Sermon: Teach us to pray for forgiveness (July 24, 2016)

Pentecost 10C

July 24, 2016

Luke 11:1-13

            It is a hot time to be an American – and I’m not talking about the July weather! How many of you watched or followed some part of the Republican National Convention this week? I tried to follow it enough to know what is going on, but not so much as to drive myself crazy. I plan to follow the same method this week for the Democratic National Convention. One can only take so much, right?

            But I have to admit, there was one part of the RNC that really stirred up my heart this week – and not in a good way. That was the prayer, the benediction, on opening night of the convention, offered by televangelist Mark Burns of South Carolina. [Read about it here or here, for two responses from both conservative and liberal news outlets.] Maybe I was paying extra attention because this week’s texts are all about prayer, including the most famous prayer, that Jesus teaches his disciples. So I’ve had prayer on the brain this week, thinking about the ways we should pray, and the ways we do pray, and the ways God answers or doesn’t seem to answer our prayers.

            So, back to the RNC benediction: I found it to be very discouraging. Despite the several times he invokes the name of Jesus, the prayer had very little in common with how Jesus instructs his disciples to pray, either in today’s passage from Luke or elsewhere in the New Testament. Pastor Burns called other Americans enemies from whom we need to separate ourselves, and lifted up the power and authority of people rather than the power and authority of God. Even as it claimed a call for unity, the prayer promoted division by drawing lines in the sand and demonizing other Americans,

and focused more on us than on God, whose help he sought only briefly at the end. Political parties aside, the prayer troubled me as an American, but even more, as a follower of Jesus.

            Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on him. After all, I think we often fall into the same trap – that is, asking God, in our prayers, to do what we want, to punish the people we hate and help the people we love, to assume God agrees with us on who belongs in which category, to be so driven by our own values and agenda that we forget about the more humble aspect of prayer in which we admit our own faulty humanity and ask God’s help and forgiveness.

            How, then, ought we to pray? Well, Pastor Burns’ prayer did inspire me to look at Jesus’ instructive prayer in a different way, to notice some new things about it, and to understand in a deeper way why prayer can at once be so rewarding, and so difficult for us. 

            A lot can be learned by looking at the structure of Jesus’ prayer. It’s pretty simple. Jesus’ model for prayer includes: reverence for God (Father, hallowed be your name), a request for God’s presence among us (your kingdom come), a petition for sustenance (daily bread), a plea for reconciliation between neighbors (forgive us our sins as we forgive those indebted to us), and finally, an intercession for safety (do not bring us to the time of trial). It’s got everything you could need in a prayer, and in that way, it helps keep our pray life on track.

The gift and the problem with the Lord’s Prayer is that we all have it memorized – so while it is good to have something so close to your heart, what I find often happens to me is that when it comes time to say it, I go on autopilot. I can say those words while I think about what I’m going to have for lunch – which, being the frequently hungry pregnant woman I currently am, I often do! Does that ever happen to you, that your mind wanders a bit when we start saying the Lord’s Prayer together? Though it is written on our hearts, this causes it to lose some of its punch in our prayer lives.

Martin Luther has a solution for this: in his Small Catechism, he broke the prayer down into each of its separate petitions, and commented on each one and what it means for us. He put this

together as a tool for us to use, but that tool also encourages us to do the same for ourselves: to organize our personal prayers according to the things Jesus suggests we pray for.

I suggest you try that in your personal prayer life. This morning we don’t have time to do them all, so we will focus only on the one I think is the hardest part of Jesus’ prayer, and indeed one of the hardest parts of being a Christian: the petition about forgiveness.

            “Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.” Think for a moment: when you say this part, do you find it easy, difficult, or neutral? Have you ever really noticed or thought about it? How much of your prayer life is dedicated to seeking forgiveness, or to finding a way to forgive someone who has hurt you? Personally, I would much rather spend my time praying for the well-being of people I love, or for help and guidance from God on my upcoming challenges, or being grateful for God’s gifts. Honestly, I’d even rather work on praying for my enemies – another of Jesus’ more difficult commands – than I’d like to do the soul-searching required to ask or offer forgiveness.

Forgiveness. Is. Hard. It is hard to ask for because asking for it means you have to admit you did something that needs forgiving – admit it to yourself, to God, and maybe even to another person, who might then hold it over you, judge you, or gloat. It means you have to do the hard work of searching your heart to determine what it is you have contributed to a conflict or misunderstanding, what you could have done better. It means letting down the protective shield of assuming everyone else is more at fault than you are, and that even if you did do something wrong, it was someone else’s mistake that made you do that wrong thing. It’s a lot to let go of. No one wants to do all of that.

It is just as hard to offer forgiveness. Offering forgiveness makes us vulnerable in the future – what if you forgive, but get hurt again? It requires us to take off the protective armor of our self-righteousness, and say, “I accept your apology. Let’s move on,” and actually mean it and do it. It feels like giving in (doesn’t it feel good sometimes to hold onto our anger?), and giving up some of your power, and it can be scary to really believe a person when they say they are sorry. And, what if they don’t even say they are sorry, or admit they have done anything wrong? Then forgiving can seem completely elusive, even impossible.

“Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.” I can see why Jesus included this in his model prayer. Just looking at all the emotional baggage that accompanies both asking and offering forgiveness, this one petition could occupy our entire prayer life! Prayers of gratitude are so much more fun, and prayers for those in need feel so much more noble, and prayers for help in our struggles are so much more satisfying than all the digging and facing of difficult realities that go with prayers about forgiveness. It’s very good that Jesus includes it. I think we could all use the reminder.

Forgiveness. Is. Hard. No doubt about it. And it is not to be taken lightly – sometimes premature forgiveness is more harmful than helpful. But vigilant prayer about it is always worthwhile. A friend told me a story about someone she struggled to forgive, a member of her family, someone she didn’t even want to forgive, even after he had died. Her spiritual director asked if she could find a way to pray for “the desire for the desire to forgive.” What a beautiful way to phrase that! Pray that you would want to want to forgive someone. Sure enough, my friend said after about a year of (begrudgingly) praying that, she found one day that she had let go of the person’s action that had so infuriated her. Not condoned it, mind you. But she no longer let it torment her, and in fact, she said, she found she looked forward to a reunion with him in heaven.

What a sense of freedom that offers – to no longer be burdened, either by our own sins, or by the anger we feel toward another. And this is the true reason Jesus includes a petition about forgiveness in his model prayer: because God’s greatest hope and gift for us is that we would experience freedom from sin, freedom from hatred and fear, freedom from burdens and the yoke of slavery, freedom from death. God has shown us that freedom throughout time, and most profoundly in the person of Jesus Christ, who faced the most unforgivable offense as he hung on a cross, but rose again to show us that death is powerless at the hand of our life-giving, freedom-embracing God. “Forgive us our sins, as we forgive,” we pray, and let us live into that freedom.

            Let us pray… Forgiving God, you have told us and shown us how to live lives of faith over and over again through history. We ask you to guide us even now, each day teaching us again to pray in such a way that builds up our faith and the body of Christ, that heals divisions, that seeks reconciliation and love of neighbor, that embraces the freedom we have in Jesus Christ. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Facts and the stories we tell ourselves

It has been immensely discouraging these past several months, and especially in the past week watching the RNC, watching people in this country be motivated by hatred and fear. Whether in response to violence, or refugees, or certain religions, or people's need and desire to stand up for their rights and articulate the injustice being done to them, it seems everywhere you look is not expressions of love and compassion, but division and labeling and blaming and self-protection.

For completely unrelated reasons, I'm listening to an audio book right now on effective dialogue, called Crucial Conversations. It is designed for dialogue in the work place, but also uses examples on how the same tools make communication more effective in our personal relationships. I'm about halfway through, and as I follow what's going on in the news right now, and how people respond to it, I have thought many times how if more people had the skills and perspectives discussed in the book, our country would not be one in which hate and fear are the primary motivators.

I thought this especially in the most recent chapter I listened to, which is about the stories we tell ourselves. Often when we are faced with the facts of a situation, we feel some emotion, but this emotion doesn't come from the facts. Rather, it comes from the stories we tell ourselves about those facts. For example, if you come late to a meeting, I take that fact, as well as the fact that you were late once last week, and the story I tell myself is, "He is always late. He must not care about the work we are doing together, or, he doesn't value my time. He is inconsiderate, and only cares about himself." Now, in response to that, I feel angry at you, and hurt, and dismissed, and my response to that feeling is either silence (quietly fuming and letting it fester, avoiding confrontation) or violence (I attack you verbally, emotionally or even physically).

On the other hand, I could tell myself this story: "He's late again. I hope everything is going okay - now that I think about it, he is has seemed kind of down lately. Maybe he has something tough going on at home; maybe he is distracted and lost track of time." With this story, my emotional response is to feel compassion and concern toward you. I think about times I have felt that way. My response then is not silence or violence, but rather, my inclination is to check in with you, to ask if everything is okay, if you need help with anything.

The description is not unlike a recent sermon I preached about assumptions, in which I referred to Luther's description of the 8th commandment to not only avoid gossip, but also to interpret another's actions in the best possible light. While that sermon came out of a personal experience, hearing about this technique in the midst of our political and cultural scene right now has made me think about it in a different way.

I often hear Secretary Clinton referred to as a liar, a criminal, someone who ought to be locked up. I hear about police officers who are irresponsible and puffed up on their power and authority. Donald Trump is a bigot, a racist, a facist, a hater of women and minorities. Black Lives Matter is a violent and misguided movement - don't all lives matter? Black people, and anyone who supports them, hate the police. Islam is a violent religion that produces terrorists, and moderate Muslims need to speak up against it.

These are all emotional responses based on the stories we are telling ourselves based on the facts we know. Maybe they are true stories, maybe they aren't. But what other stories could we tell? What stories could we tell ourselves that would help us to feel compassion rather than hatred and fear? What stories could we tell that help us to remember that all the people we are talking about here are actually people, real humans with real brokenness and pain and suffering, just like me?

I don't want to discount people's real pain; I know that sometimes putting a silver lining around something, or painting it as a rosier picture than it is, can trivialize or disregard the real damage being done. All I'm asking is for us to remember that what we all share in common is our humanity. That doesn't mean you have to forgive someone right now for the pain they have caused you. It doesn't mean you can't respectfully disagree or even critique them for their actions - and sometimes this is even the most loving response. Love sometimes looks like accountability, like calling someone out when they are not living up to our shared responsibility to care for one another, to love one another. Sometimes staying quiet in the face of hate, injustice, or unhealthy behavior is the unloving option, because it allows hatred to continue unopposed.

But calling someone out is not the same as tearing them down. Holding them accountable is not making blanket statements about their character. Constructive critique, loving critique, is taking into account someone's humanity, seeking to understand who they are and their motivation, pointing out their problematic actions, and then directing toward a better, healthier, more productive, more loving way. It is acknowledging that we have seen each other, heard each other, that we are striving to understand each other, and then finding a better way forward.

Of course this only works if both parties agree to strive toward this ideal, if everyone is able to take to heart criticism offered in love. I know we aren't there yet. But it is at least something I can practice in my personal life. Can you? Can we all strive to seek a person's humanity, before we try to demonize them, in all aspects of life?

"Teach us to pray" at national conventions

In this upcoming Sunday's Revised Common Lectionary Gospel text, the disciples ask Jesus to "teach us to pray." Jesus' response is to teach them the Lord's Prayer - well, Luke's version of the Lord's Prayer:

Father, hallowed be your name.
  Your kingdom come.
  3Give us each day our daily bread.
  4And forgive us our sins,
   for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.
  And do not bring us to the time of trial.

It is slightly shorter that Matthew's version, which Jesus offers as a part of the Sermon on the Mount, but they are pretty darn close. The basic pieces are the same: Jesus' model for prayer includes reverence for God's name, a request for God's presence among us, a petition for sustenance, a plea for reconciliation between neighbors, and intercession for safety.

Yes, he really covers it all, that Jesus. He knew what was up. As my husband has flatly said, "It's a really good prayer."

So imagine how appalled I was to hear the prayer offered by pastor Mark Burns from South Carolina to open the Republican National Convention yesterday. See the video above, or read it here:

I read somewhere that this is not so much a prayer as a rally cry. A rally cry, sure, I can agree with that. (It doesn't make me like it any more.) But as a Christian and as an American, I am appalled by this being called a prayer, and would be equally appalled were it uttered at the DNC next week.

Let's put aside the fact that I am less than convinced about Mr. Trump's devotion to the name of Jesus. If that devotion were true, he wouldn't be saying what he is saying about his fellow humans, he wouldn't deny the need for asking God for forgiveness, he would display some level of humility, and care for the poor, and he wouldn't refer to the sacrament as "my little wine... and my little cracker."

But the purpose of this post isn't to comment on Mr. Trump's devotion or lack thereof. Who am I to judge someone else's faith? He may very well, as James Dobson suggested, just be a "baby Christian" who does not yet have the language he needs to express his faith.

I will also limit my comments on the appropriateness of this prayer to open a major political event in a country that was founded on the principle of religious freedom. There are certainly ways to pray that are more inclusive of our varied beliefs, allowing people to understand the words in a way that resonates with their understanding of who God is. By finishing the prayer with, "In Jesus' name, if you believe it, shout 'amen!'" he implicitly disallows the diversity of religious experience from participating in that prayer. At the very least, such a prayer could have been inclusive of the Abrahamic faiths (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam) by using the language we share in common: God as holy, God as love, God as peace, God as our refuge, etc. Instead, only Christians could participate in that prayer - and at that, only Christians who agreed with the agenda the prayer promoted.

But what I'm most concerned about is that someone who calls himself a servant of God, a pastor of Christ's Church, a Christian, is offering the above in the name of Jesus and calling it a prayer. I can get on board with his thanksgiving for Mr. Trump's life, and for protection for him. I'm not a fan of Mr. Trump, but I would never wish something evil upon him, and I would pray for the safety of all of God's children. Jesus also does this: "And do not bring us to the time of trail." We pray each Sunday in my congregation for our president, and will continue to do so no matter who is next elected, because the Bible urges us to pray for those in authority, for world leaders, and yes, even for our enemies. These people have hard, powerful jobs that affect the well-being of a lot of people, and they need our prayers. So yes, I can get on board with praying for Mr. Trump's life and his safety.

There are a few parts beyond that that just make my skin crawl a little bit, because of the ideology behind them. I would have phrased them more sensitively and graciously, but, whatever. To each his or her own.

What appalls me the most, though, is the extremely divisive nature of this "prayer" (even as it ironically talks about unity). As an American, a citizen of the "United" States, I'm offended to hear anyone call a fellow American the enemy just because of the D (or R) beside her or his name. Unity does not come from labeling others, much less from demonizing them.

Let's pretend for a moment that Hillary Clinton and the "liberal democrats" are, indeed, the enemy. Did Jesus say anything about that? Let's look first to the model for prayer he gave to his disciples: "Forgive us our sins for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us." How might this petition have looked in this context? Perhaps an acknowledgment of our difference, a recognition that our country is indeed divided right now, but only God knows the way forward. Perhaps a plea that we could find common ground with those with whom we differ. Perhaps a request for understanding of one another. Any of these might lead to the reconciliation Jesus' prayer suggests.

But of course Jesus' most famous comment on how we are to treat our enemies comes from Jesus' Sermon on the Mount: "But I say, love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you." Now, I can see how such a prayer might not go over so well at the opening of the RNC. But how about not mentioning "enemies" at all, at least if it is in reference to fellow Americans. If we have to talk about enemies, how about hatred as an enemy? Or fear? Or violence? Maybe instead of promoting the personal agenda of the pray-er, his prayer could have sought unity by lifting up what we - all Americans - have in common, because last I checked, Donald Trump is running for president of the United States of America, not of the Republican Party. (Even if it were the latter, however, the prayer would have been appalling and un-Christian... just saying.)

Here, Pastor Mark Burns, let me offer this as a suggestion for a prayer that follows the model of the man in whose name you claim to pray:

Holy God of power and might, we give you thanks for your presence among us here today. We are thankful for the many ways you lead and guide us, and we ask especially that you make your guidance and presence known among us this week, as we gather to nominate Donald Trump for president of our country. Make this week and the months that follow a time for us to find unity among this party, and even to find unity with all our fellow Americans, so that we can truly become the United States of America, united behind causes that reflect your goodness and love, causes that will make our country great again. 

Keep us safe, loving God, from all that would threaten our safety - both this week and beyond. Protect Donald Trump as he embarks on this difficult but worthwhile calling to serve as our leader. Keep him safe, grant him peace and discernment, so that he might lead with your wisdom and your will as his guide. And in all things, Thy will be done.

And all God's people said, AMEN!

Sermon: When you're worried and distracted by many things (July 17, 2016)

Pentecost 9C

July 17, 2016

Luke 10:38-42

            I had the pleasure this week of spending six days at Lake Chautauqua Lutheran Center with 83 youth from western NY. Has anyone ever been there? It’s a beautiful and peaceful place, with the gorgeous lake as the daily backdrop. Of course “camp” for pastors is quite a bit different than camp for campers. The campers are scheduled from morning to night, with days full of learning, eating, activities, games, campfire – typical camp stuff. The pastors, or “the faculty,” as we’re called, are only responsible for leading the learning time in the morning, and planning and leading worship in the evening. The rest of the time, in theory, is free for us to use however we need or want. Many of us use this time to catch up on emails, write sermons, and catch up with each other about what is happening in our churches and our lives. I thought I would have lots of time – to catch up on reading, get some work done, and maybe even relax a bit. I optimistically brought a stack of books with me.

View of Lake Chautauqua from center of camp

            I was wrong. Despite having a fairly open schedule, I managed to keep very busy, with very little time to myself. How does that always happen? Do you notice that? That even when you have nothing to do, you end up having no time? I hear this a lot from recently retired people, when they say, “I don’t know how I ever had time to work!”

            Well, if you are anything like me in that way, then this story about Mary and Martha always bugs you a little bit. I suspect a lot of us relate more to Martha than to Mary – we bustle about, getting things done, taking care of all the chores and whatnot, keeping everyone’s schedules straight, and struggle to find time just to sit and listen to Jesus.

            Maybe this is even worse in an age of multi-tasking. Maybe this is a millennial thing, but I rarely find myself doing one thing at a time. I’m taking a walk and listening to a podcast, I’m watching TV or checking my email while I eat, I’m talking on the phone while I put away dishes, I start off pulling together the laundry, then notice some toys sitting out and put them away, then realize the living room really ought to be dusted, then oh, it’s lunchtime and I have to make some food… it’s a never-ending stream of busy-ness. Anyone else have this experience?

            But what really bugs me about this story is that, you know, those things really need to get done. How can Jesus tell Martha that Mary has chosen the better part? The family needs to get fed,

Martha and Mary, by He Qi

the chores need to get done, and, by the way, Martha was serving a very honored guest. Aren’t we supposed to extend hospitality, and serve Jesus? How can he rebuke that?

            Well, as is so often the case, this story is not a black and white “either/or” sort of thing. It’s more of a “both/and” sort of thing. Those things do need to get done, just as there is so much ministry that needs to be done in the world: so much hospitality to extend, and love to give, and service to offer. But a lot of times, we work on all of this before we have talked – and more importantly, listened – to God about it. We trust ourselves and our own good sense, doing and saying what we think is necessary in our work, our families, our churches, and the world.

            One of the conversations I had with colleagues this week during one of our down times was about the tragic events of the last two weeks, as well as the upcoming conventions and election and what they will bring. The question that kept arising out of our concerns was, “What can we do about this?!” It is the question on all of our hearts, and I can tell you, it is a question very heavy on the hearts of clergy these days. In my reading this week, I read another pastor’s story about this. After the shootings in Dallas, she emailed her colleagues and asked if they’d like to get together and talk about it. They did. The last person to arrive at the meeting was their colleague from the local Islamic Center. He hadn’t yet heard about the events in Dallas. As they recounted what happened, he listened carefully, then said, “Let’s go.” Where? they asked. He said, “Let’s go to the police station and listen to their stories. Let’s bring cookies and flowers.”

            What a Mary response from this faithful Muslim man! Let’s go and listen to the people who are really hurting right now. Let’s just go and show them that we care for them. What a way to seize that moment as an opportunity to choose the better part like Mary, instead of jumping immediately into Martha mode.

            Of course, it doesn’t take a tragedy to seize moments like that, moments God has given us not to do first, but to listen first. There are so many more in each day than we realize. This is something else I noticed at camp this week. The camp is “unplugged,” no devices, so whenever we were with campers, we used our phones only for taking pictures. That meant that when I had half an hour free between responsibilities, I couldn’t waste it away by browsing Facebook. Instead, I would read my Bible, or take a short walk, or just sit on the deck facing the lake and soak up the warm sun and the beautiful lake breeze.

            I notice it also when I’m with my 10-month-old. Grace would rather feed herself these days than be spoon-fed, so I usually put some food on her highchair tray and let her go at it. I can’t leave her alone – she might choke, or more likely, feed most of her breakfast to the dog. For the same reason, I can’t do anything else while she eats, like check my email. So you know what I do? I just sit there and watch her. At first, as a multi-tasker, I felt anxious about this, like I was wasting precious time. But then I realized: This isn’t a waste, it’s a gift. I have this gift every morning, where I just get to sit quietly, with my daughter, and enjoy her for 15 minutes.

            We have moments like this, gifts like this, every single day, but what I notice is that whenever I get one, I flit it away by doing something meaningless, or by filling up the time with other stuff, or just feel agitated about it. Jesus says to Martha, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things.” He might as well as be saying, “Johanna, Johanna, you are worried and distracted by

Martha and Mary, by an African artist

many things.” Whenever I am worried about something, that is when I seek distraction, something to take my mind off of what’s on my heart, something to will keep me from having to face my troubles. Maybe that is why, when I find myself waiting at a red light, I feel anxious, or when I am in line at Wegmans, I feel antsy to get moving, or when I’m waiting at the doctor’s office I feel annoyed that my time is being wasted. Maybe all those negative responses are actually my tumultuous, worried heart, not liking the possibility of having the time to face my worries, desperate for a distraction so I can avoid having to deal with what is heavy on my heart.

            Are you guilty of that, too? I think Jesus nails it when he says, “You are worried and distracted by many things,” because the two so often go hand-in-hand. We distract ourselves because if we don’t, we worry. When we are especially worried, we seek out distractions.

            But Jesus also says, “Mary has chosen the better part.” Mary, who puts aside distractions and simply sits to listen to Jesus. Mary, who may very well have her own worries on her heart, but instead of shoving them aside, brings them to the feet of Jesus. Mary, who understands that even and especially when our hearts are worried and distracted, listening to God must be the first step.

            “You are worried and distracted by many things. Mary has chosen the better part.” They are hard words for our troubled hearts to hear, but they are also life-giving ones, liberating ones – that Jesus would invite me to do this, despite my complaints that I don’t have the time. The thing is, we do have the time. God gives us moments each day when we could check in – they happen at red lights, when you’re early to a meeting, when you’re in line at Wegmans. We often flit them away by seeking distractions. What if instead of reaching for our ever-demanding smartphones, we pray? Instead of trying to fit in one more chore, we stand still and take a deep breath? Instead of making a mental to-do list, we make a list of things for which we are grateful?

            “Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” May we see each of these moments God gives us throughout our day as invitations – invitations into a deeper relationship with God – and as opportunities to experience and live more deeply into the new life that God offers us through Christ.

Let us pray. Gracious and loving God, we are worried and distracted by many things. Help us to choose the better part, not by shoving our worries away and hiding them with distractions, but by bringing them to the feet of Jesus, and listening to his Word of life. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Who Is My Neighbor? A response to violence

Pentecost 8C

July 10, 2016

Luke 10:25-37, Colossians 1:1-14

The priest saw the man there, bruised and bloodied, and his heart ached. He saw so many victims like this, on this dangerous road from Jerusalem to Jericho. Just this morning, he had seen two already, each more harshly beaten than the last. This time, at least, he hesitated slightly before sighing and crossing to the other side of the road. The reality was that it was likely too late for this man. And if he was already dead, as he seemed to be, the priest couldn’t really risk touching him, for in doing so he would then have to neglect his other priestly duties because he would be unclean. With a heavy heart, he decided that for the greater good, it would be best if he just kept along his way, and prayed that he not be next.

Then the Levite came along. He, too, had seen the two previous men, plus another in the meantime. For each of them, he had, as he walked carefully by, prayed silently for the beaten men and for their families. Prayers were powerful, he knew, though for as much as he told himself this, he also knew that they weren’t really enough. The reality was that this road was a dangerous one, and as long as the road remained the same, people would continue to be beaten and left for dead. But there wasn’t much he could do about it, right? Sure, he had some power, as a Levite, but only some. Prayers, he could offer, and he did. So like for the other men, he offered prayers for this man, as he kept his distance… though if he was being honest, even his prayers were getting slightly less emphatic, less heartfelt. The thing was, he had offered the same prayer so many times before, and nothing seemed to change. He was tired, and growing increasingly hopeless. As he looked sadly at the man on the other side of the road, he sighed heavily, shaking his head. He wiped a tear from his eye for the injustice of it all, and kept on walking toward Jericho.

Often with Jesus’ parables, especially famous ones like this, we find an entry point by seeking to identify with one of the characters, getting into their heads and trying to understand them. This week, in the wake of two instances of police shooting seemingly innocent black men, followed by a sniper gunning down several police officers as they protected folks at a peace march in Dallas, I have identified in a new way with these two men who crossed to the other side of the road when they saw a man who had been beaten. These two usually get a bad wrap, don’t they? These are the guys who are not neighbors to the man in need. They are the guys about whom we think, “Where’s the compassion?” then self-righteously imagine that of course we would have stopped to help, like the Samaritan. They have always been the disappointing ones in Jesus’ famous story.

But as I have read the news this week of yet another act of police violence seemingly indicative of racial bias, and the misguided violent response of a man killing in the name of the Black Lives Matter movement… I totally get where the priest and the Levite are coming from. We know a bit about the road from Jerusalem to Jericho, that it was a dangerous one where beatings like this happened all the time. It is indeed entirely likely that the priest and the Levite had seen several such victims on their journey already. Being godly men, they probably felt the pain of each victim deeply. I have felt things deeply, too. My heart has broken so many times in the past few years, each time I hear of innocent people being killed by people filled with hatred or fear or misunderstanding or darkness, each time I learn of an injustice that I thought this country had moved past, each time I watch the people who are supposed to make laws to protect us instead sit back on their heels and not act. Like I’m sure many of you, I have developed a case of compassion fatigue. Violence is becoming normal; I’m numb to the pain, even as I desperately fear that this could happen in my child’s school, my church, my movie theater, my neighborhood. Recognizing that because my family and I are white and thus likely safe from at least racially driven violence brings only fleeting relief, as the next beat of my heart reminds me that any time a child of God is harmed, no matter their color or background or age or gender or sexuality, we are all harmed, because we are all in this together.

This week I saw and reposted on Facebook a beautiful quote from Mother Theresa: “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to one another.” If that is true – and I believe it is – then what needs to happen next? Did the priest and the Levite see that beaten man as someone who belonged to them, indeed as someone to whom they belonged? Do I belong to Alton Sterling? Does Philando Castile belong to me? How about the police officers who shot them? Do we belong to those five slain police officers in Dallas? Does Micah Johnson, the Dallas shooter, belong to us, and we to him?

Or to use Jesus’ words, are all of these our neighbors? If the answer is yes (spoiler alert: the answer is yes), then how are we to respond? With sadness and disappointment, I recognized in myself this week that I would like simply to cross to the other side, to ignore it and hope someone else deals with it, someone who knows better, or has more time for it. Like the priest and the Levite, I am tired. I’m tired of the pain, I’m tired of praying about it and feeling like nothing is changing, I’m tried of trying to talk carefully about it so as not to offend anyone whose views and opinions about it differ from mine. I’m tired, and I’m angry, and I’m sad, and I’m increasingly hopeless, but mostly I’m tired – so tired that I would like to follow my clergy friends in Jesus’ story and cross to the other side.

But that of course is not the message of Jesus’ story. Jesus is not telling the story to comfort those who feel compassion fatigue. Jesus is calling us out, helping us to see and name our neighbors, showing us what being a neighbor looks like. He does this in the most shocking way possible – by lifting up as the very example of a neighbor another man… who is the wrong race, the wrong religion, the definition of “despised other,” and showing how even (especially!) this Samaritan is capable of being a neighbor. He shows us that caring for one other crosses the border. He shows us that even if we have every good reason not to be a neighbor to this particular person – because she is black, or because he is a cop, or because she has a criminal record, or because he is a racist, or because she just doesn’t look right – that when it comes down to it, we are all sons and daughters created in the image of God. We are sisters and brothers who belong to one another. We are neighbors.

I am tired, and I know you are, too. But ours is a God who sees this broken world as redeemable, and who would do anything, including sending His own Son, to show us that. Ours is also a God who calls us to be in but not of that broken world: speaking out in the name of the God of life who loves all people of all colors and types, lifted up by the One who showed us that life, not death, would have the final world, and sustained and empowered by the Spirit of truth.

We are neighbors. Are able to be neighbors because God enables us to be so. And so, my brothers and sisters, my neighbors, do not cease praying. Ask that “you would be filled with the knowledge of God’s will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, so that you may lead lives worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him, as you bear fruit in every good work and as you grow in the knowledge of God.” As you seek out ways to be a neighbor even to people to whom you don’t yet know how to be a neighbor, “May you be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power, and may you be prepared to endure everything with patience, while joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has enabled you to share in the inheritance of the saints of light. He has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.” (Colossians 1:9-14)

With God’s power, then, let us go out in good courage to be neighbors to the world. Let us figure out how to be a neighbor – how to build relationships, how to truly call one another brother and sister, how to see and understand the perspectives and insights of those who differ from us. Let us acknowledge that this work is tiring, but when we work together, it is possible. Let us lift one another up, listen to each other, see each other, know each other. Let us ask, “Who is my neighbor?” and then go and be it.

In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Christian and American: what unites us?

I have set the Lord always before me;

  because God is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken.

My heart, therefore, is glad, and my spirit rejoices;

  my body also shall rest in hope.

For you will not abandon me to the grave,

  nor let your holy one see the pit.

You will show me the path of life;

  in your presence there is fullness of joy, and in your right hand are pleasures forevermore. (Psalm 16:8-11)

At a recent council meeting, the conversation came up about whether or not we should say the Pledge of Allegiance at worship on 4th of July weekend, which moved to a conversation about whether or not the flag should be in the sanctuary. I have very strong opinions about both of these, and voiced them: we come to worship to pledge allegiance to Christ, not the flag, and we look not to the flag for unification, but to the cross, the font, and the bread and wine. Others on the council, however, felt strongly the other way. Nothing was resolved at that council meeting. (I was on vacation 4^th of July weekend, and when it came up that morning, my supply pastor for the day wisely suggested we work to resolve the issue as a community before acting one way or the other.)

I suspect and indeed hope that the conversation continues, because I believe it is an important one. I know I, at least, have continued to think about it, especially in the midst of the current climate of our country.

Let me begin by saying that I am both very grateful to be an American, as well as very serious about my citizenship. I keep informed about what is happening politically, and vote whenever I get the chance. I gladly pay my taxes, and consider it a privilege and not a burden to be able to contribute to the programs that help this country function – keeping roads in shape, and educating children, and caring for those who need a little extra help now and then, and providing libraries where people can learn and grow, and so, so much more. What an honor to be a part of something so big and amazing! I have lobbied on Capitol Hill for the well-being of poor and hungry people in this country and abroad, and have spoken to several groups about the value of advocacy, especially faith-based advocacy (in fact, I wrote my masters thesis on the topic). I go to patriotic parades, and wear red, white and blue on national holidays, and sing America songs with gusto when the situation arises, and plan to teach this wonderful repertoire of songs to my children. I am proud of my country, and many of the principles on which it was founded, and the forward-thinking way it has moved through the last two centuries. I’m glad I live here.

But all that does not mean I want an American flag in my worship space, and it certainly doesn’t mean I want to praise that flag in any formal way when I come to worship my God. America is great, but God is greater. I am a Christian, and I am an American, and my faith informs my political views – like Jesus, I aim to have utmost concern for the poor and vulnerable, and treat people with love and kindness, and strive for life, and I favor laws that support this effort. But when I come to worship, I come to worship God and God’s ideals, not America and American ideals.

Furthermore, when I come to worship God, I come to be a part of something whole, something that brings life, something that reminds me that in the midst of the brokenness of life, there is still something good. Right now, the state of America does not do that for me. America right now is a place where one of our presumptive nominees for president blames and demonizes immigrants and followers of an entire religion, insults women and anyone else who questions him, and, in the wake of the worst mass shooting in the history of America, takes the opportunity for self-congratulations. America right now is a place where someone on the FBI watch list can legally purchase a weapon designed for mass killing, then walk into a night club and open fire, killing 49 people just out having a good time, and yet still, still, no common sense gun laws can get through Congress, despite 90% of Americans supporting it. (What happened to “of the people, by the people, and for the people”?) America right now is a place where an upstanding, well-liked and respected black man who followed all the rules can be shot in his car in front of his girlfriend and her 4-year-old daughter for a broken tail light and reaching for his wallet when asked, and where the day after, police officers who are providing protection during a rally for peace, for peace, can by gunned down by a sniper, and with not one word about any of it from the too-powerful gun lobby, we have to assume they still believe, “We need more good guys with guns.” Guess what – we had good guys with guns there, but they got shot. 

And this is just recent news, not to speak of a Congress who can’t accomplish anything due to a refusal to compromise, and health care and a pharmaceutical lobby that seem more interested in “treating” sick people (and putting them in debt) than keeping people healthy in the first place, and an education system that is designed not by teachers but by people with no training in education, and devastating debt for college graduates, and a host of a other systemic issues – racism, sexism, and mass incarceration, to name a few.

I know no country is perfect, and with such a diversity (a diversity that I consider a gift!), it is near impossible even to agree on what the problems are, let alone how to move forward on those issues. But when I look around and see these American realities, and then see an American flag in the worship space, I see it not as something powerfully unifying, but rather as something that reminds me of our deep divisions.

Let me take this moment to say: I don’t dismiss the power this symbol has for others, especially those who have risked their lives for the sake of this country. I am grateful for these brave people, and they deserve our respect. I don’t dismiss that the flag, for many, has played a role in their life of faith. As I said, my faith informs my own politics, and I believe that, with due respect to "separate of church and state," faith and citizenship are indeed not mutually exclusive.

However, the flag is not a positive symbol for everyone. For the immigrants who might sit in our pews, it is a reminder of feeling far from home, or perhaps of feeling like outsiders in a strange land. (Psalm 137) For those who fought in wars and still carry the physical and emotional scars and burdens, perhaps it is a reminder of pain and what has been lost. For people like me, who are disappointed in the current realities of this country, it is a reminder of our brokenness and our division, of all the things I see in the news that make me sick to my stomach, that make me want to weep and yell and throw things and then weep some more for all the ways that we fall short of Christ’s great commandment, “to love one another as I have loved you.” (John 13:34)

I do think remembering the brokenness of the world isn’t such a bad thing to do in worship – however, the tradition and symbols and liturgy of Christian worship already have powerful ways to accomplish this, even as those same symbols draw us toward unity. We begin worship with confession, taking time to recognize the ways we all fall short of God’s hope for us, then hear those healing words of forgiveness. We join in song together, unifying our voices into one. We bring our children to the font, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, just like many generations before have done, initiating and welcoming them into the Christian community, even as they receive the promise of forgiveness of sins and life everlasting from the God who loves all people from all nations. As we prepare for this act, we also remember all the ways God has used water in the past to cleanse and free God’s people. We hear in the Word the ways God has spoken to this broken humanity over the generations and offered them life, and then hear how God still speaks that word to us today. We pray together for the needs of the world – the whole world. We gather around a table together, first breaking bread and remembering how Christ’s own body was broken for us, then giving thanks that because of that broken body, we all become a part of that body, become one Body of Christ, in which “there is no Jew or Greek, no slave or free, no male and female” (Gal. 3:28) - no American or foreigner.

All of these are powerful symbols that attest not only to our unity in, with, and under God, but which also acknowledge God’s continuous action to bring us from death to life, from brokenness to wholeness, from disunity to oneness. I love this country and our flag, but America and her flag do not have this same power. The flag has a very different sort of power, an important sort of power, but one that does not belong in our worship. When we gather for worship of God, of Christ, we gather around the symbols and actions that God has provided through God’s Son: the bread and wine, the water, the Word, and even the assembly of God itself. Thanks be to God for this unwavering, unfaltering unity.