Homosexuality -- Where I Stand and Why (from March 2014)

Note: I posted these words to the forum called NazNet.com in March 2014. I am reposting them here with only light grammatical editing for the purpose of preservation and reference. Eight years later, my thoughts on the subject are basically the same. The biggest difference is more extensive exposure to members of the LGBTQ+ community who are faithfully serving God and their faith communities. I have greatly benefited from the spiritual insight I have found among them.

From March 2014:

I have been asked several times to provide biblical support for my position on homosexuality and gay marriage. This post is intended to address that issue.

First, I need to clearly state my position on the matter: I believe that the question of sexual ethics for 
Christians experiencing exclusively same-sex attraction can be answered only from within the community of those experiencing such attraction. The larger Christian community must refrain from trying to determine God’s will for people whose experiences they have never experienced. So, to the question, "Are same-gender sexual relationships a sin?" my response is, "I don't know. It's not my sin; it's not my temptation."

Second, having exposed myself to the words of those living in this tension, I am seeing a rising number of Christian gays concluding that God can and does bless committed, monogamous, loving, same-gender relationships – marriage. In keeping with my previously stated position, I respect the long, difficult journey that has brought them to this place and support them in this conclusion.

But, people ask, what about the Bible? Are we to set aside clear biblical teaching that 
homosexuality is an abomination to the Lord simply because some people who obviously are unable to 
take an objective viewpoint are willing to do so?

Yes. We already set aside clear biblical teaching. All the time. Leviticus? We already pick and choose 
among the many regulations there. We keep those that make sense in our current times and set aside 
those that don’t. And that practice started before the canon was even closed. In Acts 15 Peter said to 
those trying to press the levitical law on new believers, “[W]hy do you try to test God by putting on 
the necks of Gentiles a yoke that neither we nor our ancestors have been able to bear? No! We believe it is through the grace of our Lord Jesus that we are saved, just as they are.” The Jerusalem church then boiled the law down to four regulations, one of which -- consuming meat "polluted by idols" -- Paul later addressed with a "live and let live" approach. They didn't even include the most long-lasting sign of covenant with God on the list -- circumcision.

The thing is, the law of God is summed up by Jesus as containing two central elements – love God; love others. If you do this, you are fulfilling the law. It is a message repeated throughout the Old and New Testaments. Is there any lack of love involved in eating bacon? Not toward others, as far as I can see. Toward God only if you see O.T. dietary restrictions as essential to demonstrating love for God, a litmus test, so to speak. But Genesis tells us, and Romans and Hebrews repeat, that what pleases God is not rule-keeping but faith and trust. “Abraham believed God and it was credited to him as righteousness.” Sometimes such belief includes a faith that God cares about a lot of other things more than bacon. And maybe even more than the anatomy of sexual relationships. (A question which, again, I would leave to those for whom this is a personal issue.) When works are considered as a basis for judgment in the Bible, as is often the case, the question almost always boils down to how one treats "the least of these". (If you need specific scripture references here, there are plenty.)

One needs to ask, Does gay courtship and marriage violate the law of love? If so, in what way? It offends the sensitivities of many people. Does it show a lack of love toward those offended by it? Do we all need to live in such a way that our freedom never offends another person? Is that even possible? At what cost should people avoid activities that offend others? That is a question each of us must prayerfully consider concerning our various choices.

But what about the New Testament? people ask. Even after Christ was resurrected and salvation by faith was fully established, the prohibition against homosexual relationships continued.

My response to that is three-fold.

1. There are multiple instructions in the New Testament epistles that Christians don’t follow. In our 
own (Wesleyan) tradition we ordain women for ministry. And we are soft toward the sin of divorce and remarriage, even though Jesus clearly defined it as adultery. With or without Old Testament support, we set aside clear instructions from the New Testament. To choose this one issue as the "last stand" against compromise is more indicative of our personal prejudice than any true Bible scholarship.

2. There is no definition offered as to what is meant by homosexuality in the NT passages. Was Paul talking about a committed, mutual, monogamous relationship between two adults? Or did he have in mind a practice that victimized and dehumanized the weak?

3. There is no reference to exclusive same-sex attraction as an issue for believers. But today this is indeed an issue. We have many testimonies of young people who were raised to believe that homosexuality is a choice and a sin and were devastated to discover same-sex attraction within their own beings, completely unbidden and without remedy. This goes way beyond whatever Paul so casually dropped into his lists of obvious sins. This is unbidden desire in place of the desire Paul regarded as normal and to be addressed in non-sinful ways by Christians – “it is better to marry than to burn,” as the KJV renders 1 Corinthians 7:9.

Once those asking questions explain why I’m wrong on the biblical front, they pull out 2,000 years of church tradition. How can I discount all that history? Can the church possibly have been wrong for that long?

I don’t know. We seem to be dealing with something unprecedented – young people who make a commitment to God long before puberty gradually realizing that not only are they Christian, but they are also gay. Where are the stories of this happening all through the last two millennia? Where was 
this dealt with in the early church councils? In the Reformation? In the 1950s? When did the homosexuals “out there” suddenly become “our kids,” trying desperately to figure out what’s the matter with them, how they ended up in such a situation?

I am reminded of the passage from Isaiah 43:18-19:

“Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland. (NIV)

There does seem to be at least a little precedence to setting the past aside when dealing with the possibility that God may be doing a new thing in our midst.

On the Power of Nice

In the past few years, I have left behind much of the evangelical guilt that for so long crushed my soul. Whether it was a stated goal of “making more and better disciples” (sending a clear message that whatever level of discipleship we were at wasn't good enough) or frequent calls to pray more, read the Bible more, evangelize more, or attend church more, the overriding message was that whatever we were doing wasn't enough. Never enough.

Of the many blog feeds I read on a regular basis, only a handful are connected to that old evangelical world of guilt. A recent article from Relevant magazine had me checking the source. It seemed out of step with the typical message from that editorial team. In this case, the “not good enough” message was that simply being a good person – kind, even loving – would never attract anyone to Christ.

This is, of course, not a new message for me. In a world where nothing is ever good enough, being a nice person certainly isn't going to earn any gold stars, and the writer of that article is far from the first person to explain this to me. His words stirred up all the internal protests of old.

What is the basis of this conclusion? The author notes that when someone is kind, even loving, toward him or his family, he thinks it's wonderful, but he doesn't tag that person as a Christian, just as a nice person. If he personally doesn't associate kindness with Christianity, why would anyone else?

It is interesting. For many years, I fretted over my inability to be a “soul-winner.” I tried my best to witness and swing conversations around to spiritual matters. I found it impossible to do without coming across as beyond awkward and alienating people. Maybe that is because I am a terrible Christian. Maybe it is because I am not comfortable with making other people uncomfortable and sabotaging my relationships. (If I were a better Christian, I suppose witnessing to others would not sabotage my relationships, but despite all my best efforts I could never get there.) 

In all my life, I have just one memory of someone introducing me to another person as a “real Christian.” It surprised me since I had never discussed my faith with that person. All I had ever done was express an interest in his life, in his pain and grief. That's it. I was nice to him. And I tried to speak  with kindness to and about other people in his presence.

At the time of the introduction we were standing in an evangelical church. This man and his friend were waiting in line to pick up a box of groceries. I was simply hanging out with the people in line, not particularly contributing anything to the food distribution effort. There was an implication in his words that not all who are involved in that church or maybe any church are “real Christians.” Not that there are sinners sneaking in, but that those who profess to be saints might not be the genuine article. Why would he doubt the genuineness of active church members and label me as the real thing? What was the difference? Certainly not my ability to verbalize my faith! The only possible difference I could think of is that he saw kindness and compassion in me that he didn't see in those whose Christianity he doubted.

I have been thinking about the Relevant article for a couple of days. As it has hovered in the back of my mind, I have noticed again how mean Christians are on social media. Someone in a Facebook group is struggling in her marriage. The other women in the group rally around her and say, “Walk away from that bum! You deserve better!” I can't imagine the disgust that would come my way if I gently pointed out that the marriage might be worth fighting for. Yes, it's a rebound relationship and maybe progressed too quickly, but it seems there is good there, that maybe my Facebook friend is being a little overly sensitive, and maybe counseling could help. Is it kind to advise someone to throw away their marriage without encouraging her to step back and see if there is something salvageable in it? No one in the group knows the husband personally. How can they so easily discount any efforts he might be putting into the relationship? It hasn't been so long since we were hearing how wonderful he was. And her current complaints don't strike me as signs that the marriage needs to end. Why does the group have so little compassion for the husband and hope for the marriage to survive and thrive?

In another FB group someone is unhappy with the conservative church they are attending. The group comes together and shouts, “Walk away! These losers aren't worth your effort! Drive however far you need to get from your local community to find a more progressive faith community!”

On Twitter someone tells a story of a seminary professor making offensive comments about a Bible passage. Progressive Christian Twitter takes up arms to drive that professor out of Dodge. “Report him! Such comments are horrible! He must be a horrible person! Who is he? I'll take him out myself!”

A friend once said, “Never underestimate the power of nice,” but the author of the Relevant article doesn't associate “nice” with Christianity. The message is that a person encountering niceness wouldn't know what lay behind it. I wonder. Is the article perhaps also a commentary on how unlikely people are to associate Christianity with kindness?

Jesus told his disciples that people would recognize their connection to him by their love. (see John 13:35) Why do people assert that love will never be enough to make people think we are associated with Jesus, that we're obviously going to have to tell them (even if they don't ask) or they'll never know?

There are several questions here: 

1) Can people be consistently loving, good, and kind without knowing Christ? 

2) Is genuine loving kindness rare enough for people to be surprised by it and wonder what lies behind it? 

3) Can people know Christ and still show a marked lack of love and compassion in their lives?

I would say “yes” to the first question, but find it unlikely in anyone who hasn't gone deep spiritually. It requires a certain level of faith that life works best when we focus more on the interests of others than our own interests. That is what Jesus taught. Some have discovered that truth by taking other paths, but it is rare even in Christianity. The drive to look out for our own interests at the price of harming others is strong.

The second question is one we can each assess in our own world. How many people do you personally know who are characterized by kindness and consideration toward other people in their words and actions – to those present and not present? I have occasionally been surprised when a Christian I have seen as consistently kind and gentle exposes, in an unguarded moment, a deep vein of bitterness in their soul toward someone. I blink a couple of times and hold my tongue, but it throws me. Does everyone have areas of rancor in their innermost beings? Is there hope for healing in those areas? My friend who noted the unexpected “power of nice” may be onto something. “Nice” that permeates someone's entire being may be rare indeed. Sometimes I wonder if it exists anywhere? When I do run across love and compassion, it makes me think the one showing it, whether intentionally or not, is validating the truth found in the teachings of Jesus Christ.

As for the third question, I'm not the one to pass judgment on the connection others have to Christ. I will let those outside the church assess the attractiveness of such Christians while treasuring that one moment when someone described me as a “real Christian” based on how nice I had been to him and others. I pray I may live up to such an assessment. Having walked away from the guilt-laden atmosphere of evangelicalism, I am willing to let my life speak for itself. Jesus said, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” I have concluded that the act of following is my first and best strategy for making a difference in my world.

Do I talk about my faith? Uhm, well, that's what I'm doing right now. If you have made it this far, I presume you are interested in such matters. Faith is one of my favorite topics, right up there with books and gardening. But part of putting other people's interests ahead of my own is talking about what interests them! And many people don't want to discuss religion, particularly those who aren't religious.

Faith is part of who I am, an essential part. I read about it, write about it, talk about it. But I no longer try to talk about it to someone who doesn't want to discuss it. I'm nicer than that. And one should never underestimate the power of nice.

On an Internet Meme

 I have left a lot of the evangelical subculture behind in the past few years. Part of doing so involves a deliberate focus on what lies in the direction I'm moving rather than on what is happening in the rearview mirror. This may, however, be the first of a series of thoughts on what I'm encountering among the faithful remnant carrying the flag of evangelicalism. My hope is that I can be gentle and kind in my response. We'll see how it goes.

Some of my social media friends have posted this meme in the past few days. The first time I cringed and scrolled on. I repeated my frequent instructions to myself: “Just ignore it. There is no need to respond.” Then someone I highly respect shared it. That made me stop and look more closely and ask: What is it about this meme that makes me cringe?

I think I'm mostly fine with the second half. I certainly agree that God is worthy of my worship, although I don't know that I need to go to church to worship God. Some would argue that point, but I'm not particularly interested in that discussion. As to the flawed people who gather at church, some of my friends love the idea that, as one songwriter put it, “the cross has made me flawless.” Others sport bumper stickers that say, “Christians aren't perfect, just forgiven.” 

Are church people hopelessly flawed? Does grace cover our flaws? As Christians do we get a pass for being less than perfect? Less than loving? Less than moral? Less than honest? Less than ethical? Less than kind? Again, there are plenty of people to discuss this topic, and I'm probably not going to spend a lot of time joining them. I don't think I am in a position to critique someone who decides they prefer to spend Sunday mornings in the company of people who have the overall effect of lifting them up rather than bringing them down. Is it too much to admit that there are more than a few toxic and dysfunctional congregations operating in the world of Christianity?

As I studied the meme, I realized what really bothers me is the first line: “Stop looking for a perfect church.” It is in the form of a command. To whom? People who are looking for perfect churches. Obviously. Those people should stop.

I presume that those who share this meme on Facebook have encountered people they think are looking for a perfect church. How have they discerned this? Do such people say, “I am leaving this church behind. It has imperfect people and I am on a quest to find a perfect church”? I suspect not. There are many reasons why people choose to walk away from a faith community. The hope that they might find a flawless group of people around the block or down the road is probably not among those reasons. Ever. 

This idea that people are looking for a perfect church comes not from those leaving but from those left behind. They are stung by the departure. They feel the rejection. They are faced with two options:

1. The group being left behind are the problem.

2. The people leaving are the problem

The first option is uncomfortable. If I am among those left behind and I start to think the problem lies with me, I deal with guilt and become defensive. I fear anything I do will be seen by critics as wrong. I become paralyzed.  On the other hand, if I blame the departure on others in the group, I become critical and negative.  My own unity with the group starts to suffer. Dealing with rejection is difficult!

The second option is so much nicer. We are fine. Sure, we're imperfect, but we don't deserve to be left behind like this. It's obvious those leaving are the ones who have the problem. They must think there's a perfect church out there somewhere. Let's make a meme that makes us feel better about how imperfect we are and makes those leaving look like they have impossibly high standards. Yes, that's a great idea.

Is there a better path? I hope so. I presume there are plenty of books and therapy approaches to help people deal with rejection personally that can also be applied to being rejected as a faith community. There are probably steps such as introspection to assess the validity of the reasons being actually voiced by those walking away versus the easy 'they are the ones with a problem' reasons assigned to them by internet memes. The first step would be to ask those leaving why they are going. Some groups do something called an “exit interview” to help them hear what they need to hear. Presuming they can somehow collect that information and understand it, they can then take an honest look at themselves and respond to what they have heard. Are changes needed? Given the group's core values (presuming they have discerned those values), how can they adjust in response to the critique? Do others share the perspective of those leaving? How valid is the critique? Is there any nugget of truth in an otherwise questionable critique that can be mined for value?

Somewhere between the first option of paralyzing self-blame in the face of rejection and and the second option of self-justification by labeling those leaving as the ones with the problem, there is a path of healthy self-assessment that doesn't require placing negative labels on others in order to feel good about ourselves. It may not be as convenient as an internet meme (and comes with its own set of potential pitfalls), but it certainly has more potential for healthy growth as a community.

On Entering the Kingdom of Heaven: Thoughts for Holiness People

Last year I posted three sets of thoughts on this topic -- one, two, three -- and am probably done with the subject for general consumption. However, I still have some thoughts from the perspective of my tribe: the "holiness people" associated with the Church of the Nazarene.

I was introduced to Mildred Bangs Wynkoop's book The Theology of Love in the late 1990s. It was a breath of fresh air to me. I was just discovering new ideas from outside the bubble I had been raised in, where holiness preaching promised freedom from sin and, yet, often produced people who could be described as "mean-spirited." 

I have told the story before of following one of the premiere holiness preachers of my teen years through a cafeteria lunch line and listening to him speak in an irritated, devaluing tone to the young lady working there because the food he wanted was not available. I had noticed a frequent discrepancy between the preaching and the living but thought maybe I just had yet to find a prime example of sanctification. But if this beloved holiness preacher wasn't sanctified to the level of his own preaching, who was? Surely sanctification ought to, at a minimum, generate enough grace and mercy to be kind to a young cafeteria worker who obviously had no control over the menu or the food on hand.

The simplistic answer to this issue is that even sanctified people are still human and get tired and grumpy. Grumpiness is not a sin, it's just grumpiness -- a human response to fatigue and the irritations of life. Grumpy people sometimes direct their irritation toward the wrong people. It's no big deal.

Ok, but, then, what DOES sanctification do for us? The most frequent answer I’ve heard is that it gives us power to refrain from sinning. What is sin? John Wesley famously defined sin as "a voluntary transgression of a known law of God." What known law of God? Again, the easy answer is: "Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not commit adultery. Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not bear false witness. Honor thy father and thy mother." You know, the Ten Commandments. (This is the answer Jesus gave the young man who asked about inheriting eternal life in Luke 18:18-23, although I'm pretty sure he didn't use King James English in his response. 😁)

Still, as I observed in the first three posts on this subject, pagans often do better than that. They may break some of the Ten Commandments, but they often excel at "love your neighbor as yourself," which Jesus called, along with loving God, the greatest commandment.  

Wynkoop defines holiness as love. And there is actually more to the Wesley quote above. In full it says: "Nothing is sin, strictly speaking, but a voluntary transgression of a known law of God. Therefore, every voluntary breach of the law of love is sin; and nothing else, if we speak properly." (Emphasis added.)

“Love is patient. Love is kind” (1 Corinthians 4:8).

If holiness doesn't make us patient and kind, what good is it? If we don't count impatience and unkindness as "sin," are we true Wesleyans? Aren't these breaches of the law of love? Are all examples of impatience and unkindness in holiness people involuntary and unavoidable, therefore not sin? If so, I ask again, what DOES sanctification do for us? If it's not powerful enough to enable a gracious response to something as trivial as a disappointing cafeteria lunch selection, why bother?

I can't get past the definition I grew up with. Holiness as I heard it preached always seemed to mean following a list of rules: being religious in appearance, doing religious things, keeping oneself clean by avoiding the moral dirt around us. Sanctification was something we could get in a moment and then perfect over a lifetime, having had our sinful nature eradicated and being made pure. I sought that experience for years with growing despair.

Jesus didn't live a life of religious piety that prompted him to move away from people. He was kind to the hurting. He touched the unclean. He hung out with the wrong sort of people. He wasn't afraid of getting dirty. As Rebecca Pippert Manley wrote in Out of the Saltshaker, "It is a profound irony that the Son of God visited this planet and one of the chief complaints against him was that he was not religious enough." Not that he wasn't loving enough. He wasn't "holy" enough.

Holiness, as I have traditionally heard it defined generates a religion long on piety and short on love and compassion toward those who most need it. I try to align the definition of holiness as deeper love and compassion with the messages I've heard, but it doesn't seem to fit. One moves toward broken people, the other maintains a distance from them in order to stay pure.

In my life, I have had to leave traditional holiness preaching behind in order to embrace holiness as love. The first thing I had to do was open the door to the idea that I am not even close to living a sinless life by John Wesley's definition of sin. I am not always kind or patient. Sometimes I am just plain mean. Or grumpy. By choice. (If not a choice in the moment, sometimes a choice in not recognizing and working to avoid my triggers.) I truly dislike some people. It's not a case of "love them but don't like them." The truth is, I don't love them. More, I don't want to love them. In fact, I would be just fine with God smiting them -- just a little. Enough to knock them off their high horse. My love and mercy are far from perfect.

That's not where I want to stay, but it is where I sometimes find myself. In order to move forward, I need to accept that lack of achievement in myself and truly rely on God's grace as a compassionate and merciful God. I don't measure up. I have never measured up. But I am loved by the God who created me, sees and accepts my every blemish, and every day nudges me another step forward. I have not arrived, but by the grace of God, I think I may be making progress.

I like the parallel passages from Matthew's "Sermon on the Mount" and Luke's "Sermon on the Plain." In Matthew 5:48 Jesus says, "Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect." In Luke 6:36 he says, "Be merciful, just as as your Father is merciful" I have heard people explain that "perfect" in Matthew doesn't actually mean perfect, as in flawless. Rather it means completely able to serve a purpose. A perfect tool isn't flawless; but it is completely able to do what it's intended to do. Once again, we're back to the idea of personal qualifications. But what if the goal of a "perfect" life is unwavering mercy toward others? What if that is a goal we always and forever pursue rather than a state we can achieve and then retire from the race? I will admit that the idea of always finding a new goal toward which to strive appeals to me. Every time I finally manage to develop compassion toward one person or group of people, I discover another blind spot I need to work on. I wonder if that old holiness preacher was actively nurturing greater compassion in his heart for the young people serving him in a long string of campground cafeterias. I wonder how often he was able to see them and love them and if he was working on doing it more and better today than yesterday. (For all I know, he may have later apologized to the teen girl in the cafeteria for his irritation.)

The truth is, I fully believe in "heart holiness." I believe God can transform us into people whose primary goal in life is to show love and compassion to all we encounter and who accept every failure to do so as falling into the same category as stealing (from the other person's self-worth), murdering (the sense of value within them that needs to be kept alive and nurtured), and coveting (wanting the self-centered careless life we think others enjoy). It's only when we fully embrace Jesus' call to show compassion and mercy to others that we can see how far we have to go and anticipate moving steadily in that direction.

There is no endpoint for spiritual growth. Maybe someday, with enough perseverance, I can catch up with my "sinner" friends who are entering the kingdom ahead of me. (See Matthew 21:31) That would be a wonderful achievement! I'm still working on it and thankful for every chance I get to see genuine love in action.

On American Evangelicals Dying for Jesus

My father grew up as part of a Friends (Quaker) Meeting. I did not. I was not particularly aware of the long and rich background of my Quaker heritage in my early years. It did pop up now and then, however, in subtle ways. One of those hints was a small change to the lyrics of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” If that song was requested when my father was leading music at church, he would instruct the congregation that rather than singing, “As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free” they should sing “… let us live to make men free.” Live for freedom, not die for freedom. I like it. Can we find a way to make that happen?

Giving one’s life for the cause of freedom sounds and is often portrayed as quite noble, but there is one glaring downside to it: You have to die to do it. And then you are free, I suppose, but you are also dead and have left your loved ones with just a memory of who you were and unfulfilled dreams of who you could have been. Are they more free because of your sacrifice? Was your death the only way they could be free? Are they then held captive by grief?

What would you die for? If you came to a fork in the road and knew one path led to a long, fulfilling life and the other to certain death before your time, leaving all you love and cherish behind, what would prompt you to choose the path to death?

Many people throughout history have died because of their religious beliefs. Sometimes they are a victim of general violence toward people like them. Other times they are singled out as of particular concern and given a choice: recant or die.  Those who choose death are called martyrs.

There are no Christian martyrs where I live.  No one in authority ever demands we give up our faith or die. And yet, I’m watching Christians literally die for their faith, not at the hands of human enemies, but as victims of a virus that disproportionately kills the unvaccinated, many of whom have refused to be vaccinated for religious reasons.

Here in this land with centuries of religious freedom, I have wondered how many people are committed enough to their faith to choose death rather than compromise when put to the test. Now we’re finding out. Living in a county competing for the lowest vaccination rate in Indiana -- currently at 29% according to the New York Times -- while the Delta variant of COVID-19 has its way with the nation, it’s inevitable that I hear of friends and acquaintances falling victim to COVID. At least one in seven people around me have contracted the virus and many have died. This is also a place of a strong religious identity and I can often guess at a person’s vaccination status based on their church connection. It saddens me to think of the extra pain and suffering the anti-vaxxers and their families are enduring. Is their willingness to die a slow, dreadful death rather than accept vaccination a mark of their stalwart faith? Is this what they signed up for when they chose the path more likely to lead to death in the name of Jesus? Was taxing the medical system, exhausting health care workers, and incurring huge medical debts a known possibility they accepted as part of their spiritual commitment? Did they choose to possibly infect vulnerable friends and family and/or deal with long-term health issues as a demonstration of their faith?

I have friends who are part of the Christian Science Church, a group that has historically relied on faith and mindfulness rather than medical treatment to maintain health. I figured if anyone could claim a religious exemption from being vaccinated they would be the ones. I was surprised to learn that the  Christian Science church is not supporting religious exemptions. Indeed, as noted here, their founder, Mary Baker Eddy, at the end of the 19th century instructed her followers to submit to mandatory vaccinations in the name of public health and use their faith and mindfulness to combat any ill effects of those injections. That was a new thought for me. Rather than depending on faith to escape the disease, why not apply that same faith to deal with any concerns about the vaccine?

I’m not here to critique the sincerely held religious convictions of other people. I’m just wondering if those choosing death over vaccines -- possible death for both themselves and any vulnerable friends or family members who may be infected as a result of their decision and influence -- are doing it as a conscious decision to follow Jesus' teachings regardless of the cost. (I'm not clear which of Jesus' teachings they are holding to so valiantly, but that's another discussion.) It's the first time in my life I have been aware of people I know expressing a willingness to die for their faith in the near future and am amazed by how simple the choice seems to be for them. A few years ago, they were quoting Bible verses about submitting to the governing authorities. Now they portray the governing authorities as evil personified and are willing to fight to the death -- literally -- for their "religious freedom."

Personally, I am fully committed to following the teachings of Jesus, but I don't see where those teachings call me to defy a deadly virus when God has given us the resources to minimize its impact on society. I choose life -- for myself and those around me -- not death.

Like I said, this isn't a critique of the sincerely held beliefs of others. I am just surprised by how many are willing to give up their lives and place more burden on our health systems and their families in the name of... not so much following the footsteps of Jesus Christ, but some deep commitment to "religious freedom" that they are willing to die for. As I watch the adverse health results and deaths add up, I am aware that theirs is a dying breed -- literally. May God be with them and those they infect.

On hypocrites in the church

How many times has this conversation happened?

Person A: Hey, Person B, I haven't seen you at church in a month of Sundays! What happened?

Person B: I got fed up with all the hypocrisy in the church. I'm done with that scene. People act like they're so good, but they're not!

Person A: Well, you know, Person B, (heh heh) "the church is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints." (heh heh)

Person B: 

Person A then walks away feeling quite triumphant in explaining away sin in the church the way they have been taught and defeating Person B's lame excuse for their lack of commitment. 

Here's the problem with that view. 

When Person A thinks about sinners in the church, the image that comes to mind is the teenager who is messing around during the week, but still trailing their parents to church on Sunday morning. Or the drunk who manages to sober up long enough to show up at church for coffee and doughnuts. Or the unmarried couple who moved in together. Or the person who has failed to condemn their gay child as a sinner and seems to think they can still be a good church person despite that glaring blot on their record. Or the man who has been arrested for domestic battery multiple times. These "sinners" are welcomed in to hear the messages calling them to repentance, but they are not put in places of leadership. They are in the hospital beds receiving ministry from the "saints." After all, we can't have sinners filling roles where they might have an influence on our vulnerable children.

In contrast, when Person B talks about hypocrisy in the church, they aren't thinking about the obvious "sinners" on Person A's mind, the "low-lifes" in the church hospital beds. They are talking about the "saints" of the church, the people who do ministry to the "sinners" while living "righteous" lives. Person B knows that these "saints" aren't all they claim themselves to be and are reported to be by others. In recent days, we have had much evidence that power corrupts, even in the church. It seems like almost daily we see new reports of church leaders being exposed as manipulators and abusers. And how many more go unreported? How many spiritual abusers leave a trail of broken people in their wake while staying well inside the law? After all, there is no law against letting losers know they'll never amount to anything. There is no law against telling someone God has no use for them. There is no law against passive-aggressive bullying. There is no law against pointing out the sins "out there in the world" while pretending church leaders are living exemplary lives.

I have been struck more than once by the push-back against pride in Scripture. But Person A isn't concerned about people whose primary sin is "pride." That is too hard to quantify. Besides, if we count things like pride and a hunger for power as sin, how will we be able to find leaders? I guess we can look for people who let everyone know how humbled they are by being invited into leadership, but sometimes those people are the worst of all in their fake modesty while quietly tearing down less powerful people.

What is the answer? True repentance, honesty, and vulnerability. We need "saints" who freely confess their shortcomings and humbly listen to those who speak truth to them in love. The solution to hypocrisy is for hypocrites to remove the masks that define hypocrisy, the cover-ups. If doing so will ruin them, they need to accept the identity of "sinner" until they can, by God's grace, become someone who doesn't have to wear a mask to be a leader in the church. And if the church insists on "flawless" leaders, prophets are needed to point out the problems created by that policy.

It's not predominantly the sinners in the pews who are wearing masks. Those people know they are sinners. They are reminded over and over of how short they fall. It's those who are posing as saints and who are being treated like saints by other people posing as saints who are the problem. It's the inside crowd, the ones elected or appointed to leadership positions reserved for "saints" without any acknowledgment that every one of those positions is filled by someone with glaring deficiencies.

If the church is a "hospital for sinners," who is running the hospital? Who are the doctors and nurses ministering to those in the beds? Who is on the board of directors? That's where we need to look when people point out how many hypocrites there are in the church -- not to the beds but to those whose pictures are on the walls. Whether the accusation of a foul disease lurking in the ranks of the hospital staff is valid or not, we need to not dismiss it by pointing out that the place is a hospital so of course one will find disease there. Person B deserves to be heard, not dismissed as ignorant of how hospitals work.

On Entering the Kingdom of God: Part 3

Welcome to the third entry in this series. In Part 1, I made the observation that often "sinners" exhibit more grace and love toward others than Christians do. In Part 2, I speculated that the lack of grace among religious people isn't despite their religion, but often because of it. In trying to please God, people choose "proper" responses to those in need rather than gracious and compassionate responses. 

If you ask the typical evangelical Christian what it takes to please God as a Christian, that person will likely give you a set of rules -- read the Bible, pray, attend church, give a tithe of your income, help other Christians in need, spread the faith through evangelism, don't do sinful stuff. (If you need a list of sinful stuff, it’s not difficult to find a church person to provide one -- if not locally, in any number of articles on the internet.) People who aren't measuring up to these standards are obviously falling short in the eyes of God.

In contrast, the apostle Paul assures us that no one has ever pleased God (that is, been justified) by keeping the rules — not the laws given in Leviticus, and not our more modern lists of dos and don'ts. In Romans 9:30-32, Paul writes that the pagan Gentiles (non-Jewish people) "who did not pursue righteousness . . . obtained it, a righteousness that is by faith, but the people of Israel, who pursued righteousness [did] not obtain their goal. Why not? Because they pursued it not by faith but as if it were by works. They stumbled over the stumbling stone."

"[Pursuing] righteousness . . . as if it were by works." Isn't that what many Christians are doing? They know we are saved by grace, through faith, and not by works (see Ephesians 2:8-9), and yet if you ask them how to please God, they will give you a list of things to do while saying little about the grace and faith needed to cover our inevitable failure to measure up to the list. They have stumbled over the exact same stone the Jews did in Paul's day. They will freely confess to having sin in their past and depending on grace and forgiveness to cover those past sins, but seem to think that with God’s help and enough effort and self-discipline, they can eventually make it by merit alone and may even have reached that state already.

Paul is clear: No one is justified by works; it's all grace. And yet, throughout the Bible there are statements that we will be rewarded based on how we live. I have cataloged more than 20 examples, ranging from 1 Samuel 26: 23 ("The Lord rewards everyone for their righteousness and faithfulness.") to Revelation 22:12 ("My reward is with me, and I will give to each person according to what they have done.") Even Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 5:10, “For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each of us may receive what is due us for the things done while in the body, whether good or bad.” 

So does pleasing God depend on our good deeds or not? The book of James deals with that question. Faith or works? Which counts more?

The answer, it seems, depends on your definition of good works. Jesus said the greatest command is to love God with our entire being and the second is to love others as we love ourselves. If we do that, we've done all that is necessary. Paul tells us "love fulfills the law." Good deeds don't consist in following a list of rules -- reading the Bible, prayer, and such. Doing good means showing mercy and grace to others. Love is the whole thing. Love is enough.

As it turns out, however, love is hard both to demonstrate consistently and to measure. Rules are much easier to follow and measure. No one can ever say with any credibility, "I have mastered the art of loving God and loving others as myself and am proficient in every way," but they might be able to say with the rich young ruler in Luke 18:21, "All these [commandments] I have kept since I was a [child]." But is that true? According to multiple scripture passages, primarily in the writings of Paul, whether it's a list of rules or trying to love God and others perfectly, our efforts will always fall short. If nothing else, we’re guilty of systemic sin, being immersed in a culture that tolerates and even perpetuates injustice. In the end, we have no option but to depend on grace.

So what is the answer? Shall we give up? In the words of Paul in Romans 6:1, "Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase?" His answer to that question is "By no means!" Still, if "the only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love," as Paul wrote in Galatians 5:6, can we drop the lists, trust in grace, and do whatever feels good to us? St. Augustine sort of made that assertion. If we truly love God and others, we will naturally do the right thing, the good thing. What we will NOT do is consistently measure up well against the lists of rules.

One of the things Jesus did that irritated the religious leaders of his day was healing on the Sabbath. They saw his miracles as Sabbath “work,” which was strictly forbidden by the law, even though miraculous healings are not actually addressed in any way in the Old Testament. (Was there some sort of exertion on Jesus’ part that made healing look like serious work?) Jesus said the time is always right to show compassion to someone who is suffering and kept right on healing people on the Sabbath. Even though it led the religious leaders to plot his death. 

The answer then is to be willing to give up our religious reputation, to die to the law and the lists. Give up pleasing God and others by following the rules. No one has ever managed to keep them all anyway. Instead, seek to love all people well, regardless of the cost. Look for the image of God in everyone. Honor that image.

In summary, religion doesn't always bring out the best in us. Often non-religious people are more compassionate and loving than religious people. Jesus made that observation. Paul made that observation. I find it true in my world. The reason is because religious people are trying too hard to keep the rules and to vote for others to keep those same rules to truly show love and compassion. The answer is to focus more on love and less on the rules, depending on the grace of God to cover us (and others) where we (and they) fall short. 

I believe God is pleased when I do my best to love God and others. I believe that loving God and others will naturally lead me to a life that reflects the spirit of the law more than if I try to conform to the letter of the law. Because I believe (have faith), I can focus on making choices that lift up others. 

When the choice is between keeping/enforcing the rules and showing compassion toward others, compassion is always the right answer. Every time. What that looks like is something I’m still learning. The key, I think, is recognizing when it’s done well, particularly when done well by “pagans,” those “entering the kingdom ahead of [me].” (Matthew 21:31) I don’t need to copy whatever self-destructive choices they may be making, but I need to recognize and admire their ability to show compassion and generosity. And I need to keep looking for ways to further incorporate those values into my own life, even if it means looking less like a good church person.

The final post on this topic deals with the particular challenges for those who profess “holiness.”

On Entering the Kingdom of God: Part 2

Last week I posted Part 1 of three or four on the topic of those entering the kingdom of God. I noted that sometimes the people most rejected by good church people seem to have a better grip on offering mercy and grace to others than those who see themselves as righteous. Jesus told his listeners such people were "entering the kingdom of God ahead of [religious leaders]." As a religious person, sometimes even a leader, I'm trying to figure out how to better exemplify the values of God's kingdom in my life.

One thing I notice is that religion itself is often a barrier to making better choices. Let's look at two stories from the gospel according to Luke, one coming from Jesus' life and the other a story he told.

The first account is found in Luke 17:11-18. One day Jesus encountered ten lepers who begged him for pity. He told them to go show themselves to the priest. The Levitical law instructed priests to examine skin sores and declare a person "clean" or "unclean" based on his findings. (You can find detailed instructions in Leviticus 13-14, if you're into that sort of thing.) Not until the lepers were on their way did their skin clear up. At that point, one of them turned around and came back to thank Jesus. Jesus noted that ten men were healed and asked why only one came back. But that one was different from the rest. He was a Samaritan, a "foreigner," in Jesus' words.

I've heard several thousand sermons in my life, including at least a few on this passage. One thing I don't remember anyone ever mentioning is that the Samaritan man would have had no incentive to continue on his way to the Jewish priest. Being a Samaritan (from Samaria) was both a cultural and religious designation. He had no place in the Jewish community. Even if the priest agreed to examine him, an all-clear diagnosis would still not allow him to be part of the synagogue, the center of Jewish community. He wasn't a "real" Jew. His heritage was tainted with foreign blood. He was free to return to Jesus because of his lack of religious standing.

Next, let's look at the parable of the Good Samaritan found in Luke 10:25-37. A man is "half dead" by the side of the road after being beaten and robbed. Along comes a Jewish priest and sees the "half dead" man. He crosses the road to stay far from the "half dead" body. Again, we need to go back to Leviticus to comprehend this. There were many things encountered in daily living that left a person "unclean." In fact, the word "unclean" occurs over 100 times in the book of Leviticus. Priests had even stricter rules than ordinary people for avoiding uncleanness. The priest in Jesus' story had good reason to cross the road to avoid that "half dead" man. He could not afford to come close to a human corpse, and the unfortunate traveler was at least halfway to being one.

The next passerby was a Levite. All priests were from the tribe of Levi (one of the twelve sons of Jacob, also know as Israel), but not all Levites were priests. Levites were given no land among the Israelites. They were religious workers and depended on the offerings given by the people for their support. This man would have had religious duties to perform. Although he had fewer restrictions than the priest, he still wouldn't want to end up in an "unclean" state for the sake of a stranger in the ditch. He came close enough to see that the man was "half dead" and probably had enough blood on him to render one unclean until evening and then he, too, passed by on the other side of the road without touching him.

Finally, along came the Samaritan. He didn't have to worry about becoming "unclean." Like the man with leprosy in our first story, he was already and forever "unclean" by Jewish standards. He examined the man, did some first aid, and took him to an inn to recover. He could afford to be kind and generous because he had no religious restrictions holding him back.

Part 1 of this series, in essence, notes that non-religious people are often more gracious than religious people -- offering more generosity, more mercy, and less judgment. Here in these stories in Luke, it appears that religion itself sometimes lies behind that difference. Religion limits how nice we can be by giving us restrictive rules to follow. 

Here is the root of our quandary. The priest and Levite in the story of the Good Samaritan were dedicated to keeping the law. That's why they couldn't stop to help the beaten man. The nine Jewish lepers who didn't turn back to thank Jesus for their healing were doing exactly what Jesus had told them to do and what their religion required of them. The Samaritan had more freedom to express his gratitude.

How often when religious people show a lack of generosity toward others -- whether in material goods or in spirit -- are they making that choice because it's the "right" thing to do? They don't want to appear to approve of sinners or they have already committed their time and energy to religious duties. They desperately want to please God and are making what appears to them to be the choice that will accomplish that goal. They are staying clean!

A number of years ago, as I arrived at church on a special Sunday morning, I saw a disabled vehicle in the church parking lot. I recognized it as belonging to a local man with no end of problems, many of them brought on by his unsavory character. He had already caused me trouble in my public service job and would cause a lot more before finally moving on several years later after being evicted from his housing situation. Still, he was a literal neighbor to the church trying to get his disabled self to another church in the community and obviously not having a good day. I stopped long enough to learn what the issue was and then continued to my assignment for the morning. I'm a good church lady, after all, and need to be conscientious and dependable, especially on those special Sundays. Plus, I had no mechanical skills to offer. Even if I had, there aren't many men who want a woman to fix their vehicle for them. And he hadn't actually asked for my assistance.

As we transitioned between scheduled events that morning I mentioned the disabled vehicle to someone with weaker attachments to the congregation. He seemed shocked that I had left the disabled owner of the disabled vehicle to his own resources and went out to see if he could help, forsaking any commitment he had made for the morning. As it turns out, the man had found a way to move on by then, leaving his vehicle behind (for several weeks, as it turned out).

I was convicted. Why hadn't I looked for someone to help as soon as I arrived? Could I have found a man or two willing to leave their Sunday morning fellowship in their Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes to rescue a stranger with a disabled vehicle? Regrettably, I wasn't sure I could have. We need more "marginal Christians" -- not so well-dressed or dedicated to being there -- with the right resources to offer that sort of service. In short, we need people who are less religious than most of us, people willing to get a little unclean in order to connect with others.

I'm back to where I started: the more religious people are, including me, the less generous their lifestyle tends to be. Something is wrong with this picture. How can we embrace a more gracious lifestyle without forsaking our commitment to righteousness?

Check out part 3 for further thoughts concerning this quandary.

On Entering the Kingdom of God: Part 1

I am making my way through the Bible. Again. Always and forever. I read four brief passages almost every day — from 1) the Old Testament*, 2) Psalms or Proverbs, 3) the Gospels, 4) the rest of the New Testament — and am reading again the same words I have read many times before. It takes a lot of exposure to even begin to grasp the message behind some of those words.

I'm slowly moving toward a new understanding with the help both of the Bible and what I observe in the world around me. I'm not there yet, wherever "there" is, but I'm moving that direction. Making progress in my understanding of the kingdom of God is part of why I embrace the label of “progressive” Christian.

To begin, let's look at a scene with two people. One is a young man we’ll call "Arthur." Arthur is a bum. I know he is a bum because others have told me so. He is chronically unemployed, dirty, foul-mouthed, and has an anger management issue that occasionally lands him in the county jail on charges of assault and battery. And resisting law enforcement. And assault of a police officer. When Arthur loses his temper things don't go well for him.

Our other subject is "Margaret." Margaret is a church lady. She's not a particularly nice church lady, but she is certainly dedicated to her faith. Margaret doesn't like Arthur. She doesn't like bums and doesn't want them in her world. She wants to see Arthur become a good, respectable Christian man.

The thing about Arthur is that he has a generous spirit. He tends to extend goodwill toward others. He shows respect and grace for Margaret despite how obvious it is that she despises him. If he manages to get any money, he typically gives it away to those he owes for past kindnesses or those he perceives as needing it more than he does. In the eyes of people like Margaret, and there are many, Arthur's generosity is one more fault among his many faults. He can't hang onto money. He is too generous.

Too generous. Isn't that quite the assessment from people who claim to live by the Bible! Shall I list here all the Bible verses praising generosity and portraying tight-fistedness in a negative light? How did tight-fistedness get recast as a virtue and generosity as a character flaw?

In addition to being too generous, in this world where virtues are seen as character flaws Arthur is too honest. He once landed in jail because, in trying to help the police solve a crime, he implicated himself as playing a role in what happened. He freely confesses to everything Margaret despises about him. In a word, he's guileless.

This brings us to Jesus' words in Matthew 21:31 -- “Jesus said to [the Jewish leaders], ‘Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you’” (NIV). 

The tax collectors and prostitutes. The sinners! Many people despised by those who see themselves as righteous have an innate grasp of concepts dear to the heart of God that tend to escape religious people. They are more generous, more caring, more open, quicker to acknowledge their shortcomings, humbler, kinder -- in between actions and attitudes that negate all of these wonderful attributes. In another setting (Luke 18:9-14) Jesus showed us a picture of a “righteous” man and a sinner praying in the Temple and said it was the one who acknowledged he was a sinner who went home justified.

Personally, I am not a bum. I'm a church lady. I grew up in the church and haven't managed to stray far. I hope I'm a nicer church lady than Margaret. I hope observing people like Arthur has helped me, but probably not enough.

On one hand, we have kind, generous, honest, but short-tempered bums like Arthur. On the other hand, we have judgmental, unkind, short-tempered religious people like Margaret (and sometimes me) who try to conceal their imperfections. Jesus says people like Arthur are entering God's kingdom ahead of people like Margaret (and me). And I believe it. Arthur has a better grasp of mercy and grace. He is more honest about his shortcomings, more accepting of others. He comprehends by nature a lot of things that Margaret (and I) can’t begin to understand.

Where do I want to land? Is it possible to be a kind, generous, humble, merciful, caring church lady? It's certainly not easy! After all, if I don't make clear my disapproval of Arthur's poor lifestyle choices, people might think I have no issue with anything he does. What impact will my failure to condemn Arthur's choices have on those who look to me for guidance? 

Ironically, while it seems that as a good church lady I should point out to Arthur the error of his ways and call him to repentance, it would come across as unkind and judgmental for me to talk to Margaret about her unkind and judgmental spirit. From the nice-church-lady point of view, loving Arthur means hating his sin and the damage it does to himself and others and urging him to repent and do better, but loving Margaret means accepting her sharp tongue and mean spirit and the damage she does to herself and others with grace. After all, she’s not perfect, just forgiven. Something is not right about this.

What do I do? I want to be more generous, caring, and kind -- like Arthur at his best. But my dedication to loving God and others as a dedicated Christian serve me well. I believe that obeying the law of God is not only a righteous choice, but a smart choice, that seeking first the kingdom of God adds much to my life. (re: Matthew 6:33) The law of God is like the law of gravity. Nobody can break it; they can only break themselves against it. I have read the 176 verses of Psalm 119 about how wonderful the law is and believe there is truth in those words. The fact that not many people seem to find delight and wonder in the law of God doesn't mean it isn't there.

There is plenty more to write about this, but for now I want to fall back on Micah 6:8 for guidance: 

"He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. 
    And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
    and to walk humbly with your God" (NIV).

For my own lifestyle choices, I need to "act justly" -- do my best to understand and comply with God's law. In my actions and attitudes toward others, I need to "love mercy" -- love and accept people as they are, warts and all, not insisting they make the same choices I make. And in everything, I need to remember that I am no more deserving of God's mercy than anyone else and acknowledge how short I fall.

See Parts 2  and 3 for more thoughts on this.   

—-

*The key to having four “brief” passages is to read Psalms and Proverbs every year, but take three years to read the rest of the Old Testament.

On the Value of Entering into Other People's Stories

After my paternal grandmother died in 1991, her remaining goods were sold at an estate auction. For various reasons, my family and I arrived after the auction had started. I saw a box of books being sold as I approached the auction line and quickly grabbed my mother's number so I could bid on it.  I didn't know exactly what was in the box, however, and let it go to a higher bidder. Later, I discovered my grandparents' copy of Uncle Tom's Cabin was included. It's a book I read from their shelves and would have loved to add to my collection. Like my grandparents, the author Harriet Beecher Stowe was a Quaker, which might explain the presence of that title in their modest library.

It is reported that when Abraham Lincoln met Harriet Beecher Stowe, he fondly commented that she was "the little woman who wrote the book that started this great war." It has some problematic areas by today's standards, but brought the plight of slaves into the consciousness of its readers in the years leading up to the Civil War.

According to Wikipedia, the report on Lincoln may be anecdotal, perhaps created "to affirm the role of literature as an agent of social change."

I don't know what, if anything, Lincoln said to Harriet Beecher Stowe, but I know reading Uncle Tom's Cabin at my grandparents house changed me, as it had so many people before me. Like many other books, it shifted my viewpoint by allowing me to get inside the head of someone not like me and see the world through their eyes. Movies and other dramatic presentations can also do that, but books are my preferred transportation for such experiences.

One of the things I notice when people express negative opinions about Blacks, Muslims, immigrants, women choosing to end a pregnancy, people living in poverty, addicted to various substances, or of varying gender and sexual identities is the lack of empathy involved. They have never walked even a few feet in the moccasins of those "others," let alone a mile, and it shows. They have easy solutions for the problems others struggle to overcome. They make a negative assessment of the motives and values of people they have never met. It's frustrating to me, but I'm never sure how to respond when someone puts negative labels on people not like them.

What I wish I could do is give such people some reading material that would allow them to see the world from a different point of view. One of the most profound examples of that for me was the first book I read by author Jodi Picoult, Picture Perfect. I had often wondered why an abused wife/girlfriend would stick around after it became obvious her abuser would never change. When I found myself thinking maybe the protagonist in Picoult's novel should give her abusive husband one more chance rather than leaving him, I was astounded. What was I thinking?! No! She needed to leave! This was never going to get better! And yet, he was so very charming and kind in between his fits of rage. And so remorseful about them. 

What a powerful story! It changed me. I finally understood some of the dynamics driving such situations.

In the past year or so, I have been reading books that allow me to catch glimpses of the Black experience in America. I created a new ‘shelf’ for my Goodreads a few weeks ago called "racial-awareness." After a quick review of the 78 books I read in 2020, seven went on the new shelf. I'm currently reading two more. A significant portion of the Twitter accounts I follow are those of African Americans. I need to hear their voices and allow their stories to change me.

I live in an area where we can generally identify by name the few local residents who don't classify themselves as white. There's comfort in homogeneity. There's also discomfort in it. Why are we in a place with so little diversity? One of the things I notice is that when I do interact with African Americans I struggle to understand their speech. It makes me feel so very "white" and out of touch with my world. I need to be intentional about exposing myself to such speech patterns more often. The internet offers opportunities, I need to take them.

What a privilege it is to be offered an opportunity to see the world through the eyes of people not like us and hear their voices. Whether through fiction or memoirs or Twitter accounts or podcasts or movies or whatever means we find, I hope we can value such opportunities and let those viewpoints change us into more empathetic people.

On White Privilege

 In the past few years, I have made two trips from Bloomington, Indiana, to Kansas City, Missouri by
Greyhound. In both cases, my husband drove to our daughter's house east of Kansas City as the start for a mission trip, continuing on to his destination in Arizona by Amtrak. I didn't want to be gone from home as long as he was so I went later by bus to visit the grandkids for a few days and then drive back with him when he returned.

Riding Greyhound was a whole new experience for me. I later described the crowd I was riding with as a bunch of respectable looking people of color and a few scruffy white folks. That's perhaps not very generous to my fellow Caucasian riders, but how many of you white folks reading this have ridden Greyhound in the past decade? If you have not, then you're obviously not the sort of person I'm talking about.

Anyway, many years ago my grandfather shared the adage with me that says, "when in Rome, do as the Romans do." I looked around at my fellow passengers and realized, among other things, that there wasn't a lot of fear among them. People occasionally left their luggage unattended in the bus stations. (I spent five hours sitting in Indianapolis waiting for an 11pm bus and an hour or so in the St. Louis station in the middle of the night.) Likewise, some left their phones charging without standing right by the charging station. I wasn't comfortable enough to let much distance get between me and my stuff, but I did consciously absorb some of the relaxed atmosphere. I didn't see a lot of strangers chatting, but they seemed comfortable with each other.

I was amused to see the effects of my "whiteness." Twice during those trips, one of the few other white people in the stations asked me to watch their luggage while they took care of something. It made me want to laugh. I was a total stranger to them. How did they know I wouldn't go through their stuff looking for valuables the minute they were out of sight? How was leaving their stuff by a strange white woman safer than simply leaving it on a random seat or by any other passenger? Was I going to stop someone else from taking it? Might I possibly turn it over to authorities to check for a bomb?

And yet, leaving stuff by the white woman was probably a pretty good bet. I stayed where I was until they came back, didn't look in their bags or turn them in for a bomb check, and no one tried to take them. People mostly left me alone.

Well, except one gentleman. I had been in a bus seat where the electrical outlet didn't work from Indy to St. Louis and was determined to get a working outlet on the next leg of the trip to keep my poor old cell battery from going flat. What I neglected to notice was that the seat I chose had an overhead light with a broken switch. When the driver lowered the lights so we could all sleep as we headed out at 3 a.m., my light stayed on. The Black gentleman across the aisle had the nerve to politely ask if I would turn it off. I said, "I sure would if I could!" and suggested he try. He did, with no more success. He then offered to put duct tape over it. I was thrilled by that suggestion! After he put one piece on, it wasn't quite so bright, but I asked if he would mind adding another piece to dim it even more, which he did. I was impressed and amused that he was carrying duct tape on a bus and asked him if he also had WD-40 with him.** He chuckled and said something I didn't quite catch as we both settled back into our seats to try to get some sleep.

Later, during my two-hour wait in the Kansas City station for my final bus to rural Missouri, a Black gentleman carrying his breakfast sat down noticeably close to me. Not alarmingly close, just noticeably close. He chuckled a little and told me he liked my joke about the WD-40. Oh! It was my neighbor from earlier. I hadn't really seen him clearly in the dark of the bus and didn't recognize him. (And, yes, there might be some lack of attention to non-white faces involved there.) By asking a couple of questions, I found out he was riding the bus to pick up an RV in Iowa to drive to Florida and had a small bag of tools with him. Ah, the duct tape made sense now. As he moved elsewhere with his breakfast, I felt like I had made a friend. How pleasant to share a few moments of companionship and humor with a stranger during a long ride alone! My heart was warmed.

After an hour or so in Kansas City, my poor old cell phone battery was again threatening to give out before I reached my final destination so I hunted down the phone charging station and plugged it in, settling down in the closest seat, which was still farther away than I would have liked. I was now closer to the ticketing area. A couple of people came in looking to buy a ticket, but for some reason were not able to purchase one in time to get on the bus they wanted. Something about their proposed payment method was a problem. Tempers flared and the poor ladies standing behind the counter were being verbally abused by these customers who were outraged by the unfairness of it all and let the entire bus station know about it.

As this was going on (and on and on), a bus arrived and passengers started streaming into the waiting area. I glanced up from my magazine as a young Black man walked past my phone and then me. His eyes met mine and he said, "Somebody needs to DO something! To call the manager." He then continued into the waiting area and I went back to my reading. I had no clue how to call the manager and, anyway, I don't think he meant that I should be the one to do something. He just had an opinion concerning the situation and I happened to be available to hear it.

It wasn't until later that I realized the power I had in that moment. I don't know if there was anything that young man could have done to diffuse the situation at the counter, but I had an enormous opening. I could have made my way to the counter and asked where my next bus would be loading. The answer to that question wasn't at all obvious from the signs; people surely ask about it. Everyone involved in the exchange at the ticket counter was African American. If I, a white woman confident of being served, had approached, it would have been obvious to everyone there that I needed attention, that I deserved service! I don't know that the frustrated customer would have given up her cause, but there was certainly a much better chance of that happening if I interrupted her rant than if a young Black man had tried it. If nothing else, I could have temporarily disrupted the flow of profanity and given everyone a chance to catch their breath and maybe change course with virtually zero risk to my own safety. Society doesn't tolerate attacks on people like me in public places.

People question the use of the word "privilege" to describe the status our society gives us based on the color of our skin. It's not the best word because some people feel like they haven't had any breaks at all in life, that their white skin hasn't helped them. They aren't privileged! They may even feel like breaks that might have come their way were intentionally redirected to minorities. And yet, the scene at the Kansas City bus station illustrates how real "white privilege" is. If someone's luggage had been stolen, I would have been the last to be suspected of taking it. I could have interrupted the angry scene at the ticket counter with no fear of being physically attacked. My white skin not only set me apart from the crowd, it gave me a level of respectability among strangers I had done nothing to earn. A woman of color my age would have had to dress far, far nicer than my jeans, hoodie, and ratty sneakers to come close to getting the same respect.

That, my friends, is white privilege. It isn't earned. It has nothing to do with one's actual status in life. It just is. And it's not fair. I wish I had had the presence of mind to use it for good that morning in Kansas City. It might have helped if I had listened more closely to the words of the young man who suggested there was something someone (like me?) could do to make a difference. I wish I had been less focused on the battery and security level of my cell phone and more on being a blessing to those around me.

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**It's an old joke, but in case you haven't heard it . . . A person needs only two tools to fix anything: Duct tape for when it moves and shouldn't, WD-40 for when it should move and doesn't.

Radical Christianity

 I have a confession to make. It’s time. I have put it off long enough. I just need to do it. Deep breath, and here it goes:

I am radically committed to following a radical spiritual leader named Jesus of Nazareth, or, later, Jesus Christ. I am a citizen of a kingdom not of this world. I do not pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. I have said that pledge many times over my 63 years, but have become more and more uncomfortable doing so. That’s not where my allegiance lies. It’s time to admit it. I am less patriotic every year. My concern for people and their well-being extends well beyond the borders of the U.S.A. and includes people who don't look like me or act or speak like I do.

I have a Bible reading plan that divides the Gospels relating the story and teachings of Jesus into 300 bite-sized pieces, six a week for 50 weeks a year. For decades, I have consumed a piece of that story almost every day. For the first half of my life I believed what the voices around me told me about the story said and meant, even though I was troubled by some of the contrast between what I read and what those voices taught me. Then I discovered new voices that opened doors for me to truly dive into what I was reading.

Sometime around 1995, back in the pioneer days of the Internet, long before Facebook or even MySpace, I ran across a cozy little corner online where I could share my spiritual journey. I found perspectives beyond what I had previously encountered and spiritual community like I had never known. It was life-changing! New wine in a new wineskin! That’s the sort of thing Jesus talked about. Jesus was not a conservative, preserving traditions and observing the old ways. His was cutting-edge teaching, new truths to absorb! No one ever taught like he did! He was a radical!

About the time the 21st century got going, I decided to take another step in and “bet the farm” on the teachings of Jesus’ “Sermon on the Mount” in Matthew chapters 5 to 7. That sermon includes the Beatitudes: “Blessed are the meek . . .,” “Blessed are the peacemakers . . .,” “Blessed are the poor in spirit . . .” (Or as Luke’s parallel “Sermon on the Plain” puts it, “Blessed are the poor . . .” — not spiritually poor, but actually poor.) It talks about going the second mile and loving one’s enemies. I decided those who said one couldn’t literally follow those teachings had a point and I should probably keep my options open, so I signed on for just fifty years. After that, I decided, if it wasn’t working out I would quit.

As it turns out, second-mile living is difficult. I’m not sure I’ve done it successfully for even a year’s worth of moments during twenty years of trying. But having committed to always veering in the second-mile direction when I clearly see the choice and am able to do so has changed me in fundamental ways. I’m certainly not ready to give up yet!

What I have found over the years is that the Gospels, and even a poorly executed commitment to second-mile living, have led me in a different direction than American evangelicalism has taken. The Gospel according to Luke is especially radical. The insiders are out and the outsiders are in. The high are brought down and the low lifted up. The way to win is by losing. (Did you catch that? The way to WIN is to LOSE! Who even believes that?) The path to life is through death. The poor are blessed and the rich are not. Sinners are closer to God than those who count themselves as righteous. The kingdom of God is upside-down!

As part of the conservative church, I have tried to keep my more radical thoughts to myself. At one point, fifteen or twenty years ago, I was leading an adult Sunday School discussion and the subject of homosexuality came up. Someone about to make a killer point started by saying, “Ok, so homosexuality is a sin, right?” With deer-in-the-headlights panic I tried to avoid answering, but he needed that premise to support the nugget of wisdom he was about to drop and, completely unaware of my discomfort, insisted on a response. When I quietly said, “I don’t know,” a shocked silence fell over the group. I don’t think any of them had ever encountered doubt on that topic before. I certainly hadn’t meant to voice any hint as to my evolving views. It just came out. And then stayed there, in that group. Over the next few weeks, we discussed it at length in various settings, but none of them “outed” me to authorities who might have felt obliged to correct or discipline me.

In the years since that admission, the church has dug in its heels on the topic of homosexuality while I have continued to move forward in my thinking, guided by the Gospels and the many stories I have encountered from those for whom the topic is more than a Sunday School discussion. The gap is significantly wider now than it was then.

As I said earlier, being a disciple of Jesus Christ has led me away from the path the evangelical church has taken. As my conservative friends became more vocal and confident about their views, I found myself in the strange position of getting along fine in the church as long as we never discussed politics or religion.

Never discuss religion! Never talk about my faith journey! Scroll past Facebook posts from my Christian friends and relatives that offend me deeply and keep my mouth shut and my fingers away from the keyboard to avoid losing friends.

Then it all fell apart. It turns out religious views drive actions. A theology of exclusion leads to actual exclusion. Eventually, I could no longer be part of it. With the help of several disruptions to the status quo, including COVID-19, I found a new church home and vowed to stay on the margins, to keep my head down and my mouth shut. No talk of religion or politics. Just quietly love God, love others, and be pleasant.

Here’s the problem with that approach. I have no “real life” spiritual community outside my husband and adult children. Family is great and online relationships are genuine relationships, but there’s something not right about being part of a congregation but never discussing spiritual matters with anyone in person beyond family. Maybe I’m still a square peg in a round hole and would simply be an irritation to anyone attempting to discuss spiritual issues with me. Or maybe people assume they already know what I think. If that is the case, maybe it’s time to be more vocal about my thoughts here on my blog where people can drop in and maybe find something we can talk about when our paths next cross. 

I don’t know how much time and energy I can invest here. The big decision for the moment is to quit hiding my faith journey from those who are on a more conservative path. I’m not skilled at diffusing the natural tension created by pushing back against what people post on Facebook. That’s not a good setting for real conversations. But if you didn’t already know and have made it this far, I want you to know I LOVE thinking and talking about faith issues and how they affect our daily living.