Undivided Heart

Teach me your way, O Lord, and I will walk in your truth;
 give me an undivided heart to revere your name. - Psalm 86:11

What does it mean to have an undivided heart? Specifically, the psalmist requests an undivided heart for the purposes of revering, holding in awe and respect, God's name. A heart that is focused on keeping God's name holy is truly an undivided heart. 

 

In the Large Catechism, Martin Luther writes, "Anything on which your heart relies and depends, I say, that is really your God... Idolatry does not consist merely of erecting an image and praying to it, but it is primarily a matter of the heart, which fixes its gaze upon other things and seeks help and consolation from creatures, saints, or devils. It neither cares for God nor expects good things from him sufficiently to trust that he wants to help, nor does it believe that whatever good it encounters comes from God." (Book of Concord, 386f) 

 

Our hearts are divided if we believe that God takes care of the next life, but not this one. Our hearts are divided if we say we are God's people, but we speak ill of others or feign ignorance about the oppression and pain of the world. Our hearts are divided when we worship God with our words, but our daily actions are focused on success, status, and stuff. Our hearts are divided when we take all the credit for what we have and what we do and do not offer praise and gratitude to the One who created everything and is at ceaseless work in the world. 

 

When we ask God, through this psalm and our prayers, for an undivided heart, we must accept the changes that will bring. As our heart finds a permanent anchor in God's presence and power, there will be a shift in our priorities. We will find ourselves aligned with God's will and God's way. When we try to go our own way, we will experience the pain of division once more. 

 

How can we know what is God's will? We look to Jesus. In today's parable, the gospel writer expects those hearing the parable to align themselves with the disciples and, therefore, also with the workers in the master's household. That means us. We do not concern ourselves with determining who is going to hell and who isn't. We know a weed when we see it, but our work is to tend to the wheat. Our task, the task of hearts aligned with God, is to take care of the soil, the wheat itself, and the surrounding field so that God's hope, God's love, God's mercy, God's justice matures and increases its yield. The harvest and the destruction of the weeds are God's own work of God's own creation, while we are hired hands for that work in the same creation. 

 

I don't like to speak for this long in metaphors. I understand the desire to have a parable simplified and the desire to have the pastor clarify, once and for all, weeds do this, wheat does this. Be wheat. End of sermon. 

 

That's not how parables work. Additionally, if I do that, then you know that my heart is divided. It means I care more about you and your comfort than I do about God's expectations of me and the holy discomfort the Word stirs for all of us. When preachers make things too easy and too comfortable too often, we are making an idol of you liking us and our preaching. When I'm unfolding pieces, but leaving you to complete some of the puzzle, we are both respecting that God's word is a little bit mysterious, a little bit disquieting, and something from which we wrestle a blessing, like Jacob. 

 

In that light, back to the undivided heart. But, pastor, I can hear someone saying: what about my family, what about my job, what about my friends, what about things I have to do for the community? 

 

Friends, God has given you all those things. God’s love has been poured out for all, from the beginning of creation, through the incarnation and resurrection of Jesus Christ, through to the Spirit’s presence today. If you find a division between how your care for your family or how you act in community roles and what you believe God wants of you, then you are truly experiencing a divided heart. The forces that oppose God often try to mask things like co-dependency, suffering, and complications as love by saying that life is hard, but God is with us. Life can be difficult and God is with us, but suffering and pain are not inevitable. Our attempts to control others, to relieve them of the burdens of their bad choices, to make people like us, to demand respect- all energies that go to this kind of thing and related situations are part of having a divided heart. 

 

When we ask God for an undivided heart, a unified hope, a clarified awareness and trust in God's power, the other realities of our life will fall in line. That doesn't mean ranching will suddenly become easier or our family member with addiction will suddenly be well. What our undivided heart will do is help us to live peaceably in the midst of life's complications. 

 

Once upon a time, I was in Fairbanks, Alaska for a pastor's conference. It was early November, but I'd ridden up with a friend. One of my friends flew to Fairbanks and rented a car, but it did not have winter tires. She missed the turn to the retreat center and found herself down a hill that she didn't have the tread or engine power to get back up to the main road. She called our group for help and three of us went out in a car to get her. Since she was down the hill, we couldn't see her headlights and she wasn't exactly sure where she was. As we drove back and forth, one of the other pastors got agitated. "What if we can't find her?" she said. "Will she have to be out here all night?" 

 

"We will find her," assured the other person in our search party. 

 

We got out on the side of the road and called for her, while our lost friend was on the phone. She told us she could hear our voices, but couldn't see any street signs where she was. We told her to stay put and that we would walk down to her. 

 

Again, the other woman in the search party was distressed, "What if we can't get her car out of there?" 

 

I hadn't said too much at this point, because I had fairly recently joined a 12-step group. My new work through the group had made me very aware of my own anxiety and my desire to try to solve problems quickly, in effort to get people to like me and to be considered proficient and useful. So, in our search for our friend, I had called her, but mostly stayed quiet because I was paying attention to details and to my own reactions. 

When the leader of our rescue party said again, "What if we can't find her?" I finally looked at her and said, "We can do anything for 12 hours that would appall us if we had to keep it up for a lifetime." 

 

The other woman gave me the most horrified look and said, "A lifetime? What are you talking about?" 

She had to think I was high as a kite and who could blame her? My words weren't soothing. To her, they didn't seem to take the problem seriously at all. For me, they were very serious. We would figure out a solution, eventually, but our anxiety wouldn't control the situation, it was only controlling us. I did have the good sense not to say that or to say the dreaded and unhelpful "calm down". 

 

We rescued our friend. As we did so, I walked around the community we were in and then figured out how to drive the car out and back to the retreat center. I was the last one to attempt to drive the car out because each of the others attempted to get it up the hill. While they tried, I checked out our surroundings and discerned what I thought might be a back way, which turned out to be correct. 

 

I always hesitate to use an example like this because I know you often remember the story and not the point I am hoping you will take away. The point I want to make here isn't that you should stay calm in a crisis or that God will always provide a way or even that 12-step programs are useful. Those are good points for another day. 

 

My point is this: that is a time in my life that I can point to having an undivided heart. I knew, intellectually and spiritually, that God's desire for me was for health, well-being, and wholeness. I knew that some of the pain in my life was of my own doing and some was from others because I had let them take up space that wasn't theirs to take. This unity in my heart, my hope for healing, my experience of God's nearness helped me to know that a stressful experience wasn't going to last forever. By focusing on the only forever I knew, God and God's love, I didn't give the stress of the situation any more power than it needed to try to solve the problem. 

 

Not all situations are this easy. Not all people are going to be working with us on a team. Not everyone will respond kindly when we explain that we are trying to consider God's will for ourselves, our family, our jobs, our role as citizens, and our faithful actions. An undivided heart, though, will guide us in perceiving God's nearness. It will prevent us from making idols of our heritage, our denomination, our political affiliation, what we see on social media, what we read in the paper, what our friend groups expect of us, and so on. An undivided heart, a heart that desires to be aligned with God's will and way, finds peace in unusual places and hope in unusual times because God's love surrounds and carries it. 

 

Let us ask God for undivided hearts, hearts that are prepared as good soil to be nourished by God's word and that are strengthened to be workers for Christ’s sake in the world. Let us ask God for undivided hearts that will work with one another and with unexpected allies to end oppression, to bring justice, and to be part of establishing God's true peace. Let us ask God for undivided hearts that worship and trust in God alone, more than our own understanding or habits. 

 

And if we are not ready yet for undivided hearts, then let us ask God for the courage to desire them. 

 

Amen. 

 

When It's Complicated

A few days ago, I was driving down a busy Anchorage road with both my kids in the car. I glimpsed something in my lane up ahead and tried to make sense of what it was. As part of my brain registered that it was a crumpled American flag in my lane, the other part of my brain began to scan for where I could safely pull off and grab it, before it was run over, soiled, further disrespected.

I have not said the Pledge of Allegiance in years. I remember clearly the curious looks I got for standing with my hands by side on my son's first day of kindergarten, silent while everyone else recited along with the principal over the intercom. I love to sing and the American national anthem is great for a soprano who wants to pretend she's Beverly Sills, but I stay quiet. My relationship to my country is not my greatest allegiance and I've pledged everything I've got to the One Who Loved Me First.

Due to my activism, my efforts to bring change on a variety of levels of society, to what people are sure they know about my politics... (Just a week ago someone mentioned assuming everyone in a group was registered as voters for a certain party- I'm not registered with any party.)... due to what people see and hear from me, assumptions are made. For most of those doing the assuming, it is an impossible idea that I would be found sprinting down the sidewalk toward a crumpled American flag, hoping to reach it before the situation was any worse. Yet there I was.

When I was about 50 yards from the flag, a man sprinted across several lanes of traffic from the other side of the road and snatched it up, rescuing the cloth itself from additional ignominy. And I returned to my car, panting, trying to figure out how to explain to my children why their mom was suddenly possessed with a frantic need to rescue a particularly patterned fabric from the street.

I barely understood the frantic need myself.

I wanted to save my own hope in the flag as a symbol of what this nation can be and could be.

I wanted to show my children that you can be deeply frustrated and disappointed and still faithful.

I want to continue to have the hope of General Lafayette in the "perpetual union of the United States" that it may "one day save the world".

Inside me, beyond how impotent I feel, how grieved, how desperate, how revolutionary, I believe there is a soul of an idea of who the United States can be that seeks to repair the wounds of the Doctrine of Discovery, to heal and repent of the on-going injury of enslavement, racism, and white supremacy, that truly embraces the concepts of equality and equity relative to justice, access, and opportunity.

My jaw is tight, I cry, and I'm so tired.

Better is possible.

Surely, better is possible.

It is a sign of high privilege that I can even entertain that notion.

And, yet, I know that I am an Esther among Esthers, an Abigail among Abigails, a Huldah among Huldahs, a Priscilla among Priscillas. I am not alone in the work or the call or the disappointment or the anger.

I will resist the efforts to cave and accept oppression, silence, complicity, lies, or misdirection as normal, representative, or necessary.

I will fight.

And I will hope.

And, if I have to again, I will sprint down a sidewalk along Tudor Road on a Monday evening, to rescue a tangible symbol that is more than history; it is possibility. It is that possibility that my Truest Allegiance will not let me ignore.

When the Body of Christ is Fat

Bitmoji Julia enjoys tea

Within a very short amount of time, two people whom I love were called "fat ass". One of these slurs occurred in the church building and the other occurred in the same building and within the context of worship. Both incidents were the result of a person with already impaired judgment lashing out at the person who was in front of them, perceiving them to be unhelpful or denying aid or service. Regardless of the "why", the reality is that the name was uncalled for, hurtful, and aimed to be a deep cut.

The reality is that a person who is under the influence of legal or illegal substances and often displays impaired judgment can still tell that body shaming- comments about shape, appearance, or size- is a way to lash out at someone who is frustrating you. That means those words and that way of using them are deeply rooted in our culture. An additional truth is that when we, as a congregation, attempted to console and listen to those who had been hurt in this encounter, I don't know that we said anything about the slur "fat ass" being wrong. "You shouldn't have to hear that" or "I'm sorry that happened" is not the same as "That was a crappy thing to hear, especially since it's untrue."

Bitmoji Julia doesn't care for this.

I've turned these events over and over in my mind. I have an unformed set of theological thoughts roiling around in there and I can't seem to make them beautiful, but I can sense their truth. The church is not good at talking about body image- especially as it relates to size. Even as we come to understand race, culture, sex, gender expression, attraction, and even mental health as things that are innate, but not necessarily immutable- we have not applied that learning or that spiritual growth to body size and shape. Even in the life of a congregation, we reflect the cultural idea that a bigger body is related to immorality. Despite a wealth of scientific information related to body size and shape as inherited, that BMI is not worth the metal to make the calipers, that a sedentary life is the biggest health risk, and that diets rarely produce long-term, lasting results... despite all of this, the church still jumps on the bandwagon of good/bad food choices, silence in the face of fat and/or thin shaming, privatizing size (it's all your fault), and ignoring the call to physically move.

The church is the place where we are supposed to reveal an inclusive welcome, open arms, and a reflection that all people are children of God. What happens when we don't include size- fatness and thinness- in that conversation? When our scripture readings are about banqueting, feasting, rich wines and marrow, open tables, hospitality, and eating in community, how often do we subvert that welcome and the joy of creation by creating binaries about what we should and shouldn't eat, can and can't wear, do and don't look?

Bitmoji Julia feels this more than real Julia

Lest you think that I have no idea what I am talking about, I know my own weight so well that I know if I am down just 2 pounds. I wrestle with my own body image, including how much of it there is. I would be tempted to respond being called "fat ass" with saying, "You probably need your eyes checked because that's not all that's fat." Of course, I acknowledge that while I have high BMI (worth nothing!), I am on the smaller side of being overweight. My weight also doesn't conflict with what I enjoy doing- outdoors or otherwise and yet I am hyper-aware of it. When I think of the gifts I can give to God, I would quickly name my brain or my ears or my hands and feet- as though these exist on their own, instead of within the sanctified casing of the rest of my body.

I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Romans 12:1

Bitmoji Julia tells it on the mountain

Then God said, “Let us [shape soil] in our image, after our likeness. And let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over the livestock and over all the earth and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth.” So God created [humans in the  Divine] image, in the image of God [they were created]; male and female he created them. Genesis 1:26-27

So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.1 Corinthians 10:31


So, what do we do with this? How do we move to make sure that body shaming is not part of church culture and that health, wellness appreciation, and confidence in God's creation is? 

1. Do not make food "good" or "bad". All food is a political choice. When we decide what to eat or what to provide, we are deciding where to put our money, our community resources and time, our energy, and our support (expressed and unexpressed). Think about what you want to communicate about how you perceive God in farming, ranching, research, community life, and vocation through the food you provide or consume- both as individuals and as a congregation. 

2. Fat people know they are fat. They probably know better than you what they weigh, their measurements, and where they can find clothes and where they can't. Do not participate in shaming by ignoring or by patronizing. Also, do not assume they have no idea how to make correct food choices or exercise habits. Don't moralize size. 

3. Consider what it means that a sedentary life is more dangerous than being overweight or obese. Who do you know who might need a walking partner who is understanding and willing to go slow? Who might need a friend to come by a couple times a week for a low-impact exercise video? Who else might need to know that they aren't alone in having Type 2 Diabetes? Could you rideshare to the hospital's T2 class or organize a presentation with a nurse at the church for the community? 

4.  Do not assume that all health issues are related to weight or that weight is automatically related to stress. Sometimes yes, but sometimes no. Are you the doctor of everybody? 

5. When someone struggles because of their size (thinness or fatness), do not pretend that their body is not a real thing. Being rejected from an exit row seat because one needs a seat belt extender isn't actually an FAA regulation and it is pretty insulting. Acknowledge that this is a hurtful thing and be willing to listen to what it stirs up in the person. When someone is called a "fat ass", listen to that story. Maybe it hurt them, maybe they dismiss it. Acknowledge that this is about an attempt to embarrass them about their body- a reality of their world and how they are created. 

6. Do not participate in body shaming of any type (yourself or others), including when it happens to people you don't particularly like. Loving your neighbor means critiquing their behavior with an eye toward repentance or metanoia (turning around), not being cruel about something that is part of how God has made them. 

7. The Body of Christ is the body of Christ. Sometimes it has a soft, squidgy tummy or flappy upper arms or large strong thighs or round face. The fat body of Christ can still come to your house and do a load of laundry when you are flattened by chemotherapy. The underweight body of Christ can still bring a pizza to a family after an adoption. The roly-poly body can collect your cups after communion with Spirit-filled smile and the body that cannot keep up with its metabolic disorder can still read the gospel during Bible study. The Body of Christ is the body of Christ.

What would it look like for the church to embody this? 
 
 

The Sun Also Rises

About a month ago I went on a silent retreat to Christ in the Wilderness in western Illinois. I had a little hermitage to myself and I spent five days walking, praying, reading, thinking, and listening. One evening I hiked up hill (both ways) to the big, free-standing porch swing on a hill. This swing faced due west.

I positioned myself in the swing to watch the blazing orange sunset over the span of corn fields and hickory trees. I heard coyotes yip and yowl. I watched flocks birds swoop and then come to rest, facing the disappearing sun like me. I saw the bats come out and dive for their food.

As everything settled into evening humming, I decided to go back toward my hermitage. I climbed out of the swing and walked the path, back around to the east side of the hill. By the time I was ready to descend the hill toward the little chapel, I was facing due east. I could no longer see the sunset because the peak of the hill was between me and the view.

My new view was the rising deep violet of the coming night. It was easy to perceive myself as walking into the night. In fact, that's what I immediately thought. I am walking into the night.

Then I had an insight. I am not only walking into the night, but I am walking toward the dawn.

Walking into the night- into a darker space where the shapes and path are not as clearly defined-  also means heading toward dawn, a new day, and a new beginning.

Sitting down in the little chair at the top of that path, I looked down the hill and watched the night rise.

How often do we as people or as a church watch the sunset over and over and over, forgetting that we are called to turn toward a resurrection sunrise? We fear the dark- forgetting that the stars and the night are as much a part of God's creativity and creation as the sun and the day.

What does this look like?

- Wringing our hands over dwindling numbers without examine why they're happening
- Expecting the same thing over and over to get the same result it did years ago
- Telling the same stories of history over and over without celebrating the successes of the present or leaning into the dreams of the future


What does walking into the dark look like?

- It looks like the widow of Zarepheth feeding Elijah with some of the last of her food.
- It looks like the widow giving two mites to a system that exploited her, but that she also perceived to allow her access to God
- It looks like a centurion saying, "I believe, Lord, forgive my unbelief."
- It looks like 2-3 women walking with heavy hearts toward a tomb that will turn out to be empty.


If we watch sunsets over and over and over, without ever turning into the dawn, we should not be surprised when nothing ever changes. When we turn, when we yield to the Spirit's call, we find that we are not abandoning our history, our saints, our stories. Instead, they are also ahead of us, reminding of us of how God has provided before and the promises of provision for the future.

Turn around, step into a slightly dimmer light, and head toward the dawn- knowing God is with you every step of the way.

Difficult Questions: Judgment

Texts: Amos 5:18-24; Psalm 9:1-12; Revelation 20:11-15; 21:5-8; Luke 11:14-23, 29-32   

       Imagine that you are an Olympic athlete. You’ve trained for years and years. You’ve fallen and gotten up more times than you can remember or even estimate. When you finally make it, there are the judges waiting and watching you. Their eyes catch every twitch, every flinch, every false start, every slip, every stroke. If you are in a sport that requires speed, your timing is everything. If you are in a sport that requires assessment for skill and technique- the judges decide your fate.

            For some reason, we who dare to believe in God, the one creator of all that is, seem to picture God in this same way. Even the most grace-oriented people I know have an image of God as the ultimate judge, watching our performance. At the end of all our days, all our events, when we reach the judge’s platform, we anticipate watching for the card with our score. Did we achieve gold (as in golden streets) or did we receive fire (as in eternal damnation)?

            Why do we have this image of our faithful life as a sporting event? As though, if we accrue enough points through right actions, then we will “win” the good judgment and will be able to enter heaven. What does that say about God? While this description may seem very far-fetched to some of you, others who fairly consistently worry about the fact that we are told we cannot earn grace know what I am describing all too well.

            The passage we heard from Revelation today does speak of a judgment. The end result of that judgment, though, is not what determines heaven and hell. Your eternal retirement plan, the life of the world to come for each of us, is not determined by our works. Period. Not by our faith, faithfulness, or faithlessness. Period. Jesus the Christ determines the life of the world to come and what it contains for each and every person. Being written in the Lamb’s book of life is not your work, not your handwriting, not your effort.

            There is an additional judgment mentioned in that section of Revelation. It is a judgment based on works. It is a judgment based on how time, talents, efforts, and relationships have been used. In Revelation, every single person is accounting for what they did with what they had at the time they had it.

            Now, if we were to read Revelation as a book that was about telling us the future and exactly how things are going to shake out at some time which none of us know or can know, then perhaps this would be the time to be worried. You can’t get yourself into the Book of Life AND you’re going to have to answer for every minute of your life, well… let’s sweat about that for a while.

            However, that is NOT how to read Revelation. Let me repeat, that is NOT how to read Revelation. Revelation is written in a specific style, called apocalyptic literature. That style of writing at the time of Revelation, at the time of Daniel, at the time of the Hunger Games, is meant to cause the reader or hearer to reflect on the events that are happening around them at that specific time. Apocalyptic literature may be structured to give hope or to change behavior or to point to larger truths that are being masked by world events.

            For the original audience of Revelation, we are talking about Christians being threatened under the Roman Empire. Some have already been killed. Others have been driven out from their homes or towns to become refugees. Others are being enslaved. Revelation is being circulated among Christian communities as a letter meant to give hope and courage. The Book of Life is an image that is meant to give hope to them, a metaphor to remind them that their place with God has been won through Jesus’ own life, death, resurrection.

            They may well fear where the emperor may send them, these first century Christians, but they do not need to fear the rejection of God- specifically because of Jesus Christ. The book of life metaphor makes that clear. The judgment portion, then, is a reminder that they are still accountable for acting faithfully- for caring for strangers, widows, orphans, and outcasts. They are still responsible for acting morally, ethically, choosing the good, keeping the commandments, and worshipping God together in community. The casting out of murderers, sorcerers, fornicators, liars, etc, is a reminder that these behaviors have no place in the community of believers.

            It is not simply because they are wrong. It is because the adoption of these behaviors, or the allowing of them in the community, fails to put God first. Murder makes a god of revenge or anger or violence. Indiscriminate sex makes a god of pleasure or the feelings of the body. Lying elevates dishonesty and brokenness over truth and community.

            We are no longer the Christians who were in the Roman Empire at the time of Revelation. We are not a persecuted minority. In fact, in some places, Christians are the persecuting majority- where those who claim to follow Christ want to make decisions for everyone around them. Even now, in Europe, there are countries who are refusing entrance to non-Christian refugees from Syria. Jesus and his parents were refugees once, but now Christians are often more known for who they turn away, than for their radical welcome in the face of all else. And, yet, we still act as though our actions have no impact on our relationship with God now or in the future. Judgment for these behaviors doesn’t wait until some distant day. The judgment for failure to be faithful happens when all hell breaks loose because we can’t trust one another, children die, people don’t have enough, and everybody does what seems right in their own eyes.

            The people hearing Revelation at the time it was written did not fear a future judgment day. They understood the letter to be reminding them that their actions had immediate implications. God’s judgment happened for all of us at the time when God shook God’s head and said to the Word and to the Spirit, “All right, one of us is going to have to go down there and explain this more clearly.” (Apparently the Spirit quickly touched her nose and said, “Not it.”)

            In the Luke passage today, Jesus tells those who are gathered around him, “The forces that oppose God are real, but they do not have ultimate power. You do not need something extra or more special to defeat them. You have something greater. You have prophets like Jonah, who witnessed to people who did not know God. You know the wisdom of Solomon, which drew rulers from outside his kingdom to hear of God.”

            Jesus continued, “Judgment is at hand. God has come to you. The kingdom is at hand. With the kingdom comes judgment.” What is happening, then, is that God judged creation to be worthy of grace, worthy of experiencing eternal love enfleshed, worthy of seeing the good news, worth of resurrection in the face of betrayal, humiliation, desertion, crucifixion, and death.  

            What if we can let go of the image of God’s judgment as a final score that tells us about our prize? Can we trust grace enough to come to understand that God is our coach, the Spirit-our advocate, Jesus-our role model? When we fall, when we fail, when we do not do the very thing we know we are to do (through the prophets and the wisdom and the Son), we are not being flashed a score that says “To hell with you” from a distant judge’s booth. Instead, they are right beside us. “I messed up”, we say. “We know”, they reply. “You’re forgiven. Let’s try again. You can do this.”

            The judgment of God is not supposed to strike fear in our hearts. It is meant to give us hope… that we have been made for better, that we have been made to do better. God’s judgment is meant to be medicine for our souls, motivation for our hands and feet, metabolism for our faith. We are accountable for what we do, what we say, what we give… and all the times we don’t and we should have. Yet, that account is reckoned every single day- by the measure of Christ to give it balance- and we are restored to and through grace. To live the baptized life again tomorrow. And to be lead closer to getting it right for the good of Christ in the world and the health of our souls.

Amen.

Silence is not Golden

I haven't written here lately.

I haven't written here about Sandra Bland, though I did post a prayer here. I'm still thinking about her.

I haven't written about North Korea, though I promised my mom that I would on Mother's Day.

I haven't written about the fight over the Confederate Flag (the flag of the Army of Northern Virginia).

I haven't written about gently asking another blogger to alter her language from using black to equal evil and white to equal purity. (There is nothing inherently evil in the color black.)

I haven't written about how surprised I am when people bring up the "gay agenda" in a conversation that previously had nothing to do with homosexuality or homosexuals.

I haven't written about Donald Trump, periods, women's bodies under attack, a failure to respect others disguised as resentment toward "political correctness", or any number of other topics.


Nothing.

I cannot put a finger accurately on how I feel.

Annoyed, frustrated, irritated, tired, grieved, disgusted, despairing... all of it and more.

Frankly, my dears, I haven't written not because I don't give a damn, but because I give too much of one.

“If you decide that it’s a bad thing to worship God, then choose a god you’d rather serve—and do it today. Choose one of the gods your ancestors worshiped from the country beyond The River, or one of the gods of the Amorites, on whose land you’re now living. As for me and my family, we’ll worship God. - Joshua 24:15, The Message

I don't have the words to describe the way that I feel hunted and haunted because of my gender (female), the causes I support, the people I help, my ancestry, and all manner of other things. Yet, I go on because Jesus is leading and the forces that oppose God- sin, the Devil, and brokenness- will not win and this is just part of the fight.

I just can't always write about it.

McKinney, Texas

Scene: McKinney, Texas

A white police officer yelling at black and brown teens, telling them to sit down, to leave, to get down, to disperse. Officer chases young black men. Officer forces black teenage girl to the ground, by her hair and neck, and then holds her there with his knee in her back. Teen girl has empty hands and is wearing a bikini. White adult males mill around and do not intervene with the officers or attempt to console and assist any of the teenagers present.

Year: 1954 1968 2015

Today, I was thinking of the friends of the paralytic man in Mark 2. They couldn't get the healing, the help, the relief needed for their friend by getting him through the door. They couldn't wait for it to come to them. The option that seemed clearest was to tear the roof off the house. Rip up the clay, the leaves, the hardened mud, and straw. Rain down dirt clods and stick scraps on the (self) righteous leaders gathered below. Raise the roof and get this done. Now.

The time has come to do the same in this country.

Silence is complicity. Waiting is criminal (aiding and abetting). Victim blaming is shameful.

We who have the privilege of white skin, light skin, money, placement, opportunity, platform, or otherwise must raise the roof on racism in the country. We have to tear out the mud of a system that paralyzes and ignores the plight of millions. We who can, not only should, but must.

Respect is not a zero-sum game. No one loses by acknowledging that black and brown lives matter.

Racism is a house that corrupts all who enter and live within its contaminating walls, even if some residents believe they can resist the pull.

When will we be ready to get our hands dirty by tearing off the roof?

Bad Choices

Our five-year-old is attending a Vacation Bible School program at another church this week. He went last year and loved it, so he's going again. 

Today, afterward, I asked him what they did. He told me his schedule: games, science, snack, Bible story, crafts, music. 

"What was the Bible story today?" I asked. 

"It was about bad choices," he replied. 

"Bad choices? Who made bad choices?"

"Those two people, I don't remember their names. They lived in a garden." 

"Adam and Eve."

"Yes. They lived in a garden and God told them not to touch a special tree. But they made a bad choice when a snake tricked them. They touched the tree. God made them leave the garden, but God still loved them. If we make bad choices, God still loves us.

"So the snake lied to Adam and Eve and they made a bad choice. God gave them a punishment, but God still loved them." 

"Yes." 

"Sounds about right."

Passenger: "That seemed pretty clear. Can he teach me about the Bible?" 

My Brother's Keeper

The younger of my two brothers works in an office that is attached to the church where I work. He is the office manager of there. So we work about 30 feet from each other, for two different entities, but technically within the same building. 

He came over to my side today and told me he didn't feel well. He asked if I would go get him some clear soda and crackers, while he laid down on the couch in the youth room. 

I told him I would. I grabbed my keys, wallet, and phone and hustled to the Safeway across the street. 

In the store, I threw things into a basket- items for him and something for myself to eat for lunch. A woman stopped me, "Can I ask you a question?"

Feeling startled out of my train of thought, I said, "Sure." 

I get stopped for directions in stores all the time, so this is what I assumed was happening. 

"Are you a priest?" she wondered. 

Suddenly, I remembered I was wearing my collar. 

"I'm a Lutheran pastor," I smiled, surprised that it hadn't occurred to me that she might ask about that. 

Her companion said to her, "See- a pastor. Now you know." 

They both walked on, leaving me wondering if I should have said anything else. 

My realization was this: I had been so concerned about my brother's well-being that I had forgotten what I looked like to other people. 

I was so concerned about my brother that I forgot what I was wearing, how I might be perceived, to care what other people thought... because caring for him was primary. 

There's something to that. 

Lost Girls: An Unsolved American Mystery (Book Review)

Last year, I read a book called I [Heart] Sex Workers. Written by Lia Scholl, the book opened what I had previously assumed were my open eyes to some realities of how and why sex is sold, who sells, and who buys. Parts of that book have remained solidly with me, though I reviewed it in February 2013 here. Scholl wrote:

You might ask, if everything was equal, everyone had shelter, food, clothing, and jobs they loved, would people still sell sex? In all honesty, I believe they would. Some people sell sex because of sexual desire. Some people would sell sex to get one step further up the food chain. Some people would sell sex because they like it.
If everything was equal, though, the desperation around sex work would diminish. Sex works would be less likely to trade sex in risky situations. They’d be less likely to ignore their inner voice that says, “Run!” when a client is violent. They’d be less likely to have sex without a condom and risks HIV/AIDS and sexually transmitted infections. They’d be less likely to get into coercive relationship with pimps and more likely to keep more of their earnings. (44)

I haven't forgotten that paragraph or Scholl's point that women who sell sex are in much more danger, typically, than johns or pimps. Not only at greater risk for being arrested, sex sellers (male and female) are simply more frequently in vulnerable positions wherein they can be harmed physically or otherwise.

All of this kept floating up to the top of my mind as I read Lost Girls: An Unsolved American Mystery by Robert Kolker. The book give the personal histories of five young women whose bodies

were found in the brambles off a Long Island beach between 2010 and 2011. The women all had struggles with their families, frustrations in their lives, plans that were thwarted, and hopes that were expected to be realized. What all five actually have in common is that they were all killed and probably by someone who had contacted them through Craiglist or another site under the auspices of buying sex from the them.

They were not killed together, but over a span of month. Their bodies, along with the bodies of others who may or may not have been killed by the same person or have been selling sex, were all found along a stretch of a deserted highway.

Part of what made me ache about this book is how each woman came to make the decision to sell sex, often for short-term financial gain. Frequently, this decision came with a cavalcade of other situations- pimps or "bodyguards", drivers, competition, drugs. Not everyone who chooses to sell sex finds themselves in these situations, but that is what happened to most of these young women. The combination of crackdowns on streetwalking makes "escort services"- contacted through the internet- more appealing, especially since it can allow the sex worker to be his or her own free agent, separate from a pimp or madam.

Yet the decision to sell sex seemed to make these young women "less than" in the eyes of police and other investigators when their families first reported them missing. In the book's conclusion, Kolker notes:

It may no longer matter anymore whether the sale of sex among consenting adults is wrong or right, immoral or empowering. What's clear is that no good can come from pretending that the people who participate in prostitution don't exist. That, after all, is what the killer was counting on... Shannan, Maureen, Megan, Melissa, and Amber were over twenty-one. They were more or less working alone and of their own volition. Despite what some family members said after the fact, they were not lured or overtly pressured. Some would say this makes them complicit in their fate- in other words, they brought this on themselves by doing something so dangerous. But to suggest they had it coming because they put themselves in a risky situation is disingenuous; no one walks through life thinking they're going to be killed. (381)

These women were people, are people. Yet their decision led at least one person to think it wouldn't matter if they died. Maybe it led a person to believe that they should die because of the work they were doing. The police were also complicit in dehumanizing the women:

The police had failed to help them when they were at risk. They'd failed again when they didn't take the disappearances seriously, severely hobbling the chances of making an arrest. And they'd failed a third time by not going after the johns and the drivers. (363)

Frankly, this situation is unsurprising in that our culture generally chooses to thrill in women's sexual expression in certain social situations (product placement, magazines, movies, etc.), but frown on women's sexuality when it is expressed as blatant non-procreation activity, for whatever reason. Women who dare to engage in *that* get what's coming to them, whether it be STIs, unintended pregnancies, or murdered.

The murderer in these cases remains at large, insofar as anyone knows. Sex continues to be a commodity, but only the act. The bodies of those who deliver the commodity are still viewed as disposable. Women and children, and some men, are trafficked around the world for this trade. Others make the decision to sell sex for a wide variety of reasons. Some of these situations are far, far worse than others.

One thing remains, true though, a sex worker could be your sister or brother, your mother or uncle, your friend or neighbor, the person next in line at confession, or passing your groceries over a scanner. That woman or man is a person, a child of God. It is only when we start to think about society as a whole- education, opportunity, community, work, safety net- that we can begin to change some of the situations that cause some people to feel that selling their body is their only option.

If these girls, these women, are to have any legacy at all, let it be that we remember them with kindness, compassion, and a prayer for their families' peace. And that we do not fail them by refusing to see the truth around us.

Sweet Charity

Yesterday, my cell phone rang as I was packing my bags in my office. A breathless woman began to tell me the story of how her young son had been on a trip with friends, but they left him in a town about 250 miles from Anchorage. She left a big pause in the conversation after that.

I sighed. I hate doing this, but I said to her, "I need you to tell me what you need or how I can help you." We don't have cash in the church and every situation is a case-by-case basis of how I can figure out if and how to help someone.

"I'm trying to collect money for gas to get to [place] to pick up my son. I have about $20. I go to [church in Anchorage], but no one's there. I've been driving around, trying to get money together."

I peeked out my office window. I can see her sitting in the church parking lot, in her car, looking frantic.

Here comes the part where people either hang up on me or take me up on an offer. "Okay," I reply. "We don't have any cash in the church, but if you go over to the Safeway- I'll meet you there and fill your gas tank."

- Pause -

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. The Safeway across the street. I'm parked behind the church right now. I need to get my things together and then I'll be over there in a big, green truck. I can fill your tank, but that's about all I can do right now."

"Oh my gosh, that's so much help. Thank you so much. Thank you..."

I gather my stuff and head to the truck. I feel jittery with the pressure of the decision. Is she lying? Is that important? Should I offer to get her some food as well?

I drive across the street to the Safeway. She's already parked next to a pump. She's counting change in her hand. I approach her open window, "Hi, you're trying to get to your son?"

She looks up at me, "Yes."

I walk around the car, put in my credit card, and start pumping gas. She gets out to thank me again. She tells me how far it is to the town and how this tank will get her there. She'll figure out how to get back once she's got her son. I ask who he is with and if he's okay. She names names and assures me that she knows how to get there.

She shivers in a tanktop. I can't remember if I have a spare jacket or sweatshirt in the car and then I remember I have my husband's truck. "Can't do everything," I tell myself as the pump cuts off, indicating that her tank is full.

She thanks me again. "Drive very carefully," I say. "Good luck. I'll say a prayer for you."

I walk away. I don't look back to see what direction she heads or what happens next. I don't want to know. I don't need to know.

A few weeks ago, a woman in the congregation I serve spoke to me about the panhandlers she passes when walking to work. She said she feels badly ignoring them, but she doesn't want to be in the habit of always giving out cash. And she doesn't necessarily want to encourage panhandling. However, she finds herself constantly wondering, "Am I ignoring Jesus when I walk by and give nothing?"

First, prayers aren't nothing. You can always pray for every person you encounter during your day, in whatever situation.

I expressed sympathy for her plight, having found myself in the same situation many times. Particularly when people call the church office, I have to decide, often in seconds, how to respond. Each response feels like a judgment on the person, even when it's a truthful statement about the church's current resources or my own.

I reminded this woman that she works for the Food Bank! She is aware and regularly participates in the community organizations and resources for people who need help. We acknowledge that, for a variety of reasons, not everyone is able to gain access to these resources, but they are there.

We also noted that we cannot respond to every request in the same way. She might decide on an amount of small bills to keep in a pocket to give out in a day or a week. When they're gone, they're gone.

In close proximity to this conversation (possibly even the same day), a homeless veteran (Desert Storm) stayed in the narthex of our church during the service. He came up to me after the service, after speaking to several parishioners. Long story less long, his PTSD makes it difficult for him to be in shelters. He wanted to stay in a hotel for one night, to have some peace and quiet, and to take a shower. Through a member of the congregation, we worked out a place for him to stay. I wrote a check for the place, but the manager comped the room when she found out what we were doing.

This veteran, a former military chaplain, gripped my hand just before two parishioners drove him to his accommodations. Looking me in the eye, he said, "Thank you for doing for the least of these."

My knees nearly buckled.

We are all doing the best we can. Weighing each encounter, attempting to discern truth, hoping that we aren't scammed, hoping that we aren't enabling, praying that our help actually helps.

Whatever the result, we are not called to stop helping. We are additionally compelled to think through our help, to weigh what seems best, and to ask God to help and guide us.

Penultimately, even in giving, we must still seek forgiveness for our debts and trespasses, forgiving those who are indebted to and have trespassed against us.

And, finally, this:

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity. 1 Corinthians 13:12-13 (Sounds different when we don't say love.)

God's Plan, Our Choices (Sermon 9/23)

Genesis 15:1-6

            What is God’s plan? Many times, in some of the darkest moments of our lives, people (well-meaning people) tell us that God has a plan for our pain, that what has happened to us makes sense in a grand scheme, that we are not hurting in vain. Yet think about what that says about God: that God uses pain as a means to an end, to bring us where God wants us to be? That there is a long-range plan, full of illnesses and pains, which is how God is bringing the kin-dom into fruition? That the forces that oppose God, including cancer, chaos, and criminal actions, do not really have any power- though we go through the motions of renouncing them at baptism.

            If God’s plan for the world is down to the tiny details, what’s our part in it? Do we play a role? Are the encouragements in the creation story, the relationship that we see there between God, humans, and the rest of creation, is that a real relationship or just a backdrop while God moves us around according to a plan?

            If we take a look at Abraham’s story, we can see two things: one is God has a plan and two, people are participants in that plan. God’s plan for Abraham is no less than God’s plan for anyone of us- a future, hopes fulfilled, abundant life. God draws Abram out into the dark of the night and promises that, though currently childless, he will be a father to many generations. God has a plan for Abram’s future… including a name change, but God’s plan requires trust and faithful action on Abram’s part.

See chart above:

The chart moves from the idea that God has an over-arching plan, but we are called to respond, through the gifts of faith and free will. Consider the choices Abram/Abraham made. 

God helps those who help themselves: Hagar and Ishmael

Expedient Choice (ending up badly): Passing Sarah off as his sister

Faithful action: leaving homeland, creating Isaac, arguing on behalf of Sodom and Gomorrah, near-sacrifice

            Each of this situations arise from choices that Abraham makes, just like each of us find ourselves in situations because of our own choices. Occasionally, we find ourselves in situations, good or bad, because of someone else’s choices. As participants in God’s work in the world, as co-creators and communicators of God’s blessings (just like Abraham), we are continually called to think through who we are as people, as families, as a faith community, as a city/state/nation.

            The idea that God is micro-managing us and everything else leads to a kind of carelessness- a disregard for ourselves, for others, and for creation. The idea that God helps those who help themselves inevitably leaves someone out in the cold and, eventually, leaves many people feeling separated from God.

            Faithful living, on the other hand, is hard work. It comes from trust. Trust can only be based on a foundation of fulfilled promises, consistent action, and a reasonable expectation of future care. The Abraham story lets us see that we can only expect those things from God and not because of God’s reign in minutiae, but because God is the details of care, of peace, of justice, of community relationships.

            Because we see through scripture and through experience that we can trust God and that trust makes the foundation of our faith, which God graciously counts to us as righteousness. We get credit for the right response because of God’s history of faithful action to God’s people and through Jesus.

            God’s plan is always for creation in the way he explained it to Abraham- a plan for generations, a plan for descendants, a plan for a future hope and a fulfilled promise. God also graciously invites us into that plan, gives us the solid foundation of faith, and allows us the freedom of choice in how to respond. Do we deserve this? No. Did Abram deserve a special promise? Did Mary deserve to be chosen by God? It’s not about what we do, any of us, it is always about what God does. God’s plan always included the curious, the stubborn, the little, the lost, the least, you, and me. And that plan, into which you and I are invited, is always for hope, for justice, for blessing, for creation, for relationship, and for peace.

            Amen.