Secular v. Sacred: The Smackdown!

Over the past couple of months I have been reading the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling.  I may be a late-comer to the books, but I have been no less caught up in the storyline.  And as I am nearing the end of the final book, I am finding myself  recalling a time when a massive backlash was waged against the Harry Potter phenomena.  Evangelical Christians were afraid that a generation of youth were being led astray by a story rife with Satanic themes.  And now that I’ve read the stories, I can honestly say I don’t think anyone making those claims haveactually read the books.

I do not know much about J.K. Rowling.  I do not know if she considers herself a Christian or not.  I DO know that she hails from England and lives in Scotland and that both nations claim Christianity as their national religion.  And in reading the books, I can see how the teachings and stories of Christianity have, in one way or another, affected her.

As a preacher I have found parallel after parallel between Harry Potter and the Gospel story (maybe that will be a future blog posting).  However, a very vocal group of Christians railed against the stories to the point that many people worried they would be branded “anti-Christian” if they were caught reading the books.  Harry Potter novels became a source of rebellion for people who wanted to thumb their nose at an organized religion which seemed out of touch with the world around it.  And sadly, the church missed a profound opportunity to reach an entire generation.  Rather than using the common Harry Potter story as a talking point, it was dismissed and branded heretical.

Today is Ascension Day, and if we go back and read Acts 1:1-11, we see that the disciples were in danger of making the same type of mistake.  Jesus had just been in their midst, giving them final instructions and some final words of wisdom, and then he was lifted away.  Jesus was returning to his place in heaven, and the disciples just stood there, staring at the cloud in which Jesus had just disappeared, jaws hanging agape, and generally looking a little foolish.  Maybe they thought they would watch until Jesus came again.  Maybe they were hoping to catch a little glimpse of heaven (as though sharing breathing space with the Risen Savior wasn’t enough).  Maybe they thought that the world would steal away the glory of that moment, so they just wanted to stay glued to the spot and not let it slip away.  But then a couple of angels showed up and snapped them back to reality:  “What are you doing just standing here staring at the clouds?  Get up and get to work!  There’s a mission to be completed!”

You are probably wondering how the reaction of a segment of Evangelical Christians to Harry Potter books is anything like the day of Jesus’ Ascension.  It’s simple:  It all comes down to the age-old battle of secular verses sacred.  As believers we are so awed by God (as we should be), that we think God can only exist in the places we deem most holy.  So, like David who wanted to build a temple that God didn’t need, we want to compartmentalize our lives.  We deem some compartments as worthy of God, and some as not so worthy.  The problem is, as we desire to spend more and more time with God, we start to assume that God canonlyexist in those special sacred compartments.

But didn’t Jesus walk the streets?  Didn’t Jesus sit at tables with tax collectors and criminals?  Didn’t Jesus hang on a cross, an implement of capital punishment reserved for the very worst criminal?  Jesus was with lepers and adulterers.  Jesus hung out at wedding parties.  And Jesus visited the temple and taught in synagogues.  Jesus, the very incarnation of God, moved freely and easily between the places we deem sacred and the places we deem secular.  To Jesus, there was no difference.  All this world was the creation of God, and to the one who had been there in the beginning, there was no compartmentalizing it.

In his travels, Paul found himself among the Gentiles of Athens.  He didn’t reject everything in that “pagan” world as antithetical to Christ.  Instead, he walked around the city and took in all the sites.  And after he had done this, he went to the place where the smarty-pants of that society hung out and talked philosophy all day (Acts 17:22-31).  He used an example from their culture, something they would understand well, to break the ice and to start teaching about Jesus.  He didn’t call them evil.  He didn’t act as though he was too good to walk into a place he didn’t consider sacred.  Instead, he chose to see where he could find evidence of Christ even in a place that had never known him.

Paul did not fear the world… and I imagine that is because he knew Jesus didn’t fear the world.  Jesus came and lived amongst us and made even our most mundane events, like washing our feet, a holy encounter.  So when Jesus passed the torch of his ministry on to his disciples (which includes us), he wasn’t asking them to fear the world and hide from it, but to continue to interact with it as he had done, to continue to offer a message of salvation for the world and not to hide from it.

Sometimes we find ourselves staring at the heavens… so we need days like this to bring us back to the moment.  We have a purpose–here and now.  God is just as alive and active in the coffee shop as he is in the sanctuary.  And it’s up to us to find those moments of revelation and shine a light on them for others.

Happy Ascension Day to you all!

When They Stop Believing, Do We Get To Stop Loving?

Recently, I read an article on the NPR.org about Teresa MacBain, a former Florida minister who no longer believes in God.  (Click here for a link to the article).  In a nutshell, MacBain, the daughter of a pastor, had been raised in a conservative Southern Baptist family and eventually became a pastor in the United Methodist Church.  However, after questioning her faith she decided to profess herself to be an atheist.  So, she came out publicly at the American Atheists convention in Bethesda, Maryland.  As anyone might expect, the fallout resulted in the loss of her “job” and some very public backlash against her.

Unfortunately, the article left many unanswered questions.  How did MacBain make the transition from conservative Southern Baptist to mainline United Methodist?  What kind of minister she is in the United Methodist church (this is important because it would reveal how much formal training she does or does not have)?  Why did she not utilize any of the resources available to United Methodist Ministers (counseling, mentoring, spiritual direction, etc…)?

Curiosity caused me to click the link.  I read stories all the time about people who convert from atheism to Christianity.  So, naturally, I wondered how the story would go if suddenly thrown into reverse.  Remarkably, the stories were similar:  A prolonged period of questioning followed by a hesitant acceptance of a new identity eventually leads to a public proclamation and a tearful, joyous embrace by a new community of supporters.

So… why was a seething?  By the end of the article I was furious.  After a caffeine-fueled journaling session and some deeper reflection I have come to realize that all my complaints fall into three categories… three key mistakes made by Teresa MacBain, by the “Christian” response, and by believers in general.

1)  MacBain’s Mistakes

MacBain had apparently been struggling with her questions for quite a while… and had come to the realization that she did not believe in God.  Yet, she continued to preach and to maintain her authority as minister of her church.  She never alerted her District Superintendent that she was struggling with questions of belief.  She never told her PPR (Pastor-Parish Relations) Committee that she was doubting.  There is a trust relationship between a congregation and minister.  People are counting on authenticity when we take our place of “power” on Sunday morning.  So, for a congregation to learn via a viral Internet video that their minister is proclaiming a disbelief in God is a major violation of trust.

Without a word of confession to her church—with no “heads up” to the people who would suffer from her “coming out”—she treks off to Maryland, stands before 1,500 people and confesses for the world to hear that she is a minister who doesn’t believe.  She returns home and her son sends her a text, telling her that her confession went viral.  Only then does she decide its time to meet with her District Superintendant.  But it’s too late.  The damage is done.

She did everything wrong.  And in doing everything wrong, she hurt a lot of people.  I know it could not have been easy for her.  A lifetime identity is being overturned and a new one is being born.  But the difficulty of a journey does not give a person the right to harm others along the way.

We are ministers, not super humans.  We have highs and lows in our spiritual lives the same as anyone else.  We suffer.  We struggle.  And sometimes we doubt.  We ask poignant questions.  We toss and turn rather than sleep.  We weep, we shout, and we laugh.  Just like anyone else.  And just like anyone else, we need to have people to whom we can turn.  The United Methodist tradition of “Christian conferencing” is one way that we are supported in that journey. We are connected to a vast network of people and entities, all of which are offering to help us make sense out of those different spiritual seasons.  MacBain ignored all that and went “lone ranger” on an issue that is so deeply intertwined with so many other people’s faith lives.  Instead of turning to others, she turned to an iPhone: a device that could not think, respond, react… or challenge her.  She chose to speak to an inanimate, silent object.  Maybe she would have still accepted atheism even she had chosen a human being, but may she would have done it in a way that wouldn’t have hurt so many others and violated so much trust.

We are, after all, a part of  the body of Christ.   Just as we would not dare amputate a hand without first preparing the rest of the body, and then caring for the body after the shock, we should never just assume that we could just slice ourselves away and not cause harm to others.

2)  An Unloving Christian Response

Granted, MacBain handled this the wrong way.  But just because she made some mistakes, do others now have the right to wrong her?  By no means.

Yet, wronging and attacking her is exactly what happened.  She returned home to inevitable fallout.  A lot of unloving actions began to occur:  Uncalled for attacks on her character, cruel comments left on the internet… in general it was all-around hatefulness.

Her District Superintendant canceled the meeting she had requested and all around her people were talking about her, but not to her.  I don’t know how anything productive could come out of shunning this woman.  When a person goes from possessing faith deep enough to proclaim it daily to being so convinced of the non-existence of God that she would publically proclaim it, there is a real need for some good old fashioned Christian love.  Obviously there are some things going on in her life that have left her unable to feel the love of God and that alone is the reason why her District Superintendant (and dare I say, Bishop) should have at the least had a conversation with her. How could we just leave her cut off like that?  It seems so cold.  And so unloving.

But it happens more often then we realize.  Maybe not with something as dramatic as atheism, but every conference within the United Methodist Church has a list of men and women who were once ministers and are no longer.  Some have been asked to leave the ministry.  Some have asked to leave.  Some were hurt.  Some simply felt a calling elsewhere.  Some have shed many, many tears and watched their families be torn asunder as they wrestled with their faith.  And I am not aware of any program (mind you, I have not done the research) that keeps a relationship with these people so that the transition from ministry back to laity can happen and their spiritual lives can stay strong.  Its unfathomable that we spend ten years nurturing and mentoring a person who wants to enter the ministry, and about ten seconds casting a yay or nay vote when they leave.

The proof of God’s existence in my life has always been one of love and grace.  At my lowest moments, God’s love and strength sustained me on difficult journeys and have been my refuge.  It is a love so profound that God would abandon the realm of divinity to take on human flesh and blood and become like  us, to suffer and die for, to battle the forces of sin and death for us so that we could see and know and understand the extent of that love… that’s a love we should not be withholding anyone.  Not even the people who disappoint us.

3)  A Matter of Love and Judgment

MacBain is quoted as saying, “I was the one on the right track, and you were the ones that were going to burn in hell, and I’m happy to say as I stand before you right now, I’m going to burn with you.“

That is the sort of judgementalism that shouldn’t exist in our church.  Anyone who assumes that they have the right to decide if someone else is burning is certainly not on the right track.  It goes against everything Jesus Christ taught us—he is judge, not us.  And as our judge he sat at tables with sinners, hung out with prostitutes, ate with tax collectors, died between a couple of criminals (and even invited one into paradise with him) and came back to us—the very people who had cried out “Crucify Him!” to show us the power of his love and forgiveness.  So, if God can see the worth in the so-called unclean, in the untouchables, in those of differing faiths (remember the Syrophoenician woman of Mark 7?), and in us…  then who are we to proclaim anyone is burning?

But that sort of black-or-white thought has infected our church.  We have not been commanded to judge.  We have been commanded to love and to share the gospel.  If they don’t accept, we still don’t judge—we wipe the dust from our feet and move on.  Jesus will handle the judging and we don’t need to burden our limited, human minds to do it.

This “right track” of MacBain’s defeats our Methodist (Christian) heritage of salvation by faith alone.  There is no right track, no proper recipe to follow, no checklist of dos and don’ts that make us good and others bad.  There is only faith. Yet, all too often, we assume anyone who doesn’t believe what we believe is already burning.   Until we realize that the purpose of faith is not about judging others, but about accepting our role as loved and loving people of God, then we will not get past all this bickering and fighting that exists in our world.

—–

 So… if my path should ever cross with Teresa MacBain’s I will show her the sort of love and patience that Jesus has shown me, even at my lowest moments.  And I think I’ll sit down with her and ask her about all those holes that were left in her story when NPR ran it.  And maybe in a loving moment she will glimpse the Divine… maybe she won’t.  It’s not my place to judge her.  It’s only my place to love her.

Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven… so let me live in this moment as I would in heaven. 

The First Punch

At this point, does it matter who threw the first punch?

Hey, girl!  Whatchu doin’?  Me?  Nothin’.  Just walkin’.

A carefree night.  Not a worry in the world.  March Madness is brewing in the heavy Florida air.  All of a sudden I’ve got a craving for something sweet.  Pull on my hoodie, stuff my cellphone into my pocket.  The store’s just down the road.  Not too far.  And a walk might be nice.  Mom and Dad haven’t been pleased.  Suspended from school and the reason might be stupid, but haven’t we all done stupid things from time to time?  It won’t happen again, Mom.  I promise, it won’t happen again, Dad.  I’m not throwing away my future.  I know how hard you work.  I know.

Yeah,  a walk would be nice.

The stars are twinkling somewhere up there, but my mind is down here, because I’ve got a sweet girl on the phone and I’m just walking along, enjoying the night air.  A can of iced-tea, the sweet kind, the only kind you’re allowed to drink in the South and a bag of skittles in my pocket.  The world is okay.  The street is quiet.  The houses here are nice.  Dad lives in a nice place.  Quiet.  And I got my girl on the phone.  And all the world is okay.

At this point, does it matter who threw the first punch?

Maybe I’m walking a little slower than I need to.  But who cares?  Where do I have to be?  And Dad’s place is just down the street.  I’ll be there soon enough.  But the longer the walk, the longer the talk with a sweet girl I’m missing right now.  I’ll be back to school real soon, I swear.

A car creeps by.  These old guys in their gated communities, driving so slow I could out-run them.  Haha.  I know.  I know, right?  Old guys.

At this point, does it matter who threw the first punch?

Man, I think that car just turned around.  Seriously, they’re following me now.  Does Dad have a tail on me?  Does he not trust me out on the street?  Of course not.  That’s crazy.  Dad wouldn’t do that.  So I take a closer look.  I can’t tell who’s in that car.  But they are definitely following me.

Hey girl.  This guy is following me.

Run, Trayvon.

I ain’t running.

At this point, does it matter who threw the first punch?

I pull my hoodie up over my head.  I know it’s a silly thing.  But it makes me feel safe.  Like a baby wrapped in a blanket.  I would never admit it to her, but right now I’m feeling about as helpless as a baby.

What is this guy doing?  Why is he following me?  What does he want?

I stop.  I take a couple steps toward him.  Maybe if he knows I know he’s following me, he’ll leave.  Maybe if he sees I’m not who he thinks I am, he’ll turn around again.  Dude is still staring at me.  He’s on the phone.  What’s he on the phone for? Who could he be calling?  His friends?  To come and help him beat me up?  Why?

Run, Trayvon.

I ain’t running.

At this point, does it matter who threw the first punch?

What’s he want?  Does he think I’m someone else?  Does he want to hurt me?  Kill me?  Rob me?  Kidnap me?  Is he spaced-out on drugs?  Is he crazy?  What is he doing?

Run, Trayvon.

I ain’t running.

Except, now I am.  Didn’t think I would, but I guess my feet didn’t listen to my head.  My heart is pounding.  I can feel my pulse throbbing in my neck.  My eyes seem to see more than usual.  All I hear in my ears are my own pounding feet.  I look over my shoulder.  You gotta be kiddin’ me!  This guy’s outta his car, baby!  He’s outta his car and he’s looking around.

Run, Trayvon.

I ain’t running.

At this point, does it matter who threw the first punch?

What does he want?  Is he going to kill me?  Is he following me?  What does he want?  Does he have a gun?  Is he going to rob me?  Who does he think I am?  Who is this guy?

WHAT DO YOU WANT?

At this point, does it matter who threw the first punch?

A flash of fear, maybe a touch of rage.  What does he want?  Now all I can see is what’s right in front of me and I don’t know what he is, who he is, what he wants, what he’ll do.  But it can’t be good.  Why else would this crazy guy follow me?

Run, Trayvon, Run!

I ain’t running, baby!

Run, Trayvon, Run!

Does it matter?  He has a gun.  He’s following me.  I run home, he knows where I live.  I run home, I”m a sitting duck.  I run home, he’ll break in the door.  He’ll rob my Dad blind.  He’ll beat me up.  He’ll kill me.

Run, Trayvon, Run!

I can’t run, baby.  He’ll kill me.

At this point, does it matter who threw the first punch.

Scared people huddled in their houses, peaking out their windows, frantically telling the police to get here quick.  There’s shouting.  There’s a fight.  I’m scared.  Hurry.  Please, hurry!  Run!

A peal of thunder rolls off the houses and echoes down the street, reverberating through my heart, through my soul.

The night falls silent.

At this point, does it matter who threw the first punch?

Hungering for “The Hunger Games”

Recently, an acquaintance of mine very publicly denounced any parent who would take her child to see “The Hunger Games.”  She had just begun reading the novel in anticipation of the movie, and I suppose some of the themes were disturbing to her.  But when I heard her railing against the book, I found myself gritting my teeth so as to prevent my tongue from saying something I would probably regret.  Before I begin with my defense of The Hunger Games, please allow me to get three things out in the open here and now:

1. I do not have children–there are numerous children in my life, but I am not actually a parent. Some folks may think this nullifies any opinion I have on the subject… but I don’t think that my status as non-parent makes me oblivious to the welfare of children.  After all, it does take a village, and I am a part of that village for many children.
2. I’m not telling anyone how to parent their children, I’m only adding my line of reasoning to the public discourse.  In the end, it is up to a parent to make that ultimate decision regarding what their child does or does not view.
3. When I refer to “children”, I’m only speaking of people under the age of 18.  The Hunger Games is not a book written for young children–instead the book and movie are both marketed to the “young adult” reader (teens and twenty-somethings), but are accessible to those of us a tad bit older.

Okay, so now that you know I’m not one of those childless know-it-alls telling you how to raise your child, nor am I encouraging you to take your toddler to a movie with some heavy social themes, let’s get started on the reasons why I am going to see The Hunger Games, and may very well invite my teenaged nephew to join me.

An Appalachian Heroine

Given the systemic discrimination which has led to hunger, poverty, and lack of resources, Katniss Everdeen is already at a disadvantage when the story begins. The very means she must rely on to survive (and to ensure the survivability) of her family, means she is already risking her life.  Everything she can do is illegal; and the one legal option she holds for survival entails selling the rights to her life for the grotesque entertainment of others.  She has developed a hard exterior.  She loves her family passionately, but her love carries a vast cost that threatens to destroy her.  She is angry, but because she is in survival mode, she is unable to fully explore or vocalize the source of that anger.  Katniss is an expert at living moment by moment, because the present moment is all she’s ever really guaranteed.  She has known the pain of hunger.  She has known the agony of losing her best resource (her father).  And she knows her own limitations and abilities.

Katniss’ disadvantage is evidenced in the cold, hard reality that people from District 12 (or, as we know it in real-life, Appalachia) just do not win The Hunger Games.  They do not have access to the weapons, training, and monetary resources others have.  And so they are trapped in a cycle of losing.  From the word go, Katniss is destined to be a loser, and so she emerges as a strange and unlikely heroine.

No child in our society should be at a disadvantage.  They should each have an equal shot at achieving their dreams.  But reality tells me that this just isn’t so.  I live in one of the poorest counties in the country.  More than half of all children in this county live in poverty.  A constant decrease in population and economy has depleted the area of its resources.  Children are being caught in a cycle in which each generation has a greater gap to overcome–lack of educational resources, lack of transportation, poverty, a drug epidemic, lack of artistic outlets of expression, hunger–with each passing generation, those issues become more and more intense.

Katniss Everdeen offers Appalachian children a hope they may not even realize they have.  Katniss was not trying to overturn a system.  She knew the system was unfair and she knew it was destroying her and everyone she loves… but she only wanted to live another day.  Had Katniss actually stopped to assess her situation, she would have probably realized she had no reason to fight at all.  Had reality ever set in, Katniss would have just waited for death to come to her rather than running away from it.

I am reminded of the Apostle Peter, who was able to walk on water for no other reason than he had faith in Jesus’ call… but as soon as Peter looked around at what was happening in the world and what his odds of success are, he began to sink.

No child should look at their current situation–particularly is they are forced into a disadvantaged situation by no fault of their own–and have to face the reality that they are going to sink.

Katniss, instead, takes the skills she has developed in surviving and uses them to her advantage.  But through her sheer determination to not be destroyed by someone else’s twisted schemes, she winds up exposing the ugly truth of the very system that his seeking her destruction.

Subverting the System

This earth we live in ain’t heaven.  If it were, we’d be hanging out with Jesus and there wouldn’t be any more tears or dying or suffering… But this ain’t heaven.  And that’s why so many of our systems are broken and only serve to destroy and hurt.  Sometimes, though, people are able to emerge from those systems and use them in such a way to demonstrate the brokeness of them.

Remember Tamar?  She is one of those “faithful women of the Bible.”  She married a man named Er, who was famous for two reasons:  His father was Judah (as in the Tribe of Judah), and he was apparently so wicked God smote him.  Tamar was left without children (namely sons) which was the only real hope for survival that a woman in that time had.  So, according to Jewish custom, Judah told his younger son, Onan, to take Tamar as his wife and to “give” her sons.  Onan did not like this idea, though.  If he bore sons with Tamar, his late brother’s wife, the sons would actually be heirs to Er and not to Onan.  So, although he takes advantage of the sexual liberties he has with this woman, he “spills his seed” so as not to provide her with any of the benefits of the union.  God doesn’t like this, either.  And so, Onan is smote, as well.

Now, here is where the story begins to really show just how terribly broken these systems are.  In both cases, Er and Onan were struck down because of their wickedness, but neither man seems to acquire the guilt of their actions.  Instead, Tamar is deemed a cursed woman, though there is no evidence that she had ever done anything wicked at all.  Judah is spooked by all of this and so he is hesitant to marry yet another son to this woman, although the customs of his faith and people dictate he must do just that–it was Tamar’s only insurance against a grave injustice that would leave her seriously hurting and unable to survive.

So, Tamar follows Judah to the temple one day–she has disguised herself as a prostitute, because apparently she knows her father-in-law avails himself of those sorts of services when he’s in town shearing his sheep.  Temple prostitutes were apparently a fixture because she is so easily able to step into that role.  She lures her father-in-law into a union that would normally be considered immoral.  Through that one event, she becomes pregnant… and when Judah realizes she is pregnant (but still not aware he was the one who had done it), he hypocritically denounces her and threatens to have her killed.  Apparently, he can sleep with a prostate, but she can’t sleep with a man.

In dramatic fashion, though, Tamar provides proof of Judah’s paternity… and Judah, not facing any penalties for denying this woman access to justice and not facing any penalties for his own indiscretion with someone he thought was a prostitute, laughs it off and commends her for being so persistent in taking what was rightfully hers.  Tamar had used her feminine wiles to guarantee her survival, and in doing so exposed the injustice and hypocrisy of so-called “holy men”.

Katniss is sort of like that.  She doesn’t result to protestation.  But she has a limited set of skills at her disposal to use as tools for survival… and she uses them to expose an ugly truth.  Her tender, loving burial of Rue makes use of the constant camera feed.  She offers a moment of dignity not only to Rue, but to everyone who cares about her… and she forces her oppressors to see her and all the contestants as more than pawns in a game, or characters on a television show.

I don’t want to spoil the movie (or the book) for those of you who haven’t discovered them yet… so I won’t reveal any more than that.  However, Katniss continues to subvert the system throughout the novel and continues to expose ugly truths.

Tamar wasn’t looking to upset any world order… she was only looking for what is rightfully hers.  So was Katniss–but because she was willing to risk everything to take what was hers, she upset the whole order.

A Touch of Reality

Suzanne Collins, the author of The Hunger Games, deals with some heavy issues.  Poverty, oppression, corruption of government, hunger, and war are all themes that take center stage in this trilogy of novels.  We are a nation that has been at war for more than a decade.  We are a nation that has witnessed a lot of violence in our schools, workplaces, shopping places, etc… and it is always televised.  We are a nation that is seeing a growing disparity between rich and poor and a growing number of children living in poverty.  We are a nation that is considered wealthy by others, but millions of our children do not know if they will have a next meal.

These are not easy issues to discuss.  Too often, we sugar-coat them.  I’m just as guilty at encouraging the children in my life to “take care of the poor”, forgetting that we can’t actually take care of anyone.  We must work with the poor to find solutions, and those solutions should probably be developed by the people who need them, rather than being imposed on them by those of us who are more privileged.

Suzanne Collins explores these issues in depth–and she paints a very real and very detailed picture of how these issues affect the young people struggling with them.

Quite frankly, that is a conversation I want to have with the young people in my life.  I want them to know how their actions affect others and how the actions of others affect them.  I want them to see how the struggles that might be hard for us to talk about are touching the lives of those who must live them day in and day out.  I want them to think about what hunger means.  I want them to understand that violence is not something we witness for entertainment, but has very real implications on our collective soul.

So… I have my tickets already.  I will by at the midnight showing on opening day… and I will be talking about the themes of The Hunger Games with the young people in my life.

The Gospel According to… The Lorax?

I know… I know.  It’s no secret that I am a huge Dr. Seuss fan.  I have a Cat-in-the-Hat tattoo.  I own every book Dr. Seuss ever wrote.  And somewhere, buried in a box labeled “College Papers” are about a half dozen theses on the underlying meaning and philosophy of Dr. Seuss’ writings.  So it’s no wonder that I am about to wax theological about the latest movie interpretation of Dr. Seuss’ The Lorax. There are, of course, the obvious moral lessons offered in the book and the film:  the dramatic environmental impact of our lifestyle, the risks and dangers of unfettered consumerism, and our personal responsibility in the preservation of the natural world.  But, I am going to focus on some of the less obvious points made in the telling of this favorite old story.

An Undramatic Entrance

This is the stage that is set in the movie:  The Once-ler enters a pristine and beautiful paradise, untouched by human hands and immediately wreaks havoc on his surroundings.  We know something dramatic is about to occur when the Once-ler hefts his ax and begins chopping away at one of the Truffula trees.  The animals react in horror, and the Once-ler seems oblivious to what is happening.  Suddenly, dark storm clouds begin to swirl, lightning strikes and the whole earth stands in breathless anticipation, waiting for the Lorax to descend from the sky in a furious rage and to wield his righteous anger and carry out justice.  And, just when we can’t take it anymore… the Lorax UNdramatically and UNceremoniously pops out of the stump.  And the Once-ler didn’t see any of it.

This is what I saw:  A people, tired and weary are begging for justice, but don’t even stop to take notice of their own complicity in the evils they are bemoaning.  A bright star lights up the night sky and garners the attention of watchers from far away, but the people standing right below it do not even notice the light shining down on the them.  While they are looking into the distance, waiting for a grande and powerful king with a mighty army to explode on the horizon in a blaze of glory, a child undramatically and unceremoniously is born in a barn among beasts of burden and laid to sleep in a manger.  And the people do not even see it.

What it means to us now:  The Lorax came to the Once-ler when the Once-ler most needed him.  Of course, the Once-ler had no clue that he needed any intervention at all.  Jesus entered into our lives when we most needed him…. even if we didn’t realize our need for him.  I’m a good Methodist, so I see this as the prevenient grace that comes to us before we even realize our need for it.  Imagine how much happier the Once-ler would have been had he taken the time to listen to the Lorax in that first meeting rather than so quickly dismissing him.  Imagine how much misery we could save ourselves if we could just learn to recognize those ways that God is intervening in our day-by-day lives!

It Doesn’t Work That Way

The Lorax is astonished that the Once-ler had somehow managed to miss all the lightning and thunder and gathering clouds–and then reveals a mysterious truth:  When the Once-ler demands he do it all over again, the Lorax admits that he could, but it “doesn’t work that way.”  Why not?  If the Lorax was willing to summon all the forces of nature once, why not do it again.  Imagine how much clearer it would have made his message?  The Once-ler would have found it a lot harder to ignore the one who “speaks for the trees”.

We often demand the same thing of God.  When we are looking the other way and do not see the amazing things God is doing in this world, we find ourselves suddenly demanding God do them again… on our terms.  We want to go our own way and our own thing, without a second thought about the consequences of our actions.  And if we are going to change our ways, then by golly,  God should just make it impossible for us to choose anything else!  Of course, God doesn’t do things that way.  We have been given the power of reason.  God created a phenomenal thing when God formed our brains.  We were created in the image of God.  God breathed God’s own spirit into us to give us life.  We were not created to blindly follow like programmed machinery.  We were given a will and we have been given the greatest gift I can imagine:  the ability to choose.  Granted, God could make it impossible for us to choose anything else, but God doesn’t do that.  So, when we start playing our games of manipulation, God doesn’t play along.  The gift of free will is never taken back.  For the Once-ler, this was his undoing… and all too often, it is our undoing as well.

The Nature of Sin

The Lorax, in a menacing voice foreshadowing impending doom, warns the Once-ler what he will face if he doesn’t turn away from the path of destruction he is travelling.  It turns out, that the worst that can be done to the Once-ler is not brought about by the Lorax’ hand, but by the Once-ler’s own actions.  Sin has a way of being like that.  When we refuse to follow the will of God and do things our own way, the worst that can happen is what we have done to ourselves.  For Adam and Eve this meant they would have to struggle and toil and suffer pain.  For us, it means our waters are polluted, our diverse ecosystem begins to dwindle, fresh air becomes a faded memory, and we must live in a world destroyed by our own actions.  God gave us the gift of free will, but when we refuse to listen to God, the consequences of our free will become our greatest punishment.  The worst that can happen we have done to ourselves.

A Remnant Called “Unless”

In the Bible, God always leaves a remnant behind–a small group of the faithful who will be able to carry on God’s covenant.  They are the last hope of humanity.  When the Lorax left the destroyed place that had once been paradise he didn’t take all hope with him.  He left a small circle of stones and a once cryptic word:  “Unless”.  The Once-ler, left wallowing in the ashes of his sin and despair, spends years and years trying to decode the mysterious meaning of that one word.  When a young, hopeful boy shows up at his door, asking questions about the past and seeking a better way for the future, the Once-ler finally figures it out and one of Dr. Seuss’ most inspiring verses is uttered:  “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing’s going to get better… It’s not!”

Isn’t that what Jesus has been asking of us all along?  From the moment he began preaching the good news in his public ministry to the last words he speaks to his disciples before he ascends to heaven, Jesus is telling we have to “care a whole awful lot.”  Care about the poor, the widow, the orphan.  Care about the sick, the homeless, the imprisoned.  Care about God and about God’s creation.  Care about each other.  Care about strangers.  Care about enemies. Care.  That is the final hope of humanity.

The Second Coming

In Dr. Seuss’ book, we are left (much the same way the Bible leaves us) with hope hanging out there.  It’s a like a carrot dangling before us.  Just as Dr. Seuss leaves us looking for the return of the Lorax, Scripture leaves us looking for the return of Jesus.  The movie gives us a little glimpse of what that looks like:  The old reclusive Once-ler who had for years locked himself away as a self-imposed punishment is seen in the light of day.  The sky is blue.  Tiny, fragile little Truffula trees have begun to sprout everywhere.  And with a love and compassion that is the exact opposite of his earlier greedy ways, the Once-ler is watering the delicate plants.  A swammee-swan suddenly swoops across the sky like a beacon of hope… and this time, the Once-ler doesn’t miss it:  The Lorax descends from the sky with a message of hope and life for the old Once-ler who has a new lease on life.

Read Revelation, and you will find that this is not a new story.  After the worst happens–war and devastation and destruction–A new heaven and a new earth descend from the heavens.

I think we miss that, sometimes.  We know Jesus will come back to judge–and we, who have locked ourselves up in a prison of our own shame and misery, assume the worse.  But just as the Lorax came back to pass his judgement on a redeemed Once-ler, the Lord is looking to do the same.  Didn’t Jesus tell us, just before he was lifted away, to make disciples of all the earth?  If we do that… if we fulfill our mission… wouldn’t that mean the Lord is coming back to judge a redeemed world?

No matter how you tell the story–it always ends with hope.

From Christmas in Russia to Lent in West Virginia: New Perspectives

It’s amazing how we can experience something so life-changing, and then fall back into our regular routines so quickly again.  Sometimes in my sermons I comment on the large number of people who stood in amazement of Jesus at one his public preaching moments… but then went home and went back to their lives and didn’t do anything different.

My recent trip to Russia was, without a doubt, life changing.  But now that I’ve been home for a few weeks I find the memories are fading into the backdrop as I rush about my normal life.  A meeting in Charleston… statistical reports… a meeting in Beckley… community meal… Sunday worship… Bible studies… District meeting… etc…  They just sort of add up and before I knew it I was right  back into that same all-consuming, draining routine I had been in before.

Then, out of the blue, I looked at the calendar and realized Ash Wednesday was only three weeks away.  I gasped and promptly grabbed my planning notebook, computer and Bible and camped out at the library.  My New Year’s resolution was to work on being better prepared this year.  (Mind you, I said “work on”… I’m not a fool, I know my limitations…).  So, it just seemed I should knuckle down for some hardcore research and planning on the Lenten season so that I’m ready now… and not trying to do it the week of Ash Wednesday.

As I read through Lenten studies and worship resources, my mind kept drifting to the inevitable question, “What will I give up this year?“  Two years ago I gave up cable television… and never took it back.  Sometimes when we give up something we realize how much of our life it took, and how little we actually we need it.  There was the long stretch when I tried to give up chocolate.  But the prevalence of Cadbury Eggs always caused me to fail.  Last year I added daily blogging to my disciplines (spiritual blogging), and that went well, except I kept falling behind.

So… what will I give up (or add) this year?

As I thought about it I couldn’t help but think of all that I had to give up in order to go to Russia.  As in introvert, I cherish my alone time in the evenings.  But to be a part of a team, that is the first thing I have to give up.  I didn’t know the itinerary before I went; but, I wasn’t really giving up anything.  I’m not really a control freak, so I could rest easily in knowing I was following a seasoned and competent leader into the mission field.

In Russia I quickly discovered all sorts of other amenities I was giving up, though.  For the bulk of the trip I would have to sleep in one of the orphan’s beds.  Giving up my private room, and my big, cozy queen-sized bed wasn’t all that eye-opening.  However, sleeping in the bed of an orphan and knowing that they don’t have a big queen-sized bed in a private room to retreat to after a week or two was eye-opening.  Every day, walking into that room, the first thing I noticed was the picture of the child’s favorite soccer player taped to the headboard, and I was constantly reminded that this was someone’s home.

The bathroom in the orphanage left a lot to be desired.  It was old and grungy and not very welcoming.  It certainly wasn’t the sort of place to which a person would retreat for a long, hot bubble bath.  The shower sprayer didn’t work, so we had to sit in the tub, filling a plastic cup with the weird-smelling water, and pouring it over our heads in an effort to wash our hair.  And the toilet… well… it didn’t even have a seat.  And for whatever reason (be it plumbing or low water flow or something else), we couldn’t flush the toilet paper.  So, it had to be placed into a little trash can next to the commode, which was a huge blow to my American sensitivities about hygiene.

And still, it never failed.  As I left the bathroom with a wrinkled nose and a longing for my working shower and a commode that could not only flush toilet paper that would also have a seat attached, I would see that soccer player taped to the end of that bed… and I knew that a child lived there.  Not just a child.  Children lived there.  Children lived there and slept there and laughed and talked and dreamed and cried and wished there.  This was a home for someone.

And so, day after day, as I fretted about the things I was giving up, I would see that soccer player and remember that for all I thought I was sacrificing, I was living where a child lived… maybe I didn’t have a toilet seat, but I had a bed.  And, in all honesty, it was comfortable.  We sometimes complained about how hot the interior of every building in Siberia was.  But we had heat.  Maybe the bathroom didn’t meet my standards, but I felt clean after each bath and I had a place to relieve myself when nature came calling.  And the food–the food was amazing.  I discovered I love Russian food.

Sometimes we see the act of “giving up” one of our pleasures as an act of self-sacrifice during Lent.  But I have to wonder if we’re really giving up anything at all.  Back when I gave up television, I thought I was giving up something that helped my unwind after a busy day…  But I discovered I had far more time to unwind in more productive ways.  More than that, I wasn’t rushing around, trying to finish things I had left undone the day before because I had been distracted by the television.

And for all I thought I was giving up in Russia:  my bed, my personal space, toilet seats, heating systems that can be controlled, familiar food, and the ability to communicate without assistance… I was actually gaining much more.  There are new friends.  There are stories to share for years.  There are new foods.  Who would know that beets make an awesome soup???  The Russians, that’s who!  And the realization that even when all my things are taken away, I have my basic needs more than met, and I am blessed.

Giving up doesn’t mean we are punishing ourselves.  Giving up means we are making room in our lives for something more important.

There was once a time in my life when I wouldn’t have taken that trip to Russia because I wouldn’t be comfortable with everything I’d have to give up in order to go.  I know now that I was a fool back then.  I had no clue what life was about or how to receive, with any sort of gratitude, the blessings and lessons God is giving us each day.

So… as I prepare for Lent in the wake of my return from Christmas in Russia, I do so knowing that what ever I give up isn’t out of any sort of foolish expectation that I’m setting myself right with God.  I’m making room in my life, so that God can enter in and set me straight. I’m giving up the things that keep me from seeing and hearing God so that I can be with God.  When I think of that way, I realize I’m not really giving up much of anything, but gaining everything!

An Appalachian In Red Square

Had you told that twelve-year-old version of me that I would one day be standing, jaw hanging agape, in the middle of Red Square, I would have laughed you out of town.  Me?  In Red Square?

But it happened.

We clambered out of the bus and followed Yelena through a pedestrian underpass… and as I emerged with St. Basil’s Cathedral standing before me, I felt a lump in my throat.  I had seen this cathedral in photographs all my life, and had always been struck by the beautiful, brightly colored Orthodox domes rising into the sky… but to see it with my own eyes was nothing short of amazing.

For a few moments we stood near the cathedral, my eyes darting from one sight to another.  To my left was the Kremlin Wall… and the Kremlin clock tower… and that strange, cubic pyramid-looking thing… why, that was Lenin’s grave.  And that long, beautiful building to my right outlined tastefully in white holiday lights was nothing less than the GUM.  I’m not usually the type of person to care about shopping malls, but the notion of a mall that dates backs to the 19th century was mind-boggling to me.

As I stood there, trying to take in the full effect of being in a place that had always seemed so far away, I couldn’t help but recall how this had been a place of infamy for Americans (and the Western World) for a very long time.  But standing in the shadow of St. Basil’s on those beautiful red paving stones, I was struck by only the beauty and the history of the place.

That night, as I lay in bed, reflecting on the day’s events, I found myself once again pondering the idea of what makes a person an enemy… and what justifies hatred.

Many of the people we were with were my parents’ age–and I’m sure, that like my parents, they had grown up being taught to hate the other.  For my parents, the hatred was directed at the “Ruskies”.  And for the good people we were spending time with in Tomsk and Moscow, the hatred was directed at the “Yankees.”  For that matter, until my early teens, we were still watching movies like “Red Dawn“, and still worrying that the Russians were going to steal our freedom.  So what changed?

Sure.. the wall came down.  Yes, the Soviet Union collapsed.  But weren’t the people still the same?  It was not as if the wall was dismantled and suddenly everyone living on the other side of it had been magically transformed…

Or maybe there was a transformation.

I am reminded of an insightful discussion we had in New Testament class in seminary.  The debate centered around the story of the Syrophoenician woman in Mark 7:25-30.  Jesus had come to bring salvation to the Israelites, and so when this Greek woman approaches him seeking the salvation of her daughter, Jesus brushes here aside with what felt like a rather crass comment, “It isn’t right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”  But this woman, who had basically just been called a dog, defends her right to ask for mercy.  ”Even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs,” she said.  Jesus found favor in her argument and offered her daughter healing.

Now, there are many ways to look at this story.  Was Jesus testing the woman?  Was Jesus using the woman as a teaching moment for the disciples?  Was Jesus setting the example for universal salvation?  Or was Jesus’ own mission expanding at that moment to include the Gentiles?  Each interpretation holds an important revelation…

But what if Jesus’ discussion with that woman really had generated a transformation in his ministry?  What does that say for us?

Certainly not a single one of the Russians I met on my journey were an enemy to be condemned… but the adolescent version of me would have thought they were.  And then the world began to change… and a transformation began to happen in my own soul.  I began to question who were my enemies and why.  I began to see a people in a whole new light.  And my heart began to grow.

Now, a thirty-four year old me can honestly say, “Yes, these people are as worthy of salvation as I am.  They are my brothers.  They are my sisters.  And I love them.”

Maybe Jesus’ mission and ministry transformed as he debated with the Syrophoenician woman so that we, too, could learn to transform our own narrow versions of mission and ministry.  Just as Jesus opened his heart to offer salvation to one of “the others”, we too, are encouraged to open our heart and to see “the others” as our family.

I don’t know how what sort of transformation happened in the lives and hearts of the crowd in Red Square, but I know that something deep in my heart and soul  certainly transformed as this Appalachian preacher stood in the middle of Red Square:  I learned to love a little more deeply.

God, Billy Joel, and the Berlin Wall: It Was Meant To Be

I’ve never left the country before.  I had never even made it across the border to Canada or Mexico.  So, naturally, the question was posed, “Why Russia?”

I guess it does seem a strange destination for a person’s first venture outside of her national boundaries.  Maybe a trip down to Cancun, or up to Nova Scotia would have made more sense.  But I don’t often do things for the sake of making sense.  I do things for the sake of following a path traced out by God’s own finger.  And it just so happens to be that a trip to Russia has been on my mind and on my heart for a very long time.

I blame Billy Joel for placing the first inkling of  a curiosity about that strange and mysterious land hiding behind the Iron Curtain in my head.  It was 1989, I was twelve years old and in the seventh grade, and Mr. Joel released his eleventh studio album and became a permanent fixture in my life.  Hidden on the B side of the Storm Front album, was a gem of a song called Leningrad.

As I listened to the story of Billy’s encounter with a circus clown named Viktor (whom he had met after a performing a concert in the Soviet Union in 1987), I began to realize that maybe the world wasn’t as black and white as it seemed.  Just as Billy and Viktor would discover how much they had in common despite being raised as enemies, I was beginning to see the world from a new perspective.

Within a year of that 1989 musical revelation, the Berlin Wall fell.  Two Germanys became one.  The images of crowds of young men and women climbing over the wall seemed a far contrast from those old videos I had watched in history class of desperate men and women fleeing through barbed wire and being gunned down by armed guards.  This was a new world.  This was a promising world.  Gunfire had given way to concerts.  Barbed wire had given way to hammers and chisels that chipped away at the things that divide and opened up brand new possibilities for peace and unity.

And by the time I was finishing up my junior high school career, the Soviet Union had collapsed.  Who were we to be afraid of, now?  If the Soviet Union was no more, who was going to point their nuclear weapons at the Kanawha Valley?  Who were going to be the villains in our movies?

And so it just happened to be that I began high school in a new era.  I would get my first kiss, take my first driving lesson, and hold my first job in a world that was completely different from anything my parents or grandparents had known.  Their world had been locked in a stalemate of an armaments race no one could possibly win.  Their world had been divided by a wall of concrete and an imaginary curtain of iron that was cold and callous from either side.  But my world was wide open.

And then, a dozen years ago, an early twenty-something version of me stopped by a bulletin board in my church and thumbed through the United Methodist Volunteers in Mission flyers on display.  Each one seemed intriguing.  Each one seemed like a terrific experience.  And each one seemed out of my grasp… but one jumped out at me.  One just sort of rose up from its thumbtacked position and slapped me in the face and said, “This one is for you!”  It was announcing a Christmas-time trip to Russia… and although I would drop the flyer back into its place and walk away, God had taken hold of my heart.

What Billy Joel had started, God was going to finish.

It took a while… but I finally couldn’t ignore God’s call to get up and go any longer.  Between God, Billy Joel, and the Berlin Wall, it was just meant to be:  I went to Russia.

Putting Pen to Paper (Sort Of)

It’s been a while since I’ve done any blogging… and so I figured this was as good a time as any to take it up again.  And while I’m at it, I might as well move my personal blog over to WordPress, where everything else I manage is housed (sorry, Blogspot… it’s not you, it’s me).

Of course, when I launched this new blog, my intention was to begin by keeping a daily diary of my recent mission trip to Siberia and Russia.  Go figure, there wasn’t any internet access in Siberia!  So, that grande idea fell through, and I am once again left to my own devices.  [Insert maniacal laugh here].  So, what that means is that now I get to do things in a style more fitting of my very non-linear train of thoughts.  Rather than a chronological accounting of our trip, I get to reflect in my own random, chaotic way!

So… here we go!