Elizabeth II, Queen, Quiet Revolutionary, Pastor?

Being a Jesus-loving pastor ought to make me at least distrustful of unearned privileges, of which the Crown is a clear symbol. The British Monarchy has what it has because of some of the worst colonial behavior the world has ever seen. The very jewels in the crown, many of which were pillaged from colonies, are symbols of arrogance, unapologetically displaying how Europeans felt themselves superior to people of color, entitled to simply take what they wanted, regardless of the oppression, violence, poverty, or chaos they left behind. This kind of monarchy ought to disgust me. (For the record, I think it’s starting to disgust some members of the Royal family too.) 

So why am I near tears, as I consider the death of Elizabeth II? 

Queen Elizabeth was a human being. She no more chose to be born into her family than any of us do. There are things we can control in life, and things we cannot. We can try to solve problems around us, and we should, but in solving some problems, we sometimes inadvertently create others. When someone is a Queen—a person for whom every single action is minutely scrutinized, even in a constitutional monarchy—all of her actions mattered. Every gesture, every smile, every handshake, dance, horseback ride, reception, portrait, every article of clothing, every word, every pause, chuckle, or tear—for over 70 years—every single thing mattered.

Who among us could withstand that level of examination?

Each of us can only do the best we can under the circumstances of our birth, with the gifts, and limitations God gives us. I believe Queen Elizabeth did far better than most of us would, given her situation, gifts, and limitations.

She’s been called a mother, or grandmother, to her nation, but I believe she also functioned as a pastor to her people, and at times, for the world. (Given her role as Head of the Church of England, I should probably call her priest, but that’s not my nomenclature.) We pastors are also constricted by the roles and relationships in which we find ourselves. Pastors also have privileges by virtue of our office, which we did not necessarily earn, and do not deserve. People scrutinize us, though usually not to quite the same degree. And people nearly always have opinions on what we should do or say, such that whatever we end up doing or saying, we’re bound to disappoint someone we care about. Some want pastors to be revolutionaries, to join every protest, get arrested at every march. Some of my colleagues do this, and do amazing, prophetic work. But others of us, like Elizabeth, are called to different kinds of ministry. Some of us are called to show a way forward, perhaps with a slower pace, but determined nevertheless.

There are those who long for times of a colonial past, times in which their nation showed great dominance and power. I do not believe the Queen was one of these people. But in recognizing the power she did have, she discerned that she was called to illuminate a pathway forward which was different from the history which led to her reign. Like a skilled pastor, manifesting a non-anxious presence, she gracefully navigated her way through all kinds of changes, showing people they need not worry, need not fear the other, need not fear change. As the notion of empire itself was critiqued more and more over her decades on the throne, she physically manifested a quiet revolution. During her reign, she showed the world how a crown could evolve from representing power over people, into to a symbol of service, compassion, and understanding. Rather than look down her nose at the diversity of the world like her predecessors, Queen Elizabeth delighted in diverse cultural expressions with joy. Like a skilled pastor serving a congregation around which the world is changing against their will, her calm presence provided an example of how pluralism might evolve out of a colonial past.

The world undoubtedly needs revolutionaries, people who hold up mirrors, and reveal to us the parts of ourselves we don’t want to see. But we also need pastors, people to love us in spite of our brokenness, and quietly show us how to be better.

Such is the kind of leadership to which Elizabeth was called, the kind of leadership at which she was truly exceptional. Rest in peace, Your Majesty. And well done, good, and faithful servant.

Dear Anti-Maskers: An Open Letter

In the third year of this global pandemic, enough is long past enough. We know masks work. You know masks work.

You are not brave. Your temporary discomfort is more important to you than facing the truth that you might a) be sick, and b) could pass that on to others. Brave people do not melt in the gentle breeze of communal reality. Brave people toughen up, show the world what they can do, accept the adversity, and put the mask on. 

You are not compassionate. Wearing a mask in public is quite possibly the least anyone will ever ask you to do in consideration of a stranger, and you're failing. 

You are not doing anything "for the children." On the contrary, you're demonstrating to children that it's more important to be comfortable than compassionate. We used to agree that it was important for kids to learn cooperation, teamwork, humility. But you are telling children that no one matters besides them. 

You are not virtuous. You are making planes turn around in midair because you can't be inconvenienced for a couple of hours. 

You are not patriotic. Patriots try to protect and defend their fellow citizens. Protecting and defending each other isn't always about taking up arms. Sometimes it's just sharing resources, taking turns, only taking what you need, making sure that your neighbors have as much of a chance at getting through a hard time as you do. It is a national embarrassment that vaccination rates in this country have more to do with political party than any other demographic. 

You are not faithful to your God. Every major world religion puts compassion among its highest values. Fighting against masks, or vaccines, or any other mitigations, shows your true colors--that you care more about self than anything else, which is almost certainly a violation of your religious tradition. 

I get it. You're angry. You're feeling out of control. I understand those feelings. None of us likes being told what to do. Some of you have legitimate beefs about the ways these mitigations have changed your life. But your anger is not coming from a place of rationality. It's coming from grief. Or tribalism, refusing to concede any ground to your political opponent. Whatever is the source of your selfishness--it's long past time to give it up and let go. The pandemic is ample evidence that your deeply held convictions are based in the fantasy of independence. If freedom comes at the expense of accountability to each other, that's not freedom. It's tyranny. 

We live in an interdependent world, like it or not. The sooner we all face that and act like it, the sooner we can get on with making the world better for all of us. 

Pain is Truth

[The following may be inspired by recent events, but it's intended as a more general comment on survival. Please do not flood my comment thread with defenses for Judge Kavanaugh. I'm not interested.] 

If someone's hurting, does it matter what others think about it? If you're hurting, you're the only one who knows what hurts, and how much. You are the one who knows what you can and can't do, what movements make it worse, and what brings you comfort. Each of us is the only expert on our own pain, and that's why I think pain is truth.

For example, I've never broken my arm. But I believe the people who have broken their arm, who tell me it hurts. I don't question their right to have that pain. I don't tell them they should be bouncing back quicker, or that they should stop complaining about itchy casts. Because I've never experienced it.

Why should sexual assault/abuse be any different? 

Pain is not something anyone else gets to pass judgment on, because it creates its own truth for the person in pain. It's their real, lived experience. It's true whether or not the one who inflicted that pain admits or remembers it. It's true whether or not there's physical evidence. Pain is truth and it's truth that requires no one's corroboration. 

To my skeptical readers, of course there are things like Munchausen, or psychosomatic cases, or other rare exceptions. Clearly those aren't the cases I'm talking about, and clearly those are a significant minority of cases. Just listen to what I'm saying. Consider the people around you who've been through some shit. And just stop arguing/defending. Just listen to the pain. 

Because pain is truth. And when someone listens to you, and believes you, that's when healing can begin.

Needing Church on a Bad Day

Between the hurricanes, the earthquake, the fires out west, the announcement of the end of DACA, and all of the programming we were starting at church, I felt like I had so many balls in the air on Sunday morning, that I really needed church. I needed the music, the prayer, and the company. Church happens when we get together to sing, to pray, to laugh, to catch up with each other, and to lift ourselves up with the good news that God’s love is bigger than whatever burdens we’re carrying. That’s what I needed on Sunday, and I got it. So thank you church! 

Some folks think coming to church means showing your best to the world. We get dressed up, put on our smiling faces, try to keep our kids on their best behavior, and come to Sunday morning worship, because that’s what “good” people do. We greet each other with cheerfulness, and when someone asked how we were, we’d say, “Fine! How’re you?”   

But what if you’re really not fine? What if you can’t even fake it? Should you stay home those days? 

Nope. In fact, those are the days you need church the most. 

Church is not a museum for priceless masterpieces, sculpted for perfection, curated so that the experience as you pass through is sophisticated and perfect. On the contrary, church is gathering of real human beings, imperfect people, who don’t have everything figured out. They may be struggling with depression, angry with their family members, or feeling a little lost or hopeless. 

Church is a hospital for those who have been through some stuff. 

When someone at church asks you how you are, you should be able to tell the truth. If you’re feeling lousy, say, “you know what? I’m pretty awful, to be honest.” And if someone says that to you when you ask them how they are, say back to them, “Well thank God you’re here. Come sit with me, and let’s and do church together today.”

Don’t get me wrong—it’s great to have happy, well organized people in church! In fact, we should feel joy and gratitude for our blessings. More to the point, if you’re in a good place on any given Sunday, you can be that person who says, “Well thank God you’re here!” 

Someday in the future, when you’re having a bad Sunday, the person you sat with when they were a wreck, they will have your back. They will sit with you and do church with you when you really need a reminder that we’re in it together, and God’s got our back. 

Life is not a cake walk my friends. It’s more like musical chairs—a bit of a scramble, and sometimes there aren’t enough seats. But we’ve got a place for everyone, and when the music stops, God will meet us in church.

Hate Speech?

On the afternoon of June 19th, I read a Facebook message from Schmaltz Deli, saying they’d been the victims of a hate crime. Someone had painted an antisemitic message on the restaurant in front of their store at Ogden and Naper Blvd. I was upset, and shared my love and support for them in the comment thread. I want Naperville to be a diverse community that affirms people of all faiths and no faith.

And then I found out the text of the alleged hate speech: “Free Gaza.”

To be sure, I don’t know everything about the Israel/Palestine conflict. I know enough to be careful in what can be a volatile, emotional conversation, one in which other people have a much larger stake than I do. However, when I read that, I felt like I had been manipulated, like my goodwill and interfaith commitments had been taken for granted. Is a legitimate political statement, “hate speech”? Would “Free Ireland” spray painted on a British pub be “hate speech”?

Then this weekend, there was a protest at the pride march in Chicago by activists. They were protesting a number of things, but one thing they did was ask those with Israeli pride flags to leave. One of the protesters’ concerns is the “pinkwashing” of Israel’s violations against Palestinians. (They don’t want folks to forget Israel’s occupation and mistreatment of Palestinians because Israel happens to be good with LGBTQ rights.) Opponents of these critics quickly called them anti-semitic for dismissing the Israeli pride flags.

Some people I love might strongly disagree with me. But there has to be a difference between political speech, legitimate political disagreement, and hate speech. 

Spray painting a sidewalk in front of a Jewish deli in Naperville is silly. It’s like spray painting, “No DAPL” on a gas station in Finland. A Finish gas station has as much to do with the Dakota Access Pipeline as a Naperville deli has to do with how the state of Israel treats Palestinians. Protesting the pride march is just as silly. It attacks those most likely to be allies of other oppressed people, when the real people who need to hear the protest are thousands of miles away. But referring to legitimate political expression, albeit out of place or poorly timed, as “hate”, that just raises everyone’s anxiety. It makes genuine dialogue harder, and decreases the chance to build understanding. 

Peacebuilding is hard. It’s the work of a lifetime. So let’s not shoot ourselves in the foot by overreacting to some individuals’ silly choices.