Stir Up Your Power
This Sunday the collect begins with the words: “Stir up your power, O Lord…”
In Merry Old England, this was the prompt for women to begin stirring up their Christmas puddings. And at the Forney house, my wife makes the most delicious persimmon pudding with hot lemon sauce. To die for!
It is also Gaudete Sunday. From the first word in Latin that begins the entrance antiphon – sort of like our Collect. Gaudete – Rejoice. And will we ever. We’ll light the pink candle on the Advent wreath. And we’ll have our Christmas dinner after worship.
We rejoice in our work with St. John’s Food Bank. Soon looking to have winter vegetables planted. A big round of thanks to all at St. Francis and St. John’s that bring this ministry to those in need. Gaudete – Rejoice. It comes under the rubric WWJD. Feed the multitudes, though our project is not quite up to the legendary 5000 Jesus fed. But, then, we’re just not in his class. But we do what we can. Gaudete – Rejoice.
We’re not left without resources, however – “Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us…”
This last Thursday Inland Congregations United for Change, of which St. Francis is well represented, held a meeting on Sanctuary Congregations.
After a presentation from some of us who had been active in previous sanctuary operations, ICUC decided to make that a key objective for the coming year. This spurred on by the announcement of those of the incoming administration to instantly deport all “illegals” on Day One.
Stir up your power, O Lord, for our undocumented brothers and sisters need our solidarity. Stir up your power, indeed!
We bear the scars of the previous iteration of this hateful policy of family separation.
Recently, in the New York Times – yeah, I know, the fake news – a young boy told of the trauma he faced and emotional scars he now bears as having been jerked away from his father.
“Pried from his father’s arms by federal agents at the southern border, José was one of thousands of migrant children separated from their parents under a Trump-era crackdown that came to epitomize the former president’s harsh immigration agenda.”[1]
José was taken when he was five years-old and placed with a foster family. Today he is in the sixth grade and trusts nobody but his immediate family.
He is excelling academically and plays in the school band, mastering guitar. He is an avid soccer player. He has earned high praise from his teachers.
“’You possess all the qualities to take you very far in life,’ his English teacher, Ms. Keller, said in a handwritten note to him dated October 2.”
Cruelty was the point. The objective was to so scare parents that they would not cross the border.
Many parents and children, some as young as only months old, have been separated for years. Some 1400 children to this date remain apart from their parents.
It was only through the heroic efforts that any lists were saved, fragmentary as they are. Some wanted them destroyed.
Record keeping was so haphazard that it’s difficult if not almost impossible to reunite these children with their families. Orphans forever. Imagine if your child were ripped from your arms, only months old. Not only would your son or daughter be permanently scarred, so would you. For the rest of your life, never knowing what happened to them. Where they now were.
Cruelty is the point.
Stir up your power, O Lord, and come among us. Give those seeking to reunite these families perseverance and the strength to continue their heartfelt mission. Stir up your power, for our sins as a nation stink to the high heavens and weigh heavy upon us.
Stir up your power and give José healing for his invisible wounds. Raise him up among us to be a mighty warrior for justice.
The wounds are deep and the scar tissue virtually impenetrable.
His foster mother relates the trauma of that young boy.
“When Janice Barbee, who fostered José, picked him up at the Grand Rapids, Michigan airport in May of 2018, ‘all I could see was fear and confusion in those beautiful brown eyes,’ she recalled. He did not cry. He would not hold her hand.”[2]
Janice Barbee continues, “Even as he seemed to grow more comfortable, José guarded two small pieces of paper – a stick-figure drawing of his family and a sketch of his father in a cap. He carried them wherever he went during the day and tucked them under his pillow at night.”[3]
“’One day, José had a meltdown, all the while clutching the family drawing…He held onto it as he cried and wailed on my kitchen floor,’ she said.”
“In that moment I wondered if he would ever heal from this unimaginable trauma of separation.”
His father, in the meantime, feared that he might be put up for adoption. Worried that he might not ever see his son again he refused to be repatriated back to Honduras. He would not leave José behind, no matter what.
If there is any happy end to this story, father and son were finally reunited after enough public outrage caused the administration to change course. Five months after they were separated.
And of course, the trauma affects parents as well. José’s father has been too frightened and distrustful to seek the assistance and support to which he is entitled. As a result, they have not received any of the benefits provided under the legal settlement of this policy.
Stir up your power, O Lord, and come among these parents with wings of healing and empowerment.
José is aware of the coming election. When asked about it he responded, ‘Trump doesn’t like immigrants.” And added, “I can’t vote.”
But in 2026 we can! We’ll hope for the best and see how this administration staffed with misfits, sexual abusers, the incompetent and grifters plays out. Let us pray for them that they might grow into their responsibilities. AND….AND… we’ll have the chance for a new Congress that might be willing to stand up to any malfeasance.
Stir up your power, O Lord, and come among us for our republic is teetering on the edge. Stir up your power, O Lord, and give us the will, if necessary, as John Lewis urged, to “Get in trouble, good trouble, necessary trouble.”
For the sake of our vulnerable brothers and sisters in their hour of need — Solidarity Forever. And light that pink candle. We are not without Power from on High. Gaudete! Amen.
[1] Miriam Jordan, “He Never Forgot the Border Agents Who Took Him From His Father,” Los Angeles Times, October. 30, 2024/
[2] Ibid.
[3] Ibid. and following quotes.
December 15, 2024
Advent 3
Zephaniah 3:14-20; Canticle 9 (Isaiah 12:2-6);
Philippians 4:4-7; Luke 3:7-18 “Stir Up Your Power”
Many Messengers in Real Time
I was naïve enough to think that with the election over, my in-box would empty out. No more political announcements or pleas for contributions. No such luck. The campaign now goes 24/7, 365 days a year. To preserve my sanity, I just delete these messages wholesale. Gone. You’re done!
Only…only to now be besieged by Christmas messengers urging me to buy everything under the sun. As one wit put it: We are asked to buy a bunch of crap for people we don’t know and don’t care that much about that they don’t need and we can’t afford.
All to the nasal tunes of cartoon chipmunks crooning insipid tunes to trite words. How is it that in this season of Peace on Earth has been transmogrified into a blizzard of annoyance? Definitely these are not messengers of Peace and Goodwill to all people on earth.
The Old Testament reading comes from Malachi. Actually, that was not his name. It is a title. It means in Hebrew, “My Messenger.”
Malachi prophesied in that time when the Hebrew exiles were returning from Babylonia to Jerusalem, sometime from 515 to 445 BC. Jerusalem lain in ruins. The culture of Judaism was dismantled with the destruction of the temple. Not one stone resting upon another.
Malachi was God’s Messenger sent to these despondent and wayward returnees. Much remained to be rebuilt. The question was where to begin.
That is the question for America following the 2024 election. Many folks with many answers now appear. Which one or ones should be listened to.
Of all the messages on various and sundry issues, how do we discern those that might have divine residue? Those which build up? Those which give hope? Those which tell needed truth?
There’s an old song from Pete Seeger and Lee Hays, folk singers of the sixties. Pete Seeger grew up in a Protestant home and much of his music caries the ethic of his early religious teachings.
This song most of us sung at rallies and on marches – known as the “Hammer Song.” The verse I refer to goes:
“If I had a song
I’d sing it in the morning
I’d sing it in the evening
All over this land
I’d sing out danger
I’d sing out warning
I’d sing out love between
My brothers and my sisters
All over this land, oh”
“Well, I’ve got a hammer
And I’ve got a bell
And I’ve got a song to sing
All over this land
It’s the hammer of justice
It’s the bell of freedom
It’s a song about love between
My brothers and my sisters
All over this land”[1]
I believe that messages like this protest song that relate danger, warning and a universal love between all our brothers and sisters are of holy import. They convey divine impact. They are God’s Hammer.
That was the message of Malachi.
“See, I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me, and the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple. The messenger of the covenant in whom you delight – indeed, he is coming, says the Lord of hosts. But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?”
“He is like a refiner’s fire and like fullers’ soap; he will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify the descents of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, until they present offerings to the Lord in righteousness.”
He will refine the descendants of Cranmer and Wesley, Augustine and Calvin. Who can endure the day of his coming? Her coming?
The Hammer Song gives us criteria for Holy Discernment of the many messages that besiege us. Warning, Hope, Love – the key.
One of the messengers bearing the hope of Advent is Dr. Jamil Zaki. His new book, Hope for Cynics: The Surprising Science of Human Goodness[2], relates recent research underlying the case for hope. In most of us there is an innate goodness and trust in our fellow human beings that wins out.
He relates the tale of a boy who should have grown up cynical and distrustful as a result of early trauma from a rejecting mother.[3]
When Emile was born, this event changed his mother’s life completely. After giving birth, Linda was plagued by “cruel, demonic voices that mocked and accused her – the torment of schizophrenia. Trapped in her own mind, she left Emile and Bill, her husband, and lived on the streets of Palo Alto.”[4]
Disheveled, unsheltered and alone as a twenty-five-year-old woman she was subject to unspeakable abuse. From time to time she would appear in Emile’s life but the relationship was extremely insecure.
Emile survived because his father went to extraordinary lengths to provide a loving household. Being poor and single, Bill was an excellent, loving father. “…Bill was doggedly present with his son, offering the ’underbearing attentiveness’ that Emile cherished.”
And amidst the uncertainty of the relationship, over the sporadic visits, it was clear that Emile and Linda cared for each other.
“Outside his house, just before the two would meet, she would sometimes be visibly distraught, fighting the voices. Then, through force of will, she’d compose herself for as long as they were together. Family members recall their reunions as peaceful and affectionate. Mother and son carved out a small space, away from the devils in her mind.”[5]
When Emile was in his thirties, his mother Linda died. By then she lived across the country and Emile flew back East to be with her in her last days. He advocated for her with the doctors and others who attended her in the hospital. He slept by her bed on the floor. He provided the mothering to her she was unable to provide for him.
“After her death, Linda lived on in his memory, not despite her pain but because of it. He lacked a ‘normal’ mother but had found a hero, and the beginnings of his world view…Linda marked him with inner ‘superpowers.’”
As a friend would remark, “He understood from early on that wonderful people could end up in terrible circumstances through no fault of their own.”[6]
This psychologist, in telling reality-based stories of hope and the attendant research, is certainly a Messenger of God, every bit as much as Malachi, every bit as much as all Holy Messengers, Attending Angels, sent to us down through the eons of time. Every bit as much as those visitors who had appeared before the opening of Abraham and Sarah’s desert tent.[7]
Daily we’re attended by such. Echoes of the Holy One we yet await. Who are they? I end with a portion of poem, “A Song of a Man who Has Come Through,” by D.H. Lawrence.[8]
“…. Oh, for the wonder that bubbles into my soul,
I would be a good fountain, a good well-head,
Would blur no whisper, spoil no expression.
What is the knocking?
What is the knocking at the door in the night?
It is somebody wants to do us harm.
No, no, it is the three strange angels.
Admit them, admit them.”
Yes, admit them this Holy Advent. Amen.
[1] Pete Seeger, Lee Hays first released “If I Had a Hammer” on Hootenanny Records in August 1, 1950. Later to be picked up and further popularized by Peter, Paul and Mary in 1962.
[2] Jamil Zaki, Hope for Cynics: The Surprising Science of Human Goodness (New York: Grand Central Publishing, 2024).
[3] Ibid, 38-39.
[4] Ibid.
[5] Ibid.
[6] Ibid.
[7] Genesis 18.
[8] D.H. Lawrence, Selected Poems, “Song of a Man Who Has Come Through (New York: Viking Press, 1959), 74/
December 8, 2024
Advent 2
Malachi 3:1-4; Canticle 16 (Luke 1:68-79);
Philippians 1:3-11; Luke 3:1-6
“Many Messengers in Real Time”
Putting on the Armor of Light
There’s a story the dean of Grace Cathedral, Alan Jones, told of John Donne, Dean of St. Paul’s in London from 1621until his death in 1631.
You may not immediately know the name, but you know one of his famous lines, “Do not ask for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee.”
Much of his poetry and writings were considered by some, including King Henry VIII, to be of dubious orthodoxy.
The story goes that the king was concerned enough to announce his attendance at St. Paul’s on a coming Sunday.
That Sunday in the pulpit, John Donne soliloquized to himself, “John Donne, be careful what you say today, the King is present this morning. John Donne, be careful what you say today, the King of Kings is present this morning.”
I believe that every morning I enter this pulpit, the King of Kings is present. Therein lies my first loyalty and duty to speak our first loyalty and duty is to speak the unvarnished truth and give voice to the fervent hope in Christ Jesus. Especially in this dark, uncertain time. To do so is to be “putting on the armor of Light.” So let it shine! The King of Kings is in our midst — our armor of Light.
So, to begin, let us be absolutely honest concerning the darkness that presently enshrouds our days.
God’s Grace so often pierces the darkest times. At the very time the Light of Christ breaks into the world, the Church remembers the Holy Innocents slaughtered by Herod.
You know the hymn, “Lully, Lullay.” The second verse,
“Herod the King, in his raging/charged he hath this day.
his men of might, in his own sight/all young children to slay.”
And this wanton slaughter of the innocents continues unto this day in Gaza and Lebanon. Paid for with American dollars. Putin continues to target the innocents in Ukraine. For want of care, Holy innocents are killed and brutalized by gangs and famine in Haiti and Sudan.
Friends, these are dark, dark days indeed.
But so often in the midst of such wretchedness, God breaks in and works wonders. Wonders in an out of-the-way place in a no-account village. Wonders in a freezing outdoor manger. Child of impoverished parents.
Such miracles were also wrought out of the dreary cruelty of slavery.
I’ve picked up the autobiography of Frederick Douglass this season for inspiration. In this season of despair, I turn to such luminous souls who have confronted the darkness and blazed a path to hope. They sustain us.
Frederick Douglass had been separated from his mother when he was but an infant. His father was a white man, most likely his master, a consummate master of cruelty. Douglass relays the trauma he suffered as a young boy witnessing his aunt stripped naked to the waist, and whipped until her back was bloody.
“After crossing her hands, he tied them with a strong rope, and led her to a stool under a large hook in the joist, put in for the purpose. He made her get upon the stool, and tied her hands to the hook…after rolling up his sleeves, he commenced to lay on the heavy cowskin and soon the warm, red blood (amid heart-rending shrieks from her, and horrid oaths from him) came dripping to the floor. I was so terrified and horror-stricken at the sight, that I hid myself in a closet.”[1]
This trauma lived with him the rest of his life. How he got beyond it is indeed a miracle.
Later he was sold to a naive, young mistress in Baltimore, who against the convention of the time, taught him a few basics of the alphabet and reading.
Her husband absolutely forbade any further instruction. It was unlawful and unsafe. Douglass relates the warning given to that young wife.
“If you teach that N. (speaking of myself) how to read, there will be no keeping him. It would forever unfit him to be a slave. He would at once become unmanageable, and of no value to his master…It would make him discontented and unhappy.”[2]
The more vehement the master was against reading; the more certain Frederick became concerning the necessity of reading. The words of that admonition sank deep into Frederick’s heart and impelled him forward.
From this rudimentary instruction, he tricked white boys into teaching more of the letters and soon taught himself to write. He continued working on his reading every spare moment he had to himself.
When coming across the abolitionists and reading of them in newspapers he would stash away in secrecy, his mind exploded.
(And I remembered my abysmally ignorant teacher in the fourth grade, when asked about the treatment of slaves, telling us students that “they were happy because they were treated so well.”) I’m sure she never read Frederick Douglass or any other slave narratives of that period.
In the bleak, dark cruelty of that savage institution, a most brilliant, heavenly light burst forth in Douglass’ mind. Freedom!
He continues the narration of the opening of his mind in this journey towards the Light.
“The words sank deep into my heart, stirred up sentiments within that lay slumbering, and called into existence an entirely new train of thought. It was a new and special revelation, explaining dark and mysterious things, with which my youthful understanding had struggled, but struggled in vain. I now understood what had been to me a most perplexing difficulty – to wit, the white man’s power to enslave the black man. It was a grand achievement, and I prized it highly. From that moment, I understood the pathway from slavery to freedom. It was just what I wanted and I got it at a time when I least expected it.”[3]
Frederick Douglass would escape to the North and in time become one of the leading intellectuals of his age. His essays and columns would be widely disseminated by the northern press. President Lincoln would esteem his presence.
Would that we might also value the heritage of our education so highly. But alas, a large percentage of Americans can only read at a fourth-grade level or below. Half of my eighth-grade history students could not read the text.
Sometimes it takes a while to perceive and prize the light of learning — the Christ Light of innate potential. For me that light didn’t dawn until the fifth grade. Out of the raw material of my failure to care and my lack of industry, the light finally dawned when I came across my father’s college entomology book. Yes, insects! Bugs absolutely fascinated me and through those creepy crawlies I became hooked on reading.
Almost as hooked as Frederick Douglass became on the idea of his own innate worth and his striving for freedom. “The whole armor of light.”
In our darkest times, this season – in the midst of Herod’s raging over “wokeness,” tariffs and stolen elections — we at St. Francis have an inextinguishable hope — the coming of the bearer of Light Eternal.
Yes, let us be careful how we live. In the fearsome presence of Caesar, let us also be mindful that each day the King of Kings is present to hallow our days. Let the Light of Douglass’ perseverance and courage enlighten our Advent days.
Amanda Gorman, poet laurate, expresses the hope of our Advent this season:
When day comes, we step out of the shade, aflame and unafraid.
The new dawn blooms as we free it.
For there is always light,
if only we’re brave enough to see it.
If only we’re brave enough to be it.
Amen and Amen.
[1] Frederick Douglass, Autobiographies: Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave, My Bondage and My Freedom, Life and Times of Frederick Douglass (New York: Library of America, 1994), 19.
[2] Op. cit., 37.
[3] Op. cit., 37-38.
December 1, 2024
Advent 1
Jeremiah 33:14-16 Psalm 25:1-9;
1 Thessalonians 3:9-13; Luke 21:25-36
“Putting on the Armor of Light”
It’s A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall
Nothing seems to be permanent when it comes to my favorite foods. First, it was wheat-thin crackers from Kuniko Rice Mills in Louisiana. Originally, I could find them on the shelves of better markets. Then they seemed to vanish so I ordered them online from the manufacturer. Then they were discontinued.
I had been eating these crackers, topped with sardines and Jarlsberg cheese, since I was a young boy, it was my dad’s favorite snack and soon became mine.
When serving in Alaska I would bring this delight to our monthly clergy meetings. Along with my son Jonathan in a Snuggly. When one of my clergy associates in alarm blurted out, “You’re not feeding those sardines to that poor little baby!? Are you???” I responded, “He loves them.” And he did.
I miss those crackers and the memories attached to them. Now it’s all gone. Nothing much seems permanent.
That is the message in our gospel lesson as the open-mouthed disciples stare at the splendor of Jerusalem. Jesus directs their eyes to the magnificent edifices of that city, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”
Not one stone left upon another. This was the prophesied future of my parent’s Republican Party.
I grew up in a pretty standard brand Republican household. My father, being a dentist from West Virginia, as a small business man considered the Republican party to be his natural pew. He also trusted their conservative economics and their opposition to the USSR.
My mother was the founding president of the Signal Hill Republican Women’s Club. She had met Pat Nixon and Nancy Reagan – Nancy was not her favorite, by the way. But she loved Pat Nixon.
In junior high around election time, I proudly wore my outsized “I Like Ike” button. Later I was a campaign worker, walking precinct for Richard Nixon when he ran for Governor in California. I still have a copy of My Six Crises that he autographed when my political club sponsored him at our community college in Norwalk.
It was only when he ran against JFK for the presidency that I jumped ship, realizing that Kennedy was the better choice.
My brother did not abandon the party until Watergate unfolded.
My parents would now be rolling over in their graves if they had any idea of what has happened to their Grand Old Party. A party that has abandoned science, decency and rational argument. Not one stone left upon another as their party lurches into QAnon conspiracy theories and an anti-vaxer looks to take control of our nation’s health programs. And another QAnon true believer – yes, General Michael Flynn and his entire family are in a video taking the QAnon pledge, “Where we go one, we go all.”
With antivaxxer and conspiracy theorist Robert Kennedy now nominated for head of Health and Human Services, what could possibly go wrong?
With his campaign against MMR vaccines in Samoa he got over 80, mostly children, killed by a preventable disease.
If we have another pandemic and he again pushes hydroxychloroquine and Ivermectin, leaving in his wake hundreds of thousands of dead Americans, at least the blood on his hands will coordinate with the color of his red MAGA cap. Same for Trump who has appointed him. BTW, Where’s the Clorox?
Not one stone left standing upon another of this former Republican Party.
“It’s a Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall.”
Reagan welcomed immigrants. Now these MAGA people want to deport eleven million of them. Wholesale. These are the people who provide much of our elder care, who fill many of our construction jobs.
With these folks gone, who’s going to pick the tomatoes and spinach? Though I hear the plan at the White House is to have a Victory Garden, and Melania will be sent out each morning to do the harvesting.
Dreamers, those who were brought here as children by their parents, stand the risk of being sent back to countries they never knew. Never mind that they may not speak the language.
And as I tell my Hispanic friends, you guys who voted for the macho candidate, don’t think that you’re exempt. If you look like, if you sound like, if you have the last name as one of these undocumented deportees, don’t think you’re exempt.
In the last frenzy of deportations, there were numerous cases of bona fide American citizens being rounded up and expelled across our southern border. In many cases left penniless on the other side, falling victim to drug gangs and the real rapists. No, don’t think you’re exempt.
Stephen Miller, the father of family separation, is up for a high-ranking position. The new proposed Border Czar is a hardliner on mass deportation.
“And It’s A Hard Rain’s A-gonna Fall.”
It may be that our democracy will not be left standing in four years, not one stone left standing upon another.
The edifice of equal access to the vote has already been pretty much dismantled by gerrymandering and the other tools of voter suppression.
This year we have documented evidence of even greater Russian interference through the use of deep fake videos, concocted AI avatars coming forward to accuse Tim Walz of molestation and worse. All fake. And even if they’re later taken down the damage is already done.
And then there were the numerous bomb threats called into polling places only in Blue States, and in Democratic majority precincts. All sewing doubt and chaos on our electoral processes. Thank you, Vladimir. Your investment in Trump looks to pay dividends beyond your wildest imagining. You may yet get Ukraine and who knows what else through our abject surrender.
Change is coming. My favorite science fiction writer, Octavia Butler, has declared, “God is Change.”
Biblical, in fact, “Behold, I make all things new.” – Revelation 21:5. In this case, perhaps not one stone left upon another. All thrown down.
In his book, The Fourth Great Awakening, the Nobel Prize winning economist Robert William Fogel demonstrates that societal disruptions invariably lead to spiritual reconsiderations — which lead to political upheavals.[1]
The first Great Awakening, growing out of both Methodism and Calvinism was incited by the itinerant preacher George Whitefield. From 1738 to 1740 he evangelized the American colonies. As revival caught on, the Puritan preacher Jonathan Edwards preached conversion in New England.
A hallmark of this religious revolution, growing out of experiential evangelical churches, was the emphasis on the individual believer to be the authority in all matters religious. This undercut the standing of the established church, and by extension undercut the political authority of the British Crown. The attacks on both political and ecclesiastical corruption led to political realignment – the American Revolution of 1776.
We have had two subsequent similar political realignments, all growing out of evangelical religion.
Fogel avers that we are presently in a Fourth Great Awakening as the result of technological and economic disruption of daily life for ordinary Americans. Again, enthusiastic religion is undercutting staid, mainline churches. The move to a more secular society, the emergence of a non-white plurality, the economic displacement of many in the middle class. It is all cause for great spiritual angst; leading to our current political realignment. Which gets us to the MAGA reaction against these societal changes. Much of it clothed in the hyperbole of racism, misogyny and greed. Not much separation now between evangelical Christianity and this MAGA Trumpism.
How do we, who hold to a “Generous Orthodoxy” carry on? How will we who ascribe to a Gospel where All Means All, fight the spiritual battle in which we find ourselves. And, mind you, it is a fight for the soul of America.
We will do this as we always have as a small remnant of the Jesus Movement. “We are the ones we have been waiting for.”
We will continue to gather in our communities of faith. We will gather with determination and persistence each week to support one another, to hear the Gospel verities that God is Love, that God is continuing to work God’s purpose out. Though it may not be presently clear to us. We will gather around the altar, receiving the Bread and Wine made Holy for sustenance. And following worship we will leave the doors of God’s House ready as God’s Holy Remnant to work for a better day for all of God’s people.
That’s what we will do. Trusting that the Spirit will enlighten our imagination and bring courage to our backbones and ways to resist when the least of us are put upon by policies and actions that scapegoat and dehumanize.
In times of upheaval, we are warned against the false messiahs who will claim our loyalty. Beware of the cry, “I am the One,” or “I alone can fix this.” All usurpers!
We will read of those Holy Resisters who have gone on before us: Vaclav Havel, Vicktor Navalny, Dorothy Day, Harriet Tubman, and Frederick Douglass. Not only read of them but read their legacy in what they wrote.
They will buck up our courage, stiffen our spine and fuel our spiritual resolve.
Yes, it may be a “Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall” but we will be prepared. It’s Noah’s Ark time. With God’s Grace, we will be that Ark of Salvation.
We will gather midweek to join the struggle for a more humane, a more just America. Many movements await our engagement: MoveOn.org, the ACLU, 350.org, the League of Women Voters, Indivisible, Planned Parenthood, Citizen’s Climate Lobby… they all await our volunteer time. Complacency is not an option.
At St. Francis we will produce healthy fruit and vegetables for the food bank program we operate with St. John’s. And volunteers, too, to work the program. We will continue to support efforts to bring House of Hope – San Bernardino into reality.
John Calvin in his Institutes of Christian Religion[2] said that one of the worst sins is willful desire for power.
The other like it, is complacency. Just giving up is as reprehensible a sin as usurping God’s authority in greedy willfulness.
We will pray, we will donate, we will write, we will read and study. We will open our date books and activate.
As was oft chanted in the last election, “We’re not going back. We’re not going back.” God holds out the splendor of our fellow travelers on this journey, beautiful brothers and sisters, companions on the way. Holds out the wonders of a star-studded universe inhabited by incredible life forms.
In an Attitude of Gratitude for all that has been, for all that is, and for all that is to be in God’s unfolding purpose, we will give thanks in all things. Today and tomorrow. Amen.
[1] Robert William Fogel, The Fourth Great Awakening & the Future of Egalitarianism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000).
[2] A good understanding of the relevance of the Institutes can be found in Serene Jone’s book, Call it Grace: Finding Meaning in a Fractured World (New York: Viking, 2019), 24 ff.
November 17, 2024
26 Pentecost, Proper 28
Daniel 12:1-3; Psalm 16;
Hebrews 10:11-14, 19-25; Mark 13:1-8
“It’s A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall”
She Did What She Could
The other week there was a segment on “The News Hour” of Afghan women who had come to America seeking to become medical doctors.
Presently, in their nation under the Taliban, women are limited to a third-grade education. Their voice cannot be heard in public. They are prohibited from holding most any job, certainly not as a professional – a lawyer, accountant, doctor – virtually every door is closed to women with such aspirations.
So many are now here, professionally stranded. They can never go back and offer the gifts of their training. Most were cut off in the middle of their studies, their training and degrees never to be completed.
UNTIL. Until another woman who had suffered great loss when her daughter, being held for ransom in the mountains of Afghanistan, was killed by a grenade thrown by a Navy SEAL in the botched rescue mission.
Let me first add some backfill to this story.
Linda was a very accomplished woman, holding a PhD from the University of Manchester in development policy and management. She had served in rural areas around the world before being employed in Afghanistan. She had done work for the UN in Pakistan, Mexico, and Laos before taking up her most recent work in Afghanistan.
She held the same high aspirations for Afghan woman as she did for herself. She made it possible for some of these women who aspired to be doctors to go to Scotland for medical education.
All that, seemingly, came to an end when the Taliban routed US troops from the country in an ignominious departure — deserting the women of Afghanistan and their daughters to their dire fate under the rigid theocratic rule of the Taliban.
Needless to say, Linda’s parents were devastated by the news of her death. Eventually her parents recovered their footing and her grieving mother, using her influence, using her connections and some family wealth, decided to do what she could for the women of Afghanistan. She formed the Linda Norgrove Foundation to continue her daughter’s work as well as possible in that nation.
During the time when some could still escape that brutal rule, the foundation brought 19 female Afghan medical students barred by the Taliban from university education to Scotland to continue their medical studies. The first group was among now more than 100 being sponsored by the Foundation to study medicine.
One of the few opportunities open to women under Taliban rule was to be midwives. Through patient and arduous negotiations with the authorities, the Foundation has been allowed to establish a health clinic for women.
Within the limits of what is allowed, her mother Lorna Norgrove continues to do what she can. She’s a woman on a mission in memory of her daughter. And it shall be sufficient.
Many pregnant women in Afghanistan have little access to medical care. They have no prenatal care, no pediatric care for their newborn. Often, their families are so impoverished that there is not enough food or clothing for a new addition to the family. For these essentials, they are completely reliant upon donations.
The pilot project permitted in the town of Herat, western Afghanistan, is providing funding for some of these mothers and their families suffering from extreme poverty and malnutrition.
This clinic initiated by the Linda Norgrove Foundation in Herat is run by three Afghan women, a midwife, a qualified doctor and an anesthesiology student.
These women are now providing healthcare for mothers, babies, and children two days a week. This includes weighing and measuring babies, providing medical treatment, and managing cases of malnutrition.
In the most extreme of situations, these three women do what they can. And for those they serve, it shall be sufficient.
In our story from 1 Kings, we read of a widow in Zarephath, who, when called to tend to the prophet Elijah, also does what she can. Even to the detriment of herself and her son.
“As the Lord your God lives, I have nothing baked, only a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug: I am now gathering a couple of sticks, so that I may go home and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it, and die.” She trusts in the prophet’s assurance that out of her meager gift, God’s response will be sufficient for them all.
“For thus says the Lord the God of Israel: ‘The jar of meal will not be emptied and the jug of oil will not fail until the day that the Lord sends rain on the earth’…she as well as he and her household ate for many days. The jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord that he spoke by Elijah.”
Out of her poverty the Widow of Zarephath did what she could, and it was sufficient.
And is not this the case with an unnamed woman, a poor widow, who places two small copper coins in the treasury? Out of her impoverishment, she did what she could, and the Lord pronounces it “sufficient.” A gift far greater than that of all the millions of an Elon Musk or Jeff Bezos. For she gave out of her scarcity.
Like some of you, I was pretty bummed out by the results of Tuesday’s election. My candidate gave everything she knew how to do. And for now – for now, it was insufficient. For now.
In her concession speech she told of her phone call to president-elect Trump congratulating him on his victory. That is what the peaceful transfer of power looks like in a democracy.
But she went on to add, “…while I concede this election, I do not concede the fight that fueled this campaign—the fight: the fight for freedom, for opportunity, for fairness, and the dignity of all people. A fight for the ideals at the heart of our nation, the ideals that reflect America at our best. That is a fight I will never give up.”[1]
“On the campaign, I would often say when we fight, we win. But here’s the thing, here’s the thing, sometimes the fight takes a while. That doesn’t mean we won’t win. That doesn’t mean we won’t win. The important thing is don’t ever give up.”
She left it all on the field, she did what she could, and eventually, it shall indeed be sufficient. The Promise of America is ever expanding.
I heard a Latino man; the DJ of a Hispanic radio station, proclaim that most men who called in were inalterably opposed to a woman president. “No one will respect her.” “She doesn’t know what she’s doing.” “Women are not meant to be in charge of men.” All the tired and hackneyed excuses offered up by little men.
Well, as my son Christopher pointed out this morning, even though we might not agree with some or many of their policies, women have had a good run as heads of state: Indira Ghandi in India, Golda Meier in Israel, Margaret Thatcher — the “Iron Lady” — in the United Kingdom. Other nations have had or do have very successful women heads of state: Finland, Germany, Australia, Lithuania. You do remember Anglea Merkel, don’t you?
As is often said of Ginger Rogers, she was just as good as Fred Astair only she did it all backwards and in high heels. Same as these women leaders.
And if we voted against Kamala just because she’s a woman, we deserve Trump and the worst he will do. This will be divine and righteous judgment against our misogyny.
Frederick Douglas, one of the few men attending the Seneca Falls meeting of the women’s rights movement in 1888, spoke of his modest role in promoting women’s suffrage and equality. He was hesitant to even address the gathering.
“I believe that no man, however gifted …can voice the wrongs and present the demands with the skill and effect, with the power and authority of woman herself.”[2]
He summed up the goals and promise of their efforts at that historic meeting:
“…whatever the future may have in store for us, one thing is certain—this new revolution in human thought will never go backward. When a great truth once gets abroad in the world, no power on earth can imprison it, or prescribe its limits, or suppress it. It is bound to go on till it becomes the thought of the world. Such a truth is woman’s right to equal liberty with man. She was born with it. It was hers before she comprehended it.”
We trust the women. Full stop. End of argument.
These women did what they could, and in the march of time, it was sufficient.
That’s where you and I come in. I know many who supported the vision Kamala laid out are disappointed and perhaps discouraged. Those who may have supported the other candidate may be ecstatic, wrapped in victory.
But let us all remember, our allegiance is not to a person, not to a party but to the Gospel and to the Constitution, flawed as it may be. Flawed as our politics and this nation may be. Flawed as we may be – let us move forward under the rule of law and in mutual respect.
Only a fool in my tribe would, after this drubbing, not want to talk to folks who chose the alternative. We need to find out from them what they feel needs fixing and see where there might be common ground.
We must work to find common ground where we can all join in unifying effort to make manifest the ideals of equity and inclusion, the promise of a decent life for all. Especially those left out and shoved out.
If the in-coming president elect can be focused on what we can all do together, it’s likely that we can move this nation forward. As vice-president Harris is fond of saying, “We have so much more in common that unites us than divides us.”
And our efforts, puny as they may seem, as insignificant as perhaps a small bit of dough and depleted jar of oil, in and through the Grace of God, they shall be sufficient. We are only asked to now do what we can. As John Wesley, putting sectarian differences aside, offered, “If your heart is as my heart, take my hand.” And let us go forward together. Then perhaps — just perhaps, God will shed a bit more of her Grace on this our marvelous land. Ame
[1] Time Magazine, transcript of concession speech by Kamala Harris, November 6, 2024.
[2] Frederick Douglass’ address to the 1888 Seneca Falls gathering of women, public domain.
November 10, 2024
25 Pentecost, Proper 27
1 Kings 17:8-16; Psalm 146;
Hebrews 9:24-28; Mark 12:39-44
“She Did What She Could”
