we have blood on our hands

a meditation for 09/11/2018

scripture

Old Testament Reading: Lamentations 3:22-51

Reading from the Psalms: Psalm 51: 1-6, 10-12, 15-19

New Testament Reading: Romans 12:9-21

prayer

Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be pleasing to you, oh God, our Rock and our Redeemer.

on that day

I had just finished teaching my first class of the day — eighth grade math — and wandered next door to say good morning to Laurie, my colleague and the history and 7th grade homeroom teacher at the tiny Catholic school where we worked. She was on the phone, which was unusual for that time of day, and suddenly clambered around desks and over a table to turn the television on. A skyscraper was on fire. Before either of us could process what was going on, an airplane crashed into an adjacent building. You’ve all probably seen the footage by now: smoke, flames, mangled steel; and perhaps the muscle memory in your abdomen can summon the clench and the nausea and the horrified disbelief that clawed on our spirits when the towers collapsed on themselves, burying thousands of victims.

It wasn’t just New York, of course, there was a plane that crashed through a wall of the Pentagon, and another headed that way which was diverted by its brave passengers, and crashed in a field in Pennsylvania. My brother had been scheduled to work in the Pentagon that day, but like so many others, something prevented him from arriving at his destination in a timely fashion. It was a very long day waiting to hear the news that, no, he wasn’t there, and yes, he was safe.

Our Romans scripture says “Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God.”

What happened on September 11, 2001, was tragic, but let us create space for the thought that the events that led up to the terrorist response and and things that happened as a result of September 11 are equally as tragic and painful to God.

****

One of the questions that was voiced frequently in the time following the attack on the Twin Towers and the Pentagon was, “Why would anyone do this to us?” I admit that back in 2001, I didn’t know the answer to that question. It was about five years ago that I began to learn about the way United States foreign policy, and overt actions from our government impacted the Middle East and surrounding areas, and realized that the bed we have made for ourselves as a nation is a dangerous one with blood-stained sheets.

And it’s not just the United States that has been violent and othering. Christianity itself adopted the sword as its venerated symbol when Constantine had his miraculous vision the night before the Battle of Milvian Bridge. Slash and burn doesn’t sound much like “Vengeance is mine, says the Lord.”

Pastor Brian McClaren was quoted in a book we read for Kairos class. He said,

“Instead of a gold-plated, bejeweled spear-cross with the words “Threaten and kill by this,” imagine that Constantine had seen a vision of a basin and a towel with the words, “Serve by this,” or a vision of a simple table of bread and wine with “Reconcile by this,” or a vision of Christ’s outstretched arms with “Embrace by this,” or a vision of the birds of the air and the flowers of the field with “Trust like this,” or a vision of a mother hen gathering her chicks with “Love like this,” or a vision of a dove descending from heaven with the words, “Be as kind as this.” But it was not so.”

It was not so.

blood on our hands

In this country, it has always been more important to own land than it has been to give to the least of these. It was more important to be capitalist than it was to free the enslaved.   It was more important for white women to get the vote than it was to get the Civil Rights Act passed. It is more important to be a patriot than it is to closely read history and think critically about how the United States has engaged the world.

It was more important to hang our flag on the oil rigs out in the Iraqi desert than it was to take the time to learn that the country the West named Iraq was really composed of three distinct people groups who did not all reside within the border we drew due to their nomadic culture.

In this country it was more important to one-up the Soviet Union in Afghanistan by enlisting the help of a Saudi businessman than it was to embrace or reconcile. It was more important to cast aside the Afghani people, Afghanistan, the mujahideen, and the businessman and pursue better opportunities than it was to make a legitimate effort to stabilize the area. It was more important to fuel the war machines than it was to cultivate peace.

Allan Aubrey Boesak tagged a thought to McClaren’s:

Indeed, I would add just one thing. Imagine that Constantine, having seen all of the above, had a vision of Jesus on the cross, overcoming the power of violence and domination and death with the power and of love and servanthood and sacrifice, with the words, ‘Resist by this.’

The United States of America has blood on its hands. We most certainly have the blood of our own people on our own hands. This blood is the blood of Native people, of the enslaved. It is the blood of the British, the French, the Germans, the Dutch, the Russians, the Lebanese, the Saudis, the Iraqis, the citizens of Iran, the Armenians, the Kurds, the Palestinians, the Syrians, the Yemeni, the Yazidis. And that is not a complete list. According to the Googles, there are 195 countries in the world today, and I think we would be hard pressed to name one that we haven’t soiled, directly or indirectly.

 Resist by this.Image result for picture of a person standing with arms extended out to the side

wounded christ

In his book Exclusion and Embrace, scholar Miroslav Volf talks about the way Paul died to his own self, and centered his life on Christ. Volf says, “the self is never without a center; it is always engaged in the production of its own center.” Volf suggests that the self becomes de-centered and re-centered by becoming nailed to the cross in an act of becoming united with Christ. The pain of the nail drives out the attentions, desires, and relationships of the flesh while simultaneously tethering us to Christ. When our lives are constantly being re-centered on Christ, we are making a conscious decision to step back from the world and into unity with Christ.

There is a remarkable essay by Frederick Bauerschmidt called “The Wounds of Christ.” Bauerschmidt says that there is a wound at the very center of creation. The wound of God was created when God renounced being everything in order to create light and dark and land and sea and space out of Godself. Creation is defined by presence, and the wound is the place from which life flows out. He calls this wound “the free place of possibility” because nothing is present in the wound, but anything and everything can happen because of it. The presence of creation tries hard to bandage the wound, to heal it, but applying presence to absence is not a strategy that works. We are creation, and because we flow out of the wound of possibility, we are indeed co-creators in this present world. In our presentness and with our presence, we create other wounds.

Crucifixion was the worst possible death for the worst possible criminal. It was so degrading and horror-filled, that some did not dare to speak of it. But it is critically important to remember that the suffering of the powerless and the enslaved in the moment of that violent death is “a sacrament which bears witness to that form and makes it present.”

Bauerschmidt asks, “What, then, was this wound of Jesus?” How do we understand and respond if the particular wounds of Jesus are so violent, so unthinkable, and so unspeakable?  Mother Julian answers:

With a kindly countenance our good Lord looked into his side, and he gazed with joy, and with his sweet regard he drew his creature’s understanding into his side by the same wound; and there he revealed a fair and delectable place, large enough for all humankind that will be saved and will rest in peace and love. And with that he brought to mind the dear and precious blood and water which he suffered to be shed for love. And in this sweet sight he showed his blessed heart split in two, and as he rejoiced he showed my understanding a part of his blessed divinity, as much as was his will at that time, strengthening my poor soul to understand what can be said, that is the endless love which was without beginning and is and always shall be.

The wound is the blessed, sacred heart of Jesus, split in two, out of which endless love flows. And it is by this wound, and with this sacred, cleansing blood that we are able to once and for all remove these damn spots from our hands and our souls.

It is only by re-centering ourselves by being nailed to the Cross like Jesus that we will be able to begin to transform the world in which justice and injustice, goodness and evil, innocence and guilt, purity and corruption, truth and deception crisscross and intersect. It is only by re-centering ourselves that we can begin to be guided by the recognition that the economy of underserved grace has primacy of the economy of moral deserts. 

When we resist like this *ARMS OUT*, the work of reconciliation should proceed under the assumption that, though the behavior of a person may be judged as deplorable, or even demonic, no one should ever be excluded from the will to embrace, because at the deepest level, the relationship to others does not rest on their moral performance and therefore cannot be undone by the lack of it.

When we become crucified with Christ and re-centered, and when we place our hands in the wounds of Christ, and truly begin to live to God and with God and by God and through God, we create space to lament what has come before, and to plot a new course in history where we actively live the Gospel of Christ: loving our neighbors, standing with the oppressed, and becoming the living embodiment of God’s justice and mercy.


Amen.

debacle

I turned the television to watch the election results at about 8:30 p.m. We are in the Eastern time zone, and I was looking forward to watching Hillary Clinton be declared president. An hour later, my gut told me the election was going the other way, and by 10:00, I knew the results were not going to turn out how I expected.

I thought about the people I know. I live in an extremely red town, in a red county, in a red section of a blue state. I thought about how excited many of my neighbors must be; I thought about the people I love who are not straight and white and Christian. My friends whose marriages may come under attack from a White House where the second in command believes in one-man-one-woman marriage, and advocates for electroshock therapy and conversion therapy to fix the gays. I thought about all the teenagers and twenty-somethings I know who are discovering that who they are is quite different from what their parents believe is good and correct. I thought about the Native people protesting the Dakota Access Pipeline, and the sacrifices they are making on a daily basis. I thought about Ana and the rest of the Buffalo 25, who were arrested in an ICE raid in October.

Wednesday morning I woke up, and saw a message from the parent of a Black son who was assaulted on the school bus by other children, because he was Black and because he was not born in this country. Nobody helped. Nobody stood up for this child. All day long, more and more reports of racist-fueled attacks came out via social media. A colleague of mine got a phone call from their children at school, asking to please be picked up because they were being harassed for their family’s politics. I could link every word in this blog post to separate incidents of hate-fueled crime and not run out of examples.

Last weekend I read that 66% of white women voted for Donald Trump. Sixty-six percent of white women think it is better to have a president who speaks with disdain and disrespect about women, and brags about sexually assaulting women, than it is to have a woman president. I don’t understand this, but as the days slip by I realize that the things I don’t understand are many, and that nothing is every only white or only black. I wonder if what we consider to be white is really a million different shades of grey. Or is it an asymptote? Is the path of things just a curved particularity that get closer and closer to its definition, but never quite gets all the way there, even after it exceeds infinity?

Or are things exactly the opposite? Do they begin near their definition, and then follow a trajectory up and out and away, always recreating, doubling down, becoming caricatures of what they originally were?

Two years ago, our President-Elect tweeted, “Are you allowed to impeach a president for gross incompetence?” and now he is the president, and his list of cabinet appointees is a swamp of incompetence. The latest, education secretary Betsy DeVos, has never taught, has no personal experience with public education, and appears to be a Ken Ham-level science denier. But she’s rich and white and Christian, and has fulfilled the Trump Trifecta.

“Just wait! It will work out! Everything will be fine!” Yes. Everything will be fine for the people who are CHRISTIAN, WEALTHY, and WHITE. If you meet the criteria, you could plug your nose and bury your head in the sand and completely ignore the storm that is brewing in Manhattan. You could come up for air right before the next election.

But hear this. The president-elect is already placing limits on freedom of speech, freedom of the press, and freedom of religion, and he’s not even in office yet. He’s going to make America great again by making sure nobody is around to report on his daily activities, by doubling down on the militarization of police, by closing the gap between Church and State, and by trimming the Bill of Rights. Oh, and so what if it costs a million dollars a day for his wife and child to live in Manhattan from now until June? And so what if he is making money by being the landlord to the Secret Service members who are protecting his family? And so what if he is part owner of the Dakota Access Pipeline, and has a vested interest in completing that project?

So no, I’m not going to get over this. And neither is America.

a confessional lament

Another assignment from my Psalms class.

Oh, Lord, my God
I approach your throne with a heavy heart and tears on my cheeks
You are the protector of the land, you love the people you created.

I repent for my ancestors, who stepped off the Mayflower on to Wampanoag land.
I weep that while they explored, they desecrated a burial ground;
they stole corn buried safely for spring planting.
They extended a hand of smallpox instead of a gesture of peace.

My ancestors took the land, reviled the sacred, and polluted creation.
Greed, and war, and rape, and torture became the standard,
and slowly genocide was enacted.
I am ashamed that my ancestors created reservations.

My people stole their children, discredited their spirituality.
We enforced their poverty, we spend millions of dollars with businesses who
make their living by exploiting caricature,
Exploiting their culture because we are addicted to colonization and power.

And now they rise, and they stand in prayer and we beat them with clubs.
We burn their eyes with gas and spray and force them into kennels.
we shoot them with guns that leave them alive and traumatized.
I repent for my ancestors. I cannot scrub colonizer privilege from my skin.

Creator, they are oppressed, and yet they remain peaceful,
and yet we beat them back, and yet they remain.
Protect the ones who would protect your work.
Protect the ones who love the land you made,
The ones who are your true children, who honor you by honoring your creation.

You have punished armies, ended conflicts.
You take power from oppressors; you restore the oppressed.
You heal the brokenhearted; you set prisoners free.
You bring suffering to those who do not love;
Lord God, make us pay for we know exactly what we do.