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I remembered when I declared my major in college that there was an old joke that would consistently come up in the conversations that followed – You’re majoring in religion and political science? Why don’t you just add accounting and then you won’t be able to talk about anything you do.

What we are coming to realize now, however, is that this bygone adage has done far more damage than most of us could have ever imagined. The reason being: we are just really not good at talking about difficult or complex or uncomfortable things.

We run away and stick our heads in the sand as fast as we possibly can, thinking that if we can just push the discomfort and challenge far enough down or off, then everything will be alright.

Interesting fact here – the notion of burying our heads in the sand comes from the animal kingdom where ostriches appear to stick their heads in the sand for extended periods of time. Not surprisingly, we humans automatically assumed it was because they were hiding from something they did not like (because that is what we want to do).

In reality, the ostrich is instead sticking its head down into its nest to turn its eggs several times a day. She is ensuring new life will have the chance to thrive under the surface not out of fear, but instead out of refuge and strength so that those beginnings will grow into mighty and formidable creature.

We don’t want to wrestle. We don’t want to deal with conflict. We don’t want to have to turn things over that might show us uncomfortable truths that could be the very seeds of changes that need to happen.

And yet, that is what we have to do if we are ever going to grow and succeed and thrive in this life. Whether sapling, hatchling, or human, this universal truth remains: until we deal with the underlying issues, we will never be able to move forward.

Recently, I saw a statement from the current editor of Christianity Today, Russell Moore, discussing the crisis facing the church today that even pastors in the evangelical church are getting accused of preaching liberal talking points by simply quoting Jesus verbatim from the gospels. A bit of an ironic day when Moore and I agree on much other than Jesus and Calvin being important. Nevertheless, I cannot argue with a very clear problem in the church that we have honestly been facing for quite some time.

Having served for most of my life in the southern half of the eastern seaboard, I learned how to argue scripture from an early age. I even married a good ole southern baptist (recovering) who taught me all about that beloved Sunday School game, “Draw Your Swords.” For much of my career the correct question was always, “Is it Biblical?”

Except, there are so many things that are biblical.

Slavery. Biblical.

Child abuse. Biblical.

Condoned genocide. Biblical.

In fact, almost every major atrocity in history has had biblical backing.

Racism. Sexism. Bigotry. Classism. Xenophobia. Just to name some old standards.

All of these are alive and well today. All of them can be backed with biblical passages.

And every single one can also be shot down by passages, too.

Which begs the question, how in the world do we decide?

For some of us, oddly enough, those of us who are descended from a thinker called John Calvin, we test everything, even the scriptures, through the only ineffable Word of God – Jesus Christ. What he said. What he did.

So the real question has never been is it biblical. The true question is this: is it Christ-like?

By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another. (John 3:35)

Imagine this, if you will.

You are a child. A very small child. Learning to walk. Talk. Play. Waking up daily to the marvelous sights and sounds of a world that is constantly opening itself up to you.

But one night your parents pull you into their laps to tell you that this world of wonder is not what you think. In fact, there are other people who think that you do not deserve to exist because of the way you were made. And, whether it is fair or not, you will have to protect yourself. You will have to learn how to talk them down when they are upset. You will have to learn how to make yourself small and insignificant so they will not notice you. You will have to learn how to keep them happy and ensure that their comfort is your prime concern at all costs.

Otherwise… they might hurt you.

And as you grow from the small child that you are, you learn that, in fact, all of these self-protection tactics and coping mechanisms can only do so much. Because the reality of this world is that these people will always, always find ways to hurt you.

In tiny and small ways that seem covert and insignificant to some.

In huge and large ways that are so blatant you wonder how so many can ignore them this time.

And if you speak up to defend yourself or you share your story, often you will find that you get gaslighted and told that it was somehow your fault. It is your problem to handle. It is just how the world is.

Get over it. Move on. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps – as you lay bloody and battered on the ground.

We are told that there are two types of people in this world: those who look at all the world’s problems and say it doesn’t effect me, so why should I care; and those who see a problem and say that shouldn’t happen to anyone. But the truth is that there is a third kind of people, a group running rampant, who believes that it is their job to make the “different” suffer and disappear.

It should not be this way. It does not have to be this way.

We were not made to live this way.

But the only way it changes is when the stories continue to be told and shared. When we call out the gaslighting as it happens. When we refuse to accept that these protection tactics and coping mechanisms are the only way, blow them out of the water as adults and intentionally teach the new generation a different way of being in the world. When all of us “different” humans adamantly choose to support one another and will not let others separate us. When we are careful to learn and listen before speaking. When we celebrate the wondrous variety and emphasize it and break the systems of conformity that have bound this world for so long.

And maybe religion has nothing to do with it and maybe it does. Every religion has violence and horror in its history. My own is no exception. So a whole lot of humans would like to throw it out the window.

Yet I find that as we turn the final corner and enter the last week before the holiday remembering the birth of a little baby that supposedly changed everything (even if it’s poorly placed), the story of that child and his family was not of ruling powers and domination the way many in this world wish. It starts with an unwed teenage mother and a people who are living with occupying armies on land that they have existed on for centuries. There is a barren couple who gets preggers and an unlikely stepdad who is a poor tradesman (definitely not a Stepford family). When the baby arrives they welcome the lowest social class to the birthday party (the ones who smell). Then a whole bunch of foreigners of a different religion, who get lost along the way, show up five years later and cause a mass slaughter of children by the ruling king of the time to a point that the child and his parents have to become refugees. And when the two babies grow up, one becomes a hippie living in the desert who pisses off the king of the land by calling him out on his affairs; and the other one, the one who “changed the world,” gets arrested for blasphemy and sedition for repeatedly challenging the temple leaders and other politicians by name and breaking all the traditional “rules.”

Now, I happen to be someone who believes that baby did come to change the world. And I believe the circumstances of his birth show us entirely what and who God actually cares about – and it’s not the rich and powerful and traditional and perfect. It’s all the misfits and unlikelys and outcasts and unwanteds. That is who God seeks out. And that is who God stands with.

Because God is Love. And Love wins.

But even if you don’t happen to believe all of that, you can count on this: the better world we all seek still lies with this statement – real love requires justice and equity. And that is the love that will win in the end.

_{Artwork: ”Embroidered Borders” by Nicolette Peñaranda, “Two years before the birth of Jesus, during the Pax Romana, one of the worst public executions happened a half day’s walk away from where Mary grew up.She came of age during a time of occupation, more than likely unable to recall a time of true peace and liberation. Mary’s song rings of a dream that not only she but her ancestors dreamed of, and she would be the one to give birth to the savior of her people. Fast forward thousands of years and the same land where Mary grew up is still being occupied. One can imagine that the cries for liberation and the prayers for justice still ring down the streets of Bethlehem. To me, Mary’s song of praise is still valid for the women of Palestine and for the people who still raise their children under the duress of war and occupation. This image is a nod to Palestine. The background operates as a foundation, built with the colors of the Palestinian flag and with collaged scriptures that celebrate women. Elizabeth and Mary are both in Palestinian regalia but from different generations. Elizabeth, centered and holding her belly, is in an outfit inspired by a photograph of a woman from Ramallah, dated sometime between 1929-1946. This was intended to emphasize the generational differences between the two. Mary, on the other hand, is in more contemporary Palestinian fashion. A stipple effect was used to highlight the intricacy of Palestinian embroidery in both garments. What felt important to me is the placement of Mary and Elizabeth. Rarely does Elizabeth get to be the center of the story, as her pregnancy becomes an accompaniment piece to the birth of Jesus. But here, Elizabeth is in the foreground. She gets to be the star while Mary places her arms around her, comforting her, and proclaiming the good news of what is to come. Mary is the hope that we see in all youth.}

While the world is losing itself to the mad chaos of Christmas frenzy, the church (or at least the liturgical church) is in the midst of the ancient practice of Advent – a season of preparation for Christ’s arrival.

Except as the season begins, we do not look to Bethlehem and the little baby. We turn our heads towards a completely different appearance: when Christ shall return.

Which has me thinking and reflecting about what that might look like.

Our church Christmas carols, most of which are less than a few centuries old, speak of an idealized baby and picturesque scene surrounding what was in fact a very messy and quite shocking in-breaking of our God-made-flesh. Even better, that child went on to live a life that led to his own execution for how radically he challenged those in power and for welcoming all the wrong people to the table.

Not the tender and mild we were usually taught about…

Which means that if Christ were to return today, God made-flesh would likely not fit the picture many would expect.

So, consider this, if you will: take the person or people you find the most problematic to the the world today. Perhaps it is the teenagers who refuse to fit into the boxes of the generations who have gone before. Or maybe the modern day hipsters who want to support every cause under the sun and seek to make the world a better place wherever and whenever they can, however unrealistic it may seem. Could be the old people in those neighborhoods who adamantly refuse to be silenced when their part of town, which is full of good kids, no matter how poor they may be, becomes endangered and they fight with everything they have left to protect their neighbors, as they have been doing for decades. Can’t rule out those stinky and smelly street urchins who are seen as beyond society’s redemption and attention. Or what about those foreigners of other religions. Or refugees needing a safe place to outrun the long reach of catty tyrants. But least of all can we rule out the precocious or perhaps even special needs child, likely a girl this time, who drives all the “traditional” adults nuts because they are far from meek and definitely not mild.

Anyone who is outside the box of what you or I think is “appropriate” for God’s incarnation, especially when that person comes from a group that has been disproportionately disenfranchised by the world and even more so the religious establishment – that is precisely the place we should start looking for Christ’s face.

All those places we find most repugnant. Most aversive. Most abhorrent. Those were always the places were Christ chose to place himself between the wronged and those causing the problem (and the wronged were not the ones who felt entitled to be so).

Easiest way to live into the Gospel well for this Advent: treat every person you meet as though they might be Christ already returned. Offer them any help they need. Ensure they have full access to the welcome and fellowship of God’s people.

Anything less and we may find one day that we have failed miserably.

Last night I was watching one of my all-time favorite Christmas movies: A Muppet Christmas Carol. And no, it’s not just because Michael Caine ignored the suggestion to relax on his assignment and act the Dickens out of his part as Ebenezer Scrooge.

Even when I saw Charles Dickens’s classic on stage in Washington D.C., they were wise enough to set the story to Christmas carols, because there is something about this scary ghost story that seems to require it. And Kermit & Piggy’s rendition somehow hits the nail on the head with original music that does far more than accompany the script.

One scene in particular seems especially appropriate as we all approach the holiday next week – Thanksgiving.

And on a sidetone, no, it is not the beginning of the holiday season. For Dia de los Muertos & Diwali, among others, have already been celebrated. So for those who are like me and my late father, looking for any excuse to party in the midst of this shadow-filled season: Happy Holidays, everybody!!!

Now, back to our originally scheduled programming: as the ghost of Christmas Present takes Scrooge on visits, they stop by the Cratchit residence where they see the entire family at table saying grace. The song they sing, Bless Us All, is a prayer. For life. For relationships. For finding our way in this world with kindness and compassion.

The entire composition speaks of a world we all so desperately need.

Not only do I commend it to you, but I also lift it up as a prayer to everything that is good and holy, as it says, we reach for you, and we stand tall, and in our prayers and dreams we ask you, bless us all.

Cheers!

Bless Us All

It is high anniversary season for me – which means that I am right smack in between all of the different death dates for those who are closest to me. This includes all three of my parents (father, mother, dad/step-dad), my mother-in-law, and my husband. All five of these dates fall between early September and Christmas Eve.

This has me thinking carefully about not only how short life is, but also about what really matters.

And unlike many people my age (I will turn forty-one in a few weeks, for the record), I tend to have a much lower tolerance for much of the nonsense that life tends to try and dish out. Or should I say, what we humans tend to throw at one another.

This includes, but is not limited to what we pawn off as “opinions” about one another very humanity and rights. For example, that two adults who may share the same gender should not be able to love and/or marry one another. Or perhaps that a person with a particular skin tone or heritage should not have as much access to certain jobs or areas to live in. Or maybe that someone who says that they were made differently – well, they must either be non-existent (i.e. making that experience up) or must be downright insane.

What’s even more fun is when people back up any and all of these “opinions” and more with Biblical passages. Because, oh yes, it can be done. Easily.

But just because it can, doesn’t mean it should.

So, let me say this very clearly: you are not entitled to any opinion that invalidates someone’s existence or rights.

It is not acceptable, because it is hate-filled. It is sinful because it is missing the mark of loving others without judgment, which is what Christ taught us to do.

It is choosing principles over humans – something that both God and Christ would never, ever do. Jesus spent his earthly life specifically doing the opposite. Not sure where that wire got crossed.

God’s profligate love has never changed. But oh my how badly have we messed up its translation.

What really matters is this: that people know they are loved. They are beautifully made. No matter what. Period.

I remember early on in my ministry I had a very odd conversation. Someone was sharing with me how they explained a controversial topic to small children and they said: sometimes hatred is the only way to spell out right and wrong.

I distinctly recall leaving that discussion feeling unsettled.

I called my mom – still alive at the time – and her response was no. Absolutely not. Remember what Rodgers & Hammerstein said: you’ve got to be carefully taught.

Living in the South for so much of my adult life and ministry, I have become quite good at backing up whatever I say and do with Scripture. It is habit at this point. Because, as one of our Confessions in the Presbyterian Church U.S.A. says, “[the Bible] is a witness without parallel” (BOC, 9.27).

But something I have also come to realize is that there are so, so many things we can back up with Scripture that we really…. just… shouldn’t.

Slavery.

Misogyny.

Sexual assault.

Child abuse.

Prejudice.

Bigotry.

Genocide.

All sorts of things that are truly unspeakable evils.

They are all Biblical.

But here is the thing – they are NOT Christ-like.

In my particular tradition, the Presbyterian one, that is, the only reason the Bible is so important to us is because it witnesses to the God who came in the truly perfect, eternal & infallible Word of God: Jesus Christ. The Word who became flesh. And it is his words and actions that eclipse everything else.

Because Scripture conflicts with itself. Fights with itself. Debates outright and denies itself.

It is God’s own Self who can teach us how to interpret it and show us that thin red line of God’s Self at work in the midst of the entire human-written witness (no matter how well-inspired it may have been).

So, rather than asking ourselves, is something backed up by Scripture (which I can still do, by the way), it is far better to ask, am I loving my neighbor by doing this? Am I showing mercy to those the world wants to ignore? Am I seeking justice for the unwanted and the oppressed? Am I feeding the hungry and welcoming the stranger? Am I following in the footsteps of the One who lifted up children, called women to preach, and encouraged the last and the least to be leaders through the fray? Am I seeking after the crucified God?

I saw a colleague recently ask how they were going to be able to do ministry while also surviving the death of both of their parents, within relatively close succession to one another. This after caring for them in the midst of also walking with a congregation full-time.

The truth is that sometimes the hits just keep on coming. Not a fun one to grapple with.

Even as we pastors are blessed to share in the joys of life and hold onto hands through the sorrows that our congregations experience, both individuals and as a body, we ourselves have our obnoxious illnesses, serious diagnoses, family emergencies, and true tragedies that bring grief, depression, and anxiety only adding to the stress of the job.

It is true that other professions find this to be the case, of course. We are far from alone. In fact, there are other occupations that have even greater day to day stress in many ways.

Nevertheless, the one thing that is different about clergy is this bizarre and antiquated expectation that we somehow have a direct line to the divine and therefore must be full of perfect holiness and willing to turn every other cheek – even as our personal lives and bodies fall to shambles.

That’s not the case. In any way.

The reality is that many of us pastors just care too much and love people with so much reckless abandon that we oftentimes forget how much rest our bodies actually need. (We are trying to do better…)

More importantly, when it comes to our families, these days at least, we are finally starting to set up appropriate boundaries and reminders that they are normal humans. Outside the realm of any expectations or conjectures that may be tied to us in our jobs.

Most importantly, though, is the essential reminder that all of us humans need: we cannot do this alone. Any of us. We all need care and compassion, because things do fall apart. And especially for followers of the God who makes God’s home among us, the truest test of our mettle is how well we rally for one another when trouble comes.

Several weeks ago, I told my sons we were heading to church one Sunday morning and one responded, “I don’t want to go there and see God. God is boring.”

I suddenly realized that my child had equated what we were doing in worship with who our God is. And I also realized how grueling a critique his words were.

If the only way people come to know God is through solemn prayers, often old-fashioned hymns and sermons, no-matter how well thought out – it is no wonder that some of our younglings might think our connection to God is perhaps not worth making.

What occurs to me is something we learned in bible class: our God plays.

It is not something we talk about very often in church, and it very likely may not be easy to practically implement in Sunday morning worship, nevertheless, God created play. Made God’s creatures for play. And God participates in play.

In fact, many of the ancient rabbis would tell us that at the end of every day, God goes home to play with God’s puppy, leviathan.

I find it very difficult to believe that our eternal home does not look far more like a place where we can laugh and play, rather than a stern and silent, picture-perfect palace. I imagine an epic, boisterous dinner party filled with storytelling and fully-bellied hysterics, with glasses clinking, and children of all ages running to and fro to see those relatives they’ve long been missing. God’s family finally together again.

I’m honestly not sure how we grow this vision in our regular worship and ministry, but I am quite certain we need to do better.

So, to get the creative juices moving, I leave us with this translation of Bill Brown’s from the book of Proverbs 8:22-31:

In the beginning God created me.
   God create me.
      Me!
         Me!

I was woven from the very beginning,
   woven,
       woven in the womb.

Before the Big Bang, I was birthed.
    Before earth and all stars,
       before the hills were set in place,
         I was born.
Before the moon kindled the darkness,
   before the wind kindled the fire,
      before the rain filled every ocean,
I was there.
   There I was!
      And there, and there, and there!

I was beside God growing up,
   growing and developing,
      nurtured and loved,
         growing in God's ways.
I was God's delight day by day,
    day by day.

I was the de-light of the world,
   playing and dancing,
      dancing and delighting,
Playing in God's wondrous world,
   in God's world of wonders!
Playing with the children of Adam and Eve,
   with lions and tigers and bears.
Oh my!
   Amen!
Let's play!

Ah the cultural wars.

Right now the two sides that seem to have emerged – although they are far from evenly or accurately or even truly divided – are represented by the hot pink feminist queen cats, while the opposition is being represented by a small town wannabe cowboy. (For those of us who have seen the Barbie movie, the irony is not lost.)

For so much of the world’s history, those in power have and even now continue to write how the story is told. What is important. Whose narrative actually matters.

They control life for everyone else. Commerce. Access. Health. Sustainability. Literally who lives and who dies – even if what that looks like is far more subtle than it used to be.

The paradox of this world is, however, that those who have been in power for the last many decades, centuries, even millennia – well, they are, in fact, outnumbered by all of the “others.”

Women. Humans with different skin tones. People with different accents and backgrounds. Children of God who come from foreign countries or are descended from them, which by the way, is nearly everyone in this nation in which my family resides, unless they happen to be descendants of those native to these lands (may they be blessed and may they forgive us). Brothers or sisters or siblings who think differently. Live differently. Were made differently.

While each individual group may be smaller than the “silent majority” who are so excited about the intolerance and hatred that have dominated human history seemingly running rampant right now – the truth is that they are the minority.

At least compared with all the rest of us “others” who refuse to give into their narrative. Who stand for one another. Who will never go silently when we see our neighbors being trampled in small towns, big towns, major cities, or anywhere else.

So, enjoy your horsies. Because we know how this story really ends. And love will win.