"A Truckstop Christmas"

            I saw a post on Facebook that just cracked me up – pictures of tacky nativity scenes. You can’t believe what people will use to create Nativity scenes. I’m not talking about beautiful scenes like the one on our communion table. I talking about nativity scenes carved out of Spam or ones where all the figures are rubber duckies. Tacky.

            But you have to wonder what is it about the nativity scene that compels people to recreate the image out of whatever they have at hand. I tell you what I think. I think there is something so controversial, so outrageous about the birth of Christ that it can only be captured in the most outrageous of ways.

            Ok, I can see you rolling your eyes. There is nothing more mainstream, more run of the mill, more non-controversial than an image of the birth of Jesus. I mean, don’t you see them everywhere? Why would there be nativity scenes on courthouse lawns if the meaning of the Jesus’ birth was anything less than perfectly acceptable and proper?

            But everything about a nativity scene breaks down barriers and creates contradictions. First there is the scandal of Mary becoming pregnant before her marriage to Joseph was complete and Joseph deciding not to divorce her. Here was a young couple that had chosen to follow God even if it meant being separated from family.

            Then, we have the Wise Men who traveled from far off countries. They came to honor Jesus but they also represent a breaking down of national and religious barriers.

            The whole scene is set in a stable. A dirty, stinky stable filled with dirty, stinky sheep, cattle, goats and whatever else. But in the nativity, even the animals have a place and the barrier between humans and animals is broken down.

            Most startling, perhaps, are the angels and the shepherds. The shepherds were at the lowest end of society – hard living, nitty gritty sort of guys. But the angel chorus – God’s messengers – came to proclaim the good news to the shepherds. Here is a contradiction of the divine breaking in on the most human.

            Everything about nativity scenes break barriers and obstacles in a way that foreshadows the Kingdom of God that Jesus would proclaim. A Kingdom of peace, justice, equality, joy, purpose, meaning and love.

            And the centerpiece of the nativity scene is the Christ child in a manger – the greatest contradiction of all. In that tiny, helpless baby was the salvation of all creation. In the tiny, helpless baby was the fullness of God who entered into humanity.

            Make no mistake. Nativity scenes are dangerous, counter-cultural icons that challenge everything we think we know about how the world works.

            But that was 2,000 years ago. So long ago. What does it have to do with you and me? Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Now I’m not sure it happened exactly like this, but I know it’s true . . .

            “Mel, can you at least get the music to play?”

            It was bad enough to be working, shorthanded, for twelve hours in a truck stop restaurant while a blizzard blew outside, but the static that had been coming over the sound system for the last two hours was about to make Rita Lou crazy. Rita Lou was the lone waitress that day at the Prairie Flower Truck Stop and Mel was both the owner and cook. Both had come in at their usual time but as Rita Lou’s shift was supposed to end, her replacement called in and told her that the weather was so bad, she couldn’t get out of her driveway. Rather than leave Mel shorthanded, and since the snow was blowing so bad she couldn’t drive home, Rita Lou agreed to stay and work. Mel lived in a double wide trailer out back and he spent more time behind the grill than at home so it didn’t much matter to him that his replacement couldn’t make it either. That had been four hours earlier and it didn’t look like things would change anytime soon.

            As Rita Lou refilled the coffee cups of the truckers at the front counter, she heard the opening strains of a Christmas carol. “Ah, that’s more like it.” Slowly, the mood of the truck stop crowd changed as hissing and static was replaced by “In the Bleak Mid-winter”. It isn’t a carol you hear too often, she thought, but described the surrounding countryside perfectly. “In the bleak mid-winter, frosty wind made moan, earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone; snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow, in the bleak mid-winter, long ago.” Outside the Prairie Flower Truck Stop the cold wind blew the snow sideways across miles and miles of open country. About six hours earlier, the State Patrol had shut down the roads and any travelers still out took refuge any place they could. The huge lighted sign outside could normally be seen for miles, but with the snow it could hardly be seen for more than a quarter mile. Instead, the light reflected on the driving snow and lent a golden glow to the parking lot. The parking lot soon filled as blizzard refugees took shelter at the Prairie Flower.

            The Christmas carol ended and “O Come, All Ye Faithful” began as Rita Lou was delivering the order to a family sitting in the far booth. Mother, Father, teen age daughter, younger son. The daughter was upset that she had been unable to get to the basketball tournament and was even more worried about the rest of her team mates. The boy didn’t make a sound and the only evidence that he was even alive was the rhythmic moving of his head. If Rita Lou hadn’t seen the wires from the boys coat to his ears, she might have been worried something was quite wrong. As it was, the boy’s whole world was the music streaming from his Iphone to his ears. Mother and Father were talking in hushed tones, so as not to further disturb the kids, about what to do.

            Rita Lou was refilling coffee for a booth full of truckers as the final stanza of the Christmas carol played. “See how the shepherds, summoned to his cradle, leaving their flocks, draw nigh to gaze.” She didn’t know about flocks, but these truckers had left their big rigs idling in the parking lot while they sat inside, drinking coffee, telling stories and waiting out the blizzard. Guys like that rarely had the opportunity to sit and talk with friends. The rest of us take a bit of friendship and camaraderie for granted but long haul truckers spend day after day, night after night by themselves on the open road. Guess they were like those shepherds all by themselves in the hills around Bethlehem.

            The next table was a bit of a challenge. Seated around the table were three men and a woman from the next town over. Nice folks, really, but they had been returning from a class for volunteer firefighters when they’d been snowed in. So close to home and yet here they were, waiting for her to bring them burgers and fries. She had the unwelcome task of telling the firefighters that all Mel had left back in the kitchen was pancake batter. She’d served the last of the burgers, as well as bacon, sausage or any other meat and the last eggs had just been set down in front of Iphone boy. The firefighters took the news in stride although they jokingly warned not to call if the truck stop mysteriously had a fire.

            A young couple came through the door just as the Christmas music changed to “What Child Is This?” They told Rita Lou their car had been running rough for the last hour and stopped running altogether just as they pulled into the parking lot. The young man asked if there was a mechanic and Rita Lou told them the mechanic wouldn’t be in until after the storm broke. Even if he was around and could fix their car, they wouldn’t be going anywhere since the road was closed. They might as well take a booth and have some pancakes. As they nodded and started to the booth Rita Lou saw the young woman stop for just a moment and tighten her grip on the young man’s arm. “Are you okay, Miss?” Rita Lou asked.

            “She’s fine. Just tired.” Replied the young man. He explained as they sat down, and Rita Lou poured them each a cup of coffee, that they were on the way to his parent’s house. They were expecting their first child and his National Guard unit was deploying next week. As the young woman – just a girl, actually – removed her parka Rita Lou thought to herself that, judging by her size, they’d better get to his folks soon.

            The music changed and the familiar words, “We Three Kings of Orient are, bearing gifts we traverse afar.” came through the speakers. Rita Lou lost her balance for just a moment as she was refilling drinks for Iphone boy, basketball girl, Mom and Dad. Mom was on her feet in a flash to steady Rita Lou. “It’s nothing. Just tired. Been on my feet since 6 this morning.”

            “My name’s Jill. You sit down and let me take over coffee patrol.” Mom said. Rita Lou protested a bit, but had to admit that it felt awfully good to sit down for a moment.”

            “Rita Lou,” Mel bellowed from the back. “I need some help. The dishwasher couldn’t make it in and I’m drowning in dirty dishes.”

            “You sit.” Jill told Rita Lou. “Mike, why don’t you and Janie help in the back and Walt, could you clear dishes from the other tables?”

            “No, really,” Rita Lou started to protest.

            “Relax.” Said Mike to Rita Lou. Looking at his daughter he said, “Come on, Princess, we’ve got KP”

            Rita Lou was astonished as the family swung into action. Jill went from table to table filling coffee cups and chatting. Walt, with no hint of his Iphone, went to work bussing tables while Mike and Janie washed dishes. It wasn’t too long before Mel was teaching Janie the fine art of pancake flipping.

            It went on this way through most of the night. About 3:00 AM one of the truckers looked over to the young soldier and his wife. ”Hey kid, what did you say was wrong with your car?”

            “Don’t know. Just stopped running.”

            “Come on guys. I’m tired of sitting and it’s too cold to go out to my rig. Let’s push the car into the shop and see what we can do. That ok with you, Mel?” Mel waved and six truckers stood up and went out into the night to see what they could do about fixing the young couple’s car.

            The young woman moaned and whispered to her husband who ran up to Rita Lou. “I think the baby’s coming. Is there a doctor? Can you call 911?”

            Across the room, the table of fire fighters stood up. “If you called 911, you’d get us. With the roads snowed closed, no one is getting here and we’re not going anywhere. We’re all trained in medical emergencies. Is there somewhere we can get her with a bit more privacy?”

            “But do you know what you’re doing? Have you ever delivered a baby?”

            “Relax, son. We’ve got it under control.”

            They carried the girl to a back room. In the kitchen, Jill and Rita Lou began to round up dishtowels to use for baby blankets.

            The minutes became hours and as the first streaks of daylight gladdened the sky, a cry of a baby was heard. Everyone in the truck stop cheered until Janie shushed them, “You’ll scare the baby.”

            Over the sound system the strains of the “Alleluia” chorus was heard and through the door came a couple men. “Any coffee left?” they shouted to Rita Lou.

            “Sssssssh!” replied the truck stop family.

            “Sorry.” The men answered. We’ve been plowing the roads all night. The snow’s quit and the roads are open to the county seat.”

            Everyone cheered as quietly as they could. Walt ran back to tell the fire fighters.

            Jill was pouring coffee for the snowplow drivers and setting plates of pancakes before them as the young soldier came out. “It’s a boy!” And the people cheered again.

            The truckers came up and told him his car was running. “Nothing much wrong.” The young man was told.

            “What do I owe you?”

            “Forget it. Least we could do for a man about to leave his family and serve overseas.”

            One of the paramedics came out and took the young soldier aside. “The baby is fine, but we’d all feel better if you’d take him to the hospital for a once over. We’ll drive you and your family. Someone will drive your car over to the hospital.”

            “Let’s all go.” The truckers stood up, thanked Rita and Mel, and went out to their trucks. Slowly, the rest of the dining room cleared out as winter travelers went back to their cars and continued their journeys that had been interrupted by a snow storm. They felt a strange mix of relief to be back on their way, and regret for leaving the family they’d found in the Prairie Flower Truck Stop.

            Some say a Christmas miracle occurred in the truck stop that night. Perhaps the miracle was that no one froze to death in that storm. Rita Lou and Mel would say later that it was a miracle the coffee held out and they didn’t run out of pancakes until after the snow plow drivers had eaten their fill. Others would point with certainty that the miracle was that a baby was born safely in the humblest of places, the back room of a truck stop. For years, people would come by the truck stop, give Rita Lou a hug, and share stories of how a truck stop full of strangers had miraculously become family on a cold, blizzardy night.

            Mel and Rita Lou’s replacements finally showed up, thirty hours late. They walked outside together and marveled at the sunshine and bright blue sky. A thick coat of snow covered as far as they could see and for a moment it looked like the entire world was clean, and pure and good.

            As Mel walked Rita Lou to her car to make sure it would start, Rita Lou turned and said, “I never did thank you for getting that music fixed. Those Christmas carols really helped out.”

            “Me? I couldn’t fix it. I thought you did.”

            A noise behind them startled them both. A noise they’d both later say sounded like the rustle of angel wings. They turned just in time to see white wings, far up in the sky and hear the sounds of “Joy To The World.”

            Angels? Shepherds? Christmas miracles, today? What do you think? 2,000 years ago God broke down the barriers between heaven and earth and entered into history in Jesus Christ. Even today, Jesus' people break down the barriers that divide person from person to proclaim the coming of God's Kingdom. Even in places as mundane as a snowed in truck stop. My Christmas prayer for you is that you will witness and share the miracle of God’s love this Christmas season.

What They Didn't Teach Us In Seminary

            I have been laughing (and occasionally grouching) with my clergy friends about all the things they should have taught us in seminary, but didn’t. Things like how to deal with tax forms, gas smells, cemetery maintenance, and sewer systems. My colleagues added leaky roofs, bailing folks out of jail, restoring computers, fixing parking lots and on and on.

            Instead, we got advice from our preaching professors that we should set aside 20 hours a week for sermon writing and another professor solemnly informed us that we should have 10 hours a week for study, prayer and meditation unrelated to our sermons. Other “authorities” told us that the measure of a committed clergyperson was how many community boards one served on. I always wondered when they thought the other work (pastoral care, discipling, visitation, office work, etc.) of the church was supposed to occur?

            The problem, I think, is in the chasm between our expectations and reality. Pastors are called into ministry with the vision that they are giving their lives to God’s work of transforming lives in Jesus’ name yet find themselves dealing with the pernicious minutiae of memos, reports, and cranky circuit breakers. But pastors are not alone. Doctors dream of saving lives but find themselves drowning in insurance forms, teachers want to mold young lives but are overwhelmed with meetings, reports and classroom discipline, musicians dream of great concert halls but find themselves leading fourth grade bands and so on. You know what I mean because, I suspect, you have experienced the same thing. What parent hasn’t looked at their new born with a great surge of love and a heartfelt commitment to devote their lives to that tiny child? Then a week later experienced the frustration of midnight feedings and diaperings.

            I wonder what God thinks? Does God get frustrated by the gap between God’s will for humankind and the way we act? Genesis tells us how the first people were placed in a beautiful garden where their every need was supplied. Even better, the relationship between God and the first people was so close that God would visit them when God strolled through the garden in the evening. Yet, humankind broke that relationship and in our greed, violence, and indifference we have been betraying God’s intention for humankind ever since.

            As I am writing this, the events and meanings of Holy Week envelope me. At its core, Holy Week makes us come nose to nose with humankind’s sinfulness and our own, personal sinfulness. Just as the people who celebrated Jesus’ arrival became, in just a short time, the crowd demanding his death so we are people with willing hearts and lofty intentions mixed with secret sinfulness. But at the end of a painful Holy Week is the inexpressible joy of Easter when the faithful proclaim, “He is Risen! He is Risen, indeed!” Easter promises that in God’s mercy and grace we have been given a way out. In Jesus, God works through the pain and suffering of this world to forgive our sins, transform our lives and to restore God’s intended loving, grace-filled relationship with his faithful for eternity.

            God continues to redeem the muck of this world to point to God’s Kingdom of eternal peace, joy, and purpose. That’s good news for doctors, teachers, musicians, parents, you and me. Even pastors can take heart in the knowledge that God can work through leaky roofs, cranky computers, and clogged sewer lines. Sometimes I don’t know how, but I am excited to see just how great God continues to be.

Blessings in the Name of our Surprising Lord,

Pastor Mark

As Lent approaches

Dear Friends,

            In just a few day the Lenten season begins and, as a spiritual discipline, many choose something to “give up” as a way of expressing their devotion to Jesus who gave up so much for each of us. Reminds me of an old story . . .

            A person was walking down the road when he saw a man coming toward him carrying a huge, heavy load. The load was so heavy that the poor man was nearly bent over and the load was so huge that his body was twisted up, and gnarled. Feeling great compassion, the first man offered to help carry the load.

            “Oh, thank you, Sir. I have carried this load for as long as I can remember. It is so heavy and so overwhelming that I have been unable to do anything else. I have been unable to embrace my wife, dance with my daughter at her wedding, or hold my grandchildren on my knee. Managing this load has become my whole life.”

            The first person replied, “I am glad to help. Where are we taking this load?”

            The man replied, “I’m not sure. I’m carrying it because it is so important.”

            “Well, what is in the load that is so important?” Asked the first person.

            “I’m not sure. But I’ve always carried it so it must be very important.”

            The first man began to examine the load and found old wadded up newspaper, half eaten lunches, orange peels and candy wrappers. He asked, “Tell me Sir: this load does not appear to be important. Would it be possible to discard some of this?”

            “I’m not sure. I’ve always carried it so it must be very important,” was his reply.

            The first man continued his questions. “I see, Sir, that although you have put the load down you are still standing bent over and gnarled. Can you stand up straight? And come to think of it, while the load is on the ground and I am guarding it aren’t there things you’d like to do? Perhaps kiss your wife or hold your grandchildren?”

            “I’m not sure. This is the way I’ve stood for as long as I can remember. I wouldn’t know where to start if I were to do anything else.”

            Well, that’s just a silly old story that doesn’t really mean much. Except, sometimes we are so bent down and our lives so formed by the burdens we choose to carry that we are unable to enjoy the life God has given us. This Lenten season, rather than giving up chocolate, soda, soap operas or “Survivor” might you give up a burden you are carrying – a regret, grudge, anger, or unrealistic expectation – that is keeping you from enjoying the fullness of life God intends for you?

            Put down that burden. Jesus said “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’ (Matthew 11: 28-30 NRSV)

            May this Lenten season deepen your devotion to Jesus and draw you closer to him.

Blessings,

Pastor Mark

            Vicissitude.

            I don’t think I have ever written that word before. But if one is going to write about life, vicissitude is a great word to have at the ready. It means “A change of circumstances or fortune, typically one that is unwelcome or unpleasant” according to the Merriam Webster online dictionary. One moment everything is rosy and the next moment – Pow! Vicissitude.

            As I write this I have just gotten off the phone with one of our kids who is on the way to the hospital. Before I got the call my mind was occupied with writing this article, outlining my sermon and even wondering what was for supper. Now, Sandi and I are researching airline tickets and rental cars. Just in case.

            You’ve had the same experience I’m sure. You’ve come to work anticipating just another day only to find out the company is laying people off and soon you will be without a job. Or maybe the doctor’s office calls with results of a medical test. Regardless of the situation your life goes from same old, same old to never the same.

            Despite our need or awareness, God is always with us. Psalm 46: 1-3 teaches:

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.

Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,

though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea;

though its waters roar and foam,

though the mountains tremble with its tumult.”

When life hits us hard and there doesn’t seem to be a way, God is the way. When we seem alone, God has never left us. When no one understands, God hears our prayers.

            The old song begins “I need thee every hour, most gracious Lord.” Regardless of life’s ups and downs – vicissitudes – God’s grace never falters.

            Thanks be to God.

Reflections for M.L. King day, 2011

Following are the remarks I intend to share at Union Bethel A.M.E. Church at their ecumenical worship service honoring the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Sisters and Brothers, thank you for this opportunity to share some thoughts with you regarding this year’s theme: “Is his dream still alive?” This is a topic which, I fear, is too large to consider on my own so I have sought help. My wife, Sandi, is attending classes for her doctorate of ministry degree so I asked her to pose our question to her classmates. I thought, “Wow, here is an opportunity to share in the wisdom of several esteemed theologians.” So, over breakfast, she shared my request with her classmates and asked: “As we think about the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King’s ‘I Have a Dream’ speech, can we say that Dr. King’s dream is still alive?” That’s the way you talk to doctoral students, after all. Sandi told me that they looked up from their oatmeal, scratched their chins, took a drink of coffee and said, “Sure, I guess so.” Thanks a lot, guys.
So I decided to use another resource and I posted the question to Facebook. I got a wild, hodgepodge of answers but one I’d particularly like to address. They wrote: “Yes. But since humankind is sinful, the dream can never be realized.”
I’m sorry; I’m not buying it. Not the sinful part, no doubt that we are sinful. But to say that racism is a part of original sin lets us off too easily. It’s saying humankind is hardwired to be racist. It’s genetic . . . unchangeable . . . therefore, there’s nothing we can do about it.
The fact is, we, as a society, choose to identify the things that divide us. “Isms” are social constructions. Using race, class, gender and all the other “isms” allows us to label and judge others more conveniently. “Isms” are the shorthand of our discrimination and sinfulness.
The funny thing is, those labels and choices of discrimination are fluid over time.

• Not so long ago, left-handedness was considered morally reprehensible.
• There was a time when Deaf persons were not believed to be able to receive Christ’s salvation because of a distorted interpretation of the scripture verse: “faith comes by hearing” (http://archives.gallaudet.edu/Timeline.htm retrieved January 15, 2011).
• The ethnic neighborhoods in our city reflect a time when those nationalities were not considered worthy of inclusion into the larger culture. Their neighborhoods were a response to discrimination.
• The colonization of the Americas was not about the best and the brightest of European society coming to a settle the continent. Often, the colonists were criminals who were sent to the colonies as punishment. And if a family had a crazy uncle Harry or Aunt Maude, they frequently found themselves on a ship coming to the new world.

Today, however, people with disabilities are a part of society and church. We proclaim that America is a melting pot. And even lefties are included. The focus of our “isms” change.
I remember watching Star Trek as a kid and there was an episode with a galactic bounty hunter chasing a fugitive. The interesting thing was both bounty hunter and fugitive looked alike: half of their face was white and the other half black. Toward the end, Kirk and Spock asked the Bounty Hunter why he hated the fugitive when, clearly, they looked the same. The bounty hunter said something like: “Are you insane; can’t you see difference? The right half of my face is black. The right half of his face is white.” I remember turning off the TV and saying “That was stupid. Half white and half black, so?” I got about half way to kitchen to refill bowl with potato chips when it hit me: “Oh. . . Racism isn’t real. It’s all about how we choose to see things.”
No, we can’t let ourselves off too easily by saying the enemy to Dr. King’s dream is racism that is unalterably linked to original sin.
I think the enemy of Dr. King’s dream of an America unblemished by racism, hate and violence is our ability to get used to things. If we have an uncomfortable spot in our shoes, our foot builds up a callous. A callous doesn’t change the fact our shoes don’t fit right. We just stop feeling the pain.
I have a pain that flares up in my left elbow and forearm so I take a couple Tylenol and the pain goes away. The Tylenol doesn’t change what’s causing the pain it just keeps me from having to go to the doctor to figure out the problem.
This isn’t just about feet and elbows, As a society we have a way of no longer noticing the things that should be bugging the daylights out of us.
This coming Thursday the county agency that is responsible for programs for the homeless is doing their annual count. Now a quick Internet search says there are 3,419 homeless people and 1000 live outside shelters. So next Thursday, I was told counters are going out to the encampments of homeless people to get a count.
Wait a minute, does this bother anyone else? We know there are 1000 homeless folks in our county and we know where they are camping. Why hasn’t the faith community rose up in outrage and said “We will not allow this to be. Even one homeless person is one too many.” Tell me that the churches, mosques and synagogues in our county don’t have the resources and the wherewithal to end homelessness this afternoon.
No, we’ve just gotten used to the problem. Maybe we go to scripture and say, “Well, Jesus said the poor would always be with us.” Friends, that is Jesus talking descriptively not prescriptively. That’s Jesus observing that until the Kingdom of God comes on earth as it is in heaven, there will always be an unequal distribution of resources. Jesus isn’t letting us off easy; Jesus is assuring us that people of faith are always going to have a job. Jesus, saying the poor will always be with us, isn’t an excuse for apathy its job security.
That’s not all. I did another Internet search asking about joblessness in Maryland and got back a study that was very congratulatory saying Maryland’s jobless rate is about 8% and that’s great because the national rate of unemployment is over 9%.
Woo Hoo!
What a minute: 8 out of every 100 folks in our state that want to work can’t find a job? And we are slapping ourselves on the back? There are 8 folks out of every 100 that can’t feed their family, can’t pay for a place to live, and are slipping lower and lower in the despondency that comes when one can’t find decent, honest work?
Our county just opened work force center and community college in our neighborhood. Great. I’m serious, thank you! Why aren’t we, as the community of faith, lining up to offer our support and assistance? Well, one might say, the church is in the salvation business not the employment business. Well, as I read Genesis when Adam and Eve are thrown from the garden, God goes about preparing them to care for themselves: He makes them clothes and He gives Adam work. The tone of the scripture may sound like God is cursing Adam but the ability God has given us to work to support ourselves and our loved ones is a blessed gift. When we work to see that everyone who wants and needs to work can find decent, honorable labor we are doing God’s work of blessing the whole person.
I’m getting on a rant, here. Can I share one more?
In 2010, there were 223 murders in Baltimore County. That figure is down significantly from previous years and we can thank our law enforcement officials and all who are making our community safer.
This past week we have been shocked by the murders in Arizona and forced to reflect on the state of our nation. 9 people: wives and husbands, young men and girls from all walks of life – murdered. Shocking.
But just a second. If Baltimore County had 223 murders last year, even if that was less than previous years, that means that every 2 weeks in our community we have had the equivalent death count to the murders in Tucson. In eight months we lose more citizens than lost their lives in the Oklahoma City bombing. Over the past ten years, the carnage has equaled or exceeded that of 9/11.
And we are not shocked. Our flags are not at half-mast and we are not transfixed in front of our TV screens as our officials reflect on what our death toll means.
It has stopped fazing us. Part of the reason is because we can’t pin the blame on terrorists or crazies. We blame guns . . . domestic violence . . . alcohol and drugs . . . a thousand other components to the problem. But we’re no longer shocked. Shouldn’t we, as the faith community, partner with our elected officials and law enforcement people to stop the scourge of violence? Don’t we have a vested interest in assuring safety to every child, to every family, to every senior?
Is the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King’s dream still alive? Dr. King was a dreamer -- a saint sharing a vision of God’s Kingdom -- but we are the keepers of the dream, the followers of the dream, and the upholders of the dream.
But the flame of that dream will flicker and die -- only an honored memory -- if we continue to grow emotional and spiritual calluses to numb us to those things that should rightfully outrage us. We’ve spoken of homelessness, unemployment and murder. Why are we not outraged by those who would restrict the forward movement of the access by everyone to adequate, affordable healthcare?
According to the Maryland Department of Education website, Maryland’s high school graduation rate continues to be the best in the nation. We can be proud. But the graduation rate is not 100% and statistically, not graduating from high school is a sentence to a life of poverty. As citizens, as communities of faith, what are we doing to say that we will not allow even one young person to be lost?
In 1963, from the steps of the Lincoln Monument, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King preached: “I have a dream.” His dream still resonates with all God’s people. It is a dream of peace, justice, freedom, and equality. May we, O God, by your power be keepers of your dream. Keepers, attentive and resolute, determined to do your will that this dream will remain alive. And your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
Amen.

Making way for the new

"I will look with favor upon you and make you fruitful and multiply you; and I will maintain my covenant with you. You shall eat old grain long stored, and you shall have to clear out the old to make way for the new. I will place my dwelling in your midst, and I shall not abhor you. And I will walk among you, and will be your God, and you shall be my people." Leviticus 26:9-12 NRSV

I am intrigued by the text, " . . . you shall have to clear out the old to make way for the new." I hear Jesus' teaching that we don't put new wine in old skins or sew a new patch on old material. Both suggest that there are points in our lives when we have to put the old aside and embrace the new.

Sandi and I have been doing a lot of that the last year or so. We put aside the old and moved to Baltimore. Last week we put aside the old by closing on our home of 12 years and put an offer on a new home. We are embracing the newness of Mikaela being married, the even newer news of Beth's engagement and preparing for Samantha's graduation. There's a whole lot Sandi and I are clearing out and even more of the new we are preparing to embrace.

Clearing out the old and making way for the new is something I relish intellectually. I relish the thought of trekking the mountains of Peru to see Machu Picchu, of visiting Easter Island and doing a three month clergy exchange in Australia. Yet I tend to live in the rhythms of my life and forget to schedule time for vacation, much less my dreams. At worst, I am absorbed by pernicious minutiae and lose contact with friends, family, and parishioners.

And sometimes, clearing out the old and making way for the new is circling back and reengaging with the parts of my life that were once cherished but misplaced along the way: playing the guitar, running, theater.

So how do we live this out? I believe we celebrate God's marvelous gift of who we are embracing the unique talents, relationships and circumstances God has given us. Yet while we are embracing the gifts God has given us, we are invited to remain open to hear God proclaim "I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?" (Is 43: 19 NRSV)

A new thing -- that might be an old thing -- that is a blessing from God. Shall we open our hearts, minds, and hands for God's new thing?

Who Does God Hate?

“Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God.” (1 John 4: 7 NRSV)

I am in Washington DC at the Wesley Theological Seminary library today for my weekly sermon preparation day and had occasion to pass by a demonstration taking place outside the DC Superior Court building. While I couldn't hear the speakers as I passed by, I assume the protesters were there because DC now permits same sex marriage and today is the first day same sex couples can apply for marriage licenses. What I did see, however, was a protest sign proclaiming “God hates Obama.”

Even though the Bible does include passages stating things God hates, I cringe whenever anyone has the audacity to attempt to speak for God. Admittedly, this is dangerous ground for a preacher whose bread and butter is proclaiming “thus sayeth the Lord.” My training and experience, as well as my religious tradition, leads me to examine very carefully any claim, my own included, that alleges to speak for God. Unless approached with great care, study, prayer, and humility such claims are often attempts to wrap our own opinions in robes of religiosity. Theologians call this isogesis (layering our opinions onto scripture) rather than exegesis (letting the scripture speak to our lives).

So does God hate President Obama?

Rev. Rebecca Dolch in the February/March/April 2010 edition of “Circuit Rider” recalls how her mother taught her that claims about who God hates is more about what that person fears than God’s preferences. If that is the case, and I believe it is, why do people hate President Obama? Race? Age? Party? Politics? Gender? His choice for a family dog? That he still smokes?

What?

And more importantly, when did it become acceptable to use “hate” in either political or religious discourse much less include it in the same sentence with the word “God”?