Sermons from Park Hill Congregational UCC Denver, Colorado The Rev. Dr. David Bahr “I Can’t Breathe” May 31, 2020 Genesis 2: 7 “I can’t breathe.” But the officer with the knee on his neck didn’t do anything. He calmly and deliberately kept up the pressure. Even after he stopped breathing. For two more minutes. “I can’t breathe.” But three officers just stood and watched. They stood there and watched. All three calmly and deliberately stood there and watched. “I can’t breathe.” A 17-year-old girl calmly stood her ground. She bravely and deliberately kept filming so that no one could deny the truth. She will probably wake up from nightmares for the rest of her life, having watched the last breath leave George Floyd’s body. Gwen Carr saw the news, her breath taken away. Not again. Her son Eric Garner had repeatedly cried out the same words. “I can’t breathe.” Mr. Garner, because he sold loose cigarettes. Mr. Floyd, because he might have used a counterfeit $20 bill – perhaps to buy some Skittles and iced tea. And for that, the officer put his knee on his neck (notice the neck, just like a noose at a lynching) and listened to him cry out to his dead mama. Please help me, he cried. As the three other officers calmly and deliberately stood there and watched, George’s only hope was his dead mother. In response, the community lost its collective breath. You know how sometimes when you cry so hard you can’t breathe? You know how sometimes when you are so angry, you stop breathing. You have to be reminded – breathe! And so, once again, the community took a collective breath and went back to the streets. Shouting, “no justice, no peace.” Drawing deep breaths to make their voices heard. Demanding accountability. Black, brown, and white bodies together. It was a scene of unity. We understood that sometimes property damage comes as the “language of the unheard,” as Dr. King described. It may seem absurd. But what is absurd? A life in exchange for a $20 bill? But it escalated into something more. This is different. This is coordinated. And we realized that some of those white bodies were not there to offer support but to use the opportunity to sow further division. To trot out talking points about black anger. To justify taking the breath away from men like George Floyd. Immediately the questions came: What had he done to bring about his own death? Had he ever been in jail? And the explanations: he probably had a gun. You mean like those white men with their confederate flags with AK-47s and AR-15s strapped around their necks? He resisted arrest. Thanks to that 17-year-old girl, we know that all those excuses weren’t true. Ironically, protections against coronavirus meant masks shielded some of the faces, white faces, deliberately provoking violence – not that they were the exclusive reason for rioting and looting. But who stood to gain from the spectacle? Who could now trot out the old and tired canard about law and order? Promising vicious dogs. You mean like those who tore at the flesh of women and children in Birmingham. And promising that “when the looting begins, the shooting begins.” You mean like the promises of white supremacists in the 60s? Doesn’t it make you angry enough that you have to be reminded to breathe? Aren’t you so destroyed by your tears that you can’t breathe? If it doesn’t, if you can read this without crying, if you can read this without rage, you aren’t paying attention. You haven’t paid attention for years and years and decades and centuries of this same violence playing over and over like a loop. But I believe that you do care. Perhaps feeling paralyzed. Uncertain. Afraid. What can we possibly do? We can recognize that this is all about protecting whiteness. White supremacy is not men and women parading around in white robes but the very system upon which our country was built. Our wealth, handed down for generations, includes the profits made off the backs of slaves. Wealth has been passed down because our mothers could buy houses on the desired side of the red line. Our wealth includes the education our families were afforded in segregated schools. Jobs, education, access to capital – though it may have been decades ago – means white wealth is many times more than black wealth. We can stop saying, “I’m not racist.” If we aren’t anti-racist, we perpetuate the problem. How? Figure it out. We can keep saying the names. Like we read the names of those who perished on September 11th, we can keep reciting the names of Ahmaud Arbery and Breona Taylor and George Floyd – just those we know about in the last few weeks. We can build a new Vietnam War style memorial to stretch the distance of the mall in Washington DC, to remember the names of Sandra Bland and Walter Scott and Tamir Rice and Michael Brown and thousands more. We can vote. And make sure that every citizen in the country, at every level of government, votes to end systems that perpetuate violence against people of color, whether through mass incarceration or unequal access to health care – both of which are killing people with coronavirus at disturbingly unequal rates. And we can pray. Pray to the Creator who put breath into the first human being. The second creation story in the Book of Genesis says, “The Lord God formed the human from the topsoil of fertile land and blew life’s breath into their nostrils.” You know how sometimes when you cry so hard you can’t breathe? You know how sometimes when you are so angry, you stop breathing. Sometimes we have to be reminded – breathe! Which simply means, “pray!” Return to the source of breath. I can’t fully breathe, I can’t take a deep enough breath, if I don’t return often enough to prayer and meditation and worship. Worship that is not about getting into heaven but participating in God’s open, inclusive, just, and compassionate kingdom here on earth, as it is in heaven. Breathe! Because breath itself is a gift of the one who gave us life and sustains our lives. Take a breath. And get into the struggle.
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Sermons from Park Hill Congregational UCC Denver, Colorado Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] May 31, 2020 “Park Hill 2.0” Note - I wrote a second sermon for the day addressing the murder of George Floyd. Below is the sermon I preached for our pre-recorded service for the day. My other sermon is entitled "I Can't Breathe" Isaiah 43: 18-19 Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. 19 I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. I wanted to share my sermon from up here in the mountains today to physically manifest what we have learned in the past two months. Wait, has it been two months? Actually, I went back and counted on the calendar and we’ve been worshiping this way for 12 weeks! Three months. But it’s felt like, what, an entire year? And tomorrow is June, but I still feel like I was just getting used to it being April. Well, anyway, I wanted to share my message from up here to demonstrate what we always knew but never really had to practice. Church can happen anywhere. There’s a popular saying: Be the Church. Don’t Go to Church. Thirteen weeks ago, that’s all it was. A slogan. But what have we discovered? Church can happen anywhere. Church is what happens in our lives. Church is putting our actions in alignment with our faith convictions. We can be anywhere to practice love, compassion, forgiveness, patience, gentleness, bold acts of justice, generosity. Christianity is too little if it’s only about showing up on Sundays. Don’t get me wrong. I need my church community. I need worship. It’s what gets me back on track when my practice of love and compassion has grown thin. But is there more than one way of being church? If I asked you 13 weeks ago, is online church real, what would you have said? You may be watching right now and still have the same question. Is this real? I’ve been reading as many blogs and articles as I can and watching webinars about being a congregation that isn’t meeting in person for worship. We adapted to this interruption as fast as we could. But few us of have welcomed this disruption. Few?!! No one has welcomed this disruption. Until now. Until I realized God is in here somewhere “doing a new thing.” Until I realized this is our Pentecost. Let’s recap where we have been. We started our separation from each other mid-way through Lent while Jesus and his followers were on the move toward the final confrontation in Jerusalem.
I feel like I encountered that same Spirit on Thursday, May 14th. But, for me, the Spirit has never been very wild. I identify more with the Elijah who stood at the entrance of a cave waiting for God to pass by. You may know the story: “There was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; 12 and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. 13 When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then a [quiet] voice came to him and said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” It was in that kind of quietness of listening and writing notes during a webinar that I heard a question the presenter hadn’t asked. It actually wasn’t a question, but it prompted questions. I heard the presenter say, “Don’t miss what God is handing us.” To be clear, God didn’t hand the world a pandemic. But, as Tony Morgan said, God is handing us an opportunity. He described the church as “fortunate.” Because under no other circumstance would the church as we know it, as we have known it to be our entire lives; under no other circumstance would we have been as fortunate to come to a complete standstill, allowing us to question who we are and what being a church means. In that moment, with that turn of phrase, I felt the Spirit. And ever since, I am more optimistic about the future of the church than perhaps I have ever been. More optimistic. More energized. Again, I do not wish the effects of this devastating pandemic on anyone. The economic pain and loss of life. This is not a good thing. But, theologically, we always look for redemption. Not, how can we dismiss our grief? Not, how can we minimize our loss or forget what’s going on in the world. But, the Spirit asks you quietly, what are you doing here to redeem this tragedy? In my humble opinion, too many churches are rushing back into their buildings; rushing back before the Spirit arrived on Pentecost. They are focused on “What do we need to do so we can go back to being church again?” But that’s the wrong question. Well, I don’t want to judge it as necessarily “wrong,” but, at least for me, the Spirit prompted a different question. To change the narrative. Whenever it is that we return to in person worship, how can we keep including people who have started worshiping with us in the past 12 weeks? We can’t turn our backs on them and walk away. So, what would that take? Never has the church been as accessible as we are right now. Laura Harris has said many times that through our mid-week Zoom calls, she feels more connected to people in the church now than ever before. This is a gift. People are reaching out to one another. Never have we had as much opportunity to innovate as we have right now. Sure, we are missing a lot. Physical human interactions. Singing. Cookies and marshmallow squares made by Inez. But people may not realize that if we began meeting again next week, we wouldn’t be able to hug. We wouldn’t see each other’s smiles behind our masks. Singing is dangerous – so, until there’s a vaccine, no congregational singing, no choir. And no lingering over coffee and marshmallow squares. In one door and out another – six feet apart. Kind of depressing. Frankly, our coming back to church too soon will be painful in a whole other way and induce a whole other level of grief and loss. So, how can we change that narrative? It’s in the questions. Not in what we can’t have but on what we can. What Spirit-filled redemptive opportunity have we been fortunate enough to have handed to us? So says the Lord: “Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a new way in the wilderness, rivers in the desert.” The Governance Team has decided we are not returning to in person worship any sooner than the first Sunday after Labor Day. And maybe not then either, but at least, so we all know it, no sooner than then. But, in the meantime, we are not going to sit around waiting. God is busy working on a new thing. So are we. We are announcing the launch of Park Hill 2.0. It is our intention to become a fully local and digital church. We are not going back to just who we were. There was nothing wrong with it, but something more “is springing forth, do you not perceive it?” We want anyone worshiping with us now from around the country or even around the globe to continue. But not just to watch. We want you to be fully engaged in the ministry of the church. Anyone who wishes to be included and involved. That has lots of implications. There is a lot to figure out. But our goal is use the summer to prepare for the launch of Park Hill 2.0 on what would normally be our Homecoming Sunday in September. It’s going to take you helping to answer lots of questions, like:
I can’t answer these questions. We have to answer these questions. And so, I invite you into this process of figuring it all out. Listening to the Spirit. Will you say yes? Not to abandon who we were, not to leave anyone behind, but to be more, adding more love and compassion, and to include more. I invite you to say yes. To come aboard this new venture. Type “count me in” in the comments section. Say yes. Offer your ideas. Offer your help. Type your questions, send me emails. Realize how fortunate we are to have this opportunity handed to us to be more than we could have ever dreamed about or even imagined just 13 weeks ago. Sermons from Park Hill Congregational UCC Denver, Colorado Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] May 10, 2020 “The Economy, Freedom, and Whiteness: Worthless Idols” Psalm 31 – Common English Bible See the whole Psalm at the end I take refuge in you, Lord. Please never let me be put to shame. Rescue me by your righteousness! 2 Listen closely to me! Deliver me quickly; be a rock that protects me; be a strong fortress that saves me! 3 You are definitely my rock and my fortress. Guide me and lead me for the sake of your good name! 4 Get me out of this net that’s been set for me because you are my protective fortress. 5 I entrust my spirit into your hands; you, Lord, God of faithfulness-- you have saved me. 15 My future is in your hands. Don’t hand me over to my enemies, to all who are out to get me! 16 Shine your face on your servant; save me by your faithful love! That’s nice. No disrespect meant for the Word of God, but after reading that scripture passage, my response is “That’s nice.” The lectionary committee did a good job of choosing a nice easy psalm for the 5th Sunday after Easter in Year A. They’re the group decades ago, across a wide array of denominations, who decided our 3-year cycle of readings – always a gospel reading, always a New Testament Letter, always an Old Testament (or Hebrew Scripture) reading, and always a Psalm. Psalm 31 for today is nice. But they chose the absolute least interesting part of the Psalm. We heard verses one through five before it skips to verse 15. I guess they skipped over verse 6 because it isn’t very nice. It says, “I hate.” “I hate those who embrace what is completely worthless.” That’s not nice. But, if we’re honest, that’s real. How many times a day in Trump’s America is that the God-honest truth. This Psalm attributed to King David sounds bleak: 11 I’m a joke to all my enemies, I scare my friends, and whoever sees me in the street runs away! 12 I am forgotten, like I’m dead, completely out of mind; I am like a piece of pottery, [broken and] destroyed. We could say, “Well, he doesn’t really hate. He’s just depressed.” In fact, in verse 9 he actually said, “Have mercy on me, Lord, because I’m depressed. My vision fails because of my grief,” We could say, he’s just depressed. Or, “He doesn’t really hate people. He just hates what people are doing. Or what they stand for. Or something like that. That’s what you should hate.” But why must we insist on controlling what people feel? I’m totally guilty of that. Just this week I told someone, “You don’t hate so and so. You really just hate what they are doing to everything you hold dear.” …I apologize for diminishing your grief. If what you feel is hate, you can feel what you feel because whether or not it’s nice, it’s real. And if someone says, “That’s not very Christian of you,” you can reply, “I’m just quoting the Bible. Psalm 31, verse 6, ‘I hate those who embrace what is completely worthless.’” Of course, then we must ask, what is worthless? Eugene Peterson often makes things really simple. His translation in The Message is, “I hate all this silly religion.” Silly, yes, but the truth is, more than silly, there’s a lot of dangerous religion out there. For example, preachers willing to endanger congregants, telling them to trust in the healing power of God and downplaying the power of the virus to kill. And spread. And spread. Psalm 31 has something to say in response, in verses 17 and 18, which the lectionary committee also left out. Maybe because it’s also not very nice: Let the wicked be put to shame; Let their lying lips be shut up whenever they speak arrogantly against the righteous with pride and contempt! Or, as The Message simplifies it: “Gag those loudmouthed liars. Sometimes the Psalms are like mood swings, just like Psalm 31 which is not afraid to name hate and depression, but also swings with us between hate and love, depression and trust. Back to the question of what is worthless. Eugene Peterson speaks of silly religion. The New Revised Standard Version speaks of worthless idols. As long as we don’t limit idols to little statues or golden calves, thinking in terms of worthless idols might actually help us make sense of our world. What are some obvious worthless idols right now? How about the economy, freedom, and whiteness? Earlier this week, the president pleaded for Americans to think of themselves as ‘warriors’ in his bid to ‘reopen’ the country. (Militarism is another one of those idols.) Like war, he said, there will be more deaths. But those deaths are justified for the sake of The Economy. Rev. Graham Ashcroft from Pray the Resistance said, “Let that sink in. Trump is not debating that because of relaxed social distancing an estimated 134,000 people will die by August. He’s not denying it. He’s justifying those deaths as a sacrifice for The Economy.”[1] A train conductor agrees. Sujatha Gidra wrote in the New York Times this week that she isn’t an essential worker. She’s a sacrificial worker.[2] She’s had a hundred fellow co-workers in the New York transit system die “in the line of duty.” Sacrificial, just like all those meat packing workers. We don’t have enough swabs for testing but by God, speed up the chicken nuggets. Sacrificial, like restaurant servers in Texas told they can’t wear masks because it would frighten customers. Risk your health or lose your right to unemployment. Rev. Ashcroft asked, “Why would Trump take this risk? Because he believes white [Christian] America will buy it.” It’s strategic. He is trying to “normalize further catastrophic death because he now knows most of that death will not be white.” Yes, the evidence proves that white America is not experiencing COVID at the same level as people of color. You know who else knows it? The anti-maskers. Those mobs of gun toting “freedom for me, not you” know it. Someone said this week that the old KKK didn’t mind wearing masks. Why not their children? Busy throwing tantrums, vandalizing the health department, threatening public health workers with “civil war”? For those who don’t live in Colorado, that’s been our reality this week.[3] Rev. Ashcroft concluded, “Trump has reasoned that white Christians didn’t have a problem when enslaved black people died to build the economy. Why not let black and brown people die of COVID to reopen it?”[4] “I hate those who embrace what is completely worthless.” It’s OK, though. The Bible tells me so. Verse 6 of Psalm 31. We can hate “worthless idols.” Or silly religion. But let’s make sure we understand. This is not an excuse to hate. It’s not a rationale for hatred. This is not a virtue, or a way of life dedicated to hate. This is a sane reaction to the insanity of living in Trump’s America. And then we breathe. To be clear, I don’t hate the economy, freedom, or being white. But they are worthless idols. Compare them to protecting life, public heath, and our gloriously rich shared humanity. Pursuing those things are what give value to our life. That’s what brings worth to the world. That’s what I hope for. I hope for vibrant life and health for our whole human family. The God-honest truth is that not all of the emotions we feel every day are nice. I appreciate that Psalm 31 doesn’t judge us. It simply allows us name hate as an understandable emotion. A sane reaction to the insanity. But again, hate is not a virtue nor an excuse and not a rationale for more. It doesn’t lead to actions of hatred or justify vigilantism. I don’t have enough time to express my rage over the death of Ahmaud Arbery – killed because of that worthless idol of whiteness by “freedom loving” cowards – and covered up by a state built on the backs of slaves. Because whiteness doesn’t allow for jogging without suspicion.
This fills me with so much grief. The Psalmist said, “I hate those who embrace what is completely worthless.” And then, in the same verse, said “I myself trust the Lord.” What? In the same verse, he said, I hate and I trust. And then continues, “I rejoice and celebrate in your faithful love.” Before going back to depression and gagging loudmouthed liars. Feel confused? That’s grief. I understand. Competing and complex emotions. But naming a feeling isn’t the same as embracing that feeling. Again, in the same verse the Psalmist spoke of both hate and trust and went on to choose love. “I rejoice and celebrate in your faithful love.” I feel pity for those who embrace false idols. Bigots and narcissists are a pitiful bunch. But I don’t want to join their pity party. Will you join me to choose the worth of human lives and a greater purpose to protect lives? (Say yes) Will you join me to choose love for the Common Good and joy in public health? (Say yes) Will you join me to revel and celebrate our gloriously rich shared humanity – of every nation, every race, every language, every… everything. (Say yes) And bring worth to the world. I trust that light will defeat the shadows. Goodness will defeat evil. Love will defeat hate. (Yes?) The very last line of Psalm 31 is “Be strong and let your heart take courage.” Amen Psalm 31 in full: I take refuge in you, Lord. Please never let me be put to shame. Rescue me by your righteousness! 2 Listen closely to me! Deliver me quickly; be a rock that protects me; be a strong fortress that saves me! 3 You are definitely my rock and my fortress. Guide me and lead me for the sake of your good name! 4 Get me out of this net that’s been set for me because you are my protective fortress. 5 I entrust my spirit into your hands; you, Lord, God of faithfulness-- you have saved me. 6 I hate those who embrace what is completely worthless. I myself trust the Lord. 7 I rejoice and celebrate in your faithful love because you saw my suffering-- you were intimately acquainted with my deep distress. 8 You didn’t hand me over to the enemy, but set my feet in wide-open spaces. 9 Have mercy on me, Lord, because I’m depressed. My vision fails because of my grief, as do my spirit and my body. 10 My life is consumed with sadness; my years are consumed with groaning. Strength fails me because of my suffering; my bones dry up. 11 I’m a joke to all my enemies, still worse to my neighbors. I scare my friends, and whoever sees me in the street runs away! 12 I am forgotten, like I’m dead, completely out of mind; I am like a piece of pottery, destroyed. 13 Yes, I’ve heard all the gossiping, terror all around; so many gang up together against me, they plan to take my life! 14 But me? I trust you, Lord! I affirm, “You are my God.” 15 My future is in your hands. Don’t hand me over to my enemies, to all who are out to get me! 16 Shine your face on your servant; save me by your faithful love! 17 Lord, don’t let me be put to shame because I have cried out to you. Let the wicked be put to shame; let them be silenced in death’s domain! 18 Let their lying lips be shut up whenever they speak arrogantly against the righteous with pride and contempt! 19 How great is the goodness that you’ve reserved for those who honor you, that you commit to those who take refuge in you-- in the sight of everyone! 20 You hide them in the shelter of your wings, safe from human scheming. You conceal them in a shelter, safe from accusing tongues. 21 Bless the Lord, because he has wondrously revealed his faithful love to me when I was like a city under siege! 22 When I was panicked, I said, “I’m cut off from your eyes!” But you heard my request for mercy when I cried out to you for help. 23 All you who are faithful, love the Lord! The Lord protects those who are loyal, but he pays the proud back to the fullest degree. 24 All you who wait for the Lord, be strong and let your heart take courage. [1] https://mailchi.mp/30436f4885fd/knowing-black-americans-will-suffer-the-most-trump-tries-to-militarize-the-pandemic?e=ea7850c69f [2] https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/05/opinion/coronavirus-nyc-subway.html [3] https://www.denverpost.com/2020/05/06/tri-county-health-threat-coronavirus-covid/ [4] Ashcroft Sermons from Park Hill Congregational UCC Denver, Colorado Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] May 3, 2020 “What Do You Want?” Psalm 23 – Common English Bible The Lord is my shepherd. I lack nothing. 2 He lets me rest in grassy meadows; he leads me to restful waters; 3 he keeps me alive. He guides me in proper paths for the sake of his good name. 4 Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no danger because you are with me. Your rod and your staff-- they protect me. 5 You set a table for me right in front of my enemies. You bathe my head in oil; my cup is so full it spills over! 6 Yes, goodness and faithful love will pursue me all the days of my life, and I will live in the Lord’s house as long as I live. There are two types of people in most churches. Ones who want Psalm 23 read at their memorial service. And ones who say, “please, please do not read Psalm 23.” People either think it’s so overused that the words have lost their meaning or that it’s so familiar, the words flow without having to think. And that’s ritual at its best. Not rote memorization but when the words are written on our heart. It was probably no surprise that on the very first Sunday of this pandemic, I read, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall not fear.” I’m grateful that Psalm 23 provides such comforting words when the life of a loved one ends. But at its best, it’s really about how to live. In fact, Larry Ricketts, at our Lunch and Lectionary on Thursday, suggested that Psalm 23 should be read at every baptism. The group agreed that this is the best distillation of our faith: to be realistic about the dangers in life and that we have a comforter. What do you think about when you hear Psalm 23? Today we could think of it in the context of nearly 200 dead in Denver, 800 in Colorado, 65,000 in the United States, and 234,000 people dead from Covid 19 around the world. And likely many thousands more under-reported. God rest their souls. May they live forever in peace. We are grateful to know that when each of them walked through their valley of the shadow of death, they were not, and are not, alone. But I want to think about Psalm 23 in the context of the living – that is, living today while we are sheltered in place. Let’s look at the very first line from the translation we read this morning in the Common English Bible: “The Lord is my shepherd. I lack nothing.” A good definitive statement. Straight-forward. As long as we have some toilet paper in the closet and some hamburger meat in the freezer, most of us are pretty good. But that line – “I lack nothing” – doesn’t sing. I don’t love it. It doesn’t tug at my heartstrings and doesn’t capture my imagination. It doesn’t roll off the lips like the King’s English, “I shall not want.” Plus, in the midst of a pandemic, to say “I shall not want” isn’t true. I want lots of things. I want you to be here with me. I want human contact. I want to breathe without the smell of cotton and fogged up glasses. I know a lot of grandparents who desperately want to hold their grandchildren and give them kisses and tussle their hair. I know a lot of parents who desperately want to get their children out of their hair and back to school. To say, “The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want?” That’s not true. I want a lot of things. A lot of good, righteous, and holy things. I want people to be able to go back to work so they can earn a living and take care of their families. But I also want it to be safe for them and people who are most vulnerable. I want a vaccine. I also don’t want to waste this opportunity to create a different kind of world, instead of going back to what may have been normal for us but was full of terror for others. Psalm 23 might help us think through creating a new normal. What do you want right now that is meaningful and adds value to your life and to the world? What do you want right now that is shallow and takes value from your life; that takes value from the world? The American economy depends on us wanting things. My apologies to small business owners and manufacturers and shipping companies and everyone involved in the supply chain, but we needed a pause to our addiction. To detox from our addiction to wanting. Prior to the pandemic, 70% of our gross domestic product was consumer spending, significantly higher than other industrialized nations – a combination of needs and a lot of wants. How much of what we wanted did we need? Well now, after some experience of sheltering in place, we may have a better idea. Amazon has fulfilled some of those desires, requiring warehouse workers and delivery people to put their personal lives at risk to satisfy our addiction to wanting. But shopping online lacks the satisfaction of wandering up and down the aisles to see what flirts with us, tries to catch our attention, wants us to take it home. New stuff, better looking stuff. Renowned biblical scholar, Walter Brueggemann said, “most of our wants are contrived and imaginary and phony. And driven by the notion that we are entitled to it.” Yes, how often do we fall for marketers doing a great job of making us aware of what we don’t have or that what we have isn’t good enough anymore. And who offer an easy fix: want more and buy more. What happens when we can’t? Now we know. Not because we can’t afford it but because, well, you know. We can’t leave the house. There’s either going to be a huge surge in spending to meet our pent-up demand or a realization: we didn’t need what we couldn’t have. And that was a good thing. And, it can still be a good thing once we have a choice again. That’s one of those side benefits of The Great Pause I spoke of last week. Just be aware that there will soon be a relentless onslaught for us to “help” the economy. Luring us back to an addition to wanting. But, as we emerge from our shelter, as you come out of the Pause, when you see that newer and nicer version of what you already have, remember the mantra from Psalm 23: “The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.” Or, “I lack nothing.” In this case, both translations work very well. One commentary writer had a great sermon idea to have people take out a sheet of paper and make two columns. On one side, list ten things you want. On the other side, list ten things you have. Ten things you are grateful you have. And then ask, which would have a greater impact. Losing all the things you have or gaining all the things you want? But I don’t know, that may have been a good idea 10 years ago (or 3 months ago), but is that really what we are struggling with today? I have my doubts that what we write down on our “I want” column would involve new clothes and going to the movies again. What do you want? Other than a haircut, I bet it’s mostly about relationships. And wanting people to live. No one wants anyone to have to walk through the valley of the shadow of death in order to make a living. We don’t need meat that badly. On my “want list,” I want the Vice President, the official head of the national coronavirus task force, to wear a mask into a hospital. To demonstrate intelligence and show some (damn) respect to health care workers. I want the president to stop talking. And stop tweeting and stop threatening and stop blaming. Just stop. Of course, I have no control over that, except the power to vote – a power, I have to remember, that people in many countries don’t have, who are living under dictators who can successfully manipulate the pandemic into more power and money for themselves. I want all the things I mentioned before. To be here together with you. Hugs. Fog-less glasses. But, I also really want to know what to expect next. Good or bad, what to do. Not so much about the virus or when we’ll have a vaccine, but I want to know what’s expected of me. What is expected of the church and each other during this in between time. It’s similar but not exactly the same as what I said last week about wanting to know what our new normal will be. Here we are, stuck in between an end and a beginning. Knowing what’s expected of us would help answer the question: What should we be doing? Some of the things we did as a church just two months ago, without giving them a single thought, have ended. They are done. At least for the time being. Or is even saying that setting an unrealistic expectation? Can we promise that anything will be “normal” again? See how difficult this is? It doesn’t matter, however, because no matter how much I want it, we ultimately don’t and can’t know what to expect. Except that, The Lord is our shepherd. And we shall not want. We ultimately don’t and can’t know what to expect, Except that, The Lord makes us to lie down in green pastures and leads us beside still waters. We ultimately don’t and can’t know what to expect, Except that, The Lord restores our souls and leads us in the paths of righteousness. And so therefore, can you say it with me, Yea, though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we will fear no evil: for thou art with us; thy rod and thy staff they comfort us. We ultimately don’t and can’t know what to expect. Except we know that, You prepare a table before us in the presence of our enemies and anoint our heads with oil. And our cups runneth over. What can we expect? That Surely goodness and mercy shall follow us all the days of our lives; and we will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” Or, the one line I really like from the newer translation: “Goodness and faithful love” won’t just follow us but God will “pursue us all the days of our lives.” And what more could we want? Yes, I’ll be honest – I still want more certainty. I want to know what I’m supposed to be doing. But what do I need? To trust our shepherd, who has always provided for us everything we need. What do we need? To trust our shepherd, who has never left us alone and will never lead us astray. What do we need? To trust the leading and guiding of the shepherd in this difficult in between space – knowing that some things have ended and other things will begin. And that’s OK. It’s just not for us to know yet what that is. We can’t make it happen by being busier or more innovative. And so, we can only learn to trust. A future that only God knows. And only God holds. But a future indeed. Is Psalm 23 about death or is it about life? Is it morbid or is it hopeful? On a more practical note, do you want it read at your funeral or not? Just make sure your family knows. And why. |
AuthorI love being a Archives
March 2024
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