Notorious

This week’s readings can be found here, we are using track 2. 

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This week, news broke, that in an Immigration and Customs Enforcement Facility, detainees were sterilized without informed consent. While these allegations have yet to be proven, I’m finding them easy to believe. Given our countries history of abuses aimed at black and brown bodies, given the history of eugenics and forced sterilization, given the separation of children from their families, given…it seems almost a given that this, yet another abuse, must be true. 

 

And, I am exhausted, I am exhausted by this, yet another reminder, that evil is at work in the world. I am exhausted at the reality that, right now, it seems like no effort is enough. No effort seems enough in the face of the evil that divides, that dehumanizes, that exploits, and that corrupts and destroys the creatures of God. No effort seems enough. We are but small individuals in the face of juggernauts of power. What could any of us possibly do to turn the tide? To turn the tide, to bend the arc, to transform the world.

 

And, then, more news. The death of Supreme Court Justice, Ruth Bader Ginsburg. A slight figure holding fast, a reminder that one voice can be enough. Enough to serve, enough to love, enough to change. She held fast until the end and even her opponents respected her steadfast adherence to the law as a means for justice for all of God’s people. More then exhausted, mourning. Mourning the loss of a woman who secured the hopes of so many, a woman who exemplified a life of faithful service. 

 

She turned, she bent, she transformed, and in doing so, she gave many hope.

 

I wondered if I could speak to the hope she gave without being accused of being partisan or political. I debated the merits of speaking to the news, this news. But, I want to honor the fact that many in our community are in mourning. I want to honor the fact that many in our community are scared. And, when people mourn, and when people are scared, they are to be met with love. Love, regardless. Knowing this, I beg your compassion, not for me, but for your friends. Your friends and fellow parishioners who may be afraid, scared, and who may even be wondering if our democracy can survive the death of a slight, Jewish, justice, who held fast until the end. 

 

So, given the news, given the pain, given the fear, given our faith…

 

I’m going to talk about politics. I’m going to talk about politics because we live in a world where politics dictate who has food and who does not, who goes to prison and who does not, who has a home and who does not, who lives and who does not.  And, given our scripture, it is undeniably a Christian imperative to engage with politics wherever those politics intersect with the lives of the poor, the hungry, the homeless, the children, the aged, and the prisoner. Matthew 25, Micah 6:9, Mark 12:31, Isaiah 1:17, Psalm 82:3, Luke 1:46-55…I can go on, and on, and on.  

 

And, then of course there is our tradition—our baptismal covenant clearly lays out that the pursuit of a Christian life manifests itself in our pursuit of justice, peace, and dignity for every human being. Our baptismal rite which asks us to renounce the evil powers that corrupt and destroy the creatures of God. So, given our scripture, our traditions, the world we are in and our system of governance, and the way in which we utilize political structures—it would seem that Christians cannot avoid politics any more then we can avoid the truth of God’s love for ALL. 

 

Now, that said, I’m going to be clear that Christian political life must be separated from partisan politics.  And I will never endorse or denigrate any particular party or politician from the pulpit. What I will do, is remind us, again and again and again, of our calling to love our neighbor as Christ loves us and to live in such a way that we perpetuate that love and assist in the in-breaking of a new creation. What I will do, is turn to the scriptures, to set our own lives and the challenges before us within the context of God’s salvation history.

 

Let’s begin with Jonah and the crisis facing immigrants and refugees in our communities. 

 

Jonah, of swallowed by the whale fame, has long served as a cautionary tale about what happens when we attempt to refuse our calling…but, when we look beyond the fantastical elements of whale vomit, the story of Jonah offers us an opportunity to see how easy it is to forget who we are, where we’ve come from, our common humanity, and God’s love for all. 

 

For context, Jonah was an early Israelite.

 

The early Israelites shared their ancestry with the Ninevites.

 

But, they had forgotten, Jonah had forgotten. That these people whom he thought so deserving of God’s wrath—were his people too. They were people who shared in the common origins of his own community. They were people, living, dreaming, hoping, doing just as his people lived and dreamed and hoped and did.

 

Does this not seem a familiar story here in the United States, where so many seem to have forgotten that their ancestors were refugees and immigrants too? That those they denigrate, share the story of the ancestors they venerate?

 

Jonah had forgotten. We have forgotten. That we are all, in fact, God’s own. 

 

God’s own sinners, God’s own forgiven, God’s own. And, even when we forget, God remembers. 

 

Jonah forgot, that they were him and he was they, and in condemning them, he condemns himself. In this, the story of Jonah isn’t about Nineveh, it’s about Jonah’s own need for transformation. It is about Jonah’s redemption as he faces the truth of God’s love for the people Jonah would abandon. The story can also be read as a story about who we are now, the nationalism and America first sentiment that pervades our politics, the needs of immigrants and refugees, and the need for the sharing of resources across borders for the benefit of all of God’s beloved children.

 

Maybe we’re Jonah. Maybe we’re Ninevites. But, regardless, this is our story and Jonah’s transformation is an invitation to our own.

 

The repentance of one redeems the many. The repentance of one, for the redemption of the world. 

 

Woah. I’m suddenly overwhelmed by this. By this truth that it starts with one. Noah. Jonah. Mary. Jesus. One person. One person is enough. Is more then enough. 

 

David beat Goliath. Noah built the ark. Mary said, “yes”. Jesus changed everything. 

 

And, I am strengthened by their witness. I am strengthened by the truth of who we can be. I am strengthened by who we can be when we recognize that we can be enough—enough to change the world. It won’t happen all at once, it may not be evident in our lifetime, but change will happen.

 

We can turn, we can bend, we can transform—because, with God’s help, the slight and unimposing can face down giants and change the world. Lincoln, Martin, Ruth, Malala, Henrietta, Sojourner, Katherine, Florence, Greta…the list goes on and on and on. And, as I consider the names of those who’ve risen to the occasion, I find my own offering pales in comparison. How often I think, my effort is not enough, that what I have is not enough. Anxious and overwhelmed…

 

Which is where I find comfort in the Gospel we have heard proclaimed today.  

 

The Gospel with it’s good news of God’s grace—a grace that recognizes even our poorest effort, even our last ditch, show up at the last-minute effort, is enough. A grace that takes our imperfect effort, if we’re willing to offer it, to do great things. It doesn’t matter if we show up late, what matters is that we show up at all. Late is better then never, so accept God’s invitation, and show up!

 

I find myself smiling as I re-read this last bit. Because, there is still time to show up and the last minute, last ditch effort, was enough. It worked out in the end. It worked out in the end. It will work out in the end.

 

Because Jonah’s transformation is our own. 

 

Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Per your request, sermon texts!

One of our care connectors at St. Clement’s reported that some of her contacts in the congregation would like to have access to sermon texts in addition to the sermon videos we have posted on youtube. So, beginning with the first Sunday of our program year (Sept 13th, 2020) I’m going to be resuming this practice. The first sermon of this program year centers on forgiveness. The following texts are those assigned for proper 19A: Genesis 50:15-21; Psalm 103:8-13; Romans 14:1-12; Matthew 18:21-25. I highly suggest reading these passages before reading the sermon. 

On Forgiveness

There are so many pressing events in this world, crowding in on my being. I feel as if, no words I can say can ever adequately convey my deep concern, fear, and hope regarding the state of our planet, our people, and our communities. 

 

What to say? How to say it? It stymied me and mid-day on Saturday, while chatting with Seth Baker, a member of our community, I mentioned that I was struggling with a sermon on forgiveness. Seth, ever quick with a come back, quipped

 

“Wait, isn’t forgiveness a really important thing in Christianity?!” 

 

Just as quick, I retorted, “I know, right? Who’d have thought! That’s actually my whole sermon for tomorrow…Forgiveness is really important.”

 

The end.

 

Hah! If only it were that easy. 

 

If only, it were as simple as saying, the rote formula “forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us”

 

But, it’s not simple. It’s not easy. It is in fact, one of the most challenging pieces of life’s work that any of us will ever undertake.

And, in these difficult yet defiantly hopeful times, the theological concept writ large, becomes a means by which we can apply our faith to every single issue that confronts us. 

 

So, this is a sermon about forgiveness. But, it is also a sermon about EVERYTHING.

 

Since Cain slew Abel, the human story has, all too often, been one in which perceived threats to honor are met with physical, emotional, and even spiritual violence. This has led to cycles of violence whose only victors have been the powers of evil that seek to divide us as each emotional, spiritual, and physical offense is met with an ever exponential, increasingly violent, response. These cycles of violence have plagued humanity and the earliest forms of governance that we know of sought to manage vengeance in order to keep interpersonal strife from becoming exponential threat. 

 

Many of us have heard the saying, “an eye for an eye” used as colloquial shorthand for the concept of retributive justice—a form of human justice in which the consequence of an offense is to have that same offense visited upon the original instigator of the act. My eye for yours. My limb for yours. My life for yours. And, many of us have found this notion abhorrent—gauging out someone’s eye because they gauged out someone else’s? First of all, how barbaric. Second of all, how gross! 

 

But, in the time in which this form of retributive justice was established, it would have been understood to be a progressive and liberal move—a progressive and liberal move in a world where a seemingly small offense could lead to intertribal warfare. Hammurabi the Babylonian prince whose reign oversaw the recording of a system of retributive justice, created a stable and long lasting regime throughout Babylonia in the 1700s because of his creation and perpetuation of a system that limited retribution. We still live in a society that allows and even extols retributive justice as a means to break cycles of violence—the death penalty is a form of retributive justice that comes straight from that stone stele upon which Hammurabi’s scribes chiseled his edicts. 

 

But, retribution has no interest in restoration or reconciliation and, in this, retributive justice is inconsistent with Christian life. Building on the teachings of Jesus such as those we heard in the Gospel today, and the scriptural tradition of their Hebrew forebears, the earliest Christians understood justice as “a power that heals, restores, and reconciles rather than hurts, punishes, and kills,” (“The Mission of God, Restorative Justice, and the Death Penalty” Kerri Pickel, page 5). From the Christian perspective, God’s justice is a“dynamic, active power that breaks into situations of oppression and evil in order to bring liberation and restore freedom. Its basic concern is not to treat each person as each deserves but to do all that is necessary to make things right.” (Pickel, https://static1.squarespace.com/static/57e96bea725e2558ab336c4a/t/5ebdc1db28551d04fdfadfdc/1589494235485/Pickel+%282019%29+Missional+Theology.pdf)

 

Reconciliation not retribution. Restoration not retaliation.

 

God’s dream for us is not the captivity of our sin. God’s dream for us is our liberation from captivity and our restoration to each other through the gift of grace and the action of forgiveness.

 

Our human story of revenge is met with God’s story of yielding power. 

 

God said, “never again will I destroy all living creatures”.

 

Joseph said to them, “have no fear, I myself will provide for you and your little ones”

 

Jesus said, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do”

 

In the upside down economy of Christ, the powerful are not those who exact vengeance, the powerful, are those who yield their power to punish and extend the power to forgive. 

 

Vengeance, in this economy, is an act of weakness.

 

For, only the truly powerful, can forgive.

 

The relinquishment of power is an act of power.

 

Can you sense what this change in perspective can do for us? Can you feel the hope that rises up in response to God’s unceasing mercy?

 

Imagine. Imagine what this current election cycle would look like if this was the kind of power we lauded in our world. Imagine, the humility, the compassion, the self knowledge and awareness that it would take to see true power as the relinquishment of the power to destroy, judge, or condemn. Imagine, what it would mean to vote for the Christian hope that death is not the end of our story. 

 

We serve a God, who is full of compassion and mercy, slow to anger and of great kindness—and in our personal, civic, and communal life, ought we not strive to be like God?

 

We’re going to shift a bit here, from the big to the small—from the structural and systemic to the interpersonal and discrete. 

 

And, we’re going to do so because the Christian value of forgiveness has been perverted by those who have used our faith’s emphasis upon forgiveness as a means of leveraging their own power to commit abuses. There are those who claim to share our faith who use the passage we heard from the Gospel today as justification for why the abused must stay in relationship with their abuser. But, this kind of interpretation is a perversion of Christ’s teaching, because it is an interpretation that deals in death and captivity. It is an interpretation that denies the law of love and the nature of God—it is, in fact, heresy. 

 

What then to make of the Gospel appointed for today? The Gospel which extols a kind of limitless forgiveness and illustrates its import with the torture of the merciless slave.

 

Girardian theologian, Andrew Marr, writes that “living without forgiveness, which is tantamount to living by vengeance, is torture. It isn’t God who is unforgiving; it is the servant. Clinging to vengeance in the face of God’s forgiveness tortures us with our [own desire for] vengeance for as long as we are imprisoned by it (Marr, Moving and Resting in God’s Desire, 119)

 

The torture undergone by the unforgiving is a product of the self and not the judgement of God. God is merciful, and the merciless can create their own hell just by rejecting the mercy of the God of love. I know this full well, for have I not lain sleepless in rage or anxiety, because the one who has caused me harm still holds me in their power? Not through their presence, but through the burden I persist in carrying in my soul. 

 

In this I have come to understand that forgiveness can mean releasing the one who has done us harm from having power over our body, our mind, or our spirit. It can mean walking away and shaking the dust from our shoes. God would never ask us to sacrifice ourselves in body, mind, or spirit, for the sake of those whose desire is destruction. 

 

Imagine, if we set ourselves free through forgiveness? Imagine if we were to seek a better way, through forgiveness? Imagine, if we relinquished our power for the sake of a higher power?

 

 

Where Have I Been? With links and a video.

Friends, since the last sermon I shared I’ve preached often—and shared those sermons via our church’s YouTube page. I’ve not updated here because, honestly, it was one more thing.

But, it’s time. 

The sermon that defines the last three months, for me, is titled “Breathe”. It was recorded on May 31st at St. Clement’s,  https://youtu.be/nTRExiaPPso

It begins a series of sermons that focus on who we are in this moment, and how we are called to respond to the systemic racism which continues to steal the breath of God’s beloved children. 

The full text of this sermon is available below my sign off.

You can find all the worship services that have been recorded for St. Clement’s during this time of the “scattered church” at our YouTube channel, https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCS2KgezzX4QSTt6BmIMjK-g?view_as=subscriber 

Peace to you all,

Joy

Lent 3A

Sermon in the time of Covid-19

Tyler Bold, MD PhD, infectious disease and the Reverend Joy Caires

Tyler’s words are Bold (pun intended). 

Lectionary page with Lent 3 scripture is here 

Since the beginning of this year, we in America and in Minnesota, have been fortunate to only observe from a distance what is happening with Covid-19, praying for the health of those affected and for the wisdom of those whose actions can make the biggest difference in the trajectory of this outbreak.

The news seemed far away. A disease affecting those people in that place. So, we prayed for them…those who are not here and whose deaths we will not know to mourn. We shook hands, we embraced, we took our collective breaths and said our collective prayers. We sang our songs, we shared our meals…we did not know. 

In the past 2 weeks, however, we have transitioned from spectators to participants in this pandemic.

I made signs for the doors of the church yesterday, Building closed for worship and all other gatherings. I chose my words carefully. The building is closed, the church is not. The church cannot close. The church is us, the church is us in prayer, regardless of proximity, the church is us the body of Christ. A body that transcends time and space. The church is not and will never be closed. 

The building is closed. We are not. 

And, today, as the church, we are working to save lives. To save lives by staying home.

The 2 most important things we can do now are to protect the most vulnerable people in our communities, and to reduce the rate of transmission. 

The collect for the third Sunday in Lent, for today begins, “Almighty God, you know we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves”. We have no power in ourselves to help ourselves. This is reality, we cannot help ourselves ALONE. But, together as the Body of Christ in the world—we can help the world. This is in our power as Christians, as the people of God, to stand in body and spirit between suffering and the vulnerable people in our communities. 

Older people, and those with underlying medical conditions, are particularly vulnerable to this infection. Because not everyone who is contagious shows overt signs of disease, we must particularly consider how our individual and communal actions affect the most susceptible of those around us. We must all do our part to prevent these people from being exposed.

We must. We must do our part. Our part to seek and serve Christ in all persons. Our part to honor the dignity of every human being. Our part. 

Some will think we are overreacting. Some will say that closing our buildings is tantamount to a betrayal of God. I would and WILL counter—our buildings are closed, the church is not. And, we are praying together, we are acting together, we are remembering our ancestors and taking our part in the communion of saints. We are doing ALL of this, but without gathering in groups—and this is HARD. It is a change to our habits, our practices, and our general understanding of what it means to be a community. But, we are Christians and this moment of suffering can and will bring hope for the future. 

So, I enjoin you CANCEL EVERYTHING. Gathering in groups, no matter the reason, puts members of your community at risk. I have already heard from folk about their plans to gather in groups for prayer. Please, reconsider. What seems an act of faithfulness puts your neighbors, friends, and communities at risk. I hate saying this, I hate that we have come to this. But, this is part of what is being asked of us, as Christians. 

Hear the words of our ancestor Paul, “we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”

The Holy Spirit has been given to us. Paul Tillich described the Spirit as the unitive being, the person of the Trinity that unites us to God, to Christ and to each other across all time and space. God is not limited by the walls of the building and we are united!

We are united in action because,

Although 21 cases in our state may not seem like many, I tend to think of this figure as a blurry image of the past. It is imprecise, since our limited capacity for diagnostic testing obscures the true number of cases in our communities. And, just as the light from the Sun is 8 minutes old when it reaches the Earth, these case numbers really reflect the consequences of our community behaviors and decisions from 2-3 weeks ago. 

2-3 weeks ago…2-3 years…20-30 years…200-300 years…2000 years. What is happening now reflects all of history. The decisions made, the stories told, the lives lived—and so, here we are. 

Here we are, in the wilderness of this season, knowing our past and accepting the responsibility of the power we have to shape the future of all creation. 

Because, the decisions we make today will impact the course of this disease over the next 2-3 weeks. 

The decisions we make today…will impact all of our tomorrows. 

We must also act now to ensure that we can provide optimal care for all those who do become sick. If too many are afflicted at the same time, this will not be possible. This concept of “flattening the curve” underpins the many efforts towards “social distancing” you have seen in the past week, including the closure of our own building. This strategy is an essential way to slow transmission rates and enable our healthcare system to accomplish this goal.

We have no power in ourselves to help ourselves—and, at the same time, we have the power to save the world entire! Assume this mantle of power. Feel the presence of the Spirit. Remember, you are part of the communion of saints—that great communion of the past and present and the yet to come. 

You are not alone. You are not now, and will never be alone. God abides in you—and no matter where we are in our physical bodies, nothing can separate us from each other and from the love of God which unites us. 

“I sent you to reap that for which you did not labor. Others have labored, and you have entered into their labor.”

Good people of God, we have entered into the labor. We can and will make sacrifices so that others may live. We can and will make choices that will change the world. We can and will, with God’s help, take our part.

The 2 most important things we can do now, are to protect the most vulnerable people in our communities, and to reduce the rate of transmission. 

This means…

-       Wash your hands with soap and water frequently and thoroughly, for at least 20 seconds at a time

-       Avoid touching your face

-       Do not gather with others, in groups either large or small

-       If you must gather with others, do all that you can to avoid close contact, maintaining a distance of 6 feet, or 2 arms’ lengths

-       Avoid public spaces where people may come into close contact

-       Cancel all travel

-       Work from home if possible

-       As weather permits, it is safe to be outdoors, as long as this does not involve close contact with others 

-       If you have ANY symptoms of cough, sore throat, fever, body aches, headache, or diarrhea, stay at home and keep to yourself

-       If symptoms persist for 48 hours, CALL your doctor to discuss the availability and need for testing

-       Do NOT go to a clinic or emergency room unless directed to by a healthcare provider, or it is truly an emergency

Public health demands our health as the Body of Christ. Keeping these directives in mind, let us pray,

Almighty God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves: Keep us both outwardly in our bodies and inwardly in our souls, that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. 

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Lent 1A

Lectionary readings can be found here

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It was never about the milk...

Milk.

I clearly remember, the milk.

Two glasses, lined up on the counter, the blue and white carton fresh from the fridge,

My mother ready to pour.

And my sister and I, keenly watching. 

Slowly, she’d begin with one glass. Pouring about half-way, then alternating to the other. 

Back and forth, bit by bit, she would pour slowly. Occasionally pausing to get to eye level with the milk line in each glass. 

We watched. Waiting for her to make a mistake. 

The mistake, of giving more to one than to the other. 

Shrill protests ready behind our teeth, we were wary and we were ready. 

It wasn’t a love of milk that drove our passion for equity, nor was it love of each other. I didn’t care if she had less, neither did she if she had more. What we cared about was that the other one, didn’t get more. It wasn’t about what we needed. It wasn’t about what we had. It was about ensuring that the “other one” wasn’t favored. 

And, ohhhhh, if one got more than another…the spite and the retribution!

It was never about the milk. 

It was about our parent’s love and our own metaphorical empty glasses. 

Pour the love in, but make sure it’s equal. Pour the milk, and make sure we get the same. We constantly wanted what the other had and my mother worked painstakingly to ensure that the milk was the same. She wanted to make sure that the milk was the same, because we were never sure that the love was likewise. 

Now I know. Now I know the vastness of her love. Her unreasonable and profligate and irrational love that led her to pour, bit by bit, glass by glass, the milk just so. 

I wonder, if that’s how God is in the story we heard today—loving all creation profligately yet unable to appease the jealousy of one for another. For theologians have long speculated that it was green eyed jealousy that motivated the snake to lead astray the very ones who God has declared, not just good, but VERY good. They have speculated that it was jealousy of God’s wisdom that led one to eat, and then another. They have speculated…

About what this primeval story means for us in our post-postmodern world. Where knowledge is power, and trust is scarce, and we hunger for more when the same or even less would be enough.  

Self-consciousness, become shame. Awareness turns to regret. And things would never be the same. For them. For us. For the us in the now, who need to reckon with our very nature. 

Our very good truth, in tension with the reality of our envy. 

The reality, that no matter how much we have…the temptation is to grasp for more.

To grasp for the fruit that is not ours and the power that belongs to God. 

Temptation is easy…the markets themselves driven by our tendency to succumb. To succumb to our wants, all too often at the expense of our innate goodness.

The newborn babe wants for nothing but milk. Unable to focus or grasp beyond the moment. Innocence toddles about unclothed. Delight in the green grass tickling the toes, the breeze on bare skin. Then, the grasp and the wail, the crash and the despair. We are only human, and our desires while base, reflect our deep drive to survive. 

Our drive, for food, water, shelter, and progeny. To survive to create…literally or metaphorically, the what’s next for creation. 

And, so there is tension between comfort and affliction. Tension between who we were made to be and who we have become. Tension between what is and what might be. Tension between neighbors. Tension between friends. Tension between sisters who stare at the glass and wonder if it is full enough. 

And, it is into this tension that temptation comes. 

Hunger, desire, and defiance in the desert. The tempter, knows the weakness of humans. And, Jesus is fully human. But, lest we forget, he is also fully divine. 

Fully human, fully divine, and filled with the knowledge that is is he, it is he who is the beloved son of God. He knows who he is—he is beloved. 

And, he need not fear that he will have less than the love of God. 

And, that love is all sufficient.  

Think of the order of things in the Gospel we hear today—birth, baptism, temptation…Jesus hasn’t even healed anyone yet. And, yet he is loved as he is, not for what he will do, but for who he was born to be. 

The beloved child of God. 

He sees himself, and in seeing there is knowing. 

Jesus knew he was beloved. He knew who he was and to whom he belonged as the beloved child of God. In his belovedness, Jesus could see evil for what it was and reject it. In his belovedness, Jesus had the strength to withstand temptation in the desert. In his belovedness, Jesus had the resilience to wake up each day and face down evil once again. In his belovedness, Jesus had the courage to step back into the world of men and humble himself unto the cross.

God’s love is not a finite good. We cannot run out of it and our neighbor’s or, gasp, even our enemies possession of it does not diminish it for ourselves. 

How is it then, that we covet? That we covet the bit of milk, the bit of money, the bit of this or the bit of that. How is it then, that we look through the eyes of the snake and not the eyes of our God? 

The eyes of God, God who see us through the creator’s lens, and in that seeing declares us “very good”.

They say, that you ought to tell children who you hope them to be. Kind, loving, joyful, honest, smart…and that by doing so, they will believe themselves, by nature, to be these things. Do we believe ourselves very good, or have we convinced ourselves that we are beyond redemption? Do we think that our nature is beyond the mercy of God? 

Most days, I read the news in some form or another. I read it, but not at face value—I read it through the lens of every single thing I read in scripture and everything I say from the pulpit, the prayers we say, the traditions we share, and the people you all are. 

And, so I read about tempters and snakes. I read about denials and despair. I read about the broken and the breaking. I read about destruction and deviance. And, I wonder, how on earth we have come to this place where the tempter’s power holds so much sway. 

And, then I think about milk.

And, I don’t wonder anymore. 

But, we cannot end with the milk.

That would be succumbing to another temptation, to end on a child’s greed, writ large onto a global stage and consider that explanation enough.

If we’re that screwed up, why bother?

Perhaps that is more original than any original sin—a tendency to give ourselves over to an existential despair that unwittingly feeds into the power of evil in the word. The desert fathers and early monastics called this kind of despair acedia, and considered it a sin. It’s the kind of thinking that keeps us from action. Kathleen Norris, contemporary novelist and poet writes, 

“When life becomes too challenging and engagement with others too demanding, acedia offers a kind of spiritual morphine: you know the pain is there, yet you can't rouse yourself to give a damn. . . . Caring is not passive, but an assertion that no matter how strained and messy our relationships can be, it is worth something to be present with others, doing our small part. Care is also required for the daily routines that acedia would have us suppress or deny as meaningless repetition or too much bother.”

It is worth something. To show up. To act. To care. It is worth something. It is worth everything. 

It’s not about the milk.

It’s about giving a damn about God’s love. 

Amen.