As I write these words on my Sabbath day (Monday), I have just put down the most recent copy of The Economist magazine.  On its cover is a photo of a young man waving the Egyptian flag in Cairo’s Tahrir Square.  Within days or even hours, President Hosni Mubarak may have left both his office and the country.  By any account, Mubarak is a dictator who suppresses opposition, sometimes brutally.  Our democratic impulses cause us to recoil at this realization and initially to cheer at the prospect of his ouster.

And yet, for three decades Mubarak has kept peace with Egypt’s neighbor Israel.  He has prevented the free flow of terrorist sympathizers into Gaza.  Additionally, should Mubarak go there is no way reliably to predict the character of the government that would ultimately take his place.  One can read a half dozen periodicals and find a half dozen well-educated and worldly commentators with a half dozen different opinions on this score.  (The best analysis I’ve read is Tarek Masoud’s, which can be found here: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/04/opinion/04masoud.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=harvard%20egypt%20kennedy%20school&st=Search.)

The worst case scenario (other than complete anarchy) would be the emergence of a radical Islamist state abutting Israel.  Such a circumstance both would threaten Israel and likely stifle religious freedom and civil rights in Egypt more than is the case under Mubarak.  Some pundits say the Muslim Brotherhood—a primary opposition group in Egypt and a likely leader in any Islamist government—is tempered by a genuine belief in democracy, but others tie the Muslim Brotherhood to Hezbollah, the terrorist organization making major governmental inroads in Lebanon (which bookends Israel to the north).

How should Christian people respond to the news from Egypt?  First and foremost, we should pray.  Pray for the safety and well-being of the citizens of Egypt, not least of which are roughly ten million Coptic Christians.  Pray for the citizens of Israel and the Palestinian territories, that each side will respond judiciously to the events in Egypt, acting through godly wisdom rather than anger or fear.

Second, stay informed.  I have been impressed by my conversations with St. John’s parishioners on this topic.  At dinner, the water cooler, or coffee hour after church, my experience has been that our people are paying attention to events on the ground in Egypt and expressing concern for all our brothers and sisters in harm’s way.

Finally, while we must each make our own determination regarding what might be best for Egypt and its neighbors, in my own discernment I have returned to a poem entitled “Risk,” by United Methodist William Arthur Ward.  This is the second stanza:

Risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.

The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing.

He may avoid suffering and sorrow,

But he cannot learn, feel, change, grow or live.

Chained by his servitude he is a slave who has forfeited all freedom.

Only a person who risks is free.

The pessimist complains about the wind;

The optimist expects it to change;

And the realist adjusts the sails.

It seems that God is inspiring the realists at this moment in Egypt.  Where the wind will move their sails is unknown, and it involves risk for them, for Israel, and, indeed, for us.  And yet, in faith, their actions are worth the risk.  May God grant the people of Egypt a new level of freedom, which respects their human dignity and the image of God within them.  May God guide President Mubarak and his allies to respond with humility and for the good of the country.  And may God swiftly bestow peace upon that ancient land.

I am a sucker for a good western.  I was studying in London when Kurt Russell’s Tombstone was released, and in the theatre I was a virtual caricature of the obnoxious American ex-patriot as I whooped and cheered for Wyatt Earp as he blazed his way through the OK Corral.

Thus, it was with great anticipation that I went to see the remake of True Grit.  It did not disappoint.  Of course, True Grit takes place in and adjacent to Arkansas, with mentions of Little Rock (Jill’s hometown), Jonesboro (my mother’s hometown) and Memphis (where I lived before moving to Roanoke).  That was undoubtedly part of the attraction for me.  Even discounting such sentimentalism though, this film is very good.

The story is familiar.  Mattie Ross travels by train to Fort Smith to avenge her father’s murder at the hands of Tom Chaney.  She hires the hard-drinking, hard-shooting U.S. Marshall Rooster Cogburn and heads into the Indian Territory to track down Chaney.

This is not the John Wayne version, in which the lines between black and white are clear and heroic redemption is the denouement.  In the new film (which is supposedly much more faithful to Charles Portis’ novel), moral ambiguity reigns.  For instance, vicious gang leader Lucky Ned Pepper goes to pains to ensure the safety of Mattie Ross once his men have kidnapped her.  And Rooster Cogburn is hardly the noble hero.  He once robbed a bank in New Mexico; he drinks all the whisky he confiscates; and he threatens to abandon Mattie deep in Indian country.

Still, it is that very moral ambiguity which makes True Grit the most religiously-potent movie I’ve seen in years (with the possible exception of last year’s The Road).  In the end it is a parable, and its meaning turns on the faith of Mattie Ross.  Mattie, a girl of fourteen, heads west from Yell County with nothing but sixty dollars and the force of her conviction.  From the moment she steps off the train in Fort Smith, she moves through a dangerous and unpredictable world with the words of Proverbs 28:1 on her heart: “The wicked flee when none pursueth.”  Though obstacles small (a swindling merchant) and large (murderous outlaws) are placed in her path, Mattie’s fidelity to her quest does not ebb.  Indeed, when the courage and confidence of the big men around her falter, it is Mattie’s own faith that buoys them and keeps them on the straight path.

The true grit of True Grit is unrelentingly realistic, and just as in our world saints do not escape unscathed, neither does Mattie.  When she finally catches up with Tom Chaney, her righteous vengeance is immediately followed by her own fall into a deep, rattlesnake-infested chasm.  “I had forgotten about the pit behind me,” Mattie narrates in understated fashion.  None of us are immune to that, are we?  The pit is always behind us, just out of vision.  Faith always carries risk.

Like Jacob at the Jabbock, Mattie is permanently injured because she keeps the faith, but even at film’s end she remains undaunted.  As Stanley Fish says in his review of True Grit, “[Mattie] goes forward not because she has faith in a better worldly future — her last words to us are ‘Time just gets away from us’ — but because she has faith in the righteousness of her path, a path that is sure (because it is not hers) despite the absence of external guideposts.”

The comfort and strength of such faith is its own reward.  True Grit ends with Iris DeMent’s yearning voice singing, “Oh, how sweet to walk in this pilgrim way, leaning on the everlasting arms.”  That is Mattie Ross’ truth, and it is enough for her.  Would that it be enough for us, too.

A.D. 2011.  We’ve entered a new date on our calendar.  A surprising number of people believe that “A.D.” refers to “After Death,” signifying the time after the crucifixion of Jesus in an analogous way that B.C.—“Before Christ”—refers to the time before Jesus’ birth.  This belief is curious to me for two reasons.  First, if A.D. refers to “After Death,” then how do we account for those thirty-three years of Jesus’ earthly life?  What do we call the dates between B.C. and A.D.?  Second, it would be odd indeed were we to signify the first year of the new dating system by extolling Jesus’ horrendous death.  If anything, we’d call the new system “A.R.” for After Resurrection.

As it is, A.D. doesn’t mean “After Death” at all.  A.D. is shorthand for Anno Domini, which means, “The Year of our Lord.”  A.D. 2011 is The Year of our Lord, Two Thousand and Eleven.  At least twice in the past two thousand years this system of dating has come under assault.  The first time was during the French Revolution, when France’s secular regime attempted to supplant Anno Domini.  We presently live in the midst of the more recent attempt.  Today, scholars in virtually every field have agreed to refer to B.C as “B.C.E.” or “Before the Common Era” and A.D. as “C.E.” or “Common Era.”  I was taught this system when I entered college in A.D. 1991—or, excuse me, C.E. 1991.

The rationale for the new designation makes sense: In a world in which scholars of various religions and cultures interact, a Christian dating designation can seem triumphalistic.  Even so, the fact remains that Year 1 is still considered Year 1, whether the designation is Common Era or Anno Domini.  The universally agreed-upon Year 1 is still the year of Jesus’ birth.  Does this matter?  For Christian people, it most certainly does.

We have entered into the season of Epiphany, which marks those moments at which God makes himself manifest in our lives in ways that change us, that alter our priorities, that shape our very identity.  Think about the Scripture readings we study during Epiphany.  We read about the Magi, whose entire lives are upended when God appears to them through the star.  We read about Jesus’ own baptism, when the Holy Spirit reveals to him and those around him who Jesus is and where his destiny lies.  In Epiphany, God claims people as his own.  God makes Jesus the Lord of our lives.

Just as God does this in the space of our lives, so God does with time.  Of the designation Anno Domini, Bishop N.T. Wright says, “Like a great church bell ringing out over a sleepy town, every time someone puts a date on something it speaks of the lordship of Jesus, whether people listen or not.”

Think about that the next time you write the date on a check or pull up your iPhone calendar.  This Epiphany season, does God claim you?  Will your time become God’s time, to mold and shape for his kingdom?  In your life, does 2011 promise to be the Year of our Lord?

If I ascend to heaven, you are there O God;

And if I make my bed in hell, still you are with me.

                                                            Psalm 139:8

I can’t help but ponder this verse of scripture as we move into the Easter season.  In the Apostles’ Creed, which we affirmed on Easter Sunday and also affirm each time we celebrate a baptism, there is the line, “[Jesus] descended to the dead.”  In some translations that line is rendered, “He descended to hell.”

In earlier eras of the Church, this line of the Creed was controversial, because nowhere do the Gospel narratives say that, while in the tomb between Good Friday and Easter, Jesus descended to hell.  (One can extrapolate the descent to the dead from Matthew 27:52-53, but it’s a stretch.)  Nevertheless, other places in the New Testament do seem to attest to Jesus’ descent to the dead.  (See Ephesians 4:9-10; 1 Peter 3:18-20; and the psalm mentioned above.) 

Some Christians believe that Christ’s descent to hell means that, ultimately, all people will be reconciled to God.  (After all, the Ephesians passage cited above says that Christ descended so that “he might fill all things.”)  Drawing from Ephesians and elsewhere, the great 3^rd century church father Origen believed that even the Devil himself would ultimately turn to God and experience salvation.

I’m not willing to go quite that far.  God grants his children free will, and love does not coerce, and consequently human beings ultimately have the option to reject God.  But, especially in the Easter season, I continually return to Psalm 139: “If I ascend to heaven, you are there, O God; and if I make my bed in hell, still you are with me.”  What does this mean?

Even in our lowest states, when we experience life to be utter hell—often of our own making—God stands beside us like a parent tending a fevered child.  This is true in this life, and it may yet be true in the next life as well. In C.S. Lewis’ book The Great Divorce, God continually sends his transport (in the fable it is a red, double-decker London bus) to hell, inviting those who are there to board the bus to heaven.  In other words, God descends repeatedly even to the depths of hell in hopes of drawing hell’s inhabitants to himself.  Most refuse, because the irony of hell is that those who are there have deluded themselves into believing that what is good for them is bad and vice versa.  And yet, the bus keeps making its loop, always inviting those mired in hell to enter the embrace of the God whose love knows no end.  I love that image.

As we continue celebrating the death-defeating Resurrection of Jesus this Easter season, remember that the power of hell pales in comparison to the power of grace.  That line in the Apostles Creed is my favorite.  Nothing is stronger than God’s desire that we be with him now and always.  Even when we make our beds in hell, Jesus the Christ will descend there with open arms.

On Wednesday, the House of Bishops at the 76^th General Convention approved Resolution C056, entitled “Liturgy for Blessings.”  The version passed by the Bishops and now forwarded to the Deputies is a thoughtful and temperate document.  It reflects that within our Church we are in a period of prayer and discernment that mirrors similar reflection we see going on in our national life.

Presently, fourteen states plus the District of Columbia recognize either same-sex marriage or some form of legal civil unions or partnerships between people of the same sex.  At the same time, thirty states ban same-sex marriage through constitutional amendment, and nineteen states disallow any kind of legal recognition for same-sex couples.

All that is to say, our society and culture are grappling with how best to respond to the growing consensus that one’s human sexuality is an orientation largely influenced by biological factors and not primarily a social choice.  Our reality is a world in which very many gay and lesbian persons are attempting to conform their relationships to an ethic of monogamy, fidelity, and love.  Given this reality, Resolution C056 seeks to offer “a renewed pastoral response” so that the Church is not left out of society’s conversation about same-sex unions.

There are surely those who would prefer the Church remain on the sidelines, and in all honesty some days I’ve felt that way myself.  And yet, our Lord calls us into the world with a Word of Good News.  We are not given the option of sideline-sitting.  Neither are issues surrounding same-sex unions clear-cut theologically.  They beg the questions, “What is marriage?” and “Are there appropriate faithful covenant relationships outside of marriage that can be entered into by same-sex partners seeking to conform their lives to God?”  These questions must be addressed by the careful study of Holy Scripture and thoughtful theological reflection using our God-given reason and an examination of God’s creation.

Resolution C056 seeks to provide space for such study.  The version passed by the Bishops and forwarded to the Deputies calls for an “open process for the consideration of theological and liturgical resources for the blessing of same gender relationships.”  This process will invite participation by any group within the Church (including input from across the Anglican Communion) that is ready to do the serious theological work necessary to inform our understanding.

C056 also allows bishops in those dioceses in which the civil authorities have legalized same-sex unions to respond pastorally to couples who have committed their lives to one another in this way.  I imagine that such responses would most often include prayers that both partners will honor their relationship with love, fidelity and mutual respect.

Any theological or liturgical resources developed through the Church’s process of discernment will be brought back before the next General Convention.  Because the media will likely mischaracterize C056, it is worth saying clearly that the resolution does not authorize the creation of any liturgies for use. Rather it offers us an opportunity to think, listen, and pray about how we as the Body of Christ can respond faithfully in today’s world.

Today our General Convention in Anaheim, California, approved passage of Resolution D025, entitled, “Commitment and Witness to [the] Anglican Communion.”  This morning The New York Times ran an article related to the adoption of D025.  Though The Times is an august newspaper whose reporting I usually trust, in this case I was disappointed.  Referring to the version of the resolution first passed by the House of Bishops on Sunday, the first line of the article read, “The bishops of the Episcopal Church voted at the church’s convention on Monday to open ‘any ordained ministry’ to gay and lesbian people, a move that could effectively undermine a moratorium on ordaining gay bishops that the church passed at its last convention three years ago.”

The Times article contends that General Convention has done something novel, that it has changed the processes that have long been in place for the discernment of men and women toward Holy Orders.  That is not the case.  Here are the details of Resolution D025, its implications, and the events surrounding its passage:

Resolution D025 begins by affirming the Episcopal Church’s membership in and dedication to the Anglican Communion.  As a sacramental reminder of that dedication, D025 prescribes that the Episcopal Church will continue its financial commitment to the Anglican Communion’s operating budget, even in light of current strains in our international relationships.  (It is worth noting that the Episcopal Church consists of 2.1 million of the 80 million Anglicans on the globe, but we provide fully 1/3 of the Anglican Communion’s budget.)

Despite that prescription, D025 is primarily a descriptive resolution rather than a prescriptive one.  It describes and acknowledges things that have long been and are presently “facts on the ground” in our Church.  These include that:

v     Gay and lesbian persons in various places have exercised and continue to exercise faithful ministry in the life of the Episcopal Church.

v     God calls such persons to service just as God calls all people, and the discernment process for Holy Orders in the Episcopal Church makes space for any faithful person to consider God’s call in his or her life.

v     The Constitution and Canons of the Episcopal Church (those laws that govern the Church’s life) have not and do not preclude the possibility that gay and lesbian persons may be ordained, though (as with anyone) participation in a discernment process does not render ordination a foregone conclusion.  The discernment process intends to evaluate and test one’s call on behalf of both the person in discernment and the Church, and the things considered in a discernment process are many.

v     Within our Church there are heartfelt and faithful differences of belief and opinion regarding both our continued role in the Anglican Communion and the suitability of partnered gay and lesbian persons for ordination.

(The entire text of D025 can be found at http://gc2009.org/ViewLegislation/view_leg_detail.aspx?id=986&type=Final.)

In much of the coverage surrounding Resolution D025, mention has been made that the resolution “overturns the moratorium on ordaining gay bishops” that was adopted at the 2006 General Convention.  What the media refers to as the “moratorium” is embodied in another resolution, B033, which urged bishops and standing committees to “exercise restraint by not consenting to the consecration of any candidate to the episcopate whose manner of life presents a challenge to the wider church and will lead to further strains on communion.”

In point of fact (and despite what some on the polar ends of our Church are claiming), Resolution D025 does not rescind or overturn B033.  The Rt. Rev. Stacy Sauls, Bishop of Lexington, shared as much at General Convention’s official press briefing on Monday morning:

“[Resolution D025] changes nothing about the situation.  It states the reality that all persons in this church are entitled to engage in the discernment process for ordained ministry.  This has always been true.  It was true before 2006.  It has been true since 2006.  Part of that process is the consent process of bishops and standing committees.  They were asked in 2006 by B033 to exercise restraint, and I’m sure that restraint will continue to be on their minds.”

If Bishop Sauls is correct (and I believe he is) then why go to the trouble of passing Resolution D025 at all?  In response I’ll repeat what I said in my cover article for The Record this month:  Christian history is measured in years—even centuries—and not days or months.  The Episcopal Church is necessarily praying, discerning, and deliberating over time how best to enfranchise all Christians in the life of the Church and do so with fidelity to Scripture and Church Tradition.

In this process, our Church has spoken at each of its last several triennial General Conventions regarding human sexuality and the life of the Church.  Each statement has built upon its predecessors in the hope that we will eventually speak a fully-formed word of grace and truth.  To the outside world (and to ourselves!) this may appear wishy-washy, but I don’t believe it is:

In 2000, General Convention acknowledged that the Church includes same-sex couples who live in lifelong relationships “characterized by fidelity, monogamy, mutual affection and respect” which evidence the “holy love” of each partner toward the other.  In other words, there are gay and lesbian Episcopalians who seek to conform their relationships to their faith in God.

In 2003, General Convention affirmed the election of Bishop Gene Robinson of New Hampshire, a partnered gay man.  That affirmation, made with a lack of broad consensus in the Church, proved to be too much for many Episcopalians, and both our Church and the Anglican Communion suffered strain as a result.

In 2006, B033 (discussed above) was passed, which sought to mend the fractures in our common life.  And yet, some had concern that B033 was interpreted as a denial of the reality that gay and lesbian persons currently minister in our Church.  In 2009, Resolution D025 clarifies our reality.  In so doing, it is an honest and true appraisal of our shared life.

I take comfort and strength from the fact that we are part of a Church willing to struggle with the profound issues that bear upon our common life.  Like Jacob wrestling with God at the River Jabbock, I pray we will discover in hindsight that our struggle itself is a blessing.  Most especially, I pray we heed the words of St. Paul, who exhorts us to “Bear with one another…and above all clothes yourselves with love, which binds all things together in perfect harmony.” (Colossians 3:13-14)

Of course, General Convention is on-going, and most of the Convention’s time and activity focus on items that the media unfortunately deems un-newsworthy.  These include the passage of an ambitious ministry program to Spanish-speaking people and a commitment to the Millennium Development Goals.  For up-to-date news and information about General Convention, please navigate to www.stjohnsroanoke.org and click on the “Episcopal Life Online” tab on the right hand side of the page.  Also know we will host a Rector’s Forum to recap General Convention at 9 a.m. on Sunday, August 16.  In the meantime, I am available to visit with anyone who wishes to have further conversation about the General Convention.  I invite you continually to pray for the Episcopal Church, for the General Convention, and for our journey toward God.

There is lead ash in the ice on Greenland.  The presence of lead there is three hundred percent more than one would expect naturally to find.  It’s a curious reality as well as a dangerous one.  For the longest time scientists were perplexed by the ash, and it was assumed that it would forever be among the earth’s unsolved geologic mysteries.  However the lead became trapped in the ice, it will surely now be there forever.

 

          

We want to live forever.  Oh, there are some of us who will deny it.  But our desire is betrayed by the ways in which we live our lives.  Both personally and corporately, we create things that will outlast us—like monuments, skyscrapers, museums, and one hundred twenty-year-old churches.  We put our names on memorials, scholarships, events, and buildings.  We amass (or try to amass) fortunes that will continue to live through our descendents, almost as if through their inheritance a piece of us will continue living. 

         

As a gift to the future, none of these is bad, and in fact they can all do immeasurable good.  But we must also acknowledge the uglier underside of our striving for immortality.  In addition to leaving testimonials to future generations, we also leave a darker legacy.  With our pretensions to immortality we act toward one another and toward the good earth as if there are no consequences, as if we—like little gods—can do what we will and start each day afresh.  As the current economic morass has so painfully revealed, we live unsustainably in every way.  We eat up our financial resources, our human resources, and our environmental resources, leaving proverbial ash where once life was vibrant.

          

Sadly, it is our negative legacies that most closely approach immortality.  Long after anything explicitly connected with any of us is gone, the lingering effects of our regular and casual misuse of our world will live on to affect generations who may remember nothing of us but our shame.

 

The desire to live forever is not new.  Throughout the broad scope of human history, people have coveted immortality, and then, as now, they enacted their pretensions by living as though there lives bore no consequences.  You see, we now know why there is lead ash on Greenland.  Some years ago enterprising scientists paid attention to the geologic strata where the ash is found and were able to date it to a period around the first century before Christ, a time when Roman entrepreneurs discovered silver and gold in the hills of Spain.  Without thought of consequence, the Romans built giant, hell-like furnaces to smelt those precious metals.  Ancient writers talk of clouds of ash that could be seen for miles, of birds that would drop dead from the sky when traveling near it, of forty thousand slaves condemned to work around and breathe in leaded poison, all so that the Romans might adorn themselves in silver and gold to resemble the gods. [1]  That lead, emitted into the air on what scientists call “a hemispheric scale,”[2] wafted northward until it was trapped in Greenland’s icepack, a deadly gift left us by the Romans, a deadly form of immortality.

 

This is Ash Wednesday, and the very intention of this day is to be a reminder of our mortality.  Today we will go to church (I pray) and will each have ash smudged on our foreheads with the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”  We will recall how all the endeavors in which we place so much effort and devotion in this life—monuments, inheritances, even august church buildings—will, like us, eventually crumble into dust. 

 

 

But just as importantly we will also remember the ash we leave behind.  I pray we will dwell upon the ways in which our worst legacies threaten to overshadow our best.  As but one example, consider that the same deadly lead trapped in Greenland’s ice through the actions of the Romans two thousand years ago may soon melt into our oceans through actions of our own.[3]

 

 

Of course, the great irony is that we do enjoy true immortality.  With and in God, our promise is that we will live forever.  Were we to lay our unspoken anxieties and fears about death at the feet of the God who gives life, we might find that we could tread in this life more lightly.  We might discover the light of the immortal God that shines in all people, and we might then treat our brothers and sisters differently, both those we know personally and those masses we don’t know and are as yet unborn who nevertheless are often on the receiving end of our decisions.  We might recognize the goodness that God declares in his creation and cherish it rather than use it and use it up.

 

If we believed God’s promise—that we will abide with him always—then perhaps we would live for his immortal glory instead of striving for our own.

 

[1] Holland, Tom.  Rubicon: The Last Years of the Roman Republic, pg. 41.

[2] http://www.sciencemag.org/cgi/content/abstract/265/5180/1841

[3] http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/08/science/earth/08gree.html

 

 

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When the people saw that Moses delayed to come down from the mountain, the people gathered around Aaron and said to him, ‘Come, make gods for us, who shall go before us; as for this Moses, the man who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we do not know what has become of him.’ ²Aaron said to them, ‘Take off the gold rings that are on the ears of your wives, your sons, and your daughters, and bring them to me.’ ³So all the people took off the gold rings from their ears, and brought them to Aaron. ⁴He took the gold from them, formed it in a mould,^* and cast an image of a calf; and they said, ‘These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!’ ⁵When Aaron saw this, he built an altar before it; and Aaron made proclamation and said, ‘Tomorrow shall be a festival to the Lord.’ ⁶They rose early the next day, and offered burnt-offerings and brought sacrifices of well-being; and the people sat down to eat and drink, and rose up to revel. (Exodus 32:1-6)

In January of this year, Cindy Jacobs was in a worship service when the Lord spoke to her, “Cindy, the strongman over America doesn’t live in Washington, DC – the strongman lives in New York City! Call My people to pray for the economy.” The Lord further said, “October 29 was Black Tuesday, the day the stock market crashed, and Satan wants to do it again.” We must be proactive in prayer.

“We are going to intercede at the site of the statue of the bull on Wall Street to ask God to begin a shift from the bull and bear markets to what we feel will be the ‘Lion’s Market,’ or God’s control over the economic systems,” she said. “While we do not have the full revelation of all this will entail, we do know that without intercession, economies will crumble.” (Christian Broadcasting Network, CBN.com)

I’ve been scratching my head attempting to figure out how I missed this story last fall. It occurred just before the presidential election. I (along with eighty-five million other Americans) was so preoccupied with all things presidential that it escaped my radar screen. Of course, I don’t visit CBN’s web site with any regularity, either!

The reported event did in fact take place on October 29, 2008, the anniversary of the third catastrophic day of the 1929 stock market crash (known as Black Tuesday). Apparently the irony of laying hands upon and worshiping at the foot of an actual golden calf was lost on the good Ms. Jacobs.

In the Exodus story, the Israelites have grown impatient with God. Rather than viewing the long road before them as a journey of promise, the Israelites see it only as a wilderness, something to be escaped in favor of lives of greater ease. The Israelites don’t much care for this God who asks that they put him first, that they trust in his purposes for them. And so while Moses tarries with God on the mountain, the people convince Aaron (who, let’s admit, doesn’t require much cajoling) to melt down their gold and silver and craft for them a new god in the form of a golden calf.

In so doing, the people lapse in their fidelity to the first commandment, already given them by God: “You shall have no other gods before me.” Adding insult to injury, in their error they abrogate the second commandment as well: “You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the water under the earth. You shall not bow down to them or worship them.”

The truth of Holy Scripture is often more about patterns than discrete facts, and the story of the Israelites at the foot of Mt. Sinai surely reveals to us the pattern in our own lives that led to the current economic crisis. Eschewing a life journey that includes prudence, restraint, and patience in our fiscal dealings, we have engaged in devil-may-care consumption, predatory lending practices, and unsound investment in things such as mortgage-backed securities.

Lest we claim that the culprits are all out-of-control investment bankers, we must acknowledge that all of us are complicit in the creation of a culture obsessed with accouterments that far exceed our ability pay for them. For years middle class income has stagnated or fallen (see “For Many, a Boom that Wasn’t,” in the April 9, 2008 issue of The New York Times), and yet our standard of living has unrelentingly advanced through unsustainable practices. Mortgage debt, consumer debt, and unsound investments have all combined to bring us—socially and individually—to our knees.

We Christians ought to be doubly chastened. Unlike Gordon Gecko, we bear a responsibility—a primary Gospel responsibility—to tend to others before ourselves. This responsibility has implications for charity (such as St. John’s vital Tuesday morning emergency outreach program), but it also has implications for justice. We are called to labor against the things of this world that deprive some of their human dignity, that raise up the proud-hearted and lay low the weak. In other words, we are called to be active participants in nurturing an economic order that is not soulless. As examples, Christians should advocate for legal protections against predatory mortgage lending and for punishing those who willfully defraud others of their life savings. Because for us it is unacceptable that anyone ultimately be chewed up and spit out by the economy. Shrugging our shoulders at the “casualties of the system” is not an option. (For reference to the centrality of these claims for our Christian faith, see Leviticus 19, Matthew 25, Mark 10:17, and the entire Gospel of Luke.)

To this primary Christian calling and the God from whom it comes we have not responded. We have instead worshiped at the golden calf of our own self-centered and unsustainable lifestyles.

And so we must ask, now that our current economic situation has brought us to our knees–the traditional posture of prayer–to what and for what should we pray? This brings us back to Cindy Jacob’s prayer vigil at the Wall Street Bull. Cindy Jacobs agrees that prayer is needed. What is troubling is the eerie resonance between her prayer and that of the ancient Israelites. By literally laying hands upon an actual golden calf, Jacobs’ followers ominously reveal the depth at which the wealth it represents is, for them, an idol…or more accurately, is God. Their prayer was that God restore our economic fortunes. In other words, the emphasis was apparently on a return to our easy road, though this time without the mistakes that led to our economic fall. Though we wouldn’t be so blatant as to pray on the Wall Street Bull, we have to ask, does Cindy Jacobs represent us, too? Is the language of her public prayer the content of our silent ones?

On October 29, nowhere was the confession of our callousness toward our brothers and sisters in need. Nowhere was repentance for neglecting the impoverished, for failing to fight the structures in our system that raise some up to grotesque heights while pushing others to the bottom. Nowhere was a commitment to walk the long and hard path through what today looks like wilderness but may someday be revealed to us as the road of promise and redemption.

I was born and raised in Arkansas.  Last month I began my 37^th year (having turned 36), and it occurs to me that I have now lived almost as much of my life outside of Arkansas as in it.  I’ve spent years in Illinois, Texas, Tennessee, and now Virginia.  And yet, if anyone asks, I tell him without hesitation that I am Arkansan.  It is my identity, and I experience it as such in the marrow of my bones.

 

But I also realize that the experience is an illusion.  My family’s connection to Arkansas goes back 150 years—a paternal great, great grandfather was a McGehee, Arkansas, stonecutter and fought in an Arkansas artillery regiment during the Civil War—but in the grand sweep of history that duration is but an instant.  Before that, the Spanish legally possessed Arkansas (mostly in absentia), and the land was inhabited by the Quapaw Indians, among other tribes.  What does it mean, really, to be an Arkansan?

 

I’m currently reading Margaret MacMillan’s Paris 1919: Six Months that Changed the World, which chronicles the messy peace process subsequent to the First World War.  MacMillan uses as her launch pad Woodrow Wilson’s much celebrated—and derided—Fourteen Points, the most famous of which includes, “…a strict observance of the principle that in determining all such questions of sovereignty, the interests of the populations concerned must have equal weight with the equitable claims of the government whose title is to be determined.”  In other words, self-determination.  In carving up Europe, and indeed the world, Wilson proclaimed that people would be able to align based upon their natural identities.

 

 

On the face of it, it sounded great.  In reality, it was, and continues to be, a nightmare.  (Conflicts as recent as the 1990s Balkan wars can be traced Wilson’s ill-fated concept.)  The Allies quickly learned that identity is an ephemeral thing.  When the lines of such new countries as Yugoslavia were created, or when ancient countries such as Poland rose again from the ashes of history, there was no neat and clean way to determine who was, for instance, a Pole.  Indeed, in much of central Europe the Allies discovered that people did not always conceive of themselves by way of nationality.  As one example, the Galician territory ultimately ceded to Poland was populated by Polish-speaking, Roman Catholic Ukrainians who had long been subjects of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.  So what were these people?  Each one asked gave a different answer.  For some, identity was political; for others, religious; for yet others, identity turned on language or race.  The Allies assigned these and other peoples whatever identity made the most sense to the experts in Paris.  In the decades to come, the Allies’ work had near-demonic consequences, as some people rebelled against the identities hoisted upon them and others embraced those same identities with nationalistic fervor.

 

The point is that identity is not so concrete as we might imagine, or even as we subjectively experience it to be.  While that might at first be scary, it should not be news to us as Christians!  Scripture teaches us that all human sources of identity are fleeting.  The only abiding identity is found in relationship with and to God.  St. Paul reminds us, “There is no longer Jew or Greek; there is no longer slave or free; there is no longer male or female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” (Gal. 3:28 )

 

Paul proclaims, Jesus proclaims…God himself proclaims in the First Commandment…that our identity and allegiance are found first and firmly in our covenant relationship to God.  I am not an Arkansan, or even an American, ultimately.  I am a Christian, one who finds my identity in relationship with the Incarnate God.  But there is choice here.  It is the profoundest of choices.  It isn’t exactly self-determination, but it is a volitional act of  both submission to and cooperation with God.  It is a choice by which I determine that all other loci of identity are secondary to the Christian one.  When these come into conflict, I will affirm (with God’s help, I pray!) my Christian identity and my obligations to it even if doing so means that I must disavow (in the most extreme circumstances) other facets of identity.  Jesus understood the radical nature of finding one’s identity in God-in-Christ.  In the tenth chapter of Matthew, he poses the uncomfortable scenario in which identity in Christ conflicts even with basic family identity.  As strange as it sounds, I am a Christian before I am a Thompson.  If one or the other must go, I will be a Christian still.

 

Returning to the level of national identity, in our hyper-patriotic American ethos I wonder at what depth we who claim to be Christian truly accept the primacy of our Christian identity.  Too often, we assume that our faith and our patriotism are in sync.  Too often, they are not.  If the pursuits of our nation are in conflict with our lives in Christ—or the pursuits of our particular political party, be it Republican or Democrat—to which basic identity do we retreat?  Are we Americans first, or are we Christian?  Do we attempt to conform our faith in the service of our politics or our social outlook rather than conforming these things to the requirements of our faith?  I’m indicted by Abraham Lincoln’s response to one who asked if he thought God was on the side of the Union.  “Sir,” Lincoln responded, “my concern is not whether God is on our side.  My greatest concern is to be on God’s side.”

 

This has become a longer post than I intended.  I have more to suggest about what it might mean to be faithful to our Christian identity as it is expressed through our particular church—The Episcopal Church.  I’ll tackle that next time.

The window of my office has a spectacular view.  I overlook the parish garden, with St. John’s bell tower standing sentry on the garden’s far side.  Half of the view is filled by a mature sugar maple, the largest I’ve ever encountered.  This time of year the maple’s leaves are brilliant hues of red, orange, and gold.  With each gust of wind leaves release their grip from the tree, giving themselves freely to the breeze and covering the garden in an autumn blanket.  The wind gusts often, and each time I hear it rap at my window and cause the leaves to flurry, it strikes me as a visitor.  Today it reminds me of Antonio Machado’s poem:

 

 

The wind, one brilliant day, called

to my soul with an aroma of jasmine.

 

“In return for the aroma of jasmine,

I’d like all the aroma of your roses.”

 

“I have no roses; all the flowers

in my garden are dead.”

 

“Well then, I’ll take the withered petals

and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain.”

 

The wind left.  And I wept.  And I said to myself:

“What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?”

 

During this season in the Sunday lectionary, our Gospel readings offer variations on Machado’s theme.  God graces us with a brilliant and multi-hued world, full of blessing.  And we are continually visited by the Ruach—Spirit, Wind—of God who brings with her gifts but also expectations.  When God’s Spirit approaches and asks for the best of us, what will we give: the jewels that adorn the sugar maple, or petals withered?