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Delusions of the wealthy and the poor

June 12, 2018 0 Comments

Wealth is a seducer. Jesus believes we are in danger of barrenness when we are taken in by its false promises and premises. He says in the parable of the soils,  “16Others, like seed sown on rocky places, hear the word and at once receive it with joy.17But since they have no root, they last only a short time. When trouble or persecution comes because of the word, they quickly fall away.18Still others, like seed sown among thorns, hear the word;19but the worries of this life, the deceitfulness of wealth and the desires for other things come in and choke the word, making it unfruitful.’  (Mark 4:17-19)

I live in a city of great wealth and conspicuous consumption. At times I sense our barrenness. The poverty of soul reveals itself in shallow conversations, narrow fields of self-interest, and sickly love for our neighbours. Our materialism abandons the divine dimension of our relationship; in fact our minds are so hardened by the pursuit of material conquests that we cannot conceive of the Creator nor discern whether He has a first-right calling on us.

I find a slow reading of Psalm 49 gives perspective.

Psalm 49

 

1Hear this, all you peoples;

listen, all who live in this world,

2both low and high,

rich and poor alike:

3My mouth will speak words of wisdom;

the meditation of my heart will give you understanding.

4I will turn my ear to a proverb;

with the harp I will expound my riddle:

 

5Why should I fear when evil days come,

when wicked deceivers surround me—

6those who trust in their wealth

and boast of their great riches?

7No one can redeem the life of another

or give to God a ransom for them—

8the ransom for a life is costly,

no payment is ever enough—

9so that they should live on forever

and not see decay.

10For all can see that the wise die,

that the foolish and the senseless also perish,

leaving their wealth to others.

11Their tombs will remain their houses forever,

their dwellings for endless generations,

though they had named lands after themselves.

12People, despite their wealth, do not endure;

they are like the beasts that perish.

13This is the fate of those who trust in themselves,

and of their followers, who approve their sayings.

14They are like sheep and are destined to die;

death will be their shepherd

(but the upright will prevail over them in the morning).

Their forms will decay in the grave,

far from their princely mansions.

 

15But God will redeem me from the realm of the dead;

he will surely take me to himself.

 

16Do not be overawed when others grow rich,

when the splendor of their houses increases;

17for they will take nothing with them when they die,

their splendor will not descend with them.

18Though while they live they count themselves blessed—

and people praise you when you prosper—

19they will join those who have gone before them,

who will never again see the light of life.

 

20People who have wealth but lack understanding

are like the beasts that perish.

Discipleship

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Institutional Amnesia and the Justification of Dominance

June 7, 2018 0 Comments

Genesis exists because of Exodus. 

 

We might not observe this readily as our minds are captured by the chronology of the Bible as “the books” have been arranged. But, with a bit of reflection you may arrive at the same conclusion. Genesis exists because of Exodus. 

 

The redemptive work of God forming a people as His own reveals Him as Creator and the One who has ultimate claim on the lives of men and women created in His image. 

 

As I read the first five books of the Bible, the gift of the Torah, is God’s gift after His redemptive work displayed through the exodus of Israel from Egypt. The work of the Exodus pre-dates the revelation of the Torah but not the work of God.

 

Even as the Church we must not forget that the substance of our faith resides in the redemptive work of God through Jesus Christ in a body, from this people, on a cross, and in a grave, to form a people from the nations as His own. He endured the cross “for the joy set before Him.” (Hebrews 12:1-2)

 

Exodus begins with power and its institution nurturing amnesia.

 

“Then a new king, to whom Joseph meant nothing, came to power in Egypt.” Exodus 1:6

 

This new king, a pharaoh, systematically begins to dismantle the worth and the place in society held by the descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Just as Joseph meant nothing to him, the people of Israel, would mean nothing to him unless they served as cheap labour, for his projects, and for the projection of his dominance. He needed them around so he could show his greatness. The Pharaoh needed Egypt to forget that these Israelites were persons. In fact, Egypt would have to forget that the God of Abraham, Issac, and Jacob and Joseph, had organized their own rescue from famine. Indeed they tried to forget, but they could not, so their contempt turned to dread.

 

The pursuit of amnesia is meant to excuse Egypt’s shameful treatment of bodies. This historical amnesia is framed by the pursuit of national security. Egypt might be embarrassed someday to discover that the Israelites had joined with an enemy of Egypt in order to take autonomous action for their own lives. Shame, even the threat of shame, holds in it not only the loss of honour and respect but also the loss of economic security. Pharaoh would not be the first man or the last to exercise language and a “divine edict” in order to justify, not just justify, actually blind others to his quest for greatness.

 

“Look,” he said to his people, “the Israelites have become far too numerous for us. 10Come, we must deal shrewdly with them or they will become even more numerous and, if war breaks out, will join our enemies, fight against us and leave the country.”

11So they put slave masters over them to oppress them with forced labor, and they built Pithom and Rameses as store cities for Pharaoh. 12But the more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied and spread; so the Egyptians came to dread the Israelites 13and worked them ruthlessly. 14They made their lives bitter with harsh labor in brick and mortar and with all kinds of work in the fields; in all their harsh labor the Egyptians worked them ruthlessly.  Exodus 1:9-14

 

Exodus gives birth to Genesis.

 

The glorious revelation of God as Creator, personally involved with His Creation, is rescued from a sea of forgetfulness. To read Genesis from this side of the Nile is to bask in the light of revelation: every child of ‘Adam and Eve, is of immense and equal worth. To read Exodus with the light of Genesis is to see what extraordinary lengths God will go to free His Creation from death’s domination and its fake promises of life animated by structures that seem so real and so necessary in the ordering of things… and persons.

Institutions that want people to forget are often led by persons who need everyone  to forget their connection to a redemptive past. Why? I believe its because they are plagued by the threat of shame and perhaps anxious about the economic insecurities accompanied by remembering and honouring the redemptive work fully.

Change

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André Trocmé, a genuine protestant

June 5, 2018 0 Comments

Today, 5 June 2018, marks the anniversary of André Trocmé’s death in 1971.

André and his wife Magda, served Jesus in the French village of Le Chambon for fifteen years. During those years of service their village and parish because known as “the republic of Le Chambon” because of their persistent resistance to the Nazi violence against Jewish people. It is estimated that over 2500 people found safe refuge through their village, as the villagers took seriously their calling to be a city of refuge,” a sanctuary.

 

André was equally concerned for the victims and the perpatrators of violence. Jesus had arrested André’s anger and channeled his passions through deep convictions regarding the sanctity of life and the great value of a soul evidenced through the Cross of Christ. But still, André Trocmé was known as a “dangerous pastor.” Author Phillip Haille, opens a window on the struggle André and the village of Le Chambon faced:

World War II, between the Axis and the Allies, was a public phenomenon; military, journalistic, and governmental reporters made it abundantly available to the public. It impressed itself powerfully and deeply upon the minds of mankind, both during and after the war. The metaphors that descried it have a flamboyant cast: the war itself was a “world war,” with many “heroes”; there were “theaters of war,” and soldiers who participated in major “campaigns” received “battle stars.”

 

No such language applies to what happened in Le Chambon. In fact, words like “war” are inappropriate to describe it, and so are words like “theater,” While the story of Le Chambon was unfolding, it was being recorded nowhere. What was happening was clandestine because the people of Le Chambon had no military power comparable to that of the Nazis occupying force, or comparable to that of the Nazi conquerors. If they had tried to confront their opponents publicly, there would have been no contest, only immediate and total defeat. Secrecy, not military power, was their weapon.

 

The struggle in Le Chambon began and ended in the privacy of people’s homes. Decisions that were turning points in that struggle took place in kitchens, and not with male leaders as the only decision-makers, but often with women centrally involved. A kitchen is a private, intimate place; in it there are no uniforms, no buttons or badges symbolizing public duty or public support. In the kitchen of a modest home only a few people are involved. In Le Chambon only the lives of a few thousand people were changed, compared to the scores of millions of human lives directly affected by the large events of World War II.

 

The “kitchen struggle” of Le Chambon resembles rather closely a certain kind of conflict that grew more and more widespread as the years of the Occupation passed….

 

But the people of Le Chambon whom Pastor Andé Trocmé led into a quiet struggle against Vichy and the Nazis were not fighting for the liberation of their country or their village. They felt little loyalty to governments. Their actions did not serve the self-interest of the little commune of Le Chambon-sur-Lignon in the department of Haute-Loire, southern France. On the contrary, those actions flew in the face of that self-interest: by resisting a power far greater than their own they put their village in grave danger of massacre, especially in the last two years of the Occupation, when the Germans were growing desperate. Under the guidance of a spiritual leader they were trying to act in accord with their consciences in the very middle of a bloody, hate-filled war.

 

And what this meant for them was nonviolence. Following their consciences meant refusing to hate or kill any human being. And in this lies their deepest difference from the other aspect of Word War II. Human life was too precious to them to be taken for any reason, glorious and vast though that reason might be. Their consciences told them to save as many lives as they could, even if doing this meant endangering the lives of all the villagers; and they obeyed their consciences.

 

Lest Innocent Blood Be Shed: The story of the village of Le Chambon and how goodness happened there. Philip Hallie, 1979.

Both André and Magda Trocmé and their nephew Daniel Trocmé have been included by Yad Vashem as the Righteous among the Nations. As well the whole village of Le Chambon has been honoured by Yad Vashem, only the second whole community to be honoured in this way.

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Leadership

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Prayer Resistance

June 4, 2018 0 Comments

Why is my soul so resistant to the Lord when I come to pray?

Here’s a clue from Henri Nouwen:

The resistance to praying is like the resistance of tightly clenched fists. This image shows the tension, the desire to cling tightly to yourself, a greediness which betrays fear. The story about an old woman brought to a psychiatric center exemplifies this attitude. She was wild, swinging at everything in sight, and scaring everything away from her. But there was one small coin which she gripped in her fist and would not give up. In fact, it took two men to pry open that squeezed hand. It was as though she would lose her very self along with the coin. That was her fear.

The man invited to pray is asked to open his tightly clenched fists and to give up his last coin. But who wants to do that? A first prayer, therefore, is often a painful prayer, because you discover you don’t want to let go. You hold fast to what is familiar, even if you aren’t proud of it. You find yourself saying, “That’s just how it is with me. I would like it to be different, but it can’t be now.” Once you talk like that, you’ve already given up the belief that your life might be otherwise; you’ve already let the hope for a new life float by. Since you wouldn’t dare to put a question mark behind a bit of your own experience with all its attachments, you have wrapped yourself up in the destiny of facts. You feel it is safer to cling to a sorry past than to trust in a new future. So you fill your hands with small clammy coins which you don’t want to surrender.

You still feel jealous of the fellow who is better paid than you are, you still want revenge on someone who doesn’t respect you, you are still disappointed that you’ve received no letter, still angry because she didn’t smile when you walked by. You live through it, you live along with it as though it didn’t really bother you … until the moment that you want to pray. Then everything returns: the bitterness, the hate, the jealousy, the disappointment and the desire for revenge. But these feelings are not just there; you clutch them in your hands as if they were treasures you didn’t want to part with. You sit rummaging in all that old sourness as if you couldn’t do without it, as if in giving it up, you would lose your very self.

Discipleship, Prayer

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Compassion as radical criticism

May 23, 2018 0 Comments

 

 

 

 

 

Walter Bruggeman on the compassion of Jesus.

Jesus in his solidarity with the marginal ones is moved to compassion. Compassion constitutes a radical form of criticism, for it announces that the hurt is to be taken seriously, that the hurt is not to be accepted as normal and natural but is an abnormal and unacceptable condition for humanness. In the arrangement of “lawfulness” in Jesus’ time, as in the ancient empower of Pharaoh, the one unpermitted quality of relation was compassion. Empires are never built or maintained on the basis of compassion. The norms of law (social control) are never accommodated to persons, but person are accommodated to the norms. Otherwise the norms will collapse and with them the whole power arrangement. Thus the compassion of Jesus is to be understood not simply as a personal emotional reaction but as a public criticism in which he dares to act upon his concern against the entire numbness of his social context. Empires live by numbness. Empires, in their militarism, expect numbness about the human cost of war. Corporate economies expect blindness to the cost in terms of poverty and exploitation. Governments and societies of domination go to great lengths to keep the numbness intact. Jesus penetrates the numbness by his compassion and with his compassion takes the first step by making visible the odd abnormality that had become business as usual. Thus compassion that might be seen simply as generous goodwill is in fact criticism of the system, forces, and ideologies that produce the hurt. Jesus enters into the hurt and finally comes to embody it.

 

Walter Brueggemann, The Prophetic Imagination, Second Edition, 2001.

Leadership

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