I am grateful to invite Marcia Detrick to be a Guest Blogger on Smuggling Grace today. Last week in a mutual group, she shared some words about lament and hope. I thought they were helpful and asked if I could publish them here.
How are lament and hope resonating in your life right now? Feel free to leave us a comment.
Lament and hope are not opposites. Nor are they mutually exclusive.
In my heart and life, lament and hope often co-exist very peacefully as friendly companions to one another.
There may be pressure to accelerate our grieving, and to put boundaries around our lament.
But my lament is grounded in hope, in a belief that the world could be better, should be better, and has the real potential to actually become better.
The shared lament of others over the last few days has brought me great comfort and great hope.
If ever we stop lamenting evil, all hope will truly be lost.
Marcia Detrick is a wife to one, a mother to two, a mother-in-law to two, and a grandmother to three (the youngest of which will arrive into the world of breathing humans in the next week or so.) She has the heart of a contemplative and some of her favorite things are morning glories, pink sunrises, neon sunsets, and baby’s giggles. Her favorite hobby is friendship, especially one-on-one-anything-but-superficial conversation over a warm beverage.
I’m so grateful that Ben Johnston-Krase is sharing with us today as a guest blogger on Smuggling Grace. With some concern, Ben’s 10 year old daughter recently asked him, “What are we going to do if Trump wins?” This is Ben’s response and his commitment toward justice no matter who wins the election. I want to share this on Election Day because it is hopeful, and it is an invitation toward vital work we must do together alongside our neighbors, no matter the result.
My 10-year-old daughter asked me the other day, “Dad, what will we do if Trump wins?” I’m sure she had overheard me telling some friends that if Donald Trump became president, we’d move to Guam. “Guam?” she probably thought. “Where’s Guam?” No doubt the thought of relocating to some remote island, wherever it was, loomed large in her mind as she calculated distance from friends, school, family…
She looked anxious, and so I responded, “Well, honey,” I said, “If Trump wins, we’ll stay right here and we’ll keep working hard to, you know, further our values.”
Further our values? Ok. At least that didn’t involve moving to Guam. And so, somewhat satisfied I guess, my daughter moved on with her day. But she left me wondering, what will I do if Trump wins? For sure I’ll need a better explanation for my kids. But really, what will I do?
So here it is. If Trump wins, I will…
Spend at least 48 hours with the pain. One time I dropped an axe on my shoeless foot, which was bad enough, but a nanosecond later the axe’s handle bounced into my groin. I yelped and went down to the floor like a 175-pound slab of twitching meat, crying out in pain and wishing for unconsciousness. It’ll be like that. For at least 48 hours. First I will feel the pain.
Next I will call to check on friends and neighbors. This is what you do after a disaster, isn’t it? Make sure everyone’s ok? This will be a good time to share casseroles.
I will briefly check real estate listings in Guam. I’m just being honest.
I will arm myself with sources that will focus my attention away from worthless regrets and hapless escapist fantasies—sources that kick my butt, remind me who I am, and who I feel called to be. These include things like Martin Luther King Jr.’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” Wendell Berry’s poem, “The Mad Farmer, Flying the Flag of Rough Branch, Secedes from the Union,” and a bunch of prophets from the Hebrew Scriptures. I’ll listen to songs like Frank Turner’s “Journey of the Magi” and Ingrid Michaelson’s “Blood Brothers.” I’ll immerse myself in poets and prophets that have called the world toward goodness and grace.
I will get my ass to work. I’ll double down on everything good and wonderful and beautiful I’ve ever been taught. I’ll listen more and I’ll sharpen my sensitivity to injustice. I’ll seek out relationships with those with whom I disagree. I’ll paint signs with my children and show up at more protests. I’ll teach them again and again that justice, liberty, and equality are worth fighting for and I’ll show them what that fight looks like. I’ll learn more names on my street. I’ll write more music, create more art, and cheer on those who are doing the same.
If Donald Trump wins, I will strive to more vividly shape my life in opposition to smallmindedness, fear, and violence. I will find others who are doing the same and together we will not simply work to elect someone else in four years; rather we will look to address the conditions in our culture that have paved the way for a Trump to become anything more than a sad reminder of what happens to us when we succumb to our worse instincts.
In short, if Donald Trump wins, I will grieve and then I will stand and fight for the world as I hope it can be. I suppose this is what I meant when I told my daughter that we’d “stay right here and keep working hard to, you know, further our values.”
But here’s the thing. I don’t think Trump will win. When all is said and done, I don’t think we’re that far gone. So maybe “What will I do if Trump wins?” isn’t the question I should be asking. In light of everything I’ve just said, maybe the better question for me is the one Mary Oliver asks at the end of her poem, “The Summer Day.”
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Win or lose, Trump or no Trump, Clinton or no Clinton… Does it really matter? No matter who wins nationally or on the state level tomorrow, there’s work to be done and I only have but one wild and precious life to live. God help me to live it well. Otherwise I might as well be in Guam.
Ben Johnston-Krase is a pastor in the Presbyterian Church (USA) and has served churches in Illinois, Texas, Wisconsin, and now Durham, North Carolina where he lives with his wife and three daughters.
My husband Ian and I love to go hiking. As we’ve done so during the autumn season, I’ve had a really silly goal: To no avail, I’ve been trying to catch a leaf mid-fall. So far, I’ve been completely unsuccessful, and Ian has teased me. But yesterday, while trying to reach this silly goal, I had an even better experience. I got to hold birds!
It was a beautiful moment. Yesterday afternoon, we were hiking at the Kenzington Metropark when we encountered another couple. They were holding seeds, and chickadees kept hopping right into their hands and eating away! This couple generously offered us some seeds too. Completely delighted, we held seeds as birds nibbled away and flittered back and forth between us.
I needed this experience. When we arrived at the park, I encouraged myself to be fully present. Like many, I’ve been quite worried about this election. I’m certainly concerned about the outcome, but I’m also nervous about the level of dissention that exists in our nation. It’s especially troubling as some are threatening violence.
This is a heavy concern for us to bear, and it deserves our best attention and intentional response. It can also become completely overwhelming. If we’re not careful (read also, care-full), we get lost in the stress. We lose our resiliency toward the best response possible, and we begin to miss the gifts right in front of us too.
So over the last few days, I’ve been saying this mantra inside myself:
Be present. Be wise. Be alive.
It has helped me be present when I’m anxious. If the moment at hand involves election coverage, I’m present to consider, respond, and act. If it involves moments of beauty — no pundits could diminish yesterday’s hike — I’m present to wonder and respond with gratitude.
All of this came to mind as birds hopped to and fro between us yesterday. I was reminded of these words from Jesus:
Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?
I don’t want to diminish what we’re facing at this moment. But to this moment, Jesus speaks wisdom: It’s natural to face worries, but if we let them fester, we ourselves are diminished. We have to prioritize living in the present moment, trusting that we will have what we need in order to respond.
Sometimes in complete surprises, we discover just that — like little birds reminding us that they often have more than they need. Even in this challenging time, we can respond from our abundance too.
And when we know it — when we’re truly aware of it — it is an incredible gift. Late last night, so many people around the nation were glued to their television sets. With baited breath, we watched two phenomenal teams play ten innings of baseball. As that tremendous game came to a close, we watched the Chicago Cubs win the World Series.
The Cubs! Won the World Series!
It took 108 years. I have never been a big baseball fan, but some of my friends have been rooting for the Cubs their entire lives. This is truly a dream come true. In the midst of a contentious election season, it was refreshing to know that so many people across the nation were reveling in an opportunity to watch their friends’ dreams become a reality. Even Cleveland fans are expressing gratitude today for such a wonderful World Series.
Last night, their dreams became our dreams, and today, we celebrate.
We are bound together in long-awaited dreams.
And when we know it — when we’re truly aware of it — it is an incredible gift. A few weeks ago, I heard a story on the Moth Radio Hour, and it is now my very favorite from their series. Documentary filmmaker Arthur Bradley tells a story about his long time friend Ron Simonsen. If you have time to listen to this in full, I cannot recommend it enough. At least save it for now, so you can listen later.
Arthur met Ron when he worked at a camp for adults with disabilities. Ron was a playful and personable camper who had cerebral palsy and autism. As a child, Ron had spent a lot of time in hospitals where he watched tv shows from the seventies. He admired stars he saw during those years; as an adult, he had an obsession with those television shows and the actors that made them possible. Above all, Ron absolutely loved Chad Everett, the actor who played Dr. Joe Gannon on CBS’ drama Medical Center. More than anything in the world, Ron Simonsen wanted to meet Chad Everett.
In addition to working at the camp, Arthur Bradley was a budding documentary maker. He took a trip to California with Ron and four other adults with disabilities so that they could pursue some of their dreams. As a part of his film, Arthur worked hard to arrange a meeting with Chad Everett, but it never materialized. Despite this, the film captured a quest that was meaningful and endearing in itself as Ron chased after his goal, which he always called “his biggest dream.”
But wonderfully, after the film was made, it eventually made it into Chad Everett’s hands, and he reached out himself to meet Ron Simonsen. As Arthur told the story on the Moth Radio Hour, (again, you must listen to it!) he shares the glorious moment when Ron and Chad met for the very first time. When Ron first spotted Chad, he ran to him, something that was remarkably difficult due to his disability. Arthur said that his own heart was beating so fast with excitement. Later, he realized that Ron’s “biggest dream” of meeting Chad Everett had truly become his own.
We are bound together in long-awaited dreams.
And when we know it — when we’re truly aware of it — it is an incredible gift.
Now watch this video of Ron meeting Chad for the first time. Good luck not crying! You’ll find yourself connected to the emotions of this long-awaited dream.
[This image comes from Westminister Presbyterian Church in Minneapolis, MN. I have always loved their full balcony in the round.]
Yesterday, I encountered a beautiful quote in a meme that was being passed around. Take this in and know that it’s true for you:
“Suddenly, all my ancestors are behind me. ‘Be still,’ they say. ‘Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.'”
I love those sacred words from author Linda Hogan. They’re certainly beautiful and worthy of being shared.
It’s also true. We are the result of the love of thousands — each one of us. We are connected to our biological ancestors, and we are connected to a host of individuals who have formed us over time. As Fred Rogers used to say, these people have “loved us into being.” We could also say that they have particularlized us — that is, they have made us more specifically who we are simply and powerfully because they lived and loved.
David Roth was my pastor growing up, and he was deeply influential upon my life. On a number of occasions, I remember him using the language of ‘Balcony People’ to talk about those who have gone before us in this way. That term comes from Balcony People, a book by Joyce Landorf Heatherly. She discusses the importance of being in relationship with people who encourage and affirm us. David often extended this term to talk about the Communion of Saints, and he himself is one my many Balcony People.
Yesterday was All Saints Day. On that day each year, I always think about a particular memory concerning David. It took place more than a year after he died.
Believe it or not, my car still plays cassette tapes (yes, I know. . . ) On a particular day in April 2010, I was driving around Austin, Texas, and I decided to listen to one of David Roth’s sermon tapes.
It was the last sermon he gave at my home church, and it took place on the day he retired. In the middle of this sermon, he began to talk about his Balcony People and named a litany of individuals and communities which had shaped his life in the Church. At one point, he said,
“They all participated in giving me birth, as there are people here who even now, participate in giving all of us birth, re-birth. . . Christ has told us that wherever we are, even if we think we’re all alone, as the Apostle Paul at times felt all alone, we are surrounded by so Great a Cloud of Witnesses. I never come to this communion table — never! — without feeling surrounded by the ‘Balcony People.'”
As you can imagine, it moved me so deeply to hear David Roth speak these words in his own voice after we had painfully lost him to a cancer diagnosis. Even beyond death, he still speaks. He is a Balcony Person for sure. Quite intentionally, I think of him and my other Balcony People every time I come to that communion table.
So consider your Balcony today.
Who has loved you into being?
Who still speaks?
Who cheers you on with encouragement – perhaps beyond you in time, yet so near to you in the present?
This week, some of my friends and colleagues are at a Polity Conference in Louisville, KY. You may think it takes a special kind of geek to attend Comic-Con or a national event for an overly specific fandom. In a different vein, I promise you that a bunch of Presbyterians pondering rules, policies, and cultures for church governance are an especially specialized bunch. But they’re also wonderful people.
They’re trying to ponder the best practices for the 21st century Church to be faithful, just, creative, and connectional, and they’re doing this on a worthy day for such considerations. Today is not only Halloween. It is the 499th anniversary of Martin Luther hanging the 95 Theses on the doors of the Wittenberg Cathedral, boldly articulating the need for reform of the Christian Church.
Nearly five hundred years later, we are entering another period of reform.
As a Presbyterian, I belong to a tradition that often says we are a “Church reformed, always reforming.” This axiom and commitment is much more than slogan. It involves a deep understanding that God is always reforming the Church and indeed reforming our own lives, so that we will live more faithfully toward our neighbors and work for the healing of the world.
This has been on my mind quite a bit lately. As we’re experiencing rapid changes in this nation and in our world, we need a renewed effort to consider what it means to be Church in the 21st century. What forms can Church take? What commitments will be embedded in its identity, and how will those be expressed?
And we might ask another question: Where will our permissiveness lie?
That’s kind of an odd question, I admit. At least, it feels that way to me, but it keeps popping into my mind these days. By permissiveness, I mean, what sorts of things will we allow?
This question arrived fervently in my mind a few days ago when a colleague shared a tweet to Facebook, calling out pastors for their cynicism, sharing that this cynicism is hurting current seminarians. It’s rare for a shared tweet to receive 53 comments, but it ignited quite a firestorm of thoughts.
In response, pastors became quite honest that their experiences working for the Church have often been immensely painful. Some have felt remarkably mistreated as they have experienced abuses of power; some have encountered entrenched forms of racism and sexism. These themes have impacted their employment and have hurt their spiritual hopes.
In the midst of these responses, others were quite honest about the ways these realities impact seminarians. Seminarians don’t want any of these experiences to be normalized, nor do they want to be burdened by them. Many are dreaming of new visions for the Church, including how to address these sinful realities and transform them. We need to put our energies in their direction and learn from their leadership and dreaming.
So both realities bring that question toward the forefront of reformation:
Where will our permissiveness lie?
Will we normalize abuses of power in the Church?
Will we look the other way when we know that racism, sexism, homophobia, and transphobia are embedded in our common life?
Will we allow greed in some congregations to fester, while others struggle to survive?
Will we become a Church that values innovation?
Will we be a nimble Church that lives incarnationally in a variety of contexts?
Will we be a Church of Spirit-filled dreamers?
We need reformation. As we ponder all of these things, we wonder what will be allowed — what will be tolerated, yes, for that is a crucial question. And we also wonder what is possible.
My hopes and prayers are with the people who ask those questions, including the people who sit in nerdy, polity conferences.
I’m so grateful that Kyle Walker is sharing with us today as a guest blogger on Smuggling Grace. As Kyle shares below, he recently witnessed some injustices at his voting precinct and was concerned about voting access. This week, he posted three live videos on Facebook about these experiences, and he shared what we can do if we witness similar challenges. He shares more about this today. You can also watch his videos below.
Voting. I, for one, will admit to you that I love to vote. I mean, if I could, I would vote multiple times an election. I am not saying I would do that to influence the election in an unjust way. In fact, you can count my vote only the first time but just let me go back again and again. I get a rush when I’m done. For me, it’s like popping those air bubbles in packing wrap. It is only surpassed by my love of Star Trek and board games.
But, seriously, ever since I could vote, I have. Then after years of wanting more of this suffrage delight, I figured out how to be a Deputy Voter Registrar and an Election Judge. I got to live vicariously through other people getting to vote for the first time or making their way through the process again and helping them with questions and concern. When you can’t vote twice, help others vote once!
Big reveal: I’m a pastor. Don’t run. No four spiritual laws and Roman road will be hitting you like bird poop at the beach. I promise. But, I find voting is one of the easiest, least intrusive, and meaningful ways for me to live into my beliefs that we are called to help lift up the oppressed and ensure their agency. A) I can vote for people who will care about policies that lift all people up. And B) I can make sure all people have their rightful agency at the ballot box.
This year, after moving to a new county, I waited too late to sign up to be an election judge. Bummer. So, on the first day of early voting I went to vote when the polls opened at 8 a.m. I wasn’t the first there. There were five people ahead of me in line. I noted that there were four women and a guy who I think would happily join me in board games and Star Trek. Note: I’m shy.
One of them was an African-American woman, and once she approached, she was told that was not in the voter registry. She had to step out of line while they called the county clerk to verify her status. The middle age woman in front of me was shamed because only her middle initial was on her driver’s license while her middle name was spelled out on the voter registry. Wha what? I overhead the African-American woman being referred to as “this person” and I just shut down in disbelief.
Reflecting after I walked out, I made a few live feeds on my Facebook page to help people understand how to avoid this mayhem and who to report to at the Department of Justice. I filed a report myself. A person named Bruce contacted me afterward. He helped me and was so grateful and helpful. Our government actually does work beautifully sometimes.
I know it is cliché, but please do this. If you see something, say something. ay it to the election judges at the moment and then to the Department of Justice if it isn’t resolved. Here’s a link to their web complaint form (they called me back in two hours).
It’s fun. It’s empowering. Go vote and help others do the same.
Kyle Walker is the pastor of Faith Presbyterian Church in Austin, Texas. He loves horror movies, old churches, cooking, sci fi, traveling, the outdoors, public transit, and long talks about dangerous topics like politics and religion with his partner Nelis.
Here are links to Kyle Walker’s Facebook Live Videos this week. Please watch and share.
Today I want to mark a milestone that fills me with gratitude:
Michigan Nones and Dones, our new community in Southeast Michigan, has turned one year old. I don’t expect that people will smear cake all over their faces, but to celebrate, people from our community will actually eat a birthday cake over the weekend! I’m looking forward to this.
What a beautiful year. . . Here’s the story of how this all began, along with hopes for year number two.
On October 24, 2015, I was running a variety of errands. While at the Farmers Market in Ann Arbor, an idea popped in my mind. “What would happen if someone started a Meetup Group for Nones and Dones? I wonder what kinds of conversations people would have. . .”
As you may know, Nones and Dones are buzzwords right now in demographic studies and the sociology of religion. The term None describes people who are religiously unaffiliated. As a large, umbrella term, it does not define any one person or grouping precisely. Rather, Nones may include atheists, agnostics, secular humanists, people who describe themselves as ‘spiritual but not religious’, seekers, and increasingly, people who resist labels altogether. The term Done, meanwhile, has emerged to describe people who maintain their religious identity but have left traditional, religious institutions behind. On that day of errands, I wondered, what would happen if there was a conversation group for both?
I was in a season of experimentation, so that evening, as my husband and I watched Star Wars: Episode IV A New Hope in our living room, I was multitasking. While laughing at Luke’s dorky comments on Tatooine, I created a new group on Meetup.com. I wrote a description for our group and launched this thing into the world. But truly, I had no idea that this spontaneous decision would form a new community or become a larger-scale vision.
People actually started joining, and it was so exciting to see that happen. When we began to meet in person, there was a clear, recognized need for this kind of community. At our first gathering, two different people drove as much as an hour to meet with us.
Soon after, we had a significant gathering in a local coffee shop. To begin, I simply encouraged people to introduce themselves by answering this question: “Would you self-identify as a None, a Done, something in between, or something else?” I thought this would take just a few minutes, and then, we would explore the topic for the day. Instead, the next hour and a half was beautiful and stunning: Every single person chose to tell the grand arc of their faith and spirituality journey.
In that moment, we all knew we needed to form this into a vision for a larger community.
So we continue to meet in coffee shops and restaurants to talk about faith, spirituality, and our life experiences. We make meaning together. We form friendships together. At times, we talk quite candidly about the challenges and pains that religious communities have created. When those experiences are personal, we ponder how to heal. When those experiences are systemic, we ponder how to reform those very systems.
And now, we’re a year old.
I wonder where year two will take us. . . I hope it includes deeper friendships and continued conversations that are authentic, relational, and transformative. In the last year, I’ve connected with a large number of people about this vision, both local and across the country. Some identify as Nones or Dones, and some are affiliated with various churches and denominations. People are very interested to understand these demographic shifts we are experiencing. But beyond numbers and stats, people are also curious to engage the spirituality and meaning-making that emerges from groups such as ours.
And beautifully, the Presbytery of Detroit recently commissioned me to serve as a Community Chaplain for Nones and Dones, a brand new kind of role. In year two, I hope to facilitate discussions about this role, so that others might be able to serve their communities in a similar capacity. This role is needed. These kinds of communities are needed.
We are all learning and growing. And it is one of the greatest adventures I’ve had the pleasure to experience.
Here’s to the continuation of that adventure. Year number two, here we go!
Thank you for visiting Smuggling Grace today. I want to express my gratitude for everyone who visits, reads, subscribes, and cultivates conversations here. I write a variety of pieces each week and am committed to keeping my written content free of charge. But for those who would like to support this work financially, I offer opportunities to contribute. Today I want to thank Jody Mask for being one of those new supporters. Thank you, Jody!
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How long have you had your cell phone? One year? Two years? Since the most recent version of the iPhone was released?
However long you’ve had yours, I can promise you that you haven’t kept it as long as my husband, Ian Roederer, kept his. Today, I am here to report that after eleven years of faithful use, Ian’s legendary dinosaur phone no longer has service.
Here’s an ode to a phone and an era gone by. . . And here’s a shout out to a person who would keep a low functioning phone for as many years as it takes a newborn to reach fifth grade. Today, we salute a thick, low tech Nokia and its faithful keeper.
When we first moved to Austin, Texas all the way back in 2005, Ian and I entered a Cingular store (remember those?) and started our adventure of having 512 area codes. This was before we had Facebook accounts and the same year that YouTube was a brand new thing. On that day, Ian bought this faithful Nokia, and I bought a flip phone. Since that moment, I’ve had five different phones, and like virtually everyone, I’ve updated to smart phones. But not Ian. With dedication, he kept a dumb phone going until two weeks ago.
Now you may be wondering how this Nokia has been able to work consistently for eleven whole years. Simple answer: It hasn’t. Ian has been so dedicated to this phone that he has replaced the battery four different times.
And in fact, it still works. It’s just that all cell phone providers have progressively cramped his style. Two and a half years ago, AT&T contacted Ian and let him know they would no longer provide 2G service. Well, 2G service was a must! So Ian researched all other companies and switched over to Cricket, the sole provider which would support a bygone era.
That is, until a month ago. Four weeks ago, they contacted Ian to let him know that his simpler days are over. . . Cricket is ceasing its 2G service.
So pigs can fly, and Ian Roederer now has a smart phone.
This weekend, we traveled out of town for a wedding. Before the ceremony, I glanced in the room where guests had arrived and were now waiting. A clump of people were all passing time on their cell phones. And I could not believe it, but Ian was now one of them. There he was, staring at a screen and texting actual words!
I realized it is an end of an era. . .
Goodbye, mid-aught years of the 2000s, before we texted constantly, and could play Snake.
Goodbye, thick, stumpy phone, though you fit more easily in a pocket.
Goodbye, 5 key which often got stuck.
You were beautiful.
Now both Roederers will have to make intentional choices not to get sucked constantly into the smartphone universe as it often calls for our attention.
This sermon was preached at Northbrook Presbyterian Church in Beverly Hills, Michigan and was focused upon Luke 18:9-14. The audio recording is above and a written manuscript is below.
As Jesus and his disciples were traveling throughout the region of Galilee and preaching to the people, the Pharisees once asked him when the Kingdom of God was coming. As Jesus answered them, he shared several parables, including this parable we’re pondering this morning.
In fact, it’s framed in this way: “Jesus also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt.”
In his parable, Jesus sets up a scene. Two men are present in the temple. This is not the synagogue, the place of frequent, local worship. This is the temple in Jerusalem, considered to be the holiest place in all of Judaism. In this scene, we encounter a Pharisee and a tax collector. In their words, we hear a comparison taking place. We see contempt taking place. We see two people in the presence of God – one who boasts of his righteousness yet is ultimately inauthentic, and one who is deeply honest, struggling as he recognizes his own shortcomings.
The Pharisee thinks that he is the one making the comparison. He has gone to the temple to pray, and before God – standing by himself – he prays: “God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even this tax collector.” He prays not only in the direction of God, but toward this tax collector whom he views with contempt. I wonder if the tax collector could hear his words.
He continues to boast about his own actions: “I fast twice a week. I give a tenth of all my income.” In saying these things, I wonder if the Pharisee believed he was buying the favor of God.
Meanwhile, the tax collector is also standing by himself, but instead, he is standing far off, ashamed in the presence of God. Jesus says that he would not even look up to heaven. He was beating his breast and saying, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” In the presence of God, he was devastated about the ways he had fallen short of God’s vision.
In the temple, the Pharisee believes he is making the comparison, but of course, in Jesus’ own words, Jesus makes the comparison. He says, “I tell you, this man” – that is, the tax collector – “went down to his home justified rather than the other, for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”
We may have grown up hearing this story, so perhaps this parable has become somewhat familiar to us. But maybe we need to remember how shocking it would have been to hear Jesus speak in this way. First of all, he was likely telling this parable in the presence of Pharisees. That was bold. He was also telling this parable in the presence of his own disciples – people who had been pushed by the religious establishment. They were marginalized, sometimes, because of their actions, and sometimes, because of their identities. They were viewed as “the Other.” “I thank you that I am not like other people,” the Pharisee prays.
It must have been encouraging for the disciples and followers of Jesus to hear him say that God sees them, values them, and hears their prayers of repentance. They are not pushed away by God, but instead, they are welcomed as beloved children – loved as the people they are, even in the recognition that they may have hurt others through their actions. God welcomes them and sends them in a new direction, regardless of how they are viewed by the religious establishment or the institutional religious community.
And make no mistake, these words would have been shocking and likely offensive to some. Tax collectors were no paragons of virtue. The Jews were living under the oppression of Rome in an occupied state, and tax collectors – Jewish people – had partnered with Rome to exact taxes while gaining a cut for themselves from their own people. In this parable, Jesus is saying that God welcomes a repentant sinner, even one who is despised by the people. It is shocking. Perhaps it makes us uncomfortable too.
I’m sure that it enraged the Pharisees. After all, some of them believed they were paragons of virtue, right with God in all circumstances because they were keeping the law perfectly, or at least, seeking to do so. Self-righteousness may have clouded their vision. They could not view themselves as oppressors, though some of the Pharisees were pushing people out of the religious community. Some of these Pharisees were marginalizing others, including people who were now following Jesus. . . Mere fishermen, prostitutes, people with stigmatizing illnesses, and yes, even tax collectors.
This parable was shocking, and Jesus’ commitment to include others was often shocking.
I’ve been pondering this parable all week, and in my thinking, I’ve been trying to make connections between these words and the realities we face today as the Church, a community that is seeking to follow Jesus Christ in the world.
These days, I have a new role. I am a Community Chaplain for Nones and Dones. What an interesting title that is! Recently, the Presbytery of Detroit commissioned me to serve as a regional chaplain for people beyond the walls of churches. I am a minister and friend to people who do not attend congregational churches for a variety of reasons.
So who are Nones and Dones? When I say Nones, you may hear Nuns and think I’m talking about monastic Catholics. But I’m actually talking about N-o-n-e-s, people who are religiously unaffiliated. If asked, “What is your religious tradition or affiliation?” some people might answer, “None.” Sociologists are using this term to describe a demographic subset of the population that is growing.
Sociologists of religion are also using the term “Done” to describe another population of people. These individuals – many of them Christian – have left traditional, institutional churches behind. At times, some of these Dones feel that the Church has left them behind. They no longer feel welcome or comfortable in congregational life.
To be honest, some Dones feel that churches have become remarkably insular. Congregations can easily become inward-focused, obsessed with strategies to gain members, and through larger membership, gain revenue in order to sustain their own needs. When church cultures begin to serve themselves exclusively to the point that they stop doing ministry in and among the wider community, some Dones get frustrated and leave. Some believe that they can engage mission, serve neighbors, and follow Jesus more faithfully apart from the institutional Church.
I can certainly understand why congregations get into these kinds of ruts. In part, this is because religious demographics are indeed changing. Fewer people are walking through the doors to worship and fewer are affiliating with membership. Sometimes in response, church communities want to project a particular image in order to attract people back into the doors. They become ‘shiny church.’ They give sales pitches to people who visit. “Our church is so great. We do this. We do that. Please join us.”
In my role as a Community Chaplain, I’ve been forming a community of Nones and Dones in Southeast Michigan. I’ve been doing this for the last year. We meet in coffee shops and restaurants to talk about spirituality and our life experiences. And I want to be honest with you about something I’m learning. A particular theme has emerged so frequently in these conversations. It’s this: Some people feel remarkably manipulated by Christians. “They’re always trying to sell you something,” someone said recently in one of our discussions.
There is a perception that Christians are not often real with their neighbors. Instead, sometimes, we project an image. Sometimes, we work really hard to sell our churches. Again, we try to entice people by saying, “Come here. Come inside our sanctuary. Our church is so great. We do this. We do that.” Of course, there is nothing wrong with being enthusiastic about our community when it means so much to us. But are we trying to be ‘shiny church’? Are we trying to project an image? If so, in those cases, are we not a bit like the Pharisee in Jesus’ parable today?
Perhaps, people beyond the walls of our sanctuaries would like to see the Church be real, that is, to see Christians be. . .
. . . people in relationship with God, welcomed, though they have sinned and hurt others,
. . . people who are honest that the Church has often failed to live out the vision to which God has called us,
. . . people who will embrace neighbors – including those who will never walk into the sanctuary – because those neighbors are loved and valued by God,
. . . people who will allow our neighbors to express their authentic forms of pain, including pain that has been caused by the Church.
Perhaps we need to be less like the Pharisee and more like the tax collector.
And I recognize that I say all of this today in the midst of Stewardship Season at Northbrook Presbyterian Church. This is the season when we prayerfully consider how we will give our resources to support the life and ministry of this congregation.
Throughout this season, people will invite you to consider what to give and how to give.
Today, I would like to be one voice which invites you to consider why you give. Yes, the building needs to be maintained, and yes, and the ministry programs of the church need to be supported. Absolutely. But how can these resources be used in order to be real with our neighbors and meet them where they are? How can they inspire and empower us to move beyond this sanctuary into the neighborhood around us? How can they serve God by serving neighbors?
Let’s continue to ponder those questions this week and in this season. I will close with Jesus’ closing words: “For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but those who humble themselves will be exalted.”
Smuggling Grace 