Drew Downs

  • How to summarize a time of great division

    Kelly Brown Douglas confronts the history which not only brought us Stand Your Ground laws, but undergirds a constant struggle for continued oppression.


    This Lent, we read Stand Your Ground by Kelly Brown Douglas, Dean of Episcopal Divinity School at Union Theological Seminary.

    This small, entirely white group of intellectually curious people had waded through the challenging question of whiteness and violence in American culture. So when we gathered for our last conversation about the book, I was conscious that the most persistent question in the room was “what can we do?”

    How are we to share what we’ve learned?

    I encouraged the group to do what I did. Over the course of the reading, I wrote up 300-word summaries of each chapter. [If you’d like to see them all, you can find links to them below.] And what I was going to do next was write a 300-word summary of the whole book.

    Of course, this isn’t easy. But it is predicated on the idea of practice: that we must practice speaking of our culture in these ways so that we come to understand what is truly there.

    So part of the challenge is crafting a solid, understandable message.

    But there’s a rub. And this is really, really important. Not everybody will hear the message you share. They’ll only hear what they want to hear. And we have to be OK with that.

    That doesn’t make it a poorly-crafted message, however. But there is some value in recognizing what is actually happening with them. If for no other reason than to understand why a cogent message goes unheard.

    Talking Whiteness

    Douglas uses “whiteness” as a sociological term to describe the inherent cultural expectations of what it means to not only be white but when cultural advantage is given to what she calls “Anglo-Saxon exceptionalism.”

    In other words, whiteness doesn’t begin as a response to skin color. It begins with the cultural superiority of a given group, maintained through history, which therefore made manifest a racial distinction.

    This is what Douglas is talking about when she speaks about whiteness. But some won’t let her get that far. They will interrupt and reject before she’s even finished her sentence.

    Let’s pause briefly to recognize the dynamic.

    It may seem like there is pressure on the speaker in this situation (Douglas) to not upset the person with whom she is speaking. There most certainly is some. But there should be an understanding that there is equal pressure on the hearer to listen to her definition before speaking or rejecting.

    And where this rejection will come from is to create and demand a superior definition replace Douglas’s definition for whiteness in the conversation. They want the word to mean something else, even as she is sharing a neutral and academic definition of a historical phenomenon.

    The debate begins, not on the merit of the argument, but from a semantic aspect of modern concepts of race only.

    In other words, the debate in many of these conversations is not between the speaker who says “I’m using whiteness to speak to the particular cultural dominance of Anglo-Saxons, reflected in both the color of skin and in European cultural motifs” and the hearer “you’re calling white people bad.”

    This response is beyond bad faith.

    It is the abject refusal to have a genuine and honest conversation.

    Nor is it fair to classify this as simply “both sides hear the word differently.” One side is trying to speak in common language and academically-accepted norms and the other refuses to accept the terms of the conversation before its even begun. And at the same time, demanding completely different terms.

    The problem is not found in what was said or what was heard. It comes in the twisting of the interaction to distort what is being said.

    Conversation partners listen to each other and respond respectfully.

    It’s hard.

    There’s no question about that. But obstructing conversation at the root isn’t an option in any productive dialogue.

    The challenge of discussing whiteness is that race and culture are tied together. And for many, cutting culture out of the conversation from the start allows for a smoother conversation. But it does so at the expense of the very force which empowers racism in our country.

    Talking about race without talking about culture allows the power disparity to remain in place. Or worse. It honors and enshrines a singular cultural superiority as necessary for our society to function.

    This is the root of the book.

    Douglas is exposing why our conversations around race look like such utter nonsense when given their historic context. But diving into both that historic context and the incredible arguments used to maintain the status quo requires both a generous spirit and a full immersion into the way reasonable-sounding arguments are anything but reasonably-applied.

    So to describe the content of the book in a few short paragraphs is a deep challenge for those of us raised on a diet of Anglo-Saxon exceptionalism and a normalized Manifest Destiny war mindset.

    Not only are we afraid to confront our own beliefs or to speak honestly with our neighbors, but we’re overwhelmed by the enormity of the challenge and the rigidity of the opposition.

    As I’ve tried over and over to summarize the book to my white middle class neighbors, it comes with great difficulty and sputtering challenges. Anglo-Saxon exceptionalism has been so thoroughly accepted that seeing through its veil feels wrong and disorienting.

    Attempting to put the root of the book into my own words, however, seems all the more necessary given the stakes of doing nothing or believing my own sharing of these concepts is insufficient.

    We have to internalize and materialize this; precisely because the material goes against a historical revision we wrote over centuries to protect our fragile egos.

    So let us not begin with the people who struggle with the word whiteness, but with those questions Douglas asks. Those questions which have no justifiable response in a just society.

    In Part 1 we will unearth whiteness.

    Then in Part 2, we will bring new life to the dead.


    The Episcopal Diocese of Indianapolis read the same book together for Lent. Stand Your Ground: Black Bodies and the Justice of God by Kelly Brown Douglas. We’re gathering in local communities to discuss the book or reading independently.

    As part of my own discipline of reading the book and preparing for the discussion, I summarized each chapter in fewer than 300 words.

    Chapters

    1. America’s Exceptionalism
    2. Born Guilty
    3. Manifest Destiny War
    4. A Father’s Faith: The Freedom of God
    5. Jesus and Trayvon: The Justice of God
    6. Prophetic Testimony: The Time of God
  • Freedom From Fear

    When Jesus joins the disciples in John 20:19-31, we shouldn’t put Thomas on trial. It is their fear that reveals a greater doubt.


    The reconciling hope after the resurrection
    Easter 2C | John 20:19-31

    “Peace be with you.”

    Remember how we all gathered last week to celebrate the risen Christ! We came to see the lilies and sing Alleluia and ring our bells. We came with great festive hearts in hope of hearing the good news proclaimed that He is not here, but has risen!

    And we were greeted by a gospel of some confusion.

    A group of women who follow Jesus, including Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary the mother of James, went to the tomb. And let’s take a moment to acknowledge these women and elevate them above the disciples. Elevate their faith in Jesus. And acknowledge how much better at discipleship these women are than the men in the story.

    The men ran away while the women didn’t. These women came to the tomb with spices and what they found was that their beloved Jesus was gone. Then two angels appear and ask them

    “Why do you look for the living among the dead?

    “He is not here, but has risen.”

    That line we long to hear is preceded by another, more confounding. Why do you look for the living among the dead?

    This was our first Easter message. The one Mary took to men who didn’t believe her. The one Jesus had given them before he was killed.

    He told them that he would be crucified, but on the third day, God would raise him from the dead to the living.

    So this group of women were looking in the wrong place.

    But they were looking.

    Why aren’t they looking?

    This week begins inside. {why aren’t they looking?} A house where they’ve gathered. {why aren’t they looking for him?}

    Mary had stayed behind at the tomb. When the rest had gone away. She stayed and Jesus appeared to her like the gardener. He calls her by name. Don’t hold on to me he says to her. Tell the others that I’m going away. {why aren’t they looking for him?}

    They are inside. They’ve locked the door. {they aren’t looking}

    Why? Out of fear.

    Fear

    The author of John says that they’re afraid of the Jews. Historical nonsense (they are all Jews!) drawn out later to condemn.

    There’s no evidence of persecutions of the followers of Jesus. Not then. And not when John was writing. Not from Jewish leadership and not from Rome. So rather than consider this as some historical truth, we must consider it to be something else.

    This isn’t an honest fear. It isn’t historical or justified. There is no rational reason for their fear in our history or story.

    They were afraid of their neighbors. Of their own people.

    They had no reason to be afraid. And Jesus and all the angels remind us that fear is not an expression of trust.

    Irrational

    I moved to London, Ontario in the fall of 2004 to attend seminary at Huron University College. The year before, the country had been rocked by fear of SARS, a highly contagious disease. Canada was one of the countries directly affected; far more than the United States.

    Because it was contagious and that it affected the respiratory system, the people were afraid to go into common spaces and share in common experiences. For the church, this meant sharing the common cup.

    The Anglican Church of Canada followed the scientific evidence. It declared that the people didn’t have to share the common cup, but if they did, they must drink from it. The wine would kill the virus, one’s lips spent far less time around the cup than hands when dipping, and the act of wiping removes the few that remained.

    The church found that SARS didn’t spread through the common cup when we drink from it.

    But for many, the evidence doesn’t destroy the fear. Because the fear isn’t founded in logic and it, therefore, can’t be removed with logic. No matter what the science actually finds, the idea of drinking out of the same cup is still icky to many.

    This is one of the reasons the philosopher Martha Nussbaum calls it “the monarchy of fear.” Because fear isn’t democratically elected. Fear is an autocrat.

    Jesus walks in anyway.

    The disciples were irrationally afraid, suffering under the unjustified monarchy of fear.

    They locked themselves up, imprisoned within the walls of fear. There wasn’t anyone coming to get them.

    Jesus told them to go out into the world and they found a safe room and locked the door. {why aren’t they looking for him?}

    But Jesus doesn’t need to pick the lock, he’ll come right in. We can’t keep Jesus out of our prison hideout, our safe rooms, and triple-locked homes. That’s not how love works or how grace works.

    {why aren’t they looking for him?}
    They are afraid.
    {why are they afraid?}
    Something will get them!
    {What will get them?}
    Something! Or Someone?
    {Who? Nobody but Jesus is looking for them!}

    [ silence ]

    {Where’s Thomas?}
    He isn’t here.
    {Where is he?}
    We don’t know.
    {Could he be out there?}
    He must be.
    {Could he be looking for Jesus?}
    Maybe.
    {Could he be doing what Jesus called them to do?}
    Perhaps.

    Thomas

    When Mary and Martha came to Jesus to tell them that their brother Lazarus had died, Jesus turns to his disciples and says

    “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to awaken him.”

    And their response was like Oh, thank God! He’s just asleep.

    But this was another allusion to what was coming. He would soon be put to sleep. And God would awaken him.

    It seems a bit too much for an allusion. Who could understand that’s what Jesus was really saying? Thomas did.

    “Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to his fellow-disciples, ‘Let us also go, that we may die with him.’”

    Why would Thomas be in that room, locked behind a door? He’s the one who heard the message.

    While the rest are ruled by fear, Thomas has come to trust.

    Trapped

    They’ve locked their doors, their minds, and their hearts. The fear locks them up tight so nothing can get in but really, so that nothing can get out.

    It’s why I never danced in school or sang after 4th grade. I wanted to be cool.

    But the thing about cool is that it doesn’t love. It’s a straitjacket of prevention. Cool is the absence of freedom and serves as fear’s fool.

    We don’t lock our doors only because something might happen, but so nothing will happen.

    Jesus doesn’t even mess with any of that when he shows up. He comes right in. Offers himself; the wounds he endured, the flesh our neighbors cut, the eyes who watched our cowardice. He shows it all to us and says

    “Peace.”

    Not peace, really. Shalom. He said Shalom.

    Shalom is not only the absence of war but the presence of peace or the absence of violence but the presence of compassion.

    Shalom is generous, communal; expressions of love and affirmation of hope. It is restoration and healing. We wish each other Shalom because we hope not only for the absence of strife but the presence of wholeness.

    When we say Shalom to one another, we declare to each I want you to be healthy and whole. This is what we hope for everyone. The very thing we offer each other.

    Wholeness. Health. Love.

    What is the antidote to fear’s delusional control? Shalom.

    The Power of Love

    This is the true meaning of the resurrection. The very thing God would come into the world to reveal.

    Not order or control or proof of God’s might.

    The power of love.

    And what is the vehicle of God’s love? The manifestation of love itself? And the very life of Jesus’s ministry?

    Shalom. It’s like love in everything.

    Love for ourselves. Love for our neighbors. Giving our love in the form of peace. Offering the sacrificial love of feeding the hungry and healing the sick. Standing with the powerless and investing in those people, animals, and all of God’s creation our systems of the world would throw away.

    Waging reconciliation is love.
    Forgiving in the midst of conflict is love.
    Sharing our common spaces with all people is love.
    Washing the feet of our neighbors is love.
    Opening our doors to anyone who would seek help is love.

    This is Shalom.

    And maybe, if we walk with Jesus, bring Shalom like Jesus, and offer Shalom into our common space, the lock which imprisons our hearts will click. We’ll look down just in time to see it as it begins to fall away.

    And when we look up, we’ll see Jesus there in the face of someone we love.

    But we aren’t in the upper room. All the walls and doors we thought protected us fell down. Nothing between us. No barriers. No locks. Nothing to protect our hearts.

    Yet we aren’t afraid. Our hearts are strangely warmed. This is some kind of beauty; a feeling we’ve longed for, but never trusted in. An idea taught weekly, but so rarely considered. A different way of being that feels even more alive.

    Free. Full of love. Open to all possibilities. Full of Christian hope, not only for the resurrection that was but for our own. The one we realize is already here.

  • The Story

    In returning to the beginning of the story, we come to see how Jesus got here, how we got here, and what we’re called to about it.


    Easter invites us to remember the beginning
    Easter | Luke 24:1-12

    Way back at the beginning, we learned about this old couple. Zechariah and Elizabeth. Zechariah was a priest, so he wasn’t just a holy man at that time and he didn’t serve a church in the Midwest. He had to go to the Temple in Jerusalem and bring incense into the sanctuary.

    Suddenly an angel appeared to Zechariah. He was standing right next to the altar.

    Of course, Zechariah freaked out. Angels have to be used to this reception by now because their responses are always the same: Don’t be afraid. You have nothing to fear. And that’s exactly what the angel told Zechariah.

    He told Zechariah that God had made his prayers for a child come true and that his son would become John the Baptist, and prepare the people for the coming of the Lord.

    This is a great opening story, but it isn’t done. Like all great opening scenes, it doesn’t go the way we expect. Because Zechariah is skeptical the angel binds his tongue in his unbelief — until it happens.

    It is also a bit of a feint because the bigger story isn’t about Zechariah or Elizabeth, or their son. The story is about the Good News. The story is the story.

    And the story Luke tells has come a long way from that opening.

    The Story

    This morning we celebrate the risen Christ. And to make sense of why that is indeed good news, and why this book opens with this story, we need to talk about a few things.

    We’re going to talk about nets, flip-flops, magic tricks, stories, homecoming, and the clue which makes sense of the whole thing.

    Nets

    So Luke begins with two Mothers-to-be, carrying divine babies. It’s not the kind of story you read like it’s the newspaper. It’s like reading Flannery O’Connor: beautiful and deep.

    And the story moves quickly as Jesus is baptized, drawn into the wilderness, and goes home to preach for the first time. It doesn’t go well.

    But then Jesus finds these fishermen who’ve come in from a long, fruitless night of fishing, and he’s like, I’ve got an idea. How about we go back out. Somehow, the fish come from nowhere, the nets are bursting, they pull the haul in, and it almost sinks two boats.

    The fishermen are afraid and Jesus tells them there’s no reason to fear. God could use their fishing skills for another job.

    Flip-Flops

    So Jesus starts collecting students like these fishermen. Not the best students or children of powerful parents. Common people from all over. People with a variety of backgrounds.

    And Jesus is healing people everywhere. Which draws a lot of attention.

    But they haven’t been at it long when he names 12 of his students as the cream of the crop. He sends them out with nothing but the clothes on their back and the sandals on their feet. He tells them to go flip-flop all over and do what I do.

    So they do. And when they come flip-flopping back, they’re surprised. Jesus, it really worked! {knowing look} Yep.

    So he sends out all his students, all 70 of them to flip-flop everywhere. Not to tell people about Jesus, but to share the good news that God has come into the world. And God comes as a healing force, not a destroyer.

    And just like the 12, all the disciples come back amazed.

    Magic Tricks

    These stories are so central to the good news, we forget about them. We’re so often like the crowds, taken in by the miraculous. One of my favorite stories is the Feeding of the Multitudes: when Jesus feeds over 5000 people with just 2 fish and 5 loaves of bread.

    The miracles are beautiful, but we treat them like magic tricks. The willful suspension of disbelief for a moment’s enjoyment. But we rarely go around believing any of us can saw a person in half.

    Jesus seems to warn us about these miracles because we’re bound to miss the real magic for the tricks.

    Stories

    But when Jesus tells stories, we pay attention. Stories like the unlikely traveler who saves a stranger’s life. But if we paid attention to our world, we’d realize this traveler is precisely the one most likely to do it.

    Stories of lost sheep, coins, and sons. And the celebrations we share with our friends every time the lost is found. And when the dead come back to life.

    Jesus’s stories presume that God is in the business of giving life to the dead.

    Homecoming

    Throughout the gospel we call Luke, Jesus is collecting students, traveling the countryside, and teaching everyone about the beautiful world we could have if we truly believed it was possible. If we trusted God enough. And trusted each other enough to make it happen.

    And he brings us along for the ride, this journey which crisscrosses the country until he turns his face toward Jerusalem. There he would confront the authorities and face his own death.

    Jesus’s followers think it’s a glorious homecoming, but it isn’t.

    Like the angels, Jesus keeps telling us “don’t be afraid.” That fear is something we should let go of. Like fear is the thing which prevents us from seeing or hearing or believing what is really happening.

    This terrible homecoming ends in Jesus’s death; but not in a passive way. This is not a moment for abstraction; like death happened to be in the neighborhood and oops! stumbled in.

    Specific humans killed him. Roman authorities put him on a cross and killed him. These powerful people killed Jesus out of fear.

    Thank God the story doesn’t end there!

    A Clue

    So now, it’s the third day. Jesus died at the end of the first day, then there’s a day of silence and mourning. Now, early on the third day, the women come to the tomb.

    They walk up to find these angels instead of a dead body. And these angels say one of my favorite lines in scripture:

    “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen.”

    Isn’t that fantastic?

    What are you doing, looking here for Jesus? He told you where he’d be!

    What a great sentiment! It sounds absurd…from this side of the veil.

    From the other side, though? They can’t believe how these people can’t see what they see. He told you, didn’t he? Where he would be? What you are to do? What are you guys even doing here?

    So we get to look back at this whole story like these angels from the other side. We get to see about the nets and the flip flops and the magic tricks and the stories and this dark homecoming and see what Jesus was up to the whole time.

    Why these students shouldn’t even try to find Jesus among the dead. They’re the ones who know better! Jesus is in the living!

    The clue was that they were students. Disciples learn from a rabbi so that they can become rabbis themselves. So they won’t find Jesus among the dead because they are to be among the living.

    The point is to trust

    Our big story begins with an example of distrust. The angel comes to Zechariah to tell him that God has broken into the world. God has changed it so that he and Elizabeth would have a baby.

    The angel came to them with a gift. And he refused to trust it.

    So what these two angels are saying to the women is Trust him! He told you he wouldn’t be here. And where he would be.

    And what happens when they take the good news back to the men? They don’t believe them. They don’t trust them. Until Peter checks it out. OK.

    But what happens at the very end of the gospel of Luke? They finally trust.

    So what’s next?

    Do we go to the tomb to see for ourselves? Or do we trust the word of a friend; someone we trust? Or maybe even a stranger we meet along the road?

    We’re not going to find Jesus in the tomb any more than we’ll find certainty in control. But we might find love when we share the love. Hope when we share hope. Grace when we share grace.

    • We might find that stilling our fear brings new joy.
    • The grace of God brings new challenges.
    • That the clothes don’t make the evangelist.
    • Our faith shouldn’t be dependent on magic tricks.
    • Our stories are full of life.
    • We must face our challenges and trust in Jesus.

    Or we might be brought back to our beginning, to our memories of loved ones and times when we have experienced real joy. Maybe a time when we’ve received uncommon support and true generosity. Perhaps it’s some story which comes to mind that reminds us of what Jesus always teaches.

    Love. Love. Love. Each other. God. Love and trust each other. Keep it up. And then I will be with you. For ever.

  • Looking for Jesus

    In the resurrection story, we get an Easter image as confounding as it is hopeful. Not only that Jesus is risen, but we still never expect it.


    among the living and not the dead
    Great Vigil of Easter | Luke 24:1-12

    Disciples are taught to follow their rabbi. Literally. They walk, you walk behind them. They turn, you turn.

    This is the position of which the writer’s remind us when Peter steps out from behind Jesus to stop him from going to Jerusalem. Jesus rebukes him saying, “Get behind me, Satan!” It is to say, Get back in place behind me, tempter!

    That following, walking behind, observing and listening, brought them all over the region. Until it finally brought them to Jerusalem.

    It must have been strange to see him teaching the crowds in the Temple and then going up to the Mount of Olives in the evening. Then that night, in the Garden. The Passover eaten, Jesus is arrested and Peter follows at a distance, to see him turn back at his denial.

    He knows!

    Only the women stuck around to watch it all. The crucifixion and his short suffering and death. To see where they took the body.

    They spent years following behind him and now he’s gone.

    The absence brings confusion.

    Where do you look?

    When your eyes have only ever looked forward? Where do they go? Who do they see?

    When the rabbi has gone, where do you look for him?

    Of course, the place is obvious. You look in the tomb. They laid him there at the end of the first day, rolling the boulder in front to wall him in.

    That’s where you’d look for him. Where he was.

    That’s why the angels’ question is so odd:

    “Why do you look for the living among the dead?”

    Why? Are you serious? Because that’s where he was.

    “He is not here, but has risen.”

    So he somehow walked out?

    Among the dead

    It’s a provocative exchange because it isn’t the easiest way to say He isn’t here. Look somewhere else. They question why they are looking there.

    Why? Because he died.

    “Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again.”

    In other words, Jesus told you he wouldn’t be here. So why are you looking here?

    There’s a very literal truth to their response. It all makes the disciples look like they didn’t believe Jesus about the resurrection. Much like they didn’t believe him about the crucifixion.

    But there’s another reason the phrase tickles our ears.

    “Why do you look for the living among the dead?”

    It isn’t just about faith and logic.

    The angels are asking them why they’re looking in the exact last place he would be. They’re looking for the living among the dead.

    The unspoken next question is:

    Why don’t you look for the living among the living?

    And the reason is pretty simple. It isn’t about a lack of belief in Jesus. But in his mission.

    They don’t believe they’ll find Jesus in the living world.

    Belief

    They’ve watched the man walk on water, make a few fish feed thousands, and shove a thousand evil spirits into a bunch of pigs. A little death-defying magic shouldn’t be so outside the realm of possibility.

    So what we’re not talking about is belief in some wild Jesus power.

    And the guy told him all about how this would happen, so it isn’t a 100% surprise.

    So we’re not talking about belief that God could do something amazing. We’re talking about belief in God’s doing something so miraculous now.

    And I can’t help but wonder if this lack of belief came because they heard Jesus without really listening to him.

    As he was transforming the lives of thousands, healing and teaching, empowering and sending them out to do the same. He kept saying This is what the kin-dom is like.

    He kept telling them that God frees the oppressed and rejoices at the lost becoming found.

    Love your neighbor the very love that comes from God!

    Show compassion and mercy on everyone.

    It’s a picture of a flattened hierarchy and a generously shared power. A picture he keeps showing them and telling them: This is what we’re doing. This is what you’ll do without me.

    Then sent them out into the world, to share and be and love like Jesus.

    The Ends of the Earth

    When Jesus walked into Jerusalem with great celebration and fanfare. The disciples and crowds made such a ruckus, the leaders feared retribution from Rome.

    But Jesus didn’t stop them. They were doing precisely what they were supposed to do: proclaim the good news.

    This is the Messiah. He has arrived to lead us out of the clutches of death and into the hands of the living.

    How were they to know that Rome would execute him like a terrorist? Or more potently, that God would raise him from the dead like nothing happened?

    They weren’t.

    But…they knew where to take the good news. The authority given to them way back in chapters 9 & 10. To the ends of the earth.

    They are looking in the wrong place for the risen Christ because the tomb is the last place they’d find him! Not just as a matter of logic! Or because of some metaphorical sense of truth.

    God’s purview isn’t a culture of death.

    It’s life. Among the living.

    God stared at the human death machine and flicked it off like a bug. God doesn’t do death. God’s into life.

    This is where you’ll find the risen Christ!

    In those places the living are walking and working, breathing new life with loving hearts.

    Christ isn’t on the cross any more than he is crucifying children.
    He isn’t in the tomb any more than he’s shoveling children into freshly-dug graves.

    God doesn’t crucify. God redeems the crucified. And that’s where we’ll find Christ. Among the redeemed. Crucified then, now risen.

    Why do we look for the living among the dead?

    Because we’re afraid to look among the living!

    We are afraid to truly live risen like Christ!

    Listen to Jesus when he says “Don’t be afraid!” He reminds us that we have what we need. Don’t worry about the words; they’ll come to us.

    We’ve followed him here. All over the countryside, into towns and villages, cities and capitals. He’s shown us how to live and be, who to protect and who to confront, where to place our trust and with whom we should eat. We’ve followed him all the way into Jerusalem to face death and what did we find?

    Death was there. But so was God.

    We followed him to the cross and we weeped and we sat in our doubt and confusion and fury until this night, when the stone was rolled away and we find what? That we’re looking in the wrong place.

    But…

    We know where to look—not here among the dead. But out there in that same country, those same people, this same world we followed him through.

    And when we walk those roads, we’ll see it. Not only the rigid culture of death, but growing through the cracks of the sidewalk what we always miss. The new life growing all around us.

  • Revealing the way of death

    Luke makes it clear Jesus doesn’t “deserve” the crucifixion. Not only to maintain Jesus’s innocence, but prove the moral corruption of execution.


    why “deserve” isn’t a Christian word
    Good Friday | Luke 22:39-23:56

    We might picture the scene. It is late at night, they have gone into the Garden. The moon and stars blazing at this hour, making the whole place visible.

    Jesus wakes the dozing disciples — they can’t even stay awake? This night of all nights. How I wish you had listened.

    They begin to stir at his words, but it is the crowd gathering now which rouses them. The crowd…has weapons? They rub their eyes open.

    Suddenly they’re surrounded. Militarized guards flank the Temple authorities. Judas, the disciple is with them. Satan had entered his heart on Wednesday, stealing him, turning him. His betrayal would become inevitable. A guilt he never deserved.

    He tries to kiss him, but Jesus stops him. This is how you’ll do it? Jesus can hardly believe it. You would turn the kiss of peace into a signal of betrayal?

    The bleary-eyed disciples begin to understand, finally. But they’re confused about their role. Do they protect Jesus? Is that what they’re supposed to do? It must be, right?

    How are we supposed to know?

    Maybe we should ask.

    “Lord, should we strike with the sword?”

    They have two for the whole band. Jesus told them to go buy them, remember. He said that scripture had to be fulfilled in him.

    “And he was counted among the lawless”

    So surely they’d have to buy some swords to sell the part. Make them look like raiders. But they already had a couple. So the scripture is already being fulfilled.

    And here they are, trying to take Jesus away. Are we supposed to just play the part, or are we to do something?

    “Then one of them struck the slave of the high priest and cut off his right ear. But Jesus said, ‘No more of this!’ And he touched his ear and healed him.”

    What’s Going On?

    Peter’s convinced he’ll protect Jesus. But his part is already cast. He’s to deny him. Then look back. Then protect the others.

    Jesus is being tried. Innocent of all charges. Convicted anyway.

    Neither Herod nor Pilate want him.

    Of course, they’ll flog him. He may be innocent, but we have to punish him. We must beat him and abuse him, but not kill him. We aren’t barbarians.

    What kind of insurrectionist tries to overthrow Rome with just two swords and Galilean fishermen? This is ridiculous. Street him.

    Now, here’s where the story takes a strange turn.

    A small crowd of powerful religious people, not the ones throwing branches and shouting Hosanna on Sunday. Or the crowds hanging on every word at the Temple throughout the week. The ones in charge of the Temple. The ones Rome relies on to keep order in Jerusalem. That crowd. They demand someone else.

    Jesus? Kill that guy. Give us a different insurrectionist. Barrabas. If you are going to be releasing terrorists, release him.

    Pilate’s confused. But let’s not be too sympathetic or put the blame on someone else. He’s the one who frees a murderer and condemns an innocent man.

    He’ll beat him regardless. To be civilized, of course.

    Unjust

    Let’s not confuse ourselves or justify terrible acts.

    Rome killed Jesus. They beat an innocent prisoner in their charge because they could. They humiliated him like they humiliate everyone they crucify. That’s what they do. Mocking, beating brutally. Marching him with his own cross to the place of execution like a child fetching his own switch.

    Sanctioned violence to prevent violence.

    An idea which has never ever worked in human history and yet we repeat it. Over and over.

    We pin all of our sin onto one man. All of that fear and anxiety, anger and frustration. We put it all on the scapegoat. But rather than send it out into the desert to die, we lift him up on a cross or a lynching tree. We bloody and break the body well beyond punishment. It’s a release. All that anger and pride. We want to release it out onto someone.

    The anthropological philosopher, Rene Girard describes this as mimetic theory.

    We think it’ll work. Every time. We think killing the scapegoat will take away our pain. Or that somehow it deserves what it gets. We throw the interior violence upon the innocent and pummel them with our rage. Like they are responsible for our own actions.

    Flush it all away with the scapegoat.

    Until it comes right back. It always comes back. Killing Jesus didn’t remove anyone’s sin. Neither did killing Emmett Till.

    What Jesus Did

    What Jesus did was walk into the town knowing they’d Lynch him. He walked right in.

    That Roman authorities killed him isn’t on Jesus at all. He didn’t do anything. He doesn’t deserve death. In fact, nobody deserves death. Death is the hallmark of Satan, the Adversary, the way of the cross and crucifixion. The way of manifest destiny and violence.

    The way of death is the stumbling block we place at each other’s feet.

    Jesus came to counter the way of death with a way of love.

    He entered city like an African American entering a sundown town. He didn’t create the unjust laws or direct his own execution. People chose to kill him because they are afraid to live without hate. They want to protect the way of death. It’s their’s. Tribal identity all the way down.

    He entered the gates, encircled by those who wanted him dead, to expose hate and reveal the corrupting character of death.

    Jesus then offered them a different way.

    And the powerful refused it.

    They refused it by enacting the way of death upon him. To teach him a lesson.

    Our way

    Each year, we remember the crucifixion and we pray upon the cross. And I think every time we need to ask ourselves why. Not only why did Jesus die on the cross, but why we continued to kill people after he did. We shoot and hang and electrocute and gas and bomb and poison.

    A few people killed Jesus, but the way of death didn’t end in this scapegoat. It would continue with each new generation. The devoted would go on to claim to believe in him and then go off to kill more people.

    Or we justify our bloodlust through our theology, using theories of satisfaction and retribution. We take the urge to retaliate or scapegoat and slap a coat of Jesus paint on it. Which, of course, has to be red.

    We kill and then say God wanted it. Or worse. God had to make us do it. There was no other way. Maybe we didn’t even do it. It could’ve been God the whole time.

    So we can wash our hands and walk away.

    But the sin of death, like the mythical cat, just comes back. It won’t stay away. No matter how many scapegoats we use.

    Before he walked in

    Before he walked in, Jesus wept. He wept over Jerusalem. Over how it knows the things that make for peace. But it refuses to see them.

    We remember year after year that Jesus didn’t have to die. But that he did die. That he was killed. Human beings killed him to maintain power on earth. Human beings were afraid of his message of love and resistance to human authority.

    He taught of love and faith. Along the way, he encouraged people to be generous and share everything they have. To be honest and caring to those they meet.

    Jesus gave his followers the power to heal and exorcize the demons which are killing our neighbors. And he empowered them to do this in his name.

    He stopped them from stopping those doing the good work even though they weren’t on the same team. And he crossed boundaries to find the people where they are at.

    Jesus taught us to eat and drink and celebrate in the middle of the night because a woman finds a lost coin and to get the whole town together when a dead son comes back to life.

    And in the end, Jesus shows his disciples what it means to be a true child of God. To walk against the tide, to face death willingly, and to still have enough love in his heart to be merciful to those in the grip of death.

    Jesus shows us that “deserve” isn’t a Christian word.

    Jesus showed humanity the way of love until his last breath. As our son. Teaching us all.

  • This Thursday of Holy Week 2019

    Watching Notre Dame, the echoes of Holy Week reverberated. The warning of the temple’s destruction, of course. But also the call to listen.


    when in doubt, love
    Luke 22:7-13

    On Monday, we heard about Jesus weeping over Jerusalem, over the Temple because of what would happen to it in the future.

    Then I went to prepare a reflection for Tuesday morning, when Jesus was teaching at the temple.

    And while Jesus was there, he spoke loudly of the Temple’s coming destruction; that the revolutionaries would be beaten back and the oppressors would storm the city and destroy its walls.

    Jesus was issuing a warning about this place that was in the middle of the people’s relationship with God.

    And as I finished, I saw the images of Notre Dame burning.

    This pain Jesus was saying to come; its echo was felt Monday. Not the same pain, of course. But a similar sense of fear and loss.

    In the midst of tragedy

    When Jesus weeps at the destruction to come, he names the root of the existential struggle. Not the sensation of the pain, but of what leads to that pain.

    If only they paid attention. They know the things that make for peace. But they’re hidden now.

    This burning cathedral withstood revolutions and world wars. It was brought low this week by an unquenchable fire.

    And as the building burned, did we think of those things that make for peace? Were we aware of compassion and generosity, hope, faith, and love?

    Or was it just history, pain, confusion?

    Was the generous spirit of God in our hearts or was only loss and tragedy on our minds?

    We follow

    We gather this morning in preparation for the weekend to come.

    And our gospel story parallels the preparation at the start of the week.

    Then, we had Jesus send disciples out to prepare for their entrance into Jerusalem, to find the colt Jesus would ride on. Now they are to find the place of their Passover meal.

    These are strangely specific plans, too. Here’s what you will find and where. Tell them this and they will give it to you. Strange too that they come true.

    It feels like prophecy—that Jesus is telling the future—or providence—that God is manipulating things. But I think it’s something else.

    I think this speaks far less about the specific acts of God and far more about the specific attitudes of the disciples.

    They willingly follow their rabbi.

    They follow him into Jerusalem and into these situations which seem ridiculous or impossible. But they follow him regardless.

    What do we do?

    In the midst of tragedy and confusion, we wonder where God is or what God expects us to do. But we often do it in light of our terms.

    • What do we do with my growing older?
    • How should we deal with our congregation?
    • Should I pay taxes to Caesar or not?
    • Or is it right to say you are not a Christian?

    Our questions for God are deep and rich and I hope we always keep asking them. But it isn’t the same as following Christ into Jerusalem because we think we’ll get specific answers to our yes or no questions. Yes, do this or no, don’t do that.

    But the disciples don’t walk in and go OK, Jesus. Where are we going to eat the Passover? They aren’t so bold or jumpy, itchy to get started!

    The picture is completely the opposite. Instead, Jesus tells them and they listen.

    OK, go in to the city. You’re going to find this colt tied up…

    And then

    Listen, when you go in, you’re going to see this man with a jar…

    Don’t get me wrong! I love questions. And we don’t ask nearly enough of them (at least of the right kind!).

    But this isn’t what we’re doing when we ask them! We think it’s all up to us. So we believe we need to make decisions or ask the questions or seek out Jesus so we can follow him when he’s already there! We don’t have to look for him when he’s supposed to be right in front of us!

    What we need to do is just listen.

    Listen, love

    The Prime Minister is vowing to rebuild Notre Dame. Which, I suppose is fine. It seems like a good thing to do.

    And the decisive moves in the hours as the grief became tangible demonstrate a kind of divine synergy we often fail to recognize as Godly.

    Perhaps Jesus has been speaking and people are listening and responding. I hope so.

    I also hope that we listen to his warnings and teachings. That we hear the words about commitment to the community, to the poor and the powerless. That our attachment to our holy mountains and temples doesn’t eclipse our attachment to God and each other. That these symbols and icons don’t become idols.

    These images; the burning cathedral, the stream of light shining down onto the altar, the cross beaming; the universal connection so many have with this one holy site; I hope they kindle our affection for God and each other. I hope they raise our sense of the indomitable Spirit.

    Because Jesus is in front of us. I hope we listen.

    Always, in the midst of tragedy, we are full of confusion and questions. May we, instead, listen to Christ.

    The same Christ who said that the greatest commandment is to love God and love one another. Everything else hangs from those two.

    When in doubt, love.

  • This Wednesday of Holy Week 2019

    The chief priests and scribes conspire to kill Jesus. Not because they don’t like him. But precisely because they feel justified in wanting to kill him.


    for they were afraid
    Luke 22:1-6

    Jesus faced political opposition from the beginning. Even as he was deeply popular with “the masses,” he was constantly a thorn in the side of the powerful.

    In Luke’s telling, this distinction between the vast majority of the people and the governing elites is constant and varied.

    When Jesus flouts Sabbath law on multiple occasions, it is the leadership who steps against him. Virtually all the people are amazed.

    And even when a powerful leader invites Jesus to eat dinner with him, it is as part of a power game. Like inviting him to an exclusive cocktail party in which all the guests are doctors and lawyers. And Jesus calls the man out for the way he treats the poor.

    For Luke, Jesus has some pretty profound ways of speaking to what is going on here. Most importantly that our division is self-imposed. We know “the things that make for peace.” Jesus preaches it constantly.

    But I think what confuses us is that we hear about this dichotomy and therefore treat it as either literal or metaphorical.

    So Jesus must really mean that leaders and wealth and power are universally a problem.

    OR

    Jesus doesn’t have a problem with wealth and power per se, just the sin going on inside.

    But both of these readings avoid the real trouble Jesus raises: that our human systems empower and oppress. We made them. And we protect them.

    Jesus doesn’t hate the rich as a class of people or as a metaphor! He hates that wealth gets in the way of the stuff God is calling us to do!

    Why They Hate

    So when we see the way the powerful people hate Jesus during Holy Week, we need to see the way they’ve hated him from the beginning. And why.

    It is visceral. It’s an existential threat.

    They don’t see him as something so mundane as a preacher with different beliefs. They are literally afraid of his message.

    Why? Because it would erase their superiority, their exceptionalism.

    He’s preaching a kind of equality that steals their power:

    an economic equality that steals their wealth,
    a social equality that steals their place in line, and
    a spiritual equality that steals their authority.

    They are freaking out because they don’t want this. This isn’t what they were taught!

    It angers them because they don’t want to recognize that it actually is scriptural.

    It frustrates them because they don’t know how to make sense of it.

    What are they supposed to do?

    What They Always Want

    Well, if they were willing to listen to Jesus, the answer is simple.

    Sit down with other people. Then…
    Listen. Share. Become.

    If they were willing to look into their own tradition, they might find what Jesus found there.

    But that’s not what they want. If they did that, they might have to confront how they maintain an unjust system or that the power they’ve inherited may need to be shared with others. No, they’d want to find a different approach. Something that doesn’t threaten their position of power and exceptionalism.

    Really, there’s only one option, then.

    It’s what powerful people do when they think they are inherently better: they dominate and oppress. But when they think lives are on the line? Well, you give them a choice: turn or burn. Assimilate or die.

    The leaders gave Jesus opportunities to change. Then they tried to discredit or humiliate him. None of it worked. Jesus was as popular as ever!

    There’s only one thing left. To burn.

    This Strange Interlude

    This is an interesting interlude for us this morning.

    It reminds us that the crucifixion is premeditated murder.

    And it gives us this return of the Adversary. The incarnated spirit of evil that tempted Jesus in the Wilderness with offers of power returns to inhabit one of the disciples.

    I was just sharing a short while ago that I used to struggle with Satan as a concept in scripture for a host of reasons, too many for this brief homily. But this image speaks volumes to the way evil infects our decision-making and reduces our will. How good, innocent people can be overwhelmed by a spirit of power and destruction.

    Because Judas is not to be seen as evil in Luke’s telling. But that he has been lost to evil. Like addiction. Whether that be alcohol or power…or money. Or perhaps, as these leaders, an addiction to superiority and exceptionalism. To their special place in the social system.

    I called this an interlude because this moment, this day in Luke’s telling doesn’t have Jesus. And here we are, gathered to hear the good news and our scripture doesn’t have it in it!

    Another Way

    But…

    As we had our tears for Jerusalem on Monday and our warning on Tuesday, perhaps we can see Jesus in the negative space, in what isn’t here.

    What isn’t here is…
    decency
    generosity
    grace
    thanksgiving
    foresight
    justice
    kindness
    equality
    concern
    hope
    faith
    love.

    In all this self-preservation, vindictiveness, and fear, we see the opposite of Jesus. We see instead, the self-justified machinery of death and its foreboding intention of winning. Of maintaining its place: exceptional, powerful, in charge.

    Absolutely nothing like expressing any faith in God.

  • This Tuesday of Holy Week 2019

    When the authorities confront Jesus in the Temple, they find a popular teacher warning them not to choose the way of death.


    every day teaching in the temple
    Luke 20-21

    One of the unique things about Luke’s telling of Jesus’s last week is that we don’t get a sense of how many days go by.

    In Mark’s gospel, the author is very specific. Monday is the “cleansing” of the Temple. Tuesday is the teaching day. Wednesday, he stays in Bethany.

    But in this gospel, Jesus spends several days at the Temple; we’re not sure how many. This whole section accounts for two whole chapters of Luke, chapters 20 and 21. At the end of 19, which we read yesterday, it said

    “Every day he was teaching in the temple.”

    And at the end of chapter 21, it says

    “Every day he was teaching in the temple, and at night he would go out and spend the night on the Mount of Olives, as it was called. And all the people would get up early in the morning to listen to him in the temple.”

    Rather than get specific about the time here, the writer of Luke gives us a more broad picture of a daily pattern, of an ongoing arrangement.

    Jesus gets up and goes to the Temple, then spends the night on the Mount of Olives. Then again the next day.

    And what he does each day is teach. And what the people do is to go listen to him. Because the people loved him and couldn’t get enough of it.

    There’s something about this rhythm of daily moving. Going down to the temple then back up to the Mount Olives. Then back down the next day. Teaching, learning, being together in the temple: teacher and student.

    Approaching Holy Week with this rhythm seems natural. But it’s even more important in its context.

    The Teachings

    The teachings we get aren’t in a syllabus handed out at the beginning of a semester. Jesus has to respond to what he encounters.

    He’s confronted by elders about authority. Confronted by spies about paying taxes. And Sadducees try to trap him about marriage and the afterlife.

    He tells a parable about the wicked tenants, denounces the scribes, and condemns the way the Temple exploits a woman in her poverty, all with a loud voice.

    Then he warns his followers about the city and the temple, how he cried over its future, telling them all that is to come.

    This isn’t a happy/sunshine day for the disciples.

    But it’s not supposed to be.

    The Warning

    What the author describes in these two chapters is a warning. And it’s one that doesn’t hit everyone’s ears like good news (even though it is).

    He warns the elders that they’re not doing good by condemning him. They aren’t following The Law. It isn’t just. Condemning him will condemn them.

    He warns the people that Rome, the leaders, the current system won’t prevent their deaths. Nor will the rebellion to come in 30 years give them freedom. Their use of the sword will condemn them to die by it.

    He warns the disciples and the crowds not to trust the scribes because they support a system which directly harms the poor and oppresses the weak.

    And since we have received the whole story, we get a warning, too. He warns us about the opposition.

    Not The Opposition, like opponents on a playing field, but the opposing forces who would prevent the kin-dom from coming close, or would cause us to stumble.

    The point of the warning is not about condemning a type of person or all those with a certain job. It isn’t condemnation of governments, Jewish leaders, or people who are different from us.

    It is a warning, that’s all it is!

    Beware!

    And specifically, beware of all things which don’t restore creation, bring equality, or offer freedom to the oppressed.

    This is the warning!

    There will be people who will protect the status quo because they’re worried about where their income will come from! These aren’t “bad people,” but they will protect an unjust system.

    This is the warning!

    Violence can’t bring peace! Violent revolutions only bring death. Don’t trade one evil for another!

    This is the warning!

    You know the way of peace, but you can’t see it! Others put themselves in the way of peace!

    This is the warning because you know what we have to do! Because you already know what is at stake!

    We came to Jerusalem to love the death out of this world.

    Jesus warns us that evil will make us think it’s our fault. That we brought the pain upon ourselves or that we deserve our persecution.

    We don’t deserve it. But we have to speak up anyway. Even though we know what will happen. Even when we know others will retaliate.

    We’ve brought the light of Christ into the shadow of death, fearing no evil. And we’ve done so knowing this valley is also a mountain—the place Moses encounters God in a bush becomes a place of sorrow.

    The tears we will shed, that we may shed knowing what is to come in a few days, those tears of regret and shame and sadness; the tears, like Jesus, for our knowing “the things that make for peace”.

    May the tears come! May we weep! And may we keep going, heeding the warnings, justified in the truth, and committed to Christ’s way of love. But let those tears come because we know! Let them come because we love! Because we long for justice. And because we are so full of the Spirit that God’s love is magnified through us.

    May those tears come, cleansing, restoring, empowering us for the days ahead.