ON WHY I CONTINUE TO BE CONNECTED TO THE TRAYVON MARTIN CASE

Many of you are aware that I have been a public presence at the recent events in Sanford surrounding the death of Trayvon Martin.  What you may not know is my motivation in being there.    I did not go to Sanford to make a political statement, but a pastoral one: that was Canon Nelson Pinder’s observation and it is accurate. 

I went to Sanford with the enthusiastic support of Fr. Rory Harris, Rector of Holy Cross in Sanford, because I wanted to pastorally stand with a community of people, specifically the African American community of Sanford, who were deeply concerned that they were not being treated fairly by local law enforcement.
 

What I observed at the City Commission public hearing where I spoke only confirmed that concern.   Many of us grew up in communities where we trusted the police to do their job fairly.  We believed them to be people of good will who would even let us off for minor infractions if circumstances warranted.   Because that is my experience with local law enforcement, I am far more inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt, not get involved, and allow investigations to quietly take their course.   These are assumptions that I suspect many of you share and that is still my hope. 

The African American community of Sanford does not, however, share many of these same assumptions.  They were praying, openly at that meeting, for a fair outcome, but they were not at all sure it would happen.  Anecdotal stories of racial prejudice on the part of law enforcement were told at that hearing numerous times from people who began their stories by saying, “I grew up in this community.”  There was enough history of unfair treatment by the police that people were afraid that nothing would be done, even though they believed that one of their own had been murdered.  They believed that if Trayvon Martin had been white and walking in that same neighborhood, dressed exactly the same way, his death would not have happened.

So I stood before the microphone and addressed the City Commission.  I spoke of the grief I would be feeling if it had been one of my own sons who had been shot.  I echoed the sentiments of others who were pleading for an open, fair and impartial investigation.   I publicly joined that community in their prayers for justice.  Later, I sent an email to Sanford’s Mayor, Jeff Triplett, thanking him for his courage and for the City Commission’s open hearing.

My hope in going was to embody, in some small and public way, two Biblical principles:

1.     The haunting question of “who is my neighbor” found in the parable of the Good Samaritan that ties us all together regardless of race or neighborhood.

2.     The heartbreaking unity described in Paul’s phrase “when one suffers, all suffer.”

As a bishop, I have a responsibility to embody and articulate a clear Christian witness, both in our churches and in the public arena.  That responsibility is central to my office.   That is a part of what I believe it means to live out, in our day, the faith of the apostles.

Since my involvement in Sanford I have received many responses.  Most of the responses have been overwhelmingly positive, from clergy and laypeople both in and outside the Episcopal Church as well as in and outside our community.

 There have been a few who have voiced some criticism, and understandably so.  The facts of the case continue to shift.  Things are murky, not clear.  All involved have their faults.  If one chooses to only publicly support those who are completely innocent, then one will wait a very long time, indeed. 

One Particular Moment

Last week I was consecrated the Episcopal bishop of Central Florida.  In the midst of wonderful celebrations and glorious worship one particular moment stands out- a symbol of both the posture of the office and all Christian's posture before God:  prostration.

When the time for the actual prayers of ordination and consecration came,  I prostrated myself on a prayer rug.  The rug was a gift of the Anglican bishop of Iran, woven by Christians in Pakistan.  The largest symbol on the rug is the figure of the Lamb slain.  The rug itself was a symbol of  Christians valiant under persecution and strong in prayer; and where was I?  I was  prostrate before God and supported both by their prayers and the courage of their witness.  It was a holy moment where I knew I was upheld by the Spirit of God.  It was because of that moment (and all that had brought me there) that I knew I could, in good conscience, kneel before the bishops gathered and receive the laying on of hands for ordination.  

I am so keenly conscience that I can do nothing for God unless I am empowered by God's Spirit to do so. Left to my own devices I may keep myself busy with ecclesiastical responsibilities, but that does not mean I am doing anything for the Kingdom of God.  Only works "begun, continued and ended in Thee" bear any fruit for the Kingdom.

But for me to bear any fruit for the Kingdom, I need the fuel of other's prayers.  To put it bluntly, I am desperate for the supernatural support of intercession.  The rug symbolized those prayers- coming from those that the world counts as the least of these,  yet they are mighty in faith and I know that they are in prayer for people like me.   It is because of these prayers and the prayers of many others that I am sustained.

It is because of these prayers that I, too, pray for others and have committed my life to a life that centers around the twin peaks of intercession and action.   Intercssion without action is pietism.  Action without intercession is carnality.  But intercession and action woven together can, by God's grace, bear the fruit of a life strengthened and guided by the mercy of God.

Choosing the Richest of Fare

Crying against the idolatry of ancient Israel Isaiah said, ““Come, all you who are thirty, come to the waters, and you who have no money, come, buy and eat!  Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy?  Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and your soul will delight in the richest of fare.”  (Is 55:1).  In the Biblical story of the Wise Men,  we are asked the very same questions.  

This small story in the Bible has a seriously subversive intent. It completely upends the Darwinian social order of things- where the rich and the powerful control the poor and the weak.   It holds in derision our fascination with celebrities, money, and political power.  It calls idolatrous the time, energy the time and money we spend on our image.  It holds in judgment our pursuit of financial security, and our perennial need to be in control.  It condemns our tepid religious devotion. 

To get some sense of the force of the story imagine three internationally known diplomats arriving in their limos at a roach infested shack, and- paying no mind to dung on the dirt floor- getting on their knees in front of a baby to worship him.   They freely give away their treasures in his honor.  They ask nothing in return.  

Bernard of Clairvaux, 12th Century French abbot, wrote these words of sarcastic irony

“Whatever are you doing, you Magi?  You worship a baby at the breast, in a poor shed, in common swaddling clothes!  Is He then God?  God is in His holy temple, surely; the Lords’ seat is in heaven; yet you are looking for Him in a wretched stable and on His mother’s lap!  What do you mean by offering Him gold?  Is He a King?  If so, where is His palace, where is His throne, and where are the many members of His royal court?  Is the stable His palace?  Is the manger His throne?  Do Joseph and Mary constitute His court?  How have the wise men become such fools as to adore a child, whose age and whose relation to poverty alike deserves contempt? 

Bernard goes on to write the answer to his own question:  

They have become fools, but have become so that they may be wise.  The stable does not seem mean to them. They find no cause of stumbling in the poverty of swaddling clothes, nor does the Savior’s suckling speechlessness offend them.  They fall on their faces, they revere Him as King,  the worship Him as God.  Of a truth, God who has led them has instructed them.  This magi’s faithful act of worship has rendered this a day to be observed with reverence and love. “ 

What does it mean to observe this event with “reverence and love’”? It is to face the story's condemnation of religious indifference.  It is to beg God to warm your heart, giving you that same passionate pursuit that God gave the Magi.  You may not have seen a star rising in the east, but God is inviting you, even calling you to fall on your face, seek His presence and give Him all that you have and all that you are. 

Rededication on New Year's Eve

Tonight, as I have for over 20 years, I will gather with a small group of friends for prayer, communion and a celebratory meal for New Year’s Eve.  It’s a church service that is open to the public, but most people do not want to come.  Either they want to stay home to avoid the drunks or they want to party.  I don’t blame either of them; there are good reasons for doing each of those things.  But I would feel entirely out of place at a party tonight and I do not want to stay home, especially if staying home means watching other people’s parties on television.  Ugh!

For me, the essence of ushering in a New Year invites, even requires of me, a personal act of rededication.  Tonight I want to stand with my extended family in Christ, small though they be, and adore the Christ who has claimed me for His own.  I want to stand with my small family of faith and pray for the world in which we live.  Tonight I want to be reminded of who I really am and who owns the upcoming year.  I want to say “yes” again to who I truly am- a follower of Christ who has committed his life to mission.

I am facing a year of being bombarded by the siren call of my culture to be something other than who I am.  My “inclusive” culture will release and exert powerful forces both within and upon me to fit in- to keep my religious convictions to myself, and get on with the business of making a living, spending my money on myself, and, if I have the time and inclination, contribute in some humanitarian way to the public good.  That is the working definition these days of being a good citizenship.    

Added to the influence of these powerful forces is the anguish and uncertainty many feel about life.  We are fearfully adrift and do not know where we are going.  There is little, if any, inspiring leadership in politics.  The economy fluctuates with no clear direction.  Human relationships are transitory at best.   Many of us feel like we are grappling with forces that are bigger than we are, and we do not know what to do.  

I feel those same forces.  They tempt me to self-indulgence and an indifference to the world.  So, on the eve of 2012, I want to get my bearings.  I want to be able to live into this present world’s uncertainties armed with the certainty given to us in Christ.  I want to be reminded of joy.   I want to be refreshed in the river of God’s presence so that I can wash the feet of those who are fearful. I want to draw on God’s confidence to live a life of purpose and clear direction.  I want to avail myself of the power of prayer- prayers filled with compassion, prayers that both ask and receive in a way that changes the course of human life.  

On the eve of 2012, I want to give thanks that I am not alone, and that I belong to the God who controls all of history, On the eve of 2012, I want to say “yes” again to God’s purpose, and affirm that I am a servant of Christ’s. 

Christmas Meditation: my eyes need adjusting to the Light

“The people who have walked in darkness have seen a great light”

My eyes need adjusting.  The light here is quantitatively different that what I have seen all day.  Certainly I have seen glimmers-  the smile on the face of the woman selling ornaments at the craft market on Union Square.  My family’s laughter as they tell stories on each other as we’ve gathered around the dinner table this week.   The twinkle in the eyes of a boy, no more than six, the youngest member of an 8 piece band of trumpeters playing “Hark the Herald” for the Salvation Army in front of the Food Emporium on 14th St.  

But here- the luminous presence of God- is not different from what I have seen, but certainly more intense, weightier and- more surprising.   I am being invited into something more than the kiss of God’s light on ordinary, but still wonderful, human events.  I am being invited into God’s intimate grandeur:  not the grandeur that would strike me dead with its blinding, white hot holiness, but with a grandeur that draws me in, sinner that I am, into a holy light clothed in humanity:  angels singing in the sky, the rush of the shepherds- to what?

Certainly not a myth- a flight of fancy- not an allegory on the goodness within all of us, not a metaphor for humanity’s search for divinity:  but a real stable filled with the smell and warm of animals warding off the desert cold of a winter night- not in a land far, far away, but in an historic verifiable time in Israel- living under the brutal occupation of Caesar Augustus who claimed, blasphemously to be divinity incarnate.  

God in my world.

In an illuminating book written by Marilynne Robinson entitled “What Literature Owes the Bible” written up in this weekend’s NY Times Review of Books,  the author writes that the Bible’s gift to the world’s literature is, in part,  a “literary realism” because   “ordinary lives are invested with a kind of significance.” Instead of writing about “demigods, kings and heroes,” the Bible Is “looking as directly as it can at people as they are.”   This is precisely the author's intent in writing this story.  A the beginning of the Gospel, the author writes that he has “undertaken to set down an orderly account of the events that have been fulfilled among us, just as they were handed on to us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses.”  

SO- what we are invited to see, according to the author, is a series of real events where extraordinary, even supernatural things happen under the direction of a Deity that is personally involved in the course of human history.

Here philosophical speculations about the nature of humanity and divinity are both invited to yield to a Baby in a Manger.  

Majesty in a feeding trough.  

God with us:  the relationship between humanity and divinity completely redefined.  

Evelyn Underhill writes, “we have got to begin not by an arrogant other-worldliness, but by a humble recognition that human things can be holy, very full of God”- meaning you, ordinary you, can be made very full of God.  

Divinity in Poverty.  Only Light willing to dwell in the lowliest of states can deign to twinkle in the eyes of a boy trumpeter or grace the smile of shopkeeper at the craft market in Union Square.

Only Divinity who has dwelt poverty can feed our starving hearts, only light shining into our darkness can dispel that very personal darkness dwelling in our hearts and minds

. 

The question is:  will you yield?  

Are you starved enough to ask for this feeding?  Have you dwelt in your own darkness long enough so that you now are longing for God’s light?  

Have you noticed the glimmers of His presence- calling you to be “made very full of God?”

Again Evelyn Underhill writes, “ The unlimited life who is Love right through- so loved the world as to desire to give the deepest secrets of His heart to this small, fugitive, imperfect creation- to us.  THAT SEEMS IMMENSE!”

She writes, “human nature is like a stable inhabited by the ox of passion and the ass of prejudice; animals which take up a lot of room and make quite a lot of noise. And sometimes Christians seem far nearer to those animals than to Christ.”

But it is precisely here, between these two animals where Jesus Christ is laid in a manger.  

God knows our hearts.  God is not far off.  God is here in our world.   Will you draw near to the stable? Will you kneel before the manger?   

If you ask, God will adjust your eyes to to the beauty and the majesty of His light.

FORMING RELATIONSHIPS OR BUILDING ALLIANCES?

Looking through  online tweets  recently I saw, “the measure of your character is how you treat people who can do nothing for you.”  Something inside of me intuitively nodded in agreement.   Christians believe that all people matter.  No one is expendable.  Each of us is created with a divine purpose and calling.  There is a reason we were born.  We all have a destiny to fulfill.  God, who knew each one of us before the foundation of the earth, planned in love for us to come into this world with a mission.  No one is an accident, regardless of the circumstances of one’s birth.    So, even if you were an “unplanned pregnancy” there is still a divine purpose for your life.  

That is why the Scriptures warn us about “showing partiality.”   Proverbs offers a telling comment:  “To show partiality is not good- yet a man will do wrong for a piece of bread” (28:21).   Is that not our motive:  we want something?  We use people who will help us get our piece of bread.  We think more highly of people who can help us and less of those who cannot.  We network.  We connect.  We flatter so as to endear ourselves to those who can give us some sort of advantage.  We surround ourselves with people who enhance our image. In conversation we drop the names of those who, by our association with them, put us in a better light.   We aspire!

By contrast, we take little notice of those who cannot help us achieve our ends.   These unhelpful people are those we marginalize.   In our hearts we are indifferent to them even if we are outwardly courteous.  If people oppose us they become our enemies.  When others get in the way of what we want our job is to out maneuver them or thwart them. At our worst, our relationships become politicized and the gamesmanship, which entertains us on shows like “Survivor” becomes (only in more muted terms) the way we live our lives.  We swallow the lie that the ends justify the means.

Does such Machiavellian behavior happen in church?  Silly question!  I once served on a committee whose responsibility was to offer to a nonprofit board our recommendations for officers who would stand for election.  During that meeting I marveled at one of our committee members slander (in the nicest way, of course) people that he did not want to serve.  I knew each of the people mentioned and I knew that what was being said was inaccurate.  The comments were not lies exactly, just subtle innuendos that would present a candidate in a less than favorable light.   What was his ”piece of bread?”  He wanted officers who would support his plans for the future and did not want those who would oppose him.  If challenged, he would never admit to outright dishonesty, and would justify his actions as “just the price of doing business.” His goal was getting his piece of bread.   This is atheistic behavior regardless of the motivation.

 I know that one of the temptations I face as a leader (but not the only one!)  Is to spend more time building alliances and less time building relationships.   There will be much to do and many tasks to perform.  I will want to find people who will help me accomplish those tasks.  I will need colleagues and coworkers who understand the vision and help me get there.  

None of that is bad in and of it self.  We all need colleagues and coworkers who both understand us and support us.  We all need people who will help us achieve our goals.   But I sin if I see people only as ends to my means, even if I give the outward appearance of caring.  It could be very easy for me to use the excuse of  “advancing the Kingdom” or “growing the Diocese” to justify very unChristlike behavior.  Piety justifies a multitude of sins.  

Am I capable of such sinful behavior?  Well, aren’t you?  It was Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn who famously said, “the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being.”  But I can say that my desire is to be a pastor and not a manipulator. How that godly desire begins to take root is when each of us to ask God to teach us how to “value others more than we value ourselves,” and to make room in our hearts for “the interests of others" (quoting Philppians 2:3-4).  

I want to be one who leads because he loves God, knows he is called to serve, cares deeply for people, and is learning how to make room in his life for the compassion of Christ- a compassion that extends to all people, everywhere.

Is the Parable of the Talents a Horror Movie?

When I heard the parable of the talents as a child it scared me to death.  It was a horror movie that I did not want to see.  Like all good horror movies, that parable pushed me into a corner and forced me to face my fears.  Like all the teachings of Jesus, the parable showed me the truth about my heart.  The truth was that I did not want to serve God.  I had my own aspirations and I did not want responsibility to God to get in the way.  Sure, I did not want to end up in that place where there was “weeping and gnashing of teeth,” but if the price of a get out of hell card was Christian service, then I would ignore the parable’s warning and take my chances. Lots of things could happen between my childhood and death.  I’ll repent later if that’s what it takes.  For now, I want to live for me.  

Quite frankly, and why I thought this I do not know, I did not believe that God was trustable.  If I actually gave my life to God what would God do with it, anyway?  Send me as a missionary to some poverty stricken place on the planet only to die of disease, or worse?  Would I be stuck in some ghetto?  Would God pay any attention at all to my own aspirations?  Probably not, I thought.   

I actually knew, although I did not want to admit it, that there was something corrupting and corrosive about my own desires.  I had heard enough about the needs of the world, even at that young age, to know that a life of self-centered acquisition was destructive.  But I was too young to know anything about the “I’m worth it!”  justification some have for their greed; nor did I know anything about charity work as a therapeutic tool for personal affirmation.  

My fear of God controlled how I related to God and how I related to much of life. Sometimes fear is an appropriate warning about an imminent danger.  But if fear is the primary driver, it will lead us down the wrong path.  Fear causes us to try to take control of our uncertain future, destroying trust in anything but ourselves.  Fear is restrictive, not expansive.  Fear challenges the very idea of God being good. 

It was only much later that I discovered that my understanding of God was all wrong.  I don’t know what church had done to me to teach me that God was a fearful miser who enjoyed using up His servants for His own purposes.  But when I cam face to face with the lavish Love of God revealed in the life of Jesus my defenses against Him melted away.  

The parable of the talents is not a horror movie- it is an amazing invitation to see God for who He actually is- more generous than we could ever imagine.  It also poses a choice:  do I believe my own fears, or am I willing to believe what I see in Jesus? Fear offers terrible counsel- not primarily because it is wrong, but because it is incomplete.  Fear only counsels us to play defense, not offence; and if all we play is defense we miss the generosity of God entirely

 Now I only wish I could give away more.   Sure I still have my own aspirations; and little by little God is refining those aspirations and purging away the dross.  To my amazement, I am learning that God’s will is far better than my own, and I would not have it any other way.