Category: Holidays

Accepting

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Second Sunday of Advent 2009

“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May it be to me as you have said.”

The wait for the Messiah was long. Like a couple struggling with infertility, hoping each month would bring the news that the dream they so desperately desired had finally arrived, the people of Israel had waited for a Messiah to come and change their lives. There were false hopes, but those briefly shining stars burnt themselves out quickly playing the world’s games of violence and power grabs. And so the people waited.

And then when God was ready to send a Messiah that would challenge all expectations, he came to a young girl and asked her to carry his child. And she accepted the task – “May it be to me as you have said.”

The Carmelite theme for this second week of Advent is that of Accepting. Mary had to accept that all of her expectations of the savior coming as a king had to be left behind. She had to accept that she could be facing the wrath of her family and fiancé and the ridicule of the town. She had to accept that she had a vital role to play in the saving of her people. In this upside-down world, a poor young girl is chosen to take the first step forward. The unexpected and inappropriate choice, she pushes that aside and accepts anyway.

So often we want the magic-wand fix. The people wanted God to send a powerful warrior king who would rescue Israel while punishing their oppressors. They had a hard time then accepting a messenger who identified with the oppressed because he was one of them. He wasn’t going to abracadabra their troubles away. No, he expected them to follow his path and do the dirty work of ending that oppression themselves. Instead of longing each day to be rescued out of their situation, they were to embrace it fully enough to change it. The message of this unexpected messiah was similar to that the prophet Jeremiah sent to the exiles living in Babylon –

This is what the LORD Almighty, the God of Israel, says to all those I carried into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: “Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease. Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the LORD for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.” Jeremiah 29:4-7

Be present enough to make a difference – that’s what accepting is all about. Mary chose to accept her task and live into the beautiful mess it would create. The followers of Jesus had to accept that walking alongside and even loving their oppressors was the only way forward. We have to accept the command to settle down in exile in order to ever even begin to change the world.

It’s all about learning to accept.  Accepting the requests that destroy our lives in the best possible ways. Accepting that what we may have been waiting for is not what we really wanted after all. Accepting that our messed-up selves are the ones God is using to reach the world. Accepting God in spite of ourselves.

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Waiting

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First Sunday of Advent 2009

I love the traditional Carmelite themes for each week of Advent – waiting, accepting, journeying, and birthing.  For a season that is all about the anticipation of a birth, using a framework that is rooted in the experience of childbearing connects it to a side of the divine that is often neglected.  Feminine metaphors are well suited, in my opinion, to tell the story of a birth.

Women who’ve given birth know the mess and horrific pain that accompany the joy of welcoming new life into this world.  And the waiting for a birth is no less conflicted.  Nine months is a long time.  Between the bouts of morning sickness, the swollen ankles, and the indigestion there are the long discussions about names and getting the nursery just right.  Alongside the vivid nightmares and panic attacks that you are just not ready to be a mom, there are the daydreams about what it will be like to hold your baby.  Those few seconds in the ultrasound room with the closed-lipped technician do little to assuage your made-up fears or the gut-level desire to just have the baby out already.  Even before you are sick of wearing the same two pregnancy shirts over and over again, you wish that your belly had a little zipper that would allow you just one peak at the little one inside (or at least a short reprieve from having your bladder used as a trampoline).  Waiting for something beautiful to be born – for joy to fully enter your life – is hard.  The child is already there, the joy is present, but you still long for its arrival.

And so mothers learn to wait.

Waiting for the word to become flesh – for the advent of the Messiah was no less difficult.  The dream was in the making, the prophets had cast the vision of hope, but like a pixelated ultrasound image, it left the people wanting.  They knew one would come who would turn the world upside-down, who would hear the cries of the oppressed and bring justice to the land.  Isaiah had foretold of this coming time yet to be born –

On this mountain the LORD Almighty will prepare
a feast of rich food for all peoples,
a banquet of aged wine—
the best of meats and the finest of wines.

On this mountain he will destroy
the shroud that enfolds all peoples,
the sheet that covers all nations;

he will swallow up death forever.
The Sovereign LORD will wipe away the tears
from all faces;
he will remove his people’s disgrace
from all the earth.
The LORD has spoken.

…

Trust in the LORD forever,
for the LORD, the LORD, is the Rock eternal.

He humbles those who dwell on high,
he lays the lofty city low;
he levels it to the ground
and casts it down to the dust.

Feet trample it down—
the feet of the oppressed,
the footsteps of the poor.

–          Isaiah 25: 6-8 & 26: 4-6

They were waiting for the world to change, for a new era to finally be born.  Like a mother longing to just hold that baby growing in her womb, they wanted the promise they had held on to for so long to finally come to fruition.  A few even realized that this gestation of a dream would reach it’s fulfillment in an actual birth.  And so we see prophetess Anna in the Temple approaching this incarnate deity exclaiming words of thanksgiving and giving encouragement to those there who had been longing for the redemption of Israel.  This child who Mary had waited a long nine months to finally suckle at her breast, was living proof that the dream was not in vain – that the wait was worth it.  The world that the prophets had imagined was finally being born where tears would be wiped away and all would feast on aged wine.

But births are never easy.  And upside-down kingdoms have a quirky way of being upside-down.  As joy arrived and dwelt among us, we discovered that there is meaning in the waiting.  The hope and joy is perpetually gestating and being born in light of the way this one little baby shattered every preconception we ever had about the dream we long for.

And so we wait. And anticipate. And live. And follow. And serve.

The child is here, the joy is present, and still we wait for the birth.  The waiting changes us and changes the world.

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Fair Trade Christmas

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So the stores are already playing Christmas music and down here in Texas the highs are only the 70s and 80s, so the holiday season must be upon us. But as we gear up for the celebrations, the spiritual reflections, and the traditions now is a good time to start deliberately planning how we can make this Christmas a just Christmas. In other words, how can we subvert systems of oppression and exploitation through our holiday habits. And while I think some of those habits might need to be reevaluated, some of them are beautiful and hold special meaning. So while I am wary of over-consumption, we still practice the giving of gifts in my family. I just do my best to therefore try to make my consumption ethical.

So I’m excited by Trade As One’s campaign this holiday season to encourage all of us to buy Fair Trade gifts this Christmas. We turn our traditions into a way to help and love others through such purchases. And if enough of us do it, we can make a big difference. They write – “Think about this: Just One Fair Trade purchase from every American churchgoer this Christmas would lift one million families out of abusive poverty for one whole year. Let’s make sure that when gifts are given, they speak of the sort of world that Jesus came to show us—one where the last is first, where the poor are included, the sick are healed, and the captive is set free.”

 

There are numerous ways one can support Fair Trade or other justice causes this Christmas. We are excited this year to find a Fair Trade Chocolate Advent Calendar. And I take time with the kids to support families around the world by purchasing animals from Heifer International. But there are numerous places online where one can find Fair Trade items to give this Christmas. I’ve listed some of my favorite sites below. But all it takes is just a little tweak to our holiday habits this Christmas to help show love to people around the world.

Clothing and Accessories

Food, Coffee, and Gifts

Other

So have yourself a merry little fair trade Christmas. Celebrate traditions and do some good while you are at it.

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Independence Day Heroes

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It’s been said that July 4, 1776 was an Independence Day only if you were a white, property-owning male. For the women, the black slaves, and the Native Americans all that changed was who controlled them. So while we spend a day blowing things up to commemorate white men (sorry, couldn’t resist the picture) who brought freedom to other white men (not that they don’t deserve freedom too), I thought I might highlight a few unsung freedom fighters. No, they didn’t kill anyone, blow things up, or wear a uniform – but they helped bring significant freedoms to the most oppressed in our country. These are my Independence Day heroes.

Sarah and Angelina Grimke – sisters born to an “aristocratic” Southern slaveholding family, who after converting to the Quaker faith became abolitionists and women’s rights advocates. They were among the first women to take a public stand against the oppression of women and slaves. Angelina lectured to legislative groups and Sarah wrote An Epistle to the Clergy of the Southern States (1836), urging abolition, and Letters on the Equality of the Sexes and the Condition of Woman (1838). Theirs was faith in action, bringing freedom to those denied a voice.

INTEGRATION RUBY BRIDGESRuby Bridges – for the sake of a better education for all this six year old became one of the first black kids to attend an all-white school. Even though she received threats, her father lost his job, U.S. Marshalls had to escort her to school, and she ended up being the only student in her class with the help of her family, her teacher, and psychiatrist Dr. Robert Coles, she stuck it out. And started our country down the path of freedom of (good) education for all.

Romeo Ramirez – the first American to be awarded (in 2003) the Robert F. Kennedy Human Right Award. Ramirez moved to Florida from Guatemala at age 15 in search of work. What he saw in the citrus groves and tomato farms — forced labor, armed guards in the fields, economic servitude — turned the slight, soft-spoken farmworker into an organizer and activist. He joined a group called the Coalition for Immokalee Workers, went undercover, testified in federal court, and helped put three labor crew bosses behind bars for the next decade. He is the face of those seeking freedom for the modern day slaves in our midst.

Who are your heroes? Who do you look up to in the fight to free others from oppression?

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Memorial Day Thoughts

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As we prepare to take a day off work and grill obscene amounts of meat in our backyards, it is interesting to reflect on the original intent of Memorial Day. It began as a day to honor fallen Union soldiers after the Civil War and was later expanded to honor all American casualties of war. From the inaugural description of the day –

The 30th day of May, 1868, is designated for the purpose of strewing with flowers, or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies now lie in almost every city, village, and hamlet churchyard in the land. In this observance no form or ceremony is prescribed, but Posts and comrades will, in their own way, arrange such fitting services and testimonials of respect as circumstances may permit.

We are organized, Comrades, as our regulations tell us, for the purpose among other things, “of preserving and strengthening those kind and fraternal feelings which have bound together the soldiers sailors and Marines, who united to suppress the late rebellion.” What can aid more to assure this result than by cherishing tenderly the memory of our heroic dead? We should guard their graves with sacred vigilance. All that the consecrated wealth and taste of the nation can add to their adornment and security, is but a fitting tribute to the memory of her slain defenders. Let pleasant paths invite the coming and going of reverent visitors and fond mourners. Let no neglect, no ravages of time, testify to the present or to the coming generations that we have forgotten as a people the cost of a free and undivided republic.

As I read that description, I couldn’t help but reflect on the slight dissonance it recalled in me. For better or worse, I grew up in the South. While I was taught that slavery was wrong, there was an underlying sympathy for the South in the way that era of history was taught in schools. It wasn’t uncommon for the Civil War to be referred to as The War of Northern Aggression. History taught from the “other” perspective – in this case from the still slightly bitter losers – doesn’t always feel the same as that presented by the winners. So even now as I read the words telling me to honor those “who united to suppress the late rebellion” and died to preserve a “free and undivided republic,” I feel a twinge of dissonance. My cultural heritage, even if I don’t agree with it, was on the side of the rebellion. I am, in a small way, part of the “them” in this “us verses them” scenario. It just makes it a bit weird to remember and celebrate the sacrifices of the “other side.”

That dissonance was made even more real when I began to encounter other cultures that the United States has fought against. I remember being in some small country town in Germany and seeing a WW2 memorial. It took me a minute to realize that this was a memorial to the Nazis, the guys my country (my grandfather) killed. But they were sons and husbands sacrificed by this small town as well. Similar thing happened in grad school. I was out to lunch with a classmate from the Ukraine and we were sharing stories from our childhood about the Cold War. We each were fed propaganda about each other’s country and we had to do duck and cover drills in school. It was quite strange sitting in a Panara Bread in suburban Wheaton discussing how we would hide under our desks out of fear of each other. I saw the other side of the story and that those I had cast (or had been taught to cast) as “THEM” weren’t really that different than me. And while I admit to the evils of both WW2 and the Cold War, knowing the people on the other side makes it hard to celebrate those who died to protect me from them.

So as we are meant to keep the memory of the heroic dead on this day, I have to wonder if the “wealth and taste of the nation” might have some better use than preserving the memory of a fight to destroy those who are now our friends? Perhaps we could be building bridges, visiting country villages, and sharing meals with those we currently cast in the role of enemy. Perhaps instead of simple remembering those we lost in grievances of the past we can work to prevent the grievances of the present and future.

Or we could just relax, eat a hamburger, drink a beer and let the day pass unreflected upon (which in all truth are my plans for the day).  But maybe it’s a good thing that community building has replaced the honoring of the dead as the main purpose of the day.

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Post-Easter Thoughts

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I enjoyed the Easter service at Journey on Sunday – and I’ve been trying to write about it since then, but the kids had other plans for me. But the service was a good reminder that the point of the Resurrection is not that that it happened, but that we are called to respond to it. For most of my life Easter has been treated as simply an apologetics opportunity. Apparently if we know that it is possible to sweat blood, or the exact effect of crucifixion techniques on a body, or that the gospels were written too close to the event to be legends then we would have no choice but to believe it all happened. I think it’s obvious by now that simply knowing supposed facts or even believing something happened does little to change our lives. But nevertheless, the events of Easter continue to be reduced to poor historical forensics. Not that that stuff isn’t interesting or has a place, just that it really isn’t what Easter is about.

The argument that really gets me (which was brought up at church during the discussion) is the whole “the Easter story is just too fantastic and imperfectly told to be made up. The disciples couldn’t have made up this story if they had tried.” I used to buy that argument, but I’ve come to realize it’s utter absurdity. It’s premise rests on two assumptions. One that the gospel story is so unique it has to be true, and two, that imperfections in the writing techniques lend credibility to the story because no good author would allow such discrepancies. My response to proponents of the first premise is – have any of you guys ever read literature or studied history?! Of course authors come up with far more fantastical stories on a daily basis – even in ancient times. Ever read the Epic of Gilgamesh of Greek mythology? How about the Odyssey? In fact many of those old mythological stories about dying gods coming to life are pretty dang similar to the Easter story. How about looking into why we call the day Easter to begin with. Even if the story is true, it is not unique.

And as for the second premise, it assumes that the point of the gospels is to convince people to believe. I guess if we have made Easter all about believing in certain facts, it is understandable that some would assume that the gospel writers had that same purpose in mind. But I have a hard time believing that these stories were written down as evidence to convince us to believe. Jesus didn’t instruct the disciples to spread his story so that everyone would know it was true, he instructed them to train others in the disciplines of the Kingdom. The books we have are tools for helping us understand how to follow Christ. Not just to know what he did and believe it happened, but to live it out. We are to respond to the Resurrection in the ways Jesus called us to live. We can argue all we want about it happening or not, but in the end that does nothing to serve Christ. Choosing to respond and actually live in the way of Christ is where the true significance lies.

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Good Friday

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Show the Way
David Wilcox

You say you see no hope, you say you see no reason
We should dream that the world would ever change
You’re saying love is foolish to believe
‘Cause there’ll always be some crazy with an Army or a knife
To wake you from your day dream, put the fear back in your life

Look, if someone wrote a play just to glorify
What’s stronger than hate, would they not arrange the stage
To look as if the hero came too late, he’s almost in defeat
It’s looking like the Evil side will win, so on the Edge
Of every seat, from the moment that the whole thing begins
It is….

Love that mixed the mortar
And it’s love who stacked these stones
And it’s love who made the stage here
Although it looks like we’re alone
In this scene set in shadows
Like the night is here to stay
There is evil cast around us
But it’s love that wrote this play…

This is what is in my head today. Not my depravity. Not guilt at killing Christ. Not pressure to repent because someone died for me.  But instead I feel hopeful.  Hope that the incarnation means that a better world is possible. Hope that there is a reason to fight injustice.  Hope that Jesus meant what he said.  Hope that his life as well as his death demonstrate the best way to live.

I look to the victory of Christ not just over personified evil, but over a way of life that denies love. In a world where injustice seemingly prevails, Jesus taught us to follow another path. His incarnation demonstrated the possibility of living a life of love, peace, and justice. And it also reminds us how the world fears and fights against such a way of life. God chose to live among us in a way that turned upside down the system of power and greed the world holds dear.  He encouraged his followers to love their enemies, to serve the poor, to live in humility.  This way of life was so important to him that he even chose to die for it.

Resurrection is a reminder that in the end love does win, but so is the crucifixion. It is a reminder that this way of life was so important and vital that Christ would die for it. I find that hopeful. It is one thing to know that in the end everything will work out, but it is another to believe that we can live that way already.  We can live knowing love prevails – and our living so ushers in the reality.  I can live into that incarnation of love.  I can hope in the good and be the good that I am hoping for.  Even in the seeming despair of death I must claim hope – not just in resurrection and new life, but in a way of life defined by love.  For both victory and new life are hollow without love.

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Learning by Questioning

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As we make our way through Holy Week, I’ve been considering how best to discuss Easter with my daughter.  The apparently graphic lesson she heard at MOPS last week left her confused and fairly freaked out about death (gotta love the compulsion to evangelize toddlers…).  I want to connect her to the story, but to help her make it her own.  So I am liking the idea of exploring the Passover meal with her – especially the traditional aspects of the Seder that have the children asking questions about their faith.  The purpose of these question isn’t to receive some prescribed answer as in a catechism, but simply to ask questions of one’s faith.

I like this approach to learning about the faith.  I like that the children are encouraged to speak up and explore what they believe and the rituals of the faith.  They aren’t told to just be quiet and learn what the teacher wants them to know.  In the Seder tradition, there are no bad or wrong questions.  The child who asks the tricky or even the silly questions is not looked down upon, what is worrisome is the child who asks no questions.  Wrestling with faith or even attacking the faith are preferred to passively and unthinkingly going through the motions of faith.

My daughter is four, and is a chatterbox incessantly asking “why?”.  One of her favorite shows is Sid the Science Kid, a show about a preschool boy who each morning runs into a question he has about the world and then asks that question at preschool where the day is then spent answering his question.  She finds that fascinating, and loves the experimental approach they take to figuring out the answers.  I watch the show with her with chagrin.  No school (or Sunday school) is truly like that – allowing the inquisitive nature of kids guide the learning process.  While I understand the impracticalities of such a method, I wonder at what stage kids learn that questioning is bad.  Where absorbing facts, memorizing concepts, and reproducing them when asked replaces wondering about the world and wrestling with truth?  Even in Seminary my husband says the professors play the poor pedagogical game of having students parrot back the answer they want to hear.  Education has become about amassing information instead of learning to think.

So I want to tell the stories to my daughter and to enact the rituals of the faith with her, but I want her to know that those too can (and must) be questioned.  She shouldn’t just learn about her faith, she needs to live it.

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Living the Resurrection

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At church on Sunday, Bob Carlton brought up an interesting point – as Christians we tend to focus more on the crucifixion than we do the Ressurection. We have numerous theories (and debates) about atonement, we observe the Stations of the Cross, we watch movies detailing the violent death of Jesus – but give little attention to the Resurrection apart from asserting that it happened. This, of course, begged the question of “why?” Why do we fail to remember the Resurrection? Why don’t we re-enact it like we do Christ’s death? Why are we more fixated on death than life? There were a number of fascinating explanations suggested – that we feel the need to live in a story with a known climax, that we understand violence but not mystery… – but a couple things occurred to me during the discussion.

First – that as the church we haven’t always been so divorced from the practice of celebrating Resurrection. In the pre-industrial world people were much more attuned to the fading and returning of life in the unfolding of the seasons. Their feast days (which our Christian holy days attempt to co-opt) marked the turning points of the seasons – solstice, equinox, solstice – in an endless ritual. Each year the world enacted the play of death and resurrection as winter crept in and stole life and light away and then summer brought everything back to life again. But this wasn’t just a ritual – it was life. Marking and understanding this cycle meant the difference between life and death. One had to know when to plant and when to harvest and how much to store up against winter starvation. Life was cherished, and light as the harbinger of life revered. But we’ve lost that in the modern world. In our wired and climate-controlled homes we have little need to mark the passing of seasons except for how they effect our comfort. We know we can go to any store and buy produce no matter the season. We have disconnected ourselves from the cycle – living in an artificial (and unsustainable) now. We have little need to yearn for or celebrate the return of life to the earth. We take that life for granted and so have gotten out of the habit of practicing resurrection.

I believe this falling into the habit of remembering the death and not the life has marred our faith. The resurrection stands for hope – for remembering that good does win. The resurrection ushers in the Kingdom, calling us to live in that hope by following in the way of Christ. The resurrection encourages us to spread that hope – doing good, righting wrongs, caring for others. But instead we dwell simply on the death. We see less hope and possibility for improvement and instead see depravity. We make the death about us – how it serves us, how it defines us. Not that those questions are invalid, but to solely focus on them leads to a highly imbalanced faith. Our faith becomes about endings rather than beginnings. We can’t break free of the eternal now that is but a pseudo-life and embrace the return of the light. I think we can learn from the cultures that marked the passing of the seasons – even on the darkest day when it looked like death may have won the people are not called to mourn or to remain in darkness. No, they light a bonfire and chase away that very darkness asserting that the light will return and with it the life that sustains.

So I wonder what it will take for us to do more than utter a few “He is risen indeeds” on Easter and to choose to live in the Resurrection. To refrain from dwelling in despair and darkness and to affirm life instead. To live in the hope of the resurrection – choosing to bring life into the world.

At least that is what I am asking myself as I prepare for Holy Week.

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Lent

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So Lent starts today and honestly I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve been struggling with the whole thing. I didn’t grow up in churches that observed Lent. It was only in college that I was even exposed to the whole concept. I would hear my friends discussing what they wanted to give up for the season – chocolate, TV, soft drinks – as well as hear them complain about how Easter couldn’t arrive soon enough. But in truth it all seemed strange. I didn’t really understand Lent, but the whole give up something you like was just an odd observance.

I totally understand the idea of being disciplined and of using one’s extra time or craving to draw closer to God. That’s in theory at least how its supposed to work. But it all seemed sort of hollow to me. What lasting spiritual effect is there of not eating chocolate, complaining about it, putting others out who happen to serve it, and then resuming consumption come Easter? Or what’s the point of giving up TV when you know that you’ll just catch up on those episodes of Lost on TiVo or DVD after Easter?

What confuses me even more is the tendency to give up relational things for Lent. I’ve had friends give up using a cell phone – which just made it really annoying for us (or their employer) to reach them. Others give up going out with friends and others give up the whole Facebook, Twitter, blog thing. While I understand how such things can be addictions, but it just seems counter-intuitive to the ideals of Lent to separate ourselves from community.

So this is where I’m sure I offend, but its something I’ve been struggling with. I just don’t see the purpose of Lent to be this perfunctory elimination of some random thing we like whose loss we endure simply until Easter. It’s just too individualistic – it’s all about me, my sacrifice, and (hopefully) my relationship with God. And while I admit to and am grateful for the personal message of the gospel, this perspective seems to forget that part of the message of the gospel (and of Lent) is that of righting relationships. The gospel is not just about us – it’s not just about getting our own butts into heaven or making sure we feel close to God. It’s also about loving our neighbors, seeking justice for the oppressed, and being part of the body of Christ.

So that’s why I am uncomfortable with reducing Lent to chocolate or a few episodes of American Idol. During Lent we are called to right our relationships with God and with others. So I’m more inclined to instead of giving up Facebook use it more deliberately – trying to be more aware of the simple everyday parts of my friends lives. I don’t want to give up food simply for the sake of giving it up – I want to instead show love to others by eating food that was ethically sourced. I want to discipline my life to be more aware, more involved, and more loving. I want the season of Lent to transform me in ways that extend beyond Easter.

That said, I’m at a loss how to proceed this season. I want to love others and build community, but right now I’m still struggling to figure out how. It would be easy to simply eliminate something from my life, but I’m beginning to understand that perhaps it is better to build. But of course, that’s a lot messier. So I’m still trying to figure it out.

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