Two major events have occurred almost simultaneously over the past week. Thousands have been injured or died in Nepal as the result of earthquakes and in Baltimore, thousands have risen in protest against a police force that can take a black man into custody and then mysteriously sever his spine and cause his death. In the midst of questions surrounding the senseless deaths of people of color, one can only wonder where Christ is in the midst of all this.
These events can only be seen as crucifixion events, Good Fridays, in my mind. This does not make the victims Christ, but rather is a recognition that Christ is in these events alongside those who suffer, suffering with them. When Freddie Gray died, when countless other individuals died under suspicious circumstances at the hands of the authorities that were supposed to protect them, Christ was alongside them, crucified. When natural disaster occur and death tolls rise, Christ is alongside them, crucified.
But we know that crucifixion does not have the last say. We know that after the destruction and the horror, after the senseless death and betrayal of trust, after the crucifixion and death of even a Savior, life can be reborn. Resurrection can come. Things can be made new.
But what does that look like? How can we find it in the events of this week? What does it mean to believe in the power of Easter today?
I believe it means learning how to mourn and grieve as a worldwide community. It means mourning humans who were lost when structures collapsed. These structures are both literal buildings and structures of government that were supposed to protect and serve. It means allowing a space for profound grieving, a space where we can feel the full weight of loss. We often want to leave Good Friday and dive directly into Easter, but we all need space for mourning and grief. Jesus didn't rise the next day, and we need not jump immediately to rebuilding and renewal. Sometimes we just need time to cry. Funerals and protests, burials and responses to loss are part of what it means to be an Easter people.
I believe it means looking through and beyond looting and riots. It means looking at the underlying reasons for protest and working for just resolution. It means rebuilding structures in a way that provides strength against the forces of nature and providing aid to those who feel the deepest loss. Governments can change. Accountability can happen. Nations can be strengthened. Grief can be transformed into renewal of spirit. It is not easy. In fact, it's completely unnatural. Without God, without a Savior that has overcome death, we could never overcome these losses. But we have a force that is stronger than anything that the world could throw its way. It is the force of divine love working to transform all things, a force that can face death and resurrect life.
As we mourn, as we protest, let us also lift up our voices to the God who has resurrection power. For through God, our Good Fridays can become Easters.
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
To those who say, "I don't really trust organized religion. It's done a lot of bad things"
Last night I heard this phrase again. "I don't really trust organized religion. It's done a lot of bad things." And I listened to a clergy person talk about fundamentalism, which while relevant to the issue, didn't really address it. Because it wasn't just fundamentalism that this person was critiquing. This person was addressing religion as a universal concept. And the comment didn't come from someone who had a lot of personal experience with fundamentalist traditions, this came from somebody raised Episcopalian.
This comment is similar to many comments that I've heard recently, critiques of religion and more specifically of the Church, as many who I hear this from are nominal or former Christians or have mostly interacted with Christians. If you are one of these people, this letter is for you.
Dear Person who feels the pain of religious institutions,
I get it. I really do. People have hurt many in the name of religion. There were the crusades, holy wars, bickering, and battles all done over religious matters. And now today we have groups of terrorists claiming a form of Islam as their reason for destruction. In the United States, people are dying from religion in subtler ways. Children are being kicked out of religious homes for being LGBTQ. Several teenagers have recently committed suicide because their parents refused to believe that God makes some people transgender. People have died and are dying because of religious matters and organized religion.
I can't sugar coat what has happened or what is happening and I can't make it all feel okay. There is pain around the edges of every religious tradition, organization, and institution. I feel it, I see it. I know that not everything's okay.
But I have seen the power for good that comes from organized religion. I have seen groups mobilize to save lives, I have seen the hungry fed and the naked clothed. I have witnessed transformations that are remarkable. Most of them aren't big and flashy, they don't often make the headline news, though sometimes they do. But most importantly they happen. Look around you. Look at what the institutions in your town or city are doing for those around them. It may not be much, but it's happening. When those small efforts are combined with other people's efforts, amazing things happen. Many religious people are absolutely committed to changing the world, one person, one social issue at a time. Sometimes they are Martin Luther King Jr. and sometimes they are Joy, who works at a clothing closet for the homeless. They work diligently, insisting on affirming the dignity of every human life.
With the ability to do great good comes the ability to do great evil. You see both in any organized religion. When evil things happen they can be incredibly painful. When good things happen, there is truly hope for the reformation of the world. People begin to be able to open their imaginations to all the possibilities of what the world could look like. There is inspiration that can only be divinely given. Lives are given over to divinity that is greater than anything imaginable and people begin to work to transform this world from the inside out.
Institutional and organized religion help people imagine and live out a divinely given communal identity. They are grand experiments, workshops for people to learn how to frame their lives around the identity the divine calls us to. Sometimes the people in these experimental communities falter. Sometimes these communities wrap around ideas that close them off from people they are called to care for. Sometimes they work. Enough of these communities have transformed enough lives that they continue to flourish and crop up in new places and have done so for thousands of years. There is something in these traditions and organized religions that make them important and valuable for those who practice them. These things have not changed generation after generation.
The organized religion that I practice, Christianity, is a deep part of who I am as a person. I am learning how to live in a way that is community focused, self giving, and yet full of life. It shapes how I act and how I think. It is a deep part of my identity as a person. I know I do not need to be a Christian in order to be a good person, and I am not Christian because I think it will give me an advantage in the afterlife. What Christianity offers that keeps me going week after week is a relationship with God, who is both relational and wholly other. This is a God who became human so that we might be closer to the divine. This is a God who sees all the faults of the world, all our problems, all the pain, and yet still calls humanity good and seeks to help us become the people we are meant to be. This is a God who triumphs over death and seeks to love those who cause the deepest pains. I would be willing to die for God because God was willing to die for me.
I am a part of the experimental community called the Church. This has taught me about my identity, cultivated it within me, and communally comes together to support each other as we try to live out this identity. The Church is a community that not only seeks to learn about God, but to learn how we are to be in relationship with one another as Christians and with the rest of the world. We are learning how to shape our relational lives together in a way that mirrors how God relates to us. We ask God to help us not fail in our tasks to live as Christian communities. And some communities fail miserably. Sometimes communities wound. But some communities really do come closer to the heart of the Christian faith and the areas around them are transformed. The divine begins to touch all of the humanity in those regions and affirms that they are indeed God's own creation, beloved and good.
I affirm that a lot of bad has been done in the name of religion, but I also invite you to also look into all the good that has been done in the name of religion. I also invite you to be open to those whose lives have been transformed by their faith. You don't have to follow their religion, but allow yourself to be inspired by their faith journeys. Some of them are truly incredible. Organized religion has done a lot of bad things, but it has also done a lot of good. I hope you are able to open yourself up to see that balance.
Thank you for your critical eye, for not taking things at face value. Thank you for questioning motives and holding religious people accountable for their actions. I appreciate your sentiments and I respect them.
Sincerely,
Zeb
This comment is similar to many comments that I've heard recently, critiques of religion and more specifically of the Church, as many who I hear this from are nominal or former Christians or have mostly interacted with Christians. If you are one of these people, this letter is for you.
Dear Person who feels the pain of religious institutions,
I get it. I really do. People have hurt many in the name of religion. There were the crusades, holy wars, bickering, and battles all done over religious matters. And now today we have groups of terrorists claiming a form of Islam as their reason for destruction. In the United States, people are dying from religion in subtler ways. Children are being kicked out of religious homes for being LGBTQ. Several teenagers have recently committed suicide because their parents refused to believe that God makes some people transgender. People have died and are dying because of religious matters and organized religion.
I can't sugar coat what has happened or what is happening and I can't make it all feel okay. There is pain around the edges of every religious tradition, organization, and institution. I feel it, I see it. I know that not everything's okay.
But I have seen the power for good that comes from organized religion. I have seen groups mobilize to save lives, I have seen the hungry fed and the naked clothed. I have witnessed transformations that are remarkable. Most of them aren't big and flashy, they don't often make the headline news, though sometimes they do. But most importantly they happen. Look around you. Look at what the institutions in your town or city are doing for those around them. It may not be much, but it's happening. When those small efforts are combined with other people's efforts, amazing things happen. Many religious people are absolutely committed to changing the world, one person, one social issue at a time. Sometimes they are Martin Luther King Jr. and sometimes they are Joy, who works at a clothing closet for the homeless. They work diligently, insisting on affirming the dignity of every human life.
With the ability to do great good comes the ability to do great evil. You see both in any organized religion. When evil things happen they can be incredibly painful. When good things happen, there is truly hope for the reformation of the world. People begin to be able to open their imaginations to all the possibilities of what the world could look like. There is inspiration that can only be divinely given. Lives are given over to divinity that is greater than anything imaginable and people begin to work to transform this world from the inside out.
Institutional and organized religion help people imagine and live out a divinely given communal identity. They are grand experiments, workshops for people to learn how to frame their lives around the identity the divine calls us to. Sometimes the people in these experimental communities falter. Sometimes these communities wrap around ideas that close them off from people they are called to care for. Sometimes they work. Enough of these communities have transformed enough lives that they continue to flourish and crop up in new places and have done so for thousands of years. There is something in these traditions and organized religions that make them important and valuable for those who practice them. These things have not changed generation after generation.
The organized religion that I practice, Christianity, is a deep part of who I am as a person. I am learning how to live in a way that is community focused, self giving, and yet full of life. It shapes how I act and how I think. It is a deep part of my identity as a person. I know I do not need to be a Christian in order to be a good person, and I am not Christian because I think it will give me an advantage in the afterlife. What Christianity offers that keeps me going week after week is a relationship with God, who is both relational and wholly other. This is a God who became human so that we might be closer to the divine. This is a God who sees all the faults of the world, all our problems, all the pain, and yet still calls humanity good and seeks to help us become the people we are meant to be. This is a God who triumphs over death and seeks to love those who cause the deepest pains. I would be willing to die for God because God was willing to die for me.
I am a part of the experimental community called the Church. This has taught me about my identity, cultivated it within me, and communally comes together to support each other as we try to live out this identity. The Church is a community that not only seeks to learn about God, but to learn how we are to be in relationship with one another as Christians and with the rest of the world. We are learning how to shape our relational lives together in a way that mirrors how God relates to us. We ask God to help us not fail in our tasks to live as Christian communities. And some communities fail miserably. Sometimes communities wound. But some communities really do come closer to the heart of the Christian faith and the areas around them are transformed. The divine begins to touch all of the humanity in those regions and affirms that they are indeed God's own creation, beloved and good.
I affirm that a lot of bad has been done in the name of religion, but I also invite you to also look into all the good that has been done in the name of religion. I also invite you to be open to those whose lives have been transformed by their faith. You don't have to follow their religion, but allow yourself to be inspired by their faith journeys. Some of them are truly incredible. Organized religion has done a lot of bad things, but it has also done a lot of good. I hope you are able to open yourself up to see that balance.
Thank you for your critical eye, for not taking things at face value. Thank you for questioning motives and holding religious people accountable for their actions. I appreciate your sentiments and I respect them.
Sincerely,
Zeb
Sunday, February 22, 2015
The Wilderness: Sermon from the First Sunday of Lent 2/22/15
Delivered at Church of Our Saviour, Atlanta GA
First Sunday in Lent 2/22/15
Genesis 9:8-17
Psalm 25:1-9
1 Peter 3:18-22
Mark 1:9-15
The Great Litany BCP p.148
First Sunday in Lent 2/22/15
Genesis 9:8-17
Psalm 25:1-9
1 Peter 3:18-22
Mark 1:9-15
The Great Litany BCP p.148
Jesus came down from his home in
Nazareth to the banks of the Jordan River. He descended down toward the banks,
searching for the man named John who was baptizing there. John had been waiting
for the one who was greater than him. He baptized with water alone, a baptism
of repentance, but he knew there was one who would come after him, and that
person would baptize with the Holy Spirit.
Jesus came to John in the wilderness by the water’s edge. He waded into
the water with John, and John quickly immersed Jesus in the water. There was a
crowd of John’s followers watching him, waiting to greet the newly baptized and
teach him about John’s ways. But just as
Jesus was coming out of the water the sky tore apart. There was a bright vision of what appeared to
be a dove, gliding down from the sky and resting on Jesus. John and his followers knew that this was the
Spirit. Jesus was the one who was
greater than John. He had the Spirit,
which he could give to others. But before John and his disciples could speak
with Jesus, he went off into the wilderness. The Spirit had cast him into it.
Jesus wandered in
the hot desert for forty days. There was little water and little shelter from
the heat. This was a dangerous place,
and Jesus had to protect himself from the wild beasts that resided there.
Venomous snakes and scorpions could attack his heels. Wild dogs and jackals
could strike in the night. He was alone in the sandy terrain, exposed to all.
Then Satan came and began to tempt him. All the things of the earth could be
his. He could be a king, a ruler of the
earth, with power over all. Satan could
make him rich and popular. Wasn’t that all a man could dream of? But Jesus had
a different dream, a different call; one that would make him poor and despised
but was also the will of God. It was a
call to proclaim repentance and the kingdom of God.
As he resisted the
urging of Satan, angels came down and watched over him. The wild beasts did not
attack him, nor did he die of thirst. He
was protected. For while the wilderness was a place of danger, it was also a
place where God had protected God’s children.
When the Israelites escaped the bondage of Egypt, God had led them in
the wilderness in a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. When the Israelites were hungry in the
wilderness, God had provided them manna from the clouds. When they were
thirsty, the rocks were filled with water.
The wilderness was where God first came to dwell with the Israelites,
asking them to build a tabernacle, a tent where God could dwell among them. God
had never been closer to them than when they were in the wilderness. While the
people of Israel struggled and fought with God, God remained steadfast beside
them, leading them slowly and surely to the Promised Land.
And so, Jesus was
driven into the wilderness by the Spirit, not just to be tempted, but to come
closer to the one who had provided in the wilderness. Yes, Jesus was fully
divine, but he was also fully human, and he searched for that thin spot where
he could find the closest connection to the divinity while in his humanity.
This was the wilderness, the place where despite the struggles and because of
the struggles, God’s presence was near. And just as his ancestors had spent
forty years in the wilderness, learning from God and learning about the
struggle to follow God, Jesus spent forty days dwelling with God, learning to
resist the tempter. It was a time of struggle and a time of growth.
And after he had
dwelt in the desert for forty days, Jesus came out of the desert and went back
to Galilee. He was ready to begin his ministry, having communed with the divine
and learned the ways to resist temptation and the forces of evil. He spoke his message clearly and boldly, “The
time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in
the good news."
And now we have
come to our own time in the wilderness. For forty days we are called to resist
those things that tempt us and look for God who is near in the wilderness. God
is near to us today, as close as the very bread we eat and the very wine we
drink. But there are still dangers in
going into the wilderness with God.
There are those that can attack us, harm us, or destroy us. One needs to look no further than Syria to
find those who have given their very lives for this faith. In the wilderness, we may be called to places
we don’t really want to go, or to things we would rather not do. We are tempted to remain where we are
comfortable. But God is calling us into the wilderness to resist temptation and
to live anew.
What is it that
God is calling you to in this season in the wilderness? Where do you feel the
stirring of the Spirit calling you to consider a new way of being? Do you need
to repent of unhealthy patterns of living, of apathy, of broken relationships?
Do you try to hold onto too much and do not give things over to God? What is it
that you want the good Lord to deliver you from?
In this time in
the wilderness, open yourself up to the struggle that comes from being in the
wilderness. Allow yourself to be real and honest with God. Seek help if you
need it. God is calling us into something new. There will be a new ministry and
a new birth on Easter morning, but first we need to live into the wilderness
and seek the thin spaces between God and us.
This Lenten
season, we will be praying the Great Litany to begin our time of worship
together. This is a prayer that seeks to bring God into every corner of our
lives. We ask God to spare us from all the sinful things that we do and all the
fearful things we encounter. We then ask that God might forgive us, strengthen
us, and have mercy upon us. In the petitions and requests, I encourage you to
find yourself in that great prayer. In
the repetitions of our replies, I encourage you to lift your own petitions up
to God. And in the silence before the
reception of communion, I encourage you to ask God into those situations and
bring you new life. In your daily life, I encourage you to seek a richer and fuller
prayer life. Try new ways of speaking with God. See how God is answering you.
I also encourage
you to make a confession if you have not done so before. It is scary to voice all that you have done
to a priest, and you can go to another priest if you would feel more
comfortable, but there is something in sharing your sins and receiving
forgiveness that is invaluable. It is a time when you can truly be honest and
humble before God and seek advice to address your greatest needs. Weights have
come off shoulders in the rite of reconciliation. Wounds have been healed.
Miracles happen in the confidential confines of confession.
In this season,
seek the closeness of God in the wilderness, knowing that struggle does not
mean that you have been abandoned, and temptation need not be fulfilled. And in all things, seek Christ, the bringer
of the kingdom of God. Repent, and believe in the good news.
Friday, January 23, 2015
Contemplative Silence or Contemplative Words?
We started our Church Administration and Leadership class by reading Henri Nouwen's book In the Name of Jesus. In this work he reflects on his life of Christian leadership and talks about the temptations of Christian leadership. The first temptation he points to is the temptation of relevance, of wanting to be seen as somebody special instead of being somebody after God's own heart. His suggestion for countering that temptation was contemplative prayer. I think he's right about that. I also think that means I have a lot of work to do.
I keep on thinking that I should be more into silent meditation. I know several different contemplative prayer practices, but I keep coming back to the practice of sitting in silence and I get frustrated at how much I suck at it. I am so heady and wordy. I create dialogues in my head and had begun this blog post three times in my mind before it ever got onto paper. That is how I operate in the world. I create my own commentary. So when I try to focus on one word, try to clear my mind of other thoughts, I struggle. I either fall asleep or just feel uncomfortable. But how can I wait on God when I can't release myself from inner commentary? This is what I struggle with.
I know other practices that work better for me. Repeating prayers and listening to familiar music are ways I can simply be. Journaling and blogging are ways for me to release the commentary and see if God might actually be leading me in my thoughts. But I worry about being heady. I think we all worry about finding that line between what is God's will and what is my will. What are God's thoughts and what are mine? Am I actually listening to God at all or am I just doing my own thing? And that is why I want to be able to sit in silence. I want to be able to clear my mind and just sit. While I know there are other methods of contemplative prayer that come more naturally, I guess I have a bias towards silent meditation. It feels more "authentic" than staring out the window on the bus purposely listening to music that is so familiar, I don't even really hear it anymore.
My professor kind of glossed over contemplative prayer, saying we need to do the kind of prayer where we just listen to God, but I wish he had said more. My husband has devoted his life to contemplative prayer, I've taken classes in it, and I still don't quite get it. I don't know what does or doesn't count. I worry that I don't pray enough or I don't pray the right way. I wish that I could be confident in my prayer life. But my prayer life looks an awful lot like a person listening to music on a bus. I fear this doesn't really count.
The other day as I was coming back from class, worrying about contemplative prayer, I realized I was sitting on the other side of the bus from where I usually sit. And through the window I could see businesses on the other street over, a street I had never been to before. I saw things I had never seen in nearly two years of taking the same bus to school. And my commentary began. I thought, "Maybe contemplative prayer is simply about being receptive. Maybe it is waiting and being open to glimpses of the unseen. A lot of the time nothing happens, but sometimes you get a glimpse of God, and maybe that is what it is all about."
For now, I am not sure sitting in silence would really work for me. I need stimuli that put me into a prayerful state, and right now, those things are all filled with words. Not just one word, but many words. Words about God and for God. Words that come from my heart and other people's hearts. Familiar words. In this sea of words, I find myself able to move in and out of inner dialogue, able to sit with God without feeling uncomfortable or intimidated by the process. And maybe that is enough for now. Later I can work on the silence, but maybe right now I really need the words.
I live with the same fears I had as a child. When I was young, I told my mother that I was bad at praying because I couldn't keep my eyes closed. She revealed to me that many people pray with their eyes open. I fear that I cannot pray in the silence. Maybe it is okay to pray with the words.
I keep on thinking that I should be more into silent meditation. I know several different contemplative prayer practices, but I keep coming back to the practice of sitting in silence and I get frustrated at how much I suck at it. I am so heady and wordy. I create dialogues in my head and had begun this blog post three times in my mind before it ever got onto paper. That is how I operate in the world. I create my own commentary. So when I try to focus on one word, try to clear my mind of other thoughts, I struggle. I either fall asleep or just feel uncomfortable. But how can I wait on God when I can't release myself from inner commentary? This is what I struggle with.
I know other practices that work better for me. Repeating prayers and listening to familiar music are ways I can simply be. Journaling and blogging are ways for me to release the commentary and see if God might actually be leading me in my thoughts. But I worry about being heady. I think we all worry about finding that line between what is God's will and what is my will. What are God's thoughts and what are mine? Am I actually listening to God at all or am I just doing my own thing? And that is why I want to be able to sit in silence. I want to be able to clear my mind and just sit. While I know there are other methods of contemplative prayer that come more naturally, I guess I have a bias towards silent meditation. It feels more "authentic" than staring out the window on the bus purposely listening to music that is so familiar, I don't even really hear it anymore.
My professor kind of glossed over contemplative prayer, saying we need to do the kind of prayer where we just listen to God, but I wish he had said more. My husband has devoted his life to contemplative prayer, I've taken classes in it, and I still don't quite get it. I don't know what does or doesn't count. I worry that I don't pray enough or I don't pray the right way. I wish that I could be confident in my prayer life. But my prayer life looks an awful lot like a person listening to music on a bus. I fear this doesn't really count.
The other day as I was coming back from class, worrying about contemplative prayer, I realized I was sitting on the other side of the bus from where I usually sit. And through the window I could see businesses on the other street over, a street I had never been to before. I saw things I had never seen in nearly two years of taking the same bus to school. And my commentary began. I thought, "Maybe contemplative prayer is simply about being receptive. Maybe it is waiting and being open to glimpses of the unseen. A lot of the time nothing happens, but sometimes you get a glimpse of God, and maybe that is what it is all about."
For now, I am not sure sitting in silence would really work for me. I need stimuli that put me into a prayerful state, and right now, those things are all filled with words. Not just one word, but many words. Words about God and for God. Words that come from my heart and other people's hearts. Familiar words. In this sea of words, I find myself able to move in and out of inner dialogue, able to sit with God without feeling uncomfortable or intimidated by the process. And maybe that is enough for now. Later I can work on the silence, but maybe right now I really need the words.
I live with the same fears I had as a child. When I was young, I told my mother that I was bad at praying because I couldn't keep my eyes closed. She revealed to me that many people pray with their eyes open. I fear that I cannot pray in the silence. Maybe it is okay to pray with the words.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Thoughts on Ferguson, Staten Island, and Police Brutality from an Officer's Child
When Michael Brown was killed in Ferguson, I assumed that something must have happened to cause Officer Wilson to use lethal force. I knew what it would take for the law enforcement officers I knew to pull a trigger. They would have to be in danger of losing their lives. Now I am not so sure what happened in Ferguson. I don't know how a police officer telling two young men not to jay walk turned into deadly use of force. The documents don't make sense to me. Something is not right.
Then Eric Garner was choked to death by an officer in Staten Island, and I don't know how that happened either. I don't get it. That should never have happened. If the police were arresting him, then all they needed was to put handcuffs on, and if he was resistant, there are ways to get him into the back of a patrol car that don't result in death.
I have been listening a lot to my black colleagues and classmates recently. Listening, but not saying much, because it's hard for me to take it all in. It's hard to figure it out. It's not the picture I have in my mind of the police force and I grieve what I am hearing and learning from my colleagues.
My father was a police officer in small towns for years. When I think of a white police officer, I naturally think of Dad coming home at the end of the day in his uniform. When I was 10, he became a probation/parole officer at a men's residential facility, and he proudly talks about helping men to examine their lives, to take actions to avoid years in prison and to live successful lives. When he runs into former clients, he is usually greeted with a smile and a handshake.
I have grown up for years hearing stories about Dad's law enforcement friends, people like the officer who refused to put tickets on the cars left in front of the bars at night because he wasn't going to penalize people recognized that they couldn't drive and found other ways home.
Recently I married a former police officer, and he boasts of how he had the lowest use of force rate while he was on the force. He always tried to talk to people and did everything he could to resolve situations without using force.
These are my images of the police force, and these are the images that I want to be the norm for every person residing in the United States. Sadly, more and more I am learning that my image is not the norm, especially for people of color, and that is not okay with me. I don't want people to be afraid of the police, I don't want to see them as enemies or as brutal people, I want them to see people like my father and my husband and the thousands of other wonderful people who are and have been law enforcement agents in the United States.
To change the image, we need justice. We need people standing up and saying this is not okay. It is not okay to shoot a man for questionable reasons and leave his body laying in the street for four hours. It is not okay to choke a man until he dies. It is not okay to let the questionable and corrupt actions of some law enforcement officers slide. Not only do these actions deny the value of the lives of black people, but these officers are not living out their duty to protect and serve the people in their communities. It is not okay for them to get away with not doing their job. We cannot let that slide.
My father is currently on the Citizens' Police Review Board in his community. It is a group of citizens assigned to examine complaints against police officers in their community and to make recommendations about what actions should be taken. It is a way that the community can hold the police force accountable. Though the board has no direct say on what happens to police officers who fail to protect and serve, they can be a voice against corruption. I want a Citizen's Police Review Board in every city across the United States. I want the board's demographics to reflect those of the community the board represents, and I want their voices to matter when it comes to reprimanding officers or taking cases against them to trial.
Perhaps it is also time to ensure that those who examine cases brought against police officers are not connected to the police department or the community those officers serve. We need impartial people reviewing the actions of police officers and deciding what actions need to be taken. The grand jury system doesn't appear to be working, and we perhaps need a different way of reviewing cases against our law enforcement officials.
Most importantly though, we need to connect the police force back to the community. We need to focus on training officers who can not only enforce the law, but also serve the people. I want law enforcement officers on the streets who genuinely care about the people they protect.
Ideally, they should be from the community itself and reflect the community's demographics.
I don't want to live in a world where people put up their hands in a gesture to say "Don't shoot". I don't want to live in a country where people of color are afraid of the police. I want a police force like the one I learned about growing up. I want men and women who are passionate about protecting and serving their communities patrolling the streets and I want officers who use force in inappropriate ways to be reprimanded accordingly. I want communities to be invested in their officers and officers invested in their communities.
This is not a lofty goal, but it takes commitment. We have to take seriously the critiques of persons of color against police officers and train our police force so they can serve all the people in their communities, not just the ones that look like them. We have to take seriously the actions of officers who use their force in inappropriate ways, especially when their use of force results in death. We cannot stand for corruption within our police force and law enforcement system. We have to commit to improving it. I want the primary image of a police officer in every community to be that of every wonderful and dedicated officer who puts their life on the line to protect and serve their community. I want them to imagine people like my husband and my dad.
Then Eric Garner was choked to death by an officer in Staten Island, and I don't know how that happened either. I don't get it. That should never have happened. If the police were arresting him, then all they needed was to put handcuffs on, and if he was resistant, there are ways to get him into the back of a patrol car that don't result in death.
I have been listening a lot to my black colleagues and classmates recently. Listening, but not saying much, because it's hard for me to take it all in. It's hard to figure it out. It's not the picture I have in my mind of the police force and I grieve what I am hearing and learning from my colleagues.
My father was a police officer in small towns for years. When I think of a white police officer, I naturally think of Dad coming home at the end of the day in his uniform. When I was 10, he became a probation/parole officer at a men's residential facility, and he proudly talks about helping men to examine their lives, to take actions to avoid years in prison and to live successful lives. When he runs into former clients, he is usually greeted with a smile and a handshake.
I have grown up for years hearing stories about Dad's law enforcement friends, people like the officer who refused to put tickets on the cars left in front of the bars at night because he wasn't going to penalize people recognized that they couldn't drive and found other ways home.
Recently I married a former police officer, and he boasts of how he had the lowest use of force rate while he was on the force. He always tried to talk to people and did everything he could to resolve situations without using force.
These are my images of the police force, and these are the images that I want to be the norm for every person residing in the United States. Sadly, more and more I am learning that my image is not the norm, especially for people of color, and that is not okay with me. I don't want people to be afraid of the police, I don't want to see them as enemies or as brutal people, I want them to see people like my father and my husband and the thousands of other wonderful people who are and have been law enforcement agents in the United States.
To change the image, we need justice. We need people standing up and saying this is not okay. It is not okay to shoot a man for questionable reasons and leave his body laying in the street for four hours. It is not okay to choke a man until he dies. It is not okay to let the questionable and corrupt actions of some law enforcement officers slide. Not only do these actions deny the value of the lives of black people, but these officers are not living out their duty to protect and serve the people in their communities. It is not okay for them to get away with not doing their job. We cannot let that slide.
My father is currently on the Citizens' Police Review Board in his community. It is a group of citizens assigned to examine complaints against police officers in their community and to make recommendations about what actions should be taken. It is a way that the community can hold the police force accountable. Though the board has no direct say on what happens to police officers who fail to protect and serve, they can be a voice against corruption. I want a Citizen's Police Review Board in every city across the United States. I want the board's demographics to reflect those of the community the board represents, and I want their voices to matter when it comes to reprimanding officers or taking cases against them to trial.
Perhaps it is also time to ensure that those who examine cases brought against police officers are not connected to the police department or the community those officers serve. We need impartial people reviewing the actions of police officers and deciding what actions need to be taken. The grand jury system doesn't appear to be working, and we perhaps need a different way of reviewing cases against our law enforcement officials.
Most importantly though, we need to connect the police force back to the community. We need to focus on training officers who can not only enforce the law, but also serve the people. I want law enforcement officers on the streets who genuinely care about the people they protect.
Ideally, they should be from the community itself and reflect the community's demographics.
I don't want to live in a world where people put up their hands in a gesture to say "Don't shoot". I don't want to live in a country where people of color are afraid of the police. I want a police force like the one I learned about growing up. I want men and women who are passionate about protecting and serving their communities patrolling the streets and I want officers who use force in inappropriate ways to be reprimanded accordingly. I want communities to be invested in their officers and officers invested in their communities.
This is not a lofty goal, but it takes commitment. We have to take seriously the critiques of persons of color against police officers and train our police force so they can serve all the people in their communities, not just the ones that look like them. We have to take seriously the actions of officers who use their force in inappropriate ways, especially when their use of force results in death. We cannot stand for corruption within our police force and law enforcement system. We have to commit to improving it. I want the primary image of a police officer in every community to be that of every wonderful and dedicated officer who puts their life on the line to protect and serve their community. I want them to imagine people like my husband and my dad.
Friday, September 19, 2014
Why do we go to church?
For the past several months, if not years, I have been musing over the question, "Why do we go to church?" It seems like a straightforward answer and many would affirm that one goes to church to learn about and worship God. But if that is all church is about, then if one reads from the Bible, says their prayers, reads books on the subject, and has access to any number of resources online, why do we still get together in buildings? What is the point of gathering for worship?
My first inclination was to say that it is for the sacraments. Indeed, I do not think I would be half the person I am if I didn't get some extra Jesus in my life through the Eucharist. It slowly but surely helps me to become a little more like Jesus, week after week, wafer after wafer. Jesus physically enters into the body and nourishes it. He transforms the physical body as well as the soul. There is nothing more awe inspiring to me than that. Surely the sacraments must be why we go to church.
But then I look at the vast majority of protestant churches, with a variety of beliefs about the sacraments and a variety of time tables for when they receive them. How can I say going to church is all about the sacraments when there are so many churches don't receive the Eucharist on a weekly basis or have different theologies about it? And what about the Quakers? They do not take physical sacraments at all, but rather experience spiritual baptism and communion. What is the reason that all these groups continue to gather every week?
So I went back to the drawing board and I decided that it must be about community. This is why the church gathers, to be a community that can shape each other as everyone works to better understand who God is and how God is working in their lives. It is all about learning from one another and growing with each other. Indeed, if an individual tries to understand God on their own, there is a great likelihood that the god they worship will end up being their own ideas and interpretations. How do they know if their ideas are valid unless they are challenged and molded by the others around them? But then what is to stop an entire church community from making their own false idols? How easily do some churches become cults of a pastor's personality? Indeed, a church community is always in some way shaped by the personality of the person in charge. There is no getting around that fact. So how does being a part of a congregation help a person with their faith if their faith could potentially be led astray by the person in charge?
So I mulled about this for a while, knowing that what I felt about the sacraments was true and what I felt about community was true, but having trouble connecting the dots.
I also began to muse about why I went to chapel services at my seminary. To be honest, the mish-mash of traditions drives me a little batty. So do I go for my own spiritual edification? Yes and no. Whether or not the preacher interests me or whether I think the service will be good hardly factors into why my butt is in the pew. Is it some sense of duty? Kind of. I left for a while and came back because I felt that it was important as the president of a student organization to be there. But if that were the only thing, I wouldn't feel a deeper need to be there. There was something else driving me besides my own sense of student leadership. And I could easily not go. A lot of people don't. That's not a judgment on anyone, I understand many of the reasons why people don't go and I don't go all the time. But more often than not, my butt is in that pew.
And that is where I found a piece of the answer that I was looking for. I show up not because I think chapel will be terrific. I show up because you never know when Christ is going to come and say something important. Sometimes there's nothing of note that happens. I come, I do the worship routine, I leave. But sometimes something really unexpected happens. A song grabs me, a scripture startles me, or a sermon really gets me. Christ comes when I'm not really expecting Him. Christ can come at any moment. And sometimes it's not even anything in the service order itself that strikes me. Sometimes it's the people around me. It's amazing to me how putting my butt in a pew has allowed me to meet more of my fellow students than I could have ever met in the halls. As we share together before services, we are able to connect in sometimes unexpected ways.
Finally I was able to piece together what it meant to go to church. A church service often contains all we need to better hear the call of Christ for our days and our lives. Sometimes Christ is felt in songs or scripture or sermon. Sometimes Christ is felt most in fellowship and feast. But Christ is always there. Indeed God is present in every element in our lives. And it's not that we have to gather communally to worship, but when we do, when we come as God's People to hear God's Word, we can be changed. There is transformation power in community. There is resurrection power in the Word. Sometimes the community doesn't always align perfectly with the Word. It is resistant to where God is calling it, its doctrines don't always mesh up, but still it seeks. And when the Body of Christ sinks into the People of God and claims it as its own, things happen. Communities change. People are not the same. The Kingdom enters our kingdoms.
So why do we gather together? Why do we go to church? Because we believe that the Word of God can change lives. We believe that Christ can come into hearts at any given moment, and this isn't just a one time thing, but a continual thing, shaping people into the Body of Christ. And when the Body of Christ comes together and seeks God together, the Kingdom of God can enter the world. It may be only glimpses or foretastes, but those moments energize us and revitalize us for the work that will lead to the Kingdom truly inhabiting our planet. We come because we believe Christ can and does change the world.
My first inclination was to say that it is for the sacraments. Indeed, I do not think I would be half the person I am if I didn't get some extra Jesus in my life through the Eucharist. It slowly but surely helps me to become a little more like Jesus, week after week, wafer after wafer. Jesus physically enters into the body and nourishes it. He transforms the physical body as well as the soul. There is nothing more awe inspiring to me than that. Surely the sacraments must be why we go to church.
But then I look at the vast majority of protestant churches, with a variety of beliefs about the sacraments and a variety of time tables for when they receive them. How can I say going to church is all about the sacraments when there are so many churches don't receive the Eucharist on a weekly basis or have different theologies about it? And what about the Quakers? They do not take physical sacraments at all, but rather experience spiritual baptism and communion. What is the reason that all these groups continue to gather every week?
So I went back to the drawing board and I decided that it must be about community. This is why the church gathers, to be a community that can shape each other as everyone works to better understand who God is and how God is working in their lives. It is all about learning from one another and growing with each other. Indeed, if an individual tries to understand God on their own, there is a great likelihood that the god they worship will end up being their own ideas and interpretations. How do they know if their ideas are valid unless they are challenged and molded by the others around them? But then what is to stop an entire church community from making their own false idols? How easily do some churches become cults of a pastor's personality? Indeed, a church community is always in some way shaped by the personality of the person in charge. There is no getting around that fact. So how does being a part of a congregation help a person with their faith if their faith could potentially be led astray by the person in charge?
So I mulled about this for a while, knowing that what I felt about the sacraments was true and what I felt about community was true, but having trouble connecting the dots.
I also began to muse about why I went to chapel services at my seminary. To be honest, the mish-mash of traditions drives me a little batty. So do I go for my own spiritual edification? Yes and no. Whether or not the preacher interests me or whether I think the service will be good hardly factors into why my butt is in the pew. Is it some sense of duty? Kind of. I left for a while and came back because I felt that it was important as the president of a student organization to be there. But if that were the only thing, I wouldn't feel a deeper need to be there. There was something else driving me besides my own sense of student leadership. And I could easily not go. A lot of people don't. That's not a judgment on anyone, I understand many of the reasons why people don't go and I don't go all the time. But more often than not, my butt is in that pew.
And that is where I found a piece of the answer that I was looking for. I show up not because I think chapel will be terrific. I show up because you never know when Christ is going to come and say something important. Sometimes there's nothing of note that happens. I come, I do the worship routine, I leave. But sometimes something really unexpected happens. A song grabs me, a scripture startles me, or a sermon really gets me. Christ comes when I'm not really expecting Him. Christ can come at any moment. And sometimes it's not even anything in the service order itself that strikes me. Sometimes it's the people around me. It's amazing to me how putting my butt in a pew has allowed me to meet more of my fellow students than I could have ever met in the halls. As we share together before services, we are able to connect in sometimes unexpected ways.
Finally I was able to piece together what it meant to go to church. A church service often contains all we need to better hear the call of Christ for our days and our lives. Sometimes Christ is felt in songs or scripture or sermon. Sometimes Christ is felt most in fellowship and feast. But Christ is always there. Indeed God is present in every element in our lives. And it's not that we have to gather communally to worship, but when we do, when we come as God's People to hear God's Word, we can be changed. There is transformation power in community. There is resurrection power in the Word. Sometimes the community doesn't always align perfectly with the Word. It is resistant to where God is calling it, its doctrines don't always mesh up, but still it seeks. And when the Body of Christ sinks into the People of God and claims it as its own, things happen. Communities change. People are not the same. The Kingdom enters our kingdoms.
So why do we gather together? Why do we go to church? Because we believe that the Word of God can change lives. We believe that Christ can come into hearts at any given moment, and this isn't just a one time thing, but a continual thing, shaping people into the Body of Christ. And when the Body of Christ comes together and seeks God together, the Kingdom of God can enter the world. It may be only glimpses or foretastes, but those moments energize us and revitalize us for the work that will lead to the Kingdom truly inhabiting our planet. We come because we believe Christ can and does change the world.
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
Leaving Cape Town
My roommates have left, the apartment is empty, and I am cleaning up, preparing to turn over the keys and get on a plane tonight. There has not been a single day when I was not homesick, when I did not long for my home with my fiance. And I am so excited to go back to him, to go back to our home and to our friends, and to our life together.
But this trip has been good for me. Besides being able to experience all the beauty around Cape Town, I have gotten to work with people I would not have considered partnering with before. I knew that I was going to learn about the religious experiences of sex workers, but I had no idea that I would be sharing office space with people who work in the office by day and sell sex at night. I have met many sex workers and played with their children. I have seen what it means for someone to be an impoverished transgender woman, but I've also seen their souls dance as they come together for support. I've learned about the struggles many people have on the street, and about the struggles people have in the townships. If one lives in either place, it is sometimes hard to keep dry. And in a cold winter when nobody has centrally heated homes, the wetter you are, the worse it gets. I've heard people talk about doing drugs just so they don't feel the cold and the wet at night.
I've also studied a lot and thought a lot about the church's theology of sex, and what it means to hold the idea that sex is something special and sacred, but also what it means when sex is a way to provide for yourself and your family. What does it mean to commodify sex? But then what also does it mean that economically, it is hard for many who come from poverty to leave poverty? What does it mean that unemployment rates nationwide in South Africa are high. What does it mean to have to support yourself and this job pays well when one gets enough clients?
But the most important thing I've learned is that Christ is not confined to those society would like to label as "decent". Christ sometimes shows up in the weirdest of places, like an organization that supports sex workers. They challenged my idea of who a Christian can be. I learned about experiences of growing up and moving away from the church, but I also learned about some who are faithful, who sit in that pew every Sunday, who pray and read their Bible, who have an active relationship with God, yet are also providing for themselves and their families through sex work. They made me wonder, who can a Christian be?
The complexity of Christianity is when we begin to see that others whom we would rather ignore or push out have the Holy Spirit in them too. Then we have to experience Christ in a new way, as active in the lives of those we would prefer he not work in. We must ask what being Christian means, what salvation means, what it actually looks like, and whether someone can be both saved and sinner, poor yet rich in heaven. It's complex. It's challenging. We have been struggling with it for over 2000 years.
And so as I get ready to leave South Africa, I think about them and I am grateful to have met them. I was homesick every day, I can't wait to go home, but this trip was good. These people are worth knowing, worth leaving my home and going halfway around the world to meet.
But this trip has been good for me. Besides being able to experience all the beauty around Cape Town, I have gotten to work with people I would not have considered partnering with before. I knew that I was going to learn about the religious experiences of sex workers, but I had no idea that I would be sharing office space with people who work in the office by day and sell sex at night. I have met many sex workers and played with their children. I have seen what it means for someone to be an impoverished transgender woman, but I've also seen their souls dance as they come together for support. I've learned about the struggles many people have on the street, and about the struggles people have in the townships. If one lives in either place, it is sometimes hard to keep dry. And in a cold winter when nobody has centrally heated homes, the wetter you are, the worse it gets. I've heard people talk about doing drugs just so they don't feel the cold and the wet at night.
I've also studied a lot and thought a lot about the church's theology of sex, and what it means to hold the idea that sex is something special and sacred, but also what it means when sex is a way to provide for yourself and your family. What does it mean to commodify sex? But then what also does it mean that economically, it is hard for many who come from poverty to leave poverty? What does it mean that unemployment rates nationwide in South Africa are high. What does it mean to have to support yourself and this job pays well when one gets enough clients?
But the most important thing I've learned is that Christ is not confined to those society would like to label as "decent". Christ sometimes shows up in the weirdest of places, like an organization that supports sex workers. They challenged my idea of who a Christian can be. I learned about experiences of growing up and moving away from the church, but I also learned about some who are faithful, who sit in that pew every Sunday, who pray and read their Bible, who have an active relationship with God, yet are also providing for themselves and their families through sex work. They made me wonder, who can a Christian be?
The complexity of Christianity is when we begin to see that others whom we would rather ignore or push out have the Holy Spirit in them too. Then we have to experience Christ in a new way, as active in the lives of those we would prefer he not work in. We must ask what being Christian means, what salvation means, what it actually looks like, and whether someone can be both saved and sinner, poor yet rich in heaven. It's complex. It's challenging. We have been struggling with it for over 2000 years.
And so as I get ready to leave South Africa, I think about them and I am grateful to have met them. I was homesick every day, I can't wait to go home, but this trip was good. These people are worth knowing, worth leaving my home and going halfway around the world to meet.
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