Feed My Sheep

The news today along with all the fuss in social media can be more than overwhelming. Emotions seem to be ruling the day on all sides of every issue. We are becoming more polarized with each and every outburst. I have my opinions on our current leadership in this country, but I am doing my best to restrain from adding to the clatter. When I look at the world and see so much disagreement and so much anger I have to ask the question that might help me to rise above the noise to hear the answer: What does God want?

As a person who identifies as Christian I feel I am required to always return to the Gospel when these difficult questions arise. For me there always seems to be two responses to the Gospel that play out in Christian society. Here in the industrialized west the dominant response seems to always focus on personal salvation. The evangelism that surrounds that narrative is one of celebration of God’s gift of salvation to be shared with as many people as you can. To go out and spread the Good News, to baptize, make disciples, and teach as commanded in Matthew 28:19-20, but I have a problem with how this command seems to play out in our culture.

We have somehow turned this into a story about ourselves. We take our response to John 3:16 and make it about us. This is our first mistake. From that point of view we reduce everything God has been doing to bring His Kingdom to earth and all creation to a simple story about ourselves, and then we try to peddle it to others as a way for each of them to have, and subsequently sell, a similar experience. With each “conversion” we continue to perpetuate a personal religious epiphany based on the perspective of the individual rather than the greater plan of God’s salvation story. It’s a very post enlightenment, or dare I say, American way to respond to the Good News in Christ. To be sure, personal salvation is real, but at best it is only half of the story, and unfortunately it is often the only story I see playing out in western Christianity.

Then there is the other way, or should I say the rest of the way to respond to the Gospel. We have clear marching orders, and these orders are not something we do to bring salvation upon ourselves, but something we are compelled to do in response to the Grace we do not deserve. In John 21 Jesus hammers Peter over the head with one demand: “Feed my sheep.” Three times, no matter how much Peter tries to convince Jesus how much he loves him he is hit with the same command. It is Jesus’ way of saying, “So you love me? Then show me what that looks like.”

And let’s be clear, when Jesus says, “Feed my sheep” he is not simply saying go baptize and teach them to obey. He means FEED MY LAMBS, TEND MY SHEEP, FEED MY SHEEP. If there is a prime directive in the Gospel it can be found right here. Is it any wonder that the subhead above Matthew 25:31-46, where Jesus admonishes us to “do for the least of these” is titled “The Judgment of Nations?” To emphasize:

“For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.”

Jesus gives us the Greatest Commandment to love God with our whole heart and to love our neighbors as ourselves in more than one place in the Gospel, and in Luke 10:30-37 he makes it clear who that neighbor is. As if it wasn’t clear enough in Matthew 25.

Nowhere are we asked to make a decision about who we think deserves our help. We are not in any position to decide who is worthy of God’s Grace, and we are in no position to measure how much. Matthew 20 makes it clear, particularly with these verses (14-16):

“Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?’ So the last will be first, and the first will be last.”

Allow me to emphasis once more; we are not called by the Gospel to do this for our own sake, but for righteousness’ sake (Matthew 5:6-10).

So my response to all this clatter in the media is this: I will leave the arguments up to those who are lost in the emotions of the world and I will do my best to look past those things to better see where the real needs are in our world. I will choose to act in mercy towards anyone who is in need of it, regardless of who or what they are. I will not try and decide whether a person should deserve my service or ministry because they are not of my faith, or race, or immigrant status, or my politics, or my sexual orientation. If they need an act of mercy or kindness they will get it from me without conditions and without debt. I will take my chances on love, and I will take my chances on anyone who has been pushed to the margins of our society due to public opinion, or prejudice.

The Gospel has compelled me to act out in response to the Cross and I am confident in what “doing right” is in this case. I am ready to make my case for the hope that is in me (1 Peter 3:13-17). While we are arguing about our politicians and all the political disparity there are people suffering from illness, isolation, in prisons, and despair in more ways than we can imagine. To this end I will find and side with these victims in our society and I will no longer identify myself politically, but only as a servant of the Gospel. For me there is no other identity for those who truly understand what the Gospel calls us to be.

Matthew 25:31-46
John 21:15-19
Luke 10:30-37
Mark 12:28-31
Matthew 5:6-10
I Peter 3:13-17

[Photo Credit: Sheep Grazing In A Pasture, Derbyshire, by John Doornkamp]

 

The Quagmire of Your Enemy’s Destruction

By now we all know that Charles Manson passed away at the age of 83 on November 19^th. My initial reaction, which I imagine was shared by many others, was to simply turn my head and think to myself, “Good riddance.” In social media, I even posted an animated gif of the famous scene from the movie “Tombstone” when Powers Booth’s character looks up at Wyatt Earp as Earp is leaving town and says, “Well (long pause) bye.” It was my attempt at both a humorous and classically passive aggressive farewell.

After a couple of days of reading many other posts and salutations to Mr. Manson I’ve decided to stop and take stock of my truer feelings on the matter. Most of what I’ve seen are the expected “burn in hell” comments, but occasionally I’ve come across comments of “requiescat in pace.” Even a few seem to have venerated him in one way or another, which I confess made me feel uneasy. After a couple of days this sent me into quiet contemplation. I had to ask myself, as an openly practicing Christian, how would Christ expect me to react to this news?

I began to recall various other criminals who either did or did not repent of their transgressions. Although I thought about each of these people and their crimes, what held my attention more was how society reacted to either their executions or their Christian conversions, or in some cases, both. Some of the names that come to mind are Timothy McVeigh, Karla Faye Tucker, and David Berkowitz.

I distinctly remember the day of Timothy McVeigh’s execution, but what I recall even more clearly was the day before. McVeigh was executed early on a Monday morning, so when I showed up at my church the day before I couldn’t help but notice all the discussion. As expected most people were gladly anticipating (I might even say in some cases celebrating) the coming execution. I was close friends with the Rector of my parish at that time, and it was he who had, a couple of years before, spoken out on my behalf as an aspirant to the priesthood. He walked up to me in the narthex of the church and expressed to me how disturbed he was at all the revelry surrounding the eminent execution of McVeigh. He knew, like him, I was no fan of the death penalty, but I believe my response was somewhat of a disappointment to him that morning. I told him that even though I was against the death penalty I was having a difficult time feeling sorry for the man. I will never forget my sense of failure when I looked at the sadness in his eyes as I said that.

Should it matter how I feel even though McVeigh was brashly unrepentant of his horrible crime? I think we can be pretty certain Manson was equally unrepentant over his crimes as well. How does Jesus expect us to react in these moments? The moments of our enemy’s destruction. Not just their fall from Grace, or their un-repented sin, but of their eternal place of desolation that comes from dying in a state of sin. Before I try to answer that let’s look at some other criminals who did, in fact, have conversion experiences before their death.

Consider the case of Karla Faye Tucker, who was executed in Texas on February 3^rd, 1998. There was quite a groundswell of support for her leading up to her execution by many celebrities and even the Pope. This gave me cause to look into her case. The murder she committed was a gruesome tale of drugs and chaos gone out of control. There were things she said at the time of the murder that were dreadful and nearly pornographic. But shortly after the trial she had her conversion experience, which she seemingly held strong to for the next 15 years. Leading up to her execution there was much talk of the “credibility” of her conversion, or if even an authentic conversion could warrant a commutation of her sentence. As in all these cases my attention went not to her, but to the conversation around her.

Most people my age or older can recall the infamous Son of Sam killings in New York between 1975 and 1977. David Berkowitz was eventually convicted of the murders for which he received six life sentences. About ten years into his prison sentence Berkowitz had a Christian conversion experience, and has remained committed to it ever since, even to the point of declining parole hearings. Again, we can debate the authenticity of his calling, as many do, but I am less interested in the authenticity of his conversion than I am in our response to the mere possibility that it is real.

So here I have given four examples of criminals, two who have confessed and repented, and two who never did. One of each met their end in execution and one of each was allowed to live out their natural life behind bars. Can we, or should we, feel equally about all four of these individuals? In the case of Tucker and Berkowitz some may find it easy to allow for compassion, though there are many professing Christians that still can’t bring themselves to that, even in light of what we know. It is one thing to romanticize about the idea of a conversion experience as we’ve come to understand it in Scripture, such as the conversion of Saul of Tarsus in in Acts 9, or Christ’s promise to the criminal who was being crucified next to him in Luke 23: 39-43, but it is a whole new challenge when we are face-to-face in our own time with a criminal we know, and who’s criminal acts we are deeply familiar with.

Remember always the first sentence from Acts 9:

But Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest and asked him for letters to the synagogues at Damascus, so that if he found any belonging to the Way, men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem. (RSV)

Imagine you were a family member who witnessed your spouse or child beaten, bound, or even murdered by thugs under order of Saul as he looked on. Like Charles Manson, we don’t know whether Saul physically committed these acts or simply ordered his minions to execute them. What we do know is Paul’s confession these things were done under his command. We must face the harsh reality that even the worst criminal can be turned in faith. It is a Christian imperative to accept any and all who call on Christ’s name and ask for mercy, as Paul says in I Corinthians 1:2, we are “called to be saints together with all those who in every place call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ…” We must push through the doubt and embrace with hope and compassion anyone’s proclamation of faith.

But what of these unrepentant folks like McVeigh and Manson? How then, are we to feel about these people when they are defeated in this life and in death? These people who have done awful things and seem to have gone to their death with no remorse? Again, Jesus is clear about this. Christ gives us the unambiguous call to love our enemies (Matthew 5:43-48, Romans 12:20). John Donne, in his Meditation 17 of Devotions upon Emergent Occasions, makes a clear point on how we might expect to respond to Christ’s call for us to mourn the dead—even those with whom we have such little in common:

“And when she (the Church) buries a man, that action concerns me: all mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God’s hand is in every translation…”

Charles Manson’s chapter may have been translated by justice, or some may think justice was never fully served, but either way God’s hand is in that translation and into God’s hands Manson will go. It is not for us to relish the harsh judgement we wish to come upon those whom we see as evil. It is for us to mourn such great loss along with the tragedy that befell them and their victims. As John Donne concludes in his meditation, the loss of any human is a loss for us all.

And in my own conclusion I will not defend Charles Manson, but I will take this moment to recognize the tragedy that he embodied and that also embodied him. I will try not to lose myself in the pop culture symbolism of hatred his image provokes. I will try my best to crawl over my instinct to hate back and mourn that another human was lost to evil things that seemingly cannot be undone. I will resist allowing hate to darken my heart with its cancer, for with every man’s death I am the less for it.

It is lost and yet it is not lost, for it is in the hands of God.

[Photo: Wally Fong AP]

The Long Wait for Justice

In 1998 I worked in the Atlanta office for a large New York ad agency. We had a sexual harasser in the agency. He spent a good bit of his time harassing two women in particular. They were both copywriters and creative partners of mine. They came to me quite often to tell me about his latest shenanigans. Each time I would encourage them to report him and that I would have their backs. By this time it had been going on for at least four years.

I write this story to explain (mostly to men) why it is women can take so long to finally say something. Whenever I would tell them to report him, or that I would report him on their behalf, they always told me not to. They both had a very real fear of becoming pariahs of the Atlanta advertising community. Make no mistake, the ad industry is one hell of a good ol’ boy network. You’ve seen Mad Men, right? That shit was real folks. The ad industry is, frankly, a pretty close knit culture all across America, so word of anything can make it from here to Seattle in a matter of minutes.

I tried to explain to them this guy’s actions were not so much about sex, but were about violence and the wielding of power over them, using sexism as a tool. I had personally witnessed his attacks on multiple occasions myself. Not only many of the things he said, but physical things as well. I watched him grab one of them by her hips when he was sitting down and she had her back to him as he pulled her down onto his knee. He came up behind this same woman at another time when she and a male art director were looking over slides on a light table and gave them both wedgies.

Eventually, I walked into his office with another male writer and confronted him. He, for some reason, liked me, so I took this opportunity to make it clear to him he was playing with fire. When I told him he needed to back off he came back with, “Well, if they can’t take the heat they need to find another career!” I am not kidding. He actually said that to me. Needless to say the harassing continued. This. This is what keeps women from coming forward.

Finally, one of them had enough and told one of the senior executives about what was going on. He was devastated, so the fire began to catch and up the ladder it went. This all came to a head when the head of HR in New York came down with the corporate attorney to investigate and take depositions. Although I know there were a few men who sided with the victims in this case I was the only male that I am aware of who actually gave a deposition. I testified to everything you read above, but in greater detail. You should have seen the looks on the faces of the HR person and the attorney, who both happened to be women, when I gave my deposition. Let’s just say that was the end of this particular predator.

But I won’t kid you, for a length of time there were still people, even women, who felt like the dude was done wrong. Seriously, I’m not kidding. There were still people on his side after this. And those animosities still lingered for a good while. I should add here that at least four more women came forward during the investigation.

It takes one or a few to be bold enough to speak out, and when that happens, there will always be the detractors who are suspicious of their timing. But there will also be the other victims who finally feel safe enough to say something. Do not dare criticize these women in front of me. I have seen first hand what their fear looks like. I have stood up for them before and I will stand up for them again.

I make no claim to be a saint. I came of age in the free sex world of the 60s and 70s, but it doesn’t take a genius to know where the lines are drawn. These lines are being made ever clearer today, and that is a good thing in the long run. Meanwhile, the storm is probably far from over.

[Photo courtesy of AMC]

The Tire Swing

The author singing the National Anthem at the Douglasville Military Honor Garden

When I was a little boy we had a tire swing in our backyard hanging from an abnormally large dogwood tree. I guess in actuality it was really an inner tube swing. More like a giant rubber band tied to a rope.

I used to lie inside the inner tube with my chest in the sling facing the ground. Then I would kick myself around so I could fly like a super hero in big circles. Another thing I would do, when I was alone of course, was sing while I was flying around. I would sing in my biggest most grown up voice I could muster, and one of the songs I most often sang was The Star Spangled Banner. I loved that song.

I think I loved the boldness of the melody and the braveness of the lyrics. It was a good super hero song. My Uncle Tom Callahan sang the National Anthem at every home game of the Atlanta Braves during their inaugural season back in 1966, which added much to my inspiration. Uncle Tom had an amazing voice and he was the music director for a large Methodist church in downtown Atlanta. In later years Tom would sing the Lord’s Prayer at many of the weddings in my family. As of today I have sung in a choir in the Episcopal Church for over 20 years, and I can say with confidence Uncle Tom was the single biggest influence on my desire to sing.

I still recall one afternoon, as I swung around in my super hero swing singing the National Anthem in my big grown up voice, my friend Chris Ricthie snuck up on me. I was insanely embarrassed! Fortunately he didn’t make too much fun of me as I did my best Jedi mind trick to make him forget he had ever heard it.

I grew up just like every other kid from my generation saying the Pledge of Allegiance every morning at school. Standing for the National Anthem at every ballgame my dad took me to. I was a Boy Scout. I was raised hunting and fishing by the best father any boy could ever pray for. Then I became the typical American teenage boy who chased girls and drove fast cars. I didn’t pay nearly enough attention in school, but I fell back on my talents as a visual artist that would eventually lead me to a lucrative career in advertising and marketing. America was very good to me.

Many years later I was asked to sing the National Anthem at the groundbreaking ceremony for the Military Honor Garden in Douglas County, Georgia. I was honored and mortified all at the same time. Singing such an important song in front of so many people gave me flashbacks to Chris Ricthie snapping me out of my super hero fantasy all those years ago. I had sung solo many times in the choir, but there was something different about this. This was the National Anthem after all, and I was to sing it in front of a much more diverse crowd along with politicians, soldiers, and their families.

I practiced for the couple of weeks leading up to the event and the thing that worried me the most is I would break down crying every single time I came to the lyrics, “What so proudly we hailed…” That’s right, only three phrases into the song. I could not even get to “at the twilight’s last gleaming.” This happened so often I very nearly called my friend Ralph, who was my contact with the memorial planners, to tell him I could not sing the song after all. It was not the first time I’ve been brought to tears over the Flag. Years back when the Atlanta Braves finally won the World Series, I was standing on Peachtree Street waiting for the victory parade to come by my office. Off in the distance I saw an ocean of American flags waving in the wind at the head of the parade. I actually lost my breath and began to cry. I’m not even sure why, but there was something about that scene that hit me with great profundity.

So there I was, getting ready to sing this sacred song to a crowd of people who were all there to honor our troops. In that crowd was the family of a recently fallen soldier in Afghanistan. The local VFW color guard was there to bring in the flag, and eventually it was my time to step up to the podium to sing. Two things I knew I could not do while I sang this song was look anyone in the eyes, especially the family of the fallen soldier, and not to stare at the flag as I sang. Either of those two things would, without a doubt, cause me to break down. By the grace of God I made it through the song in one piece and did not mess up the words. I’m certain I could have sung it better, but was grateful to get through it without dishonoring myself, the Flag, or anyone else there.

Now, here we are as a country embroiled in this controversy over athletes taking a knee during the National Anthem. I’ve seen and read plenty of the rhetoric on TV and social media. It is, as could be expected, highly inflammatory on both sides. I’ve given much of my account in this essay on where I stand patriotically, but what I have left out so far is what I feel is missing from the whole story as it is unfolding before us. That is, what does my faith tell me about this situation? As a professing Christian, what am I called to do as a response to what I am seeing?

If I were only a patriot I think the answer might be clear, but I pray somehow that I am more than that. I am called by Christ to look for the weak and to seek out the marginalized, and to speak for those who are oppressed. I might still be that little boy who wants to swing around in his super hero swing singing about our great nation, but I am also a man, a broken man, who has seen a lot of things in his years. My faith tells me before I can proudly hail my country as the land of the free, I must play some part to make sure that the liberty and tranquility our forefathers spoke of in the preamble of our Constitution are indeed available to everyone in our society.

It is not some abstract idea that freedom and liberty are inherent in our country simply because we say it is so. It is only so when each of us takes action to make it that way to our brothers and sisters. Colin Kaepernick is not some poor child who has been stripped of his liberty. He is a successful professional athlete who enjoys a type of prosperity greater than I will ever know. Kaepernick decided to use his visible status to send a message to a very large audience on behalf of those he represents—those who do not have the power of his voice or status.

He began taking a knee on the advice of Nate Boyer, a fellow NFL player and former Green Beret who understood what Kaepernick was trying to do. Boyer explained that taking a knee would be a more respectful gesture than sitting down, and so it went from there. Starting right here we can either begin the useless argument over first amendment rights, or whether the NFL should require players to stand, or even fire players who do not. Or we can do the right thing and look at why this is all happening.

Whether we (and when I say “we” I mean white people like me) like his methods or not it has created a national conversation. It was meant to bring an awareness of societal and racial issues that are still very much unresolved in this country. It is not for us white folks to try and divine the nuance of black society’s needs. When someone is hurting it is not our place to tell them they can’t hurt, we are obligated by our faith to ask them where the pain is coming from. Consider if someone who is bleeding to death breaks down our door begging for help, do we run them off and chastise them for breaking the door, or do we rush to their medical needs?

As for me, I will not partake in the argument over whether the National Anthem is the right forum to gain our attention for a problem that needs to be desperately addressed. I will rather use my time to work toward healing. Would I choose to take a knee during the National Anthem to get my point across? I think it’s obvious that I would not. But I am a white man who grew up in a Rockwellesque world. I cannot even pretend to know what it was like for my black neighbor who lived along side me in my very white universe.

I will still stand, and always proudly hail that flag that represents the hopes of liberty for us all, but I will not assume the flag will do all the lifting on its own. We are made great by our hands and our hearts. That is the American spirit that made us great in the first place, and it is the only thing that will keep us moving in the right direction. Meanwhile, I will not ask who deserves help and I will not try and determine the legitimacy of another person’s needs. God’s Grace, after all, is not merit based.

There is a way to help those who are kneeling to stand. What way will you choose?

Isaiah 1:17
Proverbs 31:9
Matthew 20:8

 

A Prayer Sandwich

First, let me make something clear, I have terrible prayer habits. In fact, “habits” really isn’t the right word unless you consider habitually not praying on a regular basis a habit. Well, that’s me.

Sure, I pray, and probably about as much as the average person really. I go to church pretty much every week and pray all the prayers there. I sing in the choir (that kinda counts doesn’t it?). I pray sometimes when I’m happy, even more often when I’m scared, but if I’m honest with myself I really just don’t pray enough.

For those of us who grew up in a churched family, we grew up as kids learning to pray mostly by watching other people and doing it at home before bed or mealtimes. Prayers always consisted of lots of talking. Then as we got older we learned prayer could be more complex. Some of us learned about Contemplative Prayer and we started shutting up and listening. Some of us still debate about prayer that “moves God,” or whether intercessory prayer is more valuable than prayers of personal petition and other things like that. Sometimes we ponder whether prayer changes the circumstances we pray about, or whether it changes us, and how we perceive those circumstances. This is endless by the way.

However good or bad I am at all those nuances of prayer there is something else I do, or at least try to do as much as I can, and that is what I call living in a state of prayer. Think of it as building your day like a sandwich. We start in the morning with the first piece of bread. You can wake up and simply say, “Dear God.” Or maybe with a little more effort we can pray the first half of the Our Father, “My Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Then, maybe stop right there. Do not finish. Do not say amen.

This is the first slice of our daily bread. For the rest of the day we will build this prayer sandwich with all of the ingredients of our day. These ingredients will include all of our words, all of our silence, and all of our actions. Your day will be a life lived in prayer. Think about this for a moment. Every small task you do, every encounter with someone else, every mistake, and every triumph all become the contents of your prayer. Throughout this day you are offering every action you do up to God. Imagine getting in the habit of trying to remain conscious of that with each encounter of your day.

Know one thing for sure. You will fail, or at least you will think you failed, but really that isn’t possible. It’s still a prayer, and quite possibly the most honest prayer we can pray. Then, when you get home and the day draws to an end, before bed, you can pray these words, “Give me this day my daily bread, and forgive my trespasses, as I forgive those who have trespassed against me, and lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from evil. For yours is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever, Amen.”

Thus, the second piece of bread is placed on top on the sandwich stuffed with everything you are, and if you’re like me it is one crazy sausage mix. Now you have finished your Prayer Sandwich and it can be served up to God.

Feel free to come up with your own opening and closing parts, but give it a try. God will not send your sandwich back!

[Image: Saying Grace, by Norman Rockwell, 1951]

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Houston has a Message for Us

Many of us can’t do much to help Houston in this time of their need. Sure, there are ways and sites to send money, and that’s a great idea. But we don’t all have money to send, and we can’t all jump in our truck and rush to Texas with our bass boat in tow. We can all change our profile pictures to a Texas flag overlay, or send “thoughts and prayers,” but we’ve seen the empty truck memes delivering their load of thoughts and prayers.

Many polls today consider Houston the most diverse city in America. If not number one certainly in the top three. There is something that has stood out for me in all the stories coming out over the last week. Despite horrific circumstances and no doubt plenty of things that might have gone wrong, or will go wrong, I have seen an enormous amount of positive stories coming from there. All sorts of situations where people are helping each other. I have not seen much racial divide right now in their stories, in fact I’ve seen many stories where everyone is helping each other out across all racial differences. I, for one, feel like the people of Houston and the surrounding area are doing a stand up job trying to take care of things against very difficult odds.

So, here’s an idea I just came up with. If you can’t send money, or go there, or do anything else, maybe the best we can do is honor those people for pulling together in this tough time and let them help us. We can let them help us see how to treat each other, not just in a time of need, but as brothers and sisters every day. Let’s absorb the beautiful energy that comes from people, who in a time of crisis, begin to see each other through human and compassionate eyes.

If you ask yourself, “Where is God now?” when you see terrible things happen, look past the flooded water, look past the smoke, look past the destruction and the desolation. Look through the crevasse into that space where you see someone leaning over another person who has been struck down. A person who has walked into the fire to be there when so much around them is falling apart just to help someone they don’t even know. That is where you will find God.

This is happening in Houston. So in your prayers hold those people up. And while we’re at it, let’s all try and learn to be like them. When you think on Houston, maybe think of that and the world will begin to become a better place, even in the aftermath of tragedy.

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(Photo: Louis DeLuca, The Dallas Morning News)

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Seeking Dignity in Social Media

Question: “Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?”
Answer: “I will, with God’s help.”
— Baptismal Covenant, Book of Common Prayer

There seems to be so much vitriol on Facebook these days. It’s enough for me to consider whether I really need to be on there as much as I am. One thing I’ve learned reading all the comments I see flying around is no matter what you say there is an audience out there waiting to be offended by it. When I look at my list of Facebook friends, and it’s a strangely long list, I can’t help but to think, “Who among them will I offend if I agree with this post, or if I disagree with that post?” This causes me to be rather quiet most of the time when shit hits the social network fan.

Before you judge me for being soft, politically correct, or wishy washy, let’s think about this for a minute. Sure, I’m a person of faith, but let’s put religion aside right now and concentrate on respect and dignity. I’ll get to religion later.

I have never picked my friends based on their faith, or their politics. Nor do I pick them based on race or creed. I pick my friends based on genuine personal encounter. My friends come from my love of motorcycles, bagpipe music, art, humor, beer, and yes, even from church. But the bonding agent of my friendships is not whether they agree with me on everything, or whether we can mutually harbor a separate or superior identity to those outside of our circle. I have some dear friends who are either politically or religiously my polar opposites, and I have enjoyed some of the richest and most enlightening conversations with them over the years.

I have witnessed outrageous and mean-spirited comments coming from both sides of the political and philosophical spectrum. And frankly, it hurts my heart. Sure, I have my opinions on many of the issues out there, but I also know there are two sides to every situation. So, if I take seriously my baptismal vow to “respect the dignity of every human being,” how am I to conduct myself in the public discourse of modern social media?

I know that my own personal belief system is highly complex. To simply call me a conservative or a liberal would be ridiculously short-sighted. But we live in a world where we all want simple, fast labels for everyone around us. I don’t think I’m alone in complex beliefs either. Social media has given us all a way to passive aggressively aim our disapproval or disgust at others through the use of memes and the sharing of pop-culture antidotes on our walls and Twitter feeds. I’m alarmed at how quickly so many of us will rally behind pop culture figures who are almost always Hollywood fabricated caricatures. It is a disservice to the complexity of our beliefs to let these people speak for us. Here’s a fact: I really don’t know Miley Cyrus, and I really don’t know Phil Robertson.

I do, however, know my friends. I have great, wonderful friends right here on Facebook. I have many, many conservative friends for whom I would lay my life on the line. I have Christian friends here on Facebook who hold deep evangelical beliefs. My faith and conservatism may vary from theirs by some degree, but it’s not those beliefs that make us friends. It is my personal relationship with them. It is the looks in their eyes when we talk, or the fact I’ve experienced real life situations with them. As I said earlier, these are the things on which I build friendships.

Perhaps a closer look at my friends may reveal something of myself. I have many dear friends and close family who are gay. Among them are some of the most honest and caring people I know, and some of them have a faith I am certain is deeper and more authentic than my own. Some of them are politically conservative, some are atheists, and some are liberal, but I really don’t care because they are my friends. I also have nearly a dozen Muslim friends. I know for a fact some of these friends are the most kind and peaceful people I have ever known. Most importantly, they are not my friends because they are Muslim, they are my friends because I know them and we have shared life together. The same can be said about every other friend I have.

So what am I? Am I a conservative or a liberal? Does it make me liberal to hold friendships sacred even when we don’t share the same background or sexual preference? Am I not allowed to be conservative if I refuse to disparage my friends in social media? Am I not a Christian if we can’t come to terms on the tenants of Baptism expressed in different denominations of the same faith? Am I not a liberal if I happen to support the right to own a handgun? This much I know; I am an American. I am a defender of free speech, but don’t think for a second that exercising your right to free speech won’t necessarily make you look like a fool in front of your friends.

So really, what I decide to say in social media has little to do with my religion, but has everything to do with my concepts of the respect and dignity of every human being. Just because someone may claim to be speaking from a Christian perspective doesn’t remove the vulgarity of their comments. Using paraphrases of scripture to back-up the marginalization of another group is hardly Christ-like. As for me, I will stand naked and exposed with my own words in all of their imperfection, and I will stand by my friends. All of you.

The good person out of the good treasure of the heart produces good, and the evil person out of evil treasure produces evil; for it is out of the abundance of the heart that the mouth speaks.
— Luke 6:44-46

Where is Nod?

Why Nod? Where is Nod, why am I here, and how did I get here?

Cain flying before Jehovah’s Curse by Fernand Cormon. Musée d’Orsay, Paris

Today you have driven me away from the soil, and I shall be hidden from your face; I shall be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth, and anyone who meets me may kill me.” Then the Lord said to him, “Not so! Whoever kills Cain will suffer a sevenfold vengeance.” And the Lord put a mark on Cain, so that no one who came upon him would kill him. Then Cain went away from the presence of the Lord, and settled in the land of Nod, east of Eden.

— Genesis 4:14-16

Nod means many things to various people. In the ancient Hebrew it essentially meant “to wander.” It also closely resembles the word “vagabond.” In the Septuagint it is translated as “trembling.” All of these work for me.

According to the ancient writings of Josephus Cain went on and continued in his wickedness, but he also is credited for establishing things like weights and measure, creating property lines, building fortified structures, and creating a city.  The ancient theologian Origen even went on to say Nod was a place of trembling for all who had forsaken God. However we decide to define it, it is fair to say that Nod is a land of exile apart from God.

So why am I here? I try to think of it this way, there is the world that is the Church and there is the World outside of the Church. The more I look at society today the more it looks like Nod to me. In fact, I see all kinds of aspects of Nod masquerading as the Church. Not to say that the Church has become Nod, but there are people who clearly live by the rules of Nod who insist they are part of Christ’s Church. I consider these people Constantinians. They believe in a different Christianity that was co-opted by an emperor for power. Not so hidden in the shadows of Constantine I and Theodosius I we see the birth of Christian Nationalism, and make no mistake, that is not the kind of Kingdom Jesus meant to see established here on earth.

Maybe Constantine needed to happen, or at the very least was inevitable. Either way Christianity has certainly flourished ever since, but at what cost? When nations or leaders of nations decide to use religion as a tool things can get a little muddy about who is really in charge. Allow me, if I may, to use a motorcycle story as an example. Think of it this way:

Harley-Davidson was this wonderful American dream that exploded into the legendary machine we know of today. It had a legendary first few decades, but eventually the company began to face hardships in post WWII America. By the late 60’s it was just about to vanish right along with all the other motorcycle companies that had gone belly up in both America and Europe, but then came this monster of a corporation, AMC, and they bought Harley-Davidson Motor Company just in the nick of time. Well, like Constantine, AMC was this powerful force that saved our beloved motorcycle from a world that was set against it. And like Christianity in a post-Constantine world the company began to flourish. Well, kind of. You see AMC saved the company, but with it came all the bad performance of massed produced machines. That mysterious aura, that ethos, that made Harley-Davidson magically attractive began to wear away. After about 14 years it was almost more than the brand could take. Fortunately, once again, just in the nick of time, family members and board members on the inside were able to buy the company back and save the brand one more time in what is now a great American business success story.

So, like AMC did for Harley, Constantine may have saved Christians from their persecuted torment at that time, but with with it came great baggage. A baggage I think still lingers today in what we see as a new form of American Christian Nationalism. I will simply and vehemently say, this is not of God. Please understand, I am an American and I love America, but at most America can only be a mere province in the Kingdom, but never the Kingdom itself, and the Kingdom has no walls.

Therefore the world as I see it outside of the true Church is very much like Nod. Though I am a member of the flock of Christ’s Church, I very much live out there in this seemingly God-forsaken land. But here’s the deal, it is not God-forsaken, it is simply outside, and somebody needs to be here in it if we are to draw people into the Grace of God, into the Kingdom Christ promised us, the Kingdom of our prayer to the Father that implores Him that His will be done here on EARTH as it is in Heaven.

So it is from this world that I write my letters. Letters to the Church and letters to the world, with endless hope that somehow both the world and the Church will become a better place. A world where the Church reaches out and brings the world to her breast.

These are my letters from the lonely world. The world of the sick, the memory impaired, the imprisoned, the marginalized, the dying, the angry and the suffering.

These are my Letters From Nod.