...ENOUGH

Add to your believing deeds that prove it true ---

Knowing Christ as Savior, make Him Master too;

Follow in His footsteps, go where He has trod,

In the world’s great trouble risk yourself for God.

---Bryan Jeffery Leech, 1975

…In the world’s great trouble, risk yourself for God. Risk yourself for God. Risk yourself.

When I think of the term ‘risk’, what come immediately to mind are conventional things. I think of things the world would call risky --- speeding, unsafe sex, day trading, touching raw poultry…you get the picture. Way down on my list would be taking the risk of following in Jesus’ footsteps. What kind of risks might there be in following Jesus’ leadership out in the ‘real world’? 

How about standing with the outcast? Standing up for love in a world where hate is a gut reaction and ‘staying out of things that don’t involve you’ is considered, well, magnanimous enough? Turning the other cheek…going the second mile? Tipping over the tables of the moneychangers on a raking-it-in-hand-over-fist-type day? Saying "ENOUGH, for God's sake!" to the body count that rises higher than the temperature on an Alabama July day?

Things like that could get a person in trouble…

Risk yourself.

...wage peace

Through war-torn streets where hope is dead,

Fly bombs and anger ‘round our heads.

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through homes where love cannot to be found,

And violence spreads the fear around,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through lands where food just will not grow,

And streams of water never flow,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through minds where illness takes first place,

And wholeness longs for any space,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through challenges of this our time,

Through rage, neglect, greed’s paradigm,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

When things seem worst, we hear the song

Hope sings above the din of wrong:

The song of One who hears our plea.

Christ guides our feet in paths of peace.

---Leigh Anne Armstrong, 2005

tune: FERNDALE

By God's tender mercies,

dawn will break on high,

bringing light to us who sit in dark,

in the very shadow of death,

to brighten the way to the path of peace.

---Luke 1:78-79 (para. laca)

During my prayers and meditations this morning it passed through my mind that, though our individual and tribal agonies and tragedies seem freshly goring with each new wound, we have been hurting for a long time now. We have been needing peace, in our climate, in our world, in our homes, in our hearts and psyches, for so long. Most of the time we move through our days, numb to the violence around us, blind to the damage inflicted on our brothers and sisters by systems and power and pure plain meanness and evil. The world is engineered for numbness, for dulling the senses to the pain of others, even our own pain. 

And then sectarian and tribal violence turns into mass slaying of school children and college students. Or the pain of mental illness spills over into unspeakable tragedy on a massive scale. Or families have to take stock and rebuild love where it grows for their children. 

And through all of this, faint, is the song of hope. Not the kind of solid thing performed by a symphony orchestra with a festival chorus. More like the caught wisp of a melody, floating out of an open window on one of those rare, fine days when open windows might be acceptable in our part of the country. You might only catch a few notes, a rise and fall of phrase. But when you do. When you  do. It may just give you the courage to wage peace in this world, where all the violence seems continually new.

...not one more December tragedy

Lully, lullay, thou little tiny Child,
By, by, lully, lullay:
Lullay, thou little tiny Child, 
By by, lully, lullay.
---Robert Croo, 16th cent.

The bleak midwinter reveals a rock-hard core once again. At its base--- under the sleigh bells. and snowflakes, and merriment ---it seems,  lie loss and mourning. Buried in the Christmas story in Matthew is the violent subplot of King Herod's slaughter of the innocents in Bethlehem. In his burning jealously over guarding his throne against usurpers, Herod sent his soldiers out to murder all the boys in Bethlehem whose births fit the Magis' calculations. In The Coventry Carol, featured in a 1534 pageant on the birth of Christ, mothers were shown rocking their babes, singing one last lullaby as Herod's army approached.

The grief of a mother over the loss of a child is, perhaps, our true picture of grief. Think of Michaelangelo's Pieta, with a diminutive Mary cradling her full-grown, newly-crucified son in her arms. Think of Jeremiah's prophecy, quoted in Matthew's gospel:
"A voice is heard in Ramah, 
lamentation and bitter weeping.
Rachel is weeping for her children;
she refuses to be comforted for her children,
because they are no more."

It seems we would have learned, through the years, the centuries, to quit killing our children, to quit breaking our mothers' hearts. But we continue to observe our December tragedies, to see bleak midwinter run bleaker still at the point of a sword, the trigger of an assault rifle, the detonator of an IED. Terror looks like Herod's soldiers in Bethlehem, like Adam Lanza and a Bushmaster in Newtown, like the Pakistan Taliban in Peshawar.

If we've got a hope in this world, it is that, when God came to us, it was as one of us, flesh to flesh. As if to say, "Your lives can be holy, and the way you live in this world can be holy. Watch me."

Because we can. Not one more December tragedy.

...is there peace?

It was as if an earthquake rent the hearthstones of a continent,
And made forlorn the households born
of peace on earth, goodwill to men.
And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
"For hate is strong, and mocks the song
of peace on earth, goodwill to men!"
---Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1863

As important as any of the text quoted above (from the poem Christmas Bells, of which a large excerpt became the carol I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day) is the citation of the year of its composition. 1863. The bloody, fiery, hateful middle of our torn-up nation's Civil War. Longfellow's own household was not untouched by the war's devastation, as his oldest son, gone to fight against his father's will, was soon gravely wounded in battle. Top to bottom, the country watched and waited, impotent, as its youth played their parts, wounded and wounding, injured and injuring, bleeding and dying on killing fields that had only months before been yielding fields. Violence had broken society as surely as an earthquake might crack the hearthstones of a community's homes.

And still today, in the streets, the song of peace on earth is mocked by the strong semi-automatic fire of hate, by the casual disregard for the spark of the Divine in each human life. Still, disagreements escalate, and the hardware is easily accessible to create permanent solutions for temporary problems. Still, we live in a culture where we have failed to make known each person's value and worth. All lives don't matter, not in all circumstances, and despair is the result. There is no peace on earth.

But Longfellow, honest and despairing as he was, didn't end his poem there. And the story doesn't end there for us either. Because we await the coming of the Prince of Peace, ushering in a reign of peace. And the peace can change us. We can see each other, and ourselves, as beloved of God. And treat each other with goodwill. Lord, haste the day.

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail, the Right prevail,
With peace on earth, goodwill to men."

...hope and fear

O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by;
yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light;
the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.
---Phillips Brooks, 1868

I wonder, when I watch the news, or read history, or talk to friends, or sit alone with my own thoughts, whether fear is not the controlling emotion in our world, whether it always has been. Whether fear has not been the root cause of self-image spirals, jealousies and betrayals, greed and hoarding, wars and violence. Whether fear is not the reason we fail, so often, to summon up the courage to risk loving each other.

But in a little backwater town, a long time ago, stress fractures appeared in the fear chain. Tiny things, really; not so you'd notice, if you weren't looking. But in this little town, in the midst of fears --- both the everyday variety and the 'we're-having-a-baby-and-the-whole-world-is-spinning-out-of-control' kind --- hope touches down. In Bethlehem, with the otherwise unremarkable birth of a baby, each world-fear is met with hope. The insidious beachhead of fear is met by the tide of hope sweeping in, wave on wave.

It may take time, but little by little the beach can be eaten away by the tide.

...hope past hope's believing

View the present through the promise, Christ will come again.
Trust despite the deepening darkness, Christ will come again.
Lift the world above its grieving through your watching and believing
in the hope past hope's believing; Christ will come again.
---Thomas Troeger, 1985

We wait and watch here, in the darkness of the 'before' time. We shake our heads at the state of this world. We whisper, we cry, we shout, we pray, "How long?" How long now till things are made right? How long till good is rewarded, and evil is punished? How long until the weak are protected from harm? Till justice rolls down like mighty waters?

Lord, how long? We wait and watch. For it to happen. For us. To us.

In this relatively new text by hymnist Thomas Troeger, our waiting and watching is no passive thing. To a world grieving starvation, disease, wanton violence, stony disregard for the suffering of others; to this world, hope comes with power to rescue. Our hoping, our believing has a presence to lift this world. Because our hope is in a transformative Christ, who grieves this world with us, who comes to set things right. To feed the hungry, to heal the sick, to break the sword.

And most of all? To fill the hearts of humanity with the desire to do the same. Could it happen? Hope past hope's believing. I believe.

...though the earth should change

God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear,
though the earth should change...
     ---from Psalm 46

The world of Psalm 46 is fearsome --- full of natural disasters, the man-made disaster of war, and, most of all, 'change'. When has the earth changed for you? Was it tsunami, wildfire? The Gulf War Syndrome or Traumatic Brain Injury that have followed our fighting men and women home from war? The darkness we mark today, when terrorists flew planes into the twin towers of the World Trade Centers? The day 50 years ago when cowards in Birmingham set off bombs that took the lives of four little girls, and the dogs and fire-hoses were unleashed on the youth of the city? Or has your earth changed more privately? Beloved friend or family member wasting away with cancer? A child wandering away, or stolen by violence or needless early death? A failure at work or betrayal in marriage?
Obviously, our belief in God didn't protect us from these disasters of circumstance, of nature, of hatred, of gaps in medical knowledge; nor were we protected from our questions about how these things happen to 'good' people in God's world.
In this 46th chapter of Psalms, though, God is described as 'refuge', 'strength', 'help', 'presence', 'with us'. Right here, right now, in the midst of our troubles, God is present with us. When the earth changes, God is with us. When the whole world seems to shake with the portent of evils now or yet to come, God is with us.
Be still; acknowledge God's presence. When we need to hide from the changes and be quiet, God is here --- refuge, strength, help. God is here with us.

Hi Mom! Send Bitcoin!

Turn from evil and do good.
Seek peace and pursue it.
---Psalm 34:14

On Saturday our little town was visited by a few (hundred thousand) extra people. There was a pretty big football contest going on, and a show called Gameday broadcast from town on the morning of. During Gameday, folks endeavor to have their creative signs captured on camera and spread famously across the world for a few seconds. My son Sam told me a story he had heard about one college student's sign.
The sign was a riff on the familiar 'Hi Mom! Send $' scrawled by college students across the decades on signs, letters, and telegrams from State U to Hometown USA. This one, however, was for a new, digital age. This sign said, 'Hi Mom! Send ---' then had a symbol that looked like a combination of an upper-case B and a dollar sign, followed by a black and white jumble. The symbol was for Bitcoin, an "open source peer-to-peer electronic money and payment network." It is a traded commodity. The jumble was a QR code, which can be read and translated by smart phones. When folks saw the fun -looking sign, they scanned the code into their phones on a lark --- and this is where the magic began. Apparently the young man has so far made $24,000 in Bitcoin from the folk who scanned his QR code during the few seconds of air time his sign received during ESPN's Gameday broadcast.
He knew what he wanted --- and he went out and sought it. In the verse from the Psalm today, we are told to seek peace, to pursue it. We all dream of peace, visualize it, sing about it, long for it. And those are all important pursuits. But the time comes when chasing after peace is the noble pursuit. Here at Advent, we often extol the virtue of waiting. And a wise person said 'Good things come to those who wait.' But in our world filled with turmoil, mistrust, and violence, peace must be sought and pursued.
Peace must be made.
Don't wait for your Bitcoin to fall out of the sky. Get out your Sharpie and make your sign. Gameday's coming...


...so here we stand, whoever we are,
bathed in the light of a star...

Passing Understanding

Today should be a day of peace, in a week of peace observed during Advent. Today should be one for viewing each other as brothers and sisters, seeking community and fellowship. Today should be a day blanketed in thanksgiving for the gift of peace continually offered to our world. Today is not that day.

Today is a mourning day, a questioning day, a rearranging day. How are we to think of our earth-mates, our community members, when one of us could gun down twenty-six others of us? How are we to live with this not-peace? How are people of peace to respond?

First, to know that families touched by unspeakable violence will need the freedom to express whatever emotions they may encounter; to know that we should be ever ready to offer a listening ear, free of judgement or platitude; to know that this deep hurt, the hurt especially of losing a child, will shape parents and other family members now and forever. Second, to know that the family of the shooter will never outlive the taint of association, or of blame; to know that we cannot be agents of healing unless we are willing for all to be healed and embraced; to know that we can't know. Third, to know that a 24-year-old young man, who should be starting out his adult life and seeking to contribute to society, has broken the peace in such a way; to know that the not-peace of an unquiet mind is a kind of confusing hell; to know that our society must explore what can be done to heal the mind, and what can be done to safeguard the  society, the suffering, and the perpetrator from massive acts of violence. If there are ways we can make this happen, we as peace-seekers must make these things happen.

And last, and first, and overarching, there is peace to be experienced. It is the peace that passes all understanding, crazy peace. Somehow, peace...

In Paths of Peace

Through war-torn streets where hope is dead,

Fly bombs and anger ‘round our heads.

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through homes where love cannot to be found,

And violence spreads the fear around,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through lands where food just will not grow,

And streams of water never flow,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through minds where illness takes first place,

And wholeness longs for any space,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through challenges of this our time,

Through rage, neglect, greed’s paradigm,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

When things seem worst, we hear the song

Hope sings above the din of wrong:

The song of One who hears our plea.

Christ guides our feet in paths of peace.