On Power: My Conversion From Religious Conservatism

The Western consciousness is deeply shaped by its perception of power structures. Even in democracies we are addicted to authority structures that give stability and predictability to life. It is intrinsic to all civilization.

Undergirding these structures are always religions of some sort. Even with the arrival of a god-less creation story, the religion of no religion is still a religion. Darwin's theory has served as a myth of origins to give moral commission for the advance of humanity, the pinnacle of evolutionary process. Humans alone possess the power to observe how the world works and this higher knowledge has allowed us to conquer disease, advance our technologies and make moral choices. Indeed, with our elaborate power structures, once seen as a way to mediate God's authority to the world, it is not surprising that the structures themselves would begin to replace God. After so long, with so little change, these fixtures seemed permanent, functioning to keep the wheels of politics, society, industry and innovation turning like clockwork.

The old traditions still have their proponents, of course. I once read a book that delineated the structures of Christian society into such neat hierarchies of church, family and state, that it was hailed by the publisher as a definitive work on the subject. I was quite taken with it at the time; it seemed to hold so much promise for the enlightenment of a world sitting in confused darkness. And then I met someone, or rather fell in love. He was actually the one who loaned the book to me, and then we started dating. But it was during one of our romantic, late night theological discussions that he dropped the proverbial anvil. "I really don't think there is a place for a Christian state. Every argument I've ever heard was just repeating Romans 13." In other words, he had begun to suspect that there really wasn't that much to go on. It was Romans 13 plus a whole lot of elaborate schematization that was needed to support the pillarized theory of Christian society.

My mind began scrolling through the paradigm. Israel had both a kingly and priestly function, divided that way through Moses and Aaron. That served, for covenant theologians at least, as a foundation for the state and church, right? But then the image of Christ enthroned in heaven, both as king and high priest, flashed through my brain. Weren't the two functions merged into one in the person of Christ? And didn't he begin a new kind of society from out of Israel itself? And didn't he make everyone who was part of that society both king and priest? I felt a large crack, almost audible, appear in my stable worldview. Light was filtering through, and God was wriggling out of my firm grasp like a muscled, slippery, wet fish.

That was just the beginning. It was not long before I began to pose the question, "What would the Bible and history look like if it were not read from the top looking down, with all of its structured hierarchies, but from the bottom looking up?" My worldview began to take on an entirely new shape. From N.T. Wright's "The New Testament and the People of God", I learned to read Jesus from the perspective of the Jew who had never quite recovered from the state of exile. From John Howard Yoder's "The Politics of Jesus", I began to see that taking up the cross didn't just mean bearing our own difficult burdens in life, it meant being on the wrong end, politically, of an imperial justice system. And through wide reading from many perspectives and disciplines, a clearer picture began to emerge as to just how imperial and oppressive my own history, as a US American Christian, actually was. I began to see colonization and industrialization from the perspective of the Native Americans, Australian Aborigines and African tribes, from the bottom looking up. I read of malappropriated lands, polluted rivers and razed forests, which once provided food, water and fuel for their previous inhabitants. Now they must work long hours in factories and corporate industry farms, every day, to make toys and games and chocolate for us to enjoy, while barely scraping enough to eat from their meager pay. I read how the World Bank uses loan sharks to persuade a country's rulers to go into debt. The loan goes to multinational corporations to set up their infrastructures which benefit a few rich, while the debt goes to the people who cannot repay it and must then become the labor force for the rest. And if the president refuses the loan, they are soon after killed in a tragic accident. But the next one usually takes it. And I read how missionaries were used as spies to destabilize tribal resistance to such predators. And how indigenous children were stolen from their families and forced to attend Christian boarding schools well into the 1960's in order to enculturate them to the white, Christian ways. I read how the missionaries always followed the armies and forts into the Western territories of Dakota and other Native peoples. And how Romans 13 was quoted by Lutherans in Germany when Hitler came to power. I read how SWAT teams invade homes in the ghetto and you can get shot if you even move, or if you are a little girl sleeping on the couch, even when they get the wrong address for a drug raid. And how these events happen every day, but go unreported. And how armies invade other countries to bring them freedom by deposing a tyrant, but somehow only depose tyrants in oil rich countries and ignore the rest, and somehow feel the need to stabilize oil rigs before stabilizing villages, and somehow end up staying and building permanent bases, and somehow the multinational corporations get the aid money to set up their infrastructures.

And I could go on. Needless to say, I found things a bit different from the glossed over account of history in the Christian curricula from my homeschooled days. An account gushing with God's favor upon those who emerged victorious. Yet nothing was ever said about those who lost their ancient homelands. The account was from the top looking down.

And here is the place to quote Walter Brueggemann. Looking to the Biblical narrative and Moses' prophetic stance against Egypt he writes, "We will not understand the meaning of prophetic imagination unless we see the connection between the religion of static triumphalism and the politics of oppression and exploitation...The gods of Egypt are the immovable lords of order. They call for, sanction, and legitimate a society of order, which was precisely what Egypt had. In Egypt,...there were no revolutions, no breaks for freedom. There were only the necessary political and economic arrangements to provide order, "naturally," the order of Pharaoh. Thus the religion of the static gods is not and never could be disinterested, but inevitably served the interests of the people in charge, presiding over the order and benefiting from the order. And the functioning of that society testified to the rightness of the religion because kings did prosper and bricks did get made." (Brueggemann, The Prophetic Imagination) Thus it was the function of the Egyptian religion to determine a static system of roles in order to keep everyone in their place.

Oh, how I detest the religion of fixed roles. I was told that because I was a woman I could never teach in church and that my place was in the home under my husband's "headship." And there were plenty of Bible verses to back it up. Yet somehow I could not reconcile that which I was not allowed to question with the vision of full participation that I saw elsewhere in Scripture, indeed, almost everywhere else. When I read of Abraham, I was Abraham. I was there somehow when that terrible sleep encompassed him and the torch passed between the divided animal carcasses. And the Holy One spoke in symbols, “So be it to me if I do not keep my promise to you.” And I was Jacob, wrestling with God and not letting him go. Gripping flesh and not heeding pain until I limped away with the blessing of my deepest desires, which I had not known before I began wrestling. But I was not supposed to go there. I was breaking the rules. I was meant for other things. Like sitting on the sidelines as a spectator, waiting for Prince Charming to rescue me after I watched and applauded his valiant fight with the dragon. Ah, the Imperial Ego. It dragged me through Sunday mornings, choking on the array of chemical scents that formed a halo around the Moral Ones, and cowering under paste smeared faces, stuffed into shiny, hard shoes that squeezed my toes and clothes that prevented the freedom of my body by forcing me to be on constant guard that my underwear was not showing. I was a fish out of water, but made to feel that if I did not conform I was rebelling against God.

I no longer believe in that God. I do not worship the white Christ of dominion, fixed hierarchy, colonization, oppression and repression. God is the God of freedom. He doesn't function according to our neat, imperial categories. God's power is dynamic, always moving and always bringing those on the bottom, the prisoners, the exiled, those bowed down physically and those held down under imperial oppression, up to his side. The Apostle Paul knew this. His letters often were in response to questions about how the church should behave in a hostile, patriarchal society. Perhaps he felt a little like Samuel did when the Israelites demanded a king like the nations around them. His response was to get the power dynamic rolling, not to set up a static system of inequality. Slaves, wives, children, you are all on the bottom in this imperial society, so I am asking you to submit, that Christ might bring you upward . And those on top, the patriarchs, go down, kneel, and be like the Christ who lifts up those who are down. Because Christ went down from his place of power and lifted up those who were bowed down and seated them beside himself. As God raised Christ from the dead and seated him beside himself. So God is in Christ and Christ is in God and we are in Christ and Christ is in us, for in God we all live and move and have our being. It is not a static, fixed order, but a fluid, dynamic one, like the creation, the dance of the stars and seasons, the bonding and unbonding of atomic particles. All is perfect order, yet none of it of a static nature. It is a dynamic interplay of roles, like the blood that courses through the body that is joined to a head so the two might become one flesh. It is a profound mystery. And where the apostle leaves off talking about human relationships and goes into doxological stammerings of wonderment at the relationship of Christ and the Church is often hard to determine. He is so enamored with Jesus that all discussions trail off into open-ended mystery, of ways of being yet to be dreamed of. Exist peacefully with the Imperial order, each in their place, because a change is just around the corner.

Yet Paul is also a product of his times. His views cannot help but be shaped by the culture, language and history of which he is a part. Yes, God's Spirit breathes and penetrates through those, but never to the point of creating a static, ahistorical, universal system of truth. Truth is always relational. God allowed different viewpoints and perspectives by various authors of the Scriptures, yet taken together they form a unified narrative. The author of Judges seems to promote the idea that a king was what Israel needed. Samuel did not. And the prophetic tradition was usually against the king. And perhaps some things are left on purpose as unresolved plot tensions, awaiting the readers' response as they contemplate the larger narrative. Creation, Fall, the calling of Abraham, the creation of Israel from slavery in Egypt, their fall into idolatry and subsequent exile, the coming of Jesus to bring about a new exodus and a new creation humanity, to the formation of the Church, called out from every tribe and nation to be God's ministers of reconciliation in the world and to be raised at the last day when the whole creation is released from its bondage to death. Our task is to read the Scriptures faithfully and to take them as they are, in all their diversity and mystery and unresolved plot conflict. To realize the unified narrative and yet not repeat it verbatim as if it were a script or rulebook. We respond not with systematic theologies, fixed orders and imperialistically static roles, but with faithful improvisation, as actors in an unfinished play. And we read it from the bottom looking up.

The story of Israel has been a history lived from the bottom looking up. They were slaves in Egypt, wanderers of the wilderness. When they possessed land, they turned to other gods. Gods that were predictable. Gods that could guarantee that the storehouses would be full if their practical systems of production, labor and economy were implemented. Who wanted the unpredictable God of the wilderness, who only gave enough manna for one day? “We want a king like the other nations!” they begged. And so they were forced to build Solomon's empire and send their sons to die in his wars and send the fruit of their hard earned labor to his table. Oh, there was a surplus of food, and they all got a share of it, but they had no time. Day after day, there was nothing new under the sun. Rise, work, go to bed, then rise again the next day until they put you in your final bed with its blanket of sod. The best you can do is be happy with what you’ve got, stay in your place, and keep the wheels of industry turning to fill the tables of kings with sweets and trifles.

The prophets came, disrupting the daily cycles. They predicted droughts when the Baals promised eternal seasons. They were sustained in the wilderness by ravens who brought food each day. They defied gravity, floating ax heads, they turned bitter stews into nourishing food. Armies were sent after them and were struck blind. They humiliated kings. They walked around naked and starving, crying out that Israel was left destitute while everyone feasted around them. They defied every static, imperial claim to order. They were disorderly, dirty, dwelling in caves and wearing camel hair. And saying crazy things like “Every valley shall be exalted and every hill made low before the coming of the Lord.” And when the dynasty ended, when the survivors found themselves enslaved in Babylon, they understood. But it was too late.

When Jesus came, it was not to those favored by the Empire, who helped keep the people in their proper roles through the temple system. It was to those who might not have known where the next meal would come from and who watched Imperial soldiers march outside of their windows on a daily basis. He went to the unclean, the shepherds, prostitutes, demon possessed, lepers and fishermen, who were not allowed to be touched by moral people. And to them was given the vision of the victor on the white horse, though when he was among them he rode a baby donkey. To those who were surrounded by horses and chariots on every side, announcing the Pax Romana, the peace that Caesar brought when he colonized the nations, bringing law, order, stability, predictability, transportation systems, sewer systems, economic systems. And at last life could be for everyone a long, deathless now. As long as everyone stayed in their place. Diverse religions were tolerated, but were relegated to hopes of the afterlife, something to look forward to if you kept in your proper place. They functioned to support the empire, for after all, the empire looked after you in this life and you should be willing to defend it if you were truly grateful.

And so the god of predictability and satiation was paid homage to daily. And the wheels kept turning. And those crushed under it cried out, but no one heard their cries. Because in the system the cries did not exist. Only lazy people, social misfits and criminals would defy the Order. They were the workers of Chaos, which the Order successfully vanquished. Babylon, the castle of the great Marduk, whose throne the king represented, had conquered the chaos beast, the sea goddess Tiamet, dismembering her carcass and creating the cosmos out of her slain parts. The forces of chaos, the defeated gods and goddesses, were forced to serve Marduk and his allies. Yet the defeated gods were still gods, still royalty, and so to serve them, Tiamet’s consort Kingu was slain, and humanity fashioned from his blood, to be servants of all the gods. (see the description of the Enuma Elish, the Babylonian creation myth, in Truth is Stranger Than It Used to Be by J. Richard Middleton and Brian Walsh)

Thus the Empire of Order has its national allies. And it has its deposed and defeated nations as well, but these it still treats well. Their people can still serve their own kings, if everyone cooperates, and the kings are guests in the emperor’s palace. And the wheel keeps turning, all is well in the land. Now and then challengers come to disrupt the security that people call freedom, but they are quickly crushed by the military might of the empire. Lives are lost, but sacrifices are sometimes needed to maintain the Order. And the Empire memorializes those who are sacrificed, because the Empire is the Empire that cares.

One of these sacrifices, one of the criminals that the Empire had to do away with, because he was disrupting the peace, (and order must be maintained or civilization collapses) became a bit of a problem. They didn’t want to kill him, because they thought he was an innocent man, but they had to, or chaos would have broken loose. That could have been the end of the story. But for some reason, his little band of followers kept claiming that he had come back to life. And they wouldn’t go away. And some had prophetic visions that the Empire was the chaos beast from the sea, and that a greater God, who had just been leading it along, frolicking with it as if it was a toy, had grown tired of its boasting and angry at the innocent blood it devoured, and decided to end its reign. “In one hour such great wealth has been brought to ruin!” (Revelation 18:17)

And the wheel stopped turning for a second. The treaders stopped treading and turned their gray, tired faces upward for a moment. Was that hope? Was there an echo of something, somewhere? A different sort of freedom than that of order and security. A completely new creation, a new way of being. Full participation and inheritance for all. The supervisor gave a stern glance and the wheel started up again. But when the whistle blew, the workers started home under the smog choked stars and over the ash covered streets, and their step was just a little lighter, and a few of them cast knowing glances toward each other. And from somewhere beyond, where there were gardens and forests with deer and singing birds and the scent of real pine that the janitor would not have recognized, came a breeze. And on the breeze, a whisper. Just barely audible. “Alleluia. He lives.”

What is Sin?

The Westminster Shorter Catechism defines sin as "...any want of conformity to, or transgression of, the Law of God."

This definition provides a window into the larger framework of Presbyterian systematic theology and the still larger framework of Western thought in general. Concepts of sin, justice, law, authority are seen in terms of the abstract and absolute. What "sin" is (or justice, or law, or authority) exists as an ideological entity, defined as an eternal, unchangeable thing, which is defined by the eternal, unchangeable nature of God.

This method of breaking reality into abstracts hearkens back to Platonic and Aristotelian thought processes, which have dominated all Western thought, theology, politics and society. As the first century drew to a close, the Christian Church began to move away from its Jewish roots and ancient Near Eastern conceptual framework and embrace more and more of a Hellenistic worldview. By worldview, I do not mean a system of ethics and faith practices that is sometimes implied by the word, but I mean the basic questions that one asks in order to define reality. The very fact that soon after the first century, the Christian Church became embroiled in heated controversies over abstractions such as the nature of God, of Christ, and of humans is evidence that different questions were being asked and a different conceptual framework for reality was being used that was foreign to both the ancient Biblical authors and the Church of the New Testament era.

This is, of course, an oversimplification, but a general description nonetheless. It is how the West has come to be dominated by authority structures based upon a chain-of-command, or representational, form of government, and how Christian theology has come to be dominated by a reading of Jesus' atonement based upon Hellenistic concepts of justice. (Justice as a cosmic abstract).

I know it is hard for anyone in the West to even think beyond this framework. What is she talking about?!? So to clarify, I would like to offer an alternative based upon a theology of creation in an attempt to recapture a more Near Eastern "feel" to the Biblical narrative. I am not particularly educated in this area, so this is more of an exercise of informed imagination rather than a carefully researched thesis. I do believe that imagination is precisely what is lacking in Western thought.

What is sin?

When God created the heavens and earth, God kept saying that it was very good. I have read that "good" is an understatement. In the Hebrew language, it meant more like "Woweee!" It was an expression of intense satisfaction and delight.

The point is, that this is the first definition of goodness, so in the story so far, the creation is good. The trees, sky, stars, animals and humans are all good. The land is good. Adam and Eve did not have some abstract, cosmic concept that they knew as "good". Rather they had the green grass and the God they walked and talked with upon it.

Then came their disobedience, and their banishment from the garden. There was the first bloodshed, when God gave them animal skins to clothe themselves with. Then there was Abel's offering of the lamb, which pleased God better than Cain's offering of vegetative produce. What followed was Cain's jealousy when he let sin enter his door, and shed his brother's blood. The blood that cried out to God from the ground. The land was desecrated as a result of the desecration of Cain's heart.

We then have the great Flood, in which God repents of the creation of humanity and decides to cleanse the polluted land with a thorough washing. This washing, the Apostle Peter writes, is the type of Christian Baptism.

In the subsequent story of Israel, as told in the pages of Torah, we have the Law given, not in terms of cosmic morals, but in terms of pollution of the holy, particularly of the land and of the human body. We have, before the Mosaic law, the institution of circumcision, a bloody symbol of cutting off the unholy. There is Zipporah's pronouncement when she laid her sons' foreskins before the Angel of the Lord, saving Moses and her family from death, "Surely you are a bridegroom of blood." The taking of the promised land through genocide of the Canaanites is in terms of cleansing the land from the pollution of idolatry. And throughout all the purity codes there is this theme of being separate and holy, with the bloody sacrifices of animals shed to cleanse the land. Even the death penalty is seen in ceremonial terms. If a homicide was discovered and the perpetrator not apprehended, an animal was killed instead so the land could be cleansed.

Though Western theologians have conveniently described the Mosaic Law as consisting of both a moral and ceremonial code, in the text itself there is no such distinction. Morality is ALWAYS seen in terms of the sacramental. And it is ALWAYS seen in terms of God's particular covenant with them as the God who brought them out of slavery in Egypt. Morality is relational.

This puts a whole new perspective on Jesus' sacrifice on the cross, far different from the classic Lutheran concept of justification based on cosmic abstractions of wrongs made right in a judicial sense. It means an end to the pollution of the land. The world has been cleansed and the demands of purity met. No created thing is now unclean. Gentiles may now share Abraham's inheritance, which is bound up in Christ. Yet, according to the apostle Paul, this does not give license to sin. But sin is not simply a concept of cosmic wrongness, it is defined by that which pollutes. The Christian is cleansed through Baptism into Jesus' death, and partakes of his cleansing death through the sacrament of Eucharist. To pollute their bodies with greed, idolatry or sexual immorality is to pollute the body of Christ himself, as well as to pollute the good person that God made. The Law was given to Israel so that Israel could define, magnify and concentrate that which pollutes, which could then be dealt with by the final sacrifice of the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world. And a blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.

So sin, justice, and law are not abstract concepts, but things very much related to the physical creation and to our physical bodies. We are good, our bodies are good and our planet is good. We require the sacramental cleansing of Jesus' sacrifice and the presence of the Spirit to create clean hearts within us so that we will no longer walk in ways that pollute the good that God made.

If, then, I were to answer the question, "What is sin?" I would say that sin is whatever pollutes that which God made and called good.

Renouncing the Nation-State and Recapturing the Reality of Eucharist

With all the debate that has been going around regarding immigration and the new law in Arizona, it is a good time to examine the building blocks that have created our concept of the modern nation-state. It is a good time to read William Cavanaugh.

In his article, "World in a Wafer", Cavanaugh contrasts the artificial unity of Globalization with the true communion of the Eucharist. While corporate globalization, upheld by a confederation of nation-states, has succeeded in creating a monolithic "McDonalds" culture throughout the world at the expense of ethnic diversity, it is the Eucharist that truly collapses the walls of division among social groups. Yet it also affirms diversity of culture, being celebrated in small localities and lending itself to take a variety of shapes and forms through its various liturgies.

When I see Christians affirming the walls that divide nations, I am intensely saddened. The reality of the Eucharist should consume and destroy all national identities. Yes, we are to submit to the laws of the nation- state that may exist, but that does not mean we should try to perpetuate them or shouldn't try to change them, or rather change the hearts of those who uphold them through reasonable debate and prayer on their behalf.

In our hearts, if the reality of the Eucharist has taken hold, we must also renounce our identities with human nations. By this I do not mean renouncing the diverse ethnic practices and cultural heritage that makes our shared unity in Christ more beautiful. Rather, we must renounce the human boundaries and arbitrary laws that create distinctions between who is "one of us" and who is an "other". In the Eucharist the only "One" is Christ's body, shared by all who are of his body, and the only "other" are those to whom Christ must be preached.

If our identity with the nation-state were dissolved, the nation-state itself would dissolve, because it is only an illusion in people's minds. The power of the powerful is only possible if the masses believe in it. But what would be put in it's place? Perhaps a return to a confederation of local villages would be in order. Things were organized much like this before the Federalists took over the colonies. It is the expansionist ideology, which has taken various shapes and forms throughout our short history, that has created our national enemies. The best course of action to take then, would be to simply and peacefully dismantle the infrastructure that the Federalists have created, to free our minds from the tyranny of fear that is their greatest weapon to keep themselves in power. To free our minds from ignorance and the false claim that safety is achieved through biggering the military and homeland security measures. If we lived simply in small villages, neighbors banding together to protect the weak and provide for the poor in their own localities, if we stopped running after more land, more wealth and more power, if we stopped measuring success in terms of wealth or job security, then our very smallness would be our greatest protection. No one would bother us because we wouldn't own or control anything they would want.

This is a way of life that can be sought after and enjoyed now, even if the vast majority do not agree. By refusing to recognize social boundaries in our everyday interaction with people, by sharing all that we have, by practicing radical hospitality, by refusing to buy things we don't need or own things that would cause us to worry if they were taken away. This is true freedom, and this freedom is absolutely free.

Cross=Justice

There are a lot of different voices out there telling us how to deal with the problem of injustice. Some say we must do away with aggressors through force. Others say we must extricate ourselves from unjust systems. Some say we must disarm unjust powers, others call for a radical redistribution of wealth.

It is a nagging question, and one that would not leave me alone. I knew I was searching for something, I could see a light ahead, but I was still in a tunnel. Then the answer came when I wasn't looking for it at all, like an explosion of light. I do not know why it seemed so significant, since my discovery was a reaffirmation of what I already knew, what had always been there. And I do not know exactly where to go with it, or how to describe it without resorting to overused "Christianese" cliches.

But there I was, reading an old interview with N.T. Wright, a favorite theologian of mine. His book, The New Testament and the People of God, radically revolutionized the way I read the Bible. Being a scholar of 1st century Jewish thought and practice, he shed a lot of light on our understanding of what justification meant for Israel and for Paul. It wasn't some personal thing between God and the individual, rather it had to do with the definition of who God's people were and how God's promises to Abraham were fulfilled in Jesus. I had been discussing these things with members of my family who had recently "discovered" Wright, and we have also begun reading and discussing the book of Galatians together. And so I "happened" upon this interview, and while reading through it two things popped out to me in a fresh way. One was that, while discussing "justification", Wright mentioned that through Jesus' death on the cross, God definitively dealt with the problem of justice in history. The second came later, as I was growing a bit bored (it was a long interview) and Wright was answering questions about 9/11, etc. He said we needed to bring Bin Laden to justice, but that it couldn't be done with B17 bombers. BOOM! There it was. The two fused in my brain as if in a nuclear reaction. The cross is the only way to bring Bin Laden (or Hitler, or whatever evil thing may be out there) to justice.

I laughed, I cried, I fell down and worshiped. I danced. I opened my doors and windows and blasted the Hallelujah chorus through my poor, abused little speakers. If only the world could see this. If only I knew how to communicate this.

After last night's foot washing at church, followed by Holy Eucharist, I knelt in the pew and continued to wonder. These things that we do and reenact communicate that Jesus is among us, and that we, the Church, are to be his hands and feet in the world. Jesus has nail holes in his hands and feet, the permanent marks of the cross. Here is true justice, God making things right through the sacrifice of the spotless lamb. It isn't something that is simply pronounced, or some scale of right and wrong that is made to balance, but rather something that flows. From the cross, onto us, among us, through us, into the world. The things we do as we are transformed by the Spirit of justice will vary from church to church and from person to person. But the cross will always be there as our defining point, something to measure our deeds against, the ways we think we are bringing about justice. And we will be known as the scarred ones.

The Dawn's Early Light

Every nation has its own creation myth. In ancient history, the story would go like this: The god of such and such a people engaged in a violent, bloody, cosmic battle with an adversary, the adversary was killed, and the new nation was born. This creation event served as both justification and inspiration for that nation's future military activities.

While not as obvious in our scientifically "enlightened" modern times, the deeply religious nature of our own civil cult has similar manifestations. Pagan sacrifice is alive and well as men and women are glorified for giving their lives in military service, in an endless crusade to preserve the nation's very existence. Their sacrifice is surrounded by symbols which are invoked in reverent piety by vestment and gesture. Uniforms of rank and authority demand homage in the form of salute and stature as grand ceremonies surround the deaths of the sacrificed victims. The national anthem is also played with proper, pious pose, reminding all of the unconquerable symbol of our sacred, blood drenched origin.

While it is heroic and noble for individuals to give their lives to save others, another, deeper story is being told here, one that preaches that abundant life (or freedom, as some like to call it) is not possible without the perpetual shedding of blood, without perpetual sacrifice and perpetual violence. It is a constant cycle of creation, death and regeneration, as the undying spirit of "we the people" defeat the unending challenges to perceived rights. Friends, this is a salvation story if ever there was one.

God's story, however, is different. There was no struggle, no violence. God simply spoke and it came to be. (There is good scholarship showing that the Genesis account was written primarily to subvert the Mesopotamian creation story, a culture that constantly tempted Israel with its idolatrous practices.)

Calling things into being which were not. Calling a people his own people, which were not a people. And redeeming them with a sacrifice offered once and for all, through the free gift of his only begotten son. He offers abundant life, true freedom, now, to all of us. This is not just some hope for a distant, future utopia. This is how we are called to live now, in the midst of these other competing salvation stories and demands for allegiance.

Deliver Me From Institutions!

Yesterday, as I was exiting the parking lot of the grocery store, a middle aged woman crossed in front of me holding a cardboard sign. I had just enough time to read "Homeless...Need Help...God Bless You" as I passed by. I drove along trying to think of how I could help her with my three kids in car seats and two weeks worth of carefully planned menus in the trunk. By the time I decided to invite her out to lunch and just talk to her, it was too late. She had already left.

Why did it take so long for me to formulate a plan? I am realizing that I am a slave to institutionalized thinking, a slave to organized religion. All my life I have heard or been shown:
1. Don't talk to strangers.
2. Give poor people food, not money.
3. Let the shelters and other ministries take care of them.

But that is a far cry from what our Lord and his apostles taught us:
1. Entertain the stranger.
2. Give to anyone who asks you.
3. Do not let your right hand know what your left hand is doing. Official ministries make their good deeds obvious. For practical reasons, of course. But if every follower of Jesus were in the habit of helping whoever God might bring into their path, not even thinking about the hows and whys and proper ways of dong good, I think God would be better pleased with us.

I hope God will give me another chance soon. I also ask the aid of his Spirit to help me unlearn the habits of thought I have been a slave to, particularly those of practicality and realism. The reality is that the cost of discipleship is very high. In fact, it costs everything.

Some Christmas Musings

An Uncommon Restoration

“Blessed be the Lord God of Israel; for he hath visited and redeemed his people;

And hath raised up a mighty salvation for us, in the house of his servant David;

As he spake by the mouth of his holy Prophets, which have been since the world began;

That we should be saved from our enemies, and from the hand of all that hate us.

To perform the mercy promised to our forefathers, and to remember his holy covenant;

To perform the oath which he sware to our forefather Abraham, that he would give us;

That we being delivered out of the hand of our enemies might serve him without fear;

In holiness and righteousness before him, all the days of our life.” (Luke 1: 68-75)

These words of Zechariah, and also Mary's song, the Magnificat, have got me questioning, looking deeper this Advent and Christmas season. The burning question in my mind is how? How did Jesus' birth accomplish the raising up of the humble and meek, the filling of the hungry with good things, the deliverance of his people from their enemies, the fulfillment of God's oath to Abraham?

All to often, I fear, we, living centuries later, have lost touch with the scene upon which Jesus arrived: the desolation of Israel, and their longed for deliverance. We make Jesus out to be this white-looking guy who could have been born anywhere, at any time, and accomplish the same thing- a universally applicable atonement for the personal sin of all of mankind (or at least the chosen). While this might satisfy the dogmatic, systematic brains of 15^th century theologians and their modern counterparts, it would hardly have been comforting to a Jew living in the first century under Roman oppression and longing for the consolation of Israel. Imagine telling Mary, or one of the shepherds, or Simeon, or any one of the people who experienced such joy at the news of Jesus' birth, that the salvation they were promised amounted to nothing more than having each of their personal sins paid for, like the time they stole a fish or lusted after their neighbor's spouse. That would be like telling them to forget about Israel's problems. Why not just be glad that they were allowed go to heaven when they died? It sounds preposterous. They knew the Law, the Psalms and Prophets, that God freely forgave the sins of the contrite. And the hope of bodily resurrection had given strength to many Jewish martyrs before them. But what they longed for was a forgiveness on a national level, to see Israel once again restored to God's right hand as chief among the nations. Because they knew that Israel's God was King of all the nations, and that Israel was his special people. And they knew that Israel had fallen from God's favor.

But now they knew that God was doing exactly what they were hoping for! We are told that Zechariah was full of the Holy Spirit when he spoke these words, “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel; for he hath visited and redeemed his people.” A new Exodus was underway! God was once again baring his arm and preparing to unleash his might. And this time it would be nothing less than a new creation. A new covenant order under a new Adam for a newly defined Israel.

But it still is odd the way he did it. He sent a messenger to a peasant girl, telling her that she was the highly favored one to bear his Son. He chose a common carpenter to provide a home and vocation for him. He announced his young prince's arrival to a band of simple shepherds. And for royal companions he provided fishermen, thieves and outcasts. When the time drew near for the kingly heir to take on the powers of the nations, his steed of choice was a little donkey's colt, hardly tall enough to lift his feet off the dust. Last of all, our ruler elect was given over to the fate of all the failed Messiahs before him, a Roman crucifixion.

Where was the promised deliverance? Was it the resurrection? Yes, but this meant more to his followers than a promised afterlife. It meant that God had once again mocked all the strength of man, the rulers of the nations who exercise dominion over people. Like Egypt and Babylon before, Caesar was mocked, Pilate was mocked, Herod was mocked, the chief priests and the chief theologians were all mocked. God defeated them all and all their ideologies. They could not keep this nobody from Nazareth down. The one who promised that the meek would be the ones to inherit the earth. The one who taught his followers to look to God alone for protection and sustenance. The one who offered the ultimate freedom from their enemies- by teaching them to love them. This one, this son of Abraham, was raised from the dead, was exalted as king over all the nations and ascended to God's right hand.

But why were his followers so persecuted? And why are they still, at least those who have chosen not to align themselves with those in power who promise protection and freedom in exchange for patriotic faith? It is because, like Jesus, we must be made perfect through suffering. When we let go our grasping for property, for food and clothing, for comfort, for life, then we allow ourselves to be wholly possessed by love. A love so perfect that it is willing to die for those who are enemies. And that is what we were when Jesus Christ died for us.

But it is more than a willingness to suffer wrong. Throughout history, one nation after another has risen, and fallen. Yet God continues to bless the earth with rain, with seed time and harvest. He blesses the way of the simple. He gives strength for work, and sleep at the sun's going down. He gives us children and laughter, bread and wine, communion with himself and community with his people. Massey Shepherd, Jr., recalls Mary's song and its fulfillment in this context. He writes, “In the outpouring of his Spirit upon his church the disciples knew themselves partakers of the age to come, and to “have tasted the heavenly gift” (Heb 6:4-5). And in the loving fellowship of service one to another, now centered in the holy banquet Table, he had truly “exalted the humble and meek” and had “filled the hungry with good things”. “ And he continues, “It was characteristic of the simplicity as also of the depth of our Lord's discernment that in leaving us a memorial of himself, he should choose, not some strange and exotic ceremony, but an action universal in human experience- the family meal. He took the most obvious symbol of common life and made it the supreme sacrament of his life.” (Massey Shepherd, Jr, “The Worship of the Church”, pg 146, the Seabury Press, 1952)

Here, then, in the most ordinary of places, is the perfected order for the divine social life. To discover this people have fought and slain, argued and died, and written constitutions and all manner of laws- all for vanity! Because it is only when we change and become like little children that we will hear Jesus calling and beckoning us to freely sit down with him and eat and drink as kings at his table. It is only when we are joined to him as family that we will learn to work together in love and peace, reaping the good of the earth for the good of all with thanksgiving, and offering ourselves to him who gives us himself for food and drink and life.

And thou, child, shalt be called the prophet of the Highest: for thou shalt go before the face of the Lord to prepare his ways;

To give knowledge of salvation unto his people for the remission of their sins,

Through the tender mercy of our God; whereby the day-spring from on high hath visited us;

To give light to them that sit in darkness, and in the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace. (Luke 1:76-79)

May we all let our feet be guided into this Way. Amen.