The Spiritual Practice of Social Distancing

How are you doing?  I’m hearing that question a lot this week.  I guess we’re all coping with social distancing as best we can.   I hope we can stay connected during this time when we can’t gather in person as we normally do.  Both at my job for NASA, and even more importantly, at my church, I see it happening.  There's a learning curve to be sure, but for the most part, we seem willing to climb it. We don’t really have a choice, do we?  Sometimes necessity is indeed the mother of invention.

New things tend come about when we think outside the box—and that's particularly true when our familiar box is suddenly gone, as it is right now.  I suspect this will be one of those times in history where we look back and compare what life was like before "the COVID-19 pandemic" and after it.  We will be different because of what we're now living through.  The question is: Will we be changed for the better?  Some of the changes we're forced to make now will likely be changes we choose to continue into the future.  Choices we make about how we respond to this crisis now will shape our society for years to come... ... ... 

So, did you see this whole thing coming?  I didn’t—not at first.  Or maybe I chose not to see?   I'm something of a late adapter.  I love my routine and I put off change as long as I can—which in this case was about a week.  

Like everyone, I heard the ominous news reports the past couple months about this new virus spreading rapidly, first in China, then in Europe. But that was “not here,” so I went on living my life, somewhat naively thinking (??hoping??) that, in the end, despite the increasingly dire tone of the news reporting, this would in fact be “just another flu outbreak” in the U.S.  I didn’t think it was a hoax, but I hoped we might in fact be overreacting. 

I remember before the 9/11 attacks, I lived with a certain hubris regarding terrorist attacks.  I assumed that such a major attack could never happen on American soil.  You can’t really blame me.  After all, nothing of that magnitude had been unleashed in America until that fateful day in history when the attacks happened—with devastating consequences for our nation.  I remember writing in my journal that night that “the world had changed” that day.  Since then, we’ve been acutely aware of an “unseen” enemy in the world that wants to do us harm and taken steps to try and prevent future attacks in this country. 

I think I had similar feelings about a virus outbreak in the U.S. as I did about terrorist attacks before 9/11.  To me, a rapidly spreading pandemic was the stuff of science fiction.  Maybe it could happen in some “third world” country—but not here in the U.S.  After all, we’ve got a good health system.  We’d surely be able to mitigate any threat before it got out of hand…  Wouldn’t we?... Apparently not.  

As worrisome as the threat of terrorist attacks were and are, novel Coronavirus seems to be an even more insidious threat.  This is a truly invisible enemy, operating at the level only a microscope can see.  Yet, once again, the U.S. seemed to have a certain amount of hubris in its response.  After seeing what happened in China and Italy, couldn’t we see all of this coming?  Or was our government kind of like me?  Did they choose not to see?  Our President seemed confident the threat would magically disappear… until it became obvious it wouldn’t.  

To be fair, there have been disease outbreaks before—Swine Flu (H1N1 and others), SARS, Ebola, and we (the U.S) responded to each one as they arose.  While there were deaths in the U.S. (sometimes even including people we know personally), on the whole, America went on with business as usual in terms of societal interaction.   I guess we assumed Coronavirus/COVID-19 would be no different. 

But now we seem to be catching up to the fact that Coronavirus is a whole new ballgame.  It’s not “just another flu”, nor is it a hoax dreamed up by your political opponents to cost your “guy” the next election.  It’s a real threat and we best take it seriously or our healthcare system could face a crisis that it’s not prepared to handle.  We’ve already wasted precious days with our lack of response—but we can’t go back and change that, we can only act decisively moving forward.  The fact is, people we know could be impacted by this threat.   And this says nothing of the economic impact it’s already having.  

Flattening the curve is a proven practice to mitigate the
impact of a pandemic—particularly when no vaccine exists
.  Source: CDC.

States and municipalities across the country are one-by-one scrambling to implement extreme social distancing to try and “flatten the curve” and slow the spread of the virus.  I’ve never seen anything like this in my lifetime.  (Few remain alive who would remember the 1918 and 1920 Spanish Influenza outbreak; what I read about this epidemic that might be the only time in our history where such extreme measures were implemented to stop the spread of a disease—e.g., church gatherings were halted back then.)  

And so, the Madness this March is not happening on a basketball court, it is being caused by COVID-19.  All major sports have either delayed or cancelled their seasons.  College basketball cancelled all of its post season tournaments—which normally draw tens of thousands to arenas all around the nation.  The start of spring sports for college, high-school, and recreational sports are all cancelled or delayed.  The Kentucky Derby and Masters golf tournament have been postponed.

Many school districts are closed for a minimum of two weeks—and will likely be closed for much longer.  Teleworking, which was until now an option for some,  has hastily become mandatory for many, testing the limits of our IT infrastructure.  Restaurants and bars remain open, but only serve carry out; gyms are closed too.  Places of worship are closed and leaders scramble to figure out what it looks like to maintain community exclusively online for the foreseeable future.  Gas stations and grocery stores remain open—although store shelves are depleted of certain items (e.g., toilet paper!) at times.   Overall, the Center for Disease Control has recommended restricting all non-essential travel and not gathering in groups of 10 or larger  All of this to “flatten the curve,” and protect lives. 

Many times, in recent days, I’ve read a correspondence or heard something said like:  Bear with us.  We are dealing with an unprecedented situation and figuring things out as we go.  Yeah, I’d say so!  I feel like we’re laboratory mice being subjected to a societal experiment the outcome of which will have existential consequences for some in our society.  

We really have no choice at this point.  The experts tell us that If we don’t practice extreme social distancing now, we risk a repeat of what is happening in Italy as I write this article in about 11 days.  Hospitals in Italy are completely overwhelmed; some elderly patients are being turned away.  Despite all that—because I selfishly don’t like changing my routine—I still find myself wondering if we are overreacting.  The thing is,  we’ll probably never know conclusively exactly how much social distancing was truly required.  If the plan actually works to slow the spread of the virus—preventing more extensive loss of life in this country (and this world)—then some critics will inevitably say we overreacted—precisely because less people died than would have if we hadn’t enacted these seemingly draconian measures to prevent it. 

When it comes to America’s response to this global pandemic,  it seems we’re damned if we do too much and we’re damned if we don’t do enough.  However,  it seems clear at this point that if we had we continued with business as usual in our lives, we would have placed many more people’s lives in jeopardy—and history may well have judged us as damned fools. 

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Three weeks ago was Ash Wednesday—when Christians around the world mark the start of Lent. What did you “give up” for Lent?  Do you even remember?   Personally, I think my attitude going into Lent was pretty lackadaisical: “Ho-hum, another Lent begins.”  What a difference a few weeks can make!

Lent runs for 40 days—not including Sundays—between Ash Wednesday and Easter.  The time period is modeled after the time that Jesus spent in the wilderness immediately following his baptism, being tempted by the Devil.  This even is briefly mentioned in Mark, 1:12-13, and described in detail in both Matthew 4:1-11 and Luke 4:1-13.  I never thought about it, but I guess Jesus practice an extended period of social distancing.  He followed the time-honored tradition of withdrawing to the desert.

Many Christ followers have followed in the footsteps of Jesus via an ancient well-worn path called the Threefold Way. It is a path commonly traversed during the season of Lent.  In short, the way it works is the traveler identifies and removes whatever prevents a closer walk with God (purgation), so that he/she can see God more clearly (illumination) and draw closer to God (contemplation or union).  Again, this can be thought of as following the footsteps of Jesus through the desert, where he resisted the Devil's three temptations, came to see more clearly who he was (the Son of God), and drew closer to God "the Father".

I find it interesting (coincidental?) that, this year, the Season of Lent coincides with a time of involuntary social distancing for most of the world.  It’s as if nature itself—and the God who controls it—has imposed Lenten self-denial upon the human race.  So much that we take for granted in our daily routines is now stripped away.  Maybe, there was some ugliness hiding beneath those routines?  It’s painful to have that mess suddenly exposed.

But this interruption is also an opportunity for God to work in us.  We all get a chance to recalibrate and rediscover ourselves in the midst of this global pandemic.  We can use this time of involuntary social distancing to draw closer to those closest to us—and closer to God.  

I am a Meyers–Brigg “J”; I thrive on routine, and right now it’s gone!  I feel like a ship without a rudder.  The familiar is stripped away and I have to rebuild a new normal for these unprecedented times.  But maybe there’s something good about this? Maybe there are habits I’ve fallen into—things that have become too “routine” for me—that only times like this can change.  I don’t mean to suggest that God causes a global pandemic, or any other tragedy or suffering.  But I do believe that God uses all things—even the bad things—to shape us into the people God needs us to be.   Let’s pray that God will do that with all of us in this time of social distancing.

QUESTIONS TO THINK ABOUT: 

·      What are you learning about yourself during this time of involuntary social distancing?

·      What do you think is being revealed about our society right now?

·      Do you think it’s a coincidence all this occurs during Lent?  

·      The article discusses the Threefold Way. What might God be trying to strip from you during this time of social distancing, so that God’s light can shine more clearly through you, and lead you and others to a deeper experience of God this Lent?

·      Do you think some of the changes we are forced to make now individually and as a society could become things we choose to continue when this crisis is over?  

Demystifying Christian Mysticism

When I was younger, and had more disposable hours, I used to play Dungeons & Dragons and other fantasy role playing games (RPGs).  In such games, you might say you compose your own movie.  Each player becomes a “character” in the story, and you go on adventures together—with someone providing leadership, called the “gamemaster”.  One of the professions your character could choose was mystic—a type of “magic user” who drew power from his/her mind.  (In contrast, the priest drew power from his/her god.)  In this sense,  the Jedi from Star Wars might be thought of as mystic warriors—drawing upon the energy of the mystic Force to accomplish great feats of valor—but able to do so because they have disciplined their minds.  

I’ve also heard various individuals throughout Christian history described as mystics.  However, before now, I could not have defined what makes one a Christian Mystic. 

The very name itself should give us a hint that it’s a little mysterious exactly what this job description should include.  If we could travel through history, say via Mr. Peabody’s time machine, we would meet a variety of different people living in different times, places, and circumstances who theologians classify as mystics. For example, I’m taking an online class right now on Christian Mysticism.  The first week was an introduction, and then in the next three weeks, we will consider Hildegard of Bingen, Thomas Merton, and Mary Oliver.  These are three unique individuals, each from different historical settings—but all considered mystics.    Concurrently, I’ve been reading another book that describes Howard Thurman as a mystic. [1] Thurman’s example seems fitting to include as we begin African American History Month.

So, what is it all these diverse people called mystics have in common?

While Christian Mysticism does deal with disciplining the mind to emulate Christ, my RPG past only reveals part of the answer.   According to The Center for Action and Contemplation’s (CAC’s) devotional readings, Christian mysticism is more about having an undeniable, authentic, and sometimes ecstatic, God-experience; it is described as “focusing more on experiential knowing [of God] over academic knowledge [of God].”  Mystics are people who “see things in their wholeness,” says Richard Rohr (founder of CAC). Further, mystics function more like poets and artists, and other creative “outside the box” thinkers than mathematicians and scientists, who tend to dwell more in the realm of established formulas and linear processes.  

Given that definition, I think we could certainly use more of the mystical perspective in our religious and political discourse today.   We live in a world that is deeply polarized.   I don’t know about you, but I find it hard to speak my mind if I know it goes against the prevailing opinion of my friends on a given topic. We get caught up in our tribe, perfecting our orthodoxy (the right way of thinking), and protecting the “tribal borders” from invading ideologies.   

Consider, for example, what happens on Facebook (other social media platforms are similar—if not worse)  if someone has a thought that runs contrary to the prevailing opinion on a given thread.  It’s fascinating to watch; it’s not unlike white blood cells surrounding an infection in a human body.  Someone posts a view contrary to the prevailing opinion of the online tribe and within minutes—or even seconds—like-minded online friends have “surrounded it” and quashed it—and they often aren’t particularly nice about it. In that kind of sterilized echo chamber, we run the risk of becoming convinced our tribe has it all right, which implies the rest of the world has it all wrong.  But, of course, we know most real-life issues are complex,  defying such dualistic thinking.

Learning to see mystically, as described by those who have done it, seems to offer a cure for the “us versus them” dualism that so often plays out in human relationships in our world, and that seems to make it virtually impossible for those with differing views to find common ground.  The mystic path offers an alternative to our culture’s tendency toward dualistic (a.k.a., either/or) thinking.  God teaches mystics to become more comfortable with both/and thinking.  They realize that no side has the market cornered on the truth.  

Jesus walked the mystic path. (Richard Rohr suggests Jesus was the first non-dual mystic in the West, and that part of what got him killed is that human society wasn’t ready to follow his Way.  We might consider: Are we any more prepared today?)  Make no mistake, the world he entered was deeply polarized, maybe even more than the one we have today.  While Jesus didn’t have to navigate social media as we do, every faction that existed tried to get Jesus to “join their side”—Zealots, Essenes, Pharisees, Sadducees, you name it.  And of course, in the end, Jesus did emphatically choose a side—against the religious and political powers of his day and in solidarity with the powerless, the least, last, and lost—which ended up costing him his life. But if you look at Jesus’s interactions with people, it does seem he managed to remain aloof and not pinned down by one faction or another—at least until he was ready to be pinned down, literally, for the redemption of the whole world.  How did he manage that?  

I think it’s because his wisdom (which was God’s wisdom) transcended all the political and/or religious options and pointed them all toward what Paul would later describe as a “more excellent way”, which he summarized in one word: agape, or unconditional love. 

The good news is this path is available to all of us if we choose to pursue it.  I know the name mystic sounds, well, mysterious.  But keep in mind that in the Bible, mysterious doesn’t mean secret, as much as it means hidden.  (Secret knowledge of God was more in the realm of Gnosticism.)  The prophet Isaiah said, “Truly you are a God who hides”—Isaiah 45:10, and Paul, whom Marcus Borg dubbed a Jewish-Christ-Mystic,  describes Jesus as the God-mystery made flesh—e.g., Colossians 1:26-27, 2:2.  Since those who follow Jesus are said to be part of his Body, that means that those who follow Christ can be conveyors of the God-mystery.   In other words, we can all be mystics. 

Now, if I’m honest, I’ve never really thought of myself as a mystic.  I think I always thought it was for “special people”.  I don’t know that I can point to a single extraordinary God-experience that I’ve had. But, on the other hand, I have the experience gained from walking with God every day for 49+ years.  That must count for something.   Seen in that light, maybe I do qualify to be a mystic—and maybe you do too!

What I’ve learned is that you don’t have to retreat to a monastery to be a mystic.  You can practice God’s Presence anywhere.  Although many that we revere as saints are also mystics, we find that the two are not the same thing.  Saints tend to be those associated with supernatural acts of goodness, while mystics are those who know God intimately, and have had their life transformed by Divine Presence.  Put more simply, “saints embody goodness while mystics embody love.”

Some mystics have become famous for the writing they’ve left behind.  We learn from those who lived centuries ago, as well as those who lived more recently.  However, far more mystics remain anonymous, experiencing God in their own unique context, but still every bit as authentic as a Thomas Merton or Evelyn Underhill or Howard Thurman.  

As Carmelite Friar, William McNamara says it, “The mystic is not a special kind of person; each person is a special kind of mystic.” 

According to the CAC, it seems that, “what makes someone a mystic is less about a top-down kind of approval and more about an organic, broad-based recognition on the part of the people whose lives have been touched.  In other words, mystics teach us how to find God, and a great mystic is someone who has been recognized for doing this particularly well.”

So, then the question for us to wrestle with is not: Am I a mystic?  Because it seems we all have that capability within us if we choose to pursue it.  Rather, we should be asking: What kind of mystic am I?  What do I need to do to uncover more of the mystic within me? For God needs the unique Christ-mystery hidden in you.

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 [1] See Chapter 2 of Blessed are the Peacemakers [2005: Wyndham Hall Press] by Rev. Dr. C. Anthony Hunt, see pp. 60–65.  

The Christmas Choice: Doing the Next Right Thing

The Magnificat is the beautiful song for which Mary is famous—Luke 1:46b-55.  She sings it after she visits her relative Elizabeth—Luke 1:39-45.   For years “Aunt” Elizabeth bore the shame of being a barren woman.  Now, she was expecting a child.  The child apparently gave a good solid kick at the moment Mary entered the threshold of Zechariah and Elizabeth’s house.  Coincidence?  Maybe so.  But Archbishop William Temple reminds us that, “Coincidences tend to happen more frequently when God is involved.”  Elizabeth certainly viewed it as a God-moment, and it seems that seeing Elizabeth so happy as she prepared to welcome her own “miracle baby” definitely impacted Mary’s attitude toward her own unplanned birth.  Maybe, just maybe, what the Angel told her was true: Nothing is impossible with God.   Maybe, she, an unwed teenage girl. could really do this thing.

But think about all that happens before she arrives at that moment.  Take for example, that first night after Gabriel’s visitation.  What was Mary feeling then, as she tossed and turned in her bed?  

Image credit: America: The Jesuit Review

What am I going to tell Joseph?  In Luke’s version of events, it’s Mary that hears from the angel—not Joseph.  Even if we combine Matthew 1:18-25 and Luke 1:26-38 and assume both parties in this drama God was orchestrating were “visited” by Gabriel, Mary doesn’t know at first that Joseph has had his own dream/visitation—and vice versa.  

Forget Joseph.  What am I going to tell my parents?!  Imagine the conversation, “Um, mom, dad, I’m with child.....   Oh, but fear not!  The Holy Spirit is the father.”  This is going to cause a scandal the likes of which this small town hasn’t seen in years.  Her family’s reputation would be ruined.  Her father would be so ashamed of her.  

My favorite song in the movie Frozen 2 was “The Next Right Thing”.  Anna sings it at a moment in the movie when all seems lost, when she thinks her beloved sister Elsa is gone, and the whole enterprise of saving their beloved kingdom of Arendelle now rests upon her shoulders.  But when I heard them, they sounded like they could be a soundtrack to Mary’s initial response to the Annunciation.

I’ve seen dark before, but not like this.

This is cold, this is empty, this is numb

The life I knew is over, the lights are out

Hello darkness, I’m ready to succumb.

I follow you around, I always have

But you’ve gone to a place I cannot find

The grief has a gravity, it pulls me down

But a tiny voice whispers in my mind

You are lost, hope is gone

But you must go on

And do the next right thing.

Can there be a day beyond this night?

I don’t know any more what is true

I can’t find my direction, I’m all alone

The only star that guided me was you

For Mary, that first night after the angel left her, I imagine it seems like all is dark, cold, empty, numb.  I think we may underestimate the grief she feels, the sense that the life she had planned is now ruined. Indeed, there is much for Mary to fear and grieve in this moment.  It had to be an eerie feeling.  She feels like she doesn’t belong in the scene she is living.  I know something about how that feels, I felt it in 2008, when the best doctors in the world essentially told me there was nothing more that medical science could do to save my daughter’s life.  Like Mary, it would be up to me (and my wife) to figure out the next right thing to do for her.

Anna begins singing about her sister Elsa, whom she sort of “worshipped”.  You can see why.  Elsa was the one with all the magical ice manipulation powers.  Compared to her sister, Anna didn’t think she was all that important.  But, the plot of the Frozen movies shows that she was in fact a vital cog in the story.  It was her “true love’s kiss” that thawed Elsa in Frozen; and her courageous acts, when she thought Elsa was dead, that helped save the kingdom in Frozen 2.

Similarly, as a young Jewish female living in a backwater outpost of Caesar’s Rome, Mary would not have viewed herself as important.  Mary even comments on the irony of God choosing to work through such a meek and lowly one in the Magnificat—Luke 1:48. Nevertheless, all her life Mary has followed God.  She has been taught the stories of her people and has obeyed God to the best of her ability.  She could say of her walk with God what Anna said of Elsa: I follow you around, I always have.  In other words, I’ve been faithful.

Gabriel’s visit, however, took Mary “off the map “as it were—to a place she cannot find in any of the ancient stories of her faith.  Yes, barren women have conceived on occasion (like her “Aunt” Elizabeth), but what about a teenage virgin?!  Did she remember the more obscure reference about a "young woman" conceiving from the Prophet Isaiah in that moment—Isaiah 7:14?  According to the Angel, Mary is “highly favored” and is to become the “Mother” of God via a “Holy Spirit”.  I think it’s safe to say her faith is shaken to the core by this unexpected news.  This is not familiar territory for her, and she doesn’t know how to navigate it.  For a while, she can’t find her direction.  The star that guided her has suddenly been snuffed out.  She’s all alone—in the dark.  How frightening it is to go one-on-one with God in the dark.  (Remember Jacob at Peniel—Genesis 32:22-32.)

I remember experiencing similar emotions after our daughter Hope passed from life support to life eternal two days after she and her identical twin sister Rebecca were born.  The first few days after she died were completely surreal—like I was living through a scene where I didn’t belong.  (I have a journal of those days or I likely wouldn’t remember much.)  There was this sense of standing in the rubble of my faith.  All that I used to take for granted about the nature of God was called into question.  Before then I think I naïvely assumed such “bad things” happened to “other people”—but faithful me would be spared.  I found out the hard way that  tragedy is no respecter of faith persuasion.   Now, what I assumed would never happen had happened, and I had to make sense of it.  The “sacred was torn from my life and yet [I] survived”.  Where did that leave me?  Where was a good and loving God in this tragedy of my wife and I were living through?

You can see why this line from the song really resonated with me: You are lost, Hope is gone.  But you must go on and do the next right thing. By God’s grace, I think my wife and I did.

How to rise from the floor?

But it’s not you I’m rising for

Just do the next right thing

Take a step, step again

It is all that I can to do

The next right thing

I won’t look too far ahead

It’s too much for me to take

But break it down to this next breath

This next step

This next choice is one that I can make

In the weeks and months after our daughter died, my wife and I had to figure out how to rise from the floor.  In our case, it helped that an infant and a toddler depended on us to care for them when we got home.  Even if we had wanted to (which we did some days) we couldn’t exactly ball up the fetal position.  There were others who needed us to “rise”.  “Normal” life went on in the world despite our personal tragedy.  That was both comforting and disconcerting at the same time.  The grief has a gravity that pulls you down. As a  meteorologist, I likened the feeling to that of an oppressive summer day, which has a way of sucking the life out of you—only it was every day.  Some days, it was all that we could do, but we had to find a way to do the next right thing.  We couldn’t look too far ahead, but we could choose life each day, we could break it down to this next breath, this next step.  We found that the next choice was one we could make.

I can only imagine that Mary may have felt a little bit like that when she found out she was expecting.  Her world was thrown out of whack and it would take time to adjust.  Within a few weeks it becomes clear she is in fact pregnant. Suddenly, she has this miraculous conception growing within her.  She may not know exactly how it got there, but that almost doesn’t matter.   The fact is: it’s there.  That child was depending on her to find within herself the courage to rise from the floor and do the next right thing.  Somehow, she chose to trust God even if she no longer understood God—Luke 1:38.

So, I’ll walk through this night

Stumbling blindly toward the light

And do the next right thing?

And with the dawn, what comes then?

When it’s clear that everything will never be the same again

Then I’ll make the choice

To hear that voice

And do the next right thing. 

And with the dawn what comes then?  That was the question for Mary—and for all us when it comes to living a life of faith.

When my daughter died, it rapidly became clear to my wife and I that everything will never be the same again.  Eleven years later, we’ve found a new “normal”; we’ve made as much peace as one ever makes with tragedy of losing a child.  You don’t “get over it” as many assumed we would—and should.  We’ve made Hope’s story part of our own.  We visit where her earthly remains lie a few times a year, including a visit each year around Christmas.  Our kids know they had a sister; Becca knows keenly that someone is missing from her life. 

I can’t help but think that after Gabriel’s visit. Mary also must have felt: Everything will never be the same again.  In her case, the life that she thought she would live as Joseph’s wife was over before it began.  If she could believe the Angel’s message, God was about to do a new and amazing thing for the world through her.  But Mary couldn’t see the new thing yet; she had to trust it was there with her, in the darkness of her womb.  I’m guessing it was never an easy choice for her to make—and especially early on, before there was visible evidence that she was pregnant.

But then here’s the kicker, not only did Mary have to trust herself, she had to find the courage to ask others (most notably Joseph, her fiancé)  to trust in that unseen newness too—before they could see it.   In the male-dominated world of her day Mary knew she had to have Joseph’s support to even have a chance that this birth might actually come to pass. A hard conversation—and a difficult journey—still lied ahead for both of them for the child—and the new world God was inaugurating through his birth—to be born.  As she walked to visit her fiancé, what must Mary have felt?  Surely, she still had many questions and doubts.  First and foremost: Did what I think happened really happen?   But, no matter how impossible it seemed, she had to tell him.  The little voice inside tells her she can do no other.  The outcome was not in her hands; she couldn’t control how Joseph would react—but somehow that was okay.  As she had done her whole life, Mary wrestled with God over her decision, and we are all blessed because she made the choice to hear that voice and do the next right thing.

Welcoming Christ Our Neighbor King

Of all the threats facing the human race today, perhaps none is more insidious than our divisiveness.   Now to be fair, unity doesn’t make a good news story—but divisiveness sure does.  So, you could argue that news coverage is biased and tends to underplay instances when people actually do come together and cooperate.  Still, I think it’s fair to say that on the whole, we human beings have this tendency to define ourselves in terms of how we are different from others instead of what we all have in common.  Furthermore, one need only look at the ticker the news headlines from whatever source you prefer for a few minutes to see that our political and/or ideological divisions often make it hard for us to come together for the common good of the human race.  

It seems that divisiveness is a core characteristic of human beings, and thus it's no surprise that it is a theme in the story of God's people in history almost from the beginning. It dates at least as far back as the tale of Cain and Abel—Genesis 4—and even a chapter earlier, in Genesis 3, Adam and Eve fell into the trap of wanting to set themselves apart from God. They had paradise, but they chose division—from God, and each other.  They hide from God when God comes looking for them, and in some sense, the human race has been hiding ever since.   The Psalmist says that it is very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity­—Psalm 133:1—see A Psalm About Unity to learn more about this passage. 

A Psalm About Unity

¹How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity.

²It is like the precious oil on the head, running down upon the beard, on the beard of Aaron, running down over the collar of his robes.

³It is like the dew of Hermon which falls on the mountains of Zion.  For there the Lord ordained his blessing, life forevermore.

—Psalm 133

In this short psalter, the author seems to recognize how hard unity is to achieve. Anointing oil was expensive and reserved for special occasions. Yet verse 2 suggests that unity is such a rare thing, that the oil of gladness should be poured out in abundance—even wasted—to celebrate it.  The oil runs down High Priest Aaron’s head, to his beard, and all the way down his robes. 

Verse 3 contains a parallel geographical image that the original audience would not have missed.  The writer imagines the dew of Hermon (a 9000-foot, lush, solitary, green mountain located in far northern Israel) flowing all the way to the Zion Mountains (a much drier range further to the south).  Much like the oil of gladness flows from the top of the body to the bottom, unity brings gladness to all of Israel, from the top (north) to the bottom (south).

I also wonder if the writer also used this image intentionally to convey the elusive and fleeting nature of unity.  He pictures it as ephemeral as dew in the desert.  Heavy dew would be a common experience on Mount Hermon, but to experience an abundance of dew on Mount Zion would be a rarity, on par with the experience of true unity among brothers and sisters.  

If you read the Gospels you see that everyone tried to recruit Jesus to their “side”.  But Jesus didn’t come to join a side, he came to show us an entirely new way. In fact, on one occasion, he went so far to say that he was the Way—John 14:9.  In his longest recorded prayer, which takes place just before he is arrested and crucified, one of the things Jesus requested is that is disciples would be oneas he and God were one—John 17:20-25.  Being as fully human as he was divine,  Jesus knew well the danger of divisiveness.  He knew that even within the Upper Room there was division among his closest followers.  After all, one of them was about to betray him to the Romans.  He himself had felt the temptation to “join a tribe” and define himself by what he wasn’t, as opposed to what he was, just as much as you and I feel it today.  

And of course, it doesn’t end with Jesus. Many of Paul’s letters were written in response to divisions that he had heard about in the Christ communities that he had started.   He spends a lot of time appealing for unity in the Body of Christ—e.g., 1 Corinthians 1:10-17.  

Image credit: From related story at Historyhollywood.com. 

At our church for the past month, the sermons have drawn from the example of Fred Rogers, a man who modeled for us what it means to live in unity with his neighbors.  The movie, A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, made its debut this weekend.  It gives us another perspective on what that neighborhood was like—and what it was like to be an outsider invited into that neighborhood.  Talk about suspending disbelief! At moments I forgot it was Tom Hanks, and not Fred Rogers, I was watching on the screen in front of me.

Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood was a diverse place, and sometimes they disagreed.  But they seemed to work through differences and get along by the end of the episode. Some might dismiss this as something that can only happen in the "Land of Make Believe". This all sounds well and good for the plot of a children’s program, they say, where everything is neatly resolved in a 30-minute episode, but practically speaking,  it seems impossible to do in the “real” world.  And the skeptics may have a point.  Grown-up issues are sometimes a bit more complex than those Mr. Rogers addressed.  

But, then again, if we can’t even begin to imagine being able to work through our differences and live together in unity, how will we ever actually do it in real life? 

It is interesting to me that a movie about Mr. Rogers would come off the same weekend Christ the King Sunday on our liturgical calendar (and a week before Thanksgiving on our secular calendar).  A newer addition to the liturgical calendar (created in 1925 versus centuries ago, like most of the calendar) the final Sunday of Ordinary Time (and the last Sunday of the liturgical year) is set aside for us to ponder the kind of Lord, or the kind of King we are about to prepare to welcome into our neighborhood—John 1:14, The Message—during the season of Advent, which starts the following Sunday.  

Perhaps Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood gives more clues about Christ the King than we realized when we watched as children.  Rogers was a humble Man of God—a Presbyterian minister, whose pulpit was a weekly children’s TV program.  (I imagine he reached far more people that way, then he would have “in a church”.)  Every day the Neighborhood Trolley took us on an adventure to the Land of Make Believe, where King Friday XIII reigned over an imaginary kingdom where all Creation had voices.  There were talking tigers, dogs, cats, owls, skunks, frogs, and platypus, conversing with the humans on a regular basis—and no one thought it the least bit unusual.  We see Henrietta Cat living alongside Daniel Striped Tiger, and families of Frogg and Platypus coexisting with X the Owl… and the animals even manage to thrive right alongside the humans, like Lady Elaine Fairchild, Lady Aberlin, and Handyman Negri.  This menagerie of muppets and men brought to my mind the image from the Bible of the peaceable kingdom—Isaiah 11:6-8. There’s even “a little child” to lead them, since presumably Prince Tuesday is heir to the throne.  

Like the Kingdom of God that Jesus frequently speaks about, Mr. Rogers’ Land of Make Believe gave us glimpses of what it might look like to live in a “neighborhood” where kindness reigns, a place where leaders rule not by the sword—but by the towel.  

It wasn’t just the trips to the Land of Make Believe that taught us; almost every episode provided living parables—and sometimes prophetic statements.  Take for example the episode when Mr. Rogers dipped his feet in a pool of water with Officer Clemons, an African American, on hot summer afternoon in May 1969.  While segregation was no longer “legal” at that time, it was still very much practiced in our nation.  Many communities would not allow African Americans to swim in the same pool as white people.  There are repugnant scenes from that era of white motel owners throwing chemicals in pools while blacks were swimming!  

By virtue of that one act of kindness, Mr. Rogers preached a sermon—without saying a word!  People today are sometimes offended when pastors “get political” with their message.  Although he left “formal” pastoral ministry, Fred Rogers never forgot that part of his call was to speak out when he saw injustice and unkindness in our world.  At that moment in time, he used his TV program to offer a voice for a group of people who were being denied one.  He recognized that the Body of Christ can claim unity, only to the extent that it feels the pain of its weakest parts—and responds with kindness and compassion.

As author and surgeon Paul Brand says it: “When wounded, living tissues cry out, and the whole body hears the cry.  And we in Christ’s Body—loving our neighbors as ourselves—are called to a similar level of identification: If one part suffers, every part suffers, says St. Paul in 1 Corinthians 12:26.” [1]

There was no mistaking where Mr. Rogers stood on the issue of racism after that episode aired.  When my pastor (who happens to be my wife) spoke on this, she pointed out that this was an effective means to get his message across because, at the heart of it all, he was simply being a neighbor to Officer Clemons.  He was doing what Jesus would’ve done if he were Fred Rogers in that moment; in other words, he was being a disciple of Christ our “Neighbor King”.  She wondered how different the world might be if all of us who claimed to follow Christ simply did a better job at being kind to our neighbors?   Who knows?  We might just change the world! 

This episode, like so many, was modeled on an example from the life of Jesus that we find in the Bible—see Luke 13:1-17. On the very night when (at least as John tells the story) Jesus knew he was about to be betrayed, denied, and ultimately abandoned by those with whom he was about to eat the Passover meal, he took the radical step of kneeling to wash their dirty feet.  To be clear, everyone in that room would have been shocked to see the one Peter had earlier identified as Christ the Lord, kneel to do the job that even the lowliest servant tried hard to avoid.  (Feet don’t smell good today after a day of activity; I suspect they smelled much worse in the first century.)  But, despite protests from Peter and the others, Jesus continued undeterred.  After he finished, he put his robe back on and said, “Do see what I have done for you? I have given you an example of how to love.  Now go and do likewise.”  No one was excluded from that foot washing—not even Judas, the one who was about to set in motion the events that would lead to Jesus’s death.   You and I are those disciples—they are us. 

Like Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, the Kingdom of God is a place where the King and his followers kneel to serve every other resident of “neighborhood”, showing them hospitality and compassion, and granting them dignity—no matter how different they are from us.

St. Teresa of Avila said, “Always think of yourself as everyone’s servant; look for Christ Our Lord in everyone and you will then have respect and reverence for them all.”  I pray that it could be said of us—and of our faith communities—that we saw and honored Christ in every person we met. I hope these examples from Fred Rogers—and from Jesus—inspire us to be Christ’s hands, feet, eyes, and voice in our communities through simple acts of kindness and compassion, especially when we see places where these are being denied to one of our neighbors.  I can only imagine what might happen if we actually managed to really “get” this.  Maybe, this Advent, the Light of Christ, our Neighbor King, would truly shine and disperse the gloomy clouds of division and disagreement that so often conspire to drag our world down into the pit of despair.  Perhaps it would be the dawn of a new day where we pass beyond fleeting unity among the members of a single faith community or neighborhood, and experience profound solidarity with the only race there is—the human race—and even with our non-human neighbors—and ultimately, with the Neighbor God who created all things.  Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.

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[1] Brand, Paul and Philip Yancey (IV Press: 2018). Fearfully and Wonderfully: The Marvel of Bearing God’s Image, Ch 17, p. 185.  The book looks at the anatomy of the human body and draws analogies to the Body of Christ.  Brand was a surgeon who worked extensively with Leprosy patients in India and Louisiana. 

For “Living Disciples” School is Always in Session

For everything, there is a season…

—Ecclesiastes 3:1

The calendar has now turned to September.  Like many others where I live, my kids went back to school the day after Labor Day. Although the astronomical season of summer lasts another three weeks, and summer weather can sometimes last well into September and October here in Maryland, Labor Day is viewed by most people as the “end of summer”.  The neighborhood pools close until Memorial Day, and the beaches are much less crowded than they were just a few days ago.  Football season is upon us now, and before too long the leaves will change color and fall. And believe it or not, in just a little over 100 days it will be Christmas! 

So much of our life organizes around the academic year—including the life of our church communities.  When school closes for the summer in May/June, we tend to follow their lead  and shudder the formal learning (and most other activities) until fall.  To be fair, the decision is practical, since this is a time many people—including church leaders and their families (like my own for example)—plan vacations.  People do, after all, need a season to rest…  I for one enjoyed my summer vacation.

As late August and September comes, schools and colleges resume classes, sports practices get rolling, and activities at church also ramp up back up.  After Labor Day, as Warren G. Harding put it, life sort of “returns to normalcy”. 

We tend to take a break from formal structured learning during summer at church, but when we decide to follow Jesus, it’s not just "year-round school" we sign up for—but lifelong learning.  

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In the ancient world, when someone wanted to learn something, they usually sought out a Master to teach them.  They became an apprentice and literally “did life” with that person, living with them, following them everywhere they went, and learning everything they knew.  They didn’t just learn about a subject in a textbook, they learned it by "living it"—by doing the things that their Master did.  Eventually they themselves became teachers who taught others what their Master had taught them.  This is what we see Jesus doing with his closest followers—whom we know as the Disciples. 

My son Brady and his coach Kevin.

I’ve lived through an example of that this summer with my son Brady. He has had quite a few training sessions with Kevin Munson, who is a relief pitcher for the Southern Maryland Blue Crabs (of the Atlantic League).  My wife found Kevin online this summer and he agreed to take Brady on as a student. The hours of one-on-one training both in the batting cage in the bowels of the Blue Crabs Stadium—and on the field where they play—has helped Brady to feel more confident in his game.  He even made his Middle School team!  He’s excited about the year ahead.  That makes his dad happy—and makes the price we pay per lesson seem worthwhile. 

Kevin has not only taught my son about baseball; he’s taught him skills that will translate to his life.  

Kevin Munson on the mound
in relief for the Southern Maryland
 Blue Crabs on September 1.

Brady has learned that sometimes you will be tired, and, on those days, it will be tempting to just go through the motions, or to bail on attending practice altogether. These are the moments when the rubber hits the road and you must decide how badly you want it—whether theit be baseball-related or some other goal in life.  Through this apprenticeship to Kevin, Brady has also learned that while he may have physical limitations (due to his asthma), they probably are a bit beyond what he thought they were at the beginning of the summer. Most of all, he’s learned how much it means to have someone who believes in you and your capabilities—and thus pushes you a bit beyond your comfort zone to help you achieve your full potential.  Did I mention Kevin is also a Christian?  We didn’t know that when we started. 

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Our relationship with Jesus (particularly as Teacher) has similarities to my son’s relationship with his baseball coach. Although we will certainly form a theology, or beliefs about God, along the way, my sense is that Jesus is less interested in telling us what to believe about God and more interested in showing us how to live life with God.  Theologian Dallas Willard said that “discipleship is a life” spent “learning from Jesus how he would live our life if he were us”.  Now, that doesn’t mean Jesus lives our lives for us, but it does mean that if we “enroll in his class” and follow him day-by-day, he promises to show us how to live. 

Of course, what makes our apprenticeship to Jesus a little more challenging than Brady’s relationship with his baseball coach, Kevin, is that, with Jesus we have to learn to communicate with a Coach we can’t see with our eyes.  But Jesus promises that if we follow him, he will train us to have “eyes that see” his presence and “ears that hear” his voice.  We will begin to see that we can indeed learn from Jesus as we journey through life.  He will make himself visible in ways that speak uniquely to each of us.  

Just as Coach Kevin took time to learn who Brady was and works with him differently than he might with another student, Jesus crafts a curriculum for each of us that is unique to who God has created us to be. 

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As I mentioned already, Brady takes lots of private lessons (he actually has two coaches he works with). While they both have been essential to his growth as a baseball player, ultimately baseball is a team sport.  You need nine players to field a team and you have to work together to pursue your goals.  At baseball practice, Brady works with the other players on the team and becomes familiar with their habits (and vice versa), and together with their coach, they figure out how they work best together and what gives them the best chance to succeed during games against other teams.   

In a similar manner, while one-on-one training is an essential part of spiritual growth, Christianity is not meant to be a solo activity   No, it’s about God’s people working together as a team to accomplish what God needs done on the “field” of life.   We live out most of our day-to-day Christian faith in the context of community, both within our church and in the broader context of the place where we live.   Group activities are a good opportunity to practice interacting in a group of like-minded people how we want to behave when we are about in the larger world outside the church walls.  In this sense, it kind of works the same way baseball practice works for Brady and his teammates. 

Individual study and group study are of a piece; one activity complements the other beautifully. It takes a balance of both to mature as a follower of Christ.  

I know from experience that there is something powerful that happens when a group studies the Bible or a book together under the guidance of the Holy Spirit. But, I also know that I am most likely to experience the group study that way if I’ve been learning on my own between classes.  When we’re in a healthy group, the exchange of different perspectives around the table is spiritually enriching.  We discover that we need not agree on everything to have fellowship together and learn from one another.  In fact, we might actually learn the most from those who have a different perspective—that is, if we truly listen to them.  

It takes intentional practice to get past the human tendency to think that our view is the only orthodox one and that our job is to convince others of their wrongness, i.e., to win the argument at all costs.  In this day and age, it seems the ability to simply listen to and respect one another is a lost art.  Healthy group study can help us regain that God-given capacity.

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My church adopted a new vision statement last year. It is a simple statement of who our community hopes to be.  We say that:

Through God’s love we will engage and 
empower everyone to be living disciples.

There’s a lot there to unpack in that sentence, and we’re still fleshing out what this looks like in practice in our community.  However, I particularly like the phrase, living disciples—which came from one of our youth who participated in the discussions leading to our new vision.  The phrase implies a vibrancy, a dynamic and growing faith, always learning and exploring new paths beyond the well-worn comfortable and familiar ones—always open to new ways of experiencing God individually and in community.

It’s safe to say that if my church—or anyone—is going to achieve this vision of “being living disciples,” continual learning at the feet of our Master is not optional.   

No matter what age you are, or how long you’ve been “going to church”, no one is allowed to say “I’m done. There’s nothing more I need to learn from Jesus.” When you think about it that's kind of an arrogant stance to take—ever.  Maybe Jesus' reply to us when we presume to think we've got it "all figured out" when it comes to following him is similar to what the venerable Jedi Master Yoda once said to his adversary Count Dooku.  Maybe he sort of chuckles to himself and says: “Much to learn you still have.” 

So whether it be in a formal classroom setting, with a group of friends gathering for spiritual discussion and fellowship, or simply through your own personal studies, I hope you take the next step in your "curriculum for Christlikeness" this fall.   I encourage you to keep “fanning the flame” that Christ has lit within you"—2 Timothy 1:6.  Remember, Christ is counting on us!   There is no “Plan B”.