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. 

Ash Wednesday Moment

I have never really figured out Ash Wednesday. As a west coast kid, the only people who did the ash-on-their-foreheads were Catholic, so it wasn't really much of a thing for me. We didn't even have church that day. Now that I'm serving a congregation in the midwest, we participate in an ecumenical evening service with our Methodist neighbors, where we do the traditional ashes-on-the-forehead for everyone at the end of the service. I've come to appreciate consecrating ourselves as fragile and fallible at the beginning of Lent.  

But being Facebook friends with clergy all over the country, my Ash Wednesday is filled with people offering "ashes to go", offering ashes on folks' foreheads in a public place, e.g. as they board the train for work. Colleagues I know and love do it every year, but I confess, I really don't like this practice. It smacks of Christian hegemony and privilege in a pluralistic world--an assumption that people would appreciate such a display of one particular religion's penitential practice. 

Every Wednesday for most of the year, we host homeless guests in our church building for meals and for shelter overnight. As I was leaving after last night's service, still grumbling to myself about spectacle and practice of the whole Ash Wednesday thing, one of our guests, who was having a cigarette outside, stopped me, and asked if I had ashes. I had some in my office, so I went back, got them, got my thumb dirty again, and said to her, "Remember you are as fragile as ashes, and as precious as stardust*," as I made the sign of the cross on her forehead. 

Here I am, a west-cost-raised, rationalistic pastor, who still doesn't totally get Ash Wednesday, let alone why total strangers would appreciate getting ashes from me, and in the last two minutes of my day, a woman who slept on our church floor last night came to me seeking a blessing on her forehead. 

For as much as I sometimes feel like I've got something powerful or witty or thoughtful to say about complex and deep issues, there are so many more times like this in my life--times when I'm left speechless at the wonder and beauty of the mystery in front of me; times when Jesus shows up and keeps me humble.

And all I have to say, is "Wow." Thanks be to God. 



*The traditional words are, "remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return." That's too foreboding for me, so I change it, inspired in part by one of my wonderful mentors, the Rev. Dr. JoAnne Terrell.

World Series of Racism

It's October. The Chicago Cubs and Cleveland Indians are about to face each other in the World Series. I'm surrounded by ecstatic Cub fans here in the Chicago suburbs, and have more than a few Cleveland fans in my Facebook feed. I'm a Mariners fan who worked at Fenway while in college, but it's a lot of fun to cheer on the Cubs and see them succeed after so many years of disappointment. 

There's something in the underbelly of this year's World Series though, that is eating at me. Like so much of American life, there's a lot on the surface to get excited about. But you don't have to go too deep to expose something ugly, the racism and classism which are unfortunately as ubiquitous a part of our national experience as our love of sports. 

Cleveland's baseball team is named, "the Indians," of course, which in and of itself isn't great. Some teams with that name have shown a way to work with it. Cleveland's Chief Wahoo mascot however, is embarrassingly racist. The picture of the smiling Native American, reducing hundreds of tribes, and rich cultural traditions to a cartoon stereotype? Come on people. It's the 21st century for crying out loud. It's time to retire Chief Wahoo for good. 

And the Cubs? Nothing wrong with their mascot of course, but the Cubs are not Chicago's only baseball team. 

Chicago is a divided city folks. It's a city divided by race and class. The neighborhoods have changed over the years, but there's still defacto segregation in many of them. Nothing illustrates this clearer than Chicago baseball. On the North Side, it's overwhelmingly white, and Cub fans, and the suburbanites tend to identify with them. Then there's the South Side, overwhelmingly Sox fans, overwhelmingly black and Latinx. There are a few Sox fans in the 'burbs, but it's mostly Cub fans.

The White Sox won the World Series in 2005, but you'd never know it when you hear from national sports commentators about how Chicago has waited so long for a World Series. 

What bothers me is the ways that baseball fandom here allows us to camouflage the city's divisions into a sports rivalry, rather than bring these issues into the open and talk about them as real and important. It's socially acceptable to talk about how the Sox ballpark (which should always be called Comiskey) is in a "dangerous" neighborhood, or it's somehow scarier for suburbanites to go to a Sox game, than to visit the "friendly confines" of Wrigley Field.  (For the record, this isn't scientific, but I've visited both ball parks and enjoy them both. I've only ever seen someone get arrested at Wrigley.) 

Assumptions about race and class are all around us in metro-Chicago. Living as a white person in the 'burbs, it's assumed I would be a Cubs fan. When my wife and I were first moving here, a white person in Washington state asked where we were going to live, quickly adding, "north side, of course," as if there were no other option for middle class white people. I've deliberately avoided picking a side in the Chicago baseball rivalry, because, well, I gotta stay loyal to my Mariners, but I don't like the ways this rivalry further deepens the divisions of an otherwise great city. 

I wish we could talk about the fact that Chicago is a different city for people of color vs. white people--in where they live, in where they work, go to school, and how they interact with the police and other city services. We ought not be able to so casually disregard the differences between North side and South side as if it's nothing more than a baseball rivalry. The divisions in this city are serious, and they are deep. They deserve our thoughtful and focused attention. 

Maybe some common ground can can start the conversation. Can we talk about the sorry state of the Chicago Bears?

Hey Guys, Can We Talk?

This one's for all the guys out there. 

You know how everyone's losing their minds about the conversation between Donald Trump and Billy Bush? You know how Republicans are falling over themselves to un-endorse Trump, and the GOP is trying to figure out the best way to lose this election? You know how Hillary supporters are pointing and shouting, while also being really happy to see Donald self-destruct? 

I don't want to talk about any of that. 

I want to talk to you about the fact that this conversation is one we have all heard, if not also participated in. I want to talk about the fact that you and I both know guys who talk about women this way, who have done it shamelessly, while being considered the coolest guys in the room. We know that the objectification of women's bodies is something we brag about, something we laugh at, and something we use to make ourselves feel like men. We've heard this conversation in the locker room, in college dorms and frat houses, and you know we've heard it in board rooms. 

You and I know that the problem will not go away if Trump goes away. We know this because the one thing Trump may be telling the truth about is when he said Bill Clinton said similar, or worse, on the golf course. This doesn't surprise us at all. 

What's worse, you know that guys who tried to stop it, who stood up and said, "could you please stop talking about women like they're objects?" You know these are the guys who got laughed at, beat up, ostracized, questioned for their manhood or sexuality. 

Guys - we know this problem is so much worse than Donald Trump. And as Rachel Held Evans said on Facebook yesterday, "Misogyny is not a 'tone' problem, it's a sin problem." It's a sin problem because we are treating our sisters, wives, daughters, and mothers as if they are not human, not beautiful, holy beings, made in God's image. 

Before we send Trump out into the wilderness to take our sins on his back as a scapegoat, let's spend a little time in front of a mirror, a little time in confession, and a lot of time apologizing for creating the world in which a man like Donald Trump can even get to where he is. 

Faith is Political

Last week, I was at my fall Bethany Fellows retreat, with 30-odd other young clergy, and we got to meet Sr. Simone Campbell (the nun who started the “Nuns on the Bus” tour). Sr. Simone has been involved in social justice advocacy for nearly 40 years, fighting on behalf of the poor, lobbying in Washington, D.C.. She talked about Paul’s metaphor for the church being the Body of Christ, and how, after some discernment, she has come to see her role in the Body, as the stomach acid. She didn’t go into great depth about this, but one might imagine the Body of Christ (again, we're talking about the Church) needing a little indigestion every now and then as motivation to live a healthier lifestyle. 

The main thing Sr. Simone told us, and what I’ll always remember her saying, was, “faith has political consequences.” 

Wait, what? 

Faith is supposed to be private in our culture, something we keep to ourselves and don’t talk about. 

Political consequences? That would mean we might have to be more open about our faith, to come out of the closet even, as a person of faith. 

Are you sure about that Sister?

Every four years we have, “the most important election in our lifetime”. But this time—this is certainly the most consequential election that I think we’ve seen in a very long time. The consequences of our voting (or not voting as it were) could be significant. But I don’t think Sr. Simone was just talking about elections. I think the idea of faith having political consequences is that all of us need to realize that what we say we believe has an impact on the life we live as citizens in an interdependent world. 

If your faith calls you to be compassionate to refugees, your faith isn’t just depending on you to vote, it’s calling you to pick refugees up at the airport, help them learn English, and help them to get a job. If your faith calls you to be compassionate toward the poor, your faith isn’t just calling on you to vote, it’s calling upon you to look at the economic structures of society that depend upon poor people to stay in debt, or, the systems that deny hardworking people a living wage and affordable housing. If your faith calls you to dismantle white supremacy in our society, your faith isn’t just depending on you to vote, your faith is calling on you to talk to your police departments and demand that they treat all citizens with decency and humanity. It’s calling on you to contact your school districts to make sure that discipline and academic standards are applied with justice, and not favoring white students over black students. 

Faith has political consequences. This does mean you need to vote. But if you believe what you say you believe, about how God’s children are treated in this world, then you can’t stop there. 

What are the political consequences of your faith?

Sitting Out the National Anthem

Since 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick decided to take a seat for the National Anthem a few weeks ago, the internet has been losing its mind. This Sunday, my team, the Seattle Seahawks, are supposedly all sitting or kneeling, or something other than standing reverently, for the National Anthem.  

Throughout our history, liberals and conservatives have occasionally been able to unify and celebrate our nation in spite of our differences of opinion. One way we do this is by honoring our national symbols - the flag, the national anthem, and of course, our military. We may have political disagreements about the conflicts in which our military women and men find themselves engaged, however, what they experience in those engagements is worthy of our honor and respect. We should save our criticisms for the politicians who choose the conflicts, not take out our anger on those who pay the highest prices for them. 

Having the national anthem at sporting events however, has become more than a symbol of unity, it's become a ritual for us, a kind of national ritual, taking the place of a religious ritual. It is nice to be able to transcend religious difference, to have something upon which Christian, Jew, Muslim, non-believer can all come together to celebrate. But when someone choosing not to participate is treated as if they're some kind of secular infidel, this ought to be a wake-up call to us that what is supposed to be a secular experience of national pride has become instead a religious expression with an "orthodox" and "heretical" way of expressing it.

So let's get this straight. First, how one feels about their country is not the same feeling as how they feel about it's military members. Second, loving one's country is not required for citizenship. Thoughts and feelings are not compulsory in this country. We get to disagree with each other. We get to be upset about things our government is doing, and we get to show our disagreement through speech, protest, assemblies, and by sitting down when everyone else is standing up. 

To exercise this freedom is not a heretical denial of patriotism, it is rather, a faithful expression of it. 

Dear Hollywood: Please Leave Your Sunglasses at Home

I don't usually cry that often. Rarely for people I've never met. Last night, and again this morning, I cried for Robin Williams. 

Aladdin, Mrs. Doubtfire, Good Will Hunting, The Birdcage, Awakenings, even Happy Feet - his ability to tell stories is unmatched. 

But his character in Dead Poets Society, John Keating, changed my life. He spoke to me in ways for which words are insufficient. Into my small town world of conformity and limited possibility as a teenager, came this remarkable teacher who taught his students that their passions mattered, that their dreams mattered, that they had the ability to love and be loved. Keating had courage, he had a joie de vivre that inspired a bunch of 1950s teenage boys to sneak out of their dorms in the middle of the night to read poetry, of all things. 

He's probably at least 60% of the reason I was an English major. 

Keating told his students, "We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering - these are all noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love - these are what we stay alive for." 

In the end, like the powers of conformity beat John Keating down, and got him fired from his job as a teacher, so too did the powers of depression beat down an incredible man, an incredible story teller, a man who knew the full expanse - height and depth, breadth and width - of the human soul. 

And so I cry. 

I have a suggestion to make for his friends in Hollywood. Usually they wear sunglasses to a funeral to hide their tears, to hide their puffy, red eyes, so that their image can remain unscathed. But for Robin, in recognition of his depression, I think the world should see sadness. I think we should see what crying looks like. I think we should see what pain looks like. I don't think we should hide it. I think we should feel it, and know how sad we are to lose such a man in this way. 

I know there's a difference between clinical depression and sadness. But part of the stigma around depression is that we have some kind of fake understanding of reality, that sadness is something to avoid. But sadness, grief, loss, it's all part of the human experience. It's not something to fear, and it's not something to hide. If we try to avoid it, that only makes the stigma of depression worse.  

So Hollywood - leave the sunglasses at home. Let the world see you cry. Don't be ashamed of your humanity. Embrace it. For Robin. 

Rest in peace Mr. Williams. For your incredible life - your passion, your humor, your sensitivity, your wisdom - thank you. You will always be my Captain. 

I'm going to get a Kleenex now. 

What if Israelis and Palestinians Followed the Golden Rule?

When you were a child, did anyone tell you to, “treat others the way you want to be treated”? I heard it. Of course, I interpreted this by thinking that if someone is treating me the way they want to be treated and they’re being mean, they must want me to be mean back to them. Right? It took me a while to get over myself about that. 

What is it about adulthood that we forget the most basic things we learned in our earliest years? 

I’ll never forget that on the night of the Columbine tragedy, President Clinton came on TV and told us that we’ve got to teach out children how to solve problems with other means than through violence. At the exact same time, American planes were dropping bombs on Kosovo. 

Now as adults, we can rationalize this, and talk about whether or not the use of force in that instance actually helped protect life. There are all kinds of complicating factors and exceptions, and it could be argued that that act of violence did prevent a greater evil. But the bottom line is that our nation was using violence to solve a problem. How can we expect kids to see that and conclude that they should never use violence to solve their problems? 

From Afghanistan to Iraq, there is sufficient evidence to at least raise the question - was it worth it? Was the fighting we did there worth the cost? Did the violence we inflicted, or the violence we suffered, actually solve anything or bring about more justice and mercy? With the rise of Isis and the return of the Taliban, I think there’s at least something to talk about. 

My heart breaks for what’s happening in Israel/Palestine right now. It’s very difficult to know what’s really going on with a lack of objective information available in our media, but whether your sympathies lie with the Israelis or Palestinians, everyone is losing right now. From the Israeli Defense Force invading Gaza, killing civilians, even children, to the Hamas rockets - no one is winning anything here. No one is gaining security. No one is gaining stability. No one is gaining freedom. Everyone is suffering. The extreme violence unleashed there is making everyone suffer. It’s not fair and it’s not going to solve anything. Neither side is treating the other the way they want to be treated. 

Paraphrasing President Jimmy Carter, we will never resolve our differences by killing each other’s children. He’s right. We’ve got to put down the guns. We’ve got to be more courageous. We’ve got to be more compassionate. We’ve got to remember the lessons of our childhood innocence, and maybe then, we can reach an adult maturity. 

Marathon Spirit

In the spring of 1996, I was finishing up my freshman year at Boston College. It was also the 100th running of the Boston Marathon that year. I made my way down to the finish to see it, and I can tell you, it was quite an event. 

Usually someone has to qualify to participate in the Boston Marathon, but for the 100th running, they let more runners in, if they raised a certain amount of sponsorship. These additional people weren’t all in the same condition that Boston Marathon runners may more typically exhibit. In other words, not everyone finished in under four hours. Or five. Or six, and I think some were still out there at seven and eight hours. 

I saw the first runners come into Copley Square, those elite bodies, practically jogging down Boylston street as if they’d just started a mile ago. We all cheered for them, and were so impressed with their accomplishment. I watched for a little while and then walked back around through the Boston Common to take in some of the sights. A few hours later, I had circled back to the finish line again - to see the folks coming in several hours after the winners.

I remember their facial expressions and body language being very different from what I had seen just a few hours ago. Far from relaxed and nonchalant, these folks were in pain. They looked utterly depleted. I imagine many of them headed straight for the medical tent after crossing that beautiful blue and yellow, 4’ wide finish line that was painted across Boylston St.; but in addition to the pain they must’ve felt, they also showed incredible relief, pride, and joy at just having completed the Boston Marathon, regardless of their time. 

Yesterday as I watched the scenes after the bombings in Boston, I had a lot of thoughts going through my head. Some of my earliest thoughts were for the runners - for those I knew had trained months, if not years for the chance to cross that line, and how many of them didn't get the chance to do that yesterday.

Of course my love and prayers go to everyone who was affected, and their families, along with the whole city of Boston. But I think it’s important that we especially remember the runners.

To be honest, I think it’s a very strange desire to want to run 26.2 miles. But these men and women push the human body to its limits, and they remind us of just how much we can accomplish if we just work hard and pour ourselves into something. Marathon runners remind us of the rewards of long-term commitment, sticking through something for the long haul, not just instant gratification. I don’t know if I could ever run a marathon, but marathon runners will always inspire me with their irrepressible spirit. 

May all of us, in the wake of this tragedy, be inspired by that marathon spirit, and may we persevere against hatred, resist vengeance, and remember that the struggle against fear and intolerance is a marathon - it’s going to take a while. It might be painful and exhausting. But no matter what our time is in the end, imagine the incredible relief, pride, and joy at just having completed the effort. 

What's Good About Good Friday?

My nearly six year old daughter asked me yesterday, “Why is Good Friday called that?” Despite the fact that I’m an ordained Christian minister, trained and supposedly able to answer questions such as this, my reaction was probably very similar to how anyone might react when asked such a deep question, with significant theological ramifications. I panicked. I mean, this is the religious equivalent of “Where do babies come from?”!

I said to her, out loud, trying to psych myself up, “I’m supposed to be able to answer that question, aren’t I.” 

In some traditions, they don’t blink at telling a kindergartener - “Because Jesus died for our sins on Good Friday. That’s why.” But I don’t want to give my daughter such an overly simplistic answer, especially one I don’t think fully covers the question. What happened on Good Friday was truly awful. Scandalous even. I don’t want to be the kind of parent that hides the truth from his kids, but nor do I want to give my kids more than they can developmentally handle at their age. 

So what’s a parent and a pastor supposed to do? 

We had a conversation at our church council meeting the other day about having a good bad day. And as it turned out, I think a lot of us came to understand that it is possible to have a bad day, that turns out to be good. We might’ve learned something important on that “bad” day. We might’ve been inspired to turn our lives in a different direction. Or, were it not for a particular event, we might not have met someone who turned out to be incredibly significant in our lives. To put it in another way, sometimes “bad” days, really aren’t all that bad. 

Bad and good sound like they should be different enough from each other that we should be able to easily tell the difference. But Good Friday is a perfect example of something that breaks down that theory of "good" being unambiguously good, and "bad" being unambiguously bad. Good and bad have a far closer relationship with each other than we sometimes admit. 

I ended up telling my daughter that when Jesus was killed, it was a bad day. It was very sad. But what it means is that no matter how bad of a day we have, God knows exactly how we feel, and is with us every step of the way. And the story ended up even better for Jesus, as we’ll hear on Easter morning. 

But in the meantime, I hope you’ll join me in the tough questions of this Holy Week. It’s nice to know we’re not alone - even when things seem really bad. 

Wailing, Lamentation, Weeping

"A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more." -Matthew 2:18

Every night, when I tuck my five year old into bed, she wraps her arms around my neck and gives me kisses. Every night, she doesn't want to let go, and I have to pull away, as it's really a bit of a stall tactic. Tonight, I held on to her as long as I could. She has no idea about what happened today in Connecticut. So I didn't hold onto her for her benefit, it was totally for me. 

Tonight, I didn't care that my 7-month-old spit up on my clothes, I just watched him chew on his Taggies toy that was also drenched in spit-up and drool, and loved watching him figure out how to move his hands around. 

I read an annoying princess book to my three-year-old, hardly paying attention to the words, as I wondered about what stories will help her handle such terrible events when she grows up. 

And as I came downstairs to my wife, a school psychologist in an elementary school, I could not help but be overwhelmed for Newtown, CT; for the parents who will never again get to read to their son or daughter, never again feel those arms around their neck or those slobbery kisses on their cheek. I could not but think of the families of Sandy Hook's school psychologist, the principal, and the other adults who dedicated their lives to building children into healthy young people, and who are no longer with us.

I am sick over this. Utterly sick. And furious. 

If anyone thinks for one second that I give a damn about someone's hobby, or that the second amendment is more important to this country than the sweet children who were lambs to the slaughter this morning, you are sorely mistaken. 

To the National Rifle Association and your cronies - you are a demonic force in our society. 

If you care more about your passtime than the precious lives of our children, you are sick. If you think this is some kind of protection against an out-of-control government, you are paranoid and delusional. 

If you start to tell me that people kill people, not guns, look into the faces of the parents who lost their babies today and tell them that. If you want to tell me it's too early to talk about gun control in the wake of this shooting, you could not be more wrong. For the students, staff, and families of Sandy Hook, it literally cannot be soon enough.

When I look into the eyes of my kindergartener, and I think about what might happen if someone walked into her classroom with one of these weapons, I am completely terrified. If we cannot have an honest, frank, sincere conversation in this country about sensible protections for the sake of our children, then we do not deserve the freedoms our Constitution provides. 

10 Arguments I'm Tired of Having

I'm getting increasingly tired of people claiming to be Christian, and at the same time, claiming that ignorance, discrimination, sexism, hatred, and intolerance are an inherent part of their religion. This is not the Christianity that I believe, nor is it consistent with my reading of Jesus. 

So here are 10 arguments I'm tired of having - in no particular order. 

1. Neither women's capacity to reproduce, nor their right to autonomy over that capacity, are a threat to Christianity.

2. Jesus told us to welcome strangers, not ask for their papers.

3. Jesus told us to feed the hungry and clothe the naked. He did not ask for a drug test first to see if they deserved it. 

4. Jesus healed people. He didn't ask for an insurance card, and he sure as hell didn't say "let 'em die" if they couldn't pay for the care.

5. No one has a divine right to own a gun. I'm pretty sure killing is not cool within Christianity.

6. What would Jesus do? I'm pretty sure he wouldn't claim that any kind of discrimination in his name is an exercise of religious freedom. 

7. Religion and science are not in competition. Knowledge blesses God. Neither science, nor history, nor geology, nor climatology, nor evolution, nor any other kind of scholarship are threatening to God or to Christianity. (If you're the kind of Christian who is threatened by these things, then blame your own lack of imagination, not Christianity.)

8. Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgendered, and queer folks are made in God's image. God loves them. And if Jesus were around in June, I'm pretty sure he'd be marching in pride parades. 

9. I'm a Christian and I think free contraception is a good idea. Might even save lives. Pretty sure there's nothing about Christianity that is in conflict with contraception.

10. The only thing that can be interpreted from the Bible about marriage is that the definition of marriage has evolved over time. No reason why it can't continue to evolve.

US Catholic Bishops Wrong on "Fortnight for Freedom"

I have a deep and abiding respect for the rich tradition and faith of my Roman Catholic sisters and brothers. I also hold a degree from a Jesuit institution. But the current project of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, the so-called “Fortnight for Freedom”, is just plain hypocrisy. 

The genesis of this project is the Health and Human Services Administration’s policy, ensuring free contraception for women from their health insurance providers. The Roman Catholic Church’s position on contraception is not new. But in the United States, a few religious authorities do not have any right to assume authority over citizens who do not share their confessional faith. Thus, the White House and HHS are actually defending religious freedom by protecting those workers who do not agree with Catholic doctrine, even if they're employed by a Catholic institution. 

I understand the opposition to contraception. However, an employee of a Catholic hospital or school should not have fewer rights than others simply because of their employer. A Jewish nurse or Protestant English teacher should be able to access birth control for free, as the same employee might at another workplace. And the Church has no right to prevent her from doing so, nor do they have a right to expect the State to enforce their objection.

In conversations about this topic, the problem tends to come from the money. Folks don’t want to have to pay for something they don’t support. I understand this. But first, it’s neither taxpayer money, nor institutional money being used, it’s the insurance company paying for it. Second, if money spent against one's wishes is problematic, where is the bishops' outrage in Catholics having to pay taxes that pay for wars? Taxes that pay to execute prisoners? Taxes that escalate violence and inhibit peace and justice? 

My hope and prayer is that the US Conference of Catholic Bishops can open their eyes to the many injustices around us - hunger, poverty, mass-incarceration, continuing inequality for people of color, for women, for immigrants, and for many other minorities. Jesus was a lot more concerned about these issues than he was about birth control.

Trayvon Martin: We've Got Work To Do

Over the past several days, I have been deeply touched by the death of 17 year old Trayvon Martin outside Orlando, Florida. I wasn’t there. I don’t know exactly what happened. I do know that the shooter, George Zimmerman, was told by the 911 operator not to follow Trayvon, but Zimmerman followed him anyway, and Trayvon ended up dead.  

President Obama reminded the nation last week that if he had a son, he would look like Trayvon. This touches me deeply, both as a father, and as an American. I know there may be differences of opinion about politics, but no American can deny the magnitude of that statement. For a very long time in this country, the stereotypes of young people of color, particularly African American boys, have been overwhelmingly negative. Now, with the presence of an African American President, a snap judgment about a teenager in a hoodie being up to no good, could be a judgment against our First Family. 

Again, I wasn’t there. And I’m not in Zimmerman’s head. I don’t know how he concluded what he concluded about Trayvon Martin. Was it because Martin was black? I suspect so, but I don’t know for sure. Was it because he was a teenager wearing a hoodie? I don’t know. I do know that Martin isn’t the first one to be baselessly suspected of ill intent, and Zimmerman isn’t the first to get angry over nothing, angry to the point of violence. 

We have a lot in our society to unpack - assumptions about teenagers, assumptions about people wearing a hoodie, and assumptions about race. I strongly believe that we Christians are called to think twice about our assumptions based on surface details. We are called to see beyond our own anxieties and prejudices, to see the human being, the one created in God’s image, that lies on the other side of our own snap judgments. We all feel anxiety from time to time, but if we fail to acknowledge the person of the other, about whom we are anxious, and if we fail to be critical about our anxiety and whether or not it is justified, we may well end up taking the life, or at least denying the humanity of one of God’s beautiful children. 

Playing Catch

I played a game once with a young men’s group when I was in Northern Ireland. There were about a dozen of us, and as we stood in a circle, we tossed a small rubber ball around, across the circle, making sure that each of us had a turn.  Once we established the order in which the ball made it to every person, we repeated the pattern, increasing our speed, until we were comfortable with it. We always received the ball from the same person, and we always threw it to the same person. This helped us establish some non-verbal communication between each other, such as eye contact or reading each other’s movements, which helped us get better at both catching the ball, and making sure it was safe to throw. 

The game increased in intensity, as more and more balls were added to the mix, including differently shaped balls. Then, in an apparently sadistic act, the leader collected the balls, and got out a dozen raw eggs. One at a time, the eggs were thrown, very slowly at first, in the same pattern. They criss-crossed our circle, landing in our carefully cupped hands, being gently tossed as if willed through the air in as cautious an arc as possible. Over a few minutes, our confidence increased, and so did the speed of the game. As we got better and more comfortable with it, we added more eggs. Yes, we did lose one or two, but for the most part, we did pretty well.

I’ve repeated this game with a number of groups since then. I’ve learned some things, such as the fact that raw eggs don’t get along well with wedding rings. I’ve also come to see this game as a really great illustration of how life comes to us. (Except for the part that we always receive from the same person, and give to the same person. That’s not always the case.) But insofar as I have zero control over what comes at me, or how it comes at me, or the speed at which it comes to me, this game perfectly illustrates that this is essentially how we experience life. The ball (or egg) might be thrown high and slow, or fast and straight. All I can do is prepare as best I can, keep my eyes on the ball (egg), cup my hands, and hope to catch it. 

On the other hand, I have complete control over what I pass on to others. If I received the ball fast, I can pass it on slowly. Or if I received the ball from someone with a wicked slider, I can pass along a gentle underhand. If I receive someone’s anger, or frustration, or suffering, I can choose not to pass that along to someone else. The interactions that I have with people are just like this game, in that I can separate my individual response from what is being thrown toward me.

The grace is in God’s ability to help us with the courage, patience, and peace that we need to pass the ball to others with kindness, regardless of how we ourselves received it.

Marshmallows, Bagels and Brownies

I just read an article about a man who loved the marshmallows in Lucky Charms so much, that he bought 1,000 pounds of just the marshmallows, a semi-truck load, so that he wouldn’t have to fish for them in a conventional box of the breakfast cereal.

In the same article, two women collaborated to invent a tool that would scoop out the inside of a bagel. One of them had worked at a bagel shop in high school, and had burned her fingers several times, scooping out the innards of toasted bagels for folks who wanted to save a few calories.

Then there’s the guy who invented the brownie pan that ensures every brownie has some crusty edge on it. He’s already been approached by fans who want him to design other such items, like a pizza pan shaped like a doughnut to maximize crust.

Seriously? 

No offense to these people, who I’m sure are kind-hearted, generous, and are beloved children of God, but my goodness. At what point did they receive a promise that everything around them would be perfect? Who made that promise to them? 

In life, where most of the rest of the world lives, the sweet crunchy marshmallows are a treat, not the norm. If you want a bagel, you eat a bagel. If you want just the skin, try a bag of chips. And in every brownie pan, a little gooeyness must lie. 

Thank God that Jesus didn’t begin his ministry on earth, look around and see how messed up we all were, then said, “Pops, this ain’t going to work. Let’s just pack it in and try another planet.” No, we were created as imperfect. We were made from the dirty and flawed dust of the earth, and God loved us anyway. God then came to us in Jesus, and told us about love, forgiveness, humility, and grace. Christ showed us that in spite of our lack of sweetness, our bagely fullness, or our gooey centers - we are redeemable and we are worthy of God’s love. 

So if you’re tempted to buy sandwiches with the offensive crust already removed, think about your own crustiness for a moment. Then say a little prayer of gratitude to God who loves you anyway.