Wednesday, August 26, 2020

What I Learned in the Great 2020 Quarantine - Welcome to the Upside Down

 

Thing two: Two Little Words 

The Black Lives Matter movement and the CoVid-19 Pandemic can be summed up in two important words: “essential” and “matters.” Two words that confront one truth: this world’s values are upside down. We do not know what is essential. We do not know what really matters. Or, put better – we do not know who is essential – we do not know who really matters.

There are right answers to the problem – not political, social or economic answers. Spiritual answers.

Workers matter. Not work, workers. Luther taught us that we exercise our faith in the daily vocations which serve the well-being of the community and the needs of our neighbor. Our world undervalues workers. While we have been busy living and dying by the rise and fall of Dow Jones Industrial Average the foundation of all that is real and important has crumbled beneath us. Professionals, people with high-paying white-collar jobs have been able to survive this crisis, officing from home, preserving their routines and well-being with minimal consequence to themselves or their income. It is the unemployment of waitresses and bartenders and retail clerks and custodians that has crashed the economy and driven millions to unemployment, food insecurity, homelessness. All of the investment bankers and stock traders together cannot save the world.

Teachers matter. Not merely because many parents are overwhelmed by trying to solve the work-at-home-and-school-the-children-at-the-same-time puzzle and discovering how hard teachers actually work. Teachers fill a great spiritual need in the community. Faith is nurtured in the sharing of our story from generation to generation. Passing on the deep values of the Kingdom and preparing children to live them out in an increasingly complicated world is a demanding exercise, a task that cannot be replaced by all of the self-serving home schooling in the world. No amount of rote memorization will bring back the “good old days.” No amount of ignorant anti-elitism will stop the future from coming. It is time to stop pretending that education is an evil thing, that thinking and questioning are bad things. Teaching children - all children - to use their God-given gifts of imagination and reason, helping them to reach and grow is a matter of life and death, and not just for the sake of the students but for all of us who have to live in the world they make.

Stuff does not matter. We just think it does, and crises like these heighten our self-indulgent anxiety about stuff. Hoarding is the go-to response. Hoarding of everything. Who truly imagined a world where finding toilet paper would require a significant personal quest? There are empty shelves in the grocery stores now. It’s unsettling, but we have and will survive. Maybe even more than survive? We have lived so long in a state of overabundance that we have completely lost track of the meaning of the word “enough.” Perhaps it’s time to get reacquainted. A little honest reflection will reveal that we actually can do without most of what we are actually doing without. Reflexively we complain about what we have no longer have, probably because we don’t feel like we had a vote in the matter. That does not erase the truth: we have more than we need, a more painful realization when we watch others lose what little they had to begin with and spiral into hunger and homelessness.

The social contract matters. Being disconnected to the needs of our neighbor is one thing. Being divorced from the structures and norms that sustain the very fabric of community is quite another. We mourn the decline of beloved institutions, the organizations and societies that the world used to care about, but we overlook our essential value on which they were built. Community requires structure, organization, ritual and tradition. Community requires governance. Richard Rohr reminds us that boundaries are …

“necessary in any spiritual system both to reveal and to limit our basic egocentricity. Such containers make at least some community, family, and marriage possible. Boundaries seem to be the only way that human beings can find a place to stand, a place to begin, a place from which to move out. Even those who think they don’t have any boundaries usually do. We discover them when we trespass against them. The human soul flourishes on solid ground.”[1] 

God ordains governance. Not the fiasco we call politics that keeps radio and cable TV news commentators in business, but the holy work of establishing peace and justice in the kingdom of this world. The Hebrew word for justice, mishpat, is rooted in the realities of courts, of judicial processes and procedures, the very real systems and structures that establish and maintain community. Just community is not a philosophical ideal, it is a tangible human practice, a commitment that we must all make and keep to each other. This can be a very painful revelation to creatures who think they should be allowed to live their lives unbound and unimpeded.

Community is lived out in offices and vocations, in orders that create and preserve justice and keep chaos at bay. It is the heart of how Luther taught the 4th Commandment. Giving “honor” was not limited to biological parents, it was commanded for all authority figures. “Out of the authority of parents all other authority is derived and developed … The same may be said of obedience to the civil government.”[2] Authority belonged to those institutions and structures that enable and protect community. It’s not about power, either seizing it or succumbing to it. It’s about something much bigger.

Governance serves the greater good. We may at different times fill different roles, sometimes leading, sometimes following, but in all things we complement one another for the sake of something larger, something that mirrors the very nature of the Kingdom of God. In a world that worships individualism, being told what to do is the enemy. Faith leads us to strive after fulfilling God’s expectations. Monuments to the Ten Commandments stand guard over houses of worship to serve as guidelines to personal advancement rather than the measure of life well shared. We refuse to keep God’s precepts in daily life, to personify them by honoring, protecting, keeping, respecting, and preserving the well-being of our neighbor. And we really, really resent being told that we have to.

Luther believed in the importance of good government and respectful citizenship – not theocracy (which he fought against), but faithful people using their God-given gifts to establish a civil and equitable society. It is how the gospel is manifest in the world. Disciples serve the community; they do for others. Followers of Jesus reveal God’s love in their acts of love for others – not merely in words, and surely not in love for self. If only we could live in such a world! But we have replaced serving with idolizing, humility with self-importance, faith with religion. The pandemic and the Black Lives Matter movement are the light revealing that our neighbors have paid the price of our sin, sometimes with their lives.

Rather than embrace our shared responsibility to one another, we have created an adversarial relationship with Government. As Luther wrote 500 years ago, ““Why, do you think, is the world now so full of unfaithfulness, shame, misery, and murder? It is because everyone wishes to be his own master, be free from all authority, care nothing for anyone, and do whatever he pleases.”[3] Propagandized myths proclaim that Government is incompetent, corrupt, useless, expensive and so must be abolished, disregarded, bankrupted. Right analysis, wrong conclusion. Rather than address the problems of the individuals who corrupt their calling to governance or systems that empower them, we throw the proverbial baby out with the bath water. Anarchy functions at both ends of the political spectrum, and each accuses the other of being un-American. The cost? A world that does not function, peace and justice that go unserved, the powerful and rich profit while Rome burns.

The problem is systemic. Institutions that are meant to serve and protect the many have been recast as instruments of violence and oppression to guard the few. Poor people, migrants, people of color, all those who fit under Jesus’ designation “the least of these” are regularly decreed de facto criminals. The system of justice has devolved into a system of punishment, neighborhood patrols have become combat units, peace officers exchanged for storm troopers. The Black Lives Matter movement was precipitated by the intersection of the long historical arc of American racism and the rise of police militarization. The American community is burning because we set it on fire.

One more. One more important thing. Diversity matters. If sin is the force that constantly turns us back into ourselves, diversity is the work of the spirit to remind us that we are not in this alone. Our need to separate things (separate people!) rejects the creation’s defining quality in favor of its meanest attributes. Ethnicity. Race. Creed. Sexual orientation. Gender. Trivialities all. Ninety-nine percent of the genetic information in DNA is common to all human beings. The remaining fraction is, to borrow a word from Luther, adiaphora; i.e. “other stuff.” Unimportant. Indifferent. Things which cannot logically be differentiated. A great amount of hate built on nothing real or useful.

That is not the nature of the creation. God defines life by its abundance. We define it by false notions of supremacy - a meaningless activity that leads to soulless hatred and violence. We are desperate to compete, conquer, destroy, as if our esteem depended on it. Having divided the world into winners and losers, we will be winners, no matter the cost. Unable to live in peace, we have made war and violence normal, a readily available solution to protect the pretense of community while not giving up our place of privilege. And we will not give up our privilege, knowingly or not, at any price.

The old chestnut that we are “color-blind” when it comes to others is a comfort afforded only to people of privilege. Good intentions are not a solution to discrimination and divisiveness but a shield against its ugly truth. The experience of people of color in this society, the struggles of our black and brown neighbors is neither accidental nor deserved. And it is not the same as ours. We cannot love our neighbor while denying his/her truth. We cannot expect others to be more like us when we construct barriers to keep them separate. And we shouldn’t expect that anyway. God made unique creatures to inspire and challenge one another, to complement and teach one another, not to separate or subjugate or disregard one another. Learning to treasure and respect one another and use our differences to build community is the best and only path to the Kingdom of God.

We are being confronted by so many hard truths right now. The time of quarantine is opening our eyes to the inherent brokenness of our world. But the gospel is itching for us to turn it upside-down. Love our enemies. Turn our cheeks. Give without asking, pay the late-comer the same as the one who worked all day. Make the last first, and the first last. Jesus' words, his works, lead to one infallible conclusion: he has in mind a very different kind of world than the one in which we live. Can we follow where we have been led? Now that we have time to change things, will we? Only if we can find a way to accomplish the most essential act of humanity, and say the words that really matter: I am wrong.



[1] Richard Rohr's Daily Meditation from the Center for Action and Contemplation, August 10, 2020.

[2] Luther, Martin. Large Catechism

[3] Luther, Martin. Large Catechism

Wednesday, August 19, 2020

What I Learned During the Great 2020 Quarantine: Welcome to the Upside Down

 Thing one: The First and The Last 

When the impatient Israelites made a golden calf to worship, God set upon them a plague so that they could remember their wrong (and, I assume, stop doing it). I don’t think it worked. Golden calfs and false gods fill the world today. They are the corner offices won through backbiting workplace politics, the high school letters collecting dust in closets, the irreparable family rifts and long-forgotten friendships lost to rivalry and competition. They are all tributes to a truth we all worship: in this life there are winners and losers. Be a winner. At any cost.

We believe it is part of nature. For all of our ranting against Darwin we actually believe his theory of survival of the fittest. We have ordered our world accordingly. The toys we first played with as toddlers molded us to be hyper-focused on sorting and creating order. We learned well. Our society is founded on the need to grade everything, first by color and shape, and then by more esoteric qualities until everything in the world is classified into the best and the worst. The winners and the losers. Red M&M’s are better than blue ones, and blue ones are better than green ones, and so on and so on. Everything is better when we turn it into a competition. Otherwise how would we know what we like the most?

That this impulse is founded in an important human value does not make it better. Yes, it is a Godly thing to do our best at all times, to employ the fullness of our gifts and talents. We are not called to complacency. There is great work in front of us and it will require us to strive constantly to fulfill our calling. Grace is not merely our excuse when we fall short, it is there to put us back on our feet and brush us off and get us back in the game. There are great stakes in play now. Living out the promise of the Kingdom of God is a matter of life and death and we are called to play to win.

But the contest is not against each other, though we never get that right. Even the first disciples turned following Jesus into a competition, arguing over who was the greatest among them, grasping for the prize of sitting at Jesus’ right hand when he comes to collect his winnings. Jesus didn’t even have to hear them say it out loud to know what they were thinking. His response must have been really confusing: “The least among all of you is the greatest.” (Luke 9:48 NRSV) Isn’t that a contradiction? The world has enough losers. Why should we aspire to be one too? This is not how we have been raised. This is not what we have been taught.

But it is obviously what he wants.

You might notice if you read the gospels that Jesus did not spend a lot of time with wealthy people. It is, in fact, an indication of what and who he valued. Matthew does record one encounter with a wealthy young man who engaged Jesus in the most essential question of them all: what do we have to do to gain eternal life? Jesus stalls the man with a brief catechetical exercise before delivering the punch line. “Sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” (Matthew 19:21, NRSV) Jesus did not let him off with a few religious behavioral adjustments, he called him to a complete reversal of his fortune and his priorities. No wonder the man went away sad. He had just been told he did not really matter.

And in case the lesson not take for the disciples, Jesus punctuates this discourse with a well-known and generally disregarded parable: “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the Kingdom of God.” (Matthew 19:24 NRSV) Like its counterpart “turn the other cheek,” we consider it a quaint idea with some spiritual potential but no real application in the real world. The disciples are aghast. Then no one would be able to win! But Jesus reminds them that this is not about human choice or human desire or human accomplishment. This is about the will and the work of God. And the way of God, consistently and openly revealed in his Word through all the ages, is very clear: winning is not what you think it is. The first will be last and the last will be first.

This upside-down ideal of the Kingdom of God dominates the gospels and the rest of the Bible too. It is wired into the Torah. It is ever on the lips of the prophets. And it is the New Testament. From Mary’s pre-natal hymn praising God because “He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty, (Luke 1:52–53 NRSV) to Jesus’ eschatological challenge to find him in those who are “hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or imprisoned” (Matthew 25:44 NRSV), the primary theme of Jesus’ teaching is the promise of a world turned upside-down. Like the disciples, our lust for places of power and status is a barrier to following Jesus. We are called to take a seat at the lowest table at the banquet, to be satisfied with table scraps, to stoop to the task of washing dirty feet.

We do not. That we have not learned the truth of the Word is not so much the fault of our Sunday School teachers as it is an indictment of a faith community sold out to the values of this world. Followers of Jesus take up crosses and deny themselves, hard things in a world that turns its nose up on poverty and suffering. Part of our failure surely is how we confine the Kingdom of God to some life-after-death paradise instead of embracing its truth in daily life. God’s reign has entered into this very world, and it is the life work of those who follow his Son to bring the values of the Kingdom to light in the here and now. That’s hard to do when our eyes are blinded by the starlight of fame and fortune in this life and in the next.

There are two questions here. The first is about motivation. Are we only willing and able to put forth our best effort if we are properly rewarded for our efforts? Many rage against pass-fail grading and participation trophies for that reason. Even in elementary school we strive to teach children the importance not just of competing but of winning. What we mostly imprint on them is the experience of losing. It is no wonder so many have given up by the time they reach middle school. Why even try? Only a few are going to emerge as winners. Only a few will be recognized and rewarded. When you know that your place in the world is at the end of the line, why not just accept that you will always be a loser?

The second is about sharing. As in shared work and shared reward. Some do acquire their wealth and fame through hard work, intelligence and ingenuity. Their rewards are deserved, and rightly enjoyed. But the constant refrain of “I built this” ignores the reality that no one builds anything all by themselves. The assembly line workers, the custodians, the store clerks and many others contributed too. Without their hard work every great idea would be nothing more than plans on a drawing board. And most did it for less than a living wage, without health insurance or hope of sending their children to college. It does in fact take a community to do pretty much everything, and when all of the accolades and all of the renumeration flows into the pockets of the very few, the world is out of balance.

Our souls are out of balance.

2020 should be remembered as the year of the sheep and the goats, the year we discovered that the world actually revolves around the least among us. The callous murder of an unknown black man in Minneapolis brought millions out into the streets (even when it is dangerous to do so) and emboldened them to face down armed troops. Thousands of unwanted and underpaid but essential migrant workers have exposed the unsanitary working conditions that are common to the system that produces our food. The unchecked spread of CoVid-19 in packing plants nearly shut down an entire industry and created panic in the meat-eating public. Ones who actually “matter,” ones who are truly “essential,” changed this world more profoundly in a few months than any movie superstar or NFL MVP did in their entire career. An upside-down perspective on how the world functions indeed.

And an invitation to take an upside down look in our own mirror.

Wednesday, August 12, 2020

What I Learned during the Great 2020 Quarantine

 

Thing three: There is no “i” in community. (ok there is, just shut up and read)

The pandemic and the protests have made this frightening clear: individualism is fatal. Individuality, the amazing diversity of God’s creation, is an amazing gift that makes the world alive. Individualism, the worship of me and the denial of my responsibility, my interconnectedness, to others, is sin. And, as Paul reminded us, the wage of sin is death. When the entire population of the planet was asked to alter their behavior for the sake of others, many people said “no.” No to masks, no to avoiding large crowds, even no to reporting symptoms or cooperating with contact tracers. Millions have and will get sick and hundreds of thousands have and will die because of that. People have done and continue to do what they want, despite the expert’s warnings, and consequently they have proved the experts right. Some ignored the warnings to take precautions, some rallied against it. Politicians denied the seriousness of the pandemic and refused to lead. People were and are more worried about their economic status than about their neighbor’s well-being. People are more grieved over the displacement of a character on a box of pancake mix than public lynching of a black man by a police officer.

This is our primary spiritual problem: we have an enormous capacity to harm ourselves and each other, and we just don’t care. We think that we are good beings who occasionally do wrong. We aren’t. We are lost and broken creatures whom God by his grace uses to do good. The math is not complicated. Imagine if we had to make a full accounting of the black men, women and children have been murdered for the color of their skin – even just in our own lifetimes. A herculean task. It is possible to count the number of people who have suffered and died from CoVid-19, assuming that honest and accurate information is available. Which it isn’t. What would happen to us if we were required to confront the outcome of our works? What if we were actually held accountable for what we have done? What would we come to think of ourselves? What would we say then?

Individualism is not a victimless crime.

How do we solve it? We commit to doing community. Not merely being community - by spreading niceness and civility or sharing pious memes on social media. “Show me your faith apart from your works,” says the Epistle to James, “and I by my works will show you my faith.” (James 2:18 NRSV.) These words are not intended that we should boast in our choices or seek refuge in pride as if this was somehow still about us. It is the clarion call to have faith beyond the time we are sitting in the pew on Sunday morning. The gospel calls us to embody Christ in the world, not that we might earn salvation, but that we might fulfill his calling to make grace genuine, tangible, true.

Jesus told his followers that their discipleship would be visible in the love they brought into the world, in acts that would be even greater than his own. Here is the heart of discipleship: following Jesus is a life and not merely a lifestyle, living out faith is a daily hope-filled struggle to serve others as we have been served ourselves. We fulfill our purpose by acts that create the shared moments and gifts that fully bind us together as community. Faith is our identity because it breaks the bondage of free will and relocates our life into the Kingdom of God, where we all do life together as one body of Christ in the world.

The challenge of discipleship is to find the place where that Kingdom impacts this world. Too much of religion is focused on anticipation of a world to come and in neglect of the world that actually exists. That is how religion kills faith. We are so invested in earning our place in the afterlife we that we make no investment in the life we have been given, in the neighbor who’s needs confront us daily, in the difference we could make with even the slightest effort. Some say the bible is an acronym for “Basic Instruction Before You Leave Earth.” God’s word is a lesson on how we should live while we are still here.

The selling out of the church to worldly powers is the mechanism of this failure, and it’s not the first time this has happened either. Throughout history the church has sought to align itself with worldly authorities in order to advance its own agenda, becoming a tool of the status quo, preaching a gospel of not causing too much trouble for those authorities even when (as especially when) trouble was needed. When the faithful are practicing a moralistic, self-serving piety they are not practicing the acts of Jesus, the works that enact justice in the way of the Kingdom of God. And the troubles of this day are a testament to the lack of discipleship in the world.

Luckily, God knows when to send his prophets. If only we could listen before we got so far down the wrong path. Jeremiah came to Judah on the eve of its collapse and conquest. Two-and-a-half millennia later those words still ring true:

For if you truly amend your ways and your doings, if you truly act justly one with another, if you do not oppress the alien, the orphan, and the widow, or shed innocent blood in this place, and if you do not go after other gods to your own hurt, then I will dwell with you in this place, in the land that I gave of old to your ancestors forever and ever. (Jeremiah 7:5-7 NRSV)

In the way that prophets speak, Jeremiah’s words challenge God’s people to surrender their comfortable piety and live out their faith in ways that impact the world in the lives of the people around them. The people whose lives needed to be impacted. God promises to be with us in this place, not the next.

Luther was a prophet. He came to help a world and a church that had lost its mission. Medieval religion was focused on behaviors that served life after it was over, on the threat of purgatory and the potential reward of the Kingdom of Heaven. Luther strove to re-focus the work of the faithful on the here-and-now, translating the Bible and the worship liturgy into the common vernacular, bringing the teaching of faith to the dining room table, freeing people from the terrors of eternal damnation that they might live every day in the freedom of grace. And Luther did not stop there. He challenged the princes and political leaders to do things that dramatically affected daily life – building public schools, regulating commerce, providing for the public welfare. Their voices call to us now across the ages.

The catastrophes of 2020 are an opportunity to recover the blessing of doing community.

Can we find the way?

Let us pray that we can. We must prioritize community in our world, we must keep it and honor it as the ultimate good by naming the sin of individualism wherever we find it and encouraging, exhorting, challenging, even demanding more from ourselves and our neighbors. Dare we hold such high expectations? Is it possible to require community? Can morality be legislated? Well, God seems to think so. And whether we call it commandment or instruction, covenant or law, its effect is the same. There is a right way to be, a better way to live, a brighter path to walk. We cannot take for ourselves the label “pro-life” until we demonstrate in word and deed that the “life” we are “for” is the life of those others with whom we share community. As our life was given to us by another, so we are made to give life back to others. We do not exist outside of community. This is the great lesson of faith. This is the great lesson we must embody in the world right now.

Wednesday, August 5, 2020

What I Learned During the Great 2020 Quarantine: Community

Thing two: Why do we have neighbors anyway?

No one comes into the world alone. Adam lived in the very intimate presence of his creator, and the first thing God discovered about Adam was how much he needed an other. A helper. And when none of the creatures God made for Adam fulfilled that need, God did the most amazing thing. God made from one, two. The same at a the most fundamental level, yet also fully and truly discrete. A duplicate with distinction. Harmony within individuality. And thus began the great conundrum that we call community.

We have a love/hate relationship with other people. Sometimes at the same time. Our need to belong to and receive recognition from others stands in contrast to our need to self-actualize as individuals. Or at least we think it does. While modernity fancies the two in competition, faith knows a greater truth: they are the hopelessly interwoven. Sacrifice for another is the highest personal achievement for any human being. It defines us. We are never our best selves until we are our best selves for someone else.

That is an uncomfortable paradox, so much so that we have raised its antithesis to godlike status.

We believe and live as if self-actualization is an individual work and a sole (not soul) reward. We suppose that the highest value in this world – and especially in this nation – is to have no dependence on others, neither obligation nor burden. We desire most to have agency in our own life, to owe nothing to anyone, to earn what we have and keep what we get and give nothing in return.

We will say that giving to others is a fine thing. But works of charity as we practice them in this world mostly serve to enhance our self-identity as “good” people or demonstrate our capacity for empathy (an increasing hard-to-find virtue.) Yes, we care about important causes, yes we care about other people, but charity is practiced in the language of “us” and “them.” We write checks, we attend benefits, we put in time at the local soup kitchen or food pantry, and then we return to our own world, our own life, just as we left it.

Which, of course, all but guarantees that the work is never done. It turns out that Jesus knew what he was talking about when he told Judas, “you always have the poor with you.” (John 12:8 NRSV) Maybe we like it this way? Jesus probably knew that we would fall in love with ourselves to the detriment of our neighbor. Maybe he was just mocking the disciples. Maybe he was testing them. Now, of course, it has become our national mantra. Serving the poor becomes an opportunity to gain community service cred without endangering the status quo.

Saul Alinski’s “Upstream Story” captures our problem:

Imagine a large river with a high waterfall. At the bottom of this waterfall hundreds of people are working frantically trying to save those who have fallen into the river and have fallen down the waterfall, many of them drowning. As the people along the shore are trying to rescue as many as possible one individual looks up and sees a seemingly never-ending stream of people falling down the waterfall and begins to run upstream. One of other rescuers hollers, “Where are you going? There are so many people that need help here.” To which the man replied, “I’m going upstream to find out why so many people are falling into the river.”[1]

 

We want to help. That is a good impulse. But it is a beginning, not an end. We are willing to give generously to help others, up to but never beyond the costs of our independence. Never in any way that touches us or actually alters our world. And so nothing really changes.

It’s fascinating how such a venerable value has become our national shackle. “For freedom Christ has set us free,” Paul wrote to the new Christians in Galatia. “Stand firm, therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.” (Galatians 5:1 NRSV) This conclusion to Paul’s rant against self-righteous legalism evidently fell on deaf ears. Two millennia later we still throw away the gift of grace for the fruitless and never-ending endeavor of trying to make something good out of ourselves. Why? Are we so disappointed with what God has made of us?

It seems that we are. We will never find community in its fullest sense until we confront our inability to embrace our connectedness with others. We are members of the same body, Paul reminds us, acknowledging the necessity of each other, contributing to the common welfare, rejoicing with the grateful and protecting the weak. But we can never realize the fullness of this insight until we transform the way we live.

No easy thing.

We cannot be the people God made us to be until we stop being the people we made ourselves to be. That work will require us to name and confess deep, not-entirely subconscious “isms” that distance us from our neighbor: racism, sexism, ageism, ableism. There are others. It is a long list. We will have to finally and willfully own our history, tear down its idolatrous monuments, stop pretending that its ghosts are not still wandering the world’s streets right now. We will have to learn to say the words “I’m wrong.” We will have to learn new ways to interact with family and friends who lack the courage or grace to acknowledge the truth themselves.

And then we will be forced to go deeper. Those sins are merely outward manifestations of the original sin, the belief that our particular existence is, in and of itself, definitive. In the garden the serpent tempted Adam and Eve with the promise of self-sufficiency. “You will be like God,” (Genesis 3:5 NRSV) he assured them - independent agents, knowing good and evil, fully endowed with the ability and the right to make our own choices, in full control of the consequences. That cliché remains at the heart of far too much of human behavior. We are so busy being ourselves that we have no time or energy to be anything else. Community is just a dream, a far-off dream.

Community should be more. It should be our very identity. It should be as common to human life as breathing. It is the spirit of our baptism and we need desperately to live it out. The failure of the faithful to be what we were made to be, what we were saved to be, comes at no small cost. It has been deadly to many, it has made life unbearable for all. We have failed our mission, we have failed our neighbor, we have failed ourselves. And we have no excuse. We know what we need to do.



[1] Saul Alinsky, in Shelden & Macallair