The Republican Mind and the Heart of God

The Republican mind was tried and tested with Nixon, and though the GOP lost that battle, and though many a Republican realized that Nixon was doomed, and finally knew that resignation was the only answer, a collective vow was likely made, a never-again pledge.

No matter what!

Now, faced with a monster in the WH, a man of limited intelligence, with an immoral character, surrounded by sleaze and influenced by his own brooding greed for power and for "love," a love never received within his family, and a love that he cannot ever give, because he doesn't have it within him, the GOP and those who've profited from this current administration, will, in their own mindless way, stand by this man, though all of them are neck-deep in filth.

It's a first class mess we have on our hands, but we've been here before, with one exception: the WH has a base of anger and bigotry throughout the nation, fueled by talk radio, the crooks at FOX, and the evangelical church for which power, at any cost, is to be courted for the sake of its theocratic dream - to rid this nation of the godless liberals, and so to "restore" morality, a "morality" in which there is no room for the LGBTQ Community, no room for workers' rights, no room for women, no room for people of color, no room for collaboration with the world, but only dominance by brute military force.

History, or as my Christian high school history teacher put it many years ago, in large scrawl on the blackboard - His Story.

Yes, I know all the linguistic and gender-issues related to that descriptor, but what my teacher meant then, and what I hear today, is this: the moral arc of the universe is always bent toward justice and truth. The love of the Creator will prevail, though beaten and battle-worn (which is why the resurrected body of the Christ was full of scars - no one, not even God, can escape the sweat and toil of seeking justice), and though raised to new life, that new life gives evidence of the costs involved, and when the Doubting Thomas saw the scars, he knew this was a God worthy of his life, and Thomas said, "My LORD and my God."

In his own way, Thomas knew, I believe, that a god without scars, a god without hurt and heartache, was no god at all, and for the times then, and surely for the times now, a scarred god is the only god worth following. Not a god of Rome or Temple, but a god of the people, a god of the creation and a god of all its creatures, great and small, a god who takes up the human cause and pays the price of love.

Sooner or later the truth will out, and justice will be done.

Never to create a perfect world, but at least a more perfect union ... on our way, with plenty of baggage, but on our way, headed toward the sunlight of faith, hope and love.

Bridge Building in Harsh Times

I doubt.
I love.
I see.
I think.

Maybe I'm wrong.
Maybe I'm too quick.
Maybe I should step back.
Maybe I should try for more bridges.

And then I see the children.
I hear their parents weep.
I hear the patent lies.
And watch the vulgar piety.

How to build bridges when people are dying.
How to seek peace when cruelty is de rigueur.
When I'm branded a murderer for my abortion views.
When I'm a globalist and not a nationalist.

When every bridge is deemed heresy.
When political views will not honor women.
When theology loves hell more than heaven.
When government serves the rich and not the poor.

Maybe I'm wrong.
I have my doubts.
But so much is at stake.
And history shows:

In all its terror.
In all its honesty.
Those who built bridges with the Brown Shirts.
Ended up dead!

How to Begin the Day

"For the glory of God and the wellbeing of the nations" ... is how I often end a prayer.

For me, the glory of God is always a redemptive, therapeutic, encouraging,notion - going out of myself into the goodness and righteousness of God ... not to lose myself, nor to placate a narcissistic divinity, but to find my bearings, to sense the rhythm of life, the flow of creation, and my place within it, and with all that is, knowing that I belong to God, and God is a constant presence for good.

And that, I think, leads to a concern for the wellbeing of the nations ... demanding of me an awareness of the times and challenges of the present age.

This world IS my home, at least for awhile, and while I'm here, I have to be engaged - with a knowledge of the news, local and global ... I have to know history if I'm going to pray intelligently. It's like some of the recital Psalms, detailing the "history" of Israel ... the flow of events that bring us to the moment.

I do not live in a spiritual bubble, though I often wish I did. To take my own creation seriously, and the creation of the world gratefully, this is where I live, and if I can, I will, let my light shine.

With a constant trust (lest I fall into despair) that the Spiritual Presence, the primal goodness of God, will prevail ... rarely with ease, as we see in the Cross, yet with victory, as we see in the resurrection ... and a deeply personal redemption, as we see with Jesus and Peter on the beach.

"For the glory of God and the wellbeing of the nations" ... is how I often end a prayer ... and a good way to begin the day!

The Spirit Has Seized Our Youth

Speaking to Nicodemus, Jesus reminds him that the Spirit has a life of its own - it cannot be claimed, manipulated, or determined, by a human being. Yet, the Spirit's purpose and joy (I would assume) is to draw close to a human being, infusing it with God's purpose and hope, giving energy, the kind of energy that hovered over the primal waters of Genesis and gave form to chaos.

Been thinking about the Spiritual Presence in our world, and how the Spirit is hovering over the chaos of American violence and guns, suddenly bringing forth an unexpected movement of youth, their voices crying in the wilderness of our shame and ignorance, calling attention to what might be, a better world.

There's something about their passion transcending the moment, coming from where the Spirit itself resides, in the heart of God, a God who doesn't give up on the creation, because the creation is essentially good, in spite of the existential chaos generated by human resistance to the Good.

The youth, in their singularity, and in their community, have been seized, I believe, by the Spiritual Presence, the greater good, the hope of the ages, the peace that surpasses ... taking them, as the Spirit did to Jesus, into the wilderness, tempted by the Evil One, to take the easy way out (I'm sure), perhaps wondering if it's worth it. But in the power of the Spirit, they speak truth to false power and false prophets and false voices, and in ways beyond expectation, as with Jesus in the wilderness, there are angels there with sustenance and mercy.

The Spirit blows where it will ... and in this case, in the passionate words of the youth, I see the kind of power that transforms, because its willing to shoulder great burdens and take up great causes (isn't this what the Cross is all about?).

The Spirit spoke to the youth, and to all of us: "How much more violence and death are you willing to accept for the sake of a few who have distorted American history and the Second Amendment in order to make money and possess a false and idolatrous power?"

The Spiritual Presence loves this world, because it's God's world ... and where's there's chaos, the Spirit hovers, and in the wind of its love, order emerges, and something new and good takes form.

The Spirit, indeed, goes where it will ... and to all the adults with their guns and their Bibles, how odd it must seem that the Spirit should alight upon the hearts and minds of our youth!

Can't We All Just Get Along?

Can't we all just get along?
Good question, for sure.
But history doesn't offer much hope.

Cain killed Able.
Aaron crafted the Golden Calf.
The king threw Jeremiah into the well.

The Apostle Paul's vision of inclusion:
Met heavy resistance in the mother church.
Paul choose grace; others choose to build a wall.

Luther and the Holy Roman Empire and its Holy Church.
The Colonies and Britain.
Hitler and Churchill.

FDR and Big Biz.
Martin Luther King, Jr. and segregation.
Franklin Graham and William Barber.

The fault lines are real, and mostly severe:
The kind of world we choose to own.
The values we uphold.

LGBTQ rights?
Or condem them to exclusion?

The right of a woman to choose abortion?
Or criminalize all of it, and its providers?

Women's rights to life and liberty and limb?
Or the men who would abuse them for power?

NRA?
ERA?

MAGA? or ...
"America! America! God mend thine every flaw"

"We need more time to help some resolve the matter,"
Said I of LGBTQ rights some many years ago.
When a dear friend, said of her gay brother:
"But he has no more time."

Everyone told Martin Luther King, Jr. to be patient.
But too many people were ending up as patients.
Clubbed senseless, or chewed up by dogs.
Burnings, bombings and lynchings.

The Apostle Paul and the mother church never found the middle way.
And the fault lines of exclusion/inclusion remain frustratingly tense.

The Book of Acts tells the tale:
The Mother Church on the one hand.
The Roman Imperial Cult on the other.

Rome and Jerusalem were good together:
When it came to getting rid of Jesus.
And when it came to crushing the gospel.

The cults of Rome and the righteous cicumcized loved large gatherings: where the mob could
Outshout Paul and call for his death.

I hurt for those who seek a middle ground.
A middle way ...
Things upon which we might agree?

Or are we fated/determined/sin-driven:
To be at odds in our quest to be free?

Transcendence

I do possess.
I must posses.
A transcendence.
Of spirit and heart and love.

Not to escape history.
Because that's just plain nuts.
To want something good.
Without seeing just how horrible stuff can be.
Is just plain nuts.

No. Not to escape.
But to believe.
To live within the maelstrom.
To hope.
To trust.

That the tortured cries of humanity.
Like the children of Israel in Egypt.
Have a hearing.
And will not endlessly be forgotten.

A transcendence to see better.
The dim outlines of hope.
Often obscured in the harsh glare of greed.

The bright lights of fame and fortune.
Towers of steel and cement.
White houses of shame and deceit.

Hard to see hope in the glare of greed.
In the blinding light of lies and lechery.

Transcendence is no fool's errand.
No widow's blind rage against death.
No momentary escape from reality.
But reality itself.
The living heart of creation.
History's machinery runs on human folly.
And transcendence, too.

Transcendence has teeth.
Spit and spine.
Piss and vinegar.
And is not to be trifled with.

Transcendence reminds me of the rising sun.
The cloud of unknowing.
The majesty of a late-night moth.
Headed toward the flame.

Because the flame is hope.
Home.
Heart.
Everything.

So it goes.
History howls in pain and anger.
Cruel people have their day.
Death reigns its malignant poison.

And that's where I live.
In history.
With its late-night sobs.
And day-light despair.

Transcendence is no escape.
But my strength - to not fall into the darkness.
But into the light.
Like a moth to the flame.

The light of the world, said He.
And many laughed for his want of realism.
But it's his realty that transcends.
Not to escape, but to transform.

To endure, if nothing else.
Until that day when death meets its match.
When greed has exhausted itself and lies dying.
In its own debris of broken promises and poisoned water.

To endure.
To engage.
To enlarge.
To energize.

Faith, hope and love.
Grace, mercy and peace.
Beauty, justice and mercy.

The arsenal of transcendence.
Armed not with might but with right.
Love, not lust.
Generosity, not greed.

Transcendence.
The Lord is great.
And greatly to be praised.
Hallelujah and Amen!

Justice or Judgment - PCUSA Decision on Marriage Equality

This year's General Assembly for the Presbyterian Church (USA) decided that pastors living in states that have legalized marriage equality can now officiate at all marriages, without fear of sanction.

For some, this is a day longed for, a day of justice, a day sought with prayer and tears.

For some, this is a dreadful day, perhaps day of judgment, wherein God allows evil to win, for a time, to reveal the depravity of humankind.

Which is it?

Both sides prayed fervently ... citing Scripture, the Confessions, tradition and various clinical studies.

Lincoln wisely noted this in his Second Inaugural Address:

Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the other.

To read how well Lincoln dealt with this matter, please read the entire address - it's a stunning example of clear-headed thought and moral review.

So, where are we today in the PCUSA?

A day of justice or a day of judgment?

For me, it's a day of justice, but for sisters and brothers of other persuasion, a day of judgment.

Will we ever know?

For sure?

History, of course, is a mess ...

What we do is move on, as best we can.

Limiting our worst instincts of either gloating in "victory" or despairing in "loss."

Finding solace in Lincoln's closing paragraph:

With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.

When "Famous Authors" Bite the Dust

I've written about this before.

But I'd like to put my hand to the plow again.

The Last Bookstore

At the Last Bookstore in downtown LA, a magnificent 2-story's worth of used books, jammed-packed  tighter than a pickle jar, with treasures and also-rans.

It's the also-rans that intrigue me - because, at the time, they were all celebrities of one sort of the other - lots of newscasters had their day in the sun, and then Hollywood types with their "reveal all" memories, along with famous or infamous clergy pronouncing the latest list of who's in and who's out, and why you better watch out, and perhaps the saddest of all, the politicians, who, like a dandelion sprung up with color and pizzaz, only to fizzle out and blow away in the next wind.

Their books sold like hotcakes, and like uneaten hotcakes, got cold quickly maybe could be saved a day or so, but for what purpose? The next day, the next meal - oh well, so into the garbage can with yesterday's cold cakes.

So, here they sit on these fine shelves - if they had a voice, would they be clamoring to be taken in hand and taken home, an orphan no more? Or would they hang their metaphorical heads in shame and apologize for taking up so much paper and space to blather a message that no longer has any relevance, and even at the time, when the writer was "hot," had the seeds of irrelevance sown throughout the text?

Which begs the question:

What endures?

The historians do ... I mean, the women and men with credentials - who've been to school, who've paid the price of learning, with degrees - if not formal, at least the school of hard knocks, who've been around the horn a few times, who've weathered terrible storms in a decade-spanning career, who've asked the tough question, who enjoy a cocktail or two, who entertain friends with their wit and wisdom, who passionately engage the quest for truth, who care about The People - the folks who ride subways and buses and till the soil, folks who work for a living in the mines and mills of the land, who teach our children and rinse out bedpans. Care for The People is what dignifies the soul of the scholar and lends gravitas to their writing, the kind of writing that endures.

Even older historians eclipsed by later works have lasting value. Their's is not some grandstanding effort to gain attention (though everyone hopes to make a living by their pen), but to find the hidden meanings of history, the subtle connections, the mortar between the bricks, the stuff that holds it all together, and to find lessons - not the simplistic stuff of pulpit pounders, but the subtle stuff that's hard to grasp, yet there for taking. Life belongs to those who love, and love much; who learn constantly, who give themselves to the big ideas, who weigh things in the balance of history, often having to make hard decisions filled with flaws, yet willing to risk the approbation of friends and colleagues, in order to chart the clearest course through the thicket of competing ideas.

And autobiographies of writers and soldiers and political-insiders with decent intellectual credentials.  I think it's terribly hard to tell one's story well. But those who do so are always worth the read, because therein we all find bits and pieces of ourselves. After all, we all are human, and in spite of our many differences, we're not all that different after all. Our blood is red, our tears are salty, we all enjoy a good laugh and a bawdy joke; we love good food and fine drink, and sometimes can't sleep a wink because of worry and fear.

I won't name names, so you can guess for yourself who I might mean as an enduring author, or, for that matter, you can fill in the blanks with your own names - those who have been a companion along the way, and who will entertain and enlighten fifty or a hundred years from now, because their words are suffused with life, even if they were wrong a time or two, even when they're all-too human with ill-temper, vanity and spitefulness; when their follies and foibles trump the game.

At the time, they might not have been "famous" - likely, they were not. But they were serious writers, women and men who thought deeply about their lives and the times in which they lived, the people they knew and lived with, and their author's legacy is a simple one - a mirror in which we find ourselves reflected, even as we search our own times and experiences for meaning and hope and reasons to live.

But whatever their name, these things seem to be the descriptors of those who endure, even when they bite the dust.

How One Looks at Poverty

One can look at poverty in the United States and blame the poor as victims of their own failures, inadequacies or general lack of "get-up-and-go." 

It's handy to do this, because the observer is conveniently slipping off the hook of responsibility - the kind of human, humane, responsibility that sees the deep connections between the poverty of many and the systems of the few. And that's the rub. Even a marginally successful person, if telling the truth, will have to admit to many "lucky breaks" and "free lunches" all along the way, as the system tilted favorably toward them. 

To understand poverty, from the inside, is to see how profoundly the system fails millions of Americans; not only failing them, but fighting them. And if one is on the wrong side of the system, all the spunk in the world won't work. All the drive that human beings possess naturally to make something of life will fail, and in the end, the system we presently have condemns millions to poverty. 

Some blame the poor, wash their hands of it, and walk away with a peaceful soul, thanking God for their blessings and quietly patting themselves on the back for their "success." 

Others look at the system and see how irrational and hateful it is. How evil it is, and work to transform it - transform the system, yes; but transform the soul of the nation, and the soul of those who wash their hands and congratulate themselves for what they have. 

To be devoted to this transformative work brings great satisfaction, but also the disapproval of many. 

How people look at poverty is the great divide in human history.

Final Advent Thoughts

As we bring the Season of Advent to a close with the lighting of the Christ Candle tonight, we end a chapter in the story of our Faith, and open anew, the ageless story of God with us, in every respect. Small towns and big cities, rich and poor, foreigner and citizen - for God so loved the world.

May the brightness of the star illumine our darkness ...

May the tenacity of the wise men, who dared to follow a star, encourage us in our journey ...

May the joy of the shepherds impel us to make our own trek to Bethlehem to see what the angels have told us ...

May Herod's anger be a sobering reminder that powerful interests have their own agenda ...

May the flight of the Holy Family to Egypt give us hope in tough times ... and ...

May the promise of Scripture - that all of these many and varied pieces were part of a Master Plan, the fulfilling of Scripture - give us peace and determination to keep up the good work of loving and serving Christ - because God's hand is yet upon the flow of history, to keep God's purpose and God's love alive, and to maintain our life together on this planet, a planet that God so dearly loves