Ponderings

Cindy Sheehan made front-page news once again this week when she called it quits. With her typically fiery tone, she announced that she was leaving the public arena and throwing in the towel on war resistance. The toll exacted was simply too high, the progress nonexistent.

Sheehan has been the human face of the despair in the anti-war movement in our country since her infamous camp out in Crawford, Texas after her soldier-son was killed in Iraq. Her son a casualty of this war, her initial protests spurned by the White House, her grief transformed into powerful rage that energized the war resistance movement in this country. War in any form is a moral crisis and this interminable war is certainly no exception. In times of moral crisis prophets emerge and Sheehan is a prophet.

Although I am intrigued by Cindy Sheehan, I am also offended by some of her actions. If I were choosing a lunch date, Cindy Sheehan would not be on the top of my list. Her palpable anger unnerves me and I confess that I find her rude. Let’s just concede that she did not get the appellation “attention whore” without some effort.

In fairness though, I should point out that prophets generally are strange characters. Prophets are not the kind of folk we invite for Sunday dinner. Sheehan is actually rather tame when seen in light of her prophetic colleagues. The behavior of prophets is often so egregious as to be easily dismissed. In our current vernacular, many of the behavior of the classic prophets would qualify as mental illness.

Jeremiah is the preeminent example of prophet, his scandalous story recorded in the texts we call sacred. He smashed clay pots in the town square, walked around town wearing an oxen yoke, and went into hiding after being charged with treason. The life of a prophet is not pretty.

The flagrancy of the prophetic ministry isn’t for naught. Prophets are charged with drawing attention to that which we would rather not see; and we do not easily turn our heads towards the abyss. The more painful the looming crisis, the more difficult the job of the prophet becomes, and the more audacious the behaviors in a bid for our attention.

That Sheehan offended my sensibilities is not indicative so much of her failure but of the importance of her mission. The abyss of this warring madness is paralleled only by the depth of rage felt by the prophets trying to draw our eyes to what we would rather not see.

Thankfully, her letter of resignation was as offensive as the rest of her ministry has been. I read the published excerpts and thought, “She’s at it again!” I admit to feeling a wee bit of relief that she would not be embarrassing the movement anymore. Surely, I reasoned, there must be a more peaceful presence to lead the peace movement. After reading her diatribe, I set it aside and went on, without another thought, except the unbidden one later that day… and another the next. In spite of her offense, or perhaps because of it, I found myself looking into the abyss of this warring madness. And facing the nightmare is the first step to waking up. Sheehan is weary and signing off. She writes, “Good-bye America …you are not the country that I love and I finally realized no matter how much I sacrifice, I can’t make you be that country unless you want it.” What is it that we want? A haunting question.

I would like to think that the problem with prophet and their ilk is their offense. It isn’t. The problem with prophets is that sometimes they are right.

News of the day: Paul Wolfowitz resigned as president of the World Bank.
Wolfowitz has been dogged by scandal and hounded by the media since they caught wind of the promotion of Wolfowitz’ sweetheart, Shaha Riza, a couple of months ago. Wolfowitz’ media nightmare is second only to that of Attorney General Alberto Gonzalez.
Given that scandal is the bread and butter of journalism today, I admit to giving the Wolfowitz drama only half an ear. Perhaps I was dreaming, then, when I heard President Bush’s comment regarding the pending announcement. Bush was expressing sadness and said, “I admire Paul Wolfowitz. I admire his heart, and I particularly admire his focus on helping the poor.”
Focus on helping the poor? The suggestion that Wolfowitz’ career was motivated by concern for the poor threw a curve ball into my stereotypes. Banks are about money and power, big salaries and favors for the haves. Wolfowitz’ behavior wasn’t nearly as surprising to me as the suggestion that the World Bank’s mission is to alleviate poverty. Given that concern for the poor is a central theme in Jesus’ ministry and for the prophets before him, I found myself taking a closer look.
Indeed the mission of the World Bank is, “global poverty reduction and the improvement of living standards”. My sermon prep time on Friday quickly dissipated into an unscheduled crash course in the history and mission of the World Bank. The original goals, at least as they were publicized, were indeed laudable. In 1944, when the World Bank was founded, the networks of capital (cash) needed to rebuild in the wake of World War II were not internationally accessible. The establishment of the World Bank served a particular need, infusing capital in ravaged areas to enable nations to re-enter the industrialized markets. Having achieved their original mission, the World Bank expanded its’ mission with the goal of investing capital to alleviate poverty throughout the world.
My first real awareness of the World Bank was not quite so laudable. It was during the infamous Seattle WTO meeting of 1999 in which a groundswell of international youth challenged the policies of the World Bank, the IMF (International Monetary Fund), and the real life effects of globalization. There was enough violence to catch the cameras’ interest and we were treated to a brief introduction of the ways in which capital is, and isn’t, shared around the globe.
Joseph Stiglitz was then the Chief Economist for the World Bank. During Stiglitz’ brief tenure at the World Bank, he found himself confronted with the tragic consequences of misguided economic policies used by both the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund (IMF). In an all too familiar tale, the rich were getting richer at the expense of the poor. Although himself a classic academic, Stiglitz found himself appreciative of the challenge brought by today’s youth to the WTO in Seattle and later in Prague. He resigned the World Bank. He also won the Nobel Prize in economics.
The stated mission of the World Bank continues to be laudable, the question is whether the institution will adopt policies which benefit the investors at the expense of those it’s pledged to serve, namely the poor. Time will tell. And the odds would be better if the world kept watching. Would that the news of the day was concern for the poor!
One thing is sure, following the trail of scandal won’t allow us to celebrate the successes of the World Bank or any other institution. Stay tuned to commercial media outlets for the next chapter of scandal ala Washington. For news in the struggle to reduce world poverty, we’ll have to look beyond the headlines.

Last Sunday night I had the most amazing experience. I had invited half a dozen EUCC members to come together and talk so that I could listen and learn. I had invited men and women of differing ages but whose alleged political allegiances and/or assumptions are different from my own. Undeniably I was politically incorrect in the assumptiveness of my invitation and also the naming of the group, “the purple team”.

Despite all the truly legitimate reasons to ignore such an invitation, still six of us gathered last Sunday evening in the Fireside Room and covenanted to listen and respect. What transpired was nothing short of grace. Not surprisingly there were no two similar views of the elephant called politics. Each of us see from a distinct, and I daresay unique, vantage. But as each of the views was held respectfully, the elephant to come into clearer focus.

I acknowledge that I am an old school liberal, born 100 years too late for the social gospel that I am inclined to espouse. (Liberation or feminist theologies were my generation’s response.) Although I have a personal (and perhaps too often public!) perspective, our congregation is neither conservative nor liberal. We have members and friends of every conceivable perspective; card carrying Democrats, Reagan-crats, W’ fans, Socialists, Libertarians, and a whole bunch of independents! What draws us together isn’t a particular political flavor but rather our commitment to respect the still speaking voice of God in each one gathered. Respecting that God is speaking through each of us means that we must make safe spaces for one another to speak and to be heard. And we must make time and space to listen.

Some of what I heard last Sunday night left me feeling challenged and in that tension I realize the liability of being EUCC. If we dare to respect the still speaking voice of God, it might change us. Typically in life we manage to surround ourselves with voices and values similar enough to our own to avoid significant challenge. At EUCC we have dared to draw the circle wide and we find ourselves rubbing shoulders that may be shaped different than our own, indeed that will inevitably shape our own. To be a part of a community like ours ends up changing us.

And this week, at least, I find that to be extremely good news.

I’m preaching this Sunday and I feel a little rusty. This is the season of “special events”. We had the Children’s Choir musical, a visit from Ron Buford (Mr. Comma himself!), and our student’s (Anisa Evan’s) last sermon. May is always a month of ‘events’, and this is no exception – we just started a little earlier this year! The liturgy of our community, like our gardens, moves with the seasons.

The year officially begins with Advent (four weeks before Christmas) when we start telling stories of Jesus’ impending birth and the significance of incarnational (embodied) theology. Every year after Christmas we spend Epiphany awkwardly pilgrimaging to the Rainbow Fish Tree. It’s a season with a lot of “isms” and a lot of talk about justice issues. Lent brings six weeks of usually sobering tones considering the cost of discipleship, this year looking again at the Apostle’s Creed. After the hurrah of Easter we have “special events” and then the glorious celebration of Pentecost, the story of the church coming to life with the breath of God. Appropriately we share the “rite” of Confirmation with our youth on this day of wind and flames. Pentecost Sunday is followed by the long season of growth (also called Pentecost). From June on through to the next Advent we read the parables and healing stories of Jesus as well as some of the rich stories from Genesis and Exodus. Then we start all over again. A continuous loop that is always familiar but never the same.

I confess that I like some seasons more than others. The richness of the summer stories is always a favorite for me, as if the warmth of the stories matches to the warmth of the summer sun. Personally I find autumn rather depressing, and though I love the summer stories, I’m pretty weary of Pentecost by the time it finally ends. When stumbling through a season that is not my preference, I take comfort knowing that ‘this too shall pass’.

For years ‘this too shall pass’ has been the screen saver on my computer, but only recently has it reached my soul. As I spent the past year reflecting on a decade shared in community here, I realized that community is what makes the seasons not only bearable but also fun. The weddings on deck for this summer are my kids, kids that I knew as children (ok, young teens!). And weddings for people you know are just SO much more fun. Although the Tom who gives me a warm hug each Sunday morning is the same Tom that I met ten years ago, this one is much taller, bearded, and smiles a lot more. Traversing the seasons in community is an incredible gift.

This spurt of nostalgia is no doubt spurred by the event of the week: Music Appreciation Sunday. In the interest of the season of ‘special events’ at EUCC, I’m writing a sermon in honor of Music Appreciation Sunday. Specifically I’ve been exploring the ways in which Jesus prayed the psalms (many of which are themselves songs). Which is all very cool and interesting. But what I’m struck by is the actual community of musicians that bless us with music each Sunday. What a gift they are! Staff and volunteers… professionals and amateurs…. children, teens, adults, elders… instruments and voices… Please plan to join us on Sunday in community as we honor our musicians.