The great American prophet Martin Luther King Jr. ended his famous Letter from a Birmingham Jail with these words. “Let us all hope that…the deep fog of misunderstanding will be lifted from our fear drenched communities, and in some not too distant tomorrow the radiant stars of love and brotherhood will shine over our great nation with all their scintillating beauty.”
In the past two weeks, that fog rolled back mightily into the town of Ferguson, Missouri. And maybe- may it not be true- across many other communities of our nation.
I’m sure by now you’ve read the news. An unarmed African-American youth from Ferguson- Michael Brown- was shot dead by local police, and people throughout his predominantly black town rose in protest of the killing. Unsurprisingly, competing details and stories emerged about what initially happened. What’s incontestable is that these protesters and police have clashed terribly in the days and nights since.
I’ll describe the picture that grabbed my attention most. Several local police, dressed in military camouflage and body armor, stood crouched with automatic weapons pointing directly at one young black man approaching them, hands held high to the sky. Without context, I’d have wondered if that was a scene from some foreign war zone or rebellion. Instead, it’s a striking image of fear and misunderstanding in our own country. And of rage.
You all know that I live in a diverse community, and that the largest racial group among my neighbors is African-American. It’s also the youngest neighborhood in Minneapolis. I see kids playing constantly. Running up and down the street, avoiding cars, bouncing basketballs, interacting with their older brothers, many of whom gather on front steps and around shiny automobiles, enjoying the summer and life. During National Night Out recently, I met a couple of my young adult black neighbors for the first time. One bragged sheepishly about his basement recording studio. “Wow!” I said, “Is it fancy?” “Nah,” he responded, “Just a little something where I can have fun and make music.”
It was a small window into his dreams, his joys, his tenderness, and I realized later what a gift for me that was to receive. Had I seen him on the streets before, I wouldn’t have understood his heart at all. Maybe I would’ve assumed something about who he was by the jeans he was sagging, the straight-brimmed cap he cocked to one side, the youthful smile or sneer of a still-developing sense of masculinity and self-respect. And if so, perhaps I’d have assumed uncomfortable things, generalities I’ve heard in other parts of our society, that those actions are symbols of criminal young men, of dangerous people, when they’re done by urban black youth.
I want to say that this experience has little to do with what’s happening in Ferguson. That it’s simply about my own ignorance and attempts to understand my community. But I can’t shake the feeling that misunderstanding between black Americans and white Americans exists more broadly. And could be increasing, and that it’s got something critical to do with the mutual suspicion between Ferguson protesters and police. On the one hand, the difficult news we’ve seen about looting and violence makes my heart go out to those police. It would terrify me to be in charge of responding to such explosive circumstances, all within the gaze of national attention. On the other hand, it seems clear that those destructive behaviors were the work of a small subsection of protesters, and yet in many cases, the broader mass of citizens were treated like threats, not neighbors.
That makes me wonder. In her incredible, challenging book The New Jim Crow, social scientist Michelle Alexander shared two research findings that have stuck in craw since I read them in 2013. The first was that, when asked to close their eyes and imagine a generic ‘criminal’, 95% of Americans picture a young black male. Such are the facts those neighbors I met recently deal with daily; they embody a far-reaching, negative societal stereotype. Whether that urges the Ferguson police to act toward their community with less compassion and more aggression, I can’t honestly say.
But it’s certainly a question that needs to be asked. And for outside observers like us, it’s worth examining our hearts and ideas to know on what basis we make our judgments. Are we quick to condemn the police because we assume they’re always acting with racial bias and mistrust? I met a former Minneapolis Chief of Police in recent weeks, and am certain he’d counsel a different course. His beat for years was my diverse northside neighborhood, and he talked about the challenges and joys colorful community. Thus, he’d encourage his newest officers to get out of their cars and meet their neighbors, to be part of the community. He was also clear about the dangers that police can face in our complicated and sometimes well-armed society. I want local officers to “protect and serve” always, not only my block, but their lives too.
Or are we quicker to focus on the initial event that sparked the fury, and think that Michael Brown “was asking for it” because he acted young and aggressive, and was found later to have smoked some weed? The other fact Ms. Alexander shared in her book that stuck me was that, contrary to popular wisdom, young black men are no more likely to use or deal drugs than young white men. But they’re something like 3-5 times more likely to go to jail for it. I smoked marijuana a few times in high school. It was youthful rebellion, I think, against my judgmental Christian school’s expectation. But I went to a private high school without officers at the front door, and lived in white suburbs without police roaming the streets. What would my life have been like would I have been in my current neighbor’s shoes and did the same things? In a word: different. Statistically, I’d be likely to have an arrest record, maybe done some jail time, not attended seminary. And I’d probably be angry about those disparities, prepared to protest and rage when something happened locally that felt like another injustice, another example of my society ignoring my dreams, my humanity.
This letter is already much longer than I typically write, though I’m at a nice desk and not in jail. Please forgive my obviously conflicted feelings and wordy, unfinished impressions. But this story has stung my gut, and challenged my best hopes for who we should be as a nation. Dr. King prayed we’d become a beloved community, not a society of suspicion, and that feels in danger to me today. May it not be so. May we remember that every fog, whether of atmospheric origin or of misunderstanding, can be lifted- or rather, broken through- not by more darkness, but by shining light. Jesus called himself a light for the world, because his unconquerable commitment to love over fear could always, with God’s help, blaze through every cloud. He believed it and so do I. But then, he called us lights for the world too, calling his followers to embody his hope, his faith, in God and in one another, to be one, united not divided.
Look upon any police officer you see this week with more appreciation and a prayer for safety, will you? And look upon your neighbors, of whatever color, with greater compassion and love too. And by all that is holy, shine your light. It’s from God. And it’s needed.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Thursday, August 14, 2014
To be…
In 2010, I opened to our church a small, but meaningful window into my childhood development. As part of our annual Cinema Sermon Series, I preached on Dead Poets Society. Growing up, I watched that movie more than many times. It’s about schoolboys learning to find their own voice, learning “to be extraordinary.” As a growing adolescent, I wanted to be extraordinary! And that picture helped me think it possible.
I’m reflecting on it today because its star is dead. Robin Williams played the teacher who challenged his students to “seize the day.” He counseled, “Carpe diem, lads. For one day, we’ll all be food for worms.” Those words haunt me this morning, but he wasn’t wrong. We’ve all got one shot to make it count.
Honestly, I’ve never been one to mourn a celebrity’s death. Perhaps that says something about my youth or whatever, but it’s simply not been part of my experience. Robin Williams’ suicide, however, strikes me differently. I’ll confess, I loved many of his 1990s films. From the coming-of-age Dead Poets drama to his crazy, blue Aladdin genie to his tortured, strong psychologist guiding another troubled young man in Good Will Hunting. The man, or these roles he played, struck me as fundamentally decent. Honest about the troubles we face, but defiantly good, and that’s a beautiful thing in our oft-too-cynical world. He was a manically energetic comic who treated laughter like medicine, or maybe like a drug. Or both. Sometimes, that line is too close for comfort.
But the movie that’s most concerned me since I heard the news was his spiritual experiment. In What Dreams May Come, he plays the husband of a woman who’s committed suicide. A tragic irony sits prickly on my conscience today, though I think Tabitha said it best. “I hope he believed his own movie,” was her response, significant since it’s among her favorite films. If you haven’t seen it, permit me to ruin the plot. Still, watch it anyway. You see, before his wife’s death, Williams’ character himself had died. He watches her grieve in a limbo state of afterlife. Then, his love takes her own life. And his task is to find her, but that’s near impossible, because instead of Heaven, she’s gone on to Hell.
Recall that in classic Christian theology, Hell was the punishment for suicide. I hate that doctrine, but it’s significant in this film, although it explores a markedly nontraditional- and much better- hypothesis. The woman’s perdition isn’t God’s punishment, you see, but the effect of her own darkened soul and decisions. She can be redeemed, theoretically, but as a suicide victim, the film suggests that road is untraveled. Can she see beyond the jail of the darkness that’s trapped her, that led her to such extreme pain? Long story short, the answer- as all good spiritual answers are- is love. If love can find its way back into her terrified soul, she might be free. She might enjoy rest eternal.
That strikes me as entirely right. We confess, every Sunday, that Love created this world, and sustains it. And as Christ’s core message- indeed, God’s very character- saving Love is eternal. Which suggests to me that Hell isn’t a final destination. It might exist, but more real I feel is the always available grace of God. Thus, on that great gittin’ up morning, we’ll encounter Jesus waiting, arms wide open. Our final test will simply be- Can we open our arms in return and receive God’s love? A poignant reality for folk wrestling with suicide is an inability to accept they’re valuable, lovable, worthy of hope. It breaks my heart to know that’s true for too many, but I’ve been in darkness before. It hurts hellishly.
But the reason I do this job- and more important, the reason I attend church- is an unshakeable conviction that, “neither life nor death nor anything else can separate us from the love of God.” That includes our own darkness and sin, all our shame and brokenness. May we have courage enough to accept Love daily. And may that brilliant, tortured, decent performer abide in light, and rest eternal.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
I’m reflecting on it today because its star is dead. Robin Williams played the teacher who challenged his students to “seize the day.” He counseled, “Carpe diem, lads. For one day, we’ll all be food for worms.” Those words haunt me this morning, but he wasn’t wrong. We’ve all got one shot to make it count.
Honestly, I’ve never been one to mourn a celebrity’s death. Perhaps that says something about my youth or whatever, but it’s simply not been part of my experience. Robin Williams’ suicide, however, strikes me differently. I’ll confess, I loved many of his 1990s films. From the coming-of-age Dead Poets drama to his crazy, blue Aladdin genie to his tortured, strong psychologist guiding another troubled young man in Good Will Hunting. The man, or these roles he played, struck me as fundamentally decent. Honest about the troubles we face, but defiantly good, and that’s a beautiful thing in our oft-too-cynical world. He was a manically energetic comic who treated laughter like medicine, or maybe like a drug. Or both. Sometimes, that line is too close for comfort.
But the movie that’s most concerned me since I heard the news was his spiritual experiment. In What Dreams May Come, he plays the husband of a woman who’s committed suicide. A tragic irony sits prickly on my conscience today, though I think Tabitha said it best. “I hope he believed his own movie,” was her response, significant since it’s among her favorite films. If you haven’t seen it, permit me to ruin the plot. Still, watch it anyway. You see, before his wife’s death, Williams’ character himself had died. He watches her grieve in a limbo state of afterlife. Then, his love takes her own life. And his task is to find her, but that’s near impossible, because instead of Heaven, she’s gone on to Hell.
Recall that in classic Christian theology, Hell was the punishment for suicide. I hate that doctrine, but it’s significant in this film, although it explores a markedly nontraditional- and much better- hypothesis. The woman’s perdition isn’t God’s punishment, you see, but the effect of her own darkened soul and decisions. She can be redeemed, theoretically, but as a suicide victim, the film suggests that road is untraveled. Can she see beyond the jail of the darkness that’s trapped her, that led her to such extreme pain? Long story short, the answer- as all good spiritual answers are- is love. If love can find its way back into her terrified soul, she might be free. She might enjoy rest eternal.
That strikes me as entirely right. We confess, every Sunday, that Love created this world, and sustains it. And as Christ’s core message- indeed, God’s very character- saving Love is eternal. Which suggests to me that Hell isn’t a final destination. It might exist, but more real I feel is the always available grace of God. Thus, on that great gittin’ up morning, we’ll encounter Jesus waiting, arms wide open. Our final test will simply be- Can we open our arms in return and receive God’s love? A poignant reality for folk wrestling with suicide is an inability to accept they’re valuable, lovable, worthy of hope. It breaks my heart to know that’s true for too many, but I’ve been in darkness before. It hurts hellishly.
But the reason I do this job- and more important, the reason I attend church- is an unshakeable conviction that, “neither life nor death nor anything else can separate us from the love of God.” That includes our own darkness and sin, all our shame and brokenness. May we have courage enough to accept Love daily. And may that brilliant, tortured, decent performer abide in light, and rest eternal.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Stranger Welcoming…
Many people begin life in some form of basket or crib, or in Jesus’ case, a barnyard manger. But most also enjoy stability underneath their infant beds. Unless your name was Moses.
Do you remember that strange story? According to Exodus, Moses was born in Egypt when his Jewish people were slaves to the Pharaohs. Moses’ mother, desiring a better future for her son, took drastic, surprising action. She placed him in a basket, and floated him down a river with all the danger that course invited. She hoped Pharaoh’s daughter would find him, react with compassion and then provide him shelter. Her heartbreaking gamble worked, for, indeed, little Moses became the royal woman’s adopted son. He was raised in Pharaoh’s household, prepared by providence to lead Israel toward freedom…eventually.
I was reminded of that story recently during a conversation on current events. The topic was the many immigrant children now housed near the US border. Honestly, I haven’t followed that story as closely as, say, conflicts in Israel/Palestine or Ukraine. My reasoning is simple, if sad: I’m tired of the constant fighting among Washington’s elected officials. And it feels to me like, whenever immigration comes up, already heated rhetoric gets even hotter, and nasty accusations fly faster than Navy jets.
Then, something happened that surprised me, and maybe didn’t get as much coverage as the daily blaming within Congress. A broad group of religious leaders issued statements of support for the migrant children, calling the country to show compassion. Now, it’s normal for faith leaders to speak out on topics of national concern. What’s atypical, though, was the range of people lifting their voices, together. After all, Southern Baptists and US Catholic Bishops frequently agree about, say, opposition to gay marriage, while others like the UCCs or Unitarians declare their support of the question. But for this topic, all those normally at-odds people said much the same thing: Our faith calls us to react to vulnerable children “with compassion, not fear.”
It’s not hard, I think, to discern why. Besides Christ’s call to “let little children come unto me,” there’s something hardwired in most folk to treat kids’ travails with more gentleness than adults’. Perhaps it just feels different when the faces representing our current national disagreement about immigration and border policy can’t shave, retain some baby fat, and look simply in need of a hug. I’m sure these faith leaders disagree about both the causes of and appropriate responses to the situation. Some blame Obama administration policy; others the violence these kids experience in their home countries. Some think we should send them home, albeit carefully; others that we should grant asylum, welcoming them into our communities. But underneath that division was something I found both striking and hopeful. None thought it wise, or moral, to paint these kids as invaders or threats to our country, our jobs, our ways of life.
That’s where Moses’ story felt instructive. Imagine the fright his mother experienced that day in the river. Will he survive the waves, the crocodiles? Will I ever see him again? Surely, some of those thoughts entered the minds of these unaccompanied minors’ parents too. Nevertheless, they looked to the hope of America, trusted its people’s compassion, and sent them on with a prayer. I struggle understanding, or even endorsing that grave decision. I’ve also never lived in abject poverty or among violent instability. But what I know is we have children in need in our country asking us to be caring neighbors.
So, again, I’m cheered that a vast range of faith leaders focused on what unites us, in this instance. Which doesn’t prescribe a particular policy response, simply a way of thinking together about the question. And that is, namely, through the lens of our hearts and compassion, not through fear or partisan division. Should we do that, I think we’d find a good way to meet their needs, and our country’s too. Who knows? We might even learn to tackle of other complex issues with more grace and less accusation. God knows we need fewer attacks in our public discourse, more unity, and- always- faith, hope and love.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Do you remember that strange story? According to Exodus, Moses was born in Egypt when his Jewish people were slaves to the Pharaohs. Moses’ mother, desiring a better future for her son, took drastic, surprising action. She placed him in a basket, and floated him down a river with all the danger that course invited. She hoped Pharaoh’s daughter would find him, react with compassion and then provide him shelter. Her heartbreaking gamble worked, for, indeed, little Moses became the royal woman’s adopted son. He was raised in Pharaoh’s household, prepared by providence to lead Israel toward freedom…eventually.
I was reminded of that story recently during a conversation on current events. The topic was the many immigrant children now housed near the US border. Honestly, I haven’t followed that story as closely as, say, conflicts in Israel/Palestine or Ukraine. My reasoning is simple, if sad: I’m tired of the constant fighting among Washington’s elected officials. And it feels to me like, whenever immigration comes up, already heated rhetoric gets even hotter, and nasty accusations fly faster than Navy jets.
Then, something happened that surprised me, and maybe didn’t get as much coverage as the daily blaming within Congress. A broad group of religious leaders issued statements of support for the migrant children, calling the country to show compassion. Now, it’s normal for faith leaders to speak out on topics of national concern. What’s atypical, though, was the range of people lifting their voices, together. After all, Southern Baptists and US Catholic Bishops frequently agree about, say, opposition to gay marriage, while others like the UCCs or Unitarians declare their support of the question. But for this topic, all those normally at-odds people said much the same thing: Our faith calls us to react to vulnerable children “with compassion, not fear.”
It’s not hard, I think, to discern why. Besides Christ’s call to “let little children come unto me,” there’s something hardwired in most folk to treat kids’ travails with more gentleness than adults’. Perhaps it just feels different when the faces representing our current national disagreement about immigration and border policy can’t shave, retain some baby fat, and look simply in need of a hug. I’m sure these faith leaders disagree about both the causes of and appropriate responses to the situation. Some blame Obama administration policy; others the violence these kids experience in their home countries. Some think we should send them home, albeit carefully; others that we should grant asylum, welcoming them into our communities. But underneath that division was something I found both striking and hopeful. None thought it wise, or moral, to paint these kids as invaders or threats to our country, our jobs, our ways of life.
That’s where Moses’ story felt instructive. Imagine the fright his mother experienced that day in the river. Will he survive the waves, the crocodiles? Will I ever see him again? Surely, some of those thoughts entered the minds of these unaccompanied minors’ parents too. Nevertheless, they looked to the hope of America, trusted its people’s compassion, and sent them on with a prayer. I struggle understanding, or even endorsing that grave decision. I’ve also never lived in abject poverty or among violent instability. But what I know is we have children in need in our country asking us to be caring neighbors.
So, again, I’m cheered that a vast range of faith leaders focused on what unites us, in this instance. Which doesn’t prescribe a particular policy response, simply a way of thinking together about the question. And that is, namely, through the lens of our hearts and compassion, not through fear or partisan division. Should we do that, I think we’d find a good way to meet their needs, and our country’s too. Who knows? We might even learn to tackle of other complex issues with more grace and less accusation. God knows we need fewer attacks in our public discourse, more unity, and- always- faith, hope and love.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
The Questions…
Sorry for what will be an unusually short letter this go around. Though it’s summer, still the schedule is moving on and we have work to do and ministry to plan and ministry to do and God to love and serve and…thanks be to God! For hands that are busy, and hearts that can rest.
Still, I wanted to get your feedback on an idea that the Board and I had during our most recent meeting. I was asking them about what they wanted to think about as a church during the fall, in worship and sermons and more. “What are the questions that weigh on your hearts,” I asked. “Those that you’ve wanted to think more about, but haven’t gotten to you yet?” “Well,” someone responded, “I wanna know what to think about a God we praise and love for God’s Creation, and yet so many still war and suffer?” Good question! “Well,” another responded, “I wanna know more about why, when we’re trying so hard to be good and follow God’s ways, still we have pain and run into trouble?” Good question!
And that got us to thinking that other people, in our church and beyond, are probably wrestling with such thoughts too. So what if our sermon series for the fall, and perhaps other church activities, took on these tough, tricky, hard but important questions? Could we handle that?
Answer: Of course we can! Plymouth Creek is a place, I believe, folk can ask hard questions. We don’t fear doubt. We don’t enforce one way of thinking. We honor freedom and intimacy, and trust God wants such full faith from us. So I’m in the process of gathering from friends and church members a list of ten or so questions that matter for people of faith. They could be sticky ones that have hung around for years, or centuries. They could be the silent ones we sometimes dare not to ask, but feel we could and should, or at least want too. They could be questions that other faith communities haven’t dared to bring forth, but since we’re a community of openness and care, we feel we’re up for the challenge. Questions like- Isn’t religion always violent? How can anyone know the will of a supreme being? Why are Christians seen in broader culture as anti-gay or oppressive to women? Are we?
Thus, this letter. I’m hoping for your feedback on the idea itself. If it sounds dumb or lame to you, please tell me! Or if makes you a little nervous but a lot excited, let me know that too! And, assuming we make this plan, I want to know the questions that are on your mind. Send me an email, pull me aside after church, give me a call. We’ll schedule coffee or lunch, perhaps, and just talk together. I love that! Then, as a community, we’ll tackle some sticky, tough issues, and so be better people of faith for it. Plus, I plan to advertise to the community on our church sign and perhaps other places what the “question of the week” will be for the upcoming Sunday. Therefore, I’m hoping that we think together not just about those questions that challenge us, but our neighbors too. That way our worship and church life together will be an opportunity for outreach, invitation and mission, as well as our weekly fellowship and support to one another. After all, the questions of faith are the questions of humanity, to whom God sent the Son to show a better way. And God has called God’s people to invite their neighbors on that journey with love and respect, so that through all our questions, a beloved community can form. I’m looking forward to how that journey continues this Fall. Thanks be to God!
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Still, I wanted to get your feedback on an idea that the Board and I had during our most recent meeting. I was asking them about what they wanted to think about as a church during the fall, in worship and sermons and more. “What are the questions that weigh on your hearts,” I asked. “Those that you’ve wanted to think more about, but haven’t gotten to you yet?” “Well,” someone responded, “I wanna know what to think about a God we praise and love for God’s Creation, and yet so many still war and suffer?” Good question! “Well,” another responded, “I wanna know more about why, when we’re trying so hard to be good and follow God’s ways, still we have pain and run into trouble?” Good question!
And that got us to thinking that other people, in our church and beyond, are probably wrestling with such thoughts too. So what if our sermon series for the fall, and perhaps other church activities, took on these tough, tricky, hard but important questions? Could we handle that?
Answer: Of course we can! Plymouth Creek is a place, I believe, folk can ask hard questions. We don’t fear doubt. We don’t enforce one way of thinking. We honor freedom and intimacy, and trust God wants such full faith from us. So I’m in the process of gathering from friends and church members a list of ten or so questions that matter for people of faith. They could be sticky ones that have hung around for years, or centuries. They could be the silent ones we sometimes dare not to ask, but feel we could and should, or at least want too. They could be questions that other faith communities haven’t dared to bring forth, but since we’re a community of openness and care, we feel we’re up for the challenge. Questions like- Isn’t religion always violent? How can anyone know the will of a supreme being? Why are Christians seen in broader culture as anti-gay or oppressive to women? Are we?
Thus, this letter. I’m hoping for your feedback on the idea itself. If it sounds dumb or lame to you, please tell me! Or if makes you a little nervous but a lot excited, let me know that too! And, assuming we make this plan, I want to know the questions that are on your mind. Send me an email, pull me aside after church, give me a call. We’ll schedule coffee or lunch, perhaps, and just talk together. I love that! Then, as a community, we’ll tackle some sticky, tough issues, and so be better people of faith for it. Plus, I plan to advertise to the community on our church sign and perhaps other places what the “question of the week” will be for the upcoming Sunday. Therefore, I’m hoping that we think together not just about those questions that challenge us, but our neighbors too. That way our worship and church life together will be an opportunity for outreach, invitation and mission, as well as our weekly fellowship and support to one another. After all, the questions of faith are the questions of humanity, to whom God sent the Son to show a better way. And God has called God’s people to invite their neighbors on that journey with love and respect, so that through all our questions, a beloved community can form. I’m looking forward to how that journey continues this Fall. Thanks be to God!
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Embattled…
Recent news from Iraq has struck me as an absurd rerun of medieval times. You probably heard that an organization calling themselves first ISIS, now the Islamic State, took over large swaths of that country. They weren’t alone, but have gotten most of the press coverage that I’ve seen. Perhaps that’s because they’re the loudest group, the most ridiculous and brutal, and therefore have scared people. As a Christian pastor who respects Islam greatly, I thought some perspective would be worthwhile.
First was news they’d declared a new “caliphate,” demanding allegiance from all the world’s 1.6 billion Muslims. If you think that sounds ominous, don’t. Honestly, it’s laughable. The caliphate was a political/religious office that operated on-and-off in Muslim societies over several centuries. It was last recognized in the Ottoman Empire, which ended after World War I. For Ottomans, the caliphate functioned like a licensing agency and legal advisor. To be an “approved” imam (Muslim clergyperson), you needed its credentials and training. If the emperor had questions about Islamic Law, the caliphate was consulted. Some Muslims thought everything the caliphate said was binding, others didn’t. Muslims outside the empire respected this office, but mostly followed local leaders.
The pre-Ottoman Caliphate, however, could be more powerful, especially among Sunnis. Some “Caliphs” held absolute political and religious authority over their territory’s inhabitants. They even presumed to speak for and to all Muslims, by right of their special selection by Allah. Rarely was such universal deference accorded to a living Caliph, mind you. But that didn’t keep some from trying.
All of which points out the absurdity of the Islamic State’s recent declaration. It’s attempting to restore a vanished institution based on mostly fantasy history anyway. The caliphate rarely, if ever, held all Muslims’ allegiance. Plus, if a Caliph emerged today, American, Egyptian, and Indonesian Muslims certainly wouldn’t accept an Iraqi terrorist thug in that role. In other words, though our media frequently gets this wrong, “Muslim Culture” is a broad, diverse phenomenon. Much better to say “Muslim cultures”, and honor that variety.
But that’s not all that bothers me about the Islamic State. Last Friday, they told all Christians living in the Iraqi city Mosul to convert, pay, leave or die. Again, this is a restoration of pre-modern Islamic political practice. In the Middle Ages, when Muslims conquered non-Muslim territory, many leaders said, “You can stay. But you must pay a special tax,” thereby raising government funds from Christians and Jews. Frequently, in fact, conversion wasn’t allowed. That decreased tax revenue! Occasionally, forced conversion, death or expulsion did occur, but that wasn’t the norm. And this was a time when Christian rulers gleefully killed or expelled non-Christian subjects. So the Islamic tax was an act of tolerance foreign to our medieval Christian kin.
Nowadays, however, that tax seems less than hospitable, right? We’ve matured, grown more comfortable with celebrating inclusivity and openness. But the Islamic State’s grandiose, delusional leadership has different ideas for human civilization. Their goal isn’t effective governance. It’s violently enforced religious purity. And by expelling Mosul’s Christians, whose community roots date back nearly to Jesus, it’s also an attempted extermination of their peoplehood, their identity.
Such behavior shouldn’t be acceptable in these highly-connected, diverse times. And none of you would do so, surely, but consider a related phenomenon, closer to home. Pew reports that Muslims are America’s least respected religious group, and they’re frequently treated as all the same. Some idiot with a gun and medieval dreams spouts farcicalities in the Middle East, and Western news outlets fret about “Islamic Civilization”, worrying “whether we’re safe.” Such generalization is identity violence, like Mosul’s Christians are experiencing (minus the actual threats, obviously). It strips American Muslims of their unique identity, to say nothing of Iraqi Shiites or Iranian Sufis.
Christians are called first and always to love, and love demands individual attention, along with rejection of all group violence. So when you read these stories, don’t give into stereotypes. Remember to love. And say a prayer for our persecuted, fleeing Christian sisters and brothers, along with one for the Islamic State, that they’ll rediscover their faith’s tolerance, seek Allah’s forgiveness and put down their swords.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
First was news they’d declared a new “caliphate,” demanding allegiance from all the world’s 1.6 billion Muslims. If you think that sounds ominous, don’t. Honestly, it’s laughable. The caliphate was a political/religious office that operated on-and-off in Muslim societies over several centuries. It was last recognized in the Ottoman Empire, which ended after World War I. For Ottomans, the caliphate functioned like a licensing agency and legal advisor. To be an “approved” imam (Muslim clergyperson), you needed its credentials and training. If the emperor had questions about Islamic Law, the caliphate was consulted. Some Muslims thought everything the caliphate said was binding, others didn’t. Muslims outside the empire respected this office, but mostly followed local leaders.
The pre-Ottoman Caliphate, however, could be more powerful, especially among Sunnis. Some “Caliphs” held absolute political and religious authority over their territory’s inhabitants. They even presumed to speak for and to all Muslims, by right of their special selection by Allah. Rarely was such universal deference accorded to a living Caliph, mind you. But that didn’t keep some from trying.
All of which points out the absurdity of the Islamic State’s recent declaration. It’s attempting to restore a vanished institution based on mostly fantasy history anyway. The caliphate rarely, if ever, held all Muslims’ allegiance. Plus, if a Caliph emerged today, American, Egyptian, and Indonesian Muslims certainly wouldn’t accept an Iraqi terrorist thug in that role. In other words, though our media frequently gets this wrong, “Muslim Culture” is a broad, diverse phenomenon. Much better to say “Muslim cultures”, and honor that variety.
But that’s not all that bothers me about the Islamic State. Last Friday, they told all Christians living in the Iraqi city Mosul to convert, pay, leave or die. Again, this is a restoration of pre-modern Islamic political practice. In the Middle Ages, when Muslims conquered non-Muslim territory, many leaders said, “You can stay. But you must pay a special tax,” thereby raising government funds from Christians and Jews. Frequently, in fact, conversion wasn’t allowed. That decreased tax revenue! Occasionally, forced conversion, death or expulsion did occur, but that wasn’t the norm. And this was a time when Christian rulers gleefully killed or expelled non-Christian subjects. So the Islamic tax was an act of tolerance foreign to our medieval Christian kin.
Nowadays, however, that tax seems less than hospitable, right? We’ve matured, grown more comfortable with celebrating inclusivity and openness. But the Islamic State’s grandiose, delusional leadership has different ideas for human civilization. Their goal isn’t effective governance. It’s violently enforced religious purity. And by expelling Mosul’s Christians, whose community roots date back nearly to Jesus, it’s also an attempted extermination of their peoplehood, their identity.
Such behavior shouldn’t be acceptable in these highly-connected, diverse times. And none of you would do so, surely, but consider a related phenomenon, closer to home. Pew reports that Muslims are America’s least respected religious group, and they’re frequently treated as all the same. Some idiot with a gun and medieval dreams spouts farcicalities in the Middle East, and Western news outlets fret about “Islamic Civilization”, worrying “whether we’re safe.” Such generalization is identity violence, like Mosul’s Christians are experiencing (minus the actual threats, obviously). It strips American Muslims of their unique identity, to say nothing of Iraqi Shiites or Iranian Sufis.
Christians are called first and always to love, and love demands individual attention, along with rejection of all group violence. So when you read these stories, don’t give into stereotypes. Remember to love. And say a prayer for our persecuted, fleeing Christian sisters and brothers, along with one for the Islamic State, that they’ll rediscover their faith’s tolerance, seek Allah’s forgiveness and put down their swords.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
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Friday, July 18, 2014
Level sands stretch…
I learned last week that as recently as the Civil War, the Great Sphinx of Giza in Egypt lay covered in sands mostly up to its neck. Google images of the Sphinx, and you see that today it sits battered by time, but fully revealed. The famous Egyptian headdress framing an ancient king’s visage; the body of a lean lion resting, waiting; gaping holes of where its nose and beard once were chiseled (and no, that vandalism wasn’t Napoleon’s doing). The interwebs also share grainy photos of its “recent” excavation in the 1870s and 1920s. To think that were I to have lived but 150 years ago, I could have visited this iconic sculpture, and found it mostly buried!
Apparently, that’s been a reoccurring phenomenon in the long life of the Sphinx. Egyptians, Romans, Arabs and others who over the millennia held political control in that territory, found this monument and its nearby great pyramids sometimes gleaming, sometimes neglected. Initial excavations occurred in antiquity. Then more happened centuries later. And again. “How long does that cycle extend,” you might ask. I did, and found the answer: approximately 4,500 years. Looks pretty good for that age, I’d say.
Here’s some perspective on that timeline. Around when Moses led a band of slaves out of Egypt into the Sinai wilderness, the Sphinx had lain unmoving, for nearly 1,300 years. That’s roughly the distance between us and Charlemagne, long ago dubbed the “Father of Western Europe.” Islam had barely begun 1,300 years ago. Christianity was enduring adolescence. We live closer to Jesus than he did to the Sphinx’c construction, by over 500 years. That big statue - and I’m talking ¾-quarters-a-football-field-long BIG- is of considerable age, and endurance.
The guy who built it- King Khafra- probably included it in his funeral preparations. Ancient Egyptian Kings cared a LOT about funerals and burial, as the pyramids and their temples reveal. It was part of their religious observance. They believed that life continued long after a person “passed into the west”, i.e. died. Kings could ease and enhance that passing by preparing monuments, where priests offered worship decades beyond their death. These tombs and temples also had the useful effect of providing jobs, while overawing the populace. Religion, economics, politics and culture intertwined, birthing such incredible creations like the Sphinx.
And again, that was over 4,500 years ago, though religion continues to function in similar ways still. Google Basilica of Sagrada Familia, and you’ll see a provocative neo-Gothic cathedral rising above Barcelona, beautiful and unfinished. Google Wat Rong Khun, and you’ll see a dreamlike, snow-white Buddhist Temple in Thailand, boasting images from the movie The Matrix inside. The economics of religion remain powerful, guiding charity to Pakistani disaster victims, guiding funding to Pakistani terrorists. Ask Iranian officials, or American civil rights demonstrators whether religion still impacts politics, and they’ll both say yes.
Which isn’t, of course, to put terror-cheering mullahs and charity-loving activists on the same moral plane! It’s simply an observation that religion has deep roots in human civilization- for better and for worse- or as Ecclesiastes says, “There’s nothing new under the sun.” And ultimately, the Sphinx’s long life reminds me that whenever Christians or Muslims or whomever claims that “Their religion is best,” that only they have received “God’s truth,” they’re missing a BIG part of the story. If a millennium passed from the building of incredible religious monuments in Egypt to the first flowerings of Ancient Israel and biblical culture, then either a) God was doing something creative before our religion began, or b) God didn’t yet care about humanity. B) sounds unlikely to me. A), however, gives me hope and a sense of wonder. If God could inspire such majestic acts of worship and awe in near-prehistoric civilizations, in people with much less knowledge or power than we, then just imagine what God could do next…with us! If we’re open to it, at least, if we expect that from our religious devotion will emerge creativity and love, not division and fear. Then, millennia from now, will our heirs see in what we leave behind ancient wonders of grandeur? I hope so.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Apparently, that’s been a reoccurring phenomenon in the long life of the Sphinx. Egyptians, Romans, Arabs and others who over the millennia held political control in that territory, found this monument and its nearby great pyramids sometimes gleaming, sometimes neglected. Initial excavations occurred in antiquity. Then more happened centuries later. And again. “How long does that cycle extend,” you might ask. I did, and found the answer: approximately 4,500 years. Looks pretty good for that age, I’d say.
Here’s some perspective on that timeline. Around when Moses led a band of slaves out of Egypt into the Sinai wilderness, the Sphinx had lain unmoving, for nearly 1,300 years. That’s roughly the distance between us and Charlemagne, long ago dubbed the “Father of Western Europe.” Islam had barely begun 1,300 years ago. Christianity was enduring adolescence. We live closer to Jesus than he did to the Sphinx’c construction, by over 500 years. That big statue - and I’m talking ¾-quarters-a-football-field-long BIG- is of considerable age, and endurance.
The guy who built it- King Khafra- probably included it in his funeral preparations. Ancient Egyptian Kings cared a LOT about funerals and burial, as the pyramids and their temples reveal. It was part of their religious observance. They believed that life continued long after a person “passed into the west”, i.e. died. Kings could ease and enhance that passing by preparing monuments, where priests offered worship decades beyond their death. These tombs and temples also had the useful effect of providing jobs, while overawing the populace. Religion, economics, politics and culture intertwined, birthing such incredible creations like the Sphinx.
And again, that was over 4,500 years ago, though religion continues to function in similar ways still. Google Basilica of Sagrada Familia, and you’ll see a provocative neo-Gothic cathedral rising above Barcelona, beautiful and unfinished. Google Wat Rong Khun, and you’ll see a dreamlike, snow-white Buddhist Temple in Thailand, boasting images from the movie The Matrix inside. The economics of religion remain powerful, guiding charity to Pakistani disaster victims, guiding funding to Pakistani terrorists. Ask Iranian officials, or American civil rights demonstrators whether religion still impacts politics, and they’ll both say yes.
Which isn’t, of course, to put terror-cheering mullahs and charity-loving activists on the same moral plane! It’s simply an observation that religion has deep roots in human civilization- for better and for worse- or as Ecclesiastes says, “There’s nothing new under the sun.” And ultimately, the Sphinx’s long life reminds me that whenever Christians or Muslims or whomever claims that “Their religion is best,” that only they have received “God’s truth,” they’re missing a BIG part of the story. If a millennium passed from the building of incredible religious monuments in Egypt to the first flowerings of Ancient Israel and biblical culture, then either a) God was doing something creative before our religion began, or b) God didn’t yet care about humanity. B) sounds unlikely to me. A), however, gives me hope and a sense of wonder. If God could inspire such majestic acts of worship and awe in near-prehistoric civilizations, in people with much less knowledge or power than we, then just imagine what God could do next…with us! If we’re open to it, at least, if we expect that from our religious devotion will emerge creativity and love, not division and fear. Then, millennia from now, will our heirs see in what we leave behind ancient wonders of grandeur? I hope so.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Women…
I don’t frequently write about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, aka the Mormons, but recently, a news story emerged from that tradition, which caught my eye. A woman who was raised and still attends the LDS church started an organization called Ordain Women. That effort’s purpose is probably self-explanatory, but apparently, also explosive. Her church excommunicated this woman last month, and that’s the news story I heard. That means she’s barred from important rituals but can still attend services, and fully plans to do so. The interview I heard was of a wounded, defiant soul, committed to her faith, as well as to her conviction that her church did her wrong. Indeed, does women wrong by refusing to ordain them priests.
Did you know was that the LDS church and the Disciples of Christ spring from the same branch on the Christian Family Tree? Scholars call it “The Free Church Movement,” describing a phenomenon began on the- then- American Frontier in the 19th century’s first decades. This was a time when the American Revolution’s ideals of liberty and individuality were just being unleashed into the undeveloped Western lands. Of course, American Indians didn’t describe that land as empty- in contrast to white settlers- and suffered tragically as a result. But so it went, and these frontiersmen and women brought religion with them into wide, “open” spaces
And in some cases, they didn’t like that old time religion. Indeed, they were convinced times were a-changin’. They were free! Free to read the Bible and understand God for themselves, and those clergymen telling them what to do could shut it. It nurtured incredible religious creativity. New communities and creeds popped up all over the place. One essential component of that were faithful believers establishing their own churches, celebrating communion themselves.
Plus, on the American frontier, people lived far from each other. Thus, anticlericalism was as practical a concern as it was theological. And it inspired important aspects of the early Disciples movement. We were a Free Church. Farmers and weavers had as much right to serve communion as any clergy. I love that part of our history, ordained though I may be. We’re all equal in God’s sight, hold similar standing in the Kingdom of God. We’re free to worship, pray, serve our neighbors and love Jesus as best as we can create together.
That similar instinct helped birth our Mormon friends too, though they went a few steps farther in freedom. They count another holy book (in fact, three) as authoritative as the canonized Christian Bible. Plus, they never developed a professional clergy class. Their “priests” are volunteer still, essentially layfolk, people- men- who agree to serve as local church leaders for a time, offering counseling, teaching and ritual leadership until their term has ended. Though we had roots grown from the same Free Church soil, our evolution took a different tack. Still, it’s interesting to know that a community some consider so very different is, in fact, a close cousin.
But I’m sad for our spiritual cousins that their path stopped with lay male priests. On the 19th century frontier, traditional gender roles guided both of our thinking. But as our society better realized that “all men are created equal” should’ve included women too, the Disciples’ order of clergy, eventually, opened to gifts and talents of women. We’re a better church for it. With only one gender having access to leadership, we were limiting by half- at least!- the potential for growth, insight and faithfulness. This Mormon woman who is pushing her church to realize the benefits of gender equality has seen the great results of that in our society, and among her religious cousins. She- boldly, profoundly- has declared, “Enough’s enough. Let the Free Church movement move forward!” I’m impressed by this courage, as well as her commitment not to give up the fight and jump ship, but stay as much a part of the community as they’ll let her. She loves her church enough to stick with it and push it to be as full an expression of God’s love as possible. May we all.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Did you know was that the LDS church and the Disciples of Christ spring from the same branch on the Christian Family Tree? Scholars call it “The Free Church Movement,” describing a phenomenon began on the- then- American Frontier in the 19th century’s first decades. This was a time when the American Revolution’s ideals of liberty and individuality were just being unleashed into the undeveloped Western lands. Of course, American Indians didn’t describe that land as empty- in contrast to white settlers- and suffered tragically as a result. But so it went, and these frontiersmen and women brought religion with them into wide, “open” spaces
And in some cases, they didn’t like that old time religion. Indeed, they were convinced times were a-changin’. They were free! Free to read the Bible and understand God for themselves, and those clergymen telling them what to do could shut it. It nurtured incredible religious creativity. New communities and creeds popped up all over the place. One essential component of that were faithful believers establishing their own churches, celebrating communion themselves.
Plus, on the American frontier, people lived far from each other. Thus, anticlericalism was as practical a concern as it was theological. And it inspired important aspects of the early Disciples movement. We were a Free Church. Farmers and weavers had as much right to serve communion as any clergy. I love that part of our history, ordained though I may be. We’re all equal in God’s sight, hold similar standing in the Kingdom of God. We’re free to worship, pray, serve our neighbors and love Jesus as best as we can create together.
That similar instinct helped birth our Mormon friends too, though they went a few steps farther in freedom. They count another holy book (in fact, three) as authoritative as the canonized Christian Bible. Plus, they never developed a professional clergy class. Their “priests” are volunteer still, essentially layfolk, people- men- who agree to serve as local church leaders for a time, offering counseling, teaching and ritual leadership until their term has ended. Though we had roots grown from the same Free Church soil, our evolution took a different tack. Still, it’s interesting to know that a community some consider so very different is, in fact, a close cousin.
But I’m sad for our spiritual cousins that their path stopped with lay male priests. On the 19th century frontier, traditional gender roles guided both of our thinking. But as our society better realized that “all men are created equal” should’ve included women too, the Disciples’ order of clergy, eventually, opened to gifts and talents of women. We’re a better church for it. With only one gender having access to leadership, we were limiting by half- at least!- the potential for growth, insight and faithfulness. This Mormon woman who is pushing her church to realize the benefits of gender equality has seen the great results of that in our society, and among her religious cousins. She- boldly, profoundly- has declared, “Enough’s enough. Let the Free Church movement move forward!” I’m impressed by this courage, as well as her commitment not to give up the fight and jump ship, but stay as much a part of the community as they’ll let her. She loves her church enough to stick with it and push it to be as full an expression of God’s love as possible. May we all.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
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