When All the Safety Nets Seem Broken

AS WE COME to the end of the Christian liturgical year to enter Advent, these reflections are more on the character of God than on our human responsibilities to live into God’s reign. They evoke a sense of God’s care for God’s people as a continual reality from generation to generation.

What does it mean to reflect on the ways God has been with our ancestors and bring that reflection into our trust for God? How do we hold ourselves accountable to our history while reaching toward God’s future? If we believe that we are participants in the reconciliation of the world to wholeness, to God’s first and best intentions, then we will have to recommit ourselves to the promises we made to serve God.

It’s not always easy because there are so many other things, other “gods” if you will, to pull us away. The hymn writer confessed that he was “prone to wander, Lord I feel it.” Haven’t we all felt the inclination to leave the God of our ancestors, of our confession, of our hope? I certainly have. As we meditate over the texts for this month, I hope we also will reconsider our relationship with God and with one another. I hope we will be encouraged as we decide when and how to act as a part of our faith. The world needs us to be reflective and active in these times. God is calling us forward.

November 1

‘Same God’

In Richard Smallwood’s song titled “Same God,” the gospel musician and minister wrote these lyrics: “I’m reminded of what You have done before / And I know that You’re gonna do it again /... You’re the same God.” This song resonated for me as I reflected on Joshua 3:7-17 and the passing from this life of U.S. civil rights leader and member of Congress John Lewis. Joshua leading the people over the Jordan River mimics Moses leading the people from Egypt. It evokes the first time God parted waters for the ancient Israelites in order to let the people know that God is with Joshua in the same way God was with Moses.

Rep. Lewis also invoked the “same God” motif as he was dying. He visited Black Lives Matter Plaza in Washington, D.C., to remind those he would leave behind that we continue the work for justice because the cause is righteous, the call to work for a beloved community the same, and God was and is still among us. May we be reminded that the same God that was with Moses was with Joshua; the same God that was with John Lewis is with us. Both legacies call us forward to work for God’s future.

November 8

Choose Every Day

I grew up in a home with a plaque that quoted Joshua 24:15: “But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” I don’t know how old I was before I read the full chapter and context of this quote. Joshua 24 recounts the people’s history—and the people’s willful rebellion. Scholarship reminds me that this portion of scripture is edited by the Deuteronomistic school, which was extremely zealous against hybrid faith, what we called syncretism and idolatry. Growing up, I didn’t know that the chapter was a rebuke.

I confess that I embrace “as for me and my house,” but I believe now, more than ever, we have to interrogate the ways in which we and scripture characterize those whom we see worshiping “other gods.” While we might declare “far be it from us that we should forsake the Lord to serve other gods” (24:16), we must examine the gods we do serve. It’s easy to point to people who are from other lands or other traditions as what pulls us away; but more often than not, the gods of our choosing live in our skin, in our wallets, in our aspirations. We bow too often at the altars of greed and of power, honoring them with our time, our attention, our energy. So, before we look at the ancestral “gods” of others, perhaps we might reflect on whether we keep covenant with our own baptismal commitments, and whether doing so makes us faithful to respect all others.

November 15

A Slave Reads

The parable in Matthew depicts a “master” preparing for a journey who entrusts “talents” to his “slaves.” In the New Revised Standard Version, the text begins “For it is as if.” Missing is the context other translations provide: “For the kingdom of heaven is.” My first inclination is to bristle at the slavery, no matter how many times someone says that “biblical” slavery was not like U.S. chattel slavery. In an article by biblical scholar Mary Ann Beavis, I learned that “testing” slaves with large responsibilities was something that happened in the Roman Empire. I learned that, according to the Jewish Mishna, the third slave who buried the “talent” was the most prudent in the face of a capricious “owner,” and was reminded that people enslaved in the United States understood how precarious it was to try to please a capricious slave “master,” like the one in Matthew’s text. Rereading the parable, and reading Beavis’ article, I find myself in opposition to this parable, similar to the Shepherd of Hermas, early Christian literature that Beavis mentions as context. In Hermas’ story, the slave does more than the master expects, is freed, and is adopted as a son. When the master sends him food, he keeps only what he needs and shares it with people who are more needy. I prefer that telling. Or better yet, a parable where masters don’t even exist. That would be the kingdom of heaven for me.

November 22

Our Kin and Kind

I’ve heard people refer to themselves as “Matthew 25” Christians. What they mean is that they are the “sheep at God’s right hand” (25:33). We all aspire to inherit the kindom by judging ourselves among those who feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, and welcome strangers. We clear out closets after every season to clothe the naked. We convince ourselves that we take care of the sick and visit prisoners. If we don’t do all of these, we give ourselves credit for at least some of them. Let’s confess among ourselves that we can be rather self-satisfied in our personal review. Even if we find ourselves more “goat” than not, we often end our personal assessment with something like, “Well, God knows my heart.” I suppose that is the rub. God does know. And, if we are truthful, Matthew 25 is an indictment of us—personally and as the collective church. Living as we are now, when all the safety nets seem broken, we are challenged to live into these words as a community for all among us, not just for our kin and kind. If the kindom means all are fed, all are hydrated, and all have clothes, then we become co-workers with God to make it so. As for the sick, we work for equity and availability of care. Concerning those in prison, we build societies in which prisons become unnecessary. Then maybe we will see glimpses of God’s good reign before a final judgment.

November 29

Stay Woke

“Anticipation, anticipation is makin’ me late, is keepin’ me waitin’” sang singer-songwriter Carly Simon in the 1970s. As we enter Advent, this song reminds me that we wait in anticipation for the coming of the Christ. In the meanwhile, we have been left as caretakers of this world and its polis (city/politics/people). I believe we are expected to care for it with justice. But Mark 13:30 haunts us: “Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place.” Which “generation”? What “things”? Christians have been awaiting the “second coming” for millennia. That’s what makes this time of anticipation so anxiety-producing. In a world of pandemic politics, Christians wait for a world of God’s justice, while we also must help to bring it into being. We are supposed to read the leaves of the fig tree and know when summer is near. But if we are honest, we don’t always know how to discern the times. Cutting through the noise is not easy. And so, we are admonished to “Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come” (13:33). Or, in the words of racial justice activists, “stay ‘woke.’” Christ comes again and again, as our now and future Anointed One. That coming requires that we believe in Christ’s appearing in our “now” as well as in the cosmic future. It requires that we remain alert.