Christ and The Headlines: Monday Week 2 of Advent

There isn't a day that goes by where we don't see a headline (or tweet) that sends us into a sense of

moral outrage. I was talking with some friends the other day about how I'm addicted to twitter because I savor seeing an article that makes me want to rip my shirt apart in a Hulkamania fury. The anger, I think can be good. But my disgruntled and resigned posture is not. But it's difficult to know how to respond when we see:

"59 Die in Las Vegas Attack"

"Act of Evil in San Antonio"

"White Nationalists March on University of Virgina" 

"Weinstein Paid off Harassment Cases for Years" 

The darkness is here. It takes the form of rampant xenophobia, racism, the class divide, mass shootings, and misogyny. Our pressing work, then, is to not to run from the darkness. Richard Rohr says, "Our Christian wisdom is to name the darkness as darkness, and the Light as light, and to learn how to live and work in the Light so that the darkness does not overcome us." We must resist and expose the darkness with the light of Christ. 

Banning a group of people from entering our nation because of their religion is darkness. 

Police brutality and our corrupt prison systems are darkness.

Wealth inequality is darkness. 

Violence is darkness. 

"Sexual misconduct" is darkness. 

May we not let our political affiliations or the tendency to throw up our hands in resignation keep us from understanding we live in a world of darkness. May we have the wisdom to bring light to where it isn't. Let "The wilderness and the dry land... be glad, the desert... rejoice and blossom," as we bring Christ to the desert. 

Come, Lord Jesus. 

Isaiah 35:1–10

Luke 5:17–26

Compassion for the Oppressed: Saturday Week 1 of Advent

"When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, "The harvest it plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers..."

Matthew 9:36-38

I've got respect for street-corner preachers. I can't imagine how uncomfortable it is to confront people time and time again about an issue that is, to say the least, sensitive.  Sometimes, there's just something admirable about a belief becoming visible.

For me, the issue lies within the focus of the ministry. When I read Matthew 9, I see Jesus filled with compassion when he sees the harassed and helpless, the sick and needy, the ones who need a shepherd to lead them to greener pastures. What's profound to me is Jesus's response to those around him: he treats their physical needs. He tells the twelve that the kingdom is near, which means they are to cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the leper, cast out demons--the work that reveals the kingdom is at hand, not just an ethereal destination in the distant future.  

The kingdom in these verses isn't about a transaction that stamps someone's passport into heaven or an impassioned plea to turn or burn. It's about seeing those who are in need, standing up for those who suffer beneath the boot of poverty, racism, sexism, homophobia--anything that transforms another human into "the other"--an unspoken label that keeps the poor, the LGBTQ community, people of color, Muslims, and immigrants neatly tucked away behind the blinding walls of our privilege, where we neither have to see nor deal with their oppression.

May we assume our place in the body of the cosmic Christ, see as Jesus does, be moved to compassion for "the other," and meet the needs of the sheep here and now.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Isaiah 30:19-21, 23-26
Matthew 9:35-10:1, 5a, 6-8

Jesus and the Refugee at the Well: Thursday Week 1 of Advent

Advent is the season for God's people to cry "Come!"--the very bedrock of how Jesus taught us to pray: "Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven." I think this means to bring glimpses of heaven to earth: helping the least of these, fighting for those who struggle beneath the boot of oppression, easing the crushing weight of poverty. 

Jesus demonstrated the ushering in of this Kingdom by committing political suicide over and over again. In John 4, Jesus takes time to minister to the Samaritan woman at the well. Verse 9 says "Jews (like Jesus) do not share things... with Samaritans." Verse 27 also highlights another controversial aspect of the conversation: Jesus takes time to speak with a Samaritan woman, compounding the taboos to what would have been a fevered pitch to Jewish audiences. This woman was at the intersection of two oppressive barriers: racial bigotry and sexism, making her the epitome of a marginalized character. 

As shocking as it might seem, I think it might be more poignant in 2017 America if we imagine that Christ took time to be with a transgendered black refugee. Such a person would, like the Samaritan woman at the well, experience the suffocating burden of a nation's judgment day in and out, feeling out of place, broken, pushed aside. Jesus, however, was determined to make God's Kingdom come, humanizing society's most "untouchable" people by acknowledging their presence in a nation that would rather turn a blind eye, despite the political and religious biases of his own tribe. 

God, may we build our house of faith upon the bedrock of your words, trusting that a deep longing for the arrival of this wild, upside-down kingdom of yours, which lays low the lofty city and loves the marginalized, is a true mark of Your reign in our hearts.  

Come, Lord Jesus. 

Isaiah 21:1-6

Matthew 7:21, 24-27

The Feast of Christ: Wednesday Week 1 of Advent

Too frequently, I think of the arrival of Jesus as a cosmic event that proves my profound rightness. As if all the thoughts and fist-shaking arguments that play out during my articulate diatribes while I marinate in a hot shower will suddenly become embodied in a war-like savior that tells off my boss for making me work overtime, a coworker for never cleaning the hardened cheese out the microwave, or a crazy cousin I see once a year with political ideas that make my blood boil. The coming of Jesus, in this form, is about stewing in this poisonous broth, transforming us into a person of hatred instead of the Body of Christ that ushers in the acceptance and love of God.  

But the table is already set for a feast. A feast of rich food and well-aged wines, where God will destroy the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations, wiping away the tears from our faces. With the shroud gone, we can see our boss as Melanie, our coworker as David, our cousin as Stephanie. They are no longer the object of our wrath and frustration, but people who Christ welcomes to His Holy Mountain. But we, like the disciples in Matthew 15, must become the participants in this transformation. The hungry are present, the food is multiplied, and the Christ turns to us to “feed his sheep.” 

God, may the radical inclusiveness of your Holy Mountain burn brightly within us as we strive not only to stay awake for your coming but to provoke your arrival in the world around us, offering the loaves and fish of our hearts and bodies. 

Come, Lord Jesus. 

Isaiah 25:6–10a

Matthew 15:29–37

For the record at this point in life, I have awesome bosses and coworkers, and I don’t have any cousins with wacko political ideas that drive me crazy. No feelings were hurt in the process or publishing of this blog.