Christians who like the Idea of Concentration Camps

There is a video that has been haunting me for the past eight days or so.  I’ll post the video below, but for the sake of context, I’d also like to mention that this video comes out of the past five weeks in which anti-lgbtq malice has gotten more press, either because homophobic churches are increasing their own rhetoric, or their normal homophobia is simply making it into the mainstream much faster.

For example, a preacher advocated physical abuse toward children.   Another suggested they go into what would be best described as concentration camps.   Another flat-out advocates a government extermination program.   And this last week a video surfaced of a church teaching/allowing a toddler to sing "Ain't no homos gonna get to Heaven".

I’ve written a short Christian response to homophobia/heterosexism that you can find on Facebook, so I will not repeat that response’s argument except to say the pastors linked above are peddling sickening stuff not worthy of the Gospel of Christ.

The video that has been haunting me is related to the sermon of Pastor Charles L. Worley who advocated putting gay and lesbian men and women into electrified fenced-off areas until they die.  As bad as that is, even more chilling and cringe-worthy is the video of Anderson Cooper interviewing a congregant of Worley's church.

(I do a "close viewing (?)" of the video, so it's up to you if you want to watch it now or return to it later.)

The rest of this post is my reflection about this video, which utterly fascinates me.  I'm broadly putting my reflections under the headings of "the failure and marginalization of Christian language" and "studies in how to cultivate the conditions for the elimination of entire peoples."

The utter failure and marginalization of Christian language

There reaches a point where Christian language--the language that Christians and the Church uses to describe reality--fails.  Part of this development is simply part of one generation passing on the language, propositions--and, more importantly, the unresolved questions--of the Faith to the next generation.  The next generation then has the task of making sense of and engaging the Faith in a way that is able to be heard in their own time and place.  This is a messy process and occurs unevenly.  It is work that is never finished because the world in which we live and move and have our being in relationship to God is always changing (which is why a Christian who claims to have all the answers is a liar).  Christian language fails when Christians give up the task of reinterpreting the tradition and do not bother to make it understandable to those outside the Church.

While we in the Church try to describe the reality we experience, other things are going on.  In this particular time in human history, it is increasingly clear that the "burden of proof lies on believers and the life they lead" in terms of whether the Faith adequately describes reality.  The Church is rightfully under the judgment of the world--and God--on this point, because it is the world--and God--that points to the Church's own inconsistencies and calls the Church to account.  The Church rightfully loses credibility in the world when the Church's language becomes incomprehensible to anyone but ourselves, and at the same time the transformation--and the reality we try to bear witness to--is not forthcoming. We forget that the Church must continually earn the right to speak about God. Further:

The weightiest criticisms of Christian speech and practice amount to this:  that Christian language actually fails to transform the world's meaning because it neglects or trivialized or evades aspects of the human.  It is notoriously awkward about sexuality; it risks being unserious about death when it speaks too glibly and confidently about eternal life; it can disguise the abiding reality of unhealed and meaningless suffering. [1]

I would also add that Christian language is also co-opted to legitimate terrible violence against a variety of "others."

As a result of the failure of Christian language, our preaching loses power.  A religion based on the living Word (logos) of God in Jesus Christ loses its ability to transform.  The Church becomes Godless.  (Ironically, God can still be found in the world where Christians may least expect to find God.)    The challenge for the Church is to not to simply learn the Church's own language about God and Jesus, but to find the words that make people capable of transforming and renewing the world through the enabling of the work of God.  In those words are where one will find the Gospel, and they may not mention God at all.

That is a lot of introductory material to make a simple point:  Christian language--and basic Christianity--fails in this video.

Okay. To the video. I think I've identified two major rhetorical tactics the congregant (Stacy) tries. The first tactic is to claim that the statement was taken out of context; this tactic is used in three different ways by Stacy. The first way was to try to say that Pastor Worley surely "would never want [imprisoning gays and lesbians in concentration camps] to be done." She then continues to say that people will take what he said and use it any way they want to.

Anderson then brings a powerful observation to Stacy: "You said he doesn't want it done, but [Worley] said that he wanted it done, and he said it from the pulpit." Anderson is making an interesting and appropriate move here. Anderson accords a great deal of respect to the pulpit, and assumes that what is said in the pulpit by a preacher are not idle words. I would hope most Christians would agree that the pulpit is not a place for idle, rambling thoughts.

Stacy counters with, "Maybe that's what [Worley] felt like should happen...but to make the short of it, yes, I agree with him." The tactic fails. Stacy then begins to imagine the Worley's scenario playing out. Homosexuals "would not get the message that that's wrong....you know...they can't reproduce and eventually they would die out."

So, Stacy started the interview by trying to say that Worley didn't literally mean to put homosexuals into concentration camps, then within thirty seconds she is agreeing with Worley and imagining such a future. The head shake and the "...you know..." in her thought and speech passes over the imagining of homosexuals being rounded up over months and years, transported under armed guard to a facility they would never leave. But maybe she isn't imagining it. Maybe her hope is that it would happen with no claim on her conscience or attention. It's probably much easier for her to simply imagine a future without homosexuals than think about how they would be made to disappear.

The second attempt at tactic one comes; Anderson forces her to go deeper into her agreement with Worley and imagine how the crackdown would work. I think Stacy knows at this point that she's in over her head. She becomes increasingly belligerent and defensive. Anderson asks if she really thinks imprisoning homosexuals would keep others from being born. She concedes that more homosexuals would be born to straight parents (and I don't think she really meant to do this; because for her homosexuality is a choice, not something you are born with). She now says that they just meant the imprisoned homosexuals would die. Then she reiterates that all of this is being taken out of context. "The main point is always the same." For Stacy, homosexuality is wrong.

Anderson then asks about other categories of sin from the Old Testament and whether the death penalty should be applied. Stacy stumbles to answer but eventually simply says "yes." Did she just agree to expand the death penalty to promiscuous girls, disobedient children, and adulterers? It seems to be the case.

The third attempt at tactic one comes next. Anderson (rightly) asks if putting people in electrified fences seems Christian. Stacy rolls her eyes. She bemoans that "people keep harping, harping, harping on the electric fence, this and that...It's about the homosexuals and it's [sic] wrong." So, another attempt at downplaying what was actually said. Anderson asks her to consider why people may think it is a rather big deal that one group of people wants to put another group of people into a concentration camp. The point seems lost on her. She retreats to saying that no one is actually going to put people (particularly homosexuals? hard to tell...) in fences and kill them. Anderson rightly points out that this happens to homosexuals in other countries, which does not faze her except to increase her defensiveness.

Tactic two immediately follows, and it's an appeal to authority. "You know what?  This is a pastor who speaks the word of god [intentionally lower-case]. Anybody can take it any way they want to and if they don't like it they don't have to...they can turn around and go on!" Stacy has had enough, she pulls the God card, and retreats into a world that cuts off conversation. Her language about God had failed, and she gave up.

So, how does Christian language fail in this video? In the past four months I've seen Christians attempt moves like Stacy's first tactic. It is a weird argument for someone of such a text-centric religion [2] to make: that what the pastor said was harmless or meaningless, nevertheless the congregation defends his/her belief and support of a harmless and meaningless statement. In other words, these Christians claim that which they hold dear is meaningless, yet it is treasured by them. One should not simultaneously say something is meaningless, yet of ultimate concern. A person can go on believing such a meaningless statement, but the question that immediately comes to my mind is why I or anyone else should give any type of credence or respect to a belief that its adherents claim is meaningless. I cannot respect a meaningless statement. If that is what Christian language comes to--insider jargon that has no power to transform and transmit faith, hope, and love--it should be treated as unserious. It already is treated that way by most of the world. And the irony of it all is that these Christians participate in fostering their own irrelevance.

The second way Christian language fails is related. Advocating locking people up in concentration camps is not the transmission of the Gospel, and in any case, it is not harmless. It's always good and appropriate to remind people that words do have meaning and consequence. It is scandalous that Christians have to be reminded of the power of words, particularity when Christians should always be able to be called to account for the words they use.

In the end, I'm left with the conflicting feelings that what I'm watching in the video is simultaneously Christian and un-Christian. The Gospel has not worked to convince these folks that advocating concentration camps is something to take seriously, to be apprehensive about, or fosters a need for their own repentance. Christianity becomes the shell in which they place their own hate, bravado, defensiveness, and insularity.  Christianity is in this case nothing but a pious wrapping around the demonic.  What is terrifying for me is that this goes under the banner of Christianity in popular conversation in America, that this video will far exceed the reach of the people like me who write to denounce it, and that Christianity will only be known by what it is supposedly against. 

How to cultivate the conditions for the elimination of entire peoples

One doesn't have to have spent a significant amount of one's academic career on genocide, holy war, and post-holocaust ethics to be disturbed by this video.  But I think it helps and it certainly colors my view of what is going on.  This is ironic to me, because disapproval of concentration camps through an academic lens is a place where a Christian concept is found in the world, and this disapproval is missing from churches where people want to put other humans into concentration camps.  Where Christian language fails, (finding God in) the world can provide the words.  As I watched the video, Daniel Goldhagen's work on eliminationist policies came to mind.  His work details five distinct ways of eliminating a population:  transformation, repression, expulsion, prevention of reproduction, and extermination.  Pastor Worley's vision meets all five of the criteria of an eliminationist stance.  For Pastor Worley and Stacy, if homosexuals do not act the way they are supposed to (ultimatum of transformation), then they should be rounded up against their will (repression), placed in concentration camps (expulsion), where they "cannot breed" (prevention of reproduction), to eventually die (extermination).

There are a few points in the video where what Anderson was saying wasn't on a level Stacy could understand.  One of those levels was the gravity of someone advocating a dream of a group of people dying out in a concentration camp in a world in which it has already happened, is happening, and will happen again.  Elimination of populations is a real thing, and I think Stacy exemplifies the conditions of individuals that show how it can happen.  Like many others, Stacy doesn't think eliminations are possible, but they are.  The Third Reich proved it.  Rwanda proved it. [3]  Like many others, she will think the population to be eliminated--in this case homosexuals--deserve what they will get, particularly by refusing to change to meet the dominant groups demands and expectations.  As exemplified by Pastor Worley, there is a significant amount of disgust, to the point where imagining homosexuals' existence and its consequences (like, say, a kiss between two men) is deeply and personally offensive and repugnant.  These homophobic folks see the lgbtqia community as more than in error or sin.  They see gay folk as contaminating, an abomination.  This level of hatred, fear, and disdain is familiar to marginalized groups who have faced oppression from dominant groups. 

I cannot stress this enough:  Pastor Worley said he was not joking; Stacy eventually admitted that she agreed with him; there were plenty others in the congregation saying 'amen' to what Worley was preaching.  There are people in this country who can imagine--and like the idea--of putting other groups of people into concentration camps.  This is not a small matter or a joke in a world that has seen such things happen.  It is odd but true that wanting to eliminate people and claiming it cannot happen is exactly how you go about eliminating a people.  It takes time and a complacent populace to create the conditions for an eliminationist policy.  I'm not willing to give these folks that opportunity.

This is not the kind of thing Christians should let pass in silence, which is a sort of consent.  Christians ought to be getting loud about the cultivation of this type of behavior in a church, and be quick to denounce anything that degrades others' very humanity.  Christian silence, particularly progressive Christians' silence, leaves a void where Christians who like the idea of concentration camps become the ones who define our faith for the rest of the world.  And that ain't the Gospel.

___________________________
[1] The three opening paragraphs under this heading are based on the essay "The Judgment of the World" by Rowan Williams, found in On Christian Theology. The quote is on page 39.
[2] Christianity is a "bookish" religion, but I also mean 'text' in a much broader way that includes a range of symbols and symbolic actions.
[3] To name two of many, many 20th century examples.

"Lord, when did we see you?" - Sermon for Christ the King Sunday

Matthew 25: 31-46 The Judgement of the Nations

 ‘When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?” And the king will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” Then he will say to those at his left hand, “You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.” Then they also will answer, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?” Then he will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.” And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.’

The Parable of the Sheep and the Goats is my favorite passage in all of scripture.  There are 3 reasons this is my favorite passage.  The first reason is that the parable points to my social ethic in a nutshell; a vision of what the church should be to the world.  The second reason is that it speaks to the side of me that strives for perfection--which I know is an unattainable ideal--but it is an ideal I respond to nonetheless.  The third reason this is my favorite parable—and it took me a while to realize this—is that what seems so clear in Matthew because of his matter-of-fact presentation (Goat/sheep, left/right, righteous/unrighteous, etc.) is actually not clear at all.  There is something new to see every time we come to the sacred texts of our tradition, particularly in the hard sayings.  I have come back to this text repeatedly over the years and I have seen something new every time.

So, this is my favorite passage in all of scripture, even though it has this incredibly scary side to it—this specter of everlasting fire and judgment.

It is easy to read this passage and miss the Gospel.  There is Good News, but Matthew means to jolt us, which may mean spiritual whiplash as he confronts us with judgment. But he does not leave us there.  Matthew does not condemn us.

If you were to search for a phrase that defines the essence of the Gospel of Matthew, the phrase “righteous perfection” would do the trick.  In Matthew 5:48, Jesus says “Be perfect, as your Father in Heaven is perfect.”  God is not only perfect, God is considered righteous.  And we see in our Gospel passage that “righteous” and “unrighteous” are words used to distinguish the sheep from the goats.

Righteousness, now there is a heavy term.  It brings up some pretty ugly rhetoric in the world today.  Now, I came from a religious background in which going to Heaven or Hell depended on the way one thought.  To stray from what the group thought and taught meant one’s salvation, one’s righteousness, could be called into question. Righteousness was best defined as the avoidance of sin.  Well, okay, but that isn't all righteousness is. I eventually left that world because I couldn’t keep thinking in the ways I grew up thinking.  In fact, I left Christianity.  But eventually I came back, and when I did, I started looking for what salvation and righteousness meant to me.

It was this passage which spoke to me.  It looked like it was a clear teaching that seemed to be the needed expansion to the theology in which I was raised, and it confirmed my growing sense of what it meant to be faithful.  I came to think that what we believe means nothing if it means we do nothing for those less fortunate than ourselves.  It turns out that in this passage (and in the prophets), that is what righteousness means.  Righteousness also means to live the imperative of the 2nd commandment, to love our neighbors as we love ourselves,

Matthew means to jolt us into this righteousness— into actions that confirm the best of our faith.

At that point I thought I had it figured out.  I thought I could tell the sheep from the goats.  I thought I knew I was a sheep…

But then I thought maybe I was a goat.  Do I do enough?  Am I righteous enough?  Why doesn’t Matthew provide a better checklist, a number of people I’m supposed to feed, clothe, or care for?  That way I can do my part and know when I’m done?

Matthew means to jolt us into righteousness…But not give us a false certainty about ourselves.

I returned to this passage again and I realized that in the passage, neither the sheep, nor the goats, knew how they ended up where they did.  A sense of dread came over me.  I thought I had traded an impossible faith—believing things that I could not in good conscience believe—for an ethical ideal too far to reach.  There was no certainty that I would ever do enough. The upside to this revelation was that I realized that if I could never do enough, how could I judge others?  The freedom from judging others became a relief.  I am not God.  I’m responsible for myself.  I can only search my own heart.

Matthew means to jolt us into righteousness… and take away the ability to claim we know others’ hearts so well.

I returned to the text yet again and noticed that the righteous were not feeding, clothing, and visiting out of fear of Hell.  They did it because of who they were.  They did it because it was right.  It’s as though Matthew and Jesus knew modern theories of moral development.  But this is also spiritual development.  It is a mark of moral and spiritual maturity to do what is right because it is right, not because we are afraid of punishment or looking for a reward.  And it’s an ongoing process that we participate in.  There’s freedom and relief in knowing that.  Jesus calls us to follow God, to be lured to God...with love...not with flinching fear.

Matthew means to jolt us into righteousness... and show us that true righteousness is not the fear of Hell, or the fear of God, or thought of reward, but to do what is right for right’s own sake, which is to love our neighbor as we love God.

The thing that always caught my eye about this passage—even as I was slow to notice these other things-- was the phrase “that which you did for the least of these, you did to me.”  Today is “Christ the King” Sunday, and we have an opportunity to reflect on where we find God in Christ in our own life.  In the Gospel passage, we recognize the King, who tells us that He has actually been with us the whole time.  Christ the king is present in those on the margins, among His people.  The righteous and the unrighteous do not see Christ in the story.  Yet Matthew records that Jesus is telling us where to find him.

Matthew means to jolt us into righteousness by telling us who it is we also see in the faces of the marginalized.

Christ is present in the least of these who we see before us.  How radical is that?  That behind the eyes of all who stand before us, we can catch glimpses of the Divine.  Matthew, when he wrote about the birth of Jesus, points out that the name Immanuel—which applies to Jesus— means ‘God is with us.’[1]

God is with us…and we see that image of God…the image that God created…the image shared by Christ when he walked the earth as God incarnate…the image which the Holy Spirit enlivens daily… that spark of the divine…that image of God… present in those who stand or sit before us hungry, thirsty, ill-clothed, sick, imprisoned.

Matthew means to jolt us into righteousness by telling us that  Christ  is  still  here.

Perhaps something more can be said about the righteous and the unrighteous… Something more than the righteous do merciful things and the unrighteous do not.  My guess is that the righteous find blessing in this life on earth from their experiences with others.  They experience a sense of holiness that comes from conversation with others, from sharing a meal with others, and from trading stories with others.  In doing so the righteous follow the example of Christ who came to serve…not to be served, and who identified with the type of people polite company did not want to keep around.  

In the gospel passage, the righteous built relationships.  They invited people in, spoke to them in visits, broke bread and drank wine together.  The unrighteous, who may have done these things if they knew Jesus would show up, did not bother with relationships. They did not bother with people in need.  Sure, the unrighteous may not have meant anything bad or malicious by the marginalized.  They just did not bother at all.  Matthew is telling us that apathy is not righteous, and in ignoring those on the margins, the unrighteous missed seeing God.

Matthew means to jolt us into righteousness by entering into relationships that matter…relationships that express both love of neighbor and love of God by bringing us together.

It is easy to miss the Gospel in this passage because Matthew means to jolt us into righteousness.  But he does not leave us in fear.  We are not condemned.  Matthew points out to us that our faith is best expressed in works of mercy that matter in this life…that it is a matter of turning one’s heart—which no one else can see and judge—to the point where doing what is right becomes second nature.  The trick is to learn to see God, by loving God and our neighbor.  The refusal of this love is our choice, and is a refusal of relationships that matter.  

We are not in this alone.  God does not leave us to our own devices only to pull the rug from under us.  God is present in us and with us (as in the Holy Eucharist) to help us see the sparks of the divine we may otherwise miss.  We are all God’s own.  And God loves us.  Let us love God back; and let us love our neighbor too.

---

[1] Matthew 1:22-23

Sermon: What is the Currency of the Kingdom of God?

Year A

Matthew 22:15-22

As a seminarian, I’m often asked a few questions by nearly everyone I meet at diocesan convention. Questions like:  What is seminary like?  How is seminary going?  For me, the experience of seminary is hard to boil down into something simple, but I will say this:  sometimes seminarians are put into awkward positions. 

For instance, if you were a seminarian, there may come a day when you haven’t been to your home parish in over a year, and on the day you return to preach, the reading from the lectionary is one of the Bible’s most explicitly political passages.

What do you do with that?

Contemporary American thought tends to support keeping religion and politics separate.  We do not often want to hear politics preached from pulpits.  We tend to think that religion is above politics—that religion should remain unstained by political processes. 

Or maybe it’s the other way.

Maybe religion stains politics…

We’ve seen through history and in current events that mixing religion and politics

can yield deadly results and oppressive policies.  Maybe, we think, it’s better to see religion as purely the realm of the spiritual, and politics the realm of the material—what we experience in the real world, outside of the church.

Still, the Gospel reading shows Jesus in the thick of a political situation, and reminding those around him of their responsibilities to God. 

I beg your indulgence, because in a time when many of us tend to live dualistic lives in between the secular and the religious, I believe it makes a difference if one’s faith leads one to allow constraints and divisions and oppressions that are already present in the world (and in the church), or leads one to participate in a faith that seeks to set people free.

But let’s begin at the beginning.  What’s going on in this story?  What is so political about it?

Jesus has come into Jerusalem just days before his death.  He and his entourage are in the temple.  He has been telling parables in which the Pharisees appear in a bad light.  Jesus makes them appear to be hypocritical and unbending religious purists. 

The Pharisees have had enough.  So the Pharisees think about ways to embarrass and discredit Jesus.  Maybe, they think, we can get him to say something embarrassing or treasonous.  The Pharisees send some of their own to Jesus with a question, along with some folks named in the gospel as Herodians.

Some background may be helpful here, because this is an odd part of the story.  You see, the Pharisees and the Herodians would not have liked each other.  ‘Herodian’ means a supporter of Herod Antipas, who was not a very nice guy.  He’s the guy who had John the Baptist, Jesus’ cousin, beheaded.

Herodians were folks who supported the Roman occupation of Jerusalem.  Pharisees did not like the Herodians because the Pharisees were not fans of the occupation; the Pharisees thought the Herodians were sell-outs.  But a mutual hate can make for strange friends, and Jesus made both the Pharisees and the Herodians nervous. 

Jesus threatened the power they had fought to keep

For the Pharisees’— it was their bid for the people’s religious lives,

For the Herodians— control of the occupational government. 

This meant that both groups had the most access to power; And someone like Jesus, who called their use of power into question, was a problem to be ‘resolved.’

The group comes up to Jesus, and they ask their trick question.  A yes or no question which should have embarrassed Jesus no matter which way he answered it.  If Jesus said to pay the tax, He would appear to be a sympathizer of the oppressive government and lose credibility with many of his followers; the Pharisees win.

If Jesus said not to pay the tax, he would be guilty of treason.  An agitator.  The Herodians would not let someone who openly protested their rule live.  Rome does not like rebels.  If Jesus says not to pay the tax, the Herodians could have him killed, and the Pharisees still win.

Pretty brilliant, right? 

Politics as usual in occupied territories.

Jesus throws them a curve ball by asking for the coin. The coin was a denarius.  And it looked a lot like coins we would see today, but with a major difference.  Our quarter doesn’t name George Washington as God; the denarius did name the emperor as God.

For a Jew to be carrying a coin that called anyone but the God of Israel divine—in the temple of all places!— should have been embarrassing.  That the Pharisees and Herodians could produce the coin probably made them a bit sheepish.

Jesus then asks who is on the coin. 

They answer ‘the emperor,’ and Jesus famously replies “Give to the emperor that which belongs to the emperor, and to God what belongs to God.”

With this response the Pharisees and the Herodians are humiliated.  They walk away amazed; surprised that they did not see that response coming.  Jesus managed to take their yes or no question about taxes and turn even that to God.

I want to suggest that the gospel reading for today is

more than Matthew bragging on Jesus’ rhetorical skills,

more than a tale showing Jesus’ political prowess,

more than a scriptural permission for Christians to pay taxes,

and more than a handy reading to pull out and read for church pledge drives. 

The gospel reading today is a challenge to us because we are  all called to ask a few questions:

What bears the image of God?

What is the currency of the Kingdom of God?

Does this have bearing on

Our politics today?

In asking these questions we are then called to a process of formation; a process of sifting through our lives to find out what bears the image of what would want to rule over us in this world; and what bears the image of God. It is a matter of discerning what is from the kingdoms of this world, and what is part of the Kingdom of God. 

This is an act of discernment that we engage on our own and in community.

What makes this task difficult is that we are not just in the world or just in sync with God. 

We are both of God and in the world. 

We look at both the best and the worst of what we carry within us, and like coins in our pockets, we examine these things closely to see whose image we find on them.

Perhaps we begin with the work of exchanging

Within ourselves and with God’s help

Hate for Love

despair for hope

darkness for light

injury for pardon

doubt for faith.

In doing this work inside us, we learn something about God and God’s desire for the world we see before us.

Then we begin to see God’s economy and that every person bears the inscription of God.  The image that God created, the image shared by Christ when he walked the earth as God incarnate, and the image which the Spirit enlivens daily. 

But sometimes that image of God in other people is hard to see. The world and other people try to stamp other inscriptions on us all. 

Inscriptions of

race,

gender,

nationality,

ability,

wealth,

even religion.

How do these inscriptions influence us to act? 

To take a look around our country: 

Race can determine your level of care in the hospital, when you watch a staff that is helpful to one patient become cold to another.

Gender can determine what positions you can hold in business, government, the Church—if not on paper at least in practice.

Nationality can determine whether or not you can be treated as a person by the government-- Whether or not you are known as an ‘illegal’ or subject to enhanced interrogation techniques, otherwise known as torture.

Ability can determine if you are seen as a child of God or a cross to bear for family and friends.

Wealth can determine whether or not you are respected, or considered a human being of worth.

These inscriptions are powerful.  They still have a hold on me.  It takes a daily effort not to see the person in front of us as the sum of what marks society inscribes on them, but as Children of God, bearing God’s image, and of precious worth. 

Then we are called to act on our discernment.  To act as though our recognition of what is God’s and what is the world’s has meaning that is more than a theological proposition, but a compass to guide our actions in life. This may have political consequences.

The effort is to see what God sees; to acknowledge the different set of standards of God’s Economy— an economy based on life, and flesh, and blood, and warmth, and love—instead of an economy of metal, and paper, and scarcity, and neglect.

Then we give to God what is God’s by recognizing the image of Christ

in the stranger,

the friend,

the sick,

the hungry,

the thirsty

the imprisoned,

and the poor.

And ultimately, we may find that recognizing what belongs to God is more rewarding than to bow to the inscriptions the world fosters or bow in homage to economic systems that betray or deny the inherent worth of others.  In so doing, we give back to God— and give to neighbor— that which bears God’s inscription:  love, hope, light, pardon, faith, and help.

To recognize the dignity of others in spite of what the world has set as important is a step toward acknowledging a part of the reign of God; and acting on that reality.

…and that has political consequences. 

May your discernment of what bears God’s image in your life be fruitful.

Amen.