Today I’m writing over at Conversations on the Fringe:
When we skip over and avoid the cross, we miss out on a God who is with us in the flesh, walking alongside us as we walk what may sometimes be a long, lonely road.
But to skip out on the cross also causes us to miss out on a radical and bold Jesus we are all called to follow. For, it was Jesus’ loud, subversive voice that challenged injustice and proclaimed on behalf of the “least of these” that got him into trouble in the first place and led him to be silenced on the cross.
You can read the rest here.
Today I’m writing over at Conversations on the fringe:
Maundy” derives from the Latin word “mandatum,” meaning commandment.
On this Maundy Thursday, we recall Jesus gathering with close friends/disciples for their last meal together. During the gathering, he drops to his knees and starts washing his disciples’ feet – an act that only a servant would do for a houseguest.
To read more, click here.
Today I am blogging over at Revgalblogpals:
“This larger-level conversation seems to be continuing because our #Parkland youth survivors (yes, these Parkland youth are OUR youth) are demanding that it continues. They are making sure this country not only doesn’t forget them, but that this country takes action toward ending these kinds of senseless tragedies in the future…
These young people – OUR young people – are leading the way forward.
And we have a responsibility to listen to them and to follow their lead. We have a responsibility to turn our thoughts and prayers into action… To pray with our feet.”
You can read the rest here.
“Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. Then Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus.
As they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead. So they kept the matter to themselves, questioning what this rising from the dead could mean.”
– Mark 9:2-10
Strange things happen on the top of steep hills and mountains.
I have learned this from experience. Several years ago, when Jonathan and I were in Ireland, we decided we would walk St. Brandon’s Pilgrim Path, an 11 mile ancient Christian pilgrimage that is believed to have first been walked in the late 500s. This path begins along the seaside and then takes you through fields with beautiful scenic views and ancient heritage sites along the route.
When Jonathan and I asked the one taxi driver in the small town we were staying in if she could pick us up at the end of the path, she laughed… and then told us: “Just call me when you get tired…” And when we looked a bit confused, she added: “It’s not as easy as you might think.”
And boy was she right! The trail was hilly and windy, often taking us through long patches of tall grass and weeds that were up to our knees, private fields, thick mud, and rugged terrain.
Once we passed Kilmalkedar Church, an early Christian and later Medieval site, the next several miles of the path were even more difficult and off the grid. As we hiked up a very long, steep hill with only a few small hand painted trail markers to show us the way, the incline got steeper, the winds stronger, the sky darker, and the fog thicker.
When a trail marker directed us to walk through a closed gate, we found ourselves walking uphill through a private sheep farm. This final part of the journey was fun… at first. But after a while, the fog got so thick we could barely see anything around us, not to mention: where we were going. At one point I screamed, as two sheep seemed to appear out of nowhere – frantically running through the fog just two feet in front of us.
And when we tried to backtrack our steps so we could find a place to call and meet our taxi driver, as I took a step on what seemed to be the ground, I ended up falling through one of the many thorn bushes that we soon realized we were surrounded by and that were quite deep and wide. By this point, we had not seen a trail marker for about an hour, we had no phone service, and I was starting to wonder if we were ever going to make it back to our cabin.
Our only hope was to keep going up to the top of the hill, which we still could not see. So we just kept cautiously walking.
But once we eventually got to the top, something else strange happened. The fog thinned out, we could see things a lot more clearly, and the exhausting and – yes – quite terrifying – journey we took to get to where we were all of us sudden seemed worth it. As we looked out over the other side of the hill, we could see some of the most incredible views of Mt. Brandon and miles upon miles of the beautiful Irish countryside. And as we looked down the side of the hill that we had just climbed, we could see the tiny steeple of Kilmalkedar Church off in the distance down below, and the path we took from there seemed to be a little more apparent than before. (Although, I am not going to lie, our journey back down to Kilmalkedar Church was still a bit terrifying.)
Yes, strange things happen on the top of steep hills and mountains.
And this is the case for the disciples in our Gospel text this morning. Jesus takes Peter, James, and John and leads them on what is most likely a long, arduous journey through windy, hilly, and rugged trails and unmarked fields up a high mountain. And when they finally get to the top of the mountain, Jesus is transfigured before them. His appearance changes, and he begins to glow. His clothes become dazzling white, so much so that no one on earth could bleach them, our text says. And then – when you think things could not get anymore weird, they do. Because suddenly out of nowhere, the long departed Moses and Elijah appear before the disciples and begin talking to Jesus.
Such strange things are happening on top of this mountain, that you might expect David Harpour – star of the popular Netflix show Stranger Things – to suddenly appear saying: “It must be a tide ad!” (If you watched the Super Bowl commercials, you know what I am talking about.)
But this is not a tide commercial. It’s the transfiguration. And it is a very strange scene.
So strange that Peter stumbles over his words because he doesn’t know what to say, for he and the other disciples are terrified.
And it’s no wonder they are. They had just seen this strange thing happen on the mountaintop. Here, for the first time, they see Jesus in a completely new light. (Both figuratively and literally).
And many of us know that once we see Jesus in a completely new light, there is no turning back. Everything changes. Sure, eventually we have to go back down the mountain to our every day life, but we do so with a new perspective and with a heart that is open to being transformed.
This is true with any kind of “mountain top” experience where we encounter Jesus in a new light. We begin to see things more clearly. These mountain top experiences may take place during a powerful worship service, at a large Christian gathering (like a conference, prayer retreat, or an ELCA Youth Gathering), or on a mission or service-learning trip.
Or maybe this mountain top experience takes place when we hold our child or our grandchild for the first time, when we hear someone else’s story, when someone sits with us in our pain, when we spend time taking in the nature around us, or when we develop relationships with our neighbors of other faiths and realize that God is so much bigger than we had imagined.
Maybe this mountain top experience is when we are volunteering at the local food pantry and realize for the first time that Jesus is not just working through us and our acts of service to our neighbors experiencing homelessness or hunger. Rather, through our neighbor, Jesus is actually speaking to us.
Or maybe our mountain top experience is when we first attend an anti-racism training or read a book on economic injustice and we begin to recognize our own privilege and prejudices and how they contribute to systemic inequalities.
Here on the mountaintop, Jesus transfigured before the disciples, and now the disciples are being transformed.
The journey the disciples had taken thus far in following Jesus is now seen with news eyes. And the same goes for the journey they would soon take in following Jesus back down the mountain, into the valley, and soon thereafter onto Jerusalem and toward the cross.
But this is – indeed – terrifying. Having this mountain top experience meant that their lives were going to change going forward. For the disciples, this means that soon Jesus will no longer be with them on this earth. How could they continue this ministry on their own? Were they even qualified to do this work? Were they good enough? Were they adequate enough?
It’s no wonder Peter suggests they build three dwellings – or tabernacles – at the top of the mountain (a common ancient practice to mark places where God’s people had a holy encounter.) For these disciples, this was surely a holy place. Plus, if they built the tabernacles, the disciples could stay in this holy space for a while, which could buy them some time before they had to come back down from the mountain top and face the hardships that come in the valley below, knowing who Jesus is and what and who Jesus stands for.
But just as Peter suggests this, a cloud overshadows the disciples, and a voice comes from the cloud saying: “This is my Son, the Beloved.”
I love this response to Peter and the other disciples as they are overcome with fear. Because it reminds us of Jesus’ baptism, when the voice from heaven cries out: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
I love this because whenever we recall Jesus’ baptism, we are also reminded of our own. Just as Jesus was named God’s beloved child in his baptism, so too are we – in ours.
No matter how terrified Peter may have been about what was to come and about how Jesus was calling him to live, and no matter how inadequate or unqualified to do this work he might have felt, Peter is God’s beloved child. No matter how terrified, inadequate, or unqualified we might feel about coming down from the mountaintop and living out our call in the valley alongside those most vulnerable and marginalized, we are God’s beloved children, as well.
But the voice in the cloud does not end there.
“This is my Beloved Son,” the voice calls out. “Listen to him.”
When Peter saw Jesus in a new light, he was quick to speak. To give his two cents. To find a quick fix for the situation and for his fears.
And to be quite honest, aren’t we all quick to speak and slow to listen?
But the voice from the cloud calls on Peter to listen first.
You see, when we see Jesus in a new light, we are not just immediately transformed. This is a process and it requires a lot of listening and a lot of self-reflecting. We must be slow to speak and quick to listen. We must listen to God. Listen to our neighbors. Listen to ourselves.
I love what Mother Teresa told CBS anchor Dan Rather when he asked her what she said during her prayers. She answered: “I listen.” And when Dan asked her: “Well then, what does God say?” she smiled and answered: “He listens.”
It might seem strange that this morning we are on the mountaintop for Jesus’ transfiguration – which takes place toward the end of his public ministry – and then next week we go back to Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness – before Jesus’ ministry even begins. And yet, I think it makes sense that we are on the mountaintop this morning before we begin our Lenten journey through the wilderness this Wednesday.
Because I think this is similar to real life. Isn’t life often like a roller-coaster ride, bringing us from the mountaintop right down to the valley and into the wilderness and then on toward the cross before we can experience the resurrection… just before the roller-coaster ride begins again.
The disciples needed the mountaintop in order to see things more clearly before they followed Jesus toward the cross and onto what came next. They needed this as a holy place to begin their journey of transformation.
And so do we.
As Thomas Jay Oord wrote in his commentary on this text in the Christian Century magazine this week: “Mountains can bring us to attention. Sometimes we need to be atop a mountain to remember our reason for the journey. Mountains can give us the novel perspective we need to make sense of things; they can renew us. And sometimes only atop a mountain – after a grueling hike, with an aching body, oxygen-starved lungs, and sweat-drenced skin- can we truly hear the voice of wisdom: ‘this is my beloved son. Listen to him.’”
So this Lent, as we take this journey down from the mountaintop and into the wilderness, may we open our hearts to being transformed. May we choose to do this holy work of listening.
Today I’m writing over at Youth Specialties. (This was first posted at conversationsonthefridge.com.)
“Our silence tells our youth and families that the racist statements and beliefs of the President are normal, are true, and thus can be continued.
Our silence tells our youth of color and their families that not only are they not valued by their country and many of their country’s leaders, but that they are also not valued by us, by the Church, or even by God.
Our silence tells all of our youth and families that some people – based on skin color and/or country of origin – are superior to others.”
Click here to read the rest.
Today I’m blogging over at conversationsonthefringe.com:
“And as leaders in the church who work with youth, as Christians, and as members of the human race, we have a responsibility to call out racist stereotypes, words, actions, and beliefs for what they are and to denounce them… even and especially if they are carried out by our national leaders. When we do so, we begin to model for our youth how they – too – can and should call out and shut down stereotypes and racist remarks and actions, no matter whom the person is that is behaving in such a manner.
This is not a partisan issue. This is not about a political party or a particular politician. This is about the evil and harmful sins of racism and white supremacy. And they must be shut down.”
You can read the rest of the post here.
“Now concerning the times and the seasons, brothers and sisters, you do not need to have anything written to you. For you yourselves know very well that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. When they say, “There is peace and security,” then sudden destruction will come upon them, as labor pains come upon a pregnant woman, and there will be no escape! But you, beloved, are not in darkness, for that day to surprise you like a thief; for you are all children of light and children of the day; we are not of the night or of darkness.
So then let us not fall asleep as others do, but let us keep awake and be sober; for those who sleep sleep at night, and those who are drunk get drunk at night. But since we belong to the day, let us be sober, and put on the breastplate of faith and love, and for a helmet the hope of salvation. For God has destined us not for wrath but for obtaining salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for us, so that whether we are awake or asleep we may live with him.
Therefore encourage one another and build up each other, as indeed you are doing.”
– 1 Thessalonians 5:1-11
In the movie “Wide Awake,” there is a 10 year-old boy named Joshua whose beloved grandfather had recently suffered from bone cancer and passed away. Throughout the movie, Joshua has flashbacks of times he spent with his grandfather. One of the most touching flashbacks is when Joshua tells his dying grandfather through tears that he is scared, and when Joshua fearfully asks his grandfather if he, too, is scared, his grandfather replies, “You know I’ll be alright because God will take care of me.”
Yet, after his grandfather passes away, Joshua struggles to find interest in his school and friends, and his parents have to drag him out of bed every morning and encourage him to have some fun. We later find out that Joshua fears that his grandfather is not – indeed – alright. That maybe there is not in fact a God who will take care of him.
Fear had gotten the best of Joshua. And throughout the beginning of the movie, fear consumes him and keeps him from experiencing the joys in the people and the world around him.
I think this is at the heart of the situation that Paul is addressing in his first letter to the Thessalonians. You see, these early Christ-followers in Thessalonica had a lot to fear. They had only recently become converts to this new faith movement. And, yet, it is not too long after Paul begins his ministry with them, that he and other leaders start to face severe persecution for teaching about a Messiah who would save God’s people from the oppressive Empire. And soon Paul and the other leaders are kicked out of the city, leaving these early Christ-followers to fend for themselves.
These new Christ-followers are scared. Scared for the safety of their new friends. Scared for their own lives. Scared for their future.
Scared that maybe Paul had gotten it all wrong.
Because if Paul was right about this Jesus being the Son of God, the Messiah – the one who is supposed to come and bring them salvation – then why on earth were they facing persecution for following him? And if Paul was right about this Jesus who is supposed to return again and deliver them from death, then why hadn’t Jesus returned before some of their friends and relatives had already died? What would happen to those deceased friends and family now? Would they be left behind when Jesus comes again?
I think this is an unwanted feeling that many of us know too well today… Especially in times like these.
And fear is a natural human feeling.
One that even Paul, Silas, and many of the early Christians most likely felt numerous times. One that even Jesus felt and so honestly expressed while hanging from the cross as he cried out to God before taking his final breath.
We are not alone when we experience feelings of fear.
And fear is a normal human feeling that can guide us in making important choices and taking safety measures when needed.
And yet while this is true, I think we also need to be careful about how much power we allow our fears to have. Because in times like these, it can be incredibly easy to allow our fears to consume us and to take over our lives. Our fears can drag us down into the dark – where we become blind to the needs of those around us. These fears can transform us into being people of the night – as Paul explains in Thessalonians – rather than of the day, where we spend most of our time asleep with our eyes shut to the joys and the beauty in our world.
And this is where I think Gandhi is right in saying that “the enemy is fear. We think it is hate; but it is fear.”
I think fear can become our enemy when – in times like these – we allow our fears to have power over us. When our fears of failure, change, or the unknown future hold us back from taking chances. Or when our fears of loneliness and rejection hold us back from opening ourselves up to new relationships or publicly standing up against injustices. When we allow our fears about our children’s safety to keep us from letting them try new things and grow up as unique individuals. When our fear that we might not have enough keeps us – as individuals or as a church – from giving to those in need around us. Or when our fears of the “other” blind us so that we don’t see and experience the image of God in our siblings who may appear to be different from us.
I think that while fear is incredibly human, it becomes our enemy when we allow our fears to keep us from actually living.
And so Paul compassionately reassures the Thessalonian Christ-followers that they need not be consumed by fear.
And Paul’s pastoral words to the Thessalonians are also words for us today. Just before our passage today, Paul explains that we must not be uninformed about those who have died and we must not grieve the loss of our loved-ones as others do who have no hope. For we can be assured that “through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have died.” When Jesus returns, these beloved ones will not be left behind. For just as Jesus died and resurrected from the dead – so too shall those who have died, be raised from the dead when Jesus comes again. And – as Paul says – for those of us who are alive at Jesus’ return, we – too – will join with those who are already deceased to meet and be with Christ forever.
And this is why we can boldly proclaim with hope the words we confess every week: Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.
Therefore, Paul urges us: “Encourage one another with these words.”
Paul then provides further encouragement in our passage for today.
“Now regarding the times and the seasons,” Paul says, “we will not know the time Jesus will return again. It will happen quickly – when we least expect it – like when a woman’s labor pains suddenly kick in or when a thief appears in the middle of the night.”
However, we must not live without hope and consumed in fear. For – we are not asleep, we are not dead – Paul reminds us. We are not children of the dark, children of the night, where our eyes remain closed to our neighbors needs, the world’s injustices, or to the joys and beauty that surround us. Rather, we are children of the light, children of the day.
“Therefore, let us not fall asleep, as others do,” Paul urges us. “Keep awake.”
Now, you may be wondering what happened to Joshua in the movie Wide Awake. After a while, he finally announces one day that he is going to go on a mission to look for God to make sure his grandpa is okay. And so throughout the rest of the movie, Joshua goes in search for God. And while on his journey, Joshua begins to find some joy through his friends and a new adolescent crush and relationship, whose name – of course – is none other than Hope.
And he eventually gains empathy for those whom he had least expected, including the not-so-popular annoying kid who longs for attention and the class bully that Joshua later realizes is using his aggression to cover his own insecurities and struggles at home. By the end of the movie, Joshua is able to get out of bed easily, have fun with his friends, and find joys in the world around him. And he finally comes to the conclusion that his grandfather is okay because Joshua had found God. Because God had, indeed, been present in the little things in life, through the people he had encountered, and through the empathy and compassion he had shared with others.
At the end of the movie, Joshua explains this as he reads a poem he wrote in class: “I spent this year looking for something, and ended up seeing everything around me. It’s like I was asleep. I’m wide awake now.”
I think this is sort of what Paul is talking about in his letter to the Thessalonians when he encourages his readers to live as children of the day. For – Paul says – we can hold onto the hope that God has not destined for us wrath, but rather God has destined for us salvation through Jesus Christ. A salvation that comes through and because of our Messiah, our loving Lord and Savior, who died for each one of us, so that we might live with him. That not only will we live with God for eternity after we pass on from this world, but that we might also live with and experience God – in the here and now – as we are awake and alive in this world today.
It is for this reason that Paul urges us to be not afraid. To shield our hearts with faith and love. To protect our minds with the hope of salvation that we have in the promise of Jesus, who died for us so that we might live.
So let us choose to live. To remain wide awake to what’s happening in the world around us.
Let us choose hope over fear.
And therefore, as Paul says, encourage one another and build up each other, as indeed you are already doing.
500 years ago today, a monk named Martin Luther publicly protested systemic injustice within the Church. That day, he nailed 95 theses protesting the selling of indulgences – which particularly oppressed the poor and those most vulnerable – to the church doors of the Wittenberg Castle. This act eventually led to reform within the Church (with a capital C).
On this 500th anniversary of the Reformation, I both celebrate and confess/grieve.
I celebrate the resistance and reforms of past and present reformers that have and continue to free people from injustice and move our Church and society forward.
At the same time, I confess and grieve the divisions and violence that have taken place within the Church since the Reformation. Something we tend to forget is that Luther did not intend to create new Church denominations… He was resisting oppressive Church systems and only sought to reform the Church. (Yet, he – too – was definitely not perfect, made a lot of mistakes, and had a lot of his own horrific prejudices. So I grieve these, today, as well.)
The Reformation 500 reminds us that the Church was being reformed 500 years ago and is always being reformed, and it reminds us of our call – as Christians – to join the past and present reformers of the Church and society in this holy resistance and reformation work.
One thing I have loved about the commemoration of the 500th anniversary of the Reformation is the strengthening of the Lutheran and Catholic collaboration efforts (which have been going on for many years). Today, I celebrate the commitment our churches are making toward healing past divisions and hurts and toward a more ecumenical united Church.
Tonight at Holy Name Roman Catholic Cathedral in Chicago the ELCA Metro-Chicago Synod Bishop and the Chicago Roman Catholic Archbishop will be co-leading an ecumenical prayer service to commemorate the Reformation together and to renew a covenant between the Chicago Catholic and ELCA churches that was originally signed in 1989.
While I am sad to be missing this powerful prayer service tonight, I am grateful I get to celebrate and renew my commitment to joining so many others in this continuous re-forming of the Church and society with friends/colleagues on our annual new pastor’s retreat.
(And yes, I think these t’s and German & Abbey beer are perfect for the occasion!)
If anyone else has reason to be confident in the flesh, I have more: circumcised on the eighth day, a member of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew born of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law, blameless.Yet whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ. More than that, I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ
and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but one that comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God based on faith. I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death, if somehow I may attain the resurrection from the dead. Not that I have already obtained this or have already reached the goal; but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Beloved, I do not consider that I have made it my own; but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.
Let those of us then who are mature be of the same mind; and if you think differently about anything, this too God will reveal to you. Only let us hold fast to what we have attained.
Brothers and sisters, join in imitating me, and observe those who live according to the example you have in us. For many live as enemies of the cross of Christ; I have often told you of them, and now I tell you even with tears. Their end is destruction; their god is the belly; and their glory is in their shame; their minds are set on earthly things. But our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself.” – Philippians 3:4b-14
This August, I took 24 youth to Dubuque, IA for our third mission/service and learning trip. We had so many wonderful experiences, and I really hope you will stop by founders hall today after worship to watch a slide show from our trip.
Every year we’ve had wonderful experiences in Iowa. However, the first year we went – several years ago, there was one experience that was not as wonderful as the rest.
While in Dubuque, we went to the local YMCA to shower each day after our service projects. At the Y, there was one locker room for girls under 18 years old and one locker room for women above 18. Unfortunately, the girl’s locker room did not have any enclosed showers with doors on them and only had one large open, shared shower. Since I knew this would not be a very comfortable situation for our girls, I asked the manager months in advance if he would allow our girls to shower in the women’s locker room under my supervision so that they could access the private individual showers that were enclosed with walls and doors. The manager had no problem with this. Unfortunately, while we were in Iowa, two of the women in the locker room did… And what was even more unfortunate was that the manager who gave us permission was out of town that week…
Let’s just say that those two women were not very kind to our girls when they walked out of the showers… Or to me, (or to the rest of the YMCA staff) when they explained to these women that we had received permission because the Y was our only access to showers for the week… (Might I add that these same women were also not very kind to one of our other adult women chaperones when she accidentally dripped some water on the locker room floor when she walked into the locker room from the pool.)
In my conversation with these women, I heard a lot of: “this is the way we have always done it.” “I’ve been a member here for 22 years and it’s my right to be able to come to my locker room without having people like you break the rules.” And “I don’t care if you got permission, this is the rule, and if you don’t like it, then you can leave.”
After talking with the YMCA staff and a few other members later on in the week, we found out that we were not the only ones these women had been snippy with or had thrown a fit about… for various reasons…
These two women were long-term members, had established a set of “rules” – both written and unwritten – about the way things needed to be, and they believed that they had the right to enforce those rules because of their seniority. Newcomers and visitors needed to abide by their rules, and there were no exceptions. Period.
Privilege, entitlement, judgment, closed-mindedness, exclusion. These are some of the themes we see in this scenario that took place at the YMCA several years ago. And to be honest, I think these are some of the themes we see quite a bit today as our country is trying to determine who is welcome to live in this country, who gets to receive needed services and has particular rights, which victims of natural disasters should receive aid, who and how people should speak up against injustice, and how we might address local gun violence and world violence. And the list could go on.
And this scenario at the YMCA also reminds me of the situation Paul is addressing in his letter to the Philippian church. You see, the city of Philippi was in the center of Macedonia, and yet since it was considered a colony of the Roman Empire, all residents had Roman citizenship and therefore received the benefits that were awarded to the citizens of Rome, such as property rights, exemption from taxes that were enforced upon non-citizens of Rome, and civil and legal protections. Because of this, most citizens of Philippi were very proud of their Roman citizenship, viewed themselves as the elite residents of the preeminent city in the center of Macedonia, and often boasted about their status.
In addition to this, as with a few other churches Paul communicated with, within the church at Philippi there were some Christians who were insisting that any converts to Christianity must first take on the Jewish identity, such as observing the Jewish Sabbath and dietary laws and being circumcised, a practice that was viewed by many Greeks as revolting. In some instances where non-Jewish Christians did not observe such laws and chose not to be circumcised, they were deemed as “un-savable,” inferior to those who were “saved,” and were even excluded from meals and other gatherings. (Acts 15:1)
So, as we can see, the members of the church of Philippi inherited privileges (that many other Christians in Macedonia lacked) and were proud because these privileges elevated their social status above the others. And it is possible that they were using some of those privileges to exclude others from their community, unless these “others” first gave up their own identities and became like “one of them.”
Now, I can imagine many of us here have encountered modern-day prideful Philippians at least at one point in our lives. I imagine many of us at one time or another have known someone who has been excluded from a group or discriminated against because of their identities or lack of societal status — or some of us have even experienced this ourselves.
And yet, I wonder if any of us here can also see ourselves in the Philippian Christians. I wonder if we – too – have inherited privileges that allow us to enjoy benefits and opportunities that others around us cannot enjoy: Whether we benefit from the privileges of being white, male, Christian, heterosexual, cis-gender, or having socially accepted body weight and abilities – where we have never felt unsafe, been shamed by others, or discriminated against because of our identities or abilities. Or maybe we benefit from the privileges of being educated, employed, economically stable, or a U.S. citizen, where we are granted the rights of these statuses and never have to worry about putting food on our tables, losing our homes, or being deported back to very dangerous situations.
And within the church, some of us may even have the privilege of growing up in a Christian congregation and knowing the Christian lingo, being involved in the Lutheran denomination for as long as we can remember and knowing its rituals, or even worshipping here at Immanuel Lutheran Church for years and knowing its expectations and unwritten rules that newcomers do not know.
We might even sometimes expect that those newcomers must also act, talk, dress, worship, and think like we do in order for them to be fully included into our community or worship gathering.
And there may be some of us here who know what it is like to work really hard throughout our education process and our careers, are involved in our communities, and are pleased at how far we have come. And so it’s no wonder that there might be times when we feel so proud about our resumes and status that we can’t help but boast about our achievements.
It’s easy and very tempting when things go well in our lives to look at ourselves as better than those whose situations are not like our own and to look at those “others” with judgment… They are “lazy” or “not smart enough”; she has “poor leadership;” she isn’t making the “right” choices; he isn’t standing up for just causes in a “respectable” way, the way I would – we might think or say. And so we victim blame. They got themselves into these difficult situations. And as we point fingers at those people while we uplift our own choices, we often do so without recognizing our own inherited privileges – that so many others lack – and yet that have enabled us (maybe even with a lot of hard work) to get to where we are now.
And yet, for Paul, there is no room for finger pointing and boasting. No matter how impressive one’s resume or achievements are, no matter what community or “club” one is a member – or citizen – of, and no matter if one makes all sorts of the “right choices” (based on certain people’s standards) that have gotten that person to a comfortable and elevated place in society– according to Paul, this all counts for nothing.
Of all people, Paul knows this. At the beginning of our passage, Paul states that if anyone has the right to have confidence in the flesh (meaning confidence in one’s circumcision or Jewish identity markers, human achievements, or societal status) – if anyone has the right to be prideful of and boast about such things – it is Paul, himself, who has more. For it is Paul who has quite the extensive resume, as we see in our passage for today.
And yet, in his letter to the Philippians, Paul acknowledges his privilege that enabled him to reach such a worldly status and says whatever societal and religious “gains” he once had, he now regards as loss because of Christ. These “gains” no longer matter. They are rubbish, or in a more accurate translation and more crude terms: they are dung, horse manure… or whatever other four letter word that comes to your mind.
Contrary to his old understanding, Paul has not gained righteousness by making the “right choices” determined by the law that elevated his worldly status. Righteousness does not come from anything he has done to achieve it. Rather, Paul says: righteousness comes through faith in Christ – or, as some translators suggest: it comes through “the faithfulness of Christ.”
In other words, righteousness comes through the faith in or faithfulness of the One who came to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the captives, give sight to the blind, and set the oppressed free. It comes through and because of the One who spoke out against all forms of violence and challenged the unjust hierarchical structures – both in Rome and the Temple – that created class systems of privilege, which elevated and cared for only some while marginalizing others. Righteousness comes through and because of the One who boldly and loudly proclaimed justice on behalf of the “least of these,” even though his radical teachings and actions ultimately led him to his arrest and eventual death on the cross. It comes through and because of the One who – through his resurrection – conquers injustice and death and brings forth new life, which is both that which is to come and that which liberates us from all the hate – the isms and phobias – that cause us to experience death here and now.
Righteousness comes through the One who calls all of his followers to choose this resurrection life that proclaims love, peace, and life-giving justice for all of God’s children, especially in a world where evil and suffering seem to overcome us. Because – as we see in Jesus’ resurrection – death does not have the final say. And we – as resurrection people – are called and gifted with the ability to share this good news of hope to a hurting world.
And so counter to what the world says, it no longer matters what our resume looks like, how much education we might or might not have, what our heritage, identity, or worldly status is, how long we have been in or out of the faith community, or whether or not we know the Christian lingo and rituals.
In Christ and because of Christ, we are all invited to the Table.
Now – according to Paul – what does matter is the way we live. And the way we love. That we become like Christ in his death. That we come to know him and be transformed by his compassion and the power of his resurrection – and in doing so – that we might emulate and share that love to all of God’s children, especially to those who are suffering the most.
What does matter is that we continue to learn about and acknowledge our privileges that have helped us get to where we are today and allow that acknowledgement of our privilege shape the way we look at, care for, love and stand in solidarity with others who walk through this world differently than we do. That we begin to listen to those voices around us that are not being heard or represented. That we begin to use our privilege to help right wrongs so that Christ’s liberating resurrection may not just be experienced in the future, but that it will also begin to be experienced by all in the here and now.
This is not an easy task, and we cannot just reach our goal with the snap of our fingers. It’s a process. It’s a life-long race that we cannot run on our own: it’s one we must pursue together.
And as we do, we must remember – as Paul explains – that we may never quite reach the finish line and obtain the prize at the end of the race. But, as we continue to learn how to take our eyes off the worldly values of our past, learn from our mistakes when we stumble or fall off the path, and let go of the guilt that sometimes weighs us down when we begin to acknowledge our privilege, we must press on toward the goal of the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.
And this is true – even and especially in times such as these – when evil and injustice overwhelm us and we feel so overcome by hopelessness and helplessness. And so in times such as these, may we sing and cling to the words of the late rocker Tom Petty: “Well, I won’t back down. You can stand me up at the gates of hell, but I won’t back down. No, I’ll stand my ground. Won’t be turned around. And I’ll keep this world from draggin me down, gonna stand my ground. Hey, there ain’t no easy way out. But I won’t back down. Well I know what’s right. I got just one life, in a world that keeps on pushin me around, but I’ll stand my ground. And I won’t back down.”