Should I sign the letter endorsing a local clergy committee’s (advocacy group) “…inviting business, labor, and political leaders to work together to make this vision [for janitors and all low-wage workers to receive a ‘living wage,’ have access to full health care benefits, and cease being intimidated (when these) workers want to join a union] of a reality for the workers in our city,” or take a pass? The document ensures those who will receive it the undersigned clergy are praying that economic inequality will be overcome and that the undersigned clergy will stand up for the rights of all low-wage workers.
Leaving aside the issue about whether or not it’s right and just for me to make a personal posture – no matter how ethically, morally, and theologically right I find it – public, as in including the name of the congregation I serve, I have some other concerns. Is it right for me to make such a statement, and involve the people I serve, without having meaningful dialogue with them about the consequences of the posture?
Here are a few of the questions that I need to discuss with those I serve by leading before I get out ahead of them: [I have no problem going there after the conversation, regardless of their responses. If we differ, in the end, I’d just make certain that the public part excluded them.]
• Are those who hold jobs with companies who employ directly, or lease space from landlords who subcontract with these low-wage workers, willing to advocate their employers pay increased occupancy costs to meet these additional labor costs?
• Are those who hold stock in the companies whose costs will increase willing to see the companies’ profits, and perhaps their own stock values / dividends, decline to meet these additional labor costs?
• Are church / denominational groups who rent these venues (thus “subcontracting” with these low-wage workers) willing to pay increased prices to hold events at these venues, to meet these additional labor costs?
Clergy who want to rah-rah must come completely clean with those whom we lead by serving, unless we simply want to increase the volume of our already yadda-yadda-yadda!
I’m completely grateful that well over 45 clergy, from across the theological / denominational spectrum, are concerned about more than the Big-Three, so-called values issues: pro-life (generally limited only to gestational time-frames); sanctity of marriage (generally limited only to requiring bride and groom represent opposing genders, despite the duration and frequency of the individual’s prior vow exchanges); and, ensuring that our children abstain from any genital activity prior to marriage. Still, no one has yet asked me to join a group of clergy advocating for:
• increased student achievement
• higher graduation rates
• more enrollments in college by students of color
• reduced hand-gun sales
• stricter usury laws aimed at rent-to-own proprietors of homes, appliances, entertainment equipment, furniture, and previously owned vehicles
• greater access to supermarkets, with fresh vegetables, in inner city neighborhoods
• more banks in the same locales
• scattered site, affordable housing
• etc.
All of us socially active clergy might benefit from a group meditation on the words of Toyohiko Kagawa, a Japanese layman who wrote:
I read
in a book
That a man called
Christ
Went about doing good.
It is very disconcerting to me
That I am so easily
Satisfied
With just
Going about.
No one, here, is advocating “ready, fire, aim.” Neither am I, as Luther advocated, unwilling to sin boldly.
What I don’t need is another tee-shirt that implies that both me, and my job-title, is: Noisy Gong / Clashing Cymbal. What the people I serve by leading don’t need is a pastor who speaks against “check-book” ministry, but engages in mere signatory advocacy!
Friday, March 09, 2007
Thursday, March 08, 2007
The Mystery of the Dueling Towels
It’s always important to know what you’re not dealing with. We don’t have an unknown subject whose identity we’re trying to determine, or whose criminal mind we’re trying fathom. We’re not dealing with a cold case. Higher math’s statistics and probability won’t bring resolution. Neither the crime scene, nor its physical evidence, is available for our investigative probing.
We do have reasonable testimony concerning key actors in what seems to be a conspiracy to bring about Jesus’ death. We know their names, their social positions, something about their professional responsibilities, even where some are buried. It appears that all the key actors understand each other’s roles in society, and respect – even make use of - the boundaries those roles demand they maintain.
There are rather reliable accounts of their whereabouts, as well as their comings and goings, during those days. It all happens within what seems to be a three to four day window of opportunity during which they hatched, successfully, their plot.
Likewise, there is a virtual laundry list of critical, physical evidence: 30 pieces of silver, a small sword, a briefly severed ear, a tunic left behind, whips, thorns, a purple cloak, a fiery warming pit, primitive dice, nails and hammers, and wood, lots of wood. So what’s with these towels?
They, if there’s more than one, keep showing up! We see the first on Thursday evening, at the last supper (John 13. It’s here early Friday morning in Pilate’s hands (Matthew 27:24-26). There’s a tale about a towel and a woman early Friday afternoon. Had to be there, didn’t it, by late that afternoon, because it, alone, is found entombed, rolled neatly on Sunday morning.
If we had them, or one of them, any of them, what would we do? Would we risk destroying them by checking the miles of fibers? Can you see us soiling them by spraying lumiol or swabbing for DNA, to what end?
I’m sure, if we had them, or one of them, any of them, we’d declare them, at least venerable, if not valuable. Like as not we’d promise to stow them reverently the way we do the:
• ribbons we won at childhood athletic competitions
• letter jackets we earned in high school
• silky wedding dresses we wore down the aisle, no matter the fate of that marriage
• quilts grandma made
• full dress medals presented to us by the commanding officer, despite our not displaying that level of courage in a long time
• blankets our first child dragged through 3rd grade.
We might, but I doubt it. In the end, we’d rightly decide that there really is nothing remarkable about the towels. What’s worth noting is how they were used; how they’re still used.
John tells us Jesus, exposed and vulnerable, laid aside his garments, put on a towel, washed his disciples’ feet and dried them with that same towel. John’s Jesus explains that he’s offering an example: "Do you know what I have done to you? 13You call me Teacher and Lord — and you are right, for that is what I am. 14So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. 15For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. 16Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. 17If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them." (John 13:12-17)
Would that we were merely the kind of people who followed only those examples so precisely laid out for us. But, truth be told, we’ll take our cues from most anybody, anywhere, anytime.
Pilate, too, has become exposed and vulnerable, though not by his own choosing. His:
• arrogance and prejudice show through
• willingness to compromise his principles is laid bare
• fear of paying the price for doing the right thing is uncovered
• naked ambition and aggression are transparent
• see-through rationalizations are revealed.
The procurator's posture seems to be: What’s one more leafless tree sprouting a strange fruit on Golgotha? If this circus lynching prompts their pious pastors to hush these uncivilized, ghettoized festival goers, what harm can follow? But let’s get it done without a trace.
Stripped of his dignity he, too, takes on a servant’s task. Except Pilate’s only care is to wash himself, cleanse himself from the dirty little mess he’d let himself get rolled up in. Declaring himself innocent, Pilate doesn’t put on the towel, he throws in the towel. Sounds way too familiar, doesn’t it?
Throwing in the towel, then as now, denies Jesus’ identity, discounts his mission, disrespects his ministry and disregards the verdict his breaking-open, pouring-out servanthood lavishes on us.
Washed and toweled in the blood of this Passover lamb, we don’t need to declare ourselves innocent. We get to call ourselves not guilty. That’s a distinction with a huge difference. The mystery of our Lenten days, as well as our every-days, isn’t who done it. We know how complicit we truly are.
Rather, the mystery is will you remain content to consort and conspire with the usual suspects, or will you keep making your plea with the God whose vulnerable heart’s desire is to give you a share in the master’s life-giving laundry business?
We do have reasonable testimony concerning key actors in what seems to be a conspiracy to bring about Jesus’ death. We know their names, their social positions, something about their professional responsibilities, even where some are buried. It appears that all the key actors understand each other’s roles in society, and respect – even make use of - the boundaries those roles demand they maintain.
There are rather reliable accounts of their whereabouts, as well as their comings and goings, during those days. It all happens within what seems to be a three to four day window of opportunity during which they hatched, successfully, their plot.
Likewise, there is a virtual laundry list of critical, physical evidence: 30 pieces of silver, a small sword, a briefly severed ear, a tunic left behind, whips, thorns, a purple cloak, a fiery warming pit, primitive dice, nails and hammers, and wood, lots of wood. So what’s with these towels?
They, if there’s more than one, keep showing up! We see the first on Thursday evening, at the last supper (John 13. It’s here early Friday morning in Pilate’s hands (Matthew 27:24-26). There’s a tale about a towel and a woman early Friday afternoon. Had to be there, didn’t it, by late that afternoon, because it, alone, is found entombed, rolled neatly on Sunday morning.
If we had them, or one of them, any of them, what would we do? Would we risk destroying them by checking the miles of fibers? Can you see us soiling them by spraying lumiol or swabbing for DNA, to what end?
I’m sure, if we had them, or one of them, any of them, we’d declare them, at least venerable, if not valuable. Like as not we’d promise to stow them reverently the way we do the:
• ribbons we won at childhood athletic competitions
• letter jackets we earned in high school
• silky wedding dresses we wore down the aisle, no matter the fate of that marriage
• quilts grandma made
• full dress medals presented to us by the commanding officer, despite our not displaying that level of courage in a long time
• blankets our first child dragged through 3rd grade.
We might, but I doubt it. In the end, we’d rightly decide that there really is nothing remarkable about the towels. What’s worth noting is how they were used; how they’re still used.
John tells us Jesus, exposed and vulnerable, laid aside his garments, put on a towel, washed his disciples’ feet and dried them with that same towel. John’s Jesus explains that he’s offering an example: "Do you know what I have done to you? 13You call me Teacher and Lord — and you are right, for that is what I am. 14So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. 15For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. 16Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. 17If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them." (John 13:12-17)
Would that we were merely the kind of people who followed only those examples so precisely laid out for us. But, truth be told, we’ll take our cues from most anybody, anywhere, anytime.
Pilate, too, has become exposed and vulnerable, though not by his own choosing. His:
• arrogance and prejudice show through
• willingness to compromise his principles is laid bare
• fear of paying the price for doing the right thing is uncovered
• naked ambition and aggression are transparent
• see-through rationalizations are revealed.
The procurator's posture seems to be: What’s one more leafless tree sprouting a strange fruit on Golgotha? If this circus lynching prompts their pious pastors to hush these uncivilized, ghettoized festival goers, what harm can follow? But let’s get it done without a trace.
Stripped of his dignity he, too, takes on a servant’s task. Except Pilate’s only care is to wash himself, cleanse himself from the dirty little mess he’d let himself get rolled up in. Declaring himself innocent, Pilate doesn’t put on the towel, he throws in the towel. Sounds way too familiar, doesn’t it?
Throwing in the towel, then as now, denies Jesus’ identity, discounts his mission, disrespects his ministry and disregards the verdict his breaking-open, pouring-out servanthood lavishes on us.
Washed and toweled in the blood of this Passover lamb, we don’t need to declare ourselves innocent. We get to call ourselves not guilty. That’s a distinction with a huge difference. The mystery of our Lenten days, as well as our every-days, isn’t who done it. We know how complicit we truly are.
Rather, the mystery is will you remain content to consort and conspire with the usual suspects, or will you keep making your plea with the God whose vulnerable heart’s desire is to give you a share in the master’s life-giving laundry business?
Friday, March 02, 2007
Grow 12 Inches in Two Minutes!
It's easy to get caught up in the belief that everything is knowable Many folks are sure that it's only a matter of time before philosophers and scientists open every intellectual and emotional door in the universe.
Still, despite what we know, and in spite of our fixation that we can, eventually, know everything we think we need to know, the longest distance on earth remains the 12 inches from the human brain to the human heart. That's where Lent comes in.
Lent isn't just a season in the church calendar. Lent is the time and energy Christians focus on the same questions that bedeviled Jesus in his desert experience: who am I; what am I to do; how can I get that done.
Those questions, and the intellectual, emotional, social and spiritual concerns they raise are issues of the heart. Issues for our hearts because when we take the time to think with our heads: about who we are; who we've let ourselves become; and who we're surely to be if we continue the path we're walking, we still don't know the whole truth about ourselves.
If you want to know something for sure, spend two minutes by yourself, looking in a mirror. The person looking back at you is gonna die someday. And when you can admit that you’re gonna die, you're gonna want to ask yourself, "So, how shall I live?"
Lent's heart time can help you answer that question anew. You could spend some time in prayer - becoming familiar with the person you are who God still loves. You could fast, not to lose weight, or to prove that you can live without chocolate, or alcohol, or nicotine, but to get reacquainted with the experience of hungering, pining, thirsting, yearning for more than what fills your usual bill. You could give alms -not to engage in checkbook mission and ministry, but to ally yourself with those who have no choice about their deprivation, their degradation, or their degeneration into an existence that few of our sated and comfortable ideas of God can console.
If you spend a few minutes staring into your own future - the dustiness that's to become of us – you might be able to not only look passed the fear that imprisons our hearts, but God might lead you to walk into, through, and past those fears cause us to think we can fool ourselves, by foolin' everyone else into believin' that we do pray, we do fast, and we do give alms - so aren't' we special!
If you spend a few minutes staring into your own future, the dustiness that's to become of us – it means you're alive. And when you can admit that you do have a life, you're gonna want to ask yourself, "So, how shall I live?"
You see, if you give yourself a few minutes to notice the naked truth that we're gonna die and we're gonna live - it means that God is bringing you across that 12 inch wasteland between our head and our heart that we spend so much time trying to cover up.
What is the fear that makes the 12 inches between your head and heart an un-crossable chasm? Is it: fear of poverty - of not having enough - that makes you horde all you got; fear of relationships - of having to make room in your heart for another - that makes you wall off your love into so many empty chambers; fear of emptiness – of giving away too much -that makes you gorge yourself with all kinds of stuff, well beyond what anyone needs for wholesome nourishment; fear of aloneness - of not having place, or standing, or status, or legitimacy that makes you crawl over, put down, or shame folks different from you?
Those are big chasms to cross all by yourself. In the cross of Jesus all of our faults are exposed. There can be no more illusion that we're of one mind and one heart. Our schemes to cover the naked truth are exposed. The garments of guile we wear to make people think we have it together are exposed for the rag-tags they are.
Take two minutes today, so you're geared up to grow 12 inches in 40 days. When we do Lent, alone and together, we can remember that there's no chasm we have to cross alone -cuz Jesus already crossed it for us. And now: still able to fool ourselves, we're free; still failing, we're forgiven; still frightened, we're fearless; and, we get to walk along and cross on home.
Still, despite what we know, and in spite of our fixation that we can, eventually, know everything we think we need to know, the longest distance on earth remains the 12 inches from the human brain to the human heart. That's where Lent comes in.
Lent isn't just a season in the church calendar. Lent is the time and energy Christians focus on the same questions that bedeviled Jesus in his desert experience: who am I; what am I to do; how can I get that done.
Those questions, and the intellectual, emotional, social and spiritual concerns they raise are issues of the heart. Issues for our hearts because when we take the time to think with our heads: about who we are; who we've let ourselves become; and who we're surely to be if we continue the path we're walking, we still don't know the whole truth about ourselves.
If you want to know something for sure, spend two minutes by yourself, looking in a mirror. The person looking back at you is gonna die someday. And when you can admit that you’re gonna die, you're gonna want to ask yourself, "So, how shall I live?"
Lent's heart time can help you answer that question anew. You could spend some time in prayer - becoming familiar with the person you are who God still loves. You could fast, not to lose weight, or to prove that you can live without chocolate, or alcohol, or nicotine, but to get reacquainted with the experience of hungering, pining, thirsting, yearning for more than what fills your usual bill. You could give alms -not to engage in checkbook mission and ministry, but to ally yourself with those who have no choice about their deprivation, their degradation, or their degeneration into an existence that few of our sated and comfortable ideas of God can console.
If you spend a few minutes staring into your own future - the dustiness that's to become of us – you might be able to not only look passed the fear that imprisons our hearts, but God might lead you to walk into, through, and past those fears cause us to think we can fool ourselves, by foolin' everyone else into believin' that we do pray, we do fast, and we do give alms - so aren't' we special!
If you spend a few minutes staring into your own future, the dustiness that's to become of us – it means you're alive. And when you can admit that you do have a life, you're gonna want to ask yourself, "So, how shall I live?"
You see, if you give yourself a few minutes to notice the naked truth that we're gonna die and we're gonna live - it means that God is bringing you across that 12 inch wasteland between our head and our heart that we spend so much time trying to cover up.
What is the fear that makes the 12 inches between your head and heart an un-crossable chasm? Is it: fear of poverty - of not having enough - that makes you horde all you got; fear of relationships - of having to make room in your heart for another - that makes you wall off your love into so many empty chambers; fear of emptiness – of giving away too much -that makes you gorge yourself with all kinds of stuff, well beyond what anyone needs for wholesome nourishment; fear of aloneness - of not having place, or standing, or status, or legitimacy that makes you crawl over, put down, or shame folks different from you?
Those are big chasms to cross all by yourself. In the cross of Jesus all of our faults are exposed. There can be no more illusion that we're of one mind and one heart. Our schemes to cover the naked truth are exposed. The garments of guile we wear to make people think we have it together are exposed for the rag-tags they are.
Take two minutes today, so you're geared up to grow 12 inches in 40 days. When we do Lent, alone and together, we can remember that there's no chasm we have to cross alone -cuz Jesus already crossed it for us. And now: still able to fool ourselves, we're free; still failing, we're forgiven; still frightened, we're fearless; and, we get to walk along and cross on home.
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