Mixed feelings about complicated issues - Ferguson, MO

The shooting death of Ferguson, Missouri teenager Michael Brown has stirred such a mix of reactions and feelings, most all of which have been deep-seated and strong. I posted someone's blog about this on my Facebook page, because I believed that he had some points worth pondering.  I didn't get many reactions to that posting, but the ones I did get were long and passionate... and far from complimentary!

Events like this spark such powerful reactions because they tap into long standing and deeply rooted issues that have divided our nation for generations.  They are issues of race... of privilege... of the use and/or abuse of power... of violence... of public protests... of fear and bigotry.  And in this particular situation in that suburb of St. Louis, there is more than enough bigotry to go around:  bigotry against blacks, especially young, black men, and bigotry against police officers who use deadly force, especially young, white officers who shoot young, black men. This is an event that tears at our society, and that also tears at my heart.  I'm not about to rush to judgment about anything in this situation, because so many facts still are not known.  I am appalled at what seems to be an overreaction on the part of the police officer.  I am saddened at the situations in which law enforcement officers often find themselves and at the snap decisions that they often are called to make.  And I'm angry that yet another young African-American male has fallen victim to a violent death.

Yet right now what tears at my heart the most is what two families are going through. Michael Brown's family buried their son earlier today.  I've lost both my parents, all of my grandparents, all of my aunts and uncles, some of my cousins, and my first grandchild.  Plus I've walked with families for almost four decades as I've been the pastor of people who are going "through the valley of the shadow of death."  I am no stranger to death and grief.  Still, I can't imagine losing one of my sons, AND having that death be in the crosshairs of an entire nation!  Darren Wilson is 28 years old.  His parents divorced when he was 3; his mom died when he was in high school.  He was a member of the police department in the small town of Jennings, MO where things were so bad between white officers and black residents that the entire police department was disbanded.  No matter the reasons behind his decision to shoot Michael Brown, I can't imagine what Darren Wilson must be feeling, living with the knowledge of what he did, and realizing that the nation and the world knows that he shot and killed a teenage boy; it will follow him the rest of his life.

There are serious, systemic, and deep issues about race and poverty and justice that are being raised, and we who are followers of Jesus Christ must not shrink away from asking difficult questions and having difficult conversations about these matters.  Yet let us not lose sight that these questions and conversations are not just about abstract principles or philosophical constructs.  Real people are in pain this day.  Grief and regrets are tearing at the hearts of some of God's beloved children this day.

Peace and justice often seem to be at odds with each other, and yet we Christians are called to stand for both and to be lights to a dark, pain-filled, fearful, divided world.  Let us walk and speak and act carefully and prayerfully, compassionately and intentionally as we journey through our world.

The closing prayer in today's service of Morning Prayer from our Book of Common Worship offers words that are helpful as I walk this road:

"As you cause the sun to rise, O God,

bring the light of Christ to dawn in our souls

and dispel all darkness.

Give us grace to reflect Christ's glory;

and let his love show in our deeds,

his peace shine in our words,

and his healing in our touch,

that all may give him praise, now and forever."

This prayer comes around at the end of every Monday morning service of Daily Prayer. I think I need to pray it more often than that, though.  Want to join me?

Belonging

I've long said that the Presbyterian Church's Book of Confessions is the best least-read book in the Church!  It is a part of the Constitution of our denomination - Part One, no less - and all people ordained in the ordered ministries of the Church (deacons, ruling elders, teaching elders) are asked to vow that we will "be instructed and led by those confessions as you lead the people of God."  But, really, how many people have read all of the confessions?

There are 11 historical confessions, with a 12th one being proposed.  The current ones come from three different eras of the Church's history:

Early Church

·      Nicene Creed - from A.D. 325 and following

·      Apostles' Creed - 2nd-9th centuries

Reformation Era

·      Scots Confession (1560, Scotland)

·      Heidelberg Catechism (1563, Germany)

·      Second Helvetic Confession (1566, Switzerland)

·      Westminster Confession of Faith (1647, England), and its related items:

o   Shorter Catechism

o   Larger Catechism

Contemporary Era

·      Theological Declaration of Barmen (1934, Germany)

·      Confession of 1967 (1967, United Stated)

·      Brief Statement of Faith (1991, United States)

It truly would be worth your time perusing this treasure of theology and faith, seeing how the Church through the ages tried to respond faithfully to serving Christ in particular times and situations.

I remember when the Brief Statement of Faith was proposed for adoption.  This came out of the reunion in 1983 of the "northern" and "southern" streams of the Presbyterian Church who had split in 1861 at the start of the Civil War.  (It only took us 122 years to put that behind us!)  I remember when I opened the document and read the very first line:  "In life and in death we belong to God."  I was with some folks in our church at the time who had gathered to read and consider this document.  I read that first line, stopped, looked at the group, and said, "Let's take an offering and go home; there's nothing else to say after this.  It says it all!"

The writers of the Brief Statement began their document by hearkening back to the answer to the first question in the Heidelberg Catechism of the 16th century.  The question asks, "What is your only comfort in life and in death?"  The answer begins with these words:  "That I belong--body and soul, in life and in death--not to myself but to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ..."

People sometimes ask why I'm a Presbyterian, why I still am involved in a Church that struggles so much with so many things, why I cling to an institution that is right on the cusp of having to learn to do things in very new and different ways and is not sure how do to that.  I have lots of answers to that, but one of the primary reasons is that the Presbyterian Church restores my faith... not my faith in the Church as such, but my faith in the God who, above all else, astoundingly has faith in me... and in us all... and even in the Body of Christ.  Our Church sometimes still professes loudly and clearly, through the noise and din of a chaotic world:  "In life and in death we belong to God."

Let's take an offering and go home.  Nothing else needs to be said.

Models for Prayer - historical and new

How do you pray?  Do you have a set place or places in which you pray?  Do you have a set time or two each day that you pray?  Do you use a specified form for your prayers, or do you pray what's on your heart and mind at the moment, or do you use some combination of the two?

There are a multitude of models for prayer.  Some of these are:

1.     The monastic model - Monks and nuns observe eight traditional "hours" (periods) of prayer during the day when they gather together.

2.     William Law - An 18th century English clergyperson, Law adapted the monastic model for individual use, suggesting that times of prayer each day should focus on different things:

a.     praise and thanksgiving

b.     humility

c.     intercession

d.     grace for resignation to God's will

e.     self-examination (confession)

f.      meditation upon death

3.     Dietrich Bonhoeffer - This 20th century German theologian suggested that we spend time each day in meditation upon a portion of Scripture and its meaning for us in that moment, prayer for strength and guidance and spiritual growth, and prayers for others.

4.     The Jesus Prayer - Used mainly in the Eastern Orthodox tradition of the Church, the Jesus Prayer is a model for trying to attain St. Paul's injunction to "be constant in prayer." (Rom. 12:12)  It consists of a constant repetition in the heart of the simple prayer, "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner."

5.     Silence - In the 46th Psalm, we read the words, "Be still, and know that I am God."  The early Desert Fathers and Mothers -- those spiritual leaders of the Church during the early centuries of the Christian Era -- valued being silent before God above most everything else.  One of those leaders, Abba Arsenius, once said, "I have often repented of having spoken, but seldom of having remained silent."

6.     Spiritual Direction - The art of spiritual direction is an ancient discipline of spirituality in the Church.  It is the practice of putting yourself under the direction of someone more experienced in the Faith, more experienced in prayer, more experienced in life in the Spirit.

7.     Use of Prayer Books or other Devotional Books - Sometimes it helps to have words to guide and inspire our prayers, because sometimes we simply have no words to pray, and sometimes such guides remind us of other things and people for which to pray.

In the last couple of weeks, I've experienced yet another way to pray... a kind of prayer only possible with 21st century social media and technology.  Two different groups have invited people to join on Twitter for a time of prayer together.  The host sends a tweet that opens the time in prayer, and then suggests in a new tweet a subject around which to gather our prayers, and people may either pray on their own or reply with a tweet of something for which they'd like those gathered in cyberspace to pray.  After a set amount of time, the host tweets a closing prayer.  I don't know how to explain it, and I know it sounds pretty "out there," and I didn't think I would like it, but it works.  I wouldn't want that to be my only discipline of prayer, but it was a new, refreshing way to be with others in prayer in a very real and intentional way.

So, back to the beginning... How do you pray?  Do you join regularly during the week with others to pray?  Do you follow a particular form for your prayers?  I'd love to hear something of the spiritual discipline that you follow, and, with your permission, I'd love to share some of your responses.

A place at the Table?

In my article last week, I mentioned that I was reading a book by Simon Wiesenthal, entitled The Sunflower.  His book consists of two parts.  The first is a long story he relates about a troubling experience he had while in a concentration camp during World War II.  Of course, all such experiences surely had to have been "troubling," which is an adjective that falls exponentially short to describe things I cannot begin to understand but that we dare not ever forget.  However, Wiesenthal shares his experience of having been out of the camp one day on a work detail when a hospital nurse called him into the room of a patient that seemed obviously close to death. After bringing him into the room, she nodded toward the patient, and then abruptly left, closing the door on her way out.  He went over and sat in the chair next to the bed.

The patient's face was bandaged, and he had other serious injuries, but he could speak.  He began to do just that, and what came out over the next several hours was a confession.  The man knew he was dying, and he spoke of so many terrible atrocities that he and his SS comrades had committed against Jews.  After an excruciatingly painful litany of his crimes, he concluded his talk with Wiesenthal by saying this:

"I know that what I have told you is terrible.  In the long nights while I have been waiting for death, time and time again I have longed to talk about it to a Jew and beg forgiveness from him.  Only I didn't know whether there were any Jews left... I know that what I am asking is almost too much for you, but without your answer I cannot die in peace."

Wiesenthal then writes:

"Two men who had never known each other had been brought together for a few hours by Fate.  One asks the other for help. But the other was himself helpless and able to do nothing for him... I stood up and looked in his direction... At last I made up my mind and, without a word, I left the room."

The rest of the first part of the book is Wiesenthal's wrestling - both while in the camp and for the remainder of his life - with his refusal to offer words of forgiveness or consolation to the dying SS officer.  The second part of the book contains thoughts of 32 scholars, Jews and Christians alike, who were asked to offer their reflections on the ethical dilemma posed by Wiesenthal.  It is a fascinating, albeit troubling, book.  It cuts to the core of issues of forgiveness, confession, grace, repentance, reconciliation, evil, God.

One author's response, however, struck me in such a way that I am going to be spending some time reflecting and prayerfully meditating on it.  Christopher Hollis was a professor, an intelligence officer in the RAF during World War II, and later a Roman Catholic bishop in England. He ends his brief thoughts about this dilemma by sharing this story:

"According to an old medieval legend, the Apostles assembled together in heaven to recelebrate the Last Supper.  There was one place vacant, until through the door Judas came in, and Christ rose and kissed him and said, 'we have waited for thee.'"

I don't know what I might have done in Simon Wiesenthal's position in that hospital room.  I can't judge the merits or the shortcomings of his response to the SS officer.  And I'm in awed silence myself at Hollis' two-sentence story.  What I know is that forgiveness is not always easy for me... although it's always been easier for me to grant forgiveness to others than to accept forgiveness for myself.  What I know is that I want to more readily offer grace to those who stand in need of it, and that I want more and more to be willing to accept the grace that Christ offers to me again and again.  I long to be able to imagine myself in the story being willing to enter the room that was pictured, to welcome the Lord's kiss, and to dare to believe that the empty chair at the Table was being held for me.

Thoughts across a backyard fence

There is a wonderful couple who live in the house behind us.  Even over the short period of the past nine months that we've lived in our home, they've become friends.  In the past two weeks, Shirley has shared two things with me, inviting me to read them.  One was an article in the magazine, The Hidden Child.  This semi-annual journal publishes stories about some of the Jewish children during the Holocaust, and the families who hid them from the Nazis.  The article she asked me to read was entitled, "Do We Always Have to Forgive," written by Rabbi Leo Michel Abrami, who was himself a "hidden child" in Normandy, and is now teaching at the Jewish Studies Institute in Phoenix, AZ.  In his article he shared a bit of a story related from the experiences of Simon Wiesenthal.  This was the tie, naturally, to the book that Shirley also invited me to read, which was Wiesenthal's work, The Sunflower.  Both works led me to ponder further my own thoughts about sin, forgiveness, repentance, and reconciliation.  Both works affirmed the traditional Jewish teaching on forgiveness, which, briefly, is this: "...the Talmudic Sages held that God absolves all of our sins against Him, but not the offenses committed against our fellow human beings, until we have sought reconciliation with them and made peace with them.  (Why?)  It is because only those who have been wronged can forgive."  I affirm the Sages' wisdom and beliefs about forgiveness.

However, I believe there is something more... at least one other element to the whole, complex issue of forgiveness.  I believe that when someone has wronged me, I need to offer them forgiveness so that I can move past the hurt and anger I feel, and then move on.  If I hold on to unforgiveness, it usually does not affect the person who wronged me, and therefore only affects me.

From my perspective, when I forgive someone it does not mean that I've forgotten, nor does it mean that I think everything is now okay.  For me, forgiveness is one part of the process of reconciliation, but reconciliation can take place only if the one who committed the wrong asks for forgiveness and demonstrates some degree of repentance.  In other words, reconciliation is a two-way street; both parties have a role to play in sincerity if reconciliation is to be even a possibility. However, forgiveness is one-way; I offer it as a way of opening the door to the other person, but also as a way for me to let go of feelings that otherwise could become all-consuming.

Let me offer an example.  A congregation I served had a treasurer who stole a little over $120,000 from the church.  He was a 4th-generation member of the church, and most of his family and friends were very active in the church.  I was asked by a couples' group in the church to talk with them about their hurt and anger and sense of betrayal by this man who had been a valued member of that group for some 40 years.  In the process of our conversation, I talked about what I see as the difference between reconciliation and forgiveness.  As a Christian, I do believe that I have a responsibility to forgive someone who comes to me and asks for my forgiveness for some wrong they have done to me.  As a Christian group, we had a responsibility to forgive that man if he came and asked, demonstrating a sense of culpability, contriteness, and repentance.  However, I told them that whether or not he ever came to us in that way (he never did, by the way), we had to get to the point where we could forgive him in our hearts, because otherwise the hurt and anger would eat away at us.  We had to forgive him, whether or not he asked, because we needed to be able to be healed and to move on.

It is not an easy thing, this whole business of sin, repentance, confession, forgiveness, reconciliation.  But isn't this part of the heart of that most familiar of prayers, the Prayer that Jesus taught us?  Weekly (maybe even daily!) we pray that God will "forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us."  May God help us to embody that Prayer