Lint is for Navel-Gazing; Lent is for Something Else

I’m indebted to my colleague from another Presbytery, Mark Davis, who created or shared the observation, “lint is for navel-gazing; lent is for something else.”  That was more than a handful of years ago and I’ve thought ever since that it’s gotten more and more true.  We live in a time when Church traditions (even the most ardent ones) no longer “play well” in the audience the church needs to be appealing to.  “Lent,” a traditional season of penitence and fasting has become a time when everyone can talk about the fashionable-ness of “giving up lattes and chocolates” after Valentine’s Day and trying to lose part of the weight we wrote down in those new year’s resolutions a couple of months ago.  Frozen fish goes on sale at the grocery, Long John Silver’s advertises again on television, and there are “Lenten specials” in a lot of restaurants even if they don’t use the word “Lenten” much. 

Perhaps this is simply because much of our national GDP is driven by consumer spending.  Despite that one of the best-known Bible quotes is still, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not WANT,” we’re constantly enticed to buy because the predominant story of our culture is that we don’t have enough. 

Which story do you believe—the Bible or the culture? 

But which story gets your money? 

I digress. 

Last Friday I was at the grocery story.  I had been at the same grocery story two weeks earlier and had seen that even in suburban Philadelphia, we had “King Cakes” for sale.  Now I know King Cakes because my parents lived for many years in South Louisiana, and King Cakes were very much a part of the Mardi Gras culture, there.  In fact King Cakes were beyond special, many were quite elaborate and there were wonderful creations and decorations, and flavors; it was fashionable there to order your own personalized, special-made, and even gourmet “King Cakes.” 

Seeing a “King Cake” at the grocery store took me back.  But finding the $6.99 price tag for an unglamorous grocery-store baked-good that’s been on the shelf for a while gave me whiplash!  The memory was nice, but it was easy to move on. 

But last Friday, I was in the health-foods aisle in the same grocery when I witnessed the bakery lady pushing a whole bakery-rack full of King Cake boxes.  I watched her rolling the cart in the direction of the “baked goods sale table” where the newly expiring baked goods are shuffled out at a substantial discount.  She was already 3 or 4 aisles ahead of me when I began to smell the waft of freshly baked, baked goods, and was inexplicably following. 

And, if you remember your Lenten calendar, this was the Friday, AFTER Ash Wednesday.  Ash Wednesday is the END of King Cake season everywhere.  I mused to myself that having King Cake after Ash Wednesday was probably at least a little bit sacrilegious; yet still I followed, justifying the journey in order to document what price a King Cake brings in the post-holiday euphoria (when stores drop the price in order to move the merchandise). 

I was more horrified to discover these were not “left-overs” but freshly baked King Cakes on the Friday after Ash Wednesday!  The bakery lady, quickly unloading the cart as if there were more cakes on the way, explained how they were just fresh-baked and decorated, and how they had lost all the little plastic babies that go with the king cakes, so they were minus the babies, but at only $1.75 it was a great price for freshly baked King Cake.  “Indeed,” I offered sheepishly, now salivating after the freshly baked King Cakes even on the first Friday after Ash Wednesday, and still, in fact, working over the Sunday sermon on Jesus’ temptation in my head! 

Yes, this is where it all comes together!  And I’m not embarrassed enough to admit that I left the grocery with a King Cake on the first Friday of Lent.  My wife and I decided we would eat the King Cake on Sunday—when it was no longer fresh-baked—because Friday was a fast-day for our family because of Lent; and, we were leaving the next morning before breakfast so I could attend a conference outside of Washington, D.C.  And I’m writing this because the keynote speaker, David Lose, encouraged being mindful about telling our faith-stories because this world in which we live, the predominant stories have shifted away from the telling of faith-communities and have been co-opted by those who want to sell us things—driving not only the GDP but personal profits and gain. 

Notice how deftly my newly acquired king cake box re-interprets—to the advantage of King Cake enthusiasts and Mardi Gras revelers—the story of Jesus and Epiphany.  It’s as if it were its own liturgical holiday.  And while the colors of gold, purple, and green may stand for justice, peace, and faith, those words have a slightly different meaning outside the Biblical context.  I’m not at all sure what that means to the casual passer-by, or for the family who takes advantage of $1.75 King Cake!  Is this religious-speak?  Is this what Christians believe?  Does the Church advocate having your cake and eating it too—even if it’s the Friday after Ash Wednesday? 

That the King Cake box is re-telling the Jesus story tends to make me mad; but maybe the King Cake box is getting away with it because I’m not telling the Bible’s stories—and my own stories as a Christian—about peace, justice, faith, and Jesus! 

This could be different, perhaps, if I were different.  If I made more of a concerted effort to share my stories of Lenten practices and why I choose the lifestyle I do—or at a minimum, why it bothers me that King Cakes go on sale after Ash Wednesday! 

But that means I not only have to believe and act like Lent is special and religiously significant, but also, I have to tell the Bible’s stories and MY stories …so there is another narrative.  In other words, lint is about navel-gazing; Lent is something else. 

What are some of your Lenten stories?  What are you struggling with?  What gives you hope and joy?  And do you carry the hope and joy with you in the struggles? 

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

"From 'No Words' to Good Words"

We've been this way before.  Too many times.  

Last December, when more than 126 children were violently killed at a school in Pakistan, my Facebook feed filled up with acknowledgements like, “No Words.”  It was more “bad news”—it was more than “bad news”—on top of other devastating news stories.  The season of the Prince of Peace was again shattered by violence and death.  And for many, there were “no words” that could express fully our sadness and broken-heartedness. 

Maybe because of its nearness in our Christian liturgical drama, many colleagues and I found this quotation from Matthew’s gospel appropriate for online posts and sermons:

“A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.” 

The shoes of Jews sent to the gas chambers on
display at the Holocaust Museum, Washington, DC

Weeping for children—whom I could never know—wasn’t hard.  And like in the aftermath of the violence at Sandy Hook Elementary (that was a mere fraction of the life taken in Pakistan), I found myself appreciating my children and hugging them, and enjoying my time in the schoolyard after school. 

But in the last 24 hours, again news of violence, killing, and innocent lives destroyed has emerged in the news; this time, AGAIN, in our own country.  I could hardly bear to read the words of the news accounts of the three Muslim Americans who were shot and killed in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.  The words in news accounts—“execution style” and “gunshot wounds to the head”—suggest this was not some random act, or the result of a dispute over a parking space that was alleged.  And while I don’t know what actually occurred, it appears that the man who turned himself in to authorities killed or murdered the three people; and that by all accounts, it appears to be religiously motivated violence.  That these victims were killed because they practiced a particular faith. 

Once again, there are “no words” that can effectively declare the depth of how I feel—sad, disheartened, demoralized, angry, afraid. 

This comes on the heels of complaints and disagreements over reflective words offered by our President at an annual prayer breakfast; and the outrage and offense expressed by lots of people who would like to think or believe that almost all religious violence in the history of the world is perpetrated by non-Christians.  These people often seemed to speak in ways that make killing seem justified if it is violence being used to protect “American values” or in the cause of “keeping us safe.”  However, as a Christian, my faith and principles dictate that to attack or kill other persons for religious reasons is always wholly and utterly wrong. 

In fact, I’ll go beyond that to say that to attack or kill another person for any reason is wrong.  I believe God does not kill; and that God finds all killing abhorrent. 

In the wake of more violence, more killing, and more death—that we continue to live with every day—there cannot be “no words.”  I believe we must begin to recognize that violence and killing is in fact, not only senseless, but somehow preventable.  That recognition, I believe, beings with more than just “no words” in response. 

While perhaps there are “no words” that can define or describe fully the depth of our sadness, disappointment, and disturbed-ness of spirit; there are words that describe what we believe about God, what we believe about other human beings, and the violence perpetrated against others and ourselves.  There are words; and we can use them. 

This is how some of my Christian colleagues in ministries in Chapel Hill, North Carolina expressed themselves regarding these latest killings: 

As leaders of faith communities in Chapel Hill, we deplore the senseless killing of Deah Shaddy Barakat, Yusor Mohammad, and Razan Mohammad Abu-Salha, and we share in the profound grief of their families.  An attack on any of God’s children, our sisters and brothers, is an attack on us all.  We renew our pledge to continue the vital work of fostering mutual understanding and respect that cross all lines of difference. 

These words are not “no words.” 

These are powerful words—if we choose to use them (or other words like them). 

In fact, these words can hold us to account: “we deplore the senseless killing…,” “we share the profound grief of their families, …an attack on any of God’s children is an attack on us all, …and we renew our pledge to continue the vital work of fostering mutual understanding and respect that cross all lines of difference.” 

It seems to me that any Christian could surely claim these words. 

It would seem to me, that any citizen of the United States could claim these words. 

These are good words. 

They speak to our grief.  They speak to our commitment to God.  They speak of our calling to respect one another (dare we say love one another).  AND, they commit us to the way of peace. 

These names will not be the end.  We will need these words again (or words like them), only with different names attached—maybe next time, Christian names, or Jewish names, or Hindu names, or Orthodox Christian names, or Morman names, or Athiest names…. 

These are not “no words.” 

These are good words. 

We should use these words. 

I just pray that the day comes quickly, that they are no longer required. 

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

I'm Feeling Deflated

It’s not really about the footballs, but the Superbowl has left me feeling deflated. 

Despite the fact that I hear my grandfather’s voice in the back of my head reminding me of the fact that “life isn’t fair,” I’m angry that the New England Patriots got to play in the Superbowl and ended up winning. 

I feel like their team has collectively stolen from me, from my children, and our culture at large—the promises about fair play and doing your best.  So I’m not-so-secretly hopeful that in the light of investigations and interviews it will be revealed that the Patriots willfully broke the rules by manipulating the air pressure in footballs in order to gain a mechanical and psychological advantage over their opponents; and that for maybe the very first time, the NFL will have no choice but to stand up for the integrity of the game and our common life, and ask for the Lombardi trophy to be returned and that the Patriots win in yesterday’s game be vacated. 

That would be so SWEET!  And I must admit my own sin in wanting to gloat over that eventual outcome by wanting to take much pleasure in what surely would be a painful turn of events—deserved or not.  Besides, I like seeing Tom Brady suffer. 

Yet, it’s true.  Life is not fair.  It rains on the just and unjust alike.  Bad people, and good people, do not always gain their just desserts. 

What concerns me is that we will just shrug our shoulders as if this is simply the way life is supposed to be.  That lying, cheating, and even stealing is all in how you play the game.  After all, we show it in how we try and place our children in the best preschools to gain them the best possibility of being in the best schools with the top reputations that will lead to the best colleges—taking every advantage to put them in the best position for “success” in life.  Even if we have to bend the rules a bit here and there, the end justifies the means.  Right?  Because surely, it’s all worth it if you get to play in the Superbowl and drive home in a new Chevrolet truck—even if what you did was unfair.  Right? 

All too often, people who misrepresent the facts or themselves are rewarded with success unfairly and unjustly earned.  This didn’t start or end with the Patriots’ cheating scandals or their Superbowl win.  But on this Monday, it feels like one more time my mother’s promise that what matters most is your honesty, integrity, and doing your best—appears more often than not to be a true roadblock to the accolades and trappings of success.  And so it seems harder and harder to convince ourselves that doing the right thing is really the right thing.  It may be the right thing, but we see often that the “whistleblowers” often pay a heavy price for their integrity. 

I wish the world were not so! 

Yet even in my deflated state (that I’m blaming on the Patriots and their Superbowl win) I still know and trust that in the long run, always and forever, honesty, integrity, and doing your best is what matters.  I just wish there were some form of major smack-down for everyone who takes advantage of others! 

But there’s not. 

The Bible promises us over and over again that it’s wrong to take advantage of others.  God declares fields cannot be gleaned so well that there isn’t something left for the less fortunate to also have their fill.  The jubilee rituals attempt to level the haves and have-nots so that no one gains an unfair advantage for long.  Jesus reminds us over and over that the loves of money, fame, and fortune are often gained at the expense of others; that we can still “kill others” by acting unjustly rather than having to take their life in the flesh.  And we are constantly invited to live, giving witness to the justice and righteousness of the Kingdom of God where God sides frequently with the least and the lost. 

So today, I’m remembering my uncle who had the opportunity to play football at the University of Kentucky.  The team had a young coach at the time by the last name of Bryant—who would go on to become a legend at another school.  Known as “Bear” the coach called my uncle out in practice one day.  “Stipp,” he yelled, “I want to see you play for blood!”  My uncle reportedly replied, “No sir.  I don’t play for blood.  I play because I love football.  I love football, and I play hard every down; but I’ll not play for blood.”  And the coach said, “Not on this team.  On this team, you play for blood.” 

So my uncle never played another down. 

Life’s hard lesson is that we can’t make anyone else play by the rules.  It’s a choice we make for ourselves.  And it comes, unjustly it seems, without any of the accolades or glorious rewards.  We have to value it for its own ends.  That’s the lesson we have to teach ourselves and our children everyday.  And not because the Patriots may have used under-inflated footballs. 

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