Lent. I love Lent. A time to reflect. That time in the church calendar that calls me to be still and shut the hell up. Those of you who know me know of my love…LOVE…for the liturgical calendar. It speaks to me in ways I can’t explain and has since I figured it out in my small Methodist church in Knoxville. I asked my mother why the colors were green and she said she didn’t know but we should find out. She was Baptist and most Baptists don’t follow such things. Too Catholic my grandmother always said.
But Mom and I found out together. And I have not ever looked at the world the same again.
Lent is usually a time of “giving up” something. I choose to take on something since every time I give up something I think I fail. So I take on a practice. One year was water. I never drank enough so that year I drank so much I couldn’t help but go to the bathroom every hour on the hour. My kidneys LOVED me.
This year I decided to call my family. As an only child and one whose parents are both deceased, family is a precious and elusive entity to me. It has bothered me a lot this year. I am far away from my hometown of Knoxville (well farther than I usually am). My Other Dad, Sam is older and frankly drives me a little nutty with his sermons. And he does sermonize on how we don’t know the Bible enough, preachers don’t preach it enough, Israel needs to be protected and is my car ok. I love him. Truly, madly, deeply, I love him. He taught me so much about the Bible, about faithful living, about car care, about people and how to treat them. I think he even taught me how to flirt. And how to wear a ball cap.
But he tries my patience. And reminds me why I needed to do this call thing anyway. As a way to remember who is important and maybe to remember who is it that loves me even when they know I took their gospel lessons and turned them on their head. I re-interpreted lots of things he taught me. I heard God loves everyone. God created everyone. God will care for you. The church matters. Only I think Sam is a little more exclusive about God and who God cares for. I missed that part of the sermon message.
But I called. I will call him again next week. Because he makes me laugh and he makes me cry when he tells me he loves me. He knows me since I was a baby. Was there when I was born and was one of the first people to hold me (#4, I think after Mom, Dad, and Dot). I need patience with him now. But I think I need HIM more.
When is Lent over?!
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Shoes
I wrote this for a class reflection. We reflect a lot around here. Too much sometimes. I am a little anxious today. For reasons that are obvious. I graduate in May with hopes of a job over the summer and hopes of an internship in August that will pay me for a bit. But hopes don't always pay the bills. I get anxious over all of that and all of sudden I get anxious. Maybe it won't last too long. The reflection part is for a Field Education class where we are "encouraged" to do a spiritual discipline. We don't do very well with disciplines really. I picked walking cause I know I do that on a fairly regular basis.
Reflection on Shoes, Part I
Shoes
The tales you could tell about where you have been
The things you have collected that I missed along the way
The grounds on which we walk, what has it seen and taken on from us?
From others.
Ground called “hallowed”.
Ground “condemned”
Ground poisoned
Ground lush with food
Ground called home
Stomping ground
Named by what happens there, who lives there, who dies there.
Shoes
These went across the sea to places of wonder and worship.
They were bathed in tears that day in the park.
They were washed in the blood of a child
They carry my weight and the weight of the world in which I walk.
Placed specially in a place as a reminder of all that is out there
Shoes
Protecting feet that walk too much in death
Supporting knees that ran too much too young
Teaching me to dance in love
Carrying me into an intimate place where it is just me and Thee
Where I am cared for, loved, named, and held. On hallowed ground simply because I am present
Reflection on Shoes, Part I
Shoes
The tales you could tell about where you have been
The things you have collected that I missed along the way
The grounds on which we walk, what has it seen and taken on from us?
From others.
Ground called “hallowed”.
Ground “condemned”
Ground poisoned
Ground lush with food
Ground called home
Stomping ground
Named by what happens there, who lives there, who dies there.
Shoes
These went across the sea to places of wonder and worship.
They were bathed in tears that day in the park.
They were washed in the blood of a child
They carry my weight and the weight of the world in which I walk.
Placed specially in a place as a reminder of all that is out there
Shoes
Protecting feet that walk too much in death
Supporting knees that ran too much too young
Teaching me to dance in love
Carrying me into an intimate place where it is just me and Thee
Where I am cared for, loved, named, and held. On hallowed ground simply because I am present
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Aunt Kay
Kay Yow was buried today. The finality of life that seems to just end for some.
She was an inspiration to many of those fighting cancer. Her “success” at having had 2 recurrences and continued work seemed to define what cancer should look like…manageable and chronic. As one who has witnessed it up close in my personal life and work, I can be assured it doesn’t always look so “easy”. She was likely in pain for much of the last few years. Fogged by chemo brain and tired beyond any measure of a way we healthy ones can imagine. Admirable for sure, and certainly for her, the way she managed the disease was a way she could continue to educate and care for young women.
But rather than being defined as a “fighter” and “brave”, I hope that she knew in her heart of hearts what she meant to others. Reports of 1400 or so at the funeral yesterday are followed by reports of 300 or so at a burial. She did a video that was played at the funeral. A little creepy but she was known as a talker so no reason to deny a woman her last word.
I didn’t know Kay Yow. I watched her coach basketball for so many years she just seemed to be there. Kind of like Pat still is. There is a bevy of coaches who are still considered the matriarchs of this sport I love so much. And most are still young enough to remain active for a while to come. Yet we forget they have lives to live. Kids to raise. Divorces to contend with and diseases to fight.
I knew Kay Yow’s nephew however. He was a tall gangly fella named Walt Beeker. A kind soul who loved his Aunt Kay. He spent a good deal of time in my office on Friday afternoons when I was at East Tennessee State University. Last I knew of him he was a contractor in Myrtle Beach. From him, I heard stories of visits to the country and fun times with family. Full of food and those warm southern memories. I didn’t know until just before graduation that "Aunt Kay" was Kay Yow. I am glad I didn’t because I could hear stories of the woman and not who I thought she should be.
I hope we can all be seen as who we are. Not just what we do or who we know or how many people attend our funeral.
May we all be Aunt Kay, or Cousin Khette, or whatever we are called by our loved ones.
Because that is what matters.
She was an inspiration to many of those fighting cancer. Her “success” at having had 2 recurrences and continued work seemed to define what cancer should look like…manageable and chronic. As one who has witnessed it up close in my personal life and work, I can be assured it doesn’t always look so “easy”. She was likely in pain for much of the last few years. Fogged by chemo brain and tired beyond any measure of a way we healthy ones can imagine. Admirable for sure, and certainly for her, the way she managed the disease was a way she could continue to educate and care for young women.
But rather than being defined as a “fighter” and “brave”, I hope that she knew in her heart of hearts what she meant to others. Reports of 1400 or so at the funeral yesterday are followed by reports of 300 or so at a burial. She did a video that was played at the funeral. A little creepy but she was known as a talker so no reason to deny a woman her last word.
I didn’t know Kay Yow. I watched her coach basketball for so many years she just seemed to be there. Kind of like Pat still is. There is a bevy of coaches who are still considered the matriarchs of this sport I love so much. And most are still young enough to remain active for a while to come. Yet we forget they have lives to live. Kids to raise. Divorces to contend with and diseases to fight.
I knew Kay Yow’s nephew however. He was a tall gangly fella named Walt Beeker. A kind soul who loved his Aunt Kay. He spent a good deal of time in my office on Friday afternoons when I was at East Tennessee State University. Last I knew of him he was a contractor in Myrtle Beach. From him, I heard stories of visits to the country and fun times with family. Full of food and those warm southern memories. I didn’t know until just before graduation that "Aunt Kay" was Kay Yow. I am glad I didn’t because I could hear stories of the woman and not who I thought she should be.
I hope we can all be seen as who we are. Not just what we do or who we know or how many people attend our funeral.
May we all be Aunt Kay, or Cousin Khette, or whatever we are called by our loved ones.
Because that is what matters.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Reality and Religion
I got a call today from the Children’s Emergency Dept. I don't always get to go down there but when I do, it is never good. I guess it is what I call the Jesus shit. That stuff no one wants to do but some of us get to do and it becomes a back-ass-wards blessing. And well, Jesus shit likes me I think.
A 1 year old child was hurt in a car wreck. Uncle was driving. He is being treated elsewhere. Mom is about 25 or so. There were a gazillion people in the Trauma room doing what a zillion individuals do in a trauma room to keep a being alive. How that all works I have no idea. The little girl’s heart had stopped completely at one point but oxygen was continually running so maybe there is no further damage. So they prepared to take the child to get a CT scan. Before they go Mom went in to see her baby for a moment. So was escorted by a very skilled nurse manager. We had already prayed in the hallway… that place that for me seems to be the literal line often between life and death. The no man's land of uncertainty.
After they whisked the baby away to CT, Mom collapsed into a chair. I held her as close as I could. I realized as I started to put my own knee down to the floor a nurse stopped me. There was a pool of blood beneath me. I think I have some on the bottom of my shoes probably. We moved mom to another room for some privacy. Grandma came to be of no use as she decided to have heart issues (a pre condition anyway). I moved to the hallway to let them do their medical thing and the same capable nurse manager came out and thanked me for being there and said "She is of no f-ing use" which made me laugh. One thing about ED nurses is that they don't mince words...about anything. Much.
I passed the same trauma room when I left the ED. All the paper and plastic and yes the blood was still there. The chaos of keeping life in this world.
It makes the body and blood real. All of it.
And somehow I have to go read some book on Shenandoah Religion….
A 1 year old child was hurt in a car wreck. Uncle was driving. He is being treated elsewhere. Mom is about 25 or so. There were a gazillion people in the Trauma room doing what a zillion individuals do in a trauma room to keep a being alive. How that all works I have no idea. The little girl’s heart had stopped completely at one point but oxygen was continually running so maybe there is no further damage. So they prepared to take the child to get a CT scan. Before they go Mom went in to see her baby for a moment. So was escorted by a very skilled nurse manager. We had already prayed in the hallway… that place that for me seems to be the literal line often between life and death. The no man's land of uncertainty.
After they whisked the baby away to CT, Mom collapsed into a chair. I held her as close as I could. I realized as I started to put my own knee down to the floor a nurse stopped me. There was a pool of blood beneath me. I think I have some on the bottom of my shoes probably. We moved mom to another room for some privacy. Grandma came to be of no use as she decided to have heart issues (a pre condition anyway). I moved to the hallway to let them do their medical thing and the same capable nurse manager came out and thanked me for being there and said "She is of no f-ing use" which made me laugh. One thing about ED nurses is that they don't mince words...about anything. Much.
I passed the same trauma room when I left the ED. All the paper and plastic and yes the blood was still there. The chaos of keeping life in this world.
It makes the body and blood real. All of it.
And somehow I have to go read some book on Shenandoah Religion….
Friday, January 9, 2009
Epiphanies and Referendum (or is it Referenda? Referen-duh?)
A few weeks ago I was called to the room of a mother whose child had been admitted to the hospital.
As I approached the room, I noticed that mom looked frightened and held her son close.
I approached her carefully and said hello.
We quickly realized that my Spanish and her English was not going to get us too far. After a few awkward moments of rudimentary sign language and pointing, I came to the obvious conclusion that I needed some help.
I called an interpreter.
I had a choice with how to do this. I could talk to mom through an interpreter on the phone. This seemed a little impersonal. Or an interpreter could come to her room and we could talk together.
Now to do this, I had to make an appointment. All of which meant due to scheduling, I would not even get to speak to mom again. Another chaplain would.
I found the whole experience Frustrating and Inconvenient. Because of the language barrier, we could not express ourselves in a way that was authentic to either of us.
And we lost something in translation.
On January 22, 2009 Davidson County residents may consider a Charter amendment proposal that deems English as the only language in which the county government may do business.
Officially, this amendment states, in full, emphasis is mine:
English is the official language of the Metropolitan Government of Nashville and Davidson County, Tennessee.
Official actions which bind or commit the government shall be taken only in the English language, and all official government communications and publications shall be in English.
No person shall have a right to government services in any other language. All meetings of the Metro Council, Boards, and Commissions of the Metropolitan Government shall be conducted in English. The Metro Council may make specific exceptions to protect public health and safety. Nothing in this measure shall be interpreted to conflict with federal or state law.
In December, I joined several local clergy members in the Glendale Baptist Church Fellowship Hall to discuss this amendment.
I would say we met under the cover of darkness in the basement but that simply was not the case. This overt operation included salad, chili, homemade cobbler, and iced tea.
The usual suspects were present. The serious conversations we had about inclusion and welcome was interspersed with laughter and concern about what it meant to be a witness to the life of Christ and a citizen of the world.
As faith leaders, your pastors (and intern) felt it necessary to talk with others who oppose this amendment, to share information, to share stories, to share the burden of leadership in times of cultural conflict.
Over lunch, we decided Epiphany Sunday would be a date to collectively preach upon what it means to welcome the stranger.
There are signs where I live that invite my community to “Keep Nashville Friendly”.
I reckon that is what we do in the South. I was told growing up to be nice. Be friendly. Bless their hearts.
But this amendment calls for so much more than let’s be nice to each other. It is about more than friendliness and the platitudes of propriety.
It is about prejudice and power and frankly fear.
Notice the language. It calls for totality of action. Words such as ONLY and ALL, No person. The amendment literally calls for voices to be silenced.
There is no room for any one else, in the inn or in the courthouse, or the city employment line.
In contrast, Matthew’s text tells the story of strangers at the bedside and a story of aliens as angels.
And if you saw our Christmas pageant a few weeks ago, the kids will tell you, the aliens are less scary.
To read this text again especially through the lens of local politics, one can clearly see the power dynamics. Herod fears this child. His power is threatened. He doesn’t know who or where this child is. But he fears him.
Later in Matthew it becomes clear to what lengths Herod will go to retain his power. Going on to murder all male children under the age of three, he wipes out a whole generation of Israel.
This amendment before us in essence wipes out a whole segment of our population as well.
UCC minister Kathy Huey suggests: “the biblical story leads us to ponder the meaning of visitors from the very places in the world that we seem to fear most right now.”
She suggests that we get a better sense of the reaction to these visitors if we imagine a visit to our local church (or government) by religious or political leaders from say Iran or Iraq. South Koreans or Chinese.
What is it we fear? What is it that drives this amendment?
Scott Hoezee puts it this way: "Matthew is giving a Gospel sneak preview: the Christ child who attracted these odd Magi to his cradle will later have the same magnetic effect on Samaritan adulterers, immoral prostitutes, greasy tax collectors on the take, despised Roman soldiers, and ostracized lepers."
In Matthew's story, then, of God at work in the world--the good news, the gospel--these foreigners, these Gentiles, represent us, too, in a sense. Remember then that Matthew, twenty-six chapters later, would tell of Jesus commanding his disciples to "Go, make disciples of all nations."
We are all in this big picture. The one that includes a big tent of a tradition of hope rooted in the prophets and embodied by Jesus Christ himself.
I recall stopping at a local bank one afternoon. I approached the ATM machine, already irritated that it was “talking to me”.
I put my card into the slot only to notice a message that I could receive my instructions in English or Spanish.
I was furious. Why is it that I have to choose I thought? I want English. I speak English. If I was in France I would have to speak French. No one would help me. I would be lost and unable to communicate or know what to eat or go to the bathroom….
In less than 5 minutes I had become a world traveler lost in Europe ..all from the comfort of my car which sat in a bank parking lot in Chattanooga Tennessee.
How did THAT happen? How was it that I became afraid of instructions on the ATM machine?
But do these arguments sound familiar?
After a few minutes and maybe a year or two later, I came to my senses a bit.
I was a management major in college. In reality banks aren’t going to reprogram their ATM’s just to be “friendly”. They are going to invest in where they will receive the most benefit.
To have instructions in English or Spanish is good business. That means our Latino neighbors might have bank accounts. They are contributing to the economy. They are helping me have a more diverse and rich life experience.
There is no word from our text as to how the magi interacted with Jesus or his family or the locals.
There is no word from our text as to whether they were wanted or not.
But they were welcomed. If nothing else, their story was deemed important enough to be included in our faith tradition.
Under the proposed amendment before us, this story would not be included. Thousands of stories will not be included. Lives will continue to be ignored and will be made irrelevant.
It isn’t to be “nice and friendly” that we should think hard about this resolution.
It is to realize that some resolutions are just mean spirited.
It is to remember that as our own table is set, all are welcome.
Our text does tell us is that the magi went home another way.
They chose a different path. They chose to travel a longer road. Perhaps one that was frustrating and inconvenient and required an interpreter.
But they knew that was the best path.
Let us do the same. Not for convenience but for community.
For welcome.
For the love of all of us.
As I approached the room, I noticed that mom looked frightened and held her son close.
I approached her carefully and said hello.
We quickly realized that my Spanish and her English was not going to get us too far. After a few awkward moments of rudimentary sign language and pointing, I came to the obvious conclusion that I needed some help.
I called an interpreter.
I had a choice with how to do this. I could talk to mom through an interpreter on the phone. This seemed a little impersonal. Or an interpreter could come to her room and we could talk together.
Now to do this, I had to make an appointment. All of which meant due to scheduling, I would not even get to speak to mom again. Another chaplain would.
I found the whole experience Frustrating and Inconvenient. Because of the language barrier, we could not express ourselves in a way that was authentic to either of us.
And we lost something in translation.
On January 22, 2009 Davidson County residents may consider a Charter amendment proposal that deems English as the only language in which the county government may do business.
Officially, this amendment states, in full, emphasis is mine:
English is the official language of the Metropolitan Government of Nashville and Davidson County, Tennessee.
Official actions which bind or commit the government shall be taken only in the English language, and all official government communications and publications shall be in English.
No person shall have a right to government services in any other language. All meetings of the Metro Council, Boards, and Commissions of the Metropolitan Government shall be conducted in English. The Metro Council may make specific exceptions to protect public health and safety. Nothing in this measure shall be interpreted to conflict with federal or state law.
In December, I joined several local clergy members in the Glendale Baptist Church Fellowship Hall to discuss this amendment.
I would say we met under the cover of darkness in the basement but that simply was not the case. This overt operation included salad, chili, homemade cobbler, and iced tea.
The usual suspects were present. The serious conversations we had about inclusion and welcome was interspersed with laughter and concern about what it meant to be a witness to the life of Christ and a citizen of the world.
As faith leaders, your pastors (and intern) felt it necessary to talk with others who oppose this amendment, to share information, to share stories, to share the burden of leadership in times of cultural conflict.
Over lunch, we decided Epiphany Sunday would be a date to collectively preach upon what it means to welcome the stranger.
There are signs where I live that invite my community to “Keep Nashville Friendly”.
I reckon that is what we do in the South. I was told growing up to be nice. Be friendly. Bless their hearts.
But this amendment calls for so much more than let’s be nice to each other. It is about more than friendliness and the platitudes of propriety.
It is about prejudice and power and frankly fear.
Notice the language. It calls for totality of action. Words such as ONLY and ALL, No person. The amendment literally calls for voices to be silenced.
There is no room for any one else, in the inn or in the courthouse, or the city employment line.
In contrast, Matthew’s text tells the story of strangers at the bedside and a story of aliens as angels.
And if you saw our Christmas pageant a few weeks ago, the kids will tell you, the aliens are less scary.
To read this text again especially through the lens of local politics, one can clearly see the power dynamics. Herod fears this child. His power is threatened. He doesn’t know who or where this child is. But he fears him.
Later in Matthew it becomes clear to what lengths Herod will go to retain his power. Going on to murder all male children under the age of three, he wipes out a whole generation of Israel.
This amendment before us in essence wipes out a whole segment of our population as well.
UCC minister Kathy Huey suggests: “the biblical story leads us to ponder the meaning of visitors from the very places in the world that we seem to fear most right now.”
She suggests that we get a better sense of the reaction to these visitors if we imagine a visit to our local church (or government) by religious or political leaders from say Iran or Iraq. South Koreans or Chinese.
What is it we fear? What is it that drives this amendment?
Scott Hoezee puts it this way: "Matthew is giving a Gospel sneak preview: the Christ child who attracted these odd Magi to his cradle will later have the same magnetic effect on Samaritan adulterers, immoral prostitutes, greasy tax collectors on the take, despised Roman soldiers, and ostracized lepers."
In Matthew's story, then, of God at work in the world--the good news, the gospel--these foreigners, these Gentiles, represent us, too, in a sense. Remember then that Matthew, twenty-six chapters later, would tell of Jesus commanding his disciples to "Go, make disciples of all nations."
We are all in this big picture. The one that includes a big tent of a tradition of hope rooted in the prophets and embodied by Jesus Christ himself.
I recall stopping at a local bank one afternoon. I approached the ATM machine, already irritated that it was “talking to me”.
I put my card into the slot only to notice a message that I could receive my instructions in English or Spanish.
I was furious. Why is it that I have to choose I thought? I want English. I speak English. If I was in France I would have to speak French. No one would help me. I would be lost and unable to communicate or know what to eat or go to the bathroom….
In less than 5 minutes I had become a world traveler lost in Europe ..all from the comfort of my car which sat in a bank parking lot in Chattanooga Tennessee.
How did THAT happen? How was it that I became afraid of instructions on the ATM machine?
But do these arguments sound familiar?
After a few minutes and maybe a year or two later, I came to my senses a bit.
I was a management major in college. In reality banks aren’t going to reprogram their ATM’s just to be “friendly”. They are going to invest in where they will receive the most benefit.
To have instructions in English or Spanish is good business. That means our Latino neighbors might have bank accounts. They are contributing to the economy. They are helping me have a more diverse and rich life experience.
There is no word from our text as to how the magi interacted with Jesus or his family or the locals.
There is no word from our text as to whether they were wanted or not.
But they were welcomed. If nothing else, their story was deemed important enough to be included in our faith tradition.
Under the proposed amendment before us, this story would not be included. Thousands of stories will not be included. Lives will continue to be ignored and will be made irrelevant.
It isn’t to be “nice and friendly” that we should think hard about this resolution.
It is to realize that some resolutions are just mean spirited.
It is to remember that as our own table is set, all are welcome.
Our text does tell us is that the magi went home another way.
They chose a different path. They chose to travel a longer road. Perhaps one that was frustrating and inconvenient and required an interpreter.
But they knew that was the best path.
Let us do the same. Not for convenience but for community.
For welcome.
For the love of all of us.
Epiphanies and Referendum (or is it Referenda? Referen-duh?)
A few weeks ago I was called to the room of a mother whose child had been admitted to the hospital.
As I approached the room, I noticed that mom looked frightened and held her son close.
I approached her carefully and said hello.
We quickly realized that my Spanish and her English was not going to get us too far. After a few awkward moments of rudimentary sign language and pointing, I came to the obvious conclusion that I needed some help.
I called an interpreter.
I had a choice with how to do this. I could talk to mom through an interpreter on the phone. This seemed a little impersonal. Or an interpreter could come to her room and we could talk together.
Now to do this, I had to make an appointment. All of which meant due to scheduling, I would not even get to speak to mom again. Another chaplain would.
I found the whole experience Frustrating and Inconvenient. Because of the language barrier, we could not express ourselves in a way that was authentic to either of us.
And we lost something in translation.
On January 22, 2009 Davidson County residents may consider a Charter amendment proposal that deems English as the only language in which the county government may do business.
Officially, this amendment states, in full, emphasis is mine:
English is the official language of the Metropolitan Government of Nashville and Davidson County, Tennessee.
Official actions which bind or commit the government shall be taken only in the English language, and all official government communications and publications shall be in English.
No person shall have a right to government services in any other language. All meetings of the Metro Council, Boards, and Commissions of the Metropolitan Government shall be conducted in English. The Metro Council may make specific exceptions to protect public health and safety. Nothing in this measure shall be interpreted to conflict with federal or state law.
In December, I joined several local clergy members in the Glendale Baptist Church Fellowship Hall to discuss this amendment.
I would say we met under the cover of darkness in the basement but that simply was not the case. This overt operation included salad, chili, homemade cobbler, and iced tea.
The usual suspects were present. The serious conversations we had about inclusion and welcome was interspersed with laughter and concern about what it meant to be a witness to the life of Christ and a citizen of the world.
As faith leaders, your pastors (and intern) felt it necessary to talk with others who oppose this amendment, to share information, to share stories, to share the burden of leadership in times of cultural conflict.
Over lunch, we decided Epiphany Sunday would be a date to collectively preach upon what it means to welcome the stranger.
There are signs where I live that invite my community to “Keep Nashville Friendly”.
I reckon that is what we do in the South. I was told growing up to be nice. Be friendly. Bless their hearts.
But this amendment calls for so much more than let’s be nice to each other. It is about more than friendliness and the platitudes of propriety.
It is about prejudice and power and frankly fear.
Notice the language. It calls for totality of action. Words such as ONLY and ALL, No person. The amendment literally calls for voices to be silenced.
There is no room for any one else, in the inn or in the courthouse, or the city employment line.
In contrast, Matthew’s text tells the story of strangers at the bedside and a story of aliens as angels.
And if you saw our Christmas pageant a few weeks ago, the kids will tell you, the aliens are less scary.
To read this text again especially through the lens of local politics, one can clearly see the power dynamics. Herod fears this child. His power is threatened. He doesn’t know who or where this child is. But he fears him.
Later in Matthew it becomes clear to what lengths Herod will go to retain his power. Going on to murder all male children under the age of three, he wipes out a whole generation of Israel.
This amendment before us in essence wipes out a whole segment of our population as well.
UCC minister Kathy Huey suggests: “the biblical story leads us to ponder the meaning of visitors from the very places in the world that we seem to fear most right now.”
She suggests that we get a better sense of the reaction to these visitors if we imagine a visit to our local church (or government) by religious or political leaders from say Iran or Iraq. South Koreans or Chinese.
What is it we fear? What is it that drives this amendment?
Scott Hoezee puts it this way: "Matthew is giving a Gospel sneak preview: the Christ child who attracted these odd Magi to his cradle will later have the same magnetic effect on Samaritan adulterers, immoral prostitutes, greasy tax collectors on the take, despised Roman soldiers, and ostracized lepers."
In Matthew's story, then, of God at work in the world--the good news, the gospel--these foreigners, these Gentiles, represent us, too, in a sense. Remember then that Matthew, twenty-six chapters later, would tell of Jesus commanding his disciples to "Go, make disciples of all nations."
We are all in this big picture. The one that includes a big tent of a tradition of hope rooted in the prophets and embodied by Jesus Christ himself.
I recall stopping at a local bank one afternoon. I approached the ATM machine, already irritated that it was “talking to me”.
I put my card into the slot only to notice a message that I could receive my instructions in English or Spanish.
I was furious. Why is it that I have to choose I thought? I want English. I speak English. If I was in France I would have to speak French. No one would help me. I would be lost and unable to communicate or know what to eat or go to the bathroom….
In less than 5 minutes I had become a world traveler lost in Europe ..all from the comfort of my car which sat in a bank parking lot in Chattanooga Tennessee.
How did THAT happen? How was it that I became afraid of instructions on the ATM machine?
But do these arguments sound familiar?
After a few minutes and maybe a year or two later, I came to my senses a bit.
I was a management major in college. In reality banks aren’t going to reprogram their ATM’s just to be “friendly”. They are going to invest in where they will receive the most benefit.
To have instructions in English or Spanish is good business. That means our Latino neighbors might have bank accounts. They are contributing to the economy. They are helping me have a more diverse and rich life experience.
There is no word from our text as to how the magi interacted with Jesus or his family or the locals.
There is no word from our text as to whether they were wanted or not.
But they were welcomed. If nothing else, their story was deemed important enough to be included in our faith tradition.
Under the proposed amendment before us, this story would not be included. Thousands of stories will not be included. Lives will continue to be ignored and will be made irrelevant.
It isn’t to be “nice and friendly” that we should think hard about this resolution.
It is to realize that some resolutions are just mean spirited.
It is to remember that as our own table is set, all are welcome.
Our text does tell us is that the magi went home another way.
They chose a different path. They chose to travel a longer road. Perhaps one that was frustrating and inconvenient and required an interpreter.
But they knew that was the best path.
Let us do the same. Not for convenience but for community.
For welcome.
For the love of all of us.
As I approached the room, I noticed that mom looked frightened and held her son close.
I approached her carefully and said hello.
We quickly realized that my Spanish and her English was not going to get us too far. After a few awkward moments of rudimentary sign language and pointing, I came to the obvious conclusion that I needed some help.
I called an interpreter.
I had a choice with how to do this. I could talk to mom through an interpreter on the phone. This seemed a little impersonal. Or an interpreter could come to her room and we could talk together.
Now to do this, I had to make an appointment. All of which meant due to scheduling, I would not even get to speak to mom again. Another chaplain would.
I found the whole experience Frustrating and Inconvenient. Because of the language barrier, we could not express ourselves in a way that was authentic to either of us.
And we lost something in translation.
On January 22, 2009 Davidson County residents may consider a Charter amendment proposal that deems English as the only language in which the county government may do business.
Officially, this amendment states, in full, emphasis is mine:
English is the official language of the Metropolitan Government of Nashville and Davidson County, Tennessee.
Official actions which bind or commit the government shall be taken only in the English language, and all official government communications and publications shall be in English.
No person shall have a right to government services in any other language. All meetings of the Metro Council, Boards, and Commissions of the Metropolitan Government shall be conducted in English. The Metro Council may make specific exceptions to protect public health and safety. Nothing in this measure shall be interpreted to conflict with federal or state law.
In December, I joined several local clergy members in the Glendale Baptist Church Fellowship Hall to discuss this amendment.
I would say we met under the cover of darkness in the basement but that simply was not the case. This overt operation included salad, chili, homemade cobbler, and iced tea.
The usual suspects were present. The serious conversations we had about inclusion and welcome was interspersed with laughter and concern about what it meant to be a witness to the life of Christ and a citizen of the world.
As faith leaders, your pastors (and intern) felt it necessary to talk with others who oppose this amendment, to share information, to share stories, to share the burden of leadership in times of cultural conflict.
Over lunch, we decided Epiphany Sunday would be a date to collectively preach upon what it means to welcome the stranger.
There are signs where I live that invite my community to “Keep Nashville Friendly”.
I reckon that is what we do in the South. I was told growing up to be nice. Be friendly. Bless their hearts.
But this amendment calls for so much more than let’s be nice to each other. It is about more than friendliness and the platitudes of propriety.
It is about prejudice and power and frankly fear.
Notice the language. It calls for totality of action. Words such as ONLY and ALL, No person. The amendment literally calls for voices to be silenced.
There is no room for any one else, in the inn or in the courthouse, or the city employment line.
In contrast, Matthew’s text tells the story of strangers at the bedside and a story of aliens as angels.
And if you saw our Christmas pageant a few weeks ago, the kids will tell you, the aliens are less scary.
To read this text again especially through the lens of local politics, one can clearly see the power dynamics. Herod fears this child. His power is threatened. He doesn’t know who or where this child is. But he fears him.
Later in Matthew it becomes clear to what lengths Herod will go to retain his power. Going on to murder all male children under the age of three, he wipes out a whole generation of Israel.
This amendment before us in essence wipes out a whole segment of our population as well.
UCC minister Kathy Huey suggests: “the biblical story leads us to ponder the meaning of visitors from the very places in the world that we seem to fear most right now.”
She suggests that we get a better sense of the reaction to these visitors if we imagine a visit to our local church (or government) by religious or political leaders from say Iran or Iraq. South Koreans or Chinese.
What is it we fear? What is it that drives this amendment?
Scott Hoezee puts it this way: "Matthew is giving a Gospel sneak preview: the Christ child who attracted these odd Magi to his cradle will later have the same magnetic effect on Samaritan adulterers, immoral prostitutes, greasy tax collectors on the take, despised Roman soldiers, and ostracized lepers."
In Matthew's story, then, of God at work in the world--the good news, the gospel--these foreigners, these Gentiles, represent us, too, in a sense. Remember then that Matthew, twenty-six chapters later, would tell of Jesus commanding his disciples to "Go, make disciples of all nations."
We are all in this big picture. The one that includes a big tent of a tradition of hope rooted in the prophets and embodied by Jesus Christ himself.
I recall stopping at a local bank one afternoon. I approached the ATM machine, already irritated that it was “talking to me”.
I put my card into the slot only to notice a message that I could receive my instructions in English or Spanish.
I was furious. Why is it that I have to choose I thought? I want English. I speak English. If I was in France I would have to speak French. No one would help me. I would be lost and unable to communicate or know what to eat or go to the bathroom….
In less than 5 minutes I had become a world traveler lost in Europe ..all from the comfort of my car which sat in a bank parking lot in Chattanooga Tennessee.
How did THAT happen? How was it that I became afraid of instructions on the ATM machine?
But do these arguments sound familiar?
After a few minutes and maybe a year or two later, I came to my senses a bit.
I was a management major in college. In reality banks aren’t going to reprogram their ATM’s just to be “friendly”. They are going to invest in where they will receive the most benefit.
To have instructions in English or Spanish is good business. That means our Latino neighbors might have bank accounts. They are contributing to the economy. They are helping me have a more diverse and rich life experience.
There is no word from our text as to how the magi interacted with Jesus or his family or the locals.
There is no word from our text as to whether they were wanted or not.
But they were welcomed. If nothing else, their story was deemed important enough to be included in our faith tradition.
Under the proposed amendment before us, this story would not be included. Thousands of stories will not be included. Lives will continue to be ignored and will be made irrelevant.
It isn’t to be “nice and friendly” that we should think hard about this resolution.
It is to realize that some resolutions are just mean spirited.
It is to remember that as our own table is set, all are welcome.
Our text does tell us is that the magi went home another way.
They chose a different path. They chose to travel a longer road. Perhaps one that was frustrating and inconvenient and required an interpreter.
But they knew that was the best path.
Let us do the same. Not for convenience but for community.
For welcome.
For the love of all of us.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Reflections on Christmas
Ok it has been a long long while since I last blogged…much has happened but alas it is Christmas. A time to reflect… or a time for me to do such things. Most people I think just eat a lot…which I did about an hour ago.
But I digress. I was on call this holiday. I work as a chaplain at Vanderbilt Hospital. Some of you know this. I have had two calls this last two days. Both yesterday. One was from a man whose wife was dying …slowly. The other was for a very young mother whose baby was about to undergo surgery for a chest tube. Today I went in for a “prayer appointment” for a woman who had Stage 4 lung cancer and some other complications that I would not wish upon my worst enemy.
Here is what I have decided: No one should be sick on Christmas. No one. My mom got sick once on Christmas. I declared then that it shouldn’t happen. And furthermore, no one should have to die on Christmas, say good bye to their kids, or generally suffer on Christmas.
God and I are discussing this at the moment. I yell a lot and God, well God is God. I will say that the hospital seems to be a bit more gentle on Christmas. Not many folks around and the halls are quieter. Makes getting through the rat maze of buildings a little better.
And there are reindeer who hang on to cookies for Santa at the Children’s Hospital. I stole a cookie this morning from one…I figured Santa had eaten enough by that point.
That is all really. Just a declaration for a moratorium on sickness and suffering on Christmas.
I could settle for some Jesus dust though. Presence is enough sometimes.
But I digress. I was on call this holiday. I work as a chaplain at Vanderbilt Hospital. Some of you know this. I have had two calls this last two days. Both yesterday. One was from a man whose wife was dying …slowly. The other was for a very young mother whose baby was about to undergo surgery for a chest tube. Today I went in for a “prayer appointment” for a woman who had Stage 4 lung cancer and some other complications that I would not wish upon my worst enemy.
Here is what I have decided: No one should be sick on Christmas. No one. My mom got sick once on Christmas. I declared then that it shouldn’t happen. And furthermore, no one should have to die on Christmas, say good bye to their kids, or generally suffer on Christmas.
God and I are discussing this at the moment. I yell a lot and God, well God is God. I will say that the hospital seems to be a bit more gentle on Christmas. Not many folks around and the halls are quieter. Makes getting through the rat maze of buildings a little better.
And there are reindeer who hang on to cookies for Santa at the Children’s Hospital. I stole a cookie this morning from one…I figured Santa had eaten enough by that point.
That is all really. Just a declaration for a moratorium on sickness and suffering on Christmas.
I could settle for some Jesus dust though. Presence is enough sometimes.
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