Clarion: Journal of Spirituality and Justice

Only Room for One God - Katie Skurja

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord.
~ Isaiah 55:8 

“Can you bring your dad into the Light and give him to God?” I asked. 

“Yes, that is easy.”

“Can you bring your mom into the Light and give her to God?” 

Nine-year-old Justin cocked his head to one side, scrunched up his face, and said, “Now that is a bit harder.” 

Justin’s mom was in the process of filing for divorce when she came to see me. She wanted help for her kids as they walked through the difficult stages of grief over the death of the marriage. Though their father’s multiple affairs had prompted the divorce, he had convinced the children, especially Justin, that it was Mom’s fault for tearing up the family. Thus, it was no surprise to me that young Justin could not bring his mother into the Light. Even though it was clear that he loved her very much, it was my guess he was judging her as the “bad” one. 

I checked out my hypothesis. 

“Justin, when you think about your parents getting a divorce, how do you feel about your Mom and Dad?” 

“I am angry at Mom. She is hurting Dad and tearing apart our family.” 

“Does it feel like it is Mom’s fault? Like she is ‘more bad’ than Dad?” 

“Yes,” he said, nodding his head. 

“When you think about Mom and Dad this way, is your heart more open to one than the other?” 

With a surprised look on his face, he said, “It is more open to my dad.” 

Knowing that he was a precocious and intelligent young man, I explained to Justin that we cannot bring someone or something into the Light when we are playing god in that situation. When we judge what or who is good and bad, that is a way of playing god.

Double Down on Jesus - Kenneth Tanner

Those who follow my social media know that the vast majority of my stories and images are about Jesus—his authentic humanity and his vulnerable divinity, how his unique person is our salvation and the salvation of the world. I’m astonished by and obsessed with Christ.

This same Jesus, who embodies the law and the prophets, who became one of us—a frail human who’s not immune to hunger, thirst, pain, and death—in order to liberate captives and set the oppressed free.

Those who bear the name and work of Jesus as they lead the church are not allowed to remain silent about the illnesses effecting their societies. We are held accountable for silence and inaction.

Our nation’s war on drugs and on terror has slowly eroded civil liberties and presents us with a crisis about personal freedoms, police powers, incarceration, and so on, and black Americans have shouldered the cross of what’s wrong.

Jesus came to set prisoners free—actual prisoners.

Justice systems are corrupt, are punitive rather than restorative, and America is not immune. 

The gospel seeks to upend all of that with a profound trust in the ability of humans to heal—to be forgiven and to forgive—a trust that’s not shared by our nation’s “survival of the fittest” mentality. 

Jesus stands with the poor, the refugee, the prisoner—not the ideal poor, or employable  refugees, or model prisoners but the kinds we find in the real world, just as they are in all their inconvenience—and he expects us to lift up their cause. 

What’s happened lately is that the political Left and the political Right define a lot of what the gospel urgently calls us to embody and to do as “political,” as supporting the ends of political movements, figures, or parties. 

For the Left, if you believe that pre-born children have the right to life, for but one instance, then you must be a Republican or a supporter of the President.

No, you are simply applying to our public life together ideas of humanity, creation, and personhood taught in the Scriptures. 

For the Right, if you want immigrants and refugees welcomed and treated with dignity, for but one instance, then you must be a Democrat or a supporter of their leaders.

No, you are simply listening to the law and prophets of Israel and applying to our public life together their relentless and ubiquitous warnings about God’s wrath toward any people who do not welcome and care for strangers and sojourners. 

Salvation is not only about life after death but about this world, about our time and place in this world, and God is often waiting for Spirit-empowered humans to bring the kind of salvation he intends for the world by living the gospel.

So while I do not speak out about most things that concern me—I would never stop speaking right now if I did that—I do speak out loudly when I feel compelled before God to do so (as in this week’s meme about Breonna Taylor and our society’s collective responsibility for her). 

It is a high wire act and something like a personal siege to be the leader of a spiritual community in this moment. 

I don’t know any pastor who’s not disheartened, burned out, and ready to quit. They won’t tell you about it, but I will.

I preached Jesus Christ to the folks at Holy Redeemer for 15 years but like every other church in this town (and around the country), our congregations are divided between those who want everyone to wear masks at church all the time or they won’t attend and those who don’t want to wear a mask at all so they won’t attend, some who think the pandemic is a hoax and others who think it’s real, along with so many other silly binaries that divide us, driven by a media and a political class that thrives on our separation.

It rips me up. Day and night. I/we won’t be one of them by the grace of God but a tidal wave of pastoral resignations and church closings is coming.

I *thought* we were all centered in Jesus Christ. I thought we were different at HR. It’s a MAJOR gut punch. I don’t even hear from families we served for more than a decade. Not a phone call, not a text, not a peep, even though we reach out consistently.

Then I read something from Eugene Peterson, in his “Eat This Book,” about 1982 and economic and racial tensions that were present and how disappointed he was, after 20 years of preaching, to see his congregation as divided as the world. 

He started reading Galatians and the Corinthian letters and realized that Paul had the same troubles with his congregations in the first century, divided over truly dumb stuff.

It’s a human problem.

Eugene realized he was not a failure.

And he decided to double down on Jesus Christ.

And that’s how The Message was born.

I decided months ago to double down on Jesus, too. And my joy in preaching and leading has returned, even though far fewer people hear my sermons. They feel like some of the best of my life and some folks are hearing them. And that’s OK with me. It really is.

When I do address matters of public concern I address them not as a person with political interests but as one called to witness to the gospel of Jesus Christ. That means that sometimes I sound like a “liberal” and sometimes I sound like a “conservative.”

And therefore a lot of times I am misunderstood by most everyone for all of the reasons I just laid out. And that’s OK with me, too. It really is.U

The Gospel, Breonna Taylor & Vicarious Responsibility - Chris Green

Earlier today, in light of the breaking news, Fr Kenneth Tanner lamented the fact that our laws and law enforcers failed to bring about justice for Breonna Taylor and her family, a failure which he rightly identified as “an indictment of our society.” He concluded his brief post with these words, which I think strike to the heart of the matter: “We are all guilty. And our guilt remains until we insist this state of affairs is unacceptable.” Unsurprisingly, not everyone agreed with Fr Kenneth’s comments. Also, unsurprisingly, some responses to his post were astonishingly rude, even vile. But what actually captured my attention was a particular challenge to the very notion of “vicarious responsibility.”

Of course, we all know that many American Christians have a difficult time imagining—much less admitting—the possibility of collective guilt and mutual answerability before God. The question is, how can we recover the biblical and theological framework necessary for making sense of such realities?  What does the gospel teach us about “vicarious responsibility”? And what, if anything, does that mean for our response to Breonna Taylor’s tragic death and other such miscarriages of justice?

I’m convinced, first and foremost, that our understanding of “vicarious responsibility” must be rooted in what we believe about who Christ is and what he has accomplished in his mediation. As Miroslav Volf has said, Christ’s substitution is inclusive, not exclusive. And, as Fr John Behr explained in class today, this is what John’s Gospel means when it says that all things come to pass in Jesus (Jn 1: 30-4). Bonhoeffer, reflecting on Pilate’s presentation of Jesus (Jn 19:5), makes the point with characteristic sharpness and force:  

Ecco homo—behold God become human, the unfathomable mystery of the love of God for the world. Jesus is not a human being but the human being. What happens to him happens to human beings. It happens to all and therefore to us. The name of Jesus embraces in itself the whole of humanity and the whole of God... In Jesus Christ, the one who became human was crucified and is risen; humanity has become new. What happened to Christ has happened for all, for he was the human being. The new human being has been created.

This truth is at the very heart of the gospel: what happens to Christ happens to all. And the reverse is also true: he takes personally whatever happens to us. That is why what we do or fail to do to and for the least of these, we do or fail to do to and for him. This is the truth that knocks Paul to the ground on the road to Damascus.

The good news is that in assuming vicarious responsibility for others, we not only acknowledge what Christ has done for us and who he is to us, we also participate in him and his work. And we do this in order to free others to be themselves, loving them just as we have been loved. In other words, we do not act in their place but on their behalf. Thus, taking responsibility for others does not mean we take away their personal responsibility before God to others. Just the opposite, in fact: it means we recognize and accept our calling to help them fulfill their calling, supporting them as they learn how to rise up into the full flourishing of their freedom as persons made in the image of God revealed in the face of Jesus Christ. As St Paul teaches the Galatians, we can bear our own loads only if we help others bear their burdens (Gal. 6:2, 5). Or, as he instructs the Corinthians, “We are convinced that one has died for all; therefore all have died" (2 Cor. 5:14). Knowing this, we find ourselves borne along by his love, pressed by his Spirit, so that we cannot not give our lives for others in the same way he gave and gives his life for us. Again, in the apostle’s words, “Christ died for all, so that those who live might live no longer for themselves, but for him who died and was raised for them” (2 Cor. 5:15).

Given that what I have just said is true, then “vicarious responsibility” names the only way in which it is possible for us to do justice while loving mercy and walking humbly before our God. As John Zizioulas warns us, if and when we forget that in Christ we are answerable to and for everyone, then we inevitably fall into acting like “individuals” instead of living as “persons.” The prophets call Israel back, again and again, to the vicarious responsibilities imposed on them by the terms of the covenant. And it is this covenantal reciprocity, this intercessory and cooperative form of life, that the apostles call “love.” Pilate, the individual, washes his hands of responsibility for others. Jesus, the truly human person, the one in whom we find ourselves, washes the feet of those who betray him.

Breonna Taylor, 26, was killed in her home by Louisville police officers in the early morning hours of March 13, 2020. In the same city, almost exactly 62 years before, the middle-aged Thomas Merton had his life-altering epiphany:

In Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut, in the center of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all those people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness, of spurious self-isolation in a special world, the world of renunciation and supposed holiness…

“They were mine and I theirs…” We all have to have this same awakening. We have to die to what Merton called “the heresy of individualism.” We have to come alive to our bound-together-ness, which was accomplished for us in Christ and realized in us as we are immersed in him and commune with him. To put it bluntly, the gospel insists we acknowledge that what happened to Breonna happened to Jesus. Her death is taken up in his; therefore, we cannot hope to share his life if we do not care about her death and care for all those affected by it—in the same way that he does. After all, the only love we have to give is the love we have received.

In his New Seeds of Contemplation, written only a few years after his experience in downtown Louisville, Merton concludes: “in order to find myself I must go out of myself, and in order to live I have to die.” Tonight, the going out required of us is an identification with Breonna in her death, an entry into the righteous grief and anger of those who loved her, a readiness to accept that we do in fact answer for what has happened to her and what will happen in the wake of this tragedy. As Fr Kenneth said, our guilt remains until we refuse to accept this state of affairs. And the good news is we do not have to accept it, because, in spite of everything, nothing is impossible for our God.  

 

2x4: The Wages are from Sin, the Gift is from God - Steve Robinson

"The wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 6:23

 

It's amazing how a "framework" can constrain how you understand a piece of text.

 

For example, 2x4 is either 8 or a piece of lumber depending on whether you are a mathematician or a carpenter.

 

The "juridical/accounting/transactional" framework always told me that "Jesus paid the debt to God for our sins".

 

The AHA! moment for me was that SIN pays the wage of death, not God. God doesn't kill us because we sin. Sin alienates us from God who is Life.

God offers a free gift, not "wages" and a transaction in which we earned something or owe Him something for what we "worked". Jesus accepted sin's "wage" even though He didn't earn it. God didn't kill Jesus (pay the wage of sin He exacts to His Son in our stead). God accepted the wages from sin on our behalf and nailed the W-2 to the cross (Colossians 2:14).

In all the Parables, the Master, Lord, King, Landowner forgave the debts of his crappy householders and subjects with a word. He NEVER extracted the due debt from an innocent third party. God absorbs death, the wages of sin, into Himself because God is life and not even death can prevail before God. As Solomon said, "Love is stronger than death..."

 

Wages, books to be balanced, or penalties to be paid to a God who pays Himself off via His Son to satisfy His need for a balanced ledger or justice served, or a benevolent King who just forgives and takes all the crap and debt and death we can deal out into Himself for our sake's just because He loves us are two different things.

 

I once held the former thing as "Gospel", and it made sense to me. Then I heard the latter thing. The longer I live the latter thing makes more and more sense to me.

 

As if we can make sense of the horror of the Cross.

 

As if we can make sense of human, much less, divine Love.

 

(On the Feast of the Cross, Sept. 14).

Painting by Nicholas Ge

 

 

Absolute plentitude: the definition of God’s love - Becky Parker

Absolute plentitude: the definition of God’s love

“Blessed are the gentle for they shall inherit the earth.” - Matthew 5:5

I have seen the word "gentle" in this text also translated as meek or humble. Generally, in our society gentleness, meekness, and humility are not valued traits and are often met with ridicule and even contempt. Manifesting these qualities will most likely get you labeled as weak. However, the truth is, we can only be truly and consistently gentle, meek, and humble when we are very strong. Strong in faith, hope, and love.

I once listened to a lecture on attachment and sibling rivalry. The speaker said the very nature of infinity is absolute plentitude. You cannot take away from or add to infinity. If a child believes that a parent’s love is infinite, there is nothing to fear if a sibling gets the love because he’s not losing anything. It is when a child experiences love as a finite thing there is alarm, frustration and fear. Because then the child is afraid that if someone else receives love, then they get less or there is not enough for them.

This is one of the best descriptions of the cause of the hate, violence, and pain in our world. And although the speaker did not necessarily intend this interpretation, it is conversely one of the best descriptions of God and His love I have ever heard. The I Am is absolute plentitude. We cannot take away from or add to His very nature, which is love. We can only choose to rest in it or not.

Sadly, the overwhelming majority of human beings throughout history have only experienced love as finite and we have all experienced love as conditional and uncertain at some point in life. Even by the most well-meaning of parents, caregivers, and friends. We cannot rest in this kind of love, so we must work for it and by all means, we must contend with others for our share.

True strength is to take a grand leap of faith and hope on our part. It is to say: “my experience of love, attention, and belonging has been mostly conditional with other people. I know that I have felt the pain of belonging and acceptance revoked when I don’t meet others’ needs or expectations. But I choose to hope of a love that is steadfast and sure. A love that does not change and is never exhausted. I will rest in this love and even if there are things I am denied, I will rest securely because there will be enough for me.”

A trust in this never-ending love God provides is what leads to true gentleness because you no longer have to fight for your place. You can be truly meek because you no longer must retaliate or seek vengeance when you can trust that you will be cared for. You can be truly humble and know that it is okay if someone else is celebrated and admired because you are also the apple of His eye.

There were 12 baskets of food left after Jesus fed over 5,000 people. Absolute plentitude at work and assuring us of His care and provision. If we can choose to accept this love and rest in it, this can be for us an experience that is safe, inviting, and more fulfilling than anything we have known. It can free us to be gentle, meek, and humble, and to let go of fear, anxiety, and a need for retribution.

However, we can also continue working and striving for the fleeting glimpses of love we receive from others. It is understandable because we rightly desire the feeling of joy and contentment that comes when we are accepted and loved. We must understand though that if love or belonging demands us to strive and contend, it is not the love of Abba.

I pray we all may take the step, walk out in faith, and choose to hope for this freeing love. Only when we feel unconditionally loved, valued, and cared for will we truly be able to love, value, and care for our families, neighbors, and enemies. We love because He first loved us. (1 John 4:19)

Limitless Love: A Reading of the Parable of the Unforgiving Servant - Homily by Fr. Martin Little

Text - Matthew 18:21-35

Forgiveness

²¹ Then Peter came and said to him, ‘Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?’ ²² Jesus said to him, ‘Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.

The Parable of the Unforgiving Servant

²³ ‘For this reason the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his slaves. ²⁴ When he began the reckoning, one who owed him ten thousand talents was brought to him; ²⁵ and, as he could not pay, his lord ordered him to be sold, together with his wife and children and all his possessions, and payment to be made. ²⁶ So the slave fell on his knees before him, saying, “Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.” ²⁷ And out of pity for him, the lord of that slave released him and forgave him the debt. ²⁸ But that same slave, as he went out, came upon one of his fellow-slaves who owed him a hundred denarii; and seizing him by the throat, he said, “Pay what you owe.” ²⁹ Then his fellow-slave fell down and pleaded with him, “Have patience with me, and I will pay you.” ³⁰ But he refused; then he went and threw him into prison until he should pay the debt. ³¹ When his fellow-slaves saw what had happened, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their lord all that had taken place. ³² Then his lord summoned him and said to him, “You wicked slave! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. ³³ Should you not have had mercy on your fellow-slave, as I had mercy on you?” ³⁴ And in anger his lord handed him over to be tortured until he should pay his entire debt. ³⁵ So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.’

Of all the things demanded of us in this life, perhaps the toughest ask is that we forgive.  When we have been wronged by someone, it really, really hurts - perhaps especially if it’s someone close to us.  If left to fester, a state of ‘unforgiveness’ can destroy relationships, communities, and even people.  And that’s why forgiveness is such a pillar of the Christian faith - because people, relationships, and communities really matter to God.

We’d probably all like to get out of having to forgive if we could possibly do so.  And so at the opening to today’s gospel reading, St Peter wants to know, is there kind of statute of limitations on forgiveness?  He wants to know if there’s a ‘reasonable’ number of times that he must forgive.  He tentatively suggests… perhaps 7 times?  That seems pretty generous!

But Jesus says, ‘no, you’ve got it all wrong!’ You must forgive seventy-seven times - or it could also mean seventy times seven.  Now, a multiple of seven, in Jewish symbolism, stands for a sort of ‘perfectly enormous number.’  So Jesus is saying there’s no use counting:  we must forgive an infinite number of times.  It’s not just generous, but constant forgiveness, a grace so ingrained as to become incalculable.  

In relationships, you can’t really quantify forgiveness.  Imagine how odd it would be if we portioned it out in limited chunks. “I’ll forgive you on the third Thursday of every month, unless it’s a five-week month, in which case the previous weeks’ forgiveness will roll over…” It’s just absurd!  Love - of whatever kind - is like a river, always about to burst its banks. So, we are not just to forgive when we feel like it, or when it’s most obviously required.  But we are to go on, and on, and on, forgiving in countless little ways.

Forgiveness, in other words, catapults us into limitless realms.  It stretches us.  To offer it is to say to the one who has wronged us:  I know you can’t make this right, I know you can’t repay me, I know you can’t undo the hurt and pain you’ve caused.  But I will begin to heal that wound myself by offering you forgiveness.  I will release you from your wrong, and in so doing release myself from bitterness and resentment.  It’s an enormously powerful thing, and yet it’s almost never talked about in our public life.  When was the last time you heard a politician speak about forgiveness?  When was the last time you heard someone ask for it?  It’s rare.