Chill and Learn: A Few Words about Racism

This weekend we are marking Martin Luther King Day, and more than any other time of the year we are focused on recognizing the reality that our nation's history is often marked by prejudice and bias.  And this year it is at the fore of our conversation even more than in the past.  While we especially recognize the struggles of black folks, and the leadership proivided by Dr. King in the  civil rights movement,  we also pause to consider the many ways prejudice can and does seep into our lives today.  Sometimes it is blatant, and parades with torches or wears sheets and burns crosses.  But other times it is much more subtle, so engrained in our systems, so engrained is our ways of doing business and living life, that we don't even recognize it for what it is.

Hard as it is to hear, it is painfully true.  And it is this ongoing way that we live, often segregated by race, by religion, by gender, by sexual orientation, by ethnicity, that helps to foster continued prejudice and continued bias in our society.  It is no wonder that stereotypes and labels are still alive and well.   And they will only fall away if we are willing to discover one another. 

This past week a course being offered at Florida Gulf Coast University, our local campus of the Florida public university system, gained national attention due, perhaps in part, to it's somewhat provocative title, "White Racism."  It is being taught by Assistant Professor of Sociology, Ted Thornhill.  According to the course description, the class will  "interrogate the concept of race [and] examine racist ideologies, laws, policies, and practices that have operated for hundreds of years to maintain white racial domination."   Thornhill reports receiving some forty-six pages of e-mails  calling him by racial slurs, wishing cancer on him and his family, even making death threats.  The university was so concerned about his safety, and the safety of his students, that they posted two security guards at the doors of the classroom on the first day of classes.  Fortunately, things went smoothly, and the class was held without incident.  One student told a local reporter, "It was pretty cool.  Everybody was chill.  We are here to learn."  (News-Press, 1-10-18, 18A) 

Whether you think you agree with the underlying premise of the course or not, whether you think the course title is unnecessarily provocative or simply an expression of reality, whether you think it's fair to speak about the prejudices of one group without discussing the prejudices of another, the reality is the issues themselves need to be discussed.  And most of us would do well to be like that student, and be willing to simply chill and learn.  Learn about the issues, learn about other people.  We need to be willing to come and see.  For friends, it is as true now  as when your mother said in years gone by, "Don't judge a book--or a course--or a person--or an African country--or a Caribbean island--by its cover."

 

Where's Jesus? Some Thoughts After Epiphany

One of the most enduring traditions in the Connecticut church I served before coming here, was called the Angel Breakfast.  Every year, a couple of weeks before Christmas, the members of the Board of Christian Education would turn the social hall into a little bit of heaven.  Golden stars were hung from the ceiling, tables were covered with white linens and decorated with shining candles and sprays of gold, and at the front of the room, the stage was festooned with puffy clouds and rays of starlight.

All the children in third grade and under were invited to come with their parents on Sunday morning before worship for a special breakfast.  Carols were sung, sometimes there would be a craft, and the highlight of the event was a visit by a band of angels.

The angels, of course, were make believe, young folks in middle and high school dressed in white robes with golden haloes.  Originally it was all girls, but the celestial ceiling was finally broken in 2005 by some brave young men who rose to the challenge.  Their role in the festivities was to stand watch on either side of the curtain as the girl angels first sang, and then descended down the stage steps and out into the audience.

The loveliest part of the whole affair came when the angels spread out and, one-by-one, whispered a special message into each child's ear telling them Christmas was on the way. 

One year one of the Dads told me how his youngest child Jane was spellbound by the event.  She was just three at the time, and was very pleased when the angel whispered in her ear, "Jesus is coming!"

As things would happen, just as the angel left their table, Jane needed to go to the bathroom.  So Dad took her by the hand, and out they went to the restroom down the hall.

A few minutes later when they came back into the social hall, Jane stood at the door, surveyed the whole scene, and then, looking up at her Dad asked, "So where's Jesus?  Where is he?"

Jane's question turns out to be the same as the one asked by the Magi, the wisemen,  in the familiar story from Matthew. 



I've thought about that question a lot over the years, and while

I don't know about you, but when I reconsidered the whole story--not just the sweetness and light of the beloved carol about three kings and  gifts, but the whole story--I suddenly came to realize, it contains an answer to Jane and the Magi's question.  Where's Jesus?  Right in the middle of this story of brave strangers,  a vicious ruler, political intrigue, untold violence and refugees far from home.  "Where's Jesus?"  Right in the middle of life--everyday life.  Life at its best, when it calls forth the courage and persistence of folks like the magi.  And life at its worst, when it flares up in the scheming and menace of the Herods of this world. For  Jesus can be found wherever life takes us.  The places we want to go, and the places we try desperately to avoid.  But we will miss seeing Jesus unless, like the Magi, we are looking for him.  For he can, and does, show up in the most unexpected places, and is at work in the most unexpected people.  Not just two-thousand years ago, but in our own time as well.

 

A Word for Worrywarts

I have been using an Advent/Christmas devotional this year based on the writings of Dietrich Bonheoffer.  Bonheoffer was a German Lutheran pastor who participated in an assassination attempt against Hitler and eventually paid for it with his life.  He was executed just weeks before the end of the Second World War.

The letters and other things he wrote while in prison were collected and published posthumously as Letters and Papers from Prison.  Despite the very uncertain conditions that he had to deal with at that time, Bonheoffer was able to keep a measure of serenity because of his strong faith.  In one of those writings he offered up a few thoughts on Matthew 6:34b, the last part of Jesus' oft-quoted teaching about worry:  "Today's trouble is enough for today."  Reflecting on that passage, Bonheoffer wrote:  "Worry is always directed toward tomorrow . . . .It is precisely the securing of tomorrow that makes me insecure today. . . . Only those who place tomorrow in God's hands and receive what they need today are truly secure."  (191)

Powerful words--from an exceptionally credible source!  Words that ring as true today as they did over sixty years ago.  It is, in a way, simply another way of saying, live in the moment in the now.  But it is also more than that.  For we are reminded to turn over our concerns to God, the only source of true security.  Lasting security. 

Bigger armies won't guarantee us security.  Bigger bank accounts won't assure us of a safe future.  Our only lasting security comes in and through God.

Maybe this year--today--we can learn to place our tomorrows in God's hands, so that we have time to truly live today.

Coming Back from Bethlehem

"You sail out across the sea, but it's when you make your return that you

may discover what you have been seeking is in fact inside yourself."

--Erling Kagge

In some way or another I think that may be the core message of Christmas, the core truth of the Incarnation. Each year we travel to Bethlehem pnly to disover that the baby is still in the manger, that God still affirms the basic reality that we hold within this fragile frame called human life the very things we so long for, the peace, hope, joy and love we speak of during Advent.  God, we discover, or rediscover, is with us.  Emmanuel.  God is still saying YES to humanity.

Amazing, isn't it?  After all we have done to ourselves, after all the ways we have allowed hatred, violence, greed and fear to dominate our world, God has not given up on us!  The answer still resides within us!

Ann Weems, in her lovely collection of Christmas-themed poems titled Kneeling in Bethlehem, reminds us that "we've been warned in a dream" when we leave our annual Christmas celebration, our annual jo
urney to Bethlehem, we are "to return another way."

That way, I am convinced, is a way of peace and justice, a way of joy and love, a way of hope--a way that was hidden within us along.

Might we rededicate ourselves to living lives marked by the presence of the Holy.  Might we rededicate ourselves to living out of the human goodness God affirms in the Incarnation.

Star Wars and Bethlehem

Last Thursday I joined my oldest son and my youngest grandson at an Opening Night showing of the new Star Wars film The Last Jedi--technically, Episode VIII.  It was a terrific three generation bonding experience.  Chris, my grandson, seemed to especially enjoy the various light saber duals, my son enjoyed seeing his son having such a good time, and I was caught up in some of the subtler parts of the story.  Though, truth be told, it makes a great three generation experience because there isn
't really a lot of subtly about it!

Don't worry, I am not about to offer up any spoilers, but I was especially drawn to a line uttered fairly near the end of the film by one of the newly featured characters in this episode, Rose Tico.  At a crucial point in the story, she says, "Don't fight what you hate, save what you love."

That has been floating around in my head ever since I heard it last Thursday.  And the more I've thought about it the more I've come to realize it really sums up the meaning of Christmas.  Granted, quite unintentionally!

The central theological idea of Christmas is incarnation.  The notion that God takes on human flesh to show us how to live.  And not powerful human flesh, but the vulnerable flesh of a baby.  A baby who grows up to be a marginalized figure in a marginalized community.  God doesn't appear to us in the form of a general or a mighty warrior, God comes as the son of a carpenter, born of a peasant woman, destined to be a homeless, wandering Jew.  One who teaches that love is the answer to our problems.  God comes to us in the manger at Bethlehem not to fight what God hates, (evil, injustice, war and violence)--not atg all.  God comes to save what God loves.  People.  All manner of people. 

I realize, Star Wars, as the name of the film series implies, involves a lot of battles and much violence.  But I wonder if it's real message is tied up in the words of Rose Tico?

Don't fight what you hate, save what you love.

Have a blessed Christmas, dear readers. 

Jesus, Joy and Witchita

A few years back I flew out to Witchita, Kansas, to preside at my nephew's wedding.  And while I was there I found Jesus.  Right there in the middle of the country, on a very cold weekend in December.  Even more amazingly, I spotted him in the airport. 

 

I was reading the paper and Linda was knitting when a family of Hispanic folks settled into the spaces around us, and the matriarch of the family sat right beside Linda and struck up a conversation.

 

The family had all been in Wichita for her grandson’s graduation from college, and now they were headed back to Austin.  She, it turns out, had immigrated to the States with her late husband many years ago, and her children were all born here, as were her grandkids.  Her late husband had been a professional baseball player, a pitcher, and her grandson, a budding shortstop, hoped to follow in his footsteps.  As they spoke to each other, the family members easily moved back and forth between English and Spanish—clearly enjoying the time together.

 

We noticed that one of the young men, the best friend of the matriarch’s grandson, was dressed in boots and a cowboy hat, and sitting in a wheelchair, with a cast which stretched from his ankle to his hip.  He’d broken it shortly before the trip to Wichita, she told us, but he was doing well.  Then she chuckled.  We looked at her a bit puzzled, and she explained.

 

“While we were here,” she said, “We went to Wal-Mart, and there was one of those Salvation Army red kettles out front.  The bell ringer was giving it her best, but everybody just walked by—nobody gave her a thing.  So Juan, he’s the one in the wheelchair, he wheeled up beside her, put in a dollar, and then he started to sing “Feliz Navidad”.  He sang and sang, and pretty soon, folks started throwing in money—almost more than the ringer could handle.”  And with that she chuckled again.  And so did we—for we realized that we’d spotted Jesus, seen a touch of the holy, right there in Wichita.  We saw God at work through a Hispanic man in a wheelchair, and a faithful bell ringer for the Salvation Army, and a grandmother mother who was willing to tell the story to strangers in the airport.  And it filled us with joy, deep, deep joy.

 

In Wichita!  Imagine that!

 

Angels in the Parking Lot

I love Christmas music.  I have dozens and dozens of seasonal CDs.  And I listen to them throughout the month of December.  But my top ten list of Christmas songs and carols wouldn't include the hits of Burl Ives or Brenda Lee, as much as I enjoy those.  I'm not sure all it might include, but I am sure one of the carols I'd name would be "Angels We Have Heard on High."  For though I've never been as fortunate as Mary or Joseph or the shepherds in the nativity stories, I have heard angels.  Not on high, but rather on low.  Angels like a cook named Teo.  Let me explain.

It happened a several years ago when I was living in Connecticut.  My wife Linda had been out of town for most of several weeks, tending to our then new granddaughter and her aging parents who ahve since passed on.  I had more work than I could comfortably handle.  I was constantly on the run, feeling a bit sorry for myself, and very tired.  Even my tutoring work with Literacy Volunteers seemed unproductive.  One of my English as a second language students had returned to Haiti and another had been ordered to stay at home by her doctor as she went through her last weeks of pregnancy.  I was seriously thinking about giving it up.  It seemed like just one more thing on my to-do list.  I was so busy I didn't even have time to do much reading myself, so I was returning a half-finished overdue book to the library.  It may be telling that its title was The Dark Night of the Soul.

I was running, as usual;, and so rather than go inside, I decided to use the outdoor book drop..Just as I put my book in the slot and started to walk away, I looked up and saw one of my former Literacy students walking across the parking lot.

Teo is from Columbia.  He is very bright and very charming.  And he was making real progress in his English lessons with me.  Though he is professionally trained, his limited English meant that he had to work as a cook at a diner in the area.  So, when his hours changed at work, he had to give up his lessons.

I'd never seen Teo in Westport where I lived, and was very surprised.  He had a little girl with him, who turned out to be his daughter.  And they were going to get some books.

"So how are you doing, Teo?  We really miss you in class!"

He smiled, and then, in his halting English, Teo told me he was well, and that he had started taking English classes at the local community college, ones that fir into his new schedule.  More advanced classes.  Then he made a gesture as if smoothing the air with hand, and he smiled and said, "I can do them because of your class."        

We shook hands and as I walked away, my step was lighters and so was my heart.  And even though I was the English teacher, all I could say was "Thank you God."  For you see, I had been sent an angel, a messenger, one whose first language is Spanish, one who reminded me that God understands my deepest needs, including the need to know that what I am doing matters.  So I didn't quit teaching English, and for many more months, you could find me every Thursday afternoon, covered with white chalk dust, explaining  nouns and verbs and tenses to folks who really wanted to learn the language.  All because of an angel I met in a parking lot.