Musings

Charity and Change

"He has put down the mighty from their thrones, and exalted those of low degree; he has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent empty away."

A lyrical manifesto for economic justice.  There it is, in chapter one of Luke, at the beginning of the Christian story.  Mary's "Magnificat", her song to God after learning of her mysterious pregnancy, is full of hope for a structural transformation of society.

Volunteering and making donations to causes that serve people in need are powerful expressions of our faith.  Charity takes hard work and sacrifice; it always will be a necessary and honorable way to live out the Christian life.

But right next to charity is Christianity's imperative to change economic and political structures.  It is a beautiful thing for me to be able to use our church's "Pastoral Discretionary Fund", maintained by the charitable donations of our members, to help those among us who don't have money or insurance to pay for essentials like medical care. Every bit as beautiful is the work of California Council of Churches. For years, the Council has been lobbying hard in Sacramento for universal, single-payer health insurance.  Such a systemic transformation would protect the significant number of people in our congregation who have inadequate health coverage, or none at all. 

Two thousand years later, Mary's Advent cry for justice still rings. But churches are often intimidated by it.  Unlike most charitable efforts, working for social change is often controversial. So churches often stick with charity and avoid advocacy that might cause arguments among members.  But if we really care about the sick, the poor, the homeless, and the victims of wars or disasters, the church won't ignore the social structures that allow these problems to continue.  Surely we can find a way to advocate for justice while prayerfully honoring our differences about how to do it. 

It's a good thing to feed the poor.  Our church's Wednesday free lunch for the low-income people of our town makes me proud to be the pastor here.  But getting corporate money out of politics might turn out to be an even more effective way of alleviating poverty in America.  The hard political work required to clean up our deeply corrupt political system isn't as immediately satisfying as personally filling a plate of food for someone who can't afford a hot meal.  But if we took special-interest money out of campaigns, we might get structural change that prevents people from going hungry in the first place. 

Mary's "Magnificat" song makes it little wonder that, years later, her son would turn over the money-changers' tables in the Temple, where the common people of Israel were being fleeced systematically.  Jesus fed the 5,000, but he didn't stop there.  In a time when corrupt, unregulated tax collectors could reduce families to starvation, Jesus spoke out for justice. 

Jesus healed not only the sick, but also the systems that sickened them.  He fed the hungry while attacking the structures that starved them.  May the first candle of Advent light our way as we follow him in practicing both charity and change.

  _____________________________

  Mark your calendars for these 2008 events in the progressive Christian movement:

 

  Evolution Sunday:  2/10/08  http://www.butler.edu/clergyproject/rel_evol_sun.htm
 
  Beatitudes Society Annual Dinner, Bay School, Presidio of San Francisco  - with Christine Pelosi and Marcus Borg in conversation - 2/28/08, pm  www.beatitudessociety.org
 
  Pluralism Pentecost Sunday:  5/11/08 - www.tcpc.blogs.com/pluralism_sunday

Time for the Tiara

 

I talked to Mom yesterday.  I asked her how she was doing. She said she was grumpy.  This caught my attention, because that's not what I usually hear from my lively 80-year-old mother. 

Her knees were hurting, and she had some annoying dental problems.  And it was her day to vacuum the floor, a chore she dislikes.  So she went into her closet, pulled out the tiara she keeps for just such occasions, and put it on.  Thus ennobled, she found the fortitude to do what had to be done.

Picture, if you will, an octogenarian grandmother pushing a vaccum around her carpet while wearing a band of fake jewels around her head.  That would be my mom. In our family, she is indeed the queen.  I'm proud to be a member of her royal lineage.

In my grumpy moments and darker days, I would do well to follow her example.  And to recall the words of the Psalmist:  "When I look at thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars which thou hast established; what is man that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that thou dost care for him?  Yet thou hast made him little less than God, and dost crown him with glory and honor." (Psalm 8)  Despite all that goes badly for us, and all that we do badly to others, we humans are still Godlike creatures.  Especially when the going gets tough, it's time to take out our tiaras, dust them off, and put them on.

There are so many of us on this planet that we often take the human race for granted.  Or we compare ourselves negatively to others, and disparage our dignity by thinking less of ourselves than our Source intends.  This not only dampens our appreciation of life, but it can be a dangerous thing.  What's more threatening than a person who disrespects his or her own life?  What's more frightening than a community or nation of people who feel like their pride has been denied them?

But if we treat others royally, and if we are secure in the knowledge of our own nobility, then our homes and work-places can become palaces of peace.  Even if we're the ones pushing the vacuum cleaners around  their floors!

  Thanks, Mom, for remembering who you are.  And thanks, Your Highness, for reminding me of who I am, as well...

The River

I learned something that impressed me when I visited Wichita a few weeks ago.  As a passenger in a car driving over the river that bisects the city, I said, "Oh, there's the Arkansas (ARkansaw)!"  It brought back memories of a cross-country road trip I took many years ago, following the river down from the foothills of the Rockies.  At Canon City, Colorado, the river tumbled through a gorge lined with mica-laden rock that shimmered in the sunlight.  Then it flowed placidly across the endless plain of Kansas.  It's one of America's longest and most important waterways.

The driver of the car corrected me immediately in my pronunciation.  "No.  Here we call it the Arkansas (OurKANsas) River!"

I was enchanted by the idea that this river could be the Arkansas (ARkansaw) in Colorado, the Arkansas (OurKANsas) in Kansas, and once again the Arkansas (ARkansaw) in Oklahoma and Arkansas (ARkansaw). 

It's a lingustic misunderstanding, I suppose.  The best-known version of the river's name came from an Indian word transliterated by the French, who aren't in the habit of pronouncing the last "s".  But not all Americans bought everything that came with the Louisiana Purchase.

The pronunciation of the river's name says much more.  Not just about the French.  Not just about Kansas.  Not just about America.  It says something about the human and divine condition.

What, or whom, I call God is a river that flows through many, many souls. Some call the river Watanka.  Others call it Allah.  Others name it Brahman.  Others pray it Yahweh.  Some sing it Nature.  Others refuse, on grounds of religious principle, to name it at all.  Meanwhile, the water is the same.  The river flows on, without apparent concern for what it is called or how it is defined.  Fish happily swim up and down its current, oblivious to theological attempts to constrain it.  Some people stand by its banks and declaim its intentions and directions, without bothering to follow it.  Without taking the trouble to jump into it and go with its flow.  Without honoring how others might experience it, elsewhere along its path.  Some people have adamant opinions about it, instead of just enjoying it and letting it exist on its own terms.  Some people call the river "Our God", as if they could control or own it, or as if it had chosen them to be its exclusive spokespersons.

Meanwhile, the river runs its long and steady course through every heart and soul, bringing life to all, regardless of what any might think of it, regardless of the names we give it.

Perhaps the highest praise we can give to God is to appreciate how very many ways we describe and name the transcendent dimension.  Honoring the fact that there is no one way to say God's name is itself a profound act of worship.

So, more power to the people of Kansas for their special way of saying the name of the great river that defines their landscape.  Thanks to them for their addition to the cacaphonic poetry of America's language about itself.  With a wink and a chuckle, let us thank them for reminding us of the infinite possibilities for naming the river that flows through us all.