Show Up, Point, Talk Gospel, and Love


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Tombstone of Chief Red Cloud

The NAACP has just issued its first statewide travel advisory, for Missouri, my home state, saying:

“Individuals traveling in the state are advised to travel with extreme CAUTION,” the advisory warns. “Race, gender and color based crimes have a long history in Missouri.”

In the year 2017, the dozing beast of in-your-face racism has been roughly prodded awake, and the beast is starving and angry.

For over a week, I have been wallowing around in the afterglow of my road-trip vacation.  Nearly three-thousand miles, alone, just so I could rest, re-create, and take photos of our North American landscape.  It was a huge adventure, and definitely more risky than it was when I was younger, but I never lost my agency.  I never expected to lose my agency.  And believe me, I was and am, profoundly aware of how many in this country there are who do not have that same luxury.

How did we get to this place?

Have we really been here all along?

Have I really been that blind?

One of my stops was the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota.  For over two-thirds of my life I have wanted to go there and see the site of the Wounded Knee Massacre.  I knew it would be bad – the poverty, the isolation, the corruption – I’ve kept track enough to know – but when you’re there, and life suddenly steps out of the painting, it’s so much more.

I wanted to go and see the people who were shoved aside to make room for my people – you know, the real illegal immigrants.

I didn’t know what I could do beyond pay my respects, and so I did, but I wanted to look at and know and acknowledge for at least a moment, who was really paying my rent – who was picking up the tab on my comfortable, privileged, lifestyle.

I can move freely between states; I can visit breathtaking sites; eat in local restaurants; stay in local hotels, and know that I’m probably not going to be exploited, harassed, or abused in any way.  I take it for granted; it is how I experience my culture and my world, but what gets swept under the rug is how this American culture is built on a flimsy foundation of hatred, insecurity and the highest percentage of juvenile pettiness recorded so far.

I read a story today written by a black woman who was describing her own recent cross-country road trip.  She had her kids with her and decided to stop at a Cracker Barrel in Texas for lunch.  Well, it kind of scared the hell out of her, so she tweeted something that crossed the radar of the wrong person and it went completely south in no time. (Story here)

As I traveled, I knew that the color of my hide granted me gold card access to wherever I wanted to go.  Yes, I’m a woman; yes I’m older, and yes, there is a whole set of issues embedded in that, but for the most part I can move around unmolested.  I cannot imagine looking over my shoulder everywhere I go, terrified of who I might encounter.  I cannot imagine feeling like a moving target.  My problems are not these problems, and truth be told, I learned how to navigate my own challenges a long time ago – because I have that luxury.

It is spiraling out of control again – racism – and I am ashamed.  I am ashamed that it is members of my tribe who cause these problems, and I am ashamed that I am safe because of it.  I am ashamed of the insatiable greedy beast that my tribe has become, stealing land, stealing bodies, and ravaging souls.  I am ashamed of the blind eyes, and the propagandist narrative about bygone days when everything was “baseball, hotdogs, apple-pie, and Chevrolet.”

And I am VERY ashamed of our false nostalgia.

But I don’t have a fix for it – any of it.

I just have my voice.

I have my voice and I have my heart, and I have a seminary education that helped me see the difference between the way of Jesus, and the way of white Christian America.

Show up, point, talk gospel, and love.

Repeat.

What if I screw up?

I have.  And I will again.

I have been fed the intravenous fluids of privilege my entire life.

But it’s the only way to get through.

Show up, point, talk gospel, and love….then repeat.

 

 

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The Grace of Dark


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Romans 7: 14-15

For we know that the law is spiritual; but I am of the flesh, sold into slavery under sin.  I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. 

I have a never-ending fascination with light.  All it takes is one tiny splash of sunlight on something and I can’t stop staring at it.  If I have my camera handy, time ceases to exist as I capture whatever is being graced by the light for as long as the moment will allow.  I especially love it when I encounter a single leaf in the woods touched by a tiny ray of sunlight – I’ll often wonder, now why did that leaf get picked out of all the other leaves?

But – and this is interesting – I am only spellbound by light that is illuminating something that would otherwise be dark.  I am not in love with light for the sake of light, and more light is never better.  A sunny day can be made up of a lot of harsh glare, and in that case the light loses a significant part of its appeal.  So what this tells me is that the best light is light that is defined by darkness, and when shadow and light work together, that is the sweet spot.

We struggle to do better, and to be better people.  Yet sometimes we go dark.  Sometimes we go really, really dark; and it’s scary and perplexing.  We don’t want to do the things we’re doing, but we seem powerless to stop.  We spiral out of control, and like Paul we question, why is this happening?

For me it’s helpful to think of that single leaf in the woods receiving its very own ray of sunshine.  We don’t know why everything goes dark around us sometimes, but I do know that catching a ray of light is about the most grace-filled thing that can happen; and after all is said and done, the confusion of the darkness is worth the grace of the light.

Why Christian?


 

I entered the universe through the Christian portal by luck of the draw. I was born into my time, place and circumstances, and to the best of my knowledge I had no say in the matter. I left the Christian path as soon as I did have a say in the matter, and believed that was the end of the story. Yet, despite my best intentions, my baptism left its mark on me; it sort of gave me an address that I could always return to if I wanted, and know that I was home.

Christianity is perhaps the most treacherous road to travel by; it is peppered with land mines that are filled with the shrapnel of false certainties, buried and waiting for the unsuspecting traveler. After reaching a certain level of familiarity with the practice, I have come to both fear and treasure it’s teachings, some of which honor creator and creation, while others hold in contempt the wisdom of the very messiah that they profess to follow. I have experienced both the agony and the ecstasy of Christianity – sometimes simultaneously –  convincing me that the two reside in equal measure as part of the one great whole where I too, often stand in contrast to myself.

As a pastor, I am called to interpret and teach two millennia of our best theological thinking that is sadly mixed in with our worst theological thinking. I am not a rock star theologian.  I have not been gifted with the capacity for eloquent expression to draw in or captivate my audience. Sometimes I manage to strike a chord, but as God is my witness, I do not possess the elasticity my ego would require in order to contain my ambition. I do not seek to be a star, although I do spend a lot of time trying.  For nearly 20 years, I held Christianity and all things Christian in contempt.  I do not have a lifetime of wisdom to draw on – at least not Christian wisdom.  Nevertheless, despite my recalcitrance, there came a day when God showed me a level of grace that brought me to my knees, captivated me, and permanently changed me forever. I have spent all of my remaining years seeking the face of this gracious and loving entity which led me to the ministry where I hoped to be able to live up to the story of my own salvation.

While I have learned a great deal about Christianity, and I have somewhat honed my ability to think theologically, I still have yet to stand unflinching in the presence of the great I AM. You see, I always flinch, and my thinking takes over, and I end up worshipping my own thoughts rather than experiencing the divine presence of a love so pure that I don’t believe I could possibly be worthy of it. That’s hard stuff and it is so much easier to rationalize than it is to just be who I am, full of flaws, yet loved so purely and deeply that nothing else matters. Life doesn’t work that way, so how could eternity? And that is exactly how we regulate and control each other from realizing our true potential. While I cannot speak for other religions, or other people for that matter, I can see that the inhibitions and shame imposed in some Christian circles have become shackles on the human ability to connect with creator. It is human nature to want to be the best and the brightest; the disciples even argued over it. We truly don’t want equality; we each want to stand out – to be special. But if I am to be special then that means you cannot be special. So now we need rules to define who is special and who is not. Who’s in and who’s out, because we can’t all be special. And that is the same pitfall we all eventually land in – every religion – every person.

So with that in mind the question still remains, why Christian?  Well why not?  It is my destiny.  I did not choose it, it chose me.  Yet at the same time, it is not my destination, it is my transport. It is flawed beyond belief. The motor is rusty and the vehicle is so old that replacement parts are hard to come by. Sure, I could change rides, go for a newer, slicker model; but it’s just a ride and there are no guarantees regardless of which model you hop on board. I follow Christ because I am compelled by the one who said “blessed are the poor in Spirit for they shall inherit the kingdom of heaven.” You see, I am the poor in spirit – we all are. There is no such thing as special because we are all so incredibly special it cancels itself out. From the scant knowledge I have of Jesus, I hear the truth. I hear his voice beckoning, saying “come and see.”  I keep moving forward, hoping that what lies around the next bend will be the one I seek. It always is; the tricky part is my capacity to recognize it.

Christianity has as many flaws as it has followers who are filled with flaws of their own. How could it be anything else?  The trick is to stop kicking the tires and searching for the right vehicle, and just get in and go. Seek first the kingdom of God and the rest will follow. I have no idea where it’s going, no one does…but I’d rather be on the road seeking than not.  That’s just me, and that’s why Christian.