Lessons From The Sandbox–Luke 16–Dishonest Steward

Two children were playing in the sandbox the other day.  The older of the two stuck up his thumb and his forefinger and said, “Bang, you’re dead.”  How should a Christian child react in such a situation?  Option 1: “Bang, you’re dead!”  “This is stupid.  I don’t want to play with you or your stupid game.  I’m going to take my toys and go home.”  This option doesn’t seem helpful, at least, it misses the point of recess, what play time is all about.  Option 2: “Bang, you’re dead!” “Uhhhhh, ahhhhh, gurgle, gurgle, expiration.”  This is an appropriate response to the dreaded thumb and forefinger, but it’s certainly not much of a game.  What are you supposed to do for the next thirty minutes of recess?  Option 3: “Bang, you’re dead!”  “Uhhhh, ahhhh, gurgle, gurgle, expiration . . . ooooooooooo (in a ghostly voice).  Now we have a game!  This brief lesson in playground ethics is fundamental in understanding how we are to live together in Christian community. 

You would think that there is an offensive lineman living in my home for the amount of milk we go through in a week.  Apparently, with the success of the milk jug project a few months ago, the same holds true for many of your households as well.  What do you do with a milk jug after you’re finished with it?  Option 1: You can throw it in the trash and wait for it to biodegrade over thousands of years in someone else’s backyard.  This is the “Bang, you’re dead—I don’t want to play anymore option.”  It’s called blocking—rejecting.  You are done with the milk jug.  You are done with the game.  The relationship between you and the milk jug is over.  Option 2 is called “Accepting.”  With this option, after you drink the last few sips from the carton you place it on your shelf so that it can forever be a beautiful, empty, dusty milk jug.  This is the “Bang, you’re dead—Uhhh, ahhh, gurgle, gurle, expiration,” option.  It’s appropriate not to throw the jug away, but putting it on the self to collect dusk seems to miss the point.  Option 3—recycling.  Taking something old and used and giving it new identity and purpose.  It’s the “Bang, you’re dead—ooooooooo,” model.  It’s called “Overaccepting.”  This old, used milk jug now has a new purpose and a new life, so to speak.

One day there was a concert pianist who was performing selected Chopin pieces to an exclusive audience who paid lumps of money for their seat.  During the concert a child somewhere in the first few rows began making a scene.  The parents were saying, “Shhh, child.  Sit down!”  The child leapt out of her seat and started toward the stage.  The concert pianist had a choice to make.  His first thought was to stop playing, scold the child, and send her back to her irresponsible parents.  Then he thought, “Why don’t I just give her the piano.  I wouldn’t mind going back to the hotel for a nightcap.  Instead, he got up from his seat, gave the child permission to play, and while she played, he stood behind her, placed his hands outside of hers and began improvising with the child’s spur-of-the-moment composition.  He could have blocked, rejecting the child as a nuisance.  He could have simply accepted what the child was doing and given her the piano, angering those who were there to hear beautiful music.  Instead, he overaccepted the situation, allowed the child to sit and play, and improvised a melody to fit what her small hands were banging out.  As Christians we are to overaccept so that the story of God continues.

There was a rich man who had a manager, and charges were brought to him that this man was squandering his property.  So the rich man summoned his manager and said, “What is it I hear about you?  Give me an accounting of your management because you cannot be my manager any longer.”  Then the manager said to himself, “What should I do?”  If the manager were inclined to block, he might say, “You can’t fire me.  I quit,” throw his TI-82 on the ground, and storm out of the room.  If the manager were inclined to accept his fate he would go, collect his master’s debts and be on his way.  But that’s not how the story goes.  He goes to the first of his master’s debtors and says, “How much do you owe my master?  One hundred jugs of oil?  Quickly change that to 50.”  He goes to the second and says, “How much do you owe my master?  One hundred containers of wheat?  Quickly change that to eighty.”  He brings this back to his master and he is commended.

This parable is troubling, at least, if we’re thinking about worldly economy.  Economy is oikonomia—that is to say, it’s Greek for “household management.”  Economics means putting your house in order, but what if you’ve lost your home, lost your job, lost your shirt in a cutthroat economy?  Look closely at what the manager says to himself, “I have decided what to do so that, when I am dismissed as manager, people may welcome me into their homes.”  Isn’t that an interesting phrase?  It’s obviously important because it’s repeated at the end of the story: welcome me into their homes.  In other words, when my economics is up the creek, it may be time to invest in somebody else’s.  When my household is bankrupt, it may be time to think about other people’s households.  It’s time to change economies.[1]

What is happening in this story is a transformation of economies.  Worldly economics, or mammon as it is called, survives off of scarcity—the philosophy that there isn’t enough to go around.  The other economy at work in this story is best described as manna—that which God provides, which is a philosophy of abundance.  This story is about two economies coming to blows and the shrewd manager is caught in the middle.  When mammon has him dismissed, he trades it for manna.  As Sam Wells puts it, “He realizes the friends are more important than the money or even the job.  He moves from mammon to manna, from an economy of scarcity and perpetual anxiety to an economy of abundance and limitless grace.”[2]  What’s happening here, by overaccepting his circumstances he is changing the rules of the game.  He no longer needs to live off the debt of other.  He has found friendship.  Listen to the words of the parable—“And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of mammon so that when it is gone (not if), when it fails you, they may be welcome you into the eternal homes.”

When your economy, your life is unraveling, you can block, you can live according to option 1—you have the right to go home and take your toys with you.  You also can live according to option 2 and simply watch as the world around falls to pieces.  Or you can overaccept, and pick up the unraveled pieces and weave them together into a new and beautiful tapestry, which contains fragments and the legacy of years gone by, but it is a new creation for those who are here now and who will be here in the future.  Our goal as Christians is to overaccept, to live according to option three, to keep the story of God going.

The people were saying, “Bang, you’re dead,” and Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane had to make a choice.  He could have said, “This game is stupid.  I don’t want to play anymore.  I don’t want to die.  I want to be king of Israel so that the mammon which makes the world go round will be our guide.”  If Jesus had gone for option number two, simply accepting his fate, he would be dead today.  But Jesus lives according to the third option, not mammon, but manna, accepting his fate on the cross, and oooooooo rising from the dead.  Instead of rejecting mammon, he transformed it into manna.  Instead of rejecting death, he defeated it and turned it into life. 

Sure, when the world is unraveling, you can take your toys and go home.  Sure, you can accept that the world is unraveling and let it be.  Or, you can take the broken pieces and make something beautiful and new.  It’s what Jesus does.  May we do the same.  Amen.


[1] Sam Wells, Speaking the Truth: Preaching in a Pluralistic Culture (Abingdon Press, Nashville, 2008), 169.

[2] Ibid., 170.

Rejoice With Me: Luke 15:1-10

Jesus was invited to an LSU tailgate party the other day and he saw a wall of televisions broadcasting college football games, but none of them were on the LSU game.  He asked them, “Why are you not watching LSU?”  The man near the buffalo wings replied, “Oh, we don’t watch LSU play, we watch all the other teams play so that we can watch them lose.”  Jesus stepped in front of the television sets, which they weren’t happy about, and he told them a story.  He said, “Which one of you, having 100 employees and one of them not showing up, does not leave the ninety-nine in the office and go look for the missing employee?  And when she has found him, brings him back to the office and throws a party for him in the conference room?  Truly I tell you, there is more joy over the safe return of a lousy employee than ninety-nine seasoned veterans who never have any problems.”  But the crowd just yelled at him to get out of the way because Bama was about to lose.

Ok, I’m paraphrasing because after reading these parables, I’m left with lots of questions.  The first thing I often do when reading Jesus’ parables is to search myself in order to identify with a particular character.  Am I the lost sheep, scared, frightened, and alone?  Am I one of the ninety-nine righteous, who needs to repentance?  Am I a grumbling Pharisee who can’t see the joy of what Jesus is doing?  So, my first question is “Who am I in the story,” except Jesus’ parables are not about me; they are about God—A God who tirelessly searches behind thorn bushes and sweeps the dark corners of the world to find each and every precious soul.

The second question I ask is “What if the story ended differently?”  A reasonable response to this story of the lost sheep is how the sheep was lost in the first place.  Sounds like we’re dealing with a pretty crummy shepherd if a sheep can wander off so easily.  At least, in Disney World, when a child is wandering alone, it is not the child who is lost; it’s the parents.  My daughter is a doddler and a dreamer.  When we take walks after dinner we have to constantly stop because she pauses and looks and smiles at butterflies and becomes awestruck at the weeds growing in between the cracks of the pavement.  So what do I do?  I take her by the hand and say, “Come on, let’s keep moving,” because the point of walking is to walk.  But I wonder when was the last time I paused to listen to nature’s evening choir.  I mean, when I see a weed, my only thought is how to kill it; but a weed is simply an unloved flower in the wrong place.  Come to think of it, I don’t think there are any weeds, any unloved flowers in the Kingdom of God.  So, I wonder if the parable was different, if the shepherd came to the sheep and said, “Where have you been?  I’ve been looking all over for you,” and the sheep replies, “Maaaaster.  I’ve been here the whole time.”  But the parable is not about me or what I want it to say.  It is about God—A God who gives us the grace and the space to wonder and wander and doddle and dream, and when our dreams turn to nightmares, God welcomes us home with joy.

But what if the story went like this:

 “Where have you been, my precious sheep?  I thought I’d never found you.” 

“I’m not interested in being found.  Thanks but no thanks.”

Dr. Tom Long says it this way:  Many years ago I read an essay in which a woman was reminiscing about her father.  She said that when she was young, she was very close to her father.  The time she experienced this closeness the most was when they would have big family gatherings with all the aunts and uncles and cousins.  At some point, someone would pull out the old record player and put on polka records, and the family would dance.  Eventually, someone would put on the “Beer Barrel Polka;” and when the music of the “Beer Barrel Polka” played, her father would come up to her, tap her on the shoulder and say, “I believe this is our dance,” and they would dance.  One time, though, when she was a teenager and in one of those teenaged moods and the “Beer Barrel Polka” began to play and when her father tapped her on the shoulder and said, “I believe this is our dance,” she snapped at him, “Don’t touch me!  Leave me alone!”  And her father turned away and never asked her to dance again.

“Our relationship was difficult all through my teen years,” she wrote.  “When I would come home late from a date, my father would be sitting there in his chair, half asleep, wearing an old bathrobe, and I would snarl at him, “What do you think you’re doing?”  He would look at me with sad eyes and say, “I was just waiting on you.”

“When I went away to college,” the woman wrote, “I was so glad to get out of his house and away from him and for years I never communicated with him, but as I grew older, I began to miss him.  One day I decided to go to the next family gathering, and when I was there, somebody put on the “Beer Barrel Polka.”  I drew up a deep breath, walked over to my father, tapped him on the shoulder and said, “I believe this is our dance.”  He turned toward me and said, “I’ve been waiting for you.”  But this parable is not about me or what I want it to say.  It’s about God—A God who extends a patient hand whispering, “I believe this is our dance.”

Maybe we miss the point by trying to identify with a particular character in the story.  I would imagine that at some point or another we have exemplified all of these characters.  I know I have scoffed and grumbled as a Pharisee, claimed to be one of the righteous ninety-nine, and quivered silently in the unknown.  Whether you are here today filled with Pharisaic antagonism, or self righteous pride, or fear of being lost, know this: In the hearing of these words, you have been found; therefore I ask you, charge you with fulfilling your true role in these stories.  We are not to be the Pharisees, nor the ninety-nine, nor the lost one.  “When the shepherd comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.’  ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin I had lost.’  ‘Rejoice with me, for my son who was lost is now found, was dead and is now alive.’”  Are we not in the house of God today?  Are we not asked to rejoice over that which God is doing?  Rejoice with me–that our day school is overflowing with children.  Rejoice with me–that we have heard beautiful music today.  Rejoice with me–that our youth are learning about what it means to be a disciple of Christ!  Rejoice with me–that God is giving you your next breath free of charge.  Rejoice with me–that we’ve made it to September 12th.  Rejoice with me!  It is the one thing the Shepherd asks his friends to do.  Amen and Amen.

Father Abraham, Here's the wood and the fire, but where's the Quran?

LOUISIANA CONFERENCE
THE UNITED METHODIST CHURCH

 STATEMENT FROM THE COUNCIL OF BISHOPS

As we approach yet another September 11, we are reminded that the world we live in continues to be fragile place where emotions and tensions run high. There are not many of us who will ever forget where we were on that September morning nine years ago. We should never forget those whose lives were taken away in the horror of just a few hours.

 September 11 should be, for all of us, a day of prayer for peace in this world. It should be a day for quiet remembrance and reflection as we seek to find and live in the ways of peace. We think of Jesus pausing on his way into the holy city of Jerusalem on the day we call Palm Sunday. He wept over the city – not so much for what was about to happen to him, but because the people did not know the things that make for peace (Luke 19:41-42). We suspect he still weeps, looking out over the world we currently inhabit.

 September 11 should be a day of prayer for rebuilding and restoring relationships, and for reaching out to find ways to work and live together in this world. It is not a day for burning the holy book of another faith tradition. Tragically one person has garnered headlines for advocating such a thing. There is nothing of Jesus in such an action. In fact, as we recall, there was a time when the disciples wanted to call down fire from heaven on the perceived enemies for refusing to receive Jesus. No, Jesus said; in fact he “rebuked” those who advocated such a means. (Luke 9:51-55). Such an action is not the way of Jesus, nor the way of peace and love.

 There was a meeting earlier this week in Washington, DC, of religious leaders of many faith communities.  The United Methodist Church and its Council of Bishops was represented by its Executive Secretary, Bishop Neil L. Irons.  The members of the group, in a formal statement, said:  “We are committed to building a future in which religious differences no longer lead to hostility or division between communities. Rather, we believe that such diversity can serve to enrich our public discourse about the great moral challenges that face our nation and our planet. On the basis of our shared reflection, we insist that no religion should be judged on the words or actions of those who seek to pervert it through acts of violence; that politicians and members of the media are never justified in exploiting religious differences as a wedge to advance political agendas or ideologies… We work together on the basis of deeply held and widely shared values, each supported by the sacred texts of our respective traditions. We acknowledge with gratitude the dialogues between our scholars and religious authorities that have helped us to identify a common understanding of the divine command to love one’s neighbor. Judaism, Christianity and Islam all see an intimate link between faithfulness to God and love of neighbor; a neighbor who in many instances is the stranger in our midst. “

“We are convinced that spiritual leaders representing the various faiths in the United States have a moral responsibility to stand together and to denounce categorically derision, misinformation or outright bigotry directed against any religious group in this country. Silence is not an option. Only by taking this stand, can spiritual leaders fulfill the highest calling of our respective faiths, and thereby help to create a safer and stronger America for all of our people.” **

 We urge all of us to approach the remembrance of September 11 in prayer and hope for peace; and in resolving to do everything we can individually and collectively to live the way of Jesus. It is our prayer that this weekend be filled with prayers and not the fires of hatred and irrational rage.

Bishop Larry M. Goodpaster

President, Council of Bishops

 Bishop Neil L. Irons

Executive Secretary, Council of Bishops

Father Abraham, Here’s the wood and the fire, but where’s the Quran?

LOUISIANA CONFERENCE
THE UNITED METHODIST CHURCH

 STATEMENT FROM THE COUNCIL OF BISHOPS

As we approach yet another September 11, we are reminded that the world we live in continues to be fragile place where emotions and tensions run high. There are not many of us who will ever forget where we were on that September morning nine years ago. We should never forget those whose lives were taken away in the horror of just a few hours.

 September 11 should be, for all of us, a day of prayer for peace in this world. It should be a day for quiet remembrance and reflection as we seek to find and live in the ways of peace. We think of Jesus pausing on his way into the holy city of Jerusalem on the day we call Palm Sunday. He wept over the city – not so much for what was about to happen to him, but because the people did not know the things that make for peace (Luke 19:41-42). We suspect he still weeps, looking out over the world we currently inhabit.

 September 11 should be a day of prayer for rebuilding and restoring relationships, and for reaching out to find ways to work and live together in this world. It is not a day for burning the holy book of another faith tradition. Tragically one person has garnered headlines for advocating such a thing. There is nothing of Jesus in such an action. In fact, as we recall, there was a time when the disciples wanted to call down fire from heaven on the perceived enemies for refusing to receive Jesus. No, Jesus said; in fact he “rebuked” those who advocated such a means. (Luke 9:51-55). Such an action is not the way of Jesus, nor the way of peace and love.

 There was a meeting earlier this week in Washington, DC, of religious leaders of many faith communities.  The United Methodist Church and its Council of Bishops was represented by its Executive Secretary, Bishop Neil L. Irons.  The members of the group, in a formal statement, said:  “We are committed to building a future in which religious differences no longer lead to hostility or division between communities. Rather, we believe that such diversity can serve to enrich our public discourse about the great moral challenges that face our nation and our planet. On the basis of our shared reflection, we insist that no religion should be judged on the words or actions of those who seek to pervert it through acts of violence; that politicians and members of the media are never justified in exploiting religious differences as a wedge to advance political agendas or ideologies… We work together on the basis of deeply held and widely shared values, each supported by the sacred texts of our respective traditions. We acknowledge with gratitude the dialogues between our scholars and religious authorities that have helped us to identify a common understanding of the divine command to love one’s neighbor. Judaism, Christianity and Islam all see an intimate link between faithfulness to God and love of neighbor; a neighbor who in many instances is the stranger in our midst. “

“We are convinced that spiritual leaders representing the various faiths in the United States have a moral responsibility to stand together and to denounce categorically derision, misinformation or outright bigotry directed against any religious group in this country. Silence is not an option. Only by taking this stand, can spiritual leaders fulfill the highest calling of our respective faiths, and thereby help to create a safer and stronger America for all of our people.” **

 We urge all of us to approach the remembrance of September 11 in prayer and hope for peace; and in resolving to do everything we can individually and collectively to live the way of Jesus. It is our prayer that this weekend be filled with prayers and not the fires of hatred and irrational rage.

Bishop Larry M. Goodpaster

President, Council of Bishops

 Bishop Neil L. Irons

Executive Secretary, Council of Bishops

How many times?

                Last night my daughter Isabelle was coloring on the table.  “Isabelle, are we supposed to color on the table?” I asked.  “No, daddy,” she mournfully replied.  Frustrated, I quickly responded, “Honestly, how many times must we go through this?”  With chin to chest, out of the top of her eyes, she answered, “Three?”  Daddy was not happy.  Well, I’d be lying if I didn’t chuckle a little at her honesty.  After all, I offered that hanging curve ball right over the plate.  Why am I surprised she took a swing?

                Where did this answer come from?  Does she actually think we would go through this routine three times before bath water was drawn for the evening?  Do I normally give her “three strikes and you’re out?”  Is she trying to convince me that “third time’s the charm” because in just two more strokes her masterpiece would be finished and whatever time-out I could throw at her would be worth it?

                That night I looked at myself in the mirror, and I said, “Three times.  Ha!  Wait, did she get that from me?”  There’s a sobering thought.  I peered into the mirror for a long, pensive look.  This is the person my daughter sees each and every day.  Who am I?  Now, there’s a sobering question.

                “Who am I?” is a difficult question to answer.  Logic breaks down when it is self-referential.  Just take the sentence, “This sentence is false.”  If the sentence is true, then it is false.  If the sentence is false, then it must be true (I know, I probably need a hobby).  So, how do I answer this question?  Paul gives us a hint in Galatians 2:19-20, “For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God.  I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me.  And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”  It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me . . . so who is it then that I should see in the mirror?  Who am I?  I am a member of the body of Christ.

                On the other hand, if Isabelle saw the light of Christ shining through me all the time, instead of “Three?” her response may have been, “Seventy times seven, father,” but that’s for another article.

Pastoral Prayer–Sunday, August 29, 2010

            God of glory, in humility you have revealed yourself in the incarnation of your Son, Jesus Christ, who took the lowest place among us that we might be raised to the heights of divinity.  Teach us to walk the path he prepared for us so that we might take a place at the table with all who seek the joy of his kingdom.

            Holy Father, in your goodness, you provide for the needy.  Remove from us the sins of greed and pride, which mock the humility of our Lord, Jesus Christ.  Open our hearts in generosity and justice to the neglected and lonely, that in showing esteem for others, we may honor and please you.

            Sovereign Lord, on this day, the 5th anniversary of hurricane Katrina, let us remember those who lost their lives under the waves of surging water, those who gave their lives to save the stranded, those who survived with a memory scarred, and those who continue to rebuild the city.  Inspire us, Father, with Your Holy Spirit, that when the next hurricane arrives we will be ready.

            Lord of all power and might, the author and giver of all good things: Graft in our hearts the love of your Name; increase in us true religion; nourish us with all goodness; and bring forth in us the fruit of good works; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.  Amen.

 –Revised Common Lectionary Prayers and The Book of Common Prayer

Are Your "For" or "Against" the Ground Zero Mosque?

“Are you for or against the Ground Zero Mosque?” This is a question I’ve recently received with some frequency. What does it mean to be “for” it? What does it mean to be “against” it? Why do I think, being a United Methodist from Shreveport, Louisiana, that I should have an opinion in the first place? I choose to answer this question with three different responses. Footnotes to follow.

1. False

2. First, show me a coin.

3. 641 is a prime number

Ok, now for the footnotes. My first response, false, is my way of saying that this question, “Are you for or against the Ground Zero Mosque,” isn’t the right question to ask. It creates a false dichotomy. It assumes that you can either be “for” it or “against” it. Never mind the fact that it’s not a Mosque, nor is it at Ground Zero. Isn’t this question a slice of our contemporary partisan society? We are so eager to make camps into which we organize our friends and our enemies, and there is no compromise. It seems that disagreement naturally leads to divorce or a complete severing of relationship. If this were a true and right and holy way to commune, each week I would only be serving communion to myself, which misses the point.

So, answer number two. I haven’t been in biz long, but I’ve been pastoring long enough to know when the most appropriate response is “First, show me a coin,” meaning that the persons asking the question aren’t really interested in an answer as much as entrapment. For these folks, it doesn’t really matter if I am “for” or “against” because both positions carry a formidable amount of baggage, which can be used as projectiles should the situation take a terrible turn.

Third answer: 641 is a prime number. So what does it mean to be for it? What does it mean to be against it. Closer to the contextual point, “What does it mean to you if I say I am for it?” “What does it mean to you if I say I am against it?”

Imagine a machine consisting only of dominoes. This machine’s job is to figure out if 641 is a prime number. Let’s assume that there is a row of red dominoes, which, if they fall, means that the machine has deduced that 641 is a prime number. If the red dominoes do not fall, then the machine has “figured out” that 641 is not a prime number. Let’s say a bistander is observing the dominoes and notices that the red dominoes fall. She asks, “Why did the red dominoes fall?”

Answer A: Because the dominoes in front of the red ones fell, thus causing the red dominoes to fall.

Answer B: Because 641 is a prime number.

I say this because questions such as these are often asked in the realm of Answer A. People want a “Yes” or “No,” in order to see if my dominoes are arranged in the “correct” pattern. They are not concerned with the larger realities, whether or not the way the dominoes are falling actually means something. They are only concerned that the dominoes are falling according to the way they traditionally ought to fall. In other words, there is a “right” way and a “wrong” way for the dominoes to fall.

See, the problem with Answer A is that it’s really not an answer at all because you are left with the obvious question, “Then why did the black domino which hit the red domino fall, and why did the domino before that fall . . .” and so on and so forth. The answer is the same and it doesn’t tell you anything, really. My fear is that saying I am for the Mosque or against the Mosque will be the end of the discussion. I am either a friend or an enemy. I have nothing to contribute and we have nothing to learn. Will my dominoes fall or won’t they?

“Are you for or against the Ground Zero Mosque,” is just not a helpful question. A much better question would be, “Have you been across the street to the Islamic Association of Arabia, which is right on Broadmoor’s doorstep to form a relationship with those who worship there?” Until we can answer affirmatively, I’m not sure we’ve gained the right to have an opinion on this issue.

There’s more to investigate such as, “How is it that something is ‘right’ or ‘wrong,'” and “Why do I feel the need to always have an enemy,” but I’m going to walk across the street.

Are Your “For” or “Against” the Ground Zero Mosque?

“Are you for or against the Ground Zero Mosque?” This is a question I’ve recently received with some frequency. What does it mean to be “for” it? What does it mean to be “against” it? Why do I think, being a United Methodist from Shreveport, Louisiana, that I should have an opinion in the first place? I choose to answer this question with three different responses. Footnotes to follow.

1. False

2. First, show me a coin.

3. 641 is a prime number

Ok, now for the footnotes. My first response, false, is my way of saying that this question, “Are you for or against the Ground Zero Mosque,” isn’t the right question to ask. It creates a false dichotomy. It assumes that you can either be “for” it or “against” it. Never mind the fact that it’s not a Mosque, nor is it at Ground Zero. Isn’t this question a slice of our contemporary partisan society? We are so eager to make camps into which we organize our friends and our enemies, and there is no compromise. It seems that disagreement naturally leads to divorce or a complete severing of relationship. If this were a true and right and holy way to commune, each week I would only be serving communion to myself, which misses the point.

So, answer number two. I haven’t been in biz long, but I’ve been pastoring long enough to know when the most appropriate response is “First, show me a coin,” meaning that the persons asking the question aren’t really interested in an answer as much as entrapment. For these folks, it doesn’t really matter if I am “for” or “against” because both positions carry a formidable amount of baggage, which can be used as projectiles should the situation take a terrible turn.

Third answer: 641 is a prime number. So what does it mean to be for it? What does it mean to be against it. Closer to the contextual point, “What does it mean to you if I say I am for it?” “What does it mean to you if I say I am against it?”

Imagine a machine consisting only of dominoes. This machine’s job is to figure out if 641 is a prime number. Let’s assume that there is a row of red dominoes, which, if they fall, means that the machine has deduced that 641 is a prime number. If the red dominoes do not fall, then the machine has “figured out” that 641 is not a prime number. Let’s say a bistander is observing the dominoes and notices that the red dominoes fall. She asks, “Why did the red dominoes fall?”

Answer A: Because the dominoes in front of the red ones fell, thus causing the red dominoes to fall.

Answer B: Because 641 is a prime number.

I say this because questions such as these are often asked in the realm of Answer A. People want a “Yes” or “No,” in order to see if my dominoes are arranged in the “correct” pattern. They are not concerned with the larger realities, whether or not the way the dominoes are falling actually means something. They are only concerned that the dominoes are falling according to the way they traditionally ought to fall. In other words, there is a “right” way and a “wrong” way for the dominoes to fall.

See, the problem with Answer A is that it’s really not an answer at all because you are left with the obvious question, “Then why did the black domino which hit the red domino fall, and why did the domino before that fall . . .” and so on and so forth. The answer is the same and it doesn’t tell you anything, really. My fear is that saying I am for the Mosque or against the Mosque will be the end of the discussion. I am either a friend or an enemy. I have nothing to contribute and we have nothing to learn. Will my dominoes fall or won’t they?

“Are you for or against the Ground Zero Mosque,” is just not a helpful question. A much better question would be, “Have you been across the street to the Islamic Association of Arabia, which is right on Broadmoor’s doorstep to form a relationship with those who worship there?” Until we can answer affirmatively, I’m not sure we’ve gained the right to have an opinion on this issue.

There’s more to investigate such as, “How is it that something is ‘right’ or ‘wrong,'” and “Why do I feel the need to always have an enemy,” but I’m going to walk across the street.

So What Now–The U2Charist!

Here’s a little taste of what’s to come . . . I hope to see you at the U2Charist Sunday morning at 11:00.  Peace . . .

For the past five weeks we’ve been on an amazing journey together.  We started with where it all started, with creation.  God was so filled with love that God couldn’t keep it within the divine heart.  God called creation into being: Let There Be.  Scripture tells us that God is love, so in the name of love we were created through love in order to love God and each other.  It is in the name of love that we are here today.

But there comes a time in our Christian journey when we are filled with questions and doubts and fears, when we secretly write in our journals that we still haven’t found what we’ve been looking for.  Which Jesus is the right Jesus?  Is Jesus conservative or liberal?  Are we to follow the Roman Catholic Jesus or the Orthodox Jesus or the Pentecostal Jesus or the liberation theology Jesus?  It’s enough to make your head spin!

 But then we hear that we are all one in Christ.  That in Christ there is no Jew or Greek, slave or free, male and female, and that through the waters of baptism we all become one in the body of Christ.  We realize that faith in Christ supersedes, is over and above these silly walls we have built to segregate and quarantine.  Salvation is not nearly as much being saved from something as it is being saved for something, being set apart by God not from the world, but for the transformation of the world.

Then we received a vision of heaven, a place where the streets have no name because the streets don’t need names because we know where we’re going.  We read that Christ is with God in heaven and when Christ is revealed before the Father we too are being revealed because Christ is living within us.  It is not I who live, but Christ who lives within me.  Christ is what it means to be alive and this life will be revealed by those who believe.

 And last week we talked about that Beautiful Day when God set the rainbow in the clouds and made a promise that God would not deal with evil by destroying it; rather God will work tirelessly to redeem it, going so far as to become human, so that we might find life.

So here we are today . . . Come on Sunday to hear more.  Don’t forget, this Sunday is the U2charist.  You won’t want to miss it!

Beautiful Day: Genesis 9:8-17

God looked into the divine heart and found only sorrow.  God was sorry that God had made humanity, so God places the earth on the divine scales of judgment and finds the earth wanting.  God decides to blot out from the earth all human beings and animals, and creeping things, and birds of the air.  God didn’t want to destroy humanity.  God wanted to destroy everything.  Human wickedness didn’t pollute humanity, human wickedness polluted all creation.  God weighs God’s options, and God decides to blot out wickedness.

But there is hope.  God calls Noah and his family to build an ark and fill it with the male and the female of every living thing.  It rains and pours for forty long dayzies, dayzies.  Then God remembers Noah and the rain stops, the waters recede, and the Ark lands on dry land on the top of Mount Arrarat.   You may have seen paintings and pictures of the next scene.  Noah opens the ark and releases the dove.  All of the animals are on the poop deck, literally.  The rainbow is in the clouded background.  Everyone is getting along—lions and tigers and bears are not feasting on the rabbits and canteloupe and aardvarks.  The platform is lowered and all of the animals in two straight lines calmly leave the ark and begin their new life on a brand new world.  It almost seems too good to be true.

About 5 years ago, Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast.  Twenty-six foot high storm surges battered the coast, smothering almost everything in its path.  The city of New Orleans was under water for nearly three weeks.  People sought refuge in the ark called the Superdome.  When the waters receded the city was full of dead bodies, toxic mold, and starving, thirsty people.  This is a far cry from our artists’ rendition of Genesis 8.  I can’t help but wonder what Noah saw from the bow of the ark.  What did the world look like?  On this, scripture is eerily silent.  It seems that covenants with God can be a terrible, gruesome thing, like that of a cross.

But there is hope.  Noah steps off the ark and builds and altar and prepares a sacrifice for God, and it is at this moment when there is a dramatic change in the nature of God.  God says that never again will God destroy every living creature because of humanity’s wickedness.  From this moment on, God will not destroy evil.  God will redeem evil.  God will not destroy.  God will redeem.

In 2006 I lead a team of undergrads to do home repair in New Orleans.    We drove into the city around 10:30 pm and the city was as dark as you could imagine.  There were almost no lights anywhere.  I’ve heard several preachers say that God sent the hurricane to smite the wicked of New Orleans, but did you know that one of the only areas not affected by the storm was the French Quarter?  Anyway, the next day we arrived at Mrs. Helena’s 100 year old shotgun home on Louisiana Avenue. Mrs Helena’s family had been living in this house for three generations.  We moved all of her furniture to the curb.  We threw out most of her possessions.  We tore out her drywall and we cleaned out mold.  When the house was but a shell, it looked as if the house might make it.  Mrs. Helena might not have to tear it down.  There seemed to be the slightest glimmer of hope.  Near the end of our week I sat down with Mrs. Helena on her front porch and I asked her what her thoughts were concerning the storm and its aftermath.  She simply pointed out into her front yard and said, “Do you see that tree?  If it hadn’t been for the flood water, the wind would have sent that tree crashing down onto my house.  Thank God for the flood.”

Thank God for the flood?  Did I hear that correctly?  I never would have thought I’d hear those words come from a New Orleanian mouth.  Thank God for the flood.  I’m not sure what Noah said when the waters receded, but where Noah is silent, scripture tells us that Noah built and altar to the Lord and gave thanks to the Lord for the blessings that Noah had.  During that brief and holy moment on Mrs. Helena’s porch, Mrs. Helena gave thanks for the blessings that she did have, vowing to build upon what God had provided.  In that brief, holy moment outside of the Ark, God spoke to God’s own heart vowing to never again destroy the world. 

God makes a covenant with Noah, sealing God’s promise, and in order to remember that promise, God placed a rainbow in the clouds.  God says to Noah that when the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember my everlasting covenant between me and all the flesh of the earth.  God repeats this over and over again, almost as if God is actively trying to stay God’s hand.  But then the language changes as if God is no longer speaking to God’s self.  It seems as if God is prompting us, like a pastor to a bridegroom on his wedding day, “When the bow is in the clouds—I will see it and remember—the everlasting covenant—-between God—-and every living creature——of all flesh——that is on the earth.”  It seems that God is speaking, pausing to hear our response.  What is your reponse?