Pope Francis: A Social Justice Pope?

The resignation of Pope Benedict XVI made it clear that we are observing a pivotal moment in church history. Benedict has self-consciously acted as a transitional pope, living to see his own successor. And for the last few weeks I and millions of others have wondered: Where does this transition lead?

That is still an open question, but the answer began to take shape yesterday when the assembled cardinals emerged to announce, habemus papam. The newest pope is Jorge Mario Bergoglio of Argentina.

The new pontiff is a groundbreaking figure. He is the first pope from the New World, and the first in a millennium to be born outside of Europe. He is also the first man from the Jesuit order to be elected to the papacy. Finally, he is one of the few popes in recent centuries to take a totally new name: Francis.

This name captures my attention the most. Bergoglio is a deeply conservative leader, doctrinally speaking. He has stood resolutely against any liberalization of abortion laws in his native Argentina, and he has spoken out against gay relationships. As a cardinal appointed by Pope John Paul II, none of this is very surprising. Neither John Paul nor Benedict were in the habit of appointing progressive cardinals.

What is intriguing is that Bergoglio has a reputation for being concerned with social justice. The journalistic coverage so far has told a story of a cardinal who has forgone many of the privileges associated with his rank in the church hierarchy. During his time as Archbishop of Buenos Aires, he reportedly chose a modest apartment rather than the palatial quarters to which he was entitled. It is said that he cooks for himself, though it is normal for a man of his station to have a private chef. Rather than taking a chauffeured car, it is said that he regularly rides public transport.

And he has chosen the name Francis, naming himself after a man who embraced total poverty, living in solidarity with the poor, marginalized and outcast; a man who sought a fraternal relationship with all of creation and, it is said, bore the marks of Jesus' crucifixion in his own body. This is a startlingly radical name for a pope!

At this stage, it is hard to know what, precisely this name might signal. Does Bergoglio aspire to lead his church into an imitation of Francis' radical poverty and submission to Christ's suffering? Is the new pope as concerned with communion and care for the creation as Francis of Assisi? Could Pope Francis be a pivotal figure in the history of the Church, helping to guide the Church to an understanding of our faith that is more deeply rooted in dedication to social and environmental justice?

The very fact that Bergoglio is doctrinally conservative could make him the right man to lead this transition. In this deeply divided age, liberals are not expected to care about personal morality and conservatives are not expected to concern themselves with social justice and environmental stewardship. But what if this pope has the courage and faith to embrace both concerns at once? What a powerful leader he might be!

As Pope Francis ascends to the papacy, I dare to hope for a man who will unite many of the warring tendencies within the Roman Catholic Church. I pray for a man who can, with humility, tenderness and love, uphold the Church's teaching on the sanctity of life, the obscenity of war and the importance of personal holiness. At the same time, I dare to dream that this pope might also use all of the power and influence at his disposal to make the Church a prophetic voice in an age of global empire, standing firm against the powers of economic injustice, militarism and environmental destruction.

So much remains to be seen, and I am aware that in a year's time I may look back at this blog post and grimace. But for the time being, it feels right to nurture hope. I will pray for this new pope, that he will live up to his namesake and bear the marks of Christ's suffering poor in his body. And I will pray that we will have the courage to join him in bearing that burden.

Should We Give Up God For Lent?

Note: For the latest in this conversation, check out my reply to Peter Rollins' response to this piece, The Radical Within.

Some people give up chocolate, coffee or movies for Lent, but Peter Rollins has a slightly more radical proposal: Why not try giving up God?

Peter Rollins argues that real spiritual courage involves fully experiencing the absence of God. He warns that, as long as we allow ourselves to believe in a personal God who intervenes in history for the sake of love, we risk constructing a false god in our own image. Far too often, he says, our belief is in a super-hero God who serves as a crutch for our own inability to cope with reality.

As an alternative to this fairy-tale God, Rollins encourages us to embrace Jesus' felt sense of abandonment on the cross, presumably on an ongoing basis. His message seems to be that truly daring and courageous Christians aren't afraid to abandon belief in God and experience the desolation of atheism. To promote this message of radical doubt, Rollins has developed an annual campaign: Atheism For Lent.

I have been following Peter Rollins' ministry for some time now. Many people I respect find his writings deeply inspirational. This has encouraged me to take his message seriously. I have heard him speak in person, read his book and followed his online campaigns over the last couple of years. After extended consideration, I now want to outline some serious problems I see with the gospel he is preaching.

The Mystique of Elitism

As far as I am aware, Rollins has never laid out exactly who his target audience is, but my observation is that most people who are engaging with his message are either seminary trained or have a serious commitment to theological study. This is not surprising, given Peter's language and style of presentation. Of all the popular Christian thinkers I know, Peter Rollins is one of the most avant garde and edgy. His mystique is the promise of something new and unique in the 1st-world Evangelical/Protestant experience.

I wonder about the implications of this mystique. When I read Peter Rollins, and when I follow the commenters on his social media offerings, I cannot help but notice a theme of intellectual elitism and a fascination with secret knowledge. Ordinary Christians believe in a fairy-tale God-in-the-sky, but we know the truth. Most believers use God as a crutch, but we see clearly and cast aside our beliefs with courage. Most people who read the Bible think it is a story about God blessing the world, but we know that it is actually a story about radical doubt and abandonment by God.

I encourage my friends who are big fans of Rollins to take a serious look at what attracts them to his teachings. There is good stuff there; I do not deny it. The dark night of the soul can be just what the doctor ordered at certain points in our lives. But how does this special knowledge affect how you look at your fellow Christians who do not share your radical doubt? Do you see their lack of doubt as ignorant? Weak?

Injustice and Intellectualism

Something else I find troubling is how little Peter Rollins speaks about the need for social transformation, peacemaking and justice in our world. Instead, he emphasizes the personal experience and condition of individuals. He preaches individual salvation through an embrace of radical doubt. As Rollins presents it, the way forward is through each individual's decision to embrace a reality in which God is mute and uninvolved with the creation.

This sounds oddly familiar. Despite the fact that Rollins is superficially at odds with mainstream Evangelicalism, his message is one that bears great resemblance to the personal salvation narrative that is so central to Evangelical churches. Whether it is accepting Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior or accepting the godless doubt of existential atheism, the major push is personal transformation via intellectual belief. The very fact that Rollins can ask us to give up God for lent suggests that he thinks that faith in an active, personal God is a preference, a chosen belief system, rather than a conviction that grows out of long experience and relationship with the Holy Spirit.

For those of us who really have experienced a living and powerful God - a God who intervenes in history and shows us God's true character in the life, ministry, death and resurrection of Jesus - these intellectual games do not cut the mustard. Whether offered to us by mainstream Evangelicalism or the avant garde of Peter Rollins, these head trips do not offer the whole wheat bread of life that we need to survive, thrive and bring healing to this broken world.

Safe Games for Comfortable People

I have a friend who spent years in the L'Arche Community, living alongside individuals with severe physical and intellectual disabilities. He is also an erudite and astute theologian, and we got to talking about Rollins' Atheism for Lent campaign. At one point in our conversation he looked at me and said, "I would just like to see Peter Rollins come to L'Arche and talk about this stuff. Let him explain to people suffering from schizophrenia and learning disabilities why they need to stop believing in God."

This statement drove home for me how irrelevant much of Peter Rollins' message is to those who are the most marginalized in our society. To those who are struggling under the burden of grinding poverty, long-term unemployment or broken homes, is atheism the answer? For the defrauded migrant worker, for the dispossessed Palestinian refugee, for those who are imprisoned for conscience - would Rollins prescribe atheism?

In my experience, a godless worldview (whether it takes the form of explicit non-belief or functional atheism) is most attractive to those who enjoy privileged positions in society. Rich and middle class people have the luxury of doubting God. But for those who face oppression, injustice and persecution, the reality of God's leadership and presence is absolutely essential for survival. While Peter Rollins purports to preach a hard-core gospel of existential doubt, he has little to offer those who are daily experiencing the reality of Christ's suffering.

We Really Do Need God

Tearing down false images of God is an important task, but this cannot be the end of the story. God does not leave Job sitting on ashes and picking at his sores. After the night must come the dawn. Unfortunately, Rollins seems unwilling to engage in the process of developing an alternative vision. Rather than offering a positive understanding of who God is, he seems solely interested open-ended deconstruction.

Leading people into darkness and doubt and leaving them there is simply irresponsible. We live in a deeply broken world that is in more need than ever of the redemptive power of God's living Spirit. How can someone ask me to give up God for Lent? I might as well give up breathing! How can we give up God for almost six weeks? How would we sustain our struggle for justice, truth, mercy and genuine love? What could be the possible benefit of denying this healing, life-giving power for forty days? We live in a world desperately in need of God's presence and intervention. Will we dare to believe?

Forgiveness

To be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable, because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you. - C.S. Lewis

Do we cherish a forgiving spirit, and strive to "walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us"? - from the 2nd Query of Ohio Yearly Meeting

Forgiveness is the heart of my faith. Throughout the Bible, God reveals a consistent character - one that is slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. God repeatedly forgives those who betray him and cause him anguish. In Jesus, I find the highest expression of God's self-giving love and forgiveness. In the face of humanity's hatred, cruelty and selfishness, Jesus suffers and dies to bring about reconciliation between God and humanity, and among all members of the human family.

By living in Jesus - partaking in his life, death and resurrection - I experience a foretaste of the consummation of God's forgiveness and love. There is a time coming when the Lord will "wipe every tear from their eyes" and unite humanity in the unity of the Spirit and the bond of peace. I am invited to live into this reality now.

But I find many barriers to this new way of living. Suffering is real, and my natural reaction to affliction is to fight or flee. When someone wounds me, the urge to strike back or withdraw is almost irresistible. Despite all my experiences of Christ's love and his suffering witness on the cross, my first response is usually not very Christ-like.

When Jesus was accused unjustly, he did not defend himself. When he was beaten, he bore it. When he was nailed to a Roman torture device, he prayed for his tormentors. "Forgive them, Father, for they do not know what they are doing." In his time of greatest agony, Jesus was concerned about the well-being of his executioners.

If this is what is required, "who then can be saved?" Jesus' response to unjust suffering is so awesome; he demonstrates God's ultimate power in weakness. Unlike me, Jesus knows to the depths of his being who he is, and whose he is. Jesus has nothing to prove.

One of Jesus' greatest miracles is that he does not allow his own righteousness and the injustice of his suffering to distract him from the needs of others. Jesus did not deserve what happened to him; he would have been totally justified in defending himself. But instead, Jesus bore shame, taunting and torture, blessing those who persecuted him. He knew that his oppressors needed mercy far more than he did. If that is not power, I do not know what is.

My prayer today is that the living presence of Jesus will guide me into forgiveness for those who wrong me. Rather than succumbing to fight-or-flight mode, I pray for the power of Christ within to shine through me and allow me to bear suffering in a way that shows compassion for those who really need it. I pray for the strength to take my eyes off of my own anguish and to act with love and compassion towards those who hurt me. This seems impossible - but I know that I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

What is your experience of forgiveness? To what extent does forgiveness depend on the repentance of the wrongdoer? What is the meaning of forgiveness when another person continues to behave in hurtful ways? Have you experienced unilateral forgiveness as being life-giving and empowering? How have you sensed the Holy Spirit within you, teaching you how to forgive?

The Refining Power of Suffering

My brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of any kind, consider it nothing but joy, because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance; and let endurance have its full effect, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking in nothing. - James 1:2-4

There is a simple lesson that I have had to learn over and over again. The lesson is this: Suffering really hurts. This statement is so obvious that it seems silly to write it, yet it has been a hard truth for me to internalize. In my experience, it is very easy to have romantic ideas about suffering that bear little resemblance to the actual fact.

This is an important thing for me to get straight, since the suffering of Jesus lies at the heart of my faith. Out of love for us, Jesus endured the fullness of suffering and death, revealing a doorway into redemption and unlimited life. His resurrection is so radiant that it can be tempting ignore the reality of the dreadful agony that preceded it.

Yet Jesus' life was deeply marked by anguish. At the beginning of his ministry, Jesus retreated to the desert for 40 days, eating and drinking nothing during that whole time. He experienced the pain of starvation and prolonged solitude during his lengthy sojourn in the wilderness. At the end of that period of self-denial, Jesus had a breakthrough - a triumphant encounter with the dark powers that sought to undermine his mission. The Adversary believed that 40 days of starvation and isolation would make Jesus more vulnerable to attack, but in fact the experience of those days had only deepened his relationship with the Father. Suffering had focused Jesus on that which was truly important.

Throughout his ministry, Jesus endured suffering. Crowds drove Jesus to the brink of exhaustion, pursuing him from town to town, seeking miracles and healing. Ironically, at the same time he faced a real sense of isolation from his closest friends, who rarely seemed to understand who Jesus really was and what he was sent to do. Some of Jesus' greatest trials came the night of his arrest, when he felt abandoned by his disciples who did not have the stamina to stay awake with him while he prayed for strength and guidance.

It is easy to get so wrapped up in the glory of Jesus' resurrection and triumph over the powers of darkness and death that we fail to take seriously enough the reality of Jesus' agony. His hunger was real. His sense of isolation and betrayal was truly disheartening. The whips that scourged him and the nails that pierced his limbs nearly tore him apart. When Jesus hung dying on the cross, there was nothing triumphant about it.

I find it easier to face my own measure of darkness when I remember what Jesus has endured. He reminds me that suffering is not an aberration to be avoided, but rather an essential part of my journey as his disciple. Just as Jesus' crucifixion served as a doorway to the resurrection, the little trials that I face can provide a path to greater maturity and rootedness in the Rock of Life. Through daily baptisms of adversity, Jesus invites me into the humble joy of his unlimited life.

A great mystery that Jesus reveals to us is that this radiant life emerges not from outward victory, but from patient endurance in suffering. The height of glory is found in our lowest moments. It is only when a seed dies that it can sprout into new life and bear fruit. It is by embracing suffering that we come to know true peace.

How have you experienced the refining power of suffering in your own life? Where have you seen God at work in the difficulties that face your family, community, city or nation? How have you experienced the reality of the cross, and of the resurrection?

The Price of Dissent

Last month, I was arrested along with several of my colleagues as we sought to speak with Jamie Dimon before he testified to the Senate Banking Committee. We accompanied Deborah Harris, a DC homeowner who was unjustly foreclosed on by JP Morgan Chase, where Mr. Dimon serves as CEO and Chairman of the Board. We stood with her as she asked this powerful man a simple question: Why don't you face the people that you foreclosed on?

Jamie Dimon's answer was clear: Because you don't matter. Mr. Dimon never acknowledged Deborah's presence, and we were arrested and locked in jail for most of the day. We received a forceful response from those wealthy few who control our government and our economy: You will speak only when spoken to. You will learn who is in charge here.

This message continued to be delivered as we were arraigned at the Superior Court of the District of Columbia on Tuesday morning. I was surprised by how much the court looked like TV courtrooms - think Judge Judy or The People's Court. The dominant image was a very large seal of the court, with flags - of the United States and the District of Columbia - on either side. These symbols of authority rested immediately behind the judge's seat, which sat far back, behind two long desks where about half a dozen clerks stood or sat, processing the perhaps fifty people being arraigned that morning.

The whole scene was purposefully crafted to elicit a feeling of reverence towards the authority of the court. The lawyers and those being arraigned sat in the forward part of the courtroom, on long, wooden benches that were very similar to pews in a church building. I leaned over to Deborah at one point and whispered, "I feel like we're in church." But I learned not to talk too much, as bailiffs regularly came by and sternly warned us not to speak or use our cell phones. Let all the earth keep silent before the authority of this court!

This sense of religiosity was no accident. When the judge entered the courtroom, one of the clerks pronounced a long string of official words, including, "God save the United States and this honorable court." This invocation of God's name - however shallow and formal - further emphasized to me the weight of the civil religion that permeated the court. Everything was mediated through ritual; all the details of the court's furnishings, layout, decorum and vocabulary evoked an atmosphere of solemn reverence. But who, or what, were we venerating?

I was not sure whether it was Law, or the State, or the Court, or some vague spirit of Authority that we were being not-so-subtly pressured to worship, but one thing was very clear to me: It was not God. One of the most disturbing things about our arraignment yesterday was this blasphemous liturgy of the State, whose message was clear and powerful: Submit. Fear. Forget who you are and become what we say you are.

It was essentially the same feeling that I got at the jailhouse last month. The point of the system is to instill order, always defined in the system's terms, regardless of the cost to human dignity. As we sat in our benches and were rebuked by the bailiffs for "talking too much," we got the message: While we were in that courtroom, we were to be in utter dread of Authority, totally attentive to its whims. Just like in the jailhouse, the physical and psychological space was purposefully engineered to break down individual identity and self-will, transferring all agency and power to the officialdom and bureaucracy of the court.

It is one thing to write about this environment, but it is another thing entirely to experience it first hand. I would not have imagined it to be so irresistible, so psychologically overwhelming; yet I found it extremely difficult to stay grounded in God and in my true identity as a child of the light. Having this personal experience of the terrifying power of the court system - with all its blasphemous ritual and pomp - I am beginning to understand how truly bold George Fox was when he dared to stand before a judge and admonish him to "quake before the power of the Lord." Fox knew better than anyone that the function of courts and judges and civil religion is not to tremble before the Lord, but to make others shake before human authority.

I was reminded of Paul's first letter to the Corinthians, where Paul writes that there are indeed "many gods and many lords, yet for us there is one God, the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist, and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things and through whom we exist." There are powers and rulers and authorities in this world, and we must decide which authority we are to place ourselves under. Will it be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ? Or will it be some other authority?

The image of Christ as judge, holding court and delivering the ultimate verdict at the end of time, takes on new relevance for me now that I have experienced the dread of the human court system. For though human courts can be unjust, Christ rules with equity and impartiality; while human courts direct veneration and awe back to themselves, Jesus directs our attention, awe and worship back to the Father, our sovereign Creator.

I do not mean to suggest that human courts are essentially evil and should be done away with. Paul writes in his epistle to the Romans that all authorities that exist have been instituted by God. The courts of the United States can only exist because God has created Authority itself; human institutions are intended to reflect this authority, which God created as a servant for good. Unfortunately, this God-given authority that was created to preserve life in human community has been twisted and corrupted by human sin - both individual and collective.

There is no doubt in my mind that our court system is deeply affected by the distorting effects of sin. Worst of all, our human institutions of authority often play a role in sustaining the fruit of sin: violence, injustice, dehumanization and fear. Probably the clearest example of this is the way our legal system perpetuates systematic racial discrimination. Except for most of our group, who had been arrested for a political offense, all of the other people being arraigned yesterday were African-American. We got to hear quite a few of their arraignment proceedings before our turn came around, and the great majority of them were charged with drug possession. Observing this process, I was more convinced than ever that the Drug War is being used as a tool of oppression, and racial and class discrimination.

Even for a case like ours, which has nothing to do with drugs, all of us were required to submit to a drug test. This did not sound so bad, until I learned that the test involved urinating into a cup in a room full of mirrors while a man stood by, watching me. This was really unnerving, and I had to try a second time before I could bring myself to do it.

Even after all of this, our case is still pretty much up in the air. We have been ordered to stay away from the Dirksen Senate Office Building, and we were assigned a status hearing for Monday, August 13th. We will not know anything more until then. In the meantime, I would ask for your continued prayers. I find the uncertainty that comes with being caught up in this legal machine very stressful, and I need all the support I can get to stay grounded.

I am so grateful for everyone who has reached out and shown support since the arrest. This whole process has really taught me the meaning of the word solidarity. Imprisonment and court proceedings are a special kind of distress, and having my community behind me is so important. Thank you for all the love and support that you have shown me. This would all be much harder if I did not have you to lean on.

Let me close with George Fox's epistle #237:

Dear Friends and brethren,

The Lord is with you all everywhere, who suffer for his name and truth's sake,

in all your bonds and afflictions be of good comfort, for the Lord is with you;

neither be dismayed at your sufferings, for if you suffer, Christ suffers;

and if you are persecuted, it is Christ who is persecuted;

and if you are not visited, it is Christ who is not visited;

and if you are oppressed, it is he who is oppressed.

And he will lay no more upon you than you are able to bear. [...]

[Christ] has a fellow feeling with you all, in all your bonds and afflictions;

and Christ who suffers, will overcome all his enemies.

He reigns,

and they must be his footstool to stand upon.

And so, be of good faith, and be valiant for the truth upon the earth.

George Fox 

My Day In Jail - And How I Got There

Yesterday morning, some friends and I attended the sessions of the Senate Banking Committee. We did not intend to get arrested; we just wanted to have a word with Jamie Dimon, the man who leads the corporation that is trying to throw our friend, Deborah Harris, out of her home. When Deborah learned that Dimon, the CEO of JP Morgan Chase, was going to be in town to talk before the Senate Banking Committee, she felt that she could not pass up the opportunity to speak to the man who is responsible not only for the unjust foreclosure of her home, but of the devastated lives of so many families that relied on JP Morgan Chase's financial integrity. Several of us from Occupy Our Homes DC felt that we had a responsibility to accompany Deborah, and to stand with her as she spoke truth to power.

For me, accompanying Deborah in her visit to the Senate Banking Committee was not about "protesting." It was not about a cathartic release, nor did I feel much need to have my voice heard. But it felt deeply important to me that Jamie Dimon, a man insulated by immense wealth and privilege, be allowed to hear the voice of one woman whose life is being turned upside down by the predatory practices of JP Morgan Chase. I was there to hold Deborah in prayer as she bore prophetic witness to the abuse of authority and public trust that Jamie Dimon represents.

The consequences for our actions were swift. We delivered a message to those who sit in authority, and the hand of Authority was upon us immediately. We expected to be warned and asked to leave, but instead found ourselves roughly escorted out of the chamber and handcuffed. We spent the next seven hours being confined to small spaces - a police van, narrow benches, jail cells. We were moved between different rooms incessantly - in my case, I was probably transferred to a different location at least fifteen times. I was literally chained to the wall for much of my stay.

I was surprised by how traumatizing the experience was. Though I did not expect to be arrested, I assumed that this kind of "political crime" would result in a brief trip to jail and a quick release after paying a fine. Instead, we were held for most of the day. My case was particularly stressful, since the FBI computer mistakenly identified me as being a certain Mr. Perez. I was repeatedly interrogated by my jailers as to my real identity, threatened with prolonged incarceration and locked away for long periods of time while I waited to see if they would confirm that I was really me. It looked like I might face an extended stay in jail.

With my wrists locked in steel and my every movement controlled, my mind was drawn repeatedly to Paul's writings about powers, principalities, authorities, thrones and rulers. Without a doubt, I was in the power of the men and women of the Capitol Police. They could do anything they wanted to me, and I had no ability to resist. As someone who is accustomed to having some measure of control over his own life, this was a difficult experience for me. For most of the day yesterday, I was reduced to a number and an object, and my very identity was called into question by multiple interrogators. Added to this was a prolonged period of involuntary fasting. I felt numb, empty and increasingly distant from life beyond the jailhouse walls.

At about six hours in, the officers finally decided that I was indeed who I said I was. At that point, they started calling me "sir" and relating to me as a human being, rather than an object to be moved, recorded and stored. They also let me call my wife, which was a great encouragement. She told me how proud she was of me, and that the media was really covering our action at the Senate hearing. It was good to be reminded again that this was not about me; it was about Deborah and others who are being trampled by the super-rich and their machinary of insatiable greed.

Finally, I was released. To my amazement, it seemed like my jailers really wanted me to thank them. One of them remarked, "we treated you very well." I was too shell-shocked to respond, but I thought to myself, "I would hate to see what you do when you decide not to treat someone well." I did not have it in me to argue with them at that point, but by no means was I going to assuage what I interpreted as a nagging feeling of guilt on their part. Let them sit with it.

As I was leaving, several people called the station, asking about me and calling for my release. The officer in charge spoke to the last person saying, "could you please tell everyone that Micah has been released? We have been getting calls every minute!" I felt so grateful for the support that my friends showed - and to know that the pressure would have only increased if they had held me longer or transferred me to another facility.

But - once again - this is not about me! I would not have chosen to be arrested, but I hope that by telling the story of my ordeal I can once again draw attention to the plight of so many families that are being forced out of their homes by the Big Banks. If you have not yet, please learn about Deborah Harris' case, and consider how you might be able to take part in the movement for justice. If this incident can help build greater support around Deborah, I will be satisfied.

Finally, I must give glory to God. The experience of being incarcerated was an amazing opportunity to lean on Jesus. While other human beings had absolute authority over my body, the only freedom that remained for me was in my spirit. As I was chained to walls and locked in a cell, my connection to God was the only thing that could cut through the anxiety, claustrophobia and sense of helplessness that I was experiencing. I know that the Lord will not present me with any challenge that he does not also equip me spiritually to endure.

My flesh and my heart may fail,

but God is the rock of my

heart and my portion forever.

- Psalm 73:26

I Will Remember

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus as the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. - Hebrews 12:1-2

Tomorrow is the day that the Christian community celebrates Pentecost, the birthday of the Church. It was on Pentecost that the followers of Jesus in Jerusalem received the Holy Spirit. The Spirit's coming united the early Christians at the deepest level, in a living experience of God's presence and power. They were transformed from a loose collection of individuals into a new creation, a vibrant community that was of one heart and one mind. Jesus sent the Spirit of Truth, just as he promised, and this Spirit-filled human community became his continuing presence in the world, the Body of Christ.

This year, the celebration of Pentecost falls on Memorial Day weekend. This unusual alignment of these two days of remembrance has spurred me to do some thinking about the relationship between Memorial Day and Pentecost. The former is traditionally a celebration in remembrance of those who have given their lives in military service, while the latter commemorates the in-pouring of God's Spirit into the world. Many Christians will celebrate these two days side by side, without any sense of contradiction.

I cannot do that. As a Quaker, I believe that when Jesus Christ disarmed his disciples in Gethsemane, he disarmed the Church. I believe that when Jesus died on the cross, he set an example for those who would follow him - taking on suffering rather than inflicting it, blessing those who curse us. As a follower of the Crucified Savior, I must remember the martyrs - those who sacrificed their own lives, possesssions and comfort in order to demonstrate God's love to a world in pain. This Memorial Day, I will remember the faithful servants who have gone before, joining Jesus in blazing the trail that I now walk.

I will remember those like Stephen, who was put to death for his witness to Christ's love and justice. I will give thanks to God for the faithful service of Paul of Tarsus, Francis of Assisi, George Fox, James Nayler, Edward Burrough, Margaret Fell, Tom Fox, and all those who have suffered for the Truth. Whether by a martyr's death or simply through handing their entire lives over to the work of Christ in the world, they paid the ultimate price for their faith.

I will remember the way that so many have laid down their own privilege and comfort to serve the poor and the lost. And I will remember how I was one of those lost ones. I will give thanks for the grace these servants of God showed, loving me in spite of all the ways I pushed them away.

I will remember Dorothy Craven, who lived a life of simple faithfulness and gentle love for all people. I praise God for the way she laid aside her comfort and walked in faith with the Friends of Jesus commmunity in Wichita, Kansas. She served as an elder to us, a mother in the gospel. She introduced me to the writings of Thomas Kelly and taught me Algebra, even though I was probably the most frustrating student she ever had. She loved me when I did not deserve it. She believed in me when there was no good reason to do so. She was Jesus to me.

Dorothy has now joined that great cloud of witnesses that surrounds me. Sitting at Jesus' right hand, these faithful witnesses call me forward. They spur me to greater courage and vulnerability in love. They are my heroes, and I experience them as being somehow, mysteriously alive in the Spirit that unites us. This Memorial Day, I will remember these holy ones who stand, unarmed, by the throne of God. Together with Jesus, they call me into a life of fearless love and peace. This Pentecost, I will celebrate the Holy Spirit that unites us beyond life and death.

Who are the witnesses that call you forward?

Humble Me, Lord

Though God calls me for a purpose and promises to walk with me in the Way, God does not promise to ensure my emotional or material comfort. Jesus does not promise that this life of ministry will be pleasant, only that he will accompany me. If I want to be faithful to God's plan for my life, I must first accept that faithfulness may not look anything like success. The Lord does not protect his faithful ones from suffering, only from corruption.

In my experience, one prayer that God answers consistently and immediately is this one: "Lord, humble me." Help me to set my sights lower, smaller, simpler. Teach me to quit making the ministry about myself - even vicariously through my community. Show me how to be truly surrendered, bearing my cross for the sake of the gospel. Allow me to shed my need to "be somebody" in this world - to accept that I am just an "extra" in this great historical drama. No one needs to know my name.

Humble me, Lord. Make me less aware of myself and teach me to attend to the needs of others. Deepen my life of prayer - not to increase my own comfort, but so that I emanate your peace, joy and guileless love to those around me.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,

who, though he was in the form of

          God,

     did not regard equality with God

     as something to be exploited,

but emptied himself,

     taking on the form of a slave,

     being born in human likeness,

And being found in human form,

     he humbled himself

     and became obedient to the point of

          death -

     even death on a cross.

Therefore God also highly exalted him

     and gave him the name

     that is above every name,
that at the name of Jesus

     every knee should bend,

     in heaven and on earth and under

          the earth,

and every tongue should confess

     that Jesus Christ is Lord,

     to the glory of God the Father.

- Philippians 2:5-11

Resurrection Without the Cross is Dead

Yesterday morning, when I opened my inbox, one email jumped out at me. It was from YouVersion, an online Bible service that I am using to read the One Year Bible on my smartphone. The subject line declared in large, bold letters: "He Is Risen!"

This struck me as a bit premature. It was Maundy Thursday, the day when the Christian community remembers the Last Supper, Jesus' anguished hours praying in the garden of Gesthemane, and his midnight betrayal by Judas and arrest by the religious authorities. On Maundy Thursday, we remember that the Way of Jesus exposes us to persecution and betrayal.

Of course, that is not the part of the story that motivates me. I am not seeking to be abused and betrayed, let down by my best friends and hunted by those in power. I may recognize the necessity of suffering, but by no means do I seek it out. I think most of us gravitate towards the triumphant victory and joy of Jesus' resurrection. Victory is energizing, and we want to be victorious people.

Without the resurrection, of course, the suffering and death of Jesus would lose its meaning. If Jesus was only crucified, but not raised, then we have no hope. The resurrection gives meaning to everything that comes before and goes after it. The resurrection is a resounding statement of God's love for and solidarity with the human family. It represents God's ultimate "Yes" to humanity, bearing our burdens and overcoming them through love.

And yet, without Jesus' ministry and prophetic witness, without his suffering and death, the resurrection is stripped of its power. The joy of Easter without the tears of betrayal and the agony of the cross is a perversion of the Good News. The heart of the gospel is that God, in the person of Jesus Christ, has fully identified with humanity, taking on our suffering, our burdens, our sin. By becoming a human being, by teaching and healing us, and by taking all our hate and violence upon himself, Jesus shows us how much God loves us - enough to suffer and die for those who hate him.

There is a temptation to ignore the incredible love that Jesus demonstrated on the cross. The cross is painful, it is messy, it convicts us of the ways that we continue to crucify Jesus through our participation in a corrupt economic and social order. The cross reminds us that we ourselves are responsible.

If we celebrate the resurrection without remembering the cross, we deny the incarnation. The greatest mystery and joy of the Christian faith is not the mere fact that Jesus rose from the dead. It is that he became one of us, experienced our suffering and died for us - at our hands, no less - so that we might be transformed and healed.

Today is Good Friday, the day when the Christian community remembers Jesus' torture and execution at the hands of the imperial and religious authorities. As we remember the price that Jesus paid to liberate us from bondage, let us also remember that we continue to live in a world where the innocent are crushed by the religious and imperial authorities. Let us examine our own hearts to see where our responsibility lies. Are we like the crowd that screamed, "crucify, crucify!"? Or perhaps we are like the disciples, who scattered and hid when persecution came.

This Good Friday, can we resist the temptation to fast-foward to Easter? Will we choose to see the suffering of the world, and the way that God suffers with us? Can we witness God's love for us in the cross? Let us make the time to remember the agony of the cross, and to reflect on the consequences of love in a broken world. When we embrace the work of the cross, walking with Jesus in his work of reconciliation, we will be able to say with all our hearts, "He is risen indeed!"

Giving Birth to the Light

The days are growing very short now, as we get closer to Christmas. The day that Christians celebrate the birth of our Savior is nearly the shortest day of the year for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere. We choose the darkest day to remember how the True Light came into the world to liberate us from slavery and death.

Yet, I do not personally experience December as a time of liberation and joy. As daylight hours diminish, I am burdened by the gloom of the darkened days and the cold winds that discourage me from venturing outside. And I know that this is only the beginning. I can expect months more of darkness and cold. If anything, the Christmas season is an introduction to the darkness, not the end of it.

The winter, with its lack of light, warmth and energy, is a time of purgation for me. During these days - starting around Christmastime - I am stripped down. All my ambitions are laid bare and I am forced to look at the naked truth of my life. Gone is the self-forgetfulness of summer. Winter is a time when I feel compelled to gaze unsentimentally at my life, and the wool I pull over my own eyes. Like the leafless trees, I am laid bare.

Perhaps this is the experience of Advent after all. The reality of Christ's coming, of his arrival into our everyday world, is startling. Jesus' light turns everything upside down. He reveals that many of the things we considered important are, at best, distractions; and he uncovers the hidden, neglected parts of our lives that are precious beyond all expectation.

Christ's coming can be painful. For me, his advent in my life has often been fearsome. The light of Christ can soothe and comfort when received by those who are gentle and humble of heart. But I am not always gentle, and I am often proud. When Christ's light dawns in my heart, I often experience it more as a consuming fire than as a gentle comforter.

As I receive Christ into my life this dark December, I feel a kinship with Mary, who carried our Savior in her womb. There is new life inside me, too; and my old body cannot contain it. Jesus is stretching me, changing me, kicking inside me as I am prepared to deliver him into the world. Like Mary, I am called to bear my Savior, and this delivery will require nothing less than total transformation on my part.

I could try to resist God in this process. I could refuse to cooperate with this new life growing within. I could decide to stay the same, to ignore the hard truth that Christ reveals. But there is a better way, this winter and always. With God's help, I will embrace the searing light of Christ. I will seek to be transformed into a worthy vessel for Christ's coming.

Why Suffering?

I have been gaining great inspiration and insight recently from reading a biography of Mary Teresa of Calcutta. In her letters, Mary Teresa writes with profound intensity and a singularity of gospel commitment. At the same time, she demonstrates incredible humility and self-denial. Teresa is an inspiration to me for the way in which she was so passionate and yet so amazingly yielded to Jesus and the work that he gave her, both interiorly and in the world.

I would like to emulate Mary Teresa's witness. Though I must admit that I have no desire to bear the inward cross of spiritual desolation that she did, I see that this intense darkness (and her continued faithfulness in it) was the highest mark of sanctification and union with God. She truly got a taste of Christ's spiritual desolation as he suffered and died on the cross! It was not that God was not present with her. Rather, God was powerfully present in her life, but she could not feel God's love and peace in her soul. She was left desolate, even while living a life of saintliness and union with God. How amazing. How true to the experience of Jesus!

I see that this is what I fear and flee: the dreadful reality of death on the cross. It brings about the resurrection, laying the groundwork for rebirth in Christ. The suffering of the cross is central to God's plan of cosmic redemption. Yet, it is so dreadful to my soul. Terrifying! It represents the death of the willful self, the "old man." But I can see the blessedness of this self-dying in the witness of Mary Teresa. While I cannot bring myself to long for the agony of the cross, I do pray to die to self so that I can live fully in Christ - so that Jesus can come to live fully in me, just as he seems to have done in Mary Teresa.

In the suffering and spiritual anguish of the saints, I see the truth that is incomprehensible to the modern-day western consciousness: I see that God's plan is not centered around human desires, individual fulfillment or happiness. Mary Teresa saw that her suffering could be cosmically redemptive, perhaps different only in degree from Christ's suffering and death. Indeed, as Christ's body, we participate in his atoning (reconciling) sacrifice.(1)

This is radical stuff. I was raised to focus on my own personal fulfillment and advancement. Individual happiness was always the name of the game. But what if happiness is not the point at all? What if suffering is not, in fact, tragic? What if suffering is actually an integral part of the divine plan? This impacts the question of theodicy. Because, of course, while theodicy technically means "why evil?" in practice it tends to mean, "why suffering?"

While it is certainly right to say that evil results in suffering, it does not necessarily follow that suffering is evil. What if suffering is like an antibody that God has created to combat evil? What if suffering is a God-given part of the cosmic "immune system"? What if suffering is the only path to healing? What would the implications be for those of us (the vast majority, I imagine) who avoid suffering whenever possible?

-

1. See 1 Colossians 1:24

Health Care and the Cross

"Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,
who, though he was in the form of
God,
did not regard equality with God
as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
he humbled himself
and became obedient to the point of death -
even death on a cross.

Therefore God also highly exalted him
and gave him the name
that is above every name,
so that at the name of Jesus
every knee should bend,
in heaven and on earth and under
the earth,
and every tongue should confess
that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father."

-Philippians 2:5-11

Yesterday afternoon, president Barak Obama gave an online press conference for his supporters. The "town hall" style interaction and Obama's remarks were designed both to allay fears and to rally the energy and support of those who are in favor of health care reform and who have been disoriented by the right-wing offensive against any kind of reform that we have witnessed in the media and online in the past couple of weeks.

What the president said did reassure me. As far as his remarks yesterday were concerned, he displayed a stance that indicated an enduring support for a public health care option and a desire to push this legislation through, even if it's ultimately along party lines. I was pleased to see him re-affirming his support for the public option and his unwillingness to put up with obstructionism on the part of the Republicans who only seek to destroy the president and the emergent progressive political wave in the United States. He and members of Congress still need to be pressured on a regular basis and not allowed to forget why we elected them - but it was reassuring to hear him say the things that he said.

In my relief, I began to reflect on the extremely negative reaction that I had to a New York Times report a few days ago, which suggested that Obama was possibly backing down on providing a public option for health care. This afternoon, it has occurred to me that while my position on the issue is to some extent based on righteous indignation and a demand for justice, there is also an element of personal fear and defensiveness in it. I am afraid of what might happen to me and my family should our present system of for-profit medicine continue.

It came to me in a flash that, if I allow myself to act out of this fear and instinct for self-preservation, I will deny the cross. If I try to defend myself - or even those I love - from the injustice of the for-profit health care system, I will take the way of the zealot instead of the way of the cross. The way of the zealot, lashing out defensively against injustice and seeking to defend myself and other through force or evasion, is the way that comes naturally to me; but I know that I am called to follow the example of my crucified Lord.

I must not put my trust in chariots or high walls, nor in human rulers. As a Christian, I am called to speak and witness prophetically to those who are powerful in our society - to civil authorities, powerful organizations and elite families - but my prophecy cannot be from a position of power or defensiveness. On the contrary, it must be from the position of one who is willing to endure the punishment of the powerful and the consequences of their sin. I as a son of God must be prepared to be crucified just like our Lord. I cannot hang onto any pretentions of self-defense.

So, yes, I am called to witness to those who are seated on the thrones of human power. I am called to announce the year of the Lord's favor, the setting free of the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, and healing for all, regardless of economic condition. I am called to appeal to the imprisioned Seed of Christ in the hearts of temporal authorities. But if these powerful people are unmoved by my testimony and proceed to trample the children of God with their wickedness and greed, I am called to suffer.

Instead of feeling indignant at those who value profit more than my life and health, I am called to witness to them, seeking their redemption that they may be turned from darkness to light and made sons and daughters of God. I am called to witness to them in my suffering; even my death. I am called to bear witness to Christ's unspeakable love for them through my willingness to die for them to bring them this message.

The Kingdom I am called to live in is one in which perfect love has cast out all fear. Where the fear has gone, all that remains is loving concern for those who despise and persecute the innocent lambs of God. I trust my Good Shepherd to see me through all suffering. My focus is not to be on my own trials but on the terrible spiritual danger of my fellow men and women who oppress the Seed of Christ with their greed, ambition and fear.

I am called to be life, a giver of life and true love - a love that confronts evil, even when evil threatens to kill it. I am called to lay down my life for my friends, yes, and for my enemies as well. When I am in Christ, I am free to lay down my life because I have been given so much more. Eternal life. Unlimited life. Unbounded, indescribable, free life. When I am in Christ, those who seek my life can have it: for all I desire is their entrance into the true life of our beautiful Savior, Jesus Christ.

I see in the Spirit of Christ how we are called out of all war and strife, and into the blessed peace of the cross. All contention is silenced because we have been nailed to the cross, put to death, and raised to new life in our Lord and Redeemer. When I know this love and life, I am ready to lay down my life so that the insurance executive or member of congress might be brought into the Truth of Christ and out of their wickedness and greed. The Seed of Christ struggles within them to bring them into true peace and the mercy of God. May I be an instrument of that salvation through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ our Lord.