You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.

A week after the initial reaction to the capture and killing of Osama bin Laden, I am still pondering the different views and responses reported in the media.

I was troubled to hear of Americans celebrating publicly, as it called to mind how extremists in other countries publicly celebrated attacks on our country and our people. The death of another human being, no matter how evil the acts that human perpetrated in life, is not cause for celebration when we remember that all people are created in the image and likeness of God.  No question, the life that bin Laden lived in no way reflects my understanding of how God calls us to live, and the image of God in bin Laden was greatly distorted, like a mirror that has warped and grown filthy with neglect, so that the image it reflects bears little resemblance to the original. But still. Jesus taught his followers to love their (our) enemies, and I have a hard time believing that he meant we should kill them.

Yes, I understand the political perspective of reducing violence by eliminating a significant source of messages of hate and a coordinator of terrorist activities.  But I don’t feel significantly safer than I did two weeks ago.  Maybe I am blessed to live in ignorance or denial of the threat I was under that has now been “neutralized.” But I keep coming back to how war and the language of war seek to dehumanize the enemy, and end by dehumanizing all of us.  Words like “eliminate” and “neutralize,” words like “operation” and “target” all serve to distance us from the fact that the U.S. kills people who kill people to show that killing people is wrong.

In all of the political rhetoric, I have been particularly intrigued by the use of the word “justice.” President Obama announced that “Justice has been done,” and many others have picked up on this theme. But my question is this: What do you mean by justice? 

If justice is retribution, vengeance, eye for an eye, then how does killing one person balance out the thousands who died on September 11, and the thousands more (military and civilians) who have died in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan?  People like to quote “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” but the meaning of this in the Bible is that it is not up to us humans to take revenge; we are to leave that for God. (It is also worth asking whether this truly is the God in whom we believe, or whether the revelation of God in Jesus Christ leads Christians to a different understanding of who God is since this phrase was originally included in Deuteronomy some 2,500 – 3,000 years ago.)

And if justice is something other than retribution, something more like restoration, then how does taking one life make whole all those who have lost life or limb or a loved one?  This death does not erase any other, nor does it bring back life as it was before 9/11.  For any of us.

As someone who believes that God is both just and merciful, with an emphasis on wanting humans to love one another and care for creation, I do not believe that Osama bin Laden gets off scot-free for having lived a life of hatred and violence.  (My thoughts on the afterlife are a whole different post, but I’m not talking an eternity of torture in a lake of fire here, either.)  But I also feel that my faith perspective would make it extremely difficult for me to be in a position where I had to decide to end someone’s life, not out of my own immediate drive for self-defense, but in a calculated, premeditated way.  If God is just, we ought to tremble for all the violence the U.S. government and military has inflicted on others on our behalf, and for the systemic/structural violence our society perpetuates on the poor, on undocumented immigrants, on African Americans and Native Americans and Muslims and LGBT people.

What is justice?  Can it coexist with violence?  Does a Christian definition of justice require something more than our American political perspective?

May God have mercy on us all.

Holy Saturday: Absence Makes the Heart Ponder

As I sit in my comfortable living room on this late-April Saturday and watch the snow falling on our spring garden, I find myself thinking about absence. About the disciples of Jesus, especially the women, who had seen their friend and teacher violently and shamefully executed and laid in a borrowed tomb.  About that sabbath night and day, how their weekly worship must have been overshadowed by the weight and darkness of what seemed like the end of what they had been hoping for. 

The Apostles’ Creed teaches that between crucifixion and resurrection, Jesus descended to the dead, and tradition says that his purpose was to release the righteous men and women of the Hebrew Scriptures from hell.  But this is one of those doctrines that developed with the benefit of hindsight; Jesus’ friends and followers had little evidence that his death was anything other than a personal and public tragedy.

Today is the time in between.  The rest between musical movements, the blank space between sentences or paragraphs, the empty place in the heart after a loved one’s death.  The old has ended, the new not yet begun – unknown, uncertain, without any guarantee that something will even happen, let alone be better than what was before.  Today is the day when God’s absence seems a very real possibility, when all bets are off, when the old rules and promises and assurances have all been questioned, torn down, unwoven, and nothing has yet been rebuilt in their place.

Holy Saturday is a day for Christians to mourn, to ponder these things in their hearts (as Mary did), to trust in the rhythms of prayer and worship and community even when they feel out of synch with reality.  It is a day for anyone who has rejected what they were taught growing up (whether that is a literal 6-day creation, women as inferior to men, the idea that homosexuality is incompatible with Christian teaching, or the idea that Jesus died because God was angry about sin) but hasn’t yet figured out what the life-giving alternatives are.  It is a day for anyone who has walked away from comfort and security for the sake of justice or integrity, and found themselves out on a limb, seemingly alone.  It is a day when we have seen what the powers of the world are capable of – a day when violence, self-preservation, and darkness seem to reign.

It is a day to lament, to confess our fears and doubts and loneliness, to acknowledge the holes in our hearts where we have known disappointment and grief.  It is a day to pray Psalm 22, as Jesus did on the cross: “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”

And it is a day to remember how that psalm ends, not in a place of despair, but in the assurance that God is as faithful as God has always been:

For dominion belongs to the Lord, and he rules over the nations.
To him, indeed, shall all who sleep in the earth bow down; before him shall bow all who go down to the dust, and I shall live for him.
Posterity will serve him; future generations will be told about the Lord,
and proclaim his deliverance to a people yet unborn, saying that he has done it.

Sometimes during Easter weekend, it feels like cheating to focus on Resurrection before we get to Sunday – like I’m supposed to live through the denials, trials, suffering, and horror of the disciples day by day, page by page, as they did, without looking ahead to the next chapter.  But Psalm 22 helps me remember that Resurrection, that new and wondrous thing, is in some ways the expected outcome from the God of our salvation, the God of Abraham and Sarah, Miriam and Moses, Ruth and David and Isaiah and Mary.  And with St Paul, I hold on to this hope:

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:38-39)

Today is a day for the times in between, the empty places in our hearts and our lives, a day to remember that God is faithful even when we cannot feel God’s presence with us.  It is day to rest, and to prepare for what may come.

Blessings.

In the midst of the whirlwind…

I believe I am a thoughtful, creative, communicative person who has a lot to say and should be able to come up with dozens of blog topics on any given day. And yet, somehow, after hanging out on Facebook and checking my email and now reading dozens of tweets on my Twitter account, I end up feeling inundated with information and unable to produce anything new.

Add to the usual information overload (hardly a new or unique story in the 21st century), this summer I have been the unofficial-interim-lead pastor while our senior pastor is on spiritual renewal leave (while still working half-time at my non-profit job), and I am planning my wedding (with a great deal of assistance from my lovely fiance!) for early October, and I’m feeling fairly starved of intentional time for sabbath and creativity. Yes, I am making sure I get a day off from paid work each week, and there are a few creative tasks in the wedding preparations, but they are constrained by social expectations and deadlines… not the greatest combination!

I long for time
for space uncluttered
for escape and retreat
for solitude
(and loving company)
for purposefulness and play
for harmony and balance
for grounding and center
and I know this requires discipline
but I want it to be easy
to walk away from my messy floor and kitchen table
from my buzzing messages and beeping calendar
from the spend spend spend
and decide important things every day
of planning a threshold day
and simply find that space
that peace
that rest
in the meadow
where time is the sliding of sunbeams
and pressure is a pattern of grass under my skin
and the world speaks in quieter, broader, less pixelated ways
with a hum and a sigh and a song.

More on food ethics (briefly)

Thanks, Amy & Zwieblein for your interest in continuing the conversation!

Based on my reading and learning over the past year, here are some of the factors to consider if one wants to eat more ethically:

1. Location/origin of food: Americans eat food that travels, on average, 1500 miles from point of origin to our dinner plates. That’s halfway across the continental U.S. Which may actually not seem all that shocking to those of us now accustomed to a global, year-round market, but it used to be that you could only eat fresh fruits and vegetables when they were – wait for it – in season locally. Barbara Kingsolver’s latest book, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, chronicles her family’s experience eating 95% of their food locally for a year. In addition to the environmental impact of so much transportation (consumption of fossil fuels, production of greenhouse gases), long-distance crops are grown to be sturdy to withstand shipping, rather than to have high levels of flavor and healthful vitamins.

2. Organically grown: It used to be that most foods in the U.S. were grown on small(ish) family farms that produced diverse crops, often kept animals as well as crops, and used minimal or no chemicals. Throughout the 20th century, food production became increasingly industrialized (check out Michael Pollan’s book, The Omnivore’s Dilemma, for a more thorough history), with the development of pesticides, chemical fertilizers, monoculture crops (especially corn and soy), and agribusiness. Supporters argue that returning to a more natural/organic model of farming is better for the land, better for the health of our bodies, and produces better-tasting food.

3. Animal welfare: Any vegans reading this can skip to the next point, but please wait until you’re no longer in the company of omnivores to pat yourselves on the back. As a former “meatasaurus” trying to make ethical choices, I have given up most meat and know that I should probably give up eggs and dairy as well. Sadly, along with the industrialization of plant-based foods, we have come to treat animals as food-producing machines, to be grown to full size as quickly as possible, with as little exercise as possible, cramming more animals than is possible into a small space, pumping them full of antibiotics to keep down disease, and slaughtering and processing them without regard for animals’ experience of pain or fear, all to maximize production and keep us supplied with cheap hamburgers, hot dogs, and chicken nuggets. Dairy cows and egg-laying chickens have longer lives than those destined immediately for the slaughterhouse, but they experience similarly cruel treatment and eventually become meat as well.

Now, all of the above refers to factory farming, the source of the vast majority of meat available from supermarkets and restaurants today. (In addition to being bad for animals, factory farms are terrible for the environment and bad for human health as well.) Depending on where you live, you may be able to find ethically raised meat and other animal products from smaller farms committed to humane and sustainable practices, either directly or through specialty grocery stores.

4. Labor practices: Part of the effect of being literally distanced from the origins of our food is that most Americans today (myself included) have little or no idea what is involved in harvesting crops or processing food. The recent attention to immigration concerns and general desire to “close” or “secure” American borders has an impact on many industries, as undocumented immigrants often do the work that citizens don’t want to do; farm work is one of these. Because so many farm workers are undocumented, or in the U.S. legally but with lower levels of education and less access to resources, those who pick tomatoes or grapes or strawberries are often more vulnerable to abuse or exploitation by their employers. Of the four categories listed here, this is the one I find hardest to track. Occasionally a labor union or advocacy organization will single out a particular restaurant chain or crop industry in which worker injustice has gotten particularly bad, but unless you are buying your produce from local farms where you personally know how the workers are treated, it can be almost impossible to know what goes on between the soil and the supermarket. Shortcuts for the sake of profit often lead not only to injury and illness among those who work for agribusiness, but also to contamination of our food supply, as is explored in the (fictional) film Fast Food Nation, based on the non-fiction book by journalist Eric Schlosser.

Well, this post ended up being longer than I anticipated, and is clearly far from objective, but it still barely scratches the surface. Are there other considerations you think are important that I left off this list?

Prayers for the campus community in Blacksburg, Virginia

At times like these it is difficult to know what to say, or how to pray, except “Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.”Blacksburg, Virginia may seem a long way from the Rocky Mountain Conference, but in this week in April many are remembering the Columbine shootings here in Colorado eight years ago. Violence and grief of this kind affects us all in some way.

Let us pray for the family and friends of those who were injured or killed, and for the whole community of Virginia Tech and Blacksburg. I would also ask your prayers for young people across our country and around the world who have lost hope, those who feel alienated from the human community or from God, those who see no solution to their pain and anger except inflicting pain on others and ending their own lives.

Let us pray, and work, for a society where pain and anger are met with compassion and find expression in a nonviolent struggle for justice. Let us be instruments of God’s peace in our broken world.

Why I am not a patriot

In this week of the Fourth of July, Independence Day here in the U.S., I’ve been thinking a lot about patriotism and nationalism, allegiance and obligation, freedom and justice.

As someone with dual citizenship (U.S. and Australia), I have never been able to get fully on board with the flag-waving, red-white-and-blue-wearing, if-you’re-not-with-us-you’re-against-us mindset about the country of my birth. I love fireworks – regardless of the occasion – and I enjoy apple pie, but I do not say the pledge of allegiance. My allegiance is with God, as I have known God to be revealed in Jesus the Christ, who stood for compassion and justice, love and response-ability to those in need. I certainly appreciate the gifts of a democratic government, but I do not believe it is ordained by God any more than the monarchies of Europe. And don’t get me started on capitalism.

I have recently begun to examine my willingness to sing the American national anthem, “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Previously I felt this was more acceptable to my conscience than pledging allegiance, but a musing from Dean McIntyre of the General Board of Discipleship has made me reconsider: “It is not a hymn or sacred song — it is a recounting through music of a military battle.” As someone who abhors war and believes that the greatest justice and peace can be accomplished through nonviolent means, I am somewhat astonished that I never reflected on the battle perspective of the anthem before.

In contrast, Australia’s national anthem, “Advance Australia Fair,” focuses on the courage and optimism of the people and the natural resources of the land (but check out the original lyrics for some rampant imperialism and echoes of “Manifest Destiny”). I guess any time we (Euro-mutt immigrants’ descendants) start to wax poetic about the places we’ve come to reside in, we have trouble remembering that the land is all part of God’s creation, and was originally inhabited by others with customs and cultures indigenous to what we think of as “our” part of the world.

My personal preference, for honoring one’s native land without forgetting that God is God of the whole world, is “This Is My Song,” set to the tune Finlandia. Consider verse 1:

This is my song, O God of all the nations,
A song of peace for lands afar and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is
Here are my hopes, my dreams, my sacred shrine.
But other hearts in other lands are beating,
With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.

When we remember that all people on earth are God’s children, it becomes harder to justify “collateral damage” and civilian casualties – or even, if we are really convicted of God’s love for all humanity, to justify the vast sums we spend on building bigger bombs and tanks to destroy other countries’ armies.

Many argue that “freedom isn’t free,” and that we would not have the privileges of freedom and democracy in this country today without the sacrifices that soldiers have made over the years. There is some truth to this, but I think it fails to see the larger picture. My problem is not with people who believe something so strongly they are willing to live and die for it; I have a problem with people who believe so passionately and blindly that they are willing to kill others for the cause.

Jim Winkler, of the UMC General Board of Church and Society, has written a thoughtful article on the relationship between violence and freedom. I greatly appreciate his countercultural perspective that it is possible to win liberty and democracy without a bloody revolutionary war.

So what did I do on the 4th of July this year? Not much. I helped make an apple pie. I watched Good Night, and Good Luck on video. And I prayed that people around the world might know liberty, justice, and peace – and that we might stop seeing violence and war as the solution to every problem we face.

All God’s Family Is Welcome

I am going to be published.

I’m very excited about this, as I was actually invited by the editor of a book on worship resources to submit several pieces of liturgy that I have written, and I get two free copies of the book and everything.

But it turns out there’s a catch.

The publishing house is Judson Press, affiliated with the American Baptist Church, and they have made a decision about the content of the book based on the denomination’s struggles – much like those of the United Methodist Church, and many other mainline Christian denominations – with the issues of inclusion of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered people. The publisher has decided not to include any references to GLBT persons in this book of worship resources.

Of the five pieces I submitted, only one contained a specific reference, and it is very brief, not a focal point of the litany (but important in the theology of the litany, which is about God’s Family). The book’s editor/compiler, someone I know from Iliff, contacted me to apologize for the publisher’s decision, and to get my permission to remove the reference so the litany could be included in the book. I thought and prayed a great deal before replying.

The editor’s suggestion was that people who are on the inclusive side of the fence will naturally put the phrase back in if they use the piece in worship. My thought is that there are many people in the middle who, without meaning to be exclusionary or offensive, would not think to put the words in if they are not there to begin with. But if I refused, and withdrew either that submission or all of mine, no one would know what would have been in the book, and only the editor and I would know why.

So I wrote back and said, it’s not okay, but go ahead. And, I said, I’ll make the piece available to my online networks so people know where I stand, and what I originally wrote and used in worship. And the editor said, Good.

So here’s my “controversial” litany, which we used in worship at Highlands UMC in Denver, on Sunday, August 21, 2005. It was read as a response to the Word, which that week was my sermon on “Family Ties”: the joy of family of choice and the joy and challenge of the family we don’t choose.

I grant permission for its use in worship (with an acknowledgment of my authorship) AS IT IS, because God’s family includes people of all sexual orientations and gender identities, gay or straight, bi or trans, as well as people of all sizes, shapes, colors, cultures, languages, political perspectives, and even people who are not ready to welcome, include, affirm, and celebrate all their sisters and brothers.

May God bless your reading and your speaking for love and justice.

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Litany for All God’s Family
by Kerry Greenhill

Leader: We come from many families, many different backgrounds, many different experiences of mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, children, grandparents, stepfamilies and co-parenting, extended families, adoption and guardianship, and families of choice.
People: We give thanks to God for all who have been family to us.
Leader: We come today with wounds unhealed, wrongs unforgiven, abuse or neglect unforgotten. Family has not always been a safe or supportive place, and we struggle to overcome old patterns and generational cycles.
People: We come seeking hope and healing, forgiveness and reconciliation for ourselves and our families.
Leader: We are gathered here as individuals with different gifts and graces, different callings and cultures; people of different ages, ethnicities, sexual orientations and gender identities, different political and theological perspectives, following different paths at different paces.
People: We give thanks for the diversity within God’s family, and for the love and acceptance God extends to all of us as adopted children.
Leader: Let us open ourselves to seeing our sisters and brothers in all people, for we all share the same loving Parent. Let us learn to see all children as our children, and to care and provide for them as best we can, for all the people of earth are part of God’s family.
People: Let us follow Jesus, our brother, in extending the circle of care to all whom we encounter. May our God-centered lives bear witness to the God who is Mother and Father to us all.
Leader: May God help us here in this congregation to grow together, individually and collectively, to become a more loving and healthy family, where we celebrate diversity and nurture wholeness, comfort the afflicted and watch over one another in love.
People: We are God’s family. Let us give God thanks and praise.

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