Blessed are the Foolish

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

Our Gospel reading this morning contains words from Jesus that are perhaps some of the most famous he ever said. Perhaps even too famous. These, from the Gospel According to Matthew, are from the Sermon on the Mount, which we’ll trek through for the next couple of weeks. There are similar verses in the Gospel According to Luke, though with some significant differences. You’ll have to stick around until we do the year of Luke, though, to find out what those are.

This series of statements on blessedness are called The Beatitudes, which is just a Latin-y way of saying The Blessednesses. If you are a longtime church-goer, you have probably heard these verses many times over the years, perhaps enough times that you could scribble several of them down mostly from memory, or at least select them from a multiple choice list. 

But when was the last time you really sat with them, pondered them, wondered about what Jesus meant by them, and what they mean to us today? My friend and colleague Pastor Tuhina Verma Rasche was on a podcast episode this week talking about this, and how infuriated we should be when we hear these Beatitudes proclaimed. Not that they’re somehow incorrect or irrelevant, but rather because of how still un-realized they are in our modern world.

Jesus did not recite this list of blessings because it was what he saw in the world around him. These declarations are subversions of reality, telling the truth about God’s economy. 

As we look around, it is easy to notice that the poor in spirit–or, in our modern parlance, perhaps, the depressed–are not receiving the riches of this world. Those who mourn are not being comforted, as there is hardly time to process one atrocity before learning of another. The meek, the quiet, the put-upon, are not inheriting much. Those who hunger and thirst for righteousness and justice are being told to wait. Those who are pure in heart, those who strive for peace, are called naive for their boldness to imagine a world without war and violence. Those who are persecuted, reviled, and who have “all kinds of evil” uttered against them are certainly not lining up to rejoice and be glad. 

This is the difference, once again, between the kingdoms of earth and the reign of God. Real blessedness does not come from power and privilege, but is “the state of being when you know that divine dignity is given to you despite what everything else looks like.” Blessedness is “the embodiment of goodness in the world despite the evil that surrounds.” [1]

And the Beatitudes are not a “how to” manual for receiving blessing from God. [2] Rather, they are a responsive reality to the lavish blessings that God freely gives. We do not earn blessedness, just as we do not earn belovedness. God blesses liberally, abundantly, wildly, and–like Bishop Dave preached on Sunday afternoon–even recklessly and wastefully. 

Upon hearing the beatitudes, our next move should not be to figure out how to wedge ourselves into one of these categories in order to qualify for blessing. None of them are especially enticing to me, frankly. We will, of course, find ourselves in one or more of these places throughout our lives, and can know that through that hardship we are still receiving grace upon grace from God. Though the world around us looks at us askance—or attempts to ignore us altogether—we can know that, ultimately, God sees and knows us. 

Perhaps this is not making sense, feeling just too contradictory. You may have noticed that in each of our readings this morning, there is controversy and question and foolishness. In our contemporary understanding, foolishness is merely silliness, or stupidity, or a lack of clear judgment. 

You may recall foolish characters throughout film and literature, court jesters and clowns, and think of them as simply humorous and goofy. But the archetype of the fool, the presence of those characters in those stories is actually to tell the truth. To show the powerful where they have been wrong and even stupid. It is an intentional reversal, a turning inside out and upside down, to show what is truly real.

We are months removed from his feast day, but I imagine many of you are familiar with St. Francis of Assisi, and won’t mind hearing about him on this fourth Sunday after the Epiphany. 

Francis has been watered down a bit over the centuries, presiding serenely over our bird baths, but was known in his lifetime as “God’s fool.” Francis grew up in a wealthy, aristocratic family and turned his entire life upside down to follow the call of God. He stripped himself, quite literally, of all of his earthly possessions, and gathered like-minded revolutionaries to change the church and the world.

The order of St. Francis, the Franciscans, are called to live among the social outcasts, rejecting the expectations of mainstream society. They are called to lives of simplicity, though they live in a world of riches and abundance. 

St. Francis modeled for us the way to live a life of purpose, free from the lures of wealth and power. This is straightforward but it is not easy. Our lives are comfortable, and we are not inclined to throw ourselves into lives of utter discomfort and disarray at the drop of a hat. There is a reason that this is called foolishness.

But “the sacred function of the Fool is to tear down the illusions we hold so dear and illuminate what is new through playfulness and humor, using shocking or unconventional behavior to challenge the status quo or social norms.” [3]

What would it mean, in our own lives, to live foolishly, as Francis did, and as Jesus did, and as Paul did? 

In the first letter to the Corinthians, it is written that “God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are” (1 Cor 1:27-28).

The reign of God has come near, Jesus tells us. If the truly blessed are those that the world sees as disposable, pitiable, unclean, outcast, and even as enemies, how will we change that?

How will we partner with God to turn this world upside down, to set it right as God sees it? 

This week, and nearly every week for the last several years, our news cycle has included stories of police violence. This week, you may have heard the name Tyre Nichols in the news. Video footage of Memphis police officers beating him nearly to death during a traffic stop was released to the public on Friday. He died of those injuries in the hospital a few days later. 

Tyre Nichols was the father of a 4-year-old, was an avid skateboarder, nature photographer, and beloved child of God. The details of his death, if you are interested in them, are widely available from reliable sources online, and we won’t be litigating them here this morning.

In response to his murder, and to the thousands of murders of Black Americans at the hands of police and other vigilantes, we cry out Black Lives Matter. Since there are thousands of these horrifying and senseless deaths, it is clear that, to those who kill them, Black lives do not matter. 

Just as in the beatitudes, the proclamation of blessedness on our marginalized and minoritized siblings in Christ is counter to the dominant narrative. It may seem “foolish” to those who do not understand. All the more reason to boldly proclaim it. 

As we work to change the world, our initial inclinations may be to look to authority figures who hold power and prestige and wealth, because those are the signs of “blessedness” we are accustomed to recognizing. But God has told us, O mortals, what is good. What does the Lord require of us? But to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly. (Micah 6:8)

To whom then, shall we look? To God’s own fools. To those who do justice, and love kindness, and walk humbly. To Jesus, to Francis; to those who hunger and thirst for righteousness; to those who are persecuted and reviled for their dedication to the gospel; to the pure in heart; to the merciful; to the meek and the gentle; to the peacemakers; to the blessed. 

Amen.

---

[3] Christine Valters Paintner, Illuminating the Way: Embracing the Wisdom of Monks and Mystics, Sorin Books, 2016.

The (Good) News—A Sermon on Preaching and Power

School is out at UC Davis, so my weekly Wednesday beat is on hiatus until September; I preached this sermon to the good people of Lutheran Church of the Incarnation, as part of a handful of Sundays of sabbatical coverage throughout the summer.

___

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

Preparing a sermon each week is an interesting task. It’s one of my favorite things about my job, and it can be the most difficult part of my job. There’s always so much to say, and each week, I get to say it through the lens of the lectionary. And as the three-year cycle of the lectionary rolls through, even though we get the same texts, the sermon is never the same. And that’s because the world is never the same. The preacher is never the same. The congregation is never the same.

If years have passed, and a preacher has nothing new to say, I’m just not quite sure how that could be. I think, sometimes, that I could preach on the same scripture every week and still have something new. Because the Spirit is always moving. I am participating in the world around me, and I am reading literature, and I am talking with my friends and family, and I am scrolling through twitter, and I am listening to the news, and there is never a dull moment around here. Sometimes the constant movement of the world around us is overwhelming, and it causes preachers—myself included—to scrap a sermon and start over. This happens, in particular, in the wake of national tragedy or a major global event or even the results of a sports game, especially if it’s your local team. And especially if it happens on Saturday.

There’s a saying, attributed all over the place, but we’re pretty sure it was Karl Barth who said it: “Take your Bible and take your newspaper and read both.” He meant it for everyone, but it is most critical for religious leaders. So critical for preachers. In my life as a preacher, newspapers have been fewer and farther between, but I carry the whole internet in the palm of my hand. I sat down to write this sermon—like I do each one—having perused the news of the day on twitter, and taking into account the non-stop nature of our cultural development. Sometimes, someone tweets something that inspires me. Sometimes, someone tweets something that angers me. Sometimes, my entire timeline is dedicated to a breaking news story, and I know that that will dominate our hearts and minds for a while.

This week was one such week. On Wednesday, I awoke to news of a raging apartment fire in London, the official death toll of which has risen to 58. I kept scrolling to see that congressmen had been shot while practicing for their annual softball game, and that a UPS employee had killed three of his co-workers in San Francisco. On Friday, Amazon announced that they’re buying Whole Foods, and a lot of folks in the grocery industry—like Safeway, and Costco, and other giants of food in our nation—are wondering what this might mean for their jobs. Also on Friday, a jury in Minnesota acquitted Jeronimo Yanez of last summer’s murder of Philando Castile.

All of these news stories swirled around in my head as I read through this week’s lectionary texts, but none so heavily as this verdict. There have been so many black men and women killed by police in the last few years, that I have absolutely lost count.* Some of them stand out more clearly in my memory, like this one in particular, because it was broadcast on Facebook Live by Mr. Castile’s fiancée, who was in the back seat with her 4-year-old daughter. I didn’t watch it live, but it eventually made its way into my feed and it broke my heart.

Yesterday was the two-year anniversary of the murder of the Charleston Nine, black church leaders and Bible study participants who were gunned down by a white terrorist. That violence touched us directly—the shooter was a member of an ELCA congregation, and two of the pastors had graduated from our Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary—and so we acknowledged it more openly, including our Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton.  

It is hard, as a white leader in a predominantly white denomination, to know what to say from the pulpit about another instance of racist violence in our nation.

In the case of Dylann Roof, he has been tried and convicted and sentenced; he is accountable for his crime in Charleston. In the case of Jeronimo Yanez’ acquittal, no one has been held responsible for this crime. Philando Castile was a beloved child of God, and he was murdered, live online. 

The injustice of it all renders me speechless—and not a lot renders me speechless. Fortunately for me, the Spirit moves—and others speak. I have many clerical colleagues that I only know from the internet, and I turned to them this weekend for guidance. One such colleague, the Rev. Marcus Halley, is a black Episcopal priest in Minneapolis. He tweeted, on Friday, about not being scheduled to preach this morning: “I want so badly to articulate a new world, and my anger over the senseless deaths of POC at the hands of police prevents me from seeing it. So, until I can see it, I will commit myself to praying for it, hoping my words can paint a world I'm not sure I believe in some days.” Father Marcus folds his hands in prayer, and for a moment, I stop wringing mine.

Fortunately for me, and for Father Marcus, we have Jesus to turn to, to help us see. We have stories of compassion, and justice, and healing, and liberation, and resurrection to turn to. In the most serious of manners, I exclaim “hallelujah!”

The Gospel story we are given this week is very lengthy, and, in it, Jesus is far from speechless. He gathers his disciples and friends and sends them out, empowered to continue his work in the world. He sends them to “proclaim the good news”—the kingdom of God has come near—and to “cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons.” When we feel rudderless, Jesus’ instructions set the course. There is good work to be done. There is good news to be shared.

In his letter to the Romans, the Apostle Paul makes it so clear. “Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we now stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God” (Romans 5:1-2). Again, I say, “hallelujah” because grace abounds. There is nothing that we have done, nothing that we have left undone, nothing that we can do, nothing that we can fail to do, nothing whatsoever that will affect the grace in which we now stand. We can sometimes get antsy here, as Lutherans, because we’re so nervous about the slippery slope of works righteousness. As Martin Luther reminds us, good works do not cause our salvation—we have obtained access to this grace through Jesus the Christ. Our good deeds are not a necessary component of some cosmic transaction—but they are necessary.

In our life together, we respond to the grace we have been given with gratitude to our God and by showing God’s love to our neighbor. Paul’s letter to the Romans continues: “God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us” (Romans 5:5); and because of this, because of the grace we have received, because of the love we have been shown, because of the power that has been shared, we are moved beyond our own understanding to love and to serve and to bring forth the kingdom of God. 

You may have noticed, though, as I was reading the Gospel text, that there were some caveats and some warnings. This good work of loving and serving and healing is not without its challenges. Some folks do not want to hear the good news, if it means they have to do something differently. (Some of us do not want to hear the good news, since it means we have to do something differently.) Some folks do not want to be healed, if it means they have to do something differently. And no demon is agreeable to being cast out, so that’s probably going to take some work.

There are a lot of stories of people reacting negatively to Jesus entering their communities—the folks who try to run him off a cliff earlier in Matthew’s gospel, being a shining example—and so he knows the disciples’ triumphal entries will be few and far between. He does not discourage them from going, or tell them to go only where it’s safe, or somehow make a way for them that has no trouble. He says, “See, I am sending you out like sheep into the midst of wolves; so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves” (Matthew 10:16).

The Rev. Alexia Salvatierra is an ELCA clergyperson and a community organizer in Los Angeles. She wrote a book about faith-rooted organizing, and devotes a lot of words to the ideas of Serpent Power and Dove Power, concepts developed right from this verse. “Serpent Power,” she writes, “is evident and measurable. It is the power of force, wealth, social influence, and numbers. There is nothing wrong with the use of serpent power with integrity….however, if all we use is serpent power, we have lost our unique call and contribution—the capacity to embody the power of the dove….When we take dove power seriously, we take seriously the best in people, the reality of the image of God in each of us, and the transforming work of the Holy Spirit.” We, as disciples of the risen Christ, must rely on our deeply held dove power. “We believe in the power of prayer. We believe in the power of truth and the power of love. We believe that there are contexts and moments in which moral authority is real, tangible, and effective" (74).

Jesus knew that the power at work in the world was mostly serpent power, and so the disciples would have to know how to maneuver through that. But they would also need to challenge serpent power with dove power. They did not need to be imbued with serpent power—their humanity and their society gave them that resource freely—but they needed the power of the Holy Spirit to be given to them, and the encouragement of Jesus to push them out into the fray. We do not need to be imbued with serpent power—our humanity and our society gives us that resource freely—but we need the power of the Holy Spirit to be given to us, and the encouragement of Jesus to push us out into the fray.  

Again, I say, “hallelujah” because that has been done for us! As members of the body of Christ, we have all the power we need. We can, as humans interacting with other humans, use our power for good or for ill. And when folks use their power to hurt us, it can be hard to turn that around and just “shake off the dust” (Matthew 10:14). But it is my prayer, for all of us, that we will rely on our dove power, and that we will “be brave enough to be kind." [2]

Amen.

___

* — Dear reader, you can peruse excellent statistics and reporting on this from mappingpoliceviolence.org and the Washington Post's Fatal Force.

Lent/Borrowed

Six weeks ago, after reading this post, I pledged to spend my Lenten season fasting from white media. This was daunting, because most media is white media. I am white, and so most of what I come into contact with is white. That's the nature of our world, today.

In the past six weeks, I have not stopped learning. And if you know me, you know that learning is my number one love. It has been exhausting and by no means exhaustive, but I have been changed. Here's how:

Reading

You, dear reader, know that reading is so dear to me. This seemed like the obvious foray into my Lenten fast. I decided that I would read only the words of people of color--books, blogs, news, poetry, journalism, you name it.

I started with Saeed Jones' newest poetry collection, Prelude to Bruise. If you're not familiar with Saeed, he used to be Buzzfeed's LGBTQ editor, but was recently crowned their literary editor. He's what's up. This collection was challenging to me--Saeed and I have not lived the same life, you know. Prelude to Bruise is bold and beautiful. If you're thumbing through it, I scribbled the most on "Ketamine & Company" and "Highway 407".

After I ripped through that poetry in a day and a half, I sat down to re-tackle a seminary textbook that I was assigned sections of and struggled with--A Black Theology of Liberation. James Cone does not mince words, y'all. I felt a lot more comfortable being uncomfortable hearing him, this time around. I've been getting better, the last few years, at understanding that the black church does not owe the white church any niceties. If you're a theology student, read this. If you're not, maybe don't start with this. 

Fortunately for my Lenten discipline, the book we read at work in anticipation of this year's St. Augustine lecture was Holy Currencies. The Rev. Dr. Eric Law is an Episcopal priest, the son of Chinese immigrants, and the founder and executive director of the Kaleidoscope Institute--an organization committed to multiculturalism (not lip service to multiculturalism) in congregations and faith-based organizations. If you're a leader or a member or a neighbor, read it. He's also written six others, so check those out, too.

I am really bummed that I only read one book by a woman in this Lenten season, but I somehow only read four books. (Commence eye rolls, I know.) Zadie Smith, fortunately, is no small feat. This collection of essays, Changing My Mind, is appropriately subtitled "occasional essays" because it's an amalgam of things she wrote for a variety of publications on a variety of occasions. Some of them (the literary criticism) are hard to access; some of them (movie reviews) are laugh-out-loud-can't-underline-fast-enough hi-lar-ious. Read it, and her other books, as soon as you can get your hands on 'em.

Tweeting

Yes, twitter. It is its own category, because it is a crazmazing place for racial justice and racism and words and wounds to coalesce. I started the season by going through the list of users I follow (nearly 900 people, yikes) and unfollowing all the white men I couldn't remember why I followed. So. Many. White. Male. Journalists. I consider myself an informed member of the electorate, and so following a zillion political journalists is like, in line with that. But when an overwhelming majority of them are white men who write for the same-ish publications, that's not news. That's an echo chamber. So, goodbye those guys.

Next, I was fortunate to come across a list called something like "the best black journalists you should be following on twitter" or something seriously that specific. So I clicked, and clicked. As the #BlackLivesMatters movement has continued to grow, I have been following more activists and making sure that I get as much info from folks on the ground as I get from folks at 30 Rock. I also looked at who my favorite black voices were lifting up, and followed as instructed. It's been helpful. Do it.

You're expecting some handles, I can tell. My real entry into black twitter has come through the great people at Buzzfeed, so follow these people and everyone they tell you to follow: @theferocity @brokeymcpoverty @heavenrants @hayesbrown @aaronmedwards. Oh, and definitely follow @ismashfizzle even though she doesn't work there anymore. 

Ayesha Sidiqqi is a Muslim woman who is fascinating and relentless in her pursuit of all things just and feminist. Follow her @pushinghoops.

If you scroll through #BlackLivesMatter you'll find some gems; I love following @deray @bdoulaonlongata @ReclaimHolyWeek (which may be less relevant now, but there's one every year, haha) @keenblackgirl, and everyone they interact with. You just have to dive in, I think.

Listening

This Lenten season invited me into the noughties (that's what Zadie Smith calls 2000-2009 and I'm so into it) via the world of podcasts. I tabled my NPR-or-bust lifestyle and sought out black, female voices in particular. [Sidebar that's maybe also the thesis: I noticed that black women's voices in particular were still the hardest to find in "mainstream" media sources.] Y'all, I have found black female excellence in podcast form.

Black Girls Talking is literally four black girls talking to each other. Alesia, Fatima, Aurelia, and Ramou spend an hour or so every couple weeks or so (if there's a rhyme and reason, I haven't figured it out yet) talking about what's happening in the culture around them. They are dedicated fans of black girl excellence on television--their "How to Get Away with Murder" and "Empire" recaps make it so I don't think I have to actually watch. Their takedown of the Jessica Williams imposter syndrome article lady was so informative to me about how white feminism does such a disservice to black women. I learn from them every episode.

On Call Your Girlfriend, Aminatou and Ann (50% black female excellence, 100% fantastic) chat from across the country about their jobs, the state of the world, feminism, and periods. They're long distance BFFs like me and most of my BFFs, which makes me feel great about them. They are unabashed women, which makes me feel great about them. If you like laughing about being an adult but not really being an adult, and learning about awesome feminist documentarians here and there, listen in. 

A late addition to the game, but a new forever favorite is Another Round, hosted by Heben and Tracy, easily my favorite Buzzfeed ladies, easily the greatest combination of things that make black female excellence. They host other rad black women, Tracy tells corny jokes, they drink margaritas, they tell stories about what had happened...it's so good. You have to listen. They're only three episodes in, so you can easily join the club.

Oh, and Conversations about Conversations About Race should be on this list, too, even though it's also not exclusively black female excellence (it includes two dudes, one of whom is white) and is brand new. Their first episode came out last week, so they weren't necessarily part of my Lenten learning experience, but they're part of my lifetime of learning. 

Watching

Tonight, #BlackGirlsRock was on BET. Fortunately, excellent black girls (@iSmashFizzle, for one) live in other time zones and so alerted me to what was going to be on my television a few hours later. I am so glad. 

For the season of Lent, I have been increasing my consumption of media by people of color and black women in particular as best I can, and fasting from the redundant whiteness that appears in front of me. The Black Girls Rock Awards 2015 felt so appropriately like the Easter of that. It reminded and continued to teach me about the voices of black women who are overpowered by white/male voices in my everyday life. 

Thanks be to God and to the amazing women (and men) of color who have carried me through on this journey. Certainly my Lenten discipline has ended, but it has opened my eyes. I have been changed by the experiences I have been privileged to read about and hear about these past six weeks. 

Sure, I have still been immersed in whiteness, but I feel like I am noticing how white my world is in a different way, and intentionally replacing some of it. Not just tabling it until the end of Lent, either. I don't need to "catch up" on the things that I "missed." (Full disclosure, that was my original plan, and I had a handful of articles tabled to my Reading List for this moment. No more.)

This fast gave me an excuse to dive into the rich world of authors, filmmakers, journalists, musicians, politicians, theologians, and human persons who are all around me and yet whose voices I do not hear. I am listening, now. Are you?