that's dandy.

However, you might be noticing fewer people at family gatherings. Some have died. It used to be the case that the dead were quickly replaced with the young. I don't think it is the style of music that's done it. I don't think whether the liturgy is (horrible terms here) “high” or “low” is what's to blame. I think it is be cause “young” people today have come to a societal conclusion that their family can be one of choice. That misery is not required.

“New starts” or new worshiping communities, new church plants – seem to me to have the greatest appeal to “young people”. Is it because they are sexier? (sometimes they are, in truth). Is it because they are bucking the system, man? Is it because the pastor doesn't wear a clerical shirt? Is it because the candles come from Pier 1? I want to venture and say YES and NO.

I think, that new churches are like Friends-giving. It is a chance to start over with people who WANT to be together and care for each other. People who want to be open and helpful. People who want to be able to have a stake in the family gathering. I think it is easy for NEW people. You know...the new girlfriend/fiance who found your family Thanksgiving awkward? I think SHE can engage and feel welcomed at Friends-giving. Likewise, I think someone fresh and new to church can feel more welcomed and included in a new church family. Eventually traditions will form. Eventually it will look a lot like the old family. That's OK. As long as it's about the community and its purpose for being there -that being the comfort and message of the Gospel.

So often, I spy these dysfunctional family churches trying. Lord, they try. God bless them, they try. They see the successful Pub theology/hymn sings working over at the new church. “Well, gee. That's it. We'll do that too and the young people will come!” My friends, oh my friends. This is so faithfully well intentioned. However, as I see it, this is the equivalent of buying the favorite beer of your son's new girlfriend so that she'll feel welcome at Thanksgiving. It's a sweet gesture. However, if that's all you do, what's the point? If you smile and say nice things to her when she arrives but later question her choice of hair color, belittle her politics or even worse...don't engage her at all, what is the point? By a certain point in the evening she will have sniffed out your dysfunction. Next year she may be at Friends-giving. This dysfunctional family church trying pub theology MIGHT be like your two quarreling aunts inviting you out for a beer. You might go to be polite and then you'll have a friend ready to call you so that you “must go” early, never to return.

When old fights and whether or not Grandma's old casserole dish is used becomes center stage, then maybe it's time to just stop it. Just, stop it.

Here is where my thoughts just kind of peter out.... This is how I see a major problem. I wonder, if one solution to the “church in crisis” is to close more “dying” churches and open more new ones. Not just relocate the same people into a new building. New communities. New churches. Start over.

I wonder, still, if there is a way to take this realization and apply it to the old, messed-up, family churches? Some kind of intervention? Oh, and none of this can be fixed by one person....your pastor will not fix your family. Your son marrying a lovely new wife will not fix old family problems. It has to involve everyone.

Ultimately, the goal is this: that everyone feel welcomed at THE table. That the host of the great meal, Christ, be met and honored and followed. That the guests at the table be fed, healed and forgiven. Anything that gets in the way of this – is a problem.

Sermon: The Gospel in Times Such as These

The Gospel in Times Such as These

         Times such as these—in the first thirty-nine chapters of Isaiah we hear words of condemnation, doom and gloom about a whole variety of societal sins, all this preparing the folk for exile in Babylon.

(Thursday Afternoon Bible Study Folk, this section loosely parallels the first 29 chapters of Jeremiah’s words—talk of collective punishment and no justice)

Then, just as Jeremiah 30 does a 1-80 and becomes the book of Consolation, so too, out of nowhere, “Comfort o’ Comfort my people.” God, the Lover who will literally move mountains and leap valleys—will go through the long, lonely, desolate desert so that He might gently take His people in His arms as Isaiah proclaims, “Here is your God!”

         Among a people torn from their homes, homesick in Babylon, there is Gospel.

         Times such as these—when the sadistic and unfaithful family of Herod was in power, and the awful might of the Roman Empire stood astride the whole world. When it felt like a third Exodus, a second Exile… even as God’s people dwelled in the land.

         At such a time, comes a new beginning. At such a time, comes prophetically strange actions by John, which point to the coming one. At such a time comes the Good News about Jesus the Christ.

         Among a people occupied both physically and spiritually, seemingly disconnected from the promises of God, there is Gospel.

         The Gospel in Times Such as These.

Let us pray

The Gospel in Times Such as These

         I remember the weeks surrounding Hurricane Irene

—the weeks surrounding the Sunday I didn’t preach my trial sermon here…

I was wrestling with the question of whether, if the vote went my way, I should accept a call here.

         And I was truly unsure.

        

         Don’t get me wrong –I was impressed by the call committee:

Frank was clearly competent.

Michelle had dreams of feeding the hungry.

Joe was the most sincere man I’d ever met.

Peggy asked good tough questions.

Jillian was an active young person in the church.

And Cathy’s consistent openness was a joy.

         For that matter, I’d met the council and committee liaisons—both of them functioned—that’s not always the case, so that was a big plus.

        

         My uncertainty—to use an old cliché—wasn’t you, it was me.

         For three of the four years I was in Seminary, I was being trained to serve in an African American congregation, in a city. I did Field Ed. in West Philly, Internship in North West Baltimore, and a good number of my classes with the Urban Theological Institute.

         And I worried those experiences shaped me in such a way that this congregation and I would have a very different understanding of the way the world works,

so much so that it would be difficult to preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ here.

         And there have been hiccups here and there, but by and large we’ve made it through, and love one another as well as congregation and Pastor ought.

         I image Times Such as These—one and a half weeks after the Grand Jury decision in Ferguson and 4 days after the decision in Staten Island—might be one of those moments where, because of my experiences in the Black Church and in communities of color, I likely am understanding the way the world works very differently than the majority of the congregation.

        

         And it’s not just a case of one weird pastor or one weird congregation

—we’re not outliers here.

As Presiding Bishop Eaton recently said, “Following the decisions by grand juries in Ferguson and New York, it has become clear that we have different experiences of life in this country.”

         And I think in Times Such as These it’s worth naming at least one of these divisions

—There is a division between Blue and Black perspectives.

         The Blue perspective is that of police and folk who deeply value law and order.

Some people are just tired of hearing about these deaths—they want to get back to Christmas… or at least Advent.

Other’s feel that if Eric Garner and Michael Brown had not fallen afoul of the Law they’d be alive today—the potential price of criminality, no matter how small, is death.

Still other folk simply understand that cops got it tough, that their job is to keep chaos at bay, and in such a situation severity serves much better than restraint.

And as someone who grew up in Wyoming I’m not naïve, I know when the WTOTC, the local branch of Neo-Nazi’s back home in the ‘90’s, wanted to torch black churches or synagogues or threatened to assassinate judges, it was nice to know there were sheriffs, the ATF, and the FBI, around to discourage that kind of behavior.

There is also a black perspective to all this—the perspective of African Americans, People of Color, and their allies.

For whom these latest deaths are so familiar—to quote a friend “that’s just day to day life for me.”

These deaths are part of a pattern that goes back to Jim Crow, goes back to Slavery, goes back to the Middle Passage when 15% of kidnapped Africans never made the journey from West Africa to the Americas,

and no one seemed to care that they died.

I know when I heard about Michael Brown’s death, my first thought was of my surreal experience outside the local Episcopal Church in Baltimore, when a heavily armored team of police swarmed the area and attempted to arrest some of the local priest’s Confirmation students because they were black males, and therefore fit the description of a nearby shooter.

When we protested that they were all good kids one of the policemen suggested to the priest that if she didn’t shut up he would shoot her.

By now, most you have seen the video of the choking of Eric Garner, what most of you haven’t seen was the second tape that was of the 7 minutes it took for someone to do something about his physical distress. 7 minutes of police and paramedics doing what appeared to be the least they can for the man as he lay dying.

It reminded me of a colleague who heard of the death of one of her parishioners, and made it to his apartment in time to see the paramedics push the body out of the fire escape… I know the South Plainfield rescue squad would never do such a thing, but in an urban mainly African American city—maybe not so uncommon.

         All that to say, “it has become clear that we have different experiences of life in this country,” which I worried about, that week before I preached my call sermon here at St. Stephen.

         My dad, ever practical, told me, “You need money for student loans, insurance for your heart, and, frankly, you really need to move out of the Lundahl’s attic.”

         That didn’t convince me—after all Harry Potter lived in a cupboard under the stairs for years!

         But my mom said something that got to me, “White Suburban people need Jesus too Chris.” And so, by the time I arrived here I already reconciled myself to staying if you’d have me.

         And brothers and sisters, The Gospel in Times Such as These—times of vastly differing experiences, is this, “He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.” And he has!

         We’re Baptized into Christ’s life, death, and resurrection

—we’ve put him on whole cloth!

We are made in the image of God and redeemed in the Image of Jesus Christ.

Look at someone you disagree with

—they’re Christ to you!

This means Black Lives Matter,

This means Blue Lives Matter,

This means, “White Suburban people need Jesus too.”

         In Baptism all are one

—the divisions we construct are ultimately of no value, they are rubbish compared with the unsurpassed glory of Christ Jesus.

They will not stand before Jesus’ prayer to his Heavenly Father, “That they may all be one, just as you Father are in me and I in you—that they also may be in Us, so that the world may believe.”

In Baptism is forgiveness

—Jesus has brought us from death to life,

bought us from Sin and made us his own

—we are forgiven

—it’s already been done,

So we can do the hard work of the Good News of Jesus Christ,

unafraid of admitting where we’re wrong, conceding points,

unburdened of insisting on our own righteousness, or rightness,

because Jesus is our rightness and righteousness we can listen,

really listen, without hidden agendas, or talking points, or waiting with a retort.

Because Christ is our courage, we can stay in difficult conversations even when it makes us uncomfortable, and even when we fear being misunderstood.

Among a people divided and tired and angry, waiting for Christmas in the midst of a crisis, there is Gospel. A+A

The video of Bishop Eaton's statement on Racial Justice along with transcript

In baptism we are joined to the death and resurrection of Jesus,

and in Baptism we are all made one,

in Baptism we have forgiveness and that makes it possible for us to speak and listen to each other even, and especially, when the conversation is difficult.

Our nation and our church have been, and remain, deeply besieged by racism.

Following the decisions by grand juries in Ferguson and New York, it has become clear that we have different experiences of life in this country.

We continue to struggle, we continue to struggle in our conversation about race in our congregations, communities, and places of business, even at our kitchen tables.

We as members of the ELCA have named Racism—a mix of power, privilege, and prejudice,

a Sin—a violation of God’s intention for our world.

We recognize that Racism pervasively affects all aspects of our society and church.

Too often, Racism has not been acknowledged, particularly among people with privilege.

The criminal justice system is in some ways broken, and can perpetuate racial injustice.

The ELCA social statement The Church and Criminal Justice: Hearing the Cries acknowledges the disproportionate racial and economic impact within that system.

We are Church, we are in Ferguson, Staten Island, and Los Angeles; this church acknowledges and supports leaders and members on the ground making a difference every day.

We are Church Together, with resources to help turn the tide of injustice:

Together, we can advocate for legislation that protects the civil rights of all.

Together, we equip members through community based organizing.

Together, we can teach about our faith practices that enable us to live out our faith and grow in our discipleship

Together, we participate in the work of responding to disaster in communities by bringing hope, healing, and renewal among people whose lives have been disrupted.

Here are some actions that each of us can take where we are:

•       Listen to and learn from the experiences and history of people of color and communities of color.
•       Muster the courage to have, and stay in, difficult conversations about race.
•       Respect and uplift the dignity and humanity of every person.

There are no quick answers or easy solutions, but we can remain in it for the long haul.

As we anticipate the birth of the Christ Child let’s recall our baptismal covenant to:

•       Live among God’s faithful people,
•       Hear the Word of God and share in the Lord’s Supper,
•       Proclaim the Good News of God in Christ through word and deed,
•       Serve all people, following the example of Jesus,
•       And strive for justice and peace in all the earth.

#Ferguson

I’ve been pretty much silent about the events in Ferguson. Kinda strange for a wordy man like me to be so silent, right? After all, I participated in National Novel Writing Month and have so far written 17,000 words on a Sci-fi novel entitled “Silicon Soul” about a fictional America in which computers become human. Strange that I’d not write a single word about a real America in which humans aren’t being treated as if they are fully human.

I’ve kept my silence with the assumption that it allows the voices of People of Color to be heard more clearly.

In case you’ve not read any of these voices here are two:

A word on Ferguson

The Racist Soil of Ferguson

That said, this blog is read by some folk for whom I’m the closest thing to a voice of color they’re willing to read (I know, right!).

So, two quick points as a repost to the things you all consistently say on social media, and then I’ll get back out of the way.

1. In order to believe Darren Wilson’s version of events you’d almost have to assume Michael Brown is an alien—people don’t act like that.

See this article for the utter weirdness of Darren Wilson’s account of what happened.

2. Quit with the being so shocked by rioting already.

I was in Eugene, Oregon when the Ducks lost a big game—they drove a meter maid car into a bonfire and set off a bomb outside the local Starbucks.

For that matter, I was in Philadelphia when the Phillies won their big game; all the commentators were so overjoyed that there was “only” $100,000 worth of property damage… people did that much damage to their city to honor a sports team’s win.

The folk in Ferguson are horrified and angry that a young man in their community was killed and there was no trial. They are horrified and angry at an ongoing pattern of young black kids getting killed by cops and vigilantes.

I want to be clear, I think rioting is stupid and destructive, but if we’re going on the assumption that what happened in Eugene and Philly after those sports games was essentially good clean fun, and as a society we do, then the only logical conclusion you can come to is that the rioting in Ferguson is a totally legitimate response to collective horror and anger… unless of course you want to say white rioting is acceptable and black rioting is not.

#BlackLivesMatter

Sermon: Christ the King /Reign of Christ. Preached at Cross of Life Lutheran Church, Plainfield

Today St. Stephen South Plainfield and Cross of Life Plainfield did a pulpit swap. From what I hear from my folks things went well at St. Stephen. Below is the sermon I preached at Cross of Life:

Greetings to you on behalf of St. Stephen, South Plainfield, the congregation I serve.

Greetings on behalf of the three Lutheran Churches in Edison, who along with St. Stephen currently make up the South Plainfield/Edison United Parish.

Greetings as well from Bishop Bartholomew and her whole staff, whom I was on retreat with the last two days—she gives her warm regards to all of you.

Greetings, most importantly, in the name of Jesus. Amen.

Today is the last day of the Church year, which means two things:

First, it means it is Christ the King Sunday.

Second, it means it is the last Sunday in a good long while that we’ll be regularly reading from the Gospel of Matthew.

Now, these two facts are pretty important for the Church. They cause us to ask time and time again, at new situations and new places in our life together, the following two questions:

“What is Matthew’s message to the Church?”

and

“What does it mean that Jesus is King?”

It was these questions that sent Luther back to read the early Church Fathers, especially St. Augustine. St. Augustine who in turn had meditated on Matthew. Matthew who of course was writing about the words, and acts, of Jesus.

…Reflecting on the influences these four men had on one another, it’s worth mentioning that what is going on right here in front of you in a multi-cultural moment…

No, really! Let me explain, you’ve got a North American preacher, influenced by a German Scholar-monk, enthralled by a North African bishop, reflecting on the testimony of a gospel writer living in Syria, remembering his Galilean Lord.

If we could get a South American, an Australian, and a Penguin involved, we’d have all seven continents represented right here from this pulpit in Plainfield.

—Mining these ongoing questions about Church and about Jesus’ kingship, lead us almost inevitably to two foundational ideas of the faith:

The Church is filled with both Saints and Sinners and that’s okay.

And

We’ll always find Jesus in the last place we look.

1. Church is filled with sinners and saints, and 2. We’ll always find Jesus in the last place we look.

Let us pray

The Church is filled with sinners and saints, and that’s okay.

         They sometimes call the Gospel of Matthew the Church’s Gospel, because it is the only Gospel that explicitly mentions “The Church.”

Matthew, more than anyone other than Paul, wrestles with what Christian community looks like…

Matthew looks the church head on, and takes us as we are.

He consistently points out that there will always be those inside the church who are angels, and also those inside the church who are devils. We’re a mixed body.

He writes about ONE wedding party with 10 brides maids—all 10 have lamps and all 10 are gathered in the same place, but 5 are wise and 5 are foolish.

He writes about ONE field, filled with both wheat and weeds.

And, today, he writes about ONE flock, filled with both sheep, and goats.

Now last month I went on pilgrimage in Israel & Palestine, and was in Jericho.

There I saw this flock in the distance, and I said, “Hey, look at those sheep,” and a guy next to me responded, “That’s a flock, it has both sheep and goats in it.”

I couldn’t tell the difference between the two—they were all fuzzy smelly four legged things that blended into the mud of Jericho

—and to be clear I grew up in Wyoming, so I kinda like to think I can tell a sheep from a goat,

but there in Jericho, those things were all either very sheepy looking goats or very goaty looking sheep.

And that’s a good reminder for church-folk,

If we ever start to feel above someone else,

or more pious,

or closer to God

—if we ever start looking across the pew and saying, “pee-ew, they shouldn’t be in church.”

It’s a good reminder that we all are sheepy goats and goaty sheeps here in Christ’s flock—it is for Christ alone to make a judgment between us.

After all, the Church isn’t some museum for pristine and precious objects, it’s a flock with messy living critters in it, with all the mud and muck and dust and drama that comes with that.

As we so often hear, the Church isn’t a museum for saints—it’s a hospital for sinners.

And for that matter, when Luther read Augustine’s description of the Church, read that we’re a mixed body—he thought the image of the Church being filled with saints and sinners at the same time,

He thought it expressed a more personal truth

—that each of us, too, is at the same time saint and sinner…

The horns of the goat and the sheep inside us, are inextricably locked.

There is a civil war within our soul.

It is what Dr. King called “The Schizophrenia of Man.”

Robert Lewis Stevenson personified this conflict in his book The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

The Apostle Paul writes, “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate… I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do.”

If we’re true to ourselves, we could do no less than Adam, and throw up our hands and say, “My God, I am spirit and I am dust.”

True, there are times when we can say yes, I fed the hungry—but also times when our own stomachs grumble, and we think it more important to feed ourselves first.

Times when we give the thirsty a drink—and times when we don’t believe their claim that they lack potable water.

Sometimes we are open armed to a stranger—other times we hide from them out of fear.

Sometimes we see a naked sick convict and hold out hope for them, but just as often we draw back and say Nope—not today, not ever.

         Because we’re both sheep and goat… we can’t rely on the consistency of our heart or the continuous rightness of our own actions.

—so we, like Ezekiel, can only trust in a good shepherd

—the one who seeks us scattered sheep out,

who binds up our injuries, who feeds us with good pasture,

who makes us to lay down in good grazing land.

Caught as we are, between sheep and goat, all we can do is trust that God is gracious.

And the wild thing about all this is where we find a gracious God…

that shepherd, that King Jesus,

because Jesus turns everything upside down—his Kingship is the opposite of what we expect—We’ll always find Jesus in the last place we look.

Think on it—what kind of King we have!

         The king’s palace? A stable.

The King’s bed? A manger.

         The King’s first foreign visit? Fleeing to Egypt as a refugee.

         The King’s war-horse? A donkey.

         The King’s crown? Thorns.

         The King’s throne? A cross.

         Even in the book of Revelation Jesus shows up in an unexpected way—the Revelator hears “Behold the Lion of the tribe of Judah,” and he turns around expecting to see a conquering lion—but instead—there, a slain lamb.

         So too, on this Christ the King Sunday

—he reigns in the last place you’d look— “Where’d I see you Lord?” I am the hungry one, the thirsty one, the naked stranger sick and imprisoned.

         Just as I couldn’t distinguish from a sheep and a goat at Jericho, so too it’s hard to see Jesus—he’s in the last place we’d think to look.

         So all we can do is testify to these, wonderful, terrifying, astonishing moments when Christ comes in unexpected ways.

Consider X, one of my members who is in Hospice, who will probably be dead by the end of this week—when I took communion to him for the last time, his wife dipped a little popsicle sponge into the wine and he drank from it—

Christ was there in that, seeming to say, “Don’t worry—from the cross I too drank from a sponge, that sour wine.”

Christ right there in the Hospice—the last place we’d look!

Sometimes Christ’s presence is made known in a little louder way.

I think of my friend X’s call to Seminary—she was the tech person for a lobbying firm in DC, lobbying for the interests of companies that sold sub-prime mortgages—you know, the people who crashed our economy at the end of 2007.

She’d recently started getting more serious about her faith, but she managed to compartmentalize—there was Church Sam and there was subprime mortgage Sam. She knew her actions were indirectly leading to less regulation of an industry that preyed upon poor-folk, but she knew she was really a good person.

Then one day, she was knelt down at a computer tower and then she heard, chuu—chuu, “Loan Shark!” chuu—Chuu “Loan Shark.”

And she looked up and there was a cadre of protestors pushing a papier-mâché shark through the halls of her office building.

 and the very moment they chucked that shark through her office door, she knew it was Jesus’ calling card and time to leave and enter candidacy for Seminary

—a bunch of hippies with a fake shark—but it was Jesus showing up in the last place she’d ever think to look.

Or I think back to the homeless feeding ministry in Philadelphia I tagged along with a couple of times.

They would go into Center City, passed the iconic Love Park, and passed the less iconic clothespin in Center Square Plaza. Down to City Hall—that large beautiful building with Pennsylvania’s founder, William Penn, standing atop, in statue form.

The mayor’s office is there, the city council meets there, the movers and shakers, the power peddlers and dealmakes—the political elites and kingmakers, they all meet there.

But there is another side to City Hall, beneath that brilliant building runs a series of underground walkways that eventually lead to the SEPTA public transit system.

And there, on the hard concrete floor, propped against unyielding concrete pillars.

There, using collapsed cardboard boxes as both their pillows and bed, the far corner as their bathroom.

There you find people living.

There, underneath that throne of power, are people just surviving:

racked by mental illness, possessed by addiction, thrown out by their families,

thrown out by their countries of origin/

or maybe just there because they’ve been down on their luck one too many times.

         There surely, in that last place we’d think to look, it could be said—Look at me hungry, thirsty, estranged, naked, sick, and imprisoned.

Surely Christ was there.

         And finally, that first moment when I really got what my childhood Pastor meant, when she told me about a Theology of the Cross—

when she told me about how Jesus shows up in the last place we’d think to look.

Eleven years ago I was volunteering at the Comea Shelter, a homeless men’s Shelter back home in Cheyenne Wyoming.

Each day I filled the shelter’s old blue mini-van up with bedding and drove it down to the commercial launder mat, picked up any donations around town, picked up the clean bedding, and brought it all back.

Sometimes shelter residents would ride with me and help me load and unload things.

Now, there was one resident in particular who would often ride with me. He happened to have a Nazi swastika prominently tattooed on his forehead.

We worked together for several weeks—and during that time I did my best not to stare at that thing on his head

—I did my best not to ask questions about it.

Then one day, we were driving along and he said to me, “Chris. I know you look at it.”

“Look at what?” I asked.

“The swastika,” he replied.

I was –this close—to responding, “What Swastika,” but by that time I was staring at his forehead instead of the road, so I replied guiltily, “Yeah, I do.”

“I got it while I was in prison down in Denver,” he explained.

That was of course just the kind of comforting thing you want to hear while alone with a guy twice your size.

“Oh,” was all I could reply.

He then told me how much he had hated blacks and Latinos… though he used much stronger language for both.

“Oh,” I again replied, limply.

He continued, “Then I got out. No landlord wanted someone like me as a renter… the only place that would take me was a housing co-operative for ex-convicts run by a black man. It took me a while, but I just couldn’t hate them any more.”

Who’d ever have thought Jesus would show up like that? Who’d have thought he would point to the power of redemption and reconciliation through an image of racism and hate?

We sheep and goats are all here before the king—our hope is that that carnivorous lion we are brought to expect, is in fact the promised slain lamb of Revelation—a gracious and kind God slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.

Our true selves are revealed only when he reigns,

when Christ is king

—and that reign is a strange and mysterious one.

Christ reigns/ among the hungry, thirsty, estranged, naked, sick, and imprisoned.

Christ reigns/ enthroned on the cross and served sour wine from a sponge—and reigns at a final communion meal in a hospice.

Christ reigns/ in the absurd prophetic act of activists wielding a papier-mâché shark.

Christ reigns/ when those beneath the seats of power are fed.

Christ reigns/ when a wicked and wounded symbol of hate becomes a sanctified scar of repentance,

When it becomes a reminder of a man’s new life and new community.

Christ reigns. A+A