From Nazareth to Bethlehem

This Advent I’m taking a spiritual pilgrimage—of sorts.  I’m joining a group of other pilgrims in logging my walks or runs, attempting to journey the distance from Nazareth to Bethlehem—mimicking or mirroring the journey taken by Mary and Joseph long ago. 

Some people have asked, “is he really walking from Nazareth to Bethlehem?”  A good question since I have visited the Holy Land; and, I do live in Pennsylvania where there is a Nazareth and a Bethlehem—which are only about 9 miles apart (as the crow flies). 

But the answer is a resounding “No.” I'm walking in my own community, but trying to be in touch with the journey.  

As I’ve shared with my congregation, I’ve been on a regimen of walking in order to adopt a healthier lifestyle and lose weight.  I walked 1,500 miles in From November 2012 through December 31, 2013—but this year I may not even make my goal of 1,200 miles.  So, I need this Advent opportunity to kick me back into gear! 

I’ve taken up with some other pilgrims who have tried this sort of thing before.  Several congregations I’ve heard about have organized a “walk to Bethlehem” where the whole congregation logged miles to journey the distance from where they are located to Bethlehem.  But last year, I heard about this journey as an advent discipline through a friend who knew about Rev. Robb McCoy—who calls himself “The Fat Pastor.”  You can find out more about him, HERE; and check out his blog and the 2014 Advent Run HERE. 

My hope is that during Advent, I’ll be walking around my community and I’ll log enough miles to get me from Nazareth to Bethlehem.  It’s about the walking for my own journey.  But I’d also like for it to be more.  So while I’m walking, I want to take you with me.  I’m taking prayer requests—so I can hold you in prayer while I’m walking; and I’m also coveting your prayers for me during this time, especially. 

You can connect with me—on Facebook or my twitter handle is @revdrstipp.  You can e-mail me at revdrstipp “at” msn.com.  You can call our church office and leave voice mail for me (610) 789-1639. 

You can also participate by logging your own miles.  Pastor Robb has set up an official log page.  Check out the links to his blog above for more information. 

After this morning, I'm 37 miles into the journey; I've got 66 miles to go.

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

"I Didn't Preach On This Naiveté"

I’m almost embarrassed to admit this. 

I don’t know much at all about Fergusson. 

I’ve not watched any news reports.  I’ve not read newspaper articles.  I’ve not followed the evening news or the Daily Show.  I am a minister in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.); yet I’ve not preached lately “with a newspaper in one hand and a Bible in the other” about the horrific events related to our life together as human beings and citizens of the United States; and while I’ve read a number of blog posts from colleagues, a couple of sermons, prayed prayers suggested by my denomination, found both comfort and disturbed-ness in compelling words offered by our Stated Clerk, I know that I’m surely—and to the absolute horror of many—grossly uninformed. 

Former Vice Moderator of the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), and current Synod Executive for the Synod of Mid-America, Rev. Landon Whitsitt, recounted on Facebook early on with regard to Fergusson, the conversation he had with one of his sons:

“Through heavy sobs he asked me “What do we do?”  I had to admit to him that I didn’t know.
 This morning, the best answer I have is: “Don’t look away.”

I don’t feel like I have intentionally “looked away.”  But I’m not sure I’ve bothered much lately to actually “look” in the first place. 

I know a lot that’s happened in Fergusson, Missouri—or as a result of “Fergusson”—is wrong. 

I believe killing is wrong.  Even if it’s accidental?  Yes.  I don’t believe killing is ever justified.  That always gets me cross-wise with the headline news.

I have believed, and believe even more strongly, now, that it’s wrong for a police force to so overwhelmingly represent one race, while policing a people of a different race.  I believe one day, it won’t matter, White or Black, Black or Hispanic, White or Hispanic, Hispanic or Asian, European or Native American—but now, today, it does matter.  A lot!  In ways I don’t fully understand.  It still matters. 

I believe it’s wrong that some police officers are referred to as “white officers” while other police officers get referred to as “black cops” in the media.  One day it should not matter as much—we will all see it for a glowing error, a falseness, a misrepresentation—but today, it matters, a lot. 

I believe it’s wrong when people make assumptions about other people that are based only on skin color.  It’s wrong for law enforcement to treat some people different from other people.  Racial profiling is wrong.  Other assumptions are wrong.  I know this might make some things easier—like banishing racial profiling—but it might make other things harder—like not assuming those bruises are from abuse.”  Getting to the real truth is sometimes, hard, ugly business and it shouldn’t be so ugly or so hard. 

I know it’s wrong, when the voices of dissent and anger can no longer be peaceful; and when trying to maintain or restore order presents itself as violence, insult, injury, fury, and might versus right.  I know it’s wrong when we turn to violent means to pursue peaceful ends.  I know that despite what Jesus teaches us, it’s still hard for human beings to resist sin and fear in hungering and thirsting for righteousness, when the cries of “how long, O God,” cannot bear another day, another hour, another moment of this pressing and present injustice. 

I know these things are wrong.  Still…, is that enough? 

Probably not.  I’m reminded of the saying, “in the end everything will be all right; if it’s not all right, it’s not the end.”  Clearly we are not at the end times!  And what I can’t get out of my mind are Landon’s words for his son—and perhaps the rest of us, too: 

"Remember that even though we don’t know anyone from Ferguson, they are our friends. Our friends will ask us to help, in some way, soon. When they ask, we need to be prepared to do whatever we can.  And don’t ever forget what you’ve seen.  Grow up to be a person that works to make sure it never happens again.”

So on this second day of Advent, I’m thinking about the future.  Of the time-come-true that the Apostle Paul writes about when he says, “there is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” 

And where that seems to be true—where I can “see it” in action—is in the children of the Llanerch Presbyterian Preschool.  They are not a perfect example of diversity—but our students come as children in different colors, with different backgrounds and families; but everyone comes as an “equal.”  Some of the children bring other gifts, too—disorders, Downs Syndrome, even a child whose internal organs were exterior (where there was a special plate and brace and special procedures for him).  Yet the joy of the children is that their “gifts” are simply “normal.”  They don’t know yet to look at the dis-abilities; and they get to see dramatically differently-abled classmates! 

Sometimes, I just wish we could live in that world as adults.  Where “all we ever needed to know we learned about in [pre-school]!  So when was it that the wool got pulled away from our eyes? 

But I also know, I need to be a part of building the world that we long for and desire to live in—the wonderful world of God’s kingdom that affords amazing gifts and abilities not thought of our imagined! 

So I’m praying for Advent’s light in this special, holy season that’s all about Jesus coming to us and our having to be prepared.  Jesus, who comes first as an infant.  The Jesus who first visits us as a child, and surely matriculated in someone’s preschool class!  And the Jesus who would stand up and boldly as an adult to proclaim not only “let the little children come to me,” but in fact, “for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs.  Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it” (Mark 10:14-15). 

I’m trying, Jesus—I’m trying.  I don’t just want a world that looks like preschool; I want your kingdom.  And I don’t think it’s just going to come if I don’t help build it.  So help me with my naiveté. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

Sunday Sermon Follow-Up: Unhanding our Talents Part II

The conclusion of this week’s sermon was an encouragement to “unhand the talents” in the parable Jesus tells in Matthew 25: 14-30.  (Insert “Frozen” theme song here… “let it go, let it go!”)  [You can find a link to the audio recording by clicking here.]  The premise being that the traditionally maligned Steward #3 who in fear buries his talent in the ground has exactly the right reaction to the life represented by the “talents.”  Finding the life ruled by talents as defined in the rule of the harsh businessman/landowner, Steward #3 recognizes it for the sham it is, and chooses instead to invest himself in the life of God as described by the scriptures—allowing himself to be punished and kicked out of the rich man’s world. 

Where the rich man “reaps where he did not sow and gathers where he did not scatter seed”—expecting interest where he did not invest and demanding spoils generated by other’s work—Almighty God is described for us in the scriptural witness as providing water from sources where the people do not work for it, as granting harvests from fields where the people did not plant or tend them.  God, as contrasted with the wealthy businessman/landowner, gives generously expecting no payment in return, defined instead by jubilee forgiveness of debt and instructions to the faithful to “harvest badly” by leaving much to be gleaned by the vulnerable and needy.  God’s GENEROSITY always trumps the human hoarding and greed so often taken up in order to try and protect ourselves and our wealth.  Unlike the world, I’m convinced that in heaven the streets may be lined with gold but there is no money to delude us! 

So I suggested that the life God calls us to is a life of “unhanding the talents.”  That we should see the challenge of the parable not as the fool’s errand of trying to gain more and more—hoarding—but rather, as the invitation for us to boldly and faithfully give away—generosity.  Sharing and hoarding cannot go together; one is always exclusive of the other.  The parable’s judgment is aimed at our right judgment about God—that God is loving, benevolent, kind, that God is our salvation not our demise. 

So I believe we’re called emulate Steward #3’s understanding or view of God—but not that the only response is to bury our money in the ground!  No, in fact I believe we can make better use of our wealth by approaching the parable with the view toward giving away in love rather than trying to make more wealth on top of more wealth.  When we see the challenge of giving away, of sharing—it transforms the story to show us the goodness of God! 

So here are some suggestions of how to “unhand our talents” by planting them in a life that demonstrates our commitment to the Kingdom of God. 

1. We can “unhand our talents” by sharing generously with a food pantry—planting our wealth literally in the true need of others.  And we should challenge ourselves to share more—not just at church, but in support of other food drives in the community.  There’s been some scrutiny about food pantries giving away “sweet treats;” ask if you can provide desert items like cake or brownie mixes rather than prepackaged cookies.  People who need food deserve something dessert, too! 
2. We can choose to give sacrificially—supporting our church or other causes by giving up something else we normally participate in.  This is often suggested for Lent (giving up), but it works well any time of year.  Try giving a tithe (a full 10%) on what you receive in holiday gifts; or try giving a full tithe of your income during this special season with so many opportunities to give and share with others.  Out do yourself in extra giving! 
3. Commit yourself to some extra giving you wouldn’t ordinarily think about.  Supporting local a museum or library—or other projects of “public good.”  There’s public radio or television, or other beneficent foundations—like giving to research causes that help fight disease. 
4. Winter’s coming.  We know already people will need coats, scarfs, mittens, hats, and warm socks, to combat the elements.  Take advantage of a seasonal bargain and provide extra.  Or give a little extra by planting some leftover Halloween candy down in the gloves or socks or hats—or in the pockets of the coats with a little note taped to it about why it’s there. 
5. Your whole family’s coming over for Thanksgiving?  Ask each person to bring an item needed for a disaster clean-up bucket. 
6. Need something worthwhile and humanitarian to do on Black Friday?  Take your family on a “scavenger hunt” for sale items needed for a disaster relief kit or bucket.  Turn a day of greed into a life-saving gift! 
7. Use the Thanksgiving weekend with family and friends to work on hand-made projects that can be used as Christmas presents.  Avoid the “Black Friday Greed” by working on old-fashioned, hand-crafted gifts that show your love—not just your ability to retrieve a bargain ahead of someone else. 

These kinds of ideas we’ve all heard of before.  But they invite us to consider the many ways we are well-to-do, and even ask us to put our ordinary lifestyle “at risk” to demonstrate God’s love for us and others.  The point is for us to truly seek the ways we can hoard less and share more.  Where we emulate not those who greedily want more and more and more, but those who SHARE more and more and more.  Where we entrust ourselves to the love of God that Jesus teaches.  Where we seek to live it out by divesting of hold habits, seeking to live transformed realities. 

I believe the third steward, the one with the one talent and who buries it in the ground, is the one who trades the life of the world for the life of God.  Trades the oppression of Rome for the freedom of God’s Kingdom.  We’re called to live like him, willing to give it all away—like Jesus.  Knowing that when we do, God is there to love us through and through. 

  

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

Things Long Promised

A lot of my friends on Facebook are excited to proclaim their boycott of shopping for this upcoming Thanksgiving Day.  A few have heralded stores announcing that they “value their employees families enough” to not open on Thanksgiving Day; and others have decried the stores announcing that they will be open for special hours and special sales.  In the view of many, shopping on Thanksgiving Day is the Enemy at work.  I’m sympathetic; I’m just not convinced. 

To be fair, I am CHOOSING not to SHOP on Thanksgiving Day at least because I value time with my family—particularly on Thanksgiving—because it’s my favorite holiday. 

Thanksgiving is a pretty unique witness.  At a planning meeting for our Community’s Interfaith Thanksgiving Worship Service we noted that Thanksgiving is a U.S. Holiday—specifically set aside for offering signs of gratitude to God.  From the beginning, this holiday was seen as being an important observance not for any of its often-assumed Christian identity but because the original interpretation of “God” was INCLUSIVE of all faiths—Jews, Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, and others.  So that maybe the only people who might be excluded are the atheists who believe in “no god”—and yet, so many of them also ascribe that a time of thanksgiving is not a bad human endeavor. 

I haven’t checked this on the internet, but I learned this week that for many years, the U.S. Congress met intentionally on Christmas Day.  Of all the things, right?  But the point was—as someone shared in the conversation—that Congress didn’t want to be perceived as endorsing any particular religious affiliation, or offering some kind of “special privilege” to some but not others.  In other words, Thanksgiving was a National Holiday; Christmas was a particularly Christian holy day—it was important to work on one but not the other. 

So if the anti-Thanksgiving-Day-shopping-hordes need another reason not to like stores being open on Thanksgiving Day, they can call it un-patriotic and un-American.  That’s the real truth—not that they’re stealing from someone’s family.  And I’m with you in spirit, sort-of.  But I’m sorry.  As much as I’d like to pile my angst on those greedy stores that are seeking a greater share of financial profit by opening their doors on Thanksgiving Day—it’s just not, and not just, their fault. 

Think of it this way; ask people today what “Thanksgiving” means to people and it won’t take long to get to turkey and NFL football.  For many, Thanksgiving isn’t Thanksgiving without the now-obligatory football game (and believe me, here in the Philadelphia area, few people will be shopping on Thanksgiving because it’s the Dallas Cowboys and the Philadelphia Eagles playing a game that will be televised nationally—to the joy of many and the heartburn of others!).  But no one, I mean NO ONE ever steps up to the pre-game, halftime, or post-game microphone ritual to shame the teams or the audience about the game being played on a national holiday or how this stole everyone’s family from what’s important.  So why are we so angry at the Wal-Marts and the Best-Buys when they want a piece of our holiday action, too? 

Over the past few years, as this Thanksgiving-Day-shopping-thing was coming along, the retailers made a careful argument.  Look, they said, people don’t really like their families enough to put up with a full 8 or 12 hours of contact time.  They need the distraction of the football game, they need the meal, and then they just need to “get out of there.”  They argued that opening late on Thanksgiving Day—in some cases—would “save families” because it would prevent the typical family melt-down or blow up when irritations got rubbed raw after hours of being confined in the house and around the table! 

The truth is, some people bought it—literally.  Filled with the excitement of other things to do, sure, SOME PEOPLE dumped the family gathering for a holiday mark-down.  But instead of decrying the decision, we vilify retailers—not even think about all the single folks, or those who couldn’t afford the ticket home, or the people who were blessed by a day of work just to pay the bills.  It’s not just the fault of the retailers.  They’ve got to make a buck; we’re all in this together.  All of us—tied together—now more than ever. 

Of course, if stores are open a few hours on Thanksgiving and some people are going to shop.  [Thank goodness, because some of us forget a critical item on the shopping list and at the last minute we’re in line at the grocery at 9am on Thanksgiving Day thankful that Cheri, the check-out lady, wasn’t at home warming her turkey!]  Yet still, we think we can prevent all this by just saying, “No!  You can’t open your store on Thanksgiving”—for all that is holy and right and just and fair! 

For us.  As we see it.  From our own selfish perspective.  Not us, “in it together” or “tied to one another in hope.” 

So we decry both the shopping and the fact that some people have to work.  But they’re working to pay the rent and put food on the table.  There are still real needs being met by these transactions too.  We all have choices, and maybe that’s a good thing, a better thing.  It’s possible for many things to be right and true and faithful—even on a holiday.  Even with shopping. 

I try not to shop on holidays—but that’s a choice I make for myself and my family, not for anyone else.  But I don’t think I should use it as an excuse to not like retailers or to hold it against them.  If you don’t want to shop on Thanksgiving Day, don’t.  They can’t make you do it anymore than the television can make you watch it. 

For my part, I hope to be home with my family.  We’ll probably have some turkey, we might catch some of the football game, and we might play some catch in the yard.  We, too, will be looking at the sales in that huge-thanksgiving-bundle of papers and thinking about what mostly other people will spend their day buying on Friday.  And then we’ll turn our attention to all there is to celebrate and be thankful for in the next month or two, and what it means to wait and watch and hope for the things long-promised. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you—Forgiveness

This last Sunday, Jesus presented believers with a parable about forgiveness.  Peter had asked Jesus, “How often should I forgive?  As many as seven times?”  To which Jesus responds, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven (or seventy times seven) times.” 

The Family Circus cartoon had a famous strip where the kids mistake “trespasses” in the Lord’s Prayer for “trash-passers.”  So let’s imagine that Peter’s neighbor has been “trash-passing”—or at least dumping garbage on his front lawn.  So Peter asks, “How many times should I forgive my neighbor?  Seven times?” 

He may really be asking, “How many times to I have to endure this before I call the police or take him to court, or seek some other intervening action?” 

But I take Jesus’ response to indicate something like this in response to Peter’s query: “You have to forgive your neighbor so many times it’s simply not worth keeping count.”  For some—for many, and perhaps for all of us—it’s simply too much.  Indefinite forgiveness?  Forgiving so many times?  That doesn't sound fair. 

But I take Jesus’ point also to mean this.  Let’s say you are really aiming to forgive someone seventy-seven (or seventy times seven) times.  How long down the list of required forgivenesses before Jesus’ call to “forgiveness” begins to change your life?  And more importantly, how long before that call of “forgiveness” changes other people’s lives—especially those who are being forgiven? 

In Jesus’ parable that was a part of last Sunday’s gospel lesson, forgiveness applies to monetary debt.  Someone is unable to repay a debt and the rules say simply that the indebted person can be imprisoned until he or she can repay the full amount.  It will mean being separated from family and in fact, make it nearly impossible for the debt to be repaid.  Debt causes much suffering. 

Jesus’ teaching is that “forgiveness” is the rule of life—not indebtedness.  He shows this by the mercy that is conferred on the indebted man; a gift that is not shared.  The one forgiven refuses to forgive.  It’s supposed to be a transformative message for those of us who have been forgiven in Christ. 

To put that to the test, let’s consider that once again, highly paid athletes are in the news for behaving badly—in fact, it’s beyond bad behavior, it’s violent reprehensible behavior against women and children.  At this time Ray Rice of the Baltimore Ravens and Adrian Peterson of the Minnesota Vikings are in any number of hot seats, from criminal charges to suspensions and outright firings—and justifiably so.  And while there’s been outrage over the NFL players, there are similar circumstances surrounding U.S. Women’s soccer star Hope Solo—but without the same kind of punishment. 

Forgiveness?  I’m not exactly feeling it. 

Jesus, one time seems unbearably difficult—let alone seven times.  And seventy-seven (or seventy times seven) times?  Forget-a-bout-it! 

But.  THIS. IS. NOT. OUR. CALLING. 

“Forgiveness” is not saying—“everything’s OK.”  Forgiveness is a two-way street; it means accountability; it requires the desire to be forgiven as well as the desire to forgive; it means owning up to what was wrong; it means a high desire to change; it suggests that reparations must be considered; it is not simple; it is hard, hard work.  And to say we’re not exactly up for it is surely to put ourselves at great peril.  While we may think we do or will sleep better at night holding out for extreme punishment and reparations, Jesus promises us that forgiveness is the path that leads to life. 

People argue all the time that it’s being “tough on crime” that helps criminals know that “crime doesn't pay.”  But Jesus argues that it’s by way of forgiveness that we find true life.  It’s the road of forgiveness that demonstrates time and again that we are not lost forever, but that we can be found.  We are not abandoned and left out, we can be restored.  It’s a powerful witness that demonstrates that “crime doesn't pay.”  It’s the ultimate witness that God claims us even when we have made mistakes.  It’s the reminder that mistakes aren't the last word about us.  Instead the last words can be that love, hope, and joy prevail—and the greatest of these is love (to paraphrase the Apostle Paul). 

And what better words for us.  Not because some more highly paid athletes are in trouble or appear to in some ways get off the hook of true accountability or that women and children are still victims.  The word on the street is that it’s forgiveness that prevails, that forgiveness leads to life, and we’re involved in it and LOVE is winning.  

But only if we’re truly involved in it.  Forgiveness.  Seventy seven times (or is that seventy times seven times). 

In the case of the current NFL scandals, I can’t say as I know exactly what “forgiveness” looks like.  But I’m certain that we should be endeavoring to seek it out.  Forgiveness doesn't exonerate the perpetrators; forgiveness doesn't mean it’s OK.  But forgiveness is one of the signs that the Kingdom of God is truly loosed in the world.  And that: IS. OUR. CALLING! 

So it means we have to be practiced—not at fear and retribution, but forgiveness and love.  And Jesus is just seeing to it—by rule.  Forgive seventy-seven (or seventy times seven) times and we’ll be on the pathway of life. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

Some Other Fun Things to Do… WITH YOUR MONEY!

If you don’t have a Facebook account (or use other social media) it’s possible that you avoided seeing all the videos of people pouring buckets of ice water on themselves, challenging family and friends to take the “ice bucket challenge” by making a video and making a donation to help ALS research.  

Over the course of several weeks, I’ve been the unfortunate witness of a plethora of videos of people pouring ice water on themselves.  And while it’s true that some of the homemade videos were creative, fun, and even funny, I found them all just silly.  At one point, more people seemed taken aback by several celebrities who took the opportunity to make videos of themselves, writing checks for ALS research, then using an ice bucket to put ice in a drink—thus avoiding the uncomfortable and humiliating “challenge” of withstanding a bucket of ice water dumped over their heads. 

Thankfully, when I saw this cartoon this week, I felt like I was finally returned to some sanity about what truly matters.  Because while so many “first-world” people were accepting challenges to take ice water and pour it over themselves, so many in the world are truly suffering.  It turns out, those buckets of ice water are for the rest of the world a wasteful, gluttonous display afforded only to people (US) who by comparison are super-rich.  As this cartoon suggests, there are plenty of people who have to work so much harder for their buckets of water in order to sustain daily living—and we haven’t even begun to touch the realities we “first-world people” foist upon the rest of the peoples of the world whose land is destroyed in pursuit of all the metallic resources needed to power our smartphones, computers, and i-pads used to make the videos in the first place.  Nor the fact that pouring buckets of useable water is wasteful for so many people who don’t have access to clean drinking water who don’t even share the benefit of seeing the amusing videos of us “first-worlders” WASTING what is to them PRECIOUS WATER! 

Plus, there’s this.  While surely this created a lot of publicity for the cause of ALS research, the hard truth is that what ALS research needs more than that is the actual dollars to fund it.  In other words, we could have taken all the “costs” to waste water and produce those videos and poured it into ALS research; or, we could simply be dedicated, passionate supporters of ALS research and written checks because someone we knew and trusted asked us to—no silly, wasteful video required. 

To make a difference, we don’t need opportunities to dump ice water on ourselves.  The best way to show our mettle is to respond to what we believe and know by supporting the things we believe and trust can change lives for the better.  What matters isn’t a public spectacle, but personal conviction.  What matters is not that we take pictures of ourselves doing silly things, hoping a kind of school-yard dare will get more people involved.  What matters is that we are convicted by what we believe and choose to be actively involved by sharing what we have.  What matters is participating with God in making the world a better place by emulating God—by giving like God gives. 

There are many causes that matter to me; some of them I am able to financially support and others I’m not.  The list of things that matter to me is long, and it’s tempting to believe there isn’t ever enough money to go around.  I believe and trust what God says to us—that there is enough and for all; we all still have to be committed to giving it.  And people are drawn to giving, not because we’re dared to pour ice water on our heads and make a video of it, but because we are asked to give.  People give because when they hear about what’s important to us, they will want to join us—or not.  Passion and faith drive our giving.  Not dares. 

So I’m asking (not daring)—don’t make a spectacle of giving.  Make a gift! 

And here are some places where your GIFT can make a big difference (and none of them require or desire you to pour ice water over your heads before or after you write the check, or press the “donate” button, or place your envelope in an offering plate!). 

Rev. Kate Taber recently shared an update from the Middle East.  Her story includes an opportunity to give directly to a hospital in Gaza where we can provide help to victims of recent violence there.  Check out here story HERE. 

Presbyterian Disaster Assistance provides help and relief in times of disaster or hardship—both natural and human-caused hardships.  PDA has an almost instantaneous response, but in order to respond, they use donations to help prepare the way—before disaster strikes.  Giving before, during, and after disasters is important.  Check it out HERE. 

Now that school has begun, classes have resumed at our Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) theological seminaries.  Theological Education Fund of the PCUSA is the only denomination-wide funding source for our PCUSA seminaries.  Our seminaries prepare church leaders—valuable to have on the ground in churches (in communities) when hard things happen.  If you think pastors have valuable input in places like Fergusson, MO, or Sandy Hook, or who open sanctuaries in times like 9/11—then our seminaries deserve your support.  You can find more information about TEF HERE. 

And if you those problems are bigger and larger, or if you have concerns about a large denominational apparatus and how much money may or may not be used as a part of “overhead,” you can always fund the ministry and mission of a local congregation—in your community or elsewhere.  The congregation I serve has financial challenges we’re facing.  You can check out what we do, and even make a donation to our ministry via Paypal using our website.  You can get to our website by clicking HERE. 

Don’t just dump a bucket of ice water on your head.  Make a gift.  Fund a ministry.  Change the world. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

Who Do You Say That I Am?

It’ll be 5 years ago this October/November that I had the chance to pilgrimage in the Holy Land.  And one of the “journeys” of that trip was to travel from our hotel in Tiberius up to “Caesarea Philippi”—or at least to the site of the first-century Roman city. 

I remember the day well.  It was cloudy and rainy.  There were parts of the journey in heavy fog—so that you couldn’t see the mountains.  And we traveled from land that was established as “Israel” in 1948 to land that had since been acquired and controlled by Israel—what was once a part of Syria that now is occupied by Israeli defense forces and citizens.  Traveling through this new territory, we didn’t see tanks or barracks, but we knew it was heavily defended, seeing plenty of signs along the road indicating that it was “mined” with landmines beyond the shoulders, noticing, too, that if required a vigorous defense stood at the ready for any military attack. 

I’ve since wondered if this was also how Jesus’ disciples might have felt about the journey Jesus was asking them to undertake in last Sunday’s gospel lesson.  “Who do people say that the Son of Man is? (Matthew 16: 13-20)” is a question Jesus is asking in the face of cultural, military, and imperial opposition to the people of God.  Jesus presumably takes the disciples to show them the human opposition that the ministry of Jesus Christ faces in the world.  And when Peter offers up the right answer, it’s an anti-imperial choice, a reflection that the true power of the world is found in God—in Jesus.  But this power is opposed by the world around it! 

Frankly, this isn’t much different that the challenges we face in our world, today.  The call and claim of the ministry of Jesus Christ calls us to be anti-imperial, counter-cultural, and to choose non-violence in the face of violence.  Because at the end of the day, “who do we say that Jesus is?”—if not anti-imperial, counter-cultural, and non-violent?  The identification of Jesus as “the way, and the truth, and the life,” prescribes a different world-view for us—one of compassion, peace, and justice.  These are not just good words; they must compel us to act. 

Jesus calls us to identify with the Kingdom of God.  To love her virtues, to claim her values, and to give witness to God’s desires for the world—where every life is valued and acts of violence are abhorred.  This must call us to revalue our commitments to privileged “rights” and public policies.  The problem is, we’re simply afraid of alienating anyone; and when we take strident stands, we’re accused of cutting someone out. 

Unfortunately, the temptation is to believe that if we hold too tightly and rigidly to the calls and claims of Jesus, we’ll make people mad.  If we call for non-violent solutions in places like Gaza, Syria, and Iraq, we’ll look foolish in the world of an “eye-for-an-eye” kind of retributive justice.  If we stand up for victims of violence and discrimination like Mike Brown we’ll be seen as “anti-police” or “reverse-racist.”  And if we try and steer toward a middle way, we aren’t leading with Jesus’ voice in any clear direction. 

Jesus stood in the face of worldly power and gave witness to the Kingdom of God. 

And frankly, Jesus calls us to stand in the face of this world’s power and at the very least, admit our allegiance to God’s power above and beyond human power. 

We’re fond—at least in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A)—of trying to carve out a safe place for everyone; in other words, we’re famous for not telling people what to believe or how to vote or forcing people to support certain policies.  But what we sometimes lose is remembering to proclaim boldly the kind of life Jesus lived and calls us to. 

The biblical witness of Jesus calls us toward a lifestyle of not killing, a way of life that values all human beings, and care for neighbor that identifies even our enemies as our neighbors.  Even in the face of public opinion. 

The congregation I serve doesn’t tell you what to believe; but we do want you to “do the math.”  We should be telling the world what Jesus did, what he believed, what he stood for, how he called people to live.  And that’s a pretty good indication of the values we should be holding and living out, too. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

The Delicateness of a Wildly Creative God

I’ve returned from two weeks of being isolated on vacation.  My family and I spent two weeks camping in the wilds of Pennsylvania forests, most of that time in the Allegheny National Forest.  There were lots of opportunities to witness God’s creation and few chances to be “connected” by cell phone, text message, Wi-Fi, e-mail and certainly no cable television! 

Just prior to leaving on our vacation, our congregation hosted our annual Vacation Bible School and one of the activities I invited the children into was an exercise of “walking with God/Jesus.”  We walked in our neighborhood and I invited the 3-4 year olds, and the 5-6 year olds, and the 7-8 year olds and the 9-10 year olds to practice “walking with Jesus” by looking for the signs of God’s presence in the world. 

I had in mind, birds chirping, or a squirrel crossing our path, or the abundant sunshine on a beautiful day.  But I wasn’t at all prepared for how well they’d take it!  “Walking with Jesus” was a good reminder for me; and sharing with the children made it more important for me to consider the ways I connect with God in God’s wondrous world. 

Every day on our vacation we had opportunities to connect with God’s beauteous creation.  And I tried to soak up every bit of God’s presence.  We saw grand forests, substantial vistas, and really cool stuff.  It’s hard not to wonder about God’s creativeness—especially when you discover an Eastern Newt (a bright orange, lizard looking thing that ambles along on the forest floor in this really interesting way). 

It was easy “looking for God” amidst all the natural beauty that was so different from our neighborhood back in Havertown. 

But here’s what really “got me.”  One of the things I was “hoping for” for this trip, was the opportunity to see a bear—in the wilderness.  Yes.  I wanted to share wilderness space, together, with a bear.  I know.  That’s not exactly what one is taught to hope for, and if you find yourself with the bear, you are supposed to move in another direction.  But then, all of a sudden it was happening.  And not just any bear, try a mamma bear with two of the cutest cubs you could ever imagine! 

To be honest, the bear looked a lot like any bear you might see at the zoo.  And at about 50 feet, not close enough for us to feel threatened or for the bear to be too concerned.  For that matter, the bear was totally unconcerned about the people in the area—even though the people were somewhat apprehensive about the bear, particularly a mother bear with reason to be defensive about her cubs.  Yet, neither we nor the bear seemed the least bit afraid. 

The surprising thing?  Here was this big black bear foraging through bushes and shrubbery, but not making any noise whatsoever!  In fact, were it not for some other hikers, we would have missed the bears altogether.  No grunts, no rustling of leaves, no distinctive rubbing of branches.  The bears were quiet as the proverbial church mouse!  And it was breathtaking—literally. 

I held my breath, hoping this moment could go on and on, quickly trying to get a picture of the bears.  My children even made fun of me because as I took pictures, I seemed to catch only the bear’s backside each time—their giggles were far louder than the bears rustling.  It was simply awesome! 

So what awed me?  The delicate creativity of almighty God!  The delicateness of small Eastern Newts ambling in their peculiar way and big black bears rummaging the forest in almost total and complete silence!  I had to rethink Elijah’s still, small, voice and the sound of sheer silence!  The awesome sound of God—who makes no sound, like a black bear in the forest.  It makes it hard to notice God sometimes.  We have to be practiced at “looking for God” even as that sounds kind of silly.  Of course, the kids will tell you, “God is everywhere.”  But it’s kind of like that bear… you look up and are caught off guard, caught in the moment, there and yet sneaky quiet. 

Where have you met the delicateness of our wildly creative God? 

Where have you found God sneaking up on you? 

And how do you carry that with you everyday? 

The delicateness of that black bear, silently moving about the forest!  What a wildly creative and delicate God.  That’s the God I meet—delicate, wildly creative, giving me hope and inspiration in a world beset with troubles.  Wildly creative and delicate enough, un-harried enough, un-fearing enough.  I walk with that God. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

“On God the Solid Rock I Sleep; all Other Ground Is Not As Sweet”

Elizabeth Evans Hagan, writing this week for the online devotional at www.d365.org invites us to pray, “Remind me today that I can trust You to be my rock!”  It seems a fitting image as we come to the 6^th Sunday After Pentecost where the alternate Old Testament lesson shares the story of Jacob who sleeps in the wilderness with a “rock” for a pillow—only to be awakened in the night to discover that the “rock” is rather uniquely connected to God and a gateway to heaven. 

“A rock for a pillow” strikes me as a rather bad time in the wilderness!  Surely, Jacob had something more tangible with him that could have better served as a place to lay his head.  Jesus, however, was plainly and painfully forthright telling his disciples, “the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.”  While Jacob is not the Son of Man these are still the reminders that there are times when we journey in difficult places and circumstances.  The lesson, as always, seems to be for us to learn time and again to rely on God; and that even when we have not sought God out, God manages to seek us out, to find us, and to reveal for us God’s promises. 

It is striking to me that in the wilderness, with nothing to his name and only a rock for a pillow, Jacob is found by God.  That rock becomes the keystone—where the ladder appears and the angels are ascending and descending and where Jacob can see into God’s realm.  At some point, God must descend, or at least God appears beside Jacob—right there in the wilderness, in a time of uncomfortability and uncertainty.  And maybe more than God’s promises that get laid out again, the reminder—and one of the most appealing elements of this story—is supposed to be that we are never abandoned or alone. 

God is indeed our rock! 

But this is more than just comforting words in a harsh moment.  Jacob will go on to bless that spot and that rock as a reminder of who visited there.  And we all should have places where God has appeared to us giving those places special meaning.  But it isn’t just in the places.  The Bible reminds us that God appears in all kinds of situations; and our Sunday School lessons teach us that God is everywhere.  Yet, when we say that God is our rock… are we not lending ourselves both to something concrete but also less definitive? 

I’m thinking today about an upcoming family vacation that my family and I are planning.  We’re going to be camping, and we’re always worried about picking camping sites where we literally won’t be using rocks for pillows.  Still, part of the experience we hope for is to encounter one another and God in new ways—and places.  We know that a sunset, a patch of wild blackberries, wildlife, or scenic spots and opportunities all lend themselves to the breathtaking promises of God’s abiding with us. 

But just beyond are the reminders of God that change us. 

Our Christian culture seems to be struggling with the idea of a change-less God.  For some, the basis of faith is having God “nailed down” in the Bible’s stories and teachings with the point revealing an un-changeable, and unchanging God—where God is the same, yesterday, today, and tomorrow.  For others, the Bible’s promises are of a God that is always doing something new among us, breathing newness and freshness into our lives.  Many, see a God adept at change, able to fashion God’s love in spite of human foibles, where a changeless gospel of the good news of God’s love constantly and consistently invites and cajoles us to be changed by God’s love and where God is changed because God is in relationship with us. 

To say that God is our rock—isn’t saying that we’re stuck in a sanctuary of unchanging, immoveable existence; but instead, is to plant ourselves within a journey—where we’re firmly rooted in God’s faithfulness and loving kindness but always moving, changing, rediscovering, being moved and cajoled and inspired by a God who cannot be nailed down! 

So in this season of traveling, journeying, vacationing—in our trips, tours, and treks—may we be open to laying our heads down upon the rocks of God’s love.  May we be kept safe; may we accomplish our assignments; may we relax and enjoy and be encouraged.  And may we also be open to discovering again God’s presence among us.  Let us learn again that God is with us—no matter our travels or troubles.  Let us feel God as our rock and resting place.  And like Jacob, may we go away inspired to never be the same. 

  

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

“The Yoke of Jesus—Binding Up One Another’s Wounds”

For the past fortnight I’ve been thinking about the necessity of “binding up one another’s wounds.”  My beloved Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) feels “dinged” to me—like a historic piece of silver communion ware (say, a chalice) that got dropped and now bears the physical signs of imperfectness.  I’m comfortable with the church being an “imperfect place”—it is, in fact, how God calls us to be; if nothing else, as a kind of hospital for sinners, which means we bear the realities of dealing with human sinfulness all the time. 

That’s a little easier when you’re dealing with the “trash-passers” as the Family Circus cartoon referred to those who “trespassed” in the Lord’s Prayer. 

It’s a little more difficult when we’re talking about brothers and sisters with whom we openly disagree. 

There are wounds on every side.  For a long time, those “wounded” were those who believed our church was denying those who were LGBTQ the same rights and authorities and opportunities in service.  And after years of conversation and debates, our General Assembly has moved to allow not only ordination of LGBTQ persons for church service, but now has granted ministers and congregations permission to officiate same-sex marriages in places where it’s legal.  So now, wounded-ness is also being felt by those who fervently believed by conscience and their reading of scripture that same-sex marriage is wrong, and the reality that “Presbyterian-ness” is now associated with permitting it.  I’m not sure the wounds are the same; but I know that there’s a lot of wounded-ness among us. 

I for one like Presbyterian meetings.  But I’m not looking forward to the conversations over this issue that will happen where members and elected commissioners will be divided and where our wounded-ness is again rubbed raw in conversations, deliberations, and decisions that must still be made regarding the definition of marriage in our church’s constitution. 

I keep going back to an experience I had while on pilgrimage in the Holy Land.  Our group pulled over on the highway between the Dead Sea and Jerusalem at a place I had only heard and read about—the Good Samaritan Inn.  Yet, there we were, beside the highway, in a barren desert-esque, wilderness place with lots of dirt and sand and weeds, and where we didn’t actually see any inn; there was a locked gate and we were told they were building an inn. 

The place is named, of course, for the famous story in Luke’s gospel—“The Good Samaritan”—where the hero turns out to be an enemy.  Despite major divisions—religious, political, and otherwise—the Samaritan binds the wounds of the one who was beaten, robbed, and left for dead in the ditch beside the road.  How’d that happen?--especially when other folks simply "passed by on the other side."  I don't blame the passers-by; I'm feeling like passing by, too.    

OK, so maybe the injured one wasn’t in a position to argue, fight back, or dissent.  Nonetheless, he is the beneficiary of great human kindness and love.  This love prevails despite the deep divides.  Maybe it was easier because the injured was just one—not like a whole raft of enemies, not like a 60-40 split down the center aisle of the Presbytery meeting. 

We in the church aren’t dealing with victims beside the road.  We’re looking across the aisle or around the room at friends and colleagues, about whom we have answered ordination vows to be “a friend among colleagues.”  In our assemblies we have different opinions; different interpretations; different hopes and dreams—to be sure.  But what we claim together in Jesus Christ surely means we already have a leg up on the injured Jew beside the road and the Samaritan who tends to him.  Shouldn’t we do no less than they in binding wounds? 

I believe our common calling—even with those with whom we disagree—is what a colleague is calling in a sermon this weekend, “the yoke of Christ.”  My friend is telling his congregation about the legend of Jesus the master carpenter, who becomes famous for his ability and willingness to craft perfectly fitted yokes for working oxen.  It’s Jesus—“measuring twice and cutting once” to unite two different animals in their work in a way that is “perfectly fitted” to be both humane and enabling. 

In these days when our church faces the struggles of more discussions and decision-making, it’s important to remember that we are yoked to Christ.  But also, I think, that we are called to be yoked to one another.  This will not mean “agreeing to disagree.”  It means we are stuck with each other—for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.  But we are not “stuck,” so much as we are fitted for service—TOGETHER—with, by, and for Jesus Christ. 

It is Christ who has joined us as brothers and sisters and called us into ministry.  It is Christ who has fitted us together for this journey.  It is Christ who calls us to be one and who sustains us. 

I don’t know exactly what that looks like.  But I hope that we will all demonstrate care for one another and live into it—TOGETHER. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

“What to Make of Us Now”

Last week, the 221^st General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) the Christian denomination in which I am an ordained Teaching Elder, was meeting in Detroit, Michigan.  If you weren’t napping during the evening news or snoozing through the Sunday papers, you probably know about the two decisions of our church’s highest council that hit all the headlines.  (To be sure, the General Assembly made decisions, took many actions, and approved scads of recommendations—and all but two or three failed to make headline news!  Unfortunately, this is not uncommon.)

The Assembly approved an authoritative interpretation that allows PCUSA Teaching Elders (ministers/pastors) and congregations—in states where it is legal—to celebrate same-gender marriages.  What you probably DID NOT READ OR HEAR was that the same authoritative interpretation also allows PCUSA Teaching Elders and congregations the right to decline participating in such celebrations for reasons of conscience and conviction.  In practice—this secondary, non-headline grabbing part, has always been true of any marriage—ministers and congregations could and still can decline any request if they believed the marriage was or is unwise. 

The Assembly also voted narrowly (310 in favor to 303 against) to redirect some of our financial investments with respect to three North American companies by “divesting” our financial holdings in our investment portfolios.  After years of corporate engagement, these companies have consistently refused to address changes in business practices or shift away from taking advantage of violence and occupation in the Middle East to make corporate profits—from which our church’s portfolio benefited, too.  And while there have been wide-ranging condemnations of this action from the Jewish community and others, (including churches and members who disagreed) I believe it’s important to keep in mind that this action DID NOT remove any money from the nation of Israel, nor did it withdraw our support from a two-state solution, nor does it presume to affect our nation’s historic alliance, support, or commitment to Israel’s statehood. 

So, for a week now, e-mails, telephone calls, and letters—both in support of these and other actions as well as to decry them—have been hot and heavy for many of my colleagues in local congregations, judicatories, and national offices.  And while I haven’t faced angry parishioners or distraught members of my Township, it’s been a hard week of fallout for me.  It’s been hard, because I’ve personally become aware of the acute pain that is being felt in real-life relationships—including some of my own—BECAUSE of a General Assembly. 

Let me be clear.  Most of us in the PCUSA have grown accustomed to taking each General Assembly with a grain of salt.  We almost never make headlines.  Consider that we’ve been arguing and debating over issues of homosexuality, sex, marriage, fidelity and chastity, and same-sex marriage for nearly 40 years.  This year I celebrated 19 years of ordained ministry.  In that time, I’ve had to vote at least once each year on an issue related to homosexuality in our church and I’ve never received an angry phone call or e-mail from a church member, or an inquiring phone call or e-mail from a news reporter—and I still haven’t! 

And if I had one reaction or one hope as a result of the General Assembly’s action this time it would be that maybe we can take this topic of the table—as in for good.  I don’t want to have to ever talk about it again!  I’m weary of it, worn down, and feel mostly beaten. 

But we can’t! 

In the week since General Assembly the news has invaded not the governing body but our constituent churches.  Those of us who “weren’t there” in the assembly hall to hear the arguments and give witness to the presence of the Holy Spirit and feel the breath of God and the winds of change on our faces have been left back at home to pick up the pieces.  And we’re definitely not used to the shock-waves of all the attention! 

This time, it’s different. 

This week, I listened to a colleague who had important personal friendships and ministerial relationships with Jewish friends and congregational leaders.  He’s not getting phone calls, e-mails and letters, either—they’re not even calling to say “goodbye”—because they disagree with what they’ve heard in the news reports about the actions of the General Assembly. 

This week, in my own family the General Assembly’s actions are a matter of contention, controversy, and pain.  My wife is Catholic.  Our churches and faiths are not of one voice on the issue of same-sex marriage.  And what many of my colleagues and friends can celebrate as a moment of joy and triumph has been for me a bitter knife plunged into my own marital relationship. 

This week, while some “hooray” the turning tide, others I know are left with open wounds.  In an almost, “Thank God the fighting is over” comment, one of my colleagues indicated relations are no longer about fighting the denomination—the evangelical cause has lost; “there’s only room now for sharing the truth in love,” he said, promising that’s what he intended to do. 

The new reality in my beloved PCUSA has come at a great PERSONAL cost for many of us.  Those who’ve been fighting for years would say, “of course,” even that their cost has been so great for so long.  But this isn’t because some people are mad or uncomfortable; it’s not that there will be painful votes by sessions and congregations to leave our denomination for another.  It’s not just the brokenness of a theological divide in the sanctuary when we gather for presbytery meetings. 

There’s actually very real pain and suffering.  So much so, that if we could have given witness to it at the General Assembly, maybe the Spirit would have blown another way. 

But it didn’t. 

Now, we face the real, authentic, genuine pain.  And if people out there think the hard work’s over—then our victory is just the pride of separation and division.  And on each of these issues, I believe the hope of the General Assembly was to in some measure OVERCOME the specter of separation and division. 

So now, what we’re going to be testing, isn’t how far we can press a fragile alliance toward one view or the other, but our commitment to loving one another, our agility at helping to bind up one another’s wounds, and our obligation to beat our swords into plowshares—both the literal and figurative. 

Now, all of us in the whole of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) must face the old nemesis to any and every marriage—the challenges of brokenness and the search for reconciliation!  And that isn’t what happens when people just leave! 

The question for me is this: What will the world make of us now? 

If we plan on staking a claim to prophetic actions and hope-filled proclamation, what will the world say of us or make of us if all we’re interested in is conquer and divide.  If that’s all the hope we can demonstrate, we don’t deserve the headlines or the influence. 

But, if they can see that we are Christians by our LOVE—for one another—we may be given headline-worthy ministry at the 222^nd General Assembly in 2016. 

Put Away the Guns Already--my heart is breaking!

 These pictures are apparently a new advertisement for the “latest bulletproof” technology available to schools, parents, and children.  So you know, it’s also touted as “protective gear” for events like tornadoes. 

In the wake of more gun-related violence, hearts again are broken.  Not just any violence, like an angry outburst or an enraged response of someone hurt or spurned; instead insidious violence at a school.  I said to the congregation I serve in my sermon this past Sunday, after learning about another university shooting on the west coast—“prepare yourselves, there will be others.”  I didn’t think it would come in less than two days. 

I’m told that since the horrific day when the world learned the name of Columbine because of the violence that happened there, that there have been 149 gun-related events.  There were 75 in the 14 years between Columbine and the shooting at the elementary school in Newtown, Connecticut; and in the not quite two years since Newtown, another 74 events of gun-related violence. 

My heart is breaking.  After this week’s news, I found this picture circulating on the internet; part of a news report on an advertising campaign for a new kind of protective body armor that can be deployed in our schools.  My heart is breaking, because this kind of response is simply confirmation that we seem more than prepared to accept more death, more innocent deaths, more harm perpetrated by individuals and groups.  And we’d rather accept death in order to protect the rights to bear whatever kinds of weapons we deem fit, knowing for certain that this right will result in more deaths.  My heart is breaking. 

Here’s the thing.  While we cling to this right to have and use guns that so many see as most necessary—as if freedom itself depends on a loaded weapon with a finger on the trigger—we seem to have no view of Jesus and his ministry. 

Jesus never used a weapon of any kind against other human beings.  

Jesus, I’m convinced, would never hold a gun against any other human being for any reason. 

As Elias Chacour says in the inscription in each book he signs, “God does not kill.”  Further, Jesus asks his followers to put their weapons away when he is threatened with arrest: “Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword.” 

Of course, a sword is a far cry from a gun or an assault rifle.  As some have observed, would the perpetrators of these violent incidents have used swords instead of guns, the death and damage likely would have been less and less costly.  No, Jesus doesn’t favor swords over guns.  Jesus clearly sides with beating swords and guns into plowshares. 

Last week, I watched a recorded segment of the Tonight Show with David Letterman in which the host, Letterman, in an interview with Anderson Cooper, declared in references to these shootings: “For the love of Christ, when are we going to do something about this nonsense.”  I don’t know about Mr. Letterman’s religious leanings or even if he is a practicing Christian; but it sounded like a siren-call for those of us who claim the name and life of Jesus. 

I don’t know how to practically go about beating our swords and guns into plowshares.  Abolishing the 2^nd Amendment is likely not a political or reasonable solution.  We live too much in the shadow of guns; but hoping or aiming to ban them altogether hardly seems a winning possibility.  Jesus didn't banish swords; but he did say, put them away. 

To those who so vehemently defend the 2^nd Amendment as if we cannot ever imagine reversing it, I ask you to consider the observation that the original constitution declares the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  These days, the 2^nd Amendment right to bear arms and the resulting violence seems to stand stridently in conflict with the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  Even more menacing, increasingly it's innocent children who are victimized by this gun violence enabled by our zest for firearms. 

For me, while it is my right as a citizen of our great nation to have a gun, buy a gun, handle a gun, use a gun, I will not—for any reason.  And in order to save the lives of others, I believe a Christian witness worthy of Jesus, would be for all of us who claim his name to do no less than to put away our guns.  To voluntarily lock them up—effectively making them useless instruments of violence—figuratively beating them into plowshares. 

One of my Facebook friends, Aric Clark, observed in the aftermath of the time before last with one of these shootings, where pictures were circulating of people carrying assault rifles to places like Wal-Mart: 

If you own and openly carry an assault rifle in public spaces you are intentionally sending the message that you are capable and willing to cause massive bodily harm and death to other human beings. It is not irrational for other people to fear you. It is actually what you want. You are a dog baring your teeth. A gorilla beating your chest. Don't pretend it is innocuous to wave an assault rifle around. It is an open threat. 

These days, it simply stands to reason that ANY GUN is a threat.  And that EVERY GUN sends the message that the one holding it is capable—and willing if necessary—to cause massive bodily harm and death to others.  And even when that gun is in the hands of one of the “good guys”—like a soldier or a police officer—the threat is simple, “comply with what I say or I have the right to injure or even kill you.” 

Guns aren’t keeping us safe.  They trick us into believing that we don’t have to rely completely on God’s goodness.  They trick us into believing that the power we create for ourselves is better than God’s provision.  They trick us into thinking that we can have whatever we want without consequences if we can just hold the power in our hands and demonstrate it a time or two for others.  Like, “if the bad guys know we can shoot and kill them, they won’t be tempted to rob the bank.”  We feel the need to protect ourselves, but in that desperate attempt to feel safe, we put others AND OURSELVES at more risk. 

And instead of releasing the grip on the weapons, it will be the plan of many to simply try and clothe the would-be innocent victims in some sort of body armor.  Have fun playing on the playground under a bullet-proof blanket, kids! 

Even that can’t stem the tide; and in the meantime, we’ll live in fear.  How many days till the next shooting?  Since Columbine, the number of days is down to about one shooting per week.  Like Sabbath—one in every seven! 

Stop already.  STOP ALREADY!  My heart is breaking.  The losses are far too real--and unnecessary.  The chances are, the violence will only get closer and closer to home.  74 more events since Newtown; 149 episodes since Columbine. 

I can already begin to count when my own children must take their turn as victims.  Does it take that before I join the chorus—“for the love of Christ, why didn’t we when we had the chance.” 

In fact, why does it take any victim at all. 

Can’t we find a way, for the love of brothers and sisters and care for the world to simply put the guns away.  It’s about 2-3 days until another shooting.