Friday, June 5, 2020

White People on Instagram--We're Standing on Holy Ground with Our Shoes On



We live in a world that puts profit over people and bull markets over breathing souls. A world where screens and mirrors are more important than the humans behind them. When we stand before the Judge on the Day of Judgement, we will hear the words: “Take off your shoes, you are standing on holy ground.” White people posting and protesting for the protection and affirmation of Black lives: We are standing on holy ground — sacred spaces that our people have been trampling on for centuries.

I feel as though I’m walking on sacred ground with my shoes on. Actually, I know I am. Everyday. I walk on land that the Odawa, Ojibwe, Potawatomi, and Wyandot people held sacred for hundreds of years before Ann Arbor was founded as a city. Everyday, I walk on land with a history of segregated housing, redlined communities, and gentrified neighborhoods.

I feel as though I’m walking into a sacred space with unwashed hands, grasping sacred objects and claiming them as my own. I’m a pastor--I hold the sacred stories of another people in my unclean hands. I’ve read sacred words. The sacred stories tell about the ancestors (mine?) who ransacked the Holy of Holies. Today, Christian pastors ransack the holy of holies within vulnerable souls, using sacred writings to justify oppression, and to condemn the most sensitive organs of the human body (our sex and our love) with a one-size-fits-all sledgehammer of condemnation. All this in the name of "Love." Empire engages in the destruction of a holy place, then appropriates the sacred words of the revolution, giving meaningless gestures to soothe the ransacked people. 

I feel as though I’m walking over a sanctified people with my boots on their neck. I know “our” cops stand with boots on people’s necks. I condemn their heinous actions. But, I’m not talking about cops. I’m not talking about our racist, “pussy-grabbing” President either--though his boot is also on our necks. I’m talking about my own new boots. I’m staring at my “perfected” reflection on this iPhone with trendy new protestor’s boots on my feet. The Sanctified People have been speaking, resisting, fighting, and prophesying long before I took my first beautiful-blonde-baby-girl’s breath. But, I can’t see them when I’m busy staring at my own reflection. I don’t want to die--I prefer to share the insights of people who have already died. I prefer trendy protestor’s boots before they are muddied with soot and blood and dirt. I’m too busy walking with my new boots to stop and listen. I’m too busy posting *my* opinions on the matter, and re-posting trendy memes. It’s uncomfortable to look into the eyes (the windows of the soul) of a sanctified people because they might not like me, my opinions, or my memes. So, I gaze at a mirror of my own reflection, new boots and all, and stay safe among easy-going people who look a lot like me. Come to think of it, I always feel victimized when someone asks me to take my boot off their neck. 

I feel as though I’m walking through a sacred moment in time; the day the Lord has made for (un)rest. It’s Judgement Day. I’m unprepared. I’m not ready for justice to rain down like fire. There’s so much work I didn’t do! I knew I needed to do my homework, but I was too busy playing, eating, and shopping last week. I knew people were weary, hungry, and naked. But, now that the time for justice has come, the people on the streets don’t want what I have to give. I’d like to bring “them” in (it’s always they/them/their, except when someone politely asks). Let me open the door of my home that I shut in their face last week. Let me give my extra food I’ve always had to the stranger who I’ve never invited to dinner. The vintage clothing stores are closed (‘cause, the plague), but let me give what I have of last year’s trends. The problem is that the people in the streets on this Sacred Day of (Un)rest don’t want my home, my food, or my coat. So, I’ll join them after I catch up on my homework. I promise I’ll be able to understand. I truly want to be part of this historic moment. I’d like to join the movement. In fact, I’d like to lead. Yes, let me lead. Let me remind you that I’ve always done things the right way--they say my image is pretty perfect. Today is a Sacred Day of (Un)rest. Stop the protests! I need more time to do what I should have done yesterday, but cannot do today. 

Friday, May 22, 2020

The Arrogance of Thinking, "I Don't Really Matter."

Meditating at Dawn

Today, I woke up before dawn. With a hot cup of coffee and a pen in hand, and I'm filled with gratitude. The birds chirp as if to welcome the coming day, joining their simple song with the chorus of angels. My three children sleep soundly. My partner tinkers about in the kitchen, getting ready to work. Life can be good. But, there was a time, the lowest of times and the darkest of nights. My great descent. This was not a moment of loss or illness or disaster. It could have been a night like any other. I felt to the core of my being: “I don’t really matter.” I wonder, now, if this thought has led others to their lowest of lows, to suicide, reckless behavior, or a lifetime of greed. I've also come to realize that this thought is not humility, but quite the opposite: arrogance. When we think, "I don't really matter," what we are really saying is, “I can do what I want.”

Was this one moment, or many? There is only one thing to do when we’ve reached our lowest point: go up. 

In my early morning reading, I discovered this insight — all sin derives from the sin of insignificance. The Chassidic Masters explore this idea from a verse in Leviticus:
"If you will not harken to Me, and walk casually with Me, I too will act casually with you…" (Lev 26:28) 
All sins derive from the sin of insignificance: when a person ceases to be sensitive to the paramount importance which G-d attaches to his life and deeds. “I don’t really matter” is not humility—it is the ultimate arrogance. It really means: “I can do what I want.” The most terrible of punishments is for G-d to indulge the sinner this vanity. For G-d to say: “All right, have it your way; what happens to you is of no significance”—for G-d to act toward him as if He really does not care what happens to him. (The Chassidic Masters) 
The New Revised Standard Version (NRSV) translates Leviticus 26:28: “If you continue hostile to me, then I too will continue hostile to you in a fury...” But, instead of “hostile,” the Chassidim translated this verse as saying, “If you walk casually with Me.” So, there must be a link between hostile fury and treating someone casually.

In the realm of relationships, I've heard that the end of love does not come when a couple argues with each other. When they rage and fight and fury, there is still hope. The secret of their anger is that they still care. The end of a relationship comes when one or both members of the couple turn away. Looking in opposite directions, they have become casual and cold, indifferent to the significance of the other. So, I wonder which translation is better (or which punishment worse)? A casual God or a hostile-with-fury God? What would most likely bring you back? Abraham Heschel wrote, "The secret of anger is God's care."

In my work for justice, there is a rage against the indifference of the rich and privileged. This fury is like God’s fury. This fury is our hope for change. The protest of the oppressed is a thirst and a hunger for justice that Jesus called Blessed (see Ken Wilson's article: "The God-Given Right of Howling Protest"). 
“Blessed are you who hunger and thirst for justice now, for you will be filled” (Luke 6:21).
A society should never fear this type of righteous anger, this howling protest. It's the only antidote to the indifference of the rich and privileged who laugh in the face of suffering and take their fill in the time of hunger. I never before connected my own feelings of insignificance to this height of arrogance. And yet, this is the attitude of the wealthy and privileged today: “I can do what I want.” Anti-racist activists fight against this casual arrogance when the masses of white people remain indifferent to Black lives. This is the casual arrogance of religious condemnation that LGBTQ folks must resist with all their might--our deepest desires do matter. The great significance of our own life and the lives of others should never be treated casually.

I remember some years ago, coming home to my small townhouse in Oak Park, Michigan, after being in the hospital. It was a late afternoon. I looked around at the grey walls and thought of the many moments in this home, and in others before it, when I felt my insignificance: “I don’t really matter.” Something like a prayer surged up within me. With all the fury of righteous indignation and all the passions of divine love, I defied that insignificance. I said aloud, “I want God in this house!” I was humbled and hungry. I also knew without a doubt that I do matter, and what I do matters. This gave a new dimension to the social injustices I have long fought against. Not a single soul is insignificant--including mine.

We descend to ascend. The only thing to do when we’ve reached our lowest point is to go up. Walking forward one day at a time knowing that you matter and that you are not alone. The darkest moments of the night are just before dawn. It’s dark out yet, and my pen's in hand. I hear the song of birds. I write with an awareness of the great significance of our being.

Friday, April 10, 2020

A Rainbow in the Time of COVID-19


I saw a rainbow yesterday. An arc of compassion covering our drowning world. A bow with no arrow. A bow symbolizing peace. The only arrows I see in our quiver (as I quiver) are the children. The rainbow (and our children) are a sign of hope for a world gone wrong.

This virus takes our breath away. The pandemic sweeps through our world like a baptism or a flood, like Noah’s flood. We can’t breathe. Like a flood, the virus does not discriminate, but in our days, the poor die first. The vulnerable, the elderly, and those suffering from the pre-existing conditions of racist oppression are the ones to die first. The wealthy and powerful have fancy arks of their own--secluded mansions with no signs of life, but plentiful access to testing kits, healthcare, and ventilators.

The virus does not care if you are rich or poor, but the poor die first. We cannot breathe. We cannot breathe. “I can’t breathe!” Eric Garner’s last words ring out like an echo through our nation’s history. We are a nation who refuses to see that Black Lives Matter. We profit from prisons, and put children in cages. We are a nation who swims in greed for profit, and then blame the gay.

Why, O Lord, do the righteous suffer while the wicked prosper?

Noah was a righteous man, but only for his time. He obediently saved himself with a bit of an F-you! to the rest of the evil world. But, who are the righteous of our day? Because unlike Noah, Abraham argued against God’s plan for destruction, “Far be it from You to do such a thing!” And Moses pleaded with God after the golden calf, “Have mercy on them, or else blot me out of your book.” On the night of his crucifixion, Jesus prayed, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

O Lord our God, far be it from you to do such a thing. We challenge this divine decree. Have mercy on us, O God. Give us our sight, for we know not what we do.

This virus doesn’t have to be a flood for us to know that we cannot breathe. The rainbow is a sign of hope for a world gone wrong. This is a flood, or perhaps, this is our baptism. When it is over, we will take our first breath, look to the sky, and listen (perhaps, we will finally listen), so that our children may know: 
The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. (Isaiah 61:1-2)

Friday, March 27, 2020

God Makes a Way Out of No Way



The enormity of our situation today can be paralyzing. We are not only facing a worldwide Covid-19 health crisis, but also living through the harmful effects of a society that prioritizes the concerns of the wealthy and privileged over the most vulnerable. In short, we face both oppression and plague. People seem to be responding by splitting into four different groups as we face the crisis of this moment:
  1. Some are diving into this time of isolation by trying to create sanctuary amidst a world in crisis. Whether creating safe spaces and supportive groups, or by settling in at home.
  2. Some are accepting reality and dealing with reality on its own terms--staying alert, gathering information, following the trends and responding accordingly. 
  3. Some are out there fighting the necessary battles--whether by working on the front lines or by working to meet the needs of the most vulnerable in our families and our communities. 
  4. Some are just scared and anxious, probably all of us at times. In moments like these, many of us call out to God. 
These are all appropriate responses. But, I also recently heard a quote by the poet Mary Oliver and it landed well:
“Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.”
I’m a Youth Pastor (a2blue.org) with a tendency to go deep. My young people like funny stories. So, on a much lighter note, my family and I had a small crisis of our own--we thought we were running out of toilet paper. But, thank the Lord! Our bidet just arrived in the mail. (A bidet, “buh-dei,” is basically a water wash instead of using toilet paper.) We like to joke that we’re taking this whole thing, “Day Bidet.”

Bad jokes aside, it is important to take this day by day. Keep moving forward. One day at a time. As African American Womanist, Monica Coleman, says, “God makes a way out of no way.”

At times like this, we need stories. Personal stories, stories from history, mythical stories, and stories from the Bible. Stories teach us, comfort us, and guide us. The Hebrew Bible tells a story about the Israelites who escaped from harsh oppression and ten plagues. The story goes that the people escaped in a great hurry and had little time to prepare for their new normal out in the wilderness. Then, they came up to the Red Sea with Pharaoh and his army hot on their heels. The people went forward. They put their feet into the water. Miraculously, the LORD split the Red Sea, and they were able to walk through safely on dry land. This story, told and retold, gives hope for each and every generation facing the crises of their own times. This miracle gives hope that God will make a way for us.

I also want to dig deeper. Just before the Red Sea split, the people faced a critical moment. They found themselves caught at the sea with oppressive forces closing in. There is an ancient Jewish commentary on the Bible, a Midrash, that teaches that at this very moment, the people split into four factions. The first of the four factions wanted to dive headfirst into the sea. The second group wanted to accept reality and return to Egypt. The third group wanted to wage war against Pharaoh and his army. It says the fourth group cried out to God. But in Exodus 14:15, we read that God said to Moses: “Why do you cry out to Me? Speak to the children, that they should go forward!”

The Rabbis taught that we are not to escape reality, not to submit to it, not to wage war, and not to deal with it only on a spiritual level, but to go forth. God-with-us. Day by day. One day at a time. 

I’ve been reading the Sarum Prayer daily. The five lines of this prayer speak to the five different ways that we might be responding to this moment in time. So, let’s end with the Sarum Prayer:

God be in my head, and in my understanding. Let us create holy sanctuary amidst a world in crisis. It’s important to create safe spaces, especially when you are vulnerable or part of a targeted group.

God be in my eyes and in my looking. We must see reality as it is, and deal with reality on it’s own terms. Pay attention. Stay awake.

God be in my mouth and in my speaking. It’s necessary to wage war against evil, and the tongue can be like a sword. Speak truth to power in times like these.
God be in my heart, and in my thinking. It’s important to recognize that we cannot go this alone, and we can always appeal to God for help with our hearts and minds. There is incredible power in a single prayer.

The last line of the Sarum Prayer says: God be at my end, and at my departing. This teaches that we stand together with our head, our eyes, our mouth, and our heart and then go forward with our feet. Do justice. Love kindness. Walk humbly. 

God makes a way out of no way.

Wednesday, February 12, 2020

God: A Boss or in Solidarity with the Oppressed?

The hands from Michelangelo's Creation of Adam 

Assigning an Identity to God

In a recent article, a Stanford psychologist found that the identity U.S. Christians make of God is the same identity they attribute to a boss. Dr. Roberts found it somewhat shocking that U.S. Christians explicitly attribute a race and a gender to God--and found this has real world consequences. He summarized in this way, “Basically, if you believe that a white man rules the heavens, you are more likely to believe that white men should rule on Earth.”

Three men founded the church I grew up in: a Jewish man, a black man, and a white man. Our church, or fellowship, as it was called, belonged to a larger ecumenical, charismatic Christian community in the diverse college town of Ann Arbor, Michigan. This Christian community, The Word of God, had weekly prayer meetings, common households, and a mission. Catholics and Protestants of different denominations came together to experience the movement of the Holy Spirit. It was an idealistic community where people gave their lives for the Lord. “God loves all people,” they impressed upon me. And I believed them. I remember being in Kindergarten and opening my first Bible with great enthusiasm as though it held the key to God’s love for all people--and for me. 

The Hebrew Bible that Christians cherish commands us to create no image of God. But, the Stanford study shows that U.S. Christians certainly do--and attribute that image to positions of authority. In our Christian community there was a strict gendered hierarchy. Men were called Heads (as in the “head” of their household or some as District Heads--leaders over a hierarchy of members in various districts). The women were called Handmaidens, and wore headscarves during worship. Each member was assigned a spiritual leader who had the power to interpret God’s will for their lives. As it grew, a restrictive power structure evolved. The Word of God was investigated as a cult by the Roman Catholic Church and the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod in the 1980’s. These were the formative years of my childhood.

When we imagine a gender or racial identity in God, we are saying something about who has (or should) hold power on earth. Reflecting on the incarnation, my mother once told me, “If God came through someone in the U.S., God would probably come as a working-class Black woman.” Today, she'd likely add queer to her list. In her own way, she was exploring this idea from the Stanford research--that the characteristics we attribute to God translate to real-world views. In consideration of current hierarchies, her view begs the question: Is God a boss or a living God who moves in solidarity with the oppressed?

Trumpism Today 

Not all, but many of the charismatics from my childhood are now part of the Religious Right. These people, my people, elected Trump. Fighting abortion is the rallying cry. But, the seeds of Trumpism were planted long ago. I more recently learned that the highest levels of leadership in the Word of God in the 1970’s and ‘80’s believed they had a mission to fight against four “evils” in society: Feminism, Islam, Humanism, and the “gay agenda.”

As a child of the Word of God, I often wonder about the young people involved. How did this conservative community, set in a diverse college town, growing into the thousands and spreading around the world through The Sword of the Spirit, shape it's young people? 

Cut to almost 40 years later…

The three founding members of my childhood church have gone their own ways, but to my knowledge, all three oppose Trump. In fact, today, I work with one of them. He lost the church he founded over his advocacy for LGBTQ+ people, and is now a co-pastor with an amazing, queer, woman who I admire, Emily Swan. And as for me, the four "evils" the Word of God fought against did not stick. I'm a social worker turned pastor, striving to be an antiracist feminist, fighting against bigotry--including Islamophobia. I’m married to an agnostic doctor, and belong to a fully affirming LGBTQ+ inclusive church. However, remnants of my childhood remain: building Beloved Community, believing in God’s love for all people, and careful study of the Bible.

God Lives in Solidarity

A powerfully subversive message drives our work at Blue Ocean Faith Ann Arbor, and is summed up in a New Testament parable: “Whatever you did to the least of these, you did to me.” (Matthew 25:40) This does not say: Make the least of these more like you. It positions the Highest Power as One among us with the least. It requires action. It means there’s nothing wrong with those we've considered “the least of these.” Rather, there is something wrong with us when we stand by and do nothing while people around us get the short end of the power stick.

Perhaps the U.S. Christian image of God is reflected in the identity of their chosen leader: a wealthy, white, male president who "gets things done"—one who fights against women’s rights, Islam, climate change, and LGBTQ+ people. But, I have found a community of people, a gathering of exiles, who believe that God lives in solidarity with the oppressed.