This Land Is Not Our Land: Talking to Our Kids about Indigenous People's Day

This land is not our land.

When we took our family to the Poconos (“river between two mountains”) this summer, we talked quite a bit about First Nations and Indigenous people. We talked about how the region being called Shawnee (“southerner”) was the misappropriation of Indigenous people who lived there, who were actually Lenape (“original peoples”). We talked about the same river we canoed that day was traveled by people who were eventually forced out. We talked about kindness and theft, belonging and power. We talked about how the water had a story to tell if we dared listen.

It wasn’t as profound of conversation as you may imagine, but it was just that. We talked and acknowledged and learned together about where we lived and who used to call this land home before they were exiled out.

Every year, I am reminded of where we live and the Indigenous names often overlooked…and mispronounced. Again, this land is not our land.

Related Reads

20 Local Native American Place Names and What They Mean

Kaitlin Curtice 

Richard Twiss. (also, a post the late Richard Twiss commented on before he passed)

When Your Daughter Finds a Statue and Challenges All You Know: A Belated Mother's Day Post on (Indigenous) Womanhood

prayers are just thoughts: platitudes cannot protect our children

prayers are just thoughts

platitudes that defer action

personal responsibility,

accountability 

our claimed-to-be-sacred

utterances

resist what is deeper and divine

a collective call and cry

to mobilize change

when will our prayers

become Just thoughts

imagining

dreaming

tirelessly working

for a better world

where all children thrive

as young people alive

no longer captive

to idols

fashioned as guns

or supposed rights and freedoms,

privileges and powers possessed by too few

adults,

charged to be their protectors,

who polish more than they push

for goodness and kindness

non-violence and peace

maybe our prayers are just thoughts

as a Just world costs us what we worship

value

love

more than our children 

New Olive Tree Ink and the Color of Peace: Another Tattoo for the Rev

“We believe in justice. One day we will see the Son of Justice rise again.”

I’ll never forget hearing these words from Daoud Nassar, a Palestinian Christian whose family lives in the West Bank on an olive tree farm called Tent of Nations. After sharing stories of peaceful resistance in the midst of occupation and terror, including one about Jewish partners who helped replant over 250 trees after they were burned down as an act of Israeli intimidation, our group of pilgrims was invited to purchase one of our own in solidarity.

So I sponsored two. 

And the olive tree, for me, became a favorite symbol of resilience and resurrection, courage and care, hope and redemptive love.  

Olive trees can grow in uncommonly dry spaces and are known for their longevity of life, some say these trees never die but are eternally reborn out of the same root systems. Olive trees are the first named arbors in Scripture, whose leaves were plucked by the dove as symbol of new life after the flood. Palestinian poet, Mahmoud Darwish writes, “The Olive Tree is the color of peace, if peace needed a color,” calling to mind the interfaith stories past and present that have leaned on the witness of these trees as they resist violence and pursue a better way.  Olive trees are also responsible for one of the most vital harvests in the Mediterranean, olive oil, made from a process of repeated pressing that is sacred imagery across faith traditions and an invitation to endure the struggle. Olive trees in Gethsemene, meaning “oil press,” even served as sanctuary as Jesus prayed with persistence and his disciples slept on assignment, only for the Messiah to call them thrice to “keep awake” and remain vigilant. γρηγορεῖτε (gregorēite) in Greek; my name thrice spoken among the olive trees where I pilgrimaged in 2019.

Now, every time I look down at my right arm, thanks to @billyhaines, I see not only my invitational name, but also the stubborn yet beautiful tree whose fruit will be pressed but not overcome. I will remember a rootedness that endures forever and nudges us to color the world justly and peacefully as we wait for the Son to rise again. We certainly need all of this and more in these pressing days. 

Shake It Off? Rejecting Anti-Welcome and Moving Towards Liberation

Greg Klimovitz · Shake It Off: Sermon on Mark 6:1-13

A sermon delivered on July 4, 2011

"Just shake it off."  I remember hearing these words often as a kid. And it was before Taylor Swift was born...literally. I was an avid baseball player from the time I was four through my freshman year of college. Predominantly a catcher, I was prone to getting hit by a foul ball, wild pitch, or a hitter’s looping backswing. I have many scars and sore joints from those sixteen years.

But where did this phrase come from? Do we believe the movement of "shaking it off" can distribute blood flow and reduce swelling? Does shaking it off ease pain? Or is shaking it off yet another way we teach young people, especially boys, to suppress their emotional responses and just move on without showing that something truly hurts and a wound has been inflicted?

 

Just shake it off. As a little league coach these days, I have committed not to use this phrase with kids, whose bodies and brains and minds and emotions are changing as designed. Suppressing natural and healthy reactions to pain is not my MO on or off the field. Sometimes there are injuries to the body and spirit that cannot simply be shaken off. 

And they shouldn't be. 

God knows, for real, the many traumas endured these last eighteen months, whether the pandemic or the endless social ills, cannot merely be shaken off. The pain experienced is a signal that something is not right and aid and relief is needed. To say shake it off in the American cliched verbiage only buries hurt, leads to neglect, and delays healing. Shaking it off is not equivalent to resilience; it can be damaging denial.

 

So why does Jesus go there? Shake it off, Jesus? Surely the Messiah had more compassion, empathy, and concern for those wounded by others and the oppressive systems of the day. But before we lean in, let's pray.

 

We come to today's text and Jesus gives the disciples a packing list.  How I wish this was all I needed to bring whenever loading up our four children into our minivan and traveling even for a single night at the grandparents. 

Staff. Sandals. Clothes on your back. 

No iPads, device chargers, stuffed animals, or pillows. Not a single suitcase. It is simple, quick, and warrants a dependency on the community care provided by those soon visited.  It prevents being burdened by too much stuff and assumes welcome and having enough at destination. A parent can dream, right? But, is there more to Mark's incorporation of this Messianic and Apostolic packing list than merely the reduction of stuff so the hatchback will close and whoever is riding passenger can actually put their feet on the floor? If you are familiar with Mark, you know that there is always something more.  

 

Mark 6 is right on the heals of two significant stories interwoven together: Jesus' healing of a woman plagued by hemorrhage for 12 years and a 12 year-old girl resurrected from the dead. But this all happened in a neighboring town.  Mark 6 begins in Jesus' village and among Jesus' people of Nazareth. They have known him since he was a boy...and they liked him...until now. Jesus is in the local synagogue, where he grew up and studied under local rabbis, and on the sabbath.  In this sacred space on a sacred day they take offense to his teachings.  We know why, too.  Jesus is breaking sabbath, his disciples are not fasting, he is touching the untouchables, and welcoming the unclean.  Jesus is traveling back and forth across the sea (hold that reference), casting out demons and sending them into swine in Gentile land.  Even more, Jesus has a following of fishermen, tax collectors, and sinners called disciples.  Jesus has spent much of his young life shaking off convention to make room for those often excluded from sacred centers and, ultimately, pushed out of Nazareth as a "prophet without honor" as an echo of Ezekiel 2. So Jesus shakes off their anti-welcome and heads elsewhere to come alongside others shaken off and dishonored by religious and political communities alike.

 

But that is only the beginning. Packing lists. Take nothing with you except your staff.  No bread. No bag. No money. Staff. Sandals. Clothes on your back. Twelve of them, sent out with little to nothing to take with them. Twelve of them with a packing list of immediacy. If you have the eyes to see and ears to hear, you will notice Mark's echo of Exodus.  Remember the mountain? Remember the sea?  Remember the wandering in wilderness before entering strange lands? Remember the 12 tribes? And it began with a newly liberated Hebrew people with a rather short packing list, eating unleavened bread with staff in hand, sandals on their feet, ready to pick up and go at a moments notice as they leave captivity and venture towards freedom, "This is how you shall eat [the Passover lamb]: your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and you shall eat it hurriedly” (Exodus 12:1). Is Jesus provoking a new exodus?  Is Jesus calling out a new people of God to pursue liberation in a new land, to shake off the manifestations of Egypt and anti-welcome in their time and place?  YES.

 

Jesus calls and sends out his disciples, again an echo of Ezekiel, into the neighborhoods of Israel that had rebelled from God’s story of liberation, to cast out demons and heal the sick not to prove divine status but to send away old lines of exclusion and draw the circle wider...as wide as the infinite love of God.  And if they and their new way of being in the world are not received well among a rebellious people, shake your sandals and leave that place in the same sort of prophetic dust that covered Pharaoh's chariots as they crossed the sea and towards a new life of freedom.

 

Jesus' hometown in dust?  Sacred space, place, and rituals in dust? Tradition and law in dust? Conventional wisdom and all you once believed to be true in dust? If it holds people captive...yes. If it wreaks of Egypt and Pharaoh...yes. The Jesus movement and those who follow the Way, are to be all about exodus. Everything else is dust. And if we pay attention to the parables of Jesus throughout the gospels, they are all about dusting off from Pharaoh's empire in temple and town. It is shaking off the shackles of captivity and anti-welcome.  So, yes, Jesus said, "shake it off," as in be liberated from oppression and rejection and find renewed belonging in the kindom of God, where we hold all things in common and all people called beloved.  

 

Still, what does this all have to say to us in our time and our place? I believe, in essence, it hinges on discipleship. Are we as individuals and communities of faith, even on “sacred” national days of supposed independence, willing to shake off the dust of anti-welcome and long-histories of oppression and move into real and localized expressions of inclusion and concern for the common good?

 

To shake off oppression, injustice, and isolation from community.

To shake off economic systems that perpetuate poverty and homelessness.

To shake off prison systems bent on racial biases and propped up by corporations.

To shake off unclean spirits of violence and the idolatry of weapons and war.

To shake off narratives of acquisition and never having enough.

To shake off white supremacy, homophobia, racism, and the characterizing of Indigenous peoples.

To shake off ableism and ways society excludes people of various physical, social, and mental abilities.

To shake off all that exploits creation and the earth God so loves and calls good.

To shake off myths of achievement that teach our children what matters most is climbing to the top.

To shake off toxic relationships and those bent on bullying behaviors.

To shake off resentment and hatred that only poison our mind, body, spirit, families, and neighborhoods.

To shake off anything that infringes on the foundational truth that each person is a beloved child of God and beautiful reflection of the Divine. To shake off pre-pandemic patterns of existence as individuals and communities that were never healthy and whole.

 

As Octavius Catto, 19th Century African-American martyred civil rights activist, child of a Philly Presbyterian minister, and one of the greatest baseball players of his era, once said as he shook off anti-welcome in his day and pressed for a more just world, “There must come a change which shall force upon this nation that course which providence seems wisely to be directing for the mutual benefit of peoples.”

 

Friends, as disciples of Jesus gathered and scattered, we have been sent by Jesus to liberate and heal in strange places and in unconventional ways. There are sure to be detractors and fair amounts of rejection along the way.  It will be uncomfortable and require dependency on more than your own efforts. So pack lightly and when tempted to quit or return to the privileged norms of Pharaoh's empire, shake it off. Shake it off not as a means to dismiss pain or suppress hurt, but to be released of the power anti-welcome may have over you, your neighbor, and the divine belovedness you both bear, which can never be shaken off. Yes, shake off the dust of this not-love, leave Pharaoh's chariots behind, and move towards a new kind of exodus found in the gospel of justice, peace, and joyful welcome in Spirit-filled community.

O how I love how churches in Greater Philadelphia and beyond have lived into this exodus-laced change and worked to shake of the dust of anti-welcome through collective work and witness: gardens cultivated to provide nutrition alongside neighbors in Chester to shake off food apartheid in that city; collaborations with local networks formed to extend inclusive coffeehouses for youth and adults of various ability levels to shake of the ableism in Delaware County and beyond; kitchens have been flipped into food pantries for those battling hunger and poverty; grants secured to construct tiny homes for those vulnerable to housing insecurity; Clergy have linked arms in protests and marches and committed to courageous conversations on anti-racism in both their communities and congregations and presbyteries; Pride festivals sponsored and hosted in parking lots; after-school programs offered in the midst of a pandemic so children do not fall too far beyond and yet stay safe; faith communities have continued to adapt mediums for worship and fellowship gatherings, leveraging digital platforms and technologies to shake off the isolation so many have felt in the midst of this pandemic. The list goes on as we live into what it means to be a Matthew 25 people.

 

My kids and I recently have found a new love in the music of Jon Batiste, jazz musician who wrote the score for Disney's Soul and the band leader for The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. On his latest album, We Are, Batiste has a song, “Freedom,” appropriate for today's text and the recent national holidays of Juneteenth and July 4^th : 

When I move my body just like this

I don't know why but I feel like freedom (freedom)

I hear a song that takes me back

And I let go with so much freedom (freedom)

Free to live (how I wanna live)

I'm gon' get (what I'm gonna get)

'Cause it's my freedom (freedom)

The reason we get down, is to get back up

If someone's around, go on let them look

You can't stand still

This ain't no drill

More than cheap thrills 

 

Faithful friends, we have endured much as a people these last 18 months. We have also had our eyes and ears opened to so many cries for justice and deliverance from generations of anti-welcome. May we hear Jesus' call to shake off this dust as an invitation to reach back to that ancient song of freedom God's people have been singing throughout the ages and in empires past and present- including this one. This song invites all people to move their bodies, imaginations, and faith communities in such a way that lets go of shackling systems, stories, and old patterns of existence. No, we cannot stand still. This ain't no drill. We cannot stay the same. Discipleship demands we embrace redemptive change and move towards welcome and mutual care. So what needs to be shaken off in your life and in the church for this to happen?  What is weighing you down from hearing of your belovedness or leaning into proclaiming and extending it to others?  Let go and dance ‘cause it’s not only your liberation, but also that of your community and the world God so very much loves.

 

A Benediction in Poetry

  

shake it off

we tell young ones

send away the pain

subtly

dust yourself off

wipe away the tears

and press on

as an image of strength

as though unharmed

unfazed

by injury or trauma

but what if it hurts

what if the wound cannot be shaken

what if you are not ready to get up

to move on

maybe shaking it off is not resilience

maybe it is damaging denial

suppressing reality

burying emotions

neglecting what makes each of us

human

 

what if

 

yes, what if we do not have to shake off

the pain

but what caused it

to reject anti-welcome

to send away not-love

and linger longer in dreams

for something better

and move towards

in time

our time

a new reality altogether

May we do so in the name of the Creator, Savior, and Sustainer. Amen. 

Holy: #AdventWord Day 25

This olive wood pendant cost less than a dollar. The story behind it: priceless. In 2019, I pilgrimaged to Bethlehem with a group of pastors and ministry leaders. One of the organizing pastors arranged for us to stop at a local vendor not far from the traditional site of Jesus’ birth. We had just driven past the 25-foot wall that segregates Israeli from Palestinian land and heard first-hand stories of the occupation. A present-day apartheid, local Palestinians live in fear of military raids that have abducted children and ripped apart families. This U.S. pastor had previously lived in Bethlehem. Early into his family’s arrival, they experienced one of these military raids, only to find sanctuary in the home of this Palestinian shop owner.  “I promised his family,” the pastor shared with us, “that if I ever returned with friends, I would be sure to return the favor in generosity.” I dropped more than a few bucks on souvenirs. Yet this small olive wood dove is my favorite. Every time I wear it, I am reminded of the story and the holy happenings in Bethlehem. 

Holy means to be set apart, distinct, and marked as sacred. Holy is not about extravagance or high price tags. The holy happens in the small acts of loving kindness that point us towards the God of justice and compassion. The holy shows up when we participate in welcome and sanctuary, story telling and advocacy. The holy can be found in brittle olive wood pendants worn as reminders of the fragility of human life and the walls of oppression that run throughout Bethlehem and our communities, too. The holy also happens when we hold onto hope and exercise our faith as imaginative power* until these walls come tumbling down. 

*See Mitri Raheb, Faith in the Face of Empire: The Bible through Palestinian Eyes (129-130).

Looking for the Steadfast Love of God: A Post-Election Muse

“I will sing of your steadfast love, 

O LORD, forever…

LORD, where is your steadfast love of old…?”

(Psalm 89:1, 49)

The paradox of the psalmist is where I sit this morning, a lengthy prayer as song, which begins and ends at two very different places. I find assurance that there is a divine love and mercy and kindness that greets us new every morning. The Hebrew word, chesed, has been the hope God’s people have clung to, tight-knuckled, for generations on end. In the midst of their own battles with injustice, oppression, and vile incarnations of power and privilege, they found ways to sing and dance and work towards shalom. And we will, too. God is faithful.

But this morning, the ending of the Psalm 89 has become more like what used to happen when a record skipped or the CD was scratched. The question of absence is stuck on loop. Where is the steadfast love of God to carry us forward?

I am daring to find it in those mental icons of the virtual and socially distant prayer vigils of this past week, where the people of God affirmed we are stronger together than apart- that a better way is possible. I am meditating on the steadfast, loving kindness found in poll workers who volunteered and continue to labor so every vote is counted. I am setting my mind on the faithfulness of God that transcends generations. This prophetic fidelity was embodied by youth at the middle school turned election site, who shared with me that their #BlackLivesMatter swag ran out within the first hour the polls were open. They were still there at 1 o’clock to advocate for their cause. I am finding chesed in the pastors, social workers, community organizers, peacemakers, and all those who refuse to quit until liberty and justice are truly available for all. This was not going to happen, despite our wildest imaginations, on a single calendar day marked for the general election. The four centuries of American --isms will not be undone in one cycle through 24. But, if we lean into the steadfastness of God’s love and justice, which are the foundations of God’s way in the world (89:14), we just may see greater movement towards equity and compassion within our lifetime. At least that is my hope and prayer.

But I still have my questions. And friends, on the other side of a long day and night, be kind to yourselves if you do, too. After all, questions are the most ancient of prayers. We will need them for the marathon ahead.

Beatitudes Remixed for the Pandemic

Below is an excerpt fro the sermon delivered at Gladwyne Presbyterian Church on All Saints Sunday, November 1, 2020. Full audio soon to be posted here and below. 

I am convinced Jesus' Sermon on the Mount, particularly the first 12 verses of Matthew 5, are to be regular meditations for all those who profess to follow Jesus. The beatitudes, Latin for “blessing,” are the prelude to the Messianic anthem and inclusive roll call of all invited to adventure along this absurd parade route with the ultimate destination a world made new and right again.

 

For those living in a first-century context of occupation by a foreign power, when imperial soldiers patrolled the streets and could force Palestinian Jews into service or do violence to their Brown bodies at a moments notice, with tax systems that perpetuated an unjust economy that favored the rich, and religious institutions were in bed with the empire as they worshipped privilege and preservation over God’s call for justice, peace, and welfare for all who bear the image of their maker- this was very good news. 

In our own time, with so much grief and loss from the twin pandemics of COVID and racism, with our own corrupt, exploitative, and unchecked power structures and people, when an election is just two days away, when another Black life, this one battling mental illness, has been claimed by law enforcement- this time in West Philly-  we may be longing for these blessings more so than the last time they came around in the lectionary cycle. Because here at Jesus’ rally, instead of rants and rages bent on division and quests for power, Jesus flips the script and draws together the meek and the mourners, activists and justice seekers, those who hunger for a better world, others who organize for peace, and still more those tossed to the side or wrongfully imprisoned by the powers that be. In essence, the beatitudes are Jesus identifying with the struggle of the downtrodden, validating and vindicating the specificity of their struggle, and affirming, as James Cone said, God is the God of the Oppressed. Yes, their lives mattered. This is good news. 

Last May, I pilgrimaged to the Holy Land with a group of pastors and ministry leaders from around the country. One of our stops was actually at the traditional site for this Sermon on the Mount. I’ll never forget the beauty of the landscaped hills, gardens, and chapel that overlooked the Sea of Galilee. As you walked along the floral lined path, there were plaques of each beatitude. In English, of course, which is a sermon for another day…It was breathtaking. I even plucked a flower and have it taped inside the Bible I just read from this morning. But what I most remember is our guide breaking the sacred moment as we made our way out of the garden, telling us Jesus probably never preached where we just were. Then he pointed to the left to the far-less beautiful hillside, across a paved road as cars trafficked, and enclosed with a chain linked fence. “Friends,” he said to us. “This is the more likely location where Jesus spoke the beatitudes.” It was so very ordinary, much less sexy, and on the fringe of the gardens. There were not any flowers to pluck; just rocks and dry dirt surrounded by a rickety fence. This is where, apparently, Jesus took a seated position and embodied a new way in the tradition of Moses, which extended far wider than even the greatest of prophets. In the ordinariness of the day among those often ignored and dismissed as the world trafficked by them, Jesus pronounced blessings and welcome and embrace.  Like a seminarian shared with me in the spring, in the gospel the only thing that Jesus excludes is exclusion. Blessed are…welcome are…included as kin are… Said differently, the beatitudes are Jesus’ great Yes And to those all too familiar with No, But…This Gospel is again the embodiment of Psalm 34, “The LORD is near to the broken hearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (v. 18). 

 

I wonder, then, should Jesus park himself at the top of Belmont Plateau overlooking Philly, would he remix beatitudes into a rally cry like this:

Yes to you whose spirits are wearied by quarantining and social distancing, whose imaginations have been stretched in this season of virtual everything, and others who have gone to great lengths to facilitate safe community to those who are especially vulnerable and isolated in the midst of the pandemic. Yes, And God’s dreams for the world include you;

 

Yes to you who grieve, who have lost loved ones to this cruel virus of COVID-19, who covet human connection in this season of increased isolation, whose relationships are strained, others who cry out as another Black or Brown life is slain, for the Walter Wallaces of our city and Breonna Taylors around our nation. Yes, And God’s love, peace, presence, and eternal embrace extends to you;

 

Yes to you whose voices go unheard, who are cut off at border walls and fences, whose self-worth has crumbled in battles with anxiety and depression, those who are differently abled, and  siblings who identify as gay or trans, queer or any other part of the rainbow community. Yes, And you are made in God’s beautiful image and welcomed members of God’s new world already here and yet-to-come;

                                                   

Yes to you with a hunger for activism and advocacy, who go beyond cheap words and tirelessly organize for the end of hunger and poverty, homelessness and addiction, racism and all forms of injustice. Yes, And you will find hope and freedom in the good news that God is putting the world to rights;

 

Yes to you who offer second-chances and forgiveness, even to your worst of enemies. Yes, And you will find freedom as you are unbound from the pain of the past and lean into the mercy of the God of new beginnings and fresh starts;

 

Yes to you who cannot shake an unsettled spirit when you see another wounded or excluded, for nurses, doctors, therapists, educators, caregivers, and frontline workers whose empathy for others runs so very deep that you find yourself wearied by compassion. Yes, And you have the eyes and ears and heart of God; 

 

Yes to you who practice peace in an age of violence, embody love in a world thirsty for vengeance, and extend grace in the face of retaliation. Yes, And you have indeed understood what it means to be called God’s witnesses in the world;

                                                  

Yes to you whose name has been run through the mud, reputation tossed to the wind, arrested for siding with the oppressed, and others dismissed because the way your faith dares to get political and confront systemic and intuitional sins that have stunted human flourishing for far too many. Yes, And your labors are not in vain, rather carry God’s story forward. 

 

Yes, blessed are all of you whose dreams have been labeled foolish, who have been rejected,, condemned, ignored, stymied or barred opportunity because of your commitment to the way of Jesus, to the point where you may feel like giving up. Yes, And you are not alone and will find joy in the resurrection parade of the Messiah and the movement of the gospel.

 

Do you dare see these divine affirmations of hope in the rubble of despair?

In this time of the twin pandemics of COVID-19 and increased realities of systemic racism, there are many churches and ministries who have risen up to embody the beatitudes in their time and place, in ordinary spaces at the intersection of God’s love and real human struggle. Recently I spent time with one of our worshipping communities in Philly whose congregants are neighbors experiencing chronic street homelessness. When I showed up to worship, I saw the founding pastor engaged in a conversation with a man about the cross she had around her neck. “You can have mine when the service is over,” she said. Apparently this is common practice for this church without walls. The pastor shared with me that it was a reminder of the blessedness and connection they shared on the streets, a reminder that they were beloved. And anytime someone asks for one of these crosses, they give it away as a remixed beatitude, if you will. It is not uncommon to see people on the parkway wearing these as they recline by the fountains or sit on park benches. 
 
Today is significant for many reasons. Communion Sunday- when the faithful gather and scatter from Christ’s table that is the ultimate beatitude for us and the whole world. Blessed are all of you who come, eat, and remember. Today is also All Saints Sunday, when we remember those who have been the incarnations of these beatitudes before us, who lived into their discipleship in their time and place so we could do the same in ours. They are the cloud of witnesses who nudge us to build upon their discipleship, even to confess, confront, and correct the sins of their day as we move towards the day when all is new and right again. God knows there will be generations who will be asked to do the same after us. But today is also the last day before the last day to vote. Friends, my hope and prayer is that you would find beatitudes swirling around your hearts and minds, imaginations and, yes, your ballot, as you exercise your voice on behalf of those near and far whom Jesus called blessed. Yes, And may you not only cast this vote, but also dare to live into the words of Christ as remixed beatitudes in and for the world God so loves. 

So how might you remix these beatitudes: Blessed are______ for they will________. 

Amen.

Greg Klimovitz · Beatitudes Remixed for Such a Time as This

Grumbling about the Absurdity of Generosity and Universality of God's Economy

“So the last shall be first and the first shall be last.”

Parables are tricky. These ancient riddles subvert convention and dare us to expand our imaginations for the common good. Parables are sacred mysteries. Parables are playful. Parables are brutally honest about the way things are and the way things can and should be. Parables cut through the binary of either/or and call us into something far more inclusive. Yet we, from ancient days until the present, prefer competition over inclusion, me and mine versus a collective us. So we may not like parables- especially not the one in Sunday’s gospel lectionary from Matthew 20:19.

As I read Jesus’ parable of a landowner who hired workers for his vineyard, I could not think of a more potent passage for our current socio-political entanglement. The hired hands received the same wage, whether they worked a full day or only a small percentage. And those employed first, the Scripture says, “grumbled,” believing they were entitled to more than those who were hired last and worked less.

Here we must pause.

We do not know why some workers were hired first. Did their privilege make them more accessible to employment opportunities? Did they have an “in” with the vineyard owner? Were they born into the trade required to make the deep reds? 

We also do not know the story behind those hired last. Maybe they had a record or physical challenges or had to work covertly so not to be picked up by those who had it out for them for their unpaid debts? Maybe they couldn’t work a full day because they had a large family to care for and little to no help at home. Maybe they were born into circumstance or class whereby they were considered less than those hired first. 

Whatever the reason, the last and the first and those in between were all given a vocation by this landowner and each received the same compensation. All were paid. All were included. All had enough. Still, the first grumbled, forgetting equity did not tilt the scales in the favor of the last at the expense of the first. "Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you.” 

Throughout history, social and earthen balance, what Scripture calls shalom, have often been less valued than conquest and winning. We want more than and greater than…We want to be better and best and first- even if we are standing there alone.  Despite the theological beginnings of all persons made in the imago Dei, we subscribe to present social constructs and ideologies that say you win worth and achieve value. I love what artist Anna Strickland writes in regards to her painting below, which is based on this parable:

If we associate the vineyard owner with God, who chooses to pay all workers a daily wage no matter the hours they worked, this parable makes a strong case for a universal living wage. These workers are not seen as hours of labor, but as people. The hours they work may be different, but their needs are the same. And so the vineyard owner pays them, not according to their economic value, but their human worth...God’s grace is not given in measure to our economic value, our hard work, or our humility. It is given equally to all. 

While the pandemic has uncovered, in an abundance of spaces, the beauty of human resilience, compassion, and neighborly love, it has also underscored how tight our grip is on self preservation. This is the very foundation of our American capitalist economy. Mask wearing, which is among the most effective ways to protect neighbor in this pandemic, is protested as a violation of personal freedom.  Black Lives Matter declarations in the midst of rising police brutality against people of color are countered with the fragility of All Lives Matter. (Read: my [white] life matters). Political platforms continue to trumpet a return to an era of perceived greatness and (America) first-ness that exploited far more than protected. We (falsely) assume universal provisions, from healthcare to basic income, means the boots one person is wearing will be unstrapped from their feet and given to someone less deserving. We ignore the complex truth that many do not have access to boots while others have a closet full handed down to them from generations on end. 

We have a lot of work to do as a people in this land that is not our land. In the midst of our modern dystopian saga, one thing is also certain: as long as justice and fairness are polluted by competitive quests for first-ness and greatness, the fullness of God’s dreams for the world will remain elusive at best. It doesn’t have to be this way. There is a better and more inclusive way. This Way flips the script and reverses how we keep score. 

Actually, it doesn’t keep score at all. 

Everyone wins. 

The absurdity of God’s generosity is that there are no losers in the economy of God- only vineyards full of workers with equal share in the goodness to come from the Landowner. May this divine economy shape how we live and move and work AND VOTE in our earthly one.  

*Header Image, Red Vineyard in Arles by Vincent van Gogh, 1888. 

Thinking about Racism, Privilege, and Johnny Come Latelys

Every day, between 5-7 p.m. at the intersection of First Avenue and Business 30 in Coatesville, a small group of protesters stand with signs calling for change, solidarity, and affirmations that #blacklivesmatter. On a five-mile run this weekend, I passed by this particular placard and a group of about six. Despite their gracious invitation to join them, I could not stay; our family was quarantined until the test results came yesterday and confirmed we were and are COVID FREE. So, I supported their presence by remaining distant. 

The recent protests, marches, and public demonstrations are making some serious and rapid head way these days. I cannot help but think the Spirit is hovering over the chaos and bringing goodness and shalom out of the formless voids of the present struggle. I am not sure if the pandemic has forced many people of privilege finally to confront their complicity in systemic racism, but people are coming out in droves to affirm #blacklivesmatter and to call for far more than mere police reform. They are- we are- looking for much more. [Check out this article on what #defundthepolice and #abolishthepolice really means] 

For many, this was a weekend of increased allyship. For some, it was the first step in their commitment to the work of anti-racism. Maybe they were buying into the latest social trend and a chance for a quick IG pic, but their presence echoed the mantras and affected positively the algorithms calling for justice.* Sure, there is a concern for what can be called "performative activism," and skepticism has just cause, missing the forrest for the trees may not be helpful either. So  whenever I have been tempted to question fellow people of privilege who are “Johnny Come Lately,” I cannot help but also hear Jesus’ response to his disciples' cynicism about outsiders joining their exorcisms, "Whoever is not against us is for us" (Mark 9:40). 

Under quarantine, I thought a lot about and watched virtually the steady streams and images from protests and marches from large cities to small towns. My heart, mind, and conscience were deeply moved.  Then I ran by and briefly engaged the few at the corner. They have been there before and will be after the weekend buzz. They recognize this is more than a moment but a movement. They know that systemic racism is a problem and epidemic in America the brutiful. Period. Full stop. 

The generational manifestations of structural biases and racial injustices will not be deconstructed in a single weekend or by any isolated social media post, certainly to include this one. The dismantling of America’s original sin of racism that pervades law enforcement and politics, corporations and religious institutions, quality of education and access to nutritional food, basic healthcare, sustainable employment, affordable housing, green spaces, and recreational facilities, etc. will take all of us for much longer than a day or two. 

But these days matter so much, still. They matter as much as the Black and Brown lives that are the focus and leaders of this movement. 

So join the cause in whatever way you can, large or small, aware our collective efforts are required this day and every day, on this street corner and in every community near and far.  

Recommended Reads on Race, Bias, and White Privilege: A Continual Conversion

There are many great links to recommended reads as we continue to confront the horrific realities of racism that, as many have said, is this country’s original sin. In efforts for people of privilege to educate ourselves, we must remember the systems, structures, and powers of our day are not necessarily broken; rather, they are working precisely as designed in a nation with a history of enslavement, genocide, conquest of native peoples, and racism that targets people of color. Hauntingly, these are the primary backdrops of our social, economic, political, and even religious establishments and ideologies. The great evil is, despite endless pleas, protests, marches, movements, and orations by some of history's greatest activists and leaders, these very systems have not been deconstructed or reformed to eradicate systemic racism. Instead, they continue to be cowardly sustained and defended. 

To be clear, the road towards such understanding has been slow and difficult, at times painful and humiliating. I have had to confront my own racism, biases, and privileges for the last twenty years and more. Most of my pilgrimage of faith and discipleship formation has come by way of confession and unlearning much of what I considered true, good, right, and “normal.” For white people on this journey, there is no such thing as an arrival as “not racist;” there is only the continual conversion of the heart, mind, and lenses through which we view the world and our movement through it. I am beyond grateful for the patient saints and cloud of witnesses who have walked alongside me, extended grace to me, and continue to aid in my own journey to be the best kind of ally and co-conspirer for God’s justice and reconciliation. There is much work to do and the place we all need to start, especially for us white folk, is by taking a long look in the mirror. 

Or our book shelves. 

So here are some recommended reads and a few podcasts, too. I have not been to my office for some time, so going a bit off memory here. There are an infinite others, and would love recommendations. Talk to one another and do the honest work together. 

• White Privilege:Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack by Peggy McIntosh
• The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness by Michele Alexander
• How to Be an Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi
• Brené Brown with Ibram X. Kendi: How to Be an Antiracist (Unlocking Us Podcast) 
• Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates (Anything by Coates)
• Stop Asking People Of Color To Explain Racism–Pick Up One Of These Books Instead
• Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson (The incredible film can be viewed for free here)
• Let’s Talk About Whiteness (On Being Podcast with Krista Tippet)
• Whistling Vivaldi: How Stereotypes Affect Us and What We Can Do by Claude M. Steele
• Waking Up White and Finding Myself in the Story of Race by Debby Irving
• Faith in the Face of Empire: The Bible through Palestinian Eyes by Mitri Raheb
• Trouble I’ve Seen: Changing the Way the Church Talks about Racism  by Drew G.I. Hart
• Binding the Strong Man and Say to This Mountain by Ched Meyers (Commentaries on the Gospel of Mark)
• The Prophetic Imagination by Walter Brueggemann 
• Many Colors: Cultural Intelligence for a Changing Church by Soong Chan Rah :) (I first read Next Evangelicalism, but have heard him speak live on this book and others)
• Outside the Lines: How Embracing Queerness Will Transform Your Faith by Mihee Kim-Kort
• The Cross and the Lynching Tree by James H. Cone
• Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness by Austin Channing Brown
• Threatened by Resurrection and The Certainty of Spring by Julia Esquivel (poet, activist, and exiled Guatemalan)
• Here for It: Or, How to Save Your Soul in America by R. Eric Thomas
• Dear Church: A Love Letter from a Black Preacher to the Whitest Denomination in the U.S. by Lenny Duncan
• But I Don’t See You as Asian: Curating Conversations about Race by Bruce Reyes-Chow 
• Anti-Racism with Andre Henry (Liturgists Podcast) 
• Writing My Wrongs: Life, Death, and Redemption in an American Prison by Shaka Senghor

*Picture above is a collection of old books turned into the base of the bar at the Modern Times Lomaland Fermatorium. 

Bless: #adventWord Day 19

“The sun exists for everyone,” I saw painted on a section of the wall in Bethlehem. “We are all human and only LOVE WINS.”

The “little town” of Jesus’ birth is still a divided place. I read recently* that if Jesus were to be born today, Bethlehem likely would not be where he would come into the world. His family would not have made it past the checkpoints of this now-walled city. This thirty-foot blockade snakes through the region and creates a 21st century rendition of apartheid as Palestinian Christians, Muslims, and Jews are barred from their own land. While the wall is intense, beautiful graffiti on the concrete also evokes colorful calls for change- for justice and reconciliation. There are pleas for love and divine blessing of the whole human family, even those who constructed these walls. These are echoes of the same words of Christ, whose family would be chased out of their native land by the powers that be. 

#Advent is a call to lean into the blessing of the incarnation, God with us, which is especially for those most oppressed and marginalized. Yet the complete withness of God in Christ can be hard, especially calls to pray for and bless your enemies and those who perpetuate injustices that block the light of the sun from God’s beloved. I am neither fully sure what this means, nor will I be one to recite this to those deeply wronged by another. All I know is our world continues to be painfully divided and yet the sun does exist for everyone, we are all human, and only love wins. This is the gospel. This is the divine blessing come down at Christmas, from Bethlehem to Coatesville and every complicated place between, beyond, and all around. How might the Spirit awaken you both to receive and extend this blessing to another?

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*If interested, reference above comes from a recent devotional by Mitri Raheb of Bright Stars of Bethlehem: https://www.facebook.com/…/a.1245620477…/10157952958042716/…

Water: #AdventWord Day 13

One of the more sacred moments of my life was when I dipped my feet into the Sea of Galilee and stood in the same water upon which Jesus walked. A similar rush came when I drew water from Jacob’s Well, where Jesus asked for a drink from a Samaritan woman. Each of these moments was only topped by bringing some of these waters home and playfully spritzing the heads of my kiddos and allowing each of them to take a sip from the same well where Jesus spoke of living waters.

There was a third kind of water of my pilgrimage, though, that I did not bring home- the Dead Sea. That water is nasty. Despite being warned, I managed to get some in my mouth, only to make it worse by trying to wipe it off my tongue. You do not drink Dead Sea water. Dead Sea water is not conducive to life. 

Living water. Dead Sea water. Today, I think of how many do not have access to consumable water. Whether remote villages around the globe or urban and rural communities in this nation, there are far too many places where the water our near and distant neighbors do have access to should not come anywhere near their lips. Yet, clean water should never be limited as a perk of the privileged. 

On this 13th day of #Advent, I am lifting prayers for all those who wait for living waters. I am also praying for those who devote their lives to dig wells, innovate filtration systems, and push legislators to ensure clean water is available to all. This is, for sure, a means to live out our vocation as those drenched by the sacramental waters of our #baptism. 

If interested, check out a great organization, Living Waters for the World: https://www.livingwatersfortheworld.org