Out of the Least of All
Last week, when I opened my e-mail, this ad came in over the transom.
This promo easily could have been an exhibit in our seminary’s annual show of Tacky Religious Art — another commercial desecration of Christmas.
For us Episcopalians, “tacky” is one of the worst offenses, a venial sin for sure.
Excuse a minor digression. BUT…This is why I so love All Saints Day. They haven’t figured out yet how to monetize it. How much All-Saints schlock have you seen on TV with dancing chipmunks and harmonizing toilet bowl scrubbers?
In any case, here is — the Christmas promo. A Hot Deal Directly from the North Pole. Yes, folks there actually is a North Pole…in Alaska, near Fairbanks. And those fine citizens milk it for all it’s worth this time of year. Actually, Christmas 365 days a year up there.
Well, here’s the special. You can order up your Certified Letters from Santa. Each piece printed out on Fine Linen Paper. Use the special code, “Jolly15,” and you’ll save 15% right now!
Now you see why I so like All Saints Day. No special letters from St. Francis or St. Peter to purchase from God knows where.
But if you want the real message of Christmas and not a bunch of Santa hoo-ha, let’s turn to Mary and her message instead. Her song, we call the Magnificat. Magnificat, because God often magnifies the least to produce the most glorious results. Magnifies us when we feel ourselves to be the least, to be of no account.
Magnificat – now here’s a promo.
Mary, a woman accounted for nothing in her society. Most men have no idea what that feels like. Though I did get a smidgen of insight into personal nothingness the other day.
I went to the auto dealer for a recall issue. It was early in the morning, cold and breezy. A fellow came up to my car, asked a few questions and put a big number on my windshield. Then I stood by my car as I was asked to do. In the cold. In the wind. And stood. And stood. And stood.
Meanwhile, a number of agency personnel walked by. And walked by. And walked by. It was as if I was invisible. I finally stopped one. As he began to walk away without away listening to me, I asked him, “What am I? A customer or an inconvenience?” It was a little taste of invisibility. In that moment I felt like the “Least of All.” Welcome to Mary’s club.
Mary, frightened, expecting a child and on her own. Shunned by all in her village. Scared for the child she was expecting. Utterly alone — How on earth does she tell Joseph? Wanting to shrink into anonymity. So much uncertainty.
But as my friend Mike Kinman said several years ago, Mary gathered up her skirts and burst forth with her full agency. If she was to bear this child, she would not be a shrinking violet. She cut loose with the most radical proclamation, straight out of Israel’s prophetic tradition. Pure, unadulterated, terrifying Grace.
She knew in her bones — this child – her child — would turn the world upside down. Mary comes off more like Mother Jones than Mother Teresa. Mother Jones – a union organizer — hell raiser totally in it for her people. As Fr. Mike put it that Sunday, Mary took one step back and said, “Hold my beer and watch this.”
“He has shown the strength of his arm, he has scattered the proud in their conceit. He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty.”[1]
These verses are not the namby-pamby platitudes that pass for many of our sermons in the prosperity gospel congregations, or many mainline churches.
This torrent of righteous proclamation is straight out of one considered to be of no account. Don’t give me any portraits of Mary is soft blue pastels, harmless as a cocker spaniel. I want the “Mother Jones” Mary. The “Rosie the Riveter” Mary. The Eleanor Homes Norton Mary!
It is out of this radical option for the poor that every union organizer is born, has breath. It is out of this radical option for the poor that our economics will find rebirth and our planet a future.
You folks who oppress your labor force, your time is up. Either wages rise and everyone gets a fair shake or no one works. You’re shut down. That’s the union hall translation of “the rich are sent empty away.”
The candle business that forced people in Kentucky to keep working as the tornado sirens screamed their warnings – yes, you folks. I’m talking to you. Your workers, at least those who survived your callous indifference – these workers should take you to court until they have wrung every last penny out of you. You considered them of no account, disposable, less than nothing. And many died. It’s ironic that it was a candle business that was an agent of such deep darkness. Don’t you think?
Micah has it right when he proclaims, “You, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah, who are one of the little clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule.”[2] Out of the Least of All, God’s righteousness springs up. Like the grass that grows through the cracks, though they spread the asphalt over it.
The high and mighty thought they could plan an insurrection on January 6 under the cover of darkness and anonymity. Overthrow our constitutional government. It is the “little people” who have spied them out – reporters and lowly congress critters who have pulled back the curtain. These are the ones of whom Mary sings in her Magnificat. These are the least of Ephrathah, the lowliest of clans.
They will keep the spotlight of the God’s honest truth on those January 6th seditious malefactors until they are marched off to prison for conspiracy. Yes, the fish rots from the head. Thrown down from their thrones these perpetrators will be. Actions have consequences. There will be plenty of time for God’s mercy when you’re in contrition-mode with a few years behind bars to think about your actions.
Again, it will be the Least of All – Hundreds of strong women and their supporters in this very same spirit marching in the streets – for health care rights, for voter’s rights, for a fair economy. Not going to take it anymore. Going to be the drudge and scapegoat no longer. They are here to scatter the proud in their conceit. A Gospel Action if ever there was one.
This, the birth of one destined to turn the world upside down. All who follow in his path are insurrectionists in the cause of a Love beyond all Love. Sometimes the work has a hard edge – of necessity.
Sometimes it’s a gentle soft touch, soft as velvet, as tasty as a ripe peach just off the tree. In all cases, true liberation from what weighs down.
Jai passed along a wonderful such story from Elizabeth Gilbert — a story of one of the “Least of All.” A big-city bus driver at the end of a long afternoon picking up exhausted, cranky commuters heading on home.
Elizabeth Gilbert gets the Last Word:
“Some years ago, I was stuck on a crosstown bus in New York City during rush hour. Traffic was barely moving. The bus was filled with cold, tired people who were deeply irritated with one another, with the world itself. Two men barked at each other about a shove that might or might not have been intentional. A pregnant woman got on, and nobody offered her a seat. Rage was in the air; no mercy would be found here.
But as the bus approached Seventh Avenue, the driver got on the intercom. “Folks,” he said, “I know you have had a rough day and you are frustrated. I can’t do anything about the weather or traffic, but here is what I can do. As each one of you gets off the bus, I will reach out my hand to you. As you walk by, drop your troubles into the palm of my hand, okay? Don’t take your problems home to your families tonight, just leave them with me. My route goes right by the Hudson River, and when I drive by there later, I will open the window and throw your troubles in the water.”
It was as if a spell had lifted. Everyone burst out laughing. Faces gleamed with surprised delight. People who had been pretending for the past hour not to notice each other’s existence were suddenly grinning at each other like, is this guy serious?
Oh, he was serious.
At the next stop, just as promised, the driver reached out his hand, palm up, and waited. One by one, all the exiting commuters placed their hand just above his and mimed the gesture of dropping something into his palm. Some people laughed as they did this, some teared up but everyone did it. The driver repeated the same lovely ritual at the next stop, too. And the next. All the way to the river.”
Out of the Least of All, out of you and me, the coming promise of Christmas is arriving to turn our world upside down. Sometimes with a bullhorn on a picket line, sometimes with the soft strains of a holiday song, sometimes by poem. Or a gentle smile. Maybe on a crowded bus.
“He shall feed his flock like a shepherd.” In his stead YOU may be the one on the soup line serving up hearty nourishment.
In our land, as a great darkness descends over our democracy, you may be the Paul Revere, sounding the alarm. Up to “trouble, good trouble, necessary trouble.” Waking folks up.
In the darkness a light has shined. Now, you are that Light. Let it shine.
This is what Mary’s alarming song is all about. Someone of lowly birth coming to kindle the life spark where it had been extinguished, born to set the world on fire. And all of us, of lowly birth — arsonists for Christ.
That’s what this bus driver was, the sheer audacity of Grace, all the way down to the river.
Christ has come. Christ is come. Christ will come again. Light that fourth Advent candle. Amen.
[1] Luke 1:46-55, NRSV.
[2] Micah 5:2, NRSV.
St. Francis Episcopal Mission Outreach
Rev. Dr. John C. Forney
Advent 4
December 19, 2021
Out of the Least of All
Micah 5:2-5a; Canticle 3 (the Magnificat);
Hebrews 10:5-10; Luke 1:39-55
Stir Up Your Power
Today we light the pink candle on the Advent wreath. This is Mary’s Sunday. And this is Stir Up Sunday – the clue that it was time for folks to get their Christmas puddings started. Why, you ask? The collect that begins worship for today begins, “Stir up thy power, O Lord, and with great might come among us;” Ladies, get your puddings stirred up. Christmas is coming.
Some of you are probably expecting to see Deacon Pat up here this morning. I got a call early Friday morning that she was having a medical issue. As she spoke, my Army medic mode kicked in and I realized this might be pretty serious. I told her to have her son Will get her to the hospital right away, as in NOW.
That’s how it is, one thing after another. Life sometimes smacks us upside the head. Yes, I know that it’s Joy Sunday. We lit the pink Advent candle, but life intrudes. Stuff happens. Where is the Joy?
The JOY is in the real world. The work and problems given to our hands and minds – there’s the JOY. We have commitments, errands, dishes to wash. I always give thanks at the beginning of each morning while I’m sitting on the side of the bed waiting to make sure I have my balance that once again, I can put on my pants one leg at a time and get to it.
After Pat’s early morning call, I called Barbara to make sure we had follow-up, as she lives much closer to Pat than I. I then went and found the newspapers to see what else God might have on the morning’s agenda. Then I opened up the computer to check the e-mail. Finally, I got to work on a sermon that I hadn’t planned on writing this week.
If God was going to stir up divine power, I realized that I’d better, and quickly, stir up my gumption if I was going to be part of this action.
Like Fr. Malcolm Boyd used to say, “Are you running with me, Jesus?”
Unfortunately, it seems, God has some pretty poor material to work with. I’m talking about us. About me. But with God, we shall be sufficient.
“Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter of Jerusalem!”[1]
Sing, we will!
In this time of festive preparations for the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ, out of the blue, my friend Dick called with tickets to the Claremont Chorale Christmas Concert. Indeed, we will sing. What a treat. Sure, we will enjoy the music, but much more than that, the joy is to be surrounded with such a group of kind, thoughtful friends.
As our House of Hope team looks forward to another trip back to West Virginia, funding sources are finally coming together. One of the programs we will borrow from is Recovery Point out of Huntington, West Virginia.
While in West Virginia on our last trip, if one was looking for meager material of humble beginnings, we found them as we visited a rehab center run by the clients themselves. In recovery jargon, it is known as a peer-to-peer operation. There were no medical or other professional staff. The curriculum is solely The Big Book of AA.
Our version of the program will include medical detox. It’s much more humane. And definitely more effective in getting folks through the recovery. To go cold turkey is hell. Just read Dopesick or watch the new documentary based on that work on Hulu.[2]
As we were shown the facility and spoke with residents there, it was obvious, one could not get to more humble beginnings. As we were leaving, a fellow in an orange jump suit and in shackles was being escorted in by a couple of armed deputies.
Behold, this place was, in living color – orange, the Christmas miracle come alive. Out of degradation and desperation, God was including one more person in God’s great plan of salvation history. Yes, from Abraham, Joram, Ruth, and a whole bunch of other people we’ve never heard of – right up to Bathsheba, Solomon, to Joseph and beyond – the story continues until it comes to such as you and me. And a smelly, sorry-ass fellow in an orange jump suit. Gloria. Gloria!
Recovery Point in Huntington is solely a men’s facility; there’s a separate women’s facility in Charleston. It seemed like there were about one hundred men living there, mostly in their twenties and thirties.
I was astounded at the organization and the ethic of recovery I witnessed in those men. Two of the biggest learnings accompanying the journey to sobriety are respect and accountability. All chores are done by those living there from cleaning up and making one’s bed to kitchen duty and mentoring those coming out of detox. The place ran like clockwork. Discipline was strict. Consequences were meted out for screw-ups. And it was all accepted with equanimity by those who knew in their gut that Recovery Point was their last, best chance.
Now, I sure wouldn’t want any of these men seeing the office and desk I came home to. They’d know I’d flunked recovery from the chaos.
In Luke’s telling of Jesus’ baptism, hundreds are flocking to John to be baptized into a righteous life.[3] John tells them that to prepare they must put on a new ethic, the garment of righteousness and humility.
To the tax collectors, “collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” To the soldiers (and we would say to all policing authorities) “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.” And Black lives do matter, along with the lives of all our citizens. Decent behavior and compassion will be the sign of your entry into the Kingdom of Salvation.
It would be almost unbearable, what the Baptizer would have said to Wall Street tycoons and bank presidents. “Do not send battalions of lawyers up against union organizers. Do not cheat your depositors by setting up bogus accounts and burying them under enormous fake fees.” Recovery leads to joy, but it’s a hard road.
Like, as with the clients of Recovery Point, recovering capitalists would find new joy in some of the simpler pleasures of life – a warm cup of coffee in the morning and a dazzling sunset at eventide. Yes, a cup of joe and a cup of joy to begin each day.
Right there at Recovery Point, Huntington, West Virginia! Gloria. Gloria! This was far better than any Miracle on 34th Street. This was the real deal. Miracles created every day through newly found sobriety.
And to top it off, the following day back in Charleston at Starbucks, I spied a young woman wearing a Recovery Point jacket with a friend. I introduced myself and mentioned House of Hope. They told me that they were staff at the woman’s center in Charleston.
Thinking back, my pickup line that morning was probably one of the weirdest, most unlikely, that may have ever worked. Anyway, these two women came over and shared some of their stories.
One shared of her seven-year-old boy in an institution. He had been damaged from her neglect when she was stoned. Recovery’s not easy. She will live with that reality the rest of her life. But here she is, picking up the pieces. Here she is – Stayin’ Alive! Stayin’ Alive! All the work of Holy Spirit baptism.
The dead are brought back to life and the blind see with new eyes. She finally has hope for something better. Christmas Miracle in Charleston, West Virginia! Gloria. Gloria!
We know how that story begins – a single step. And Mary answered the angelic messenger, “Let it be unto me according to thy word.” Gloria. Gloria. “Sing aloud, O daughter Zion.”
As we offer up prayers this morning for Deacon Pat, let us with joyful hearts, reflect on all the love she has given over the years to St. Francis — the joy she has brought to so many. And we pray that she will have many more years of ministry in our midst. Now, let us light that pink candle for JOY. It comes each morning, fresh with the sunshine. Amen.
[1] Zephaniah 3:14, NRSV.
[2] Beth Macy, Dopesick (New York: Little, Brown & Co., 2018).
[3] Luke 3:7-18, NRSV.
St. Francis Episcopal Mission Outreach
Rev. Dr. John C. Forney
Advent 3 (Gaudete Sunday)
December 5, 2021
Stir Up Your Power
Not One Stone Upon Another
As we approach Advent, thoughts turn to endings and beginnings. We are on the cusp of coming out of COVID-19. Yet, it is still with us. We see folks dining outside, playing in the park. Kids are in school. At the same time, the mood of the public is on the sour side.
A cloud of fear and suspicion hangs over thoughts of hesitant Christmas shopping. With death threats whispered, our politics are in the toilet. Sports teams are playing again. By the way, kudos to the Atlanta Braves.
Speaking of sports, something of a stench hovers over the gridiron in Wisconsin. “You lied to everyone,” Hall of Fame quarterback Terry Bradshaw scolded. Aaron Rodgers cared about only one person – himself. His selfishness exposed his teammates to the corona virus.
Now, Rodgers has tested positive for the disease. On Fox Sunday Sports, while featuring a tribute to the Naval Academy, Bradshaw let loose.
“I’ll give Aaron Rodgers some advice. It would have been nice if he had just come to the Naval Academy and learned how to be honest [and] learned not to lie,” said Bradshaw of the Packers quarterback. “Because that’s what you did, Aaron. You lied to everyone.”[1]
Gone is the day when America once looked up to its sports heroes and establishment without reservation. These days, for too many professional athletes, it’s all about entitlement and the big bucks.
Aaron, that your team in your absence lost their game this last Sunday is a small, insignificant price to pay for what you have done to your reputation and to the respect of your teammates and the fans. Aaron, maybe you might consider those midshipmen at Annapolis for a few moments this coming week. Contrition is still good for the soul.
I’ve become pretty disillusioned by professional sports over the years. Cities spend fortunes on state-of-the-art stadiums, and on a whim their team up and moves for a better offer. What is it now – the Advil Raiders and the Microsoft Chargers??? Playing in God-knows-where!
The edifice has crumbled. The trophies are tarnished by cheating and steroids. Tarnished, has much of America. Not a whole lot left but the money. AND, to wring more of your cold, hard cash out of you, gambling is now allowed at many sports venues. Next, the players themselves will be placing the bets.
We live in unsettled times, as was Jerusalem in 66-70 of our Common Era (CE).
In Mark’s depiction, as Jesus’ disciples enter the holy city of Jerusalem, they are agog as they stare up to the splendor of the Temple. One of the disciples, tugging on the sleeve of his garment, exclaims, “’Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!’ Then Jesus asked him, ‘Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.’”
The lesson here is impermanence. And rebuilding. For Jews, out of the calamity of 69 CE, the destruction of the temple and the fall of the fortress of Masada, came the end of temple worship centered around the sacrifice of burnt offerings.
Born was rabbinic Judaism centered around the synagogue and came the Diaspora, the scattering of Jews to all corners of the earth.
The early followers of Jesus, those who had survived the destruction, being Jews, likewise were also scattered like chaff blown by the wind.
Into this social upheaval came all sorts of charlatans promoting all sorts of nonsense. Just like today. Ivermectin, bleach and other quack nostrums are nothing new under the sun. The bruhaha over vaccinations is but a symptom of a society in stress. When it comes to the halls of reason and scientific method, not one stone is left upon another.
Unfettered craziness!
Senator Ted Cruz has now taken on our beloved Big Bird. Did you hear, the other day Big Bird stood in a line for his vaccination. I guess, so he wouldn’t get birdie pox. Ted Cruz had a conniption. Said that Big Bird was a shill for government vaccine propaganda. Brainwashed, his little birdy brain was. Instead of reason, we get outrage porn. Not one stone left upon another in the precincts of logic. Not one!
And it gets worse. Did you know that all this harangue about masks and vaccinations is evil? Emerald Robinson’s employment at Newsmax was terminated for claiming that COVID-19 vaccinations gave one the mark of the devil. She’s presently off the air while her employer reviews her tweets claiming that the shot gives recipients Satan’s seal of ownership.
Ms. Robinson tweeted: “Dear Christians: the vaccines contain a bioluminescent marker called LUCIFERASE so that you can be tracked. Read the last book of the New Testament to see how this ends.” Not one stone left upon another in the temple of sound religion.
In spite of such absurdity, Simon and Garfunkel cross my mind: “And here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson/Jesus loves you more than you will know, wo wo wo…”
I think I’m beginning to miss Tammy Faye and Jim Bakker and the PTL crowd. At least, with that grift, no one died to purchase gold faucets for their humble abode.
Mark was written either shortly before, or most likely, after, the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem in the year 69. That year the city was pillaged and razed to the ground. Much of the population was killed or taken captive in a slaughter perhaps comparable to the Srebrenica massacre, to that of Rwanda, or President Jackson’s genocidal policy of Indian removal from the eastern United States. Let us not forget the “Trail of Tears.” Only the Holocaust, in recent history, would have been among tragedies surpassing that of Jerusalem.
For Mark and the early Christian community, the events of the Roman-Jewish war were a complete disaster. But more than that, those events were full of portents of what was to come for those who had survived.
In times of profound sense of loss, let us keep the faith in one another and listen. In such commitment is the substance of Christian Hope. Faith that God is still working wondrous purposes out.
First, is the necessity to grieve. These tears are healing rivulets flowing down cheeks. Sometimes stuff happens, very bad stuff. In disaster, hope is a scarce commodity. Time is necessary for shock to dissipate. Time is necessary to gain orientation to present-day realities. To discern new beginnings, Spirit openings. The craziness of this time – it will subside like a bad head cold. We will get through this together. Faith will suffice for the days ahead.
Second, is to organize, plan, think and write.
The huge production of books and articles on our current difficulties is one source of comfort and hope.
Books on the opioid epidemic have proliferated over the past ten or so years. They attest to the necessity and blessing of community. We are not alone in facing this. There is help. Just the shared experience of another who has walked this path is comfort. Hearing the stories is an essential spiritual discipline. Do not turn away.
Sam Quinones, in his second book on the addiction crisis, brings the living testimony of families, of communities, some, for the first time ever, working in concert to confront this scourge.
He tells, early on, of the hunger he found for presentations after his first book had been published. In communities, large and small, in Appalachia and all throughout the middle of America.
He tells of one of the moments in the small town of Portsmouth, Ohio, that was the seed for his second book on our drug crisis, The Least of These.[2] He writes:
“After my speech, an older couple—thin, short, and pale—came up to a table where I was signing books. We were alone. Quietly, so only I could hear, the man said that their daughter was in prison for many years for a crime related to her opioid addiction. He said they were raising her young daughter and didn’t know what to do. They were exhausted. They were concerned they wouldn’t live long enough to see the girl through to adulthood. He was a man of few words and no tears. He looked shellshocked.”
“’It’s so hard,’ he said.”
“I was new at this and didn’t know how to respond. We each held the others hand, frozen in mid-handshake, this man and I, and stared into each other’s eyes as his wife stood by in silence. I squeezed his hand finally, and I think I said something about them not being alone. That I was sorry. They moved on, and I can still see the man looking back at me and nodding.”
“This book grew from that moment and others like it.”
Such are the moments of healing, the beginning of hope. It’s in the simple act of sharing with another that you can’t go on any farther. Admitting exhaustion. Such is the beginning of hope.
Drawing from ancient testimony of the psalmist, Jesus followers remembered a saving truth: “The stone which the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone.”[3]
When asked where he sees hope, “What places have you seen that are doing the right thing?” Sam responds, “Right here.” The cornerstone! That has become his answer.
Addiction is not a Republican or Democratic, not a Green or Independent problem. People who would never have agreed on much of anything are joining their efforts, are now learning each other’s names, making plans, going out for pizza together. When not one stone is left upon another, they are the chief cornerstone. They are the ones restoring hope. You very fine citizens; you are the ones leading others with new eyes to see beginnings that God is about.
Ordinary neighbors, those with the courage to unite in towns big and small, these are stones rejected – rejected by the purveyors of these drugs, rejected by indifferent bureaucrats, entitled politicians.
It’s going to be just average folks who have a care. It is out of this cornerstone that the entire dwelling of sobriety be constructed. Such is the seed of Hope.
Not one stone left upon another, but in the rubble lies the cornerstone. This is the gospel testimony we of the Jesus Movement claim. It’s through folks like that older couple who dared to share their desperation, it’s through writers like Sam Quinones who can document these stories with a generous spirit, and with hope – that we rediscover the Hope of things eternal. Through such hope, we uncover a chief cornerstone to build anew.
And to you, Mrs. Robinson, to us all: “Jesus loves you more than you will know, wo wo wo. Amen
[1] Fatma Khaled, “Terry Bradshaw Rips Aaron Rodgers Over COVID Fiasco: ‘You Lied to Everyone,’” Newsweek, 11-7-2021.
[2] Sam Quinones, The Least of These: True Tales of America and Hope in the Time of Fentanyl and Meth (New York: Bloomsbury Publishing, 2021).
[3] Psalm 118:22, Mark 12:10, Matthew 21:42, Luke 4:11, Acts 4:11.
St. Francis Episcopal Mission Outreach
Rev. Dr. John C. Forney
Pentecost 25, Proper 28
November 14, 2021
“Not One Stone Upon Another”
Daniel12:1-3; Psalm 16;
Hebrews 10:11-14,19-36; Mark 13:1-8
In our Custody, In our Care
“In our Custody, In our Care.” That’s the motto of the Minneapolis Police Department.
This last week the jury that had convicted Derick Chauvin of murder assembled with the media for the first time since that fateful trial. Seven of the eight met for an interview with the host of CNN’s Don Lemon Tonight.
Several jurors reported a moment of epiphany, when it dawned on them that something was missing. Some critical act missing that was triggered by the motto of the Minneapolis Police Department – “In our Custody, in our Care.”
The forewoman explained: “At some point, I think it was Jodi, I’m pretty sure it was Jodi said, ‘Wait a minute, does the intended act of harm have to be the death of George Floyd, or can it be him not providing the life support?’ And it was like all of a sudden the light bulbs just went on for those people that I think were undecided or on the not guilty side.”[1]
As Jodi said, for her the defining moment of that incident is not what the officer did. It’s what the officer failed to do. That, for her, proved intent.
As another juror added, “George Floyd was in their custody. He was never in their care.” That was the assessment of juror Sherri Hardeman.
Thus came the first ever guilty verdict for a white officer for killing a black man — “Never in their Care.”
Yet, CARE was not derelict. Never absent at that scene. A young woman who gave a care steadfastly kept her camera rolling as those fateful eight minutes, forty-six seconds ticked by.
And millions of Americans gave a CARE as in outrage they took to the streets to protest the indignity shown George Floyd. Unfortunately, our congress has yet to muster up the courage to show the same spine, the same CARE as that young bystander.
As we celebrate the Saints of God, I am coming to believe that it’s all about CARE. They are the ones who simply give a CARE.
That’s the entire story of the resurrecting of Lazarus. Jesus is the cosmic embodiment of CARE. As, might any suffering loss, suffering the sting of death of a dear friend, Jesus wept at the news of his friend. He and the entire village, had unabashedly joined Mary and Martha in mourning the loss of their brother Lazarus. Here we find the shortest verse in the Bible, John 11:35, “Jesus wept.” Those two words encompass the entire mercy of God.
We are drawn to a God who promises to wipe away our tears when in a season of weeping. A promise of comfort, of CARE.
We have lost several dear ones at St. Francis in this past season of weeping: Our sisters Alicia, Stephanie and Diane. Our brothers Fred and Oliver. Numbered among the Saints of God to be sure. In their own inimitable ways, they gave a CARE for us all and for the Church of Christ.
But, more than that, we worship a God who summons us back to life. Just as did those millions of marchers who filled our streets after the death of George Floyd. Black, white – all ethnicities – rich and poor – urban rural. All of them calling America back to its founding principal motto: E Pluribus Unum – Out of Many, One. Calling this nation back to life.
That trembling young woman with a cell phone, steadfast, she is one of the Saints of God. She would have never claimed to be anyone special, would never have claimed any special notoriety. She just followed the instincts of the Spirit-implanted humanity in her soul. She simply did her duty as a fellow human being, a Saint to be sure! Calling us to witness. To life.
Yes, as the hymn proclaims, “You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea, in church or in trains, or in shops or at tea…”[2] A saint has that force within to kindle the life quality where it was not.
Sometimes it’s by raising a ruckus, like those who steadfastly protest the indignities heaped upon the “least of these.” They are about “trouble, good trouble, necessary trouble.” As we move through the process of “sausage making” in congress, the Saints of God are on the alert for indignity heaping. Senator Patty Murray is one, an exemplar of that necessary trouble when she calls out “one seventy-four-year-old man” who would deny paid leave to women having to tend to a sick child or care for an elderly mother.
Senator Patty Murray was in high dudgeon on Thursday: “We’re not going to let one man tell all the women in this country that they can’t have paid leave,”[3]
The outrage didn’t stop there. Remember the bit about “a woman scorned” and Hell’s fury.
“I think it’s horrific that one white man can make this decision,” said Dawn Huckelbridge, director of Paid Leave for All. “But I think it’s also a failure of our entire government…And this could have been a cornerstone program that would have helped every working family in this country. And we’ve squandered that opportunity.”[4] Shame. Shame on us.
Legislating, that so-called sausage making, is not a pretty process. Much sturm und drang. Especially when it’s the little people, the “least of these” getting ground up in the process. Ground up and discarded.
To no one’s surprise, the folks with the most means don’t usually get pulverized in this messy process. In the midst of the offal and slime on the floor, God’s Saints call out privilege when they see it, when they smell it. The Saints of God continue to call America to values imbued in its founding documents, foundational tracts and essays.
Yes, Frederick Douglas, I’m thinking about you.[5] I’m thinking about those stirring words in the preamble to the Declaration of Independence. I’m thinking about Jane Addams at Hull House and Susan B. Anthony. I’m thinking about a good friend and fellow marcher, Rabbi Leonard Beerman. A companion on the journey who always asserted, “My marching feet are my prayers.” Mine too. All Saints of God who have mentored our democracy through its fitful journey to the present day. Raised us back to life.
I’m thinking of those intrepid guides who followed the “Drinking Gourd,” leading the enslaved to freedom up north. I’m thinking about Sojourner Truth and Harriet Tubman – all the anonymous conductors, Black and White, on that most blessed Underground Railroad to freedom. All following a bright North Star — leading America to a brighter destiny. These are the incandescent Saints of God I celebrate today. Holding the “least of these” in tender care.
Yes, you can meet them on trains, but also in demonstrations, at the workplace and in the Halls of Congress. You find them on the internet, lobbying for a just politics. You can find them in our Pilgrim Place dining hall, writing letters on behalf of those imprisoned and tortured for protesting tyranny and dictatorship. Yes, I’m thinking of you who monthly write those letters on behalf of Amnesty International. Right here in Pilgrim Place, in our churches and around the world. You have a CARE for the most despised and forgotten. Saints, to be sure.
One more thing. In researching the turmoil around the Build Back Better Bill and paid family leave, I came across an outfit of insurance brokers serving the Black community. This business was created because many national companies, due to “red-lining,” had refused to issue policies in minority or poor neighborhoods.
Wealth & Equity, a non-profit, was “created to unite the insurance industry on a mission to educate, underwrite, and empower the Black community by leveraging life insurance and enhancing financial education, while also helping Black agents and agencies reach their highest level of career success.”[6]
These people looked around and noticed that most insurance companies thought communities of color and low-income neighborhoods were not worthy of their effort. This discrimination led some righteous souls early on to enter that market. As a result, the nonprofit, Wealth & Equity, was given birth as a Black owned enterprise. They gave a CARE. And still do.
If ever business folks could make it into the pantheon of Saints, these self-help, non-profit folks are Saints of God! They’re all about respect and empowerment.
Yes, saints galore. Closer to home, so close — saints who abound.
These are the husbands and wives, who over the years have gone the extra mile with tokens of love and affection. Flowers for no special day. A favorite breakfast. A spontaneous day in the park together. Even through kiss-and-make-up arguments. Sometimes it’s loved ones who forgive the unforgiveable. Cherished quiet time they allow one another. It’s how they’ve made allowances for each other, cut one another some slack. It’s those joyous moments of celebration like the discovery that a new baby might be on the way. It’s shared moments of sorrow too deep for words. They do the necessary chores to keep things going, day in and day out, without complaint. Saints to be sure! Folks who daily give a CARE.
Saints are those who’ve kept up long-term friendships that have weathered misunderstandings and absences. Friendships that year after year spring up, even after the years and months have flown by, as if not a day had been missed. Folks who will always have your back. The ones who bring out the best in you, expect the best from you and are willing to believe the best about you. People who hold you in prayer and tender thoughts. Precious, indeed, in the sight of the Lord. Saints to be sure.
The Saints of God – “They lived not only in ages past, there are hundreds of thousands still, the world is bright with the joyous saints who love to do Jesus’ will.” The Saints be Praised, AND May I be one too. Amen.
[1] Nick Paschal, “Jurors Reveal it was Something Derek Chauvin didn’t do that Convinced Them all to Vote Guilty,” Yahoo Entertainment, October 29, 2021.
[2] Lesbia Scott, The Church Hymnal, #293, Church Pension Fund, 1985.
[3] Chris Cillizza, “This Democratic Senator is Irate at Joe Manchin,” CNN State of the Union, October 28, 2021.
[4] Quoted in unsigned op. ed., Wealth & Equity, October 28, 2021.
[5] Frederick Douglass, “What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?” Speech given to Independence Day celebration for the Rochester Ladies’ Anti-Slavery Society, July 5, 1852.
[6] Wealth & Equity, “Who are We,” https://wealthandequity.org/.
St. Francis Episcopal Mission Outreach
Rev. Dr. John C. Forney
All Saints Sunday
“In our Custody, In our Care”
Wisdom of Solomon 3:1-9; Psalm 24;
Revelation 21:1-6a; John 11:32-44
Some Fundamental Respect Needed Now
I remember driving from Ridgecrest out through the desert to our church in Randsburg, just off Highway 395.
It was not an infrequent sight to see in the distance a group of buzzards circling over what I presumed to be their lunch, As I got closer, I could see them fighting over the scraps of Br’er Rabbit, or whatever was left of some unfortunate road kill. These buzzards were a tenacious lot. It wouldn’t be until the last moment when I was about to run over the lot of them, that they would hop away or take to the air.
From time immemorial, these scavengers have been a warning to desert travelers that this forbidding terrain could be deadly to the lost and unprepared. Fatal to those who scoff at the precautions of survival. Or just the plain stupid. Yeah, what you don’t know can easily kill you out there. With temperatures of one hundred twelve and higher, one does not last long without water and shade. Besides the heat, hazards lurk under rocks. Unseen mine shafts await the unwary. That circling group of birds is your stark warning. You may end up dinner, with a few scraps left over for their breakfast in the morning.
Those circling birds are indeed a timely warning for the desert traveler. Every bit as sharp and urgent as Amos’s prophecy to the nation Israel. And now, to the nation America.
The purpose for this is exactly the same as that warning from your mother about the hot stove or the rushing traffic on a busy street. It’s the skull and cross bones on that little green bottle in the back of the kitchen cabinet. Its purpose is that you might “live long and prosper.” That you might not be removed from the gene pool at a tender young age. Or at any age.
For his nation, Amos’s warning was so that its people might keep and enjoy the freedom won by God when they had crossed the Red Sea before Pharoah’s horses and chariots. Exodus was Freedom. It would be hard to keep.
No nation can sustain itself for long when it is riddled by corruption and fraud. More on that later. Corruption has set in, so this is the law suit that God has brought against the nation of Israel. Court is called to order at the city gate, the seat of judgement. God is present to hear the case and pronounce judgement.
Here’s the opening summons:
“Seek the Lord and live, or he will break out against the house of Joseph like fire…Ah, you that turn justice to wormwood, and bring righteousness to the ground…
Now come the particulars of God’s indictment against the House of Israel:
“They hate the one who reproves in the gate, and they abhor the one who speaks the truth (read, “but we have Alternative Facts”). Therefore, because you trample on the poor and take from them levies of grain …you take a bribe, and push aside the needy in the gate.”
Finally, the summation and judgement:
“Seek good and not evil, that you may live; and so the Lord, the God of hosts, will be with you, just as you have said. Hate evil and love good, and establish justice in the gate; it may be that the Lord, the God of hosts, will be gracious to the remnant of the people.”
It may be that the Lord, the God of hosts, will be gracious to a righteous remnant – that’s the earnest and desired purpose. Blessedness and Righteousness will kiss each other in your dealings — that’s the intent.
The purpose of it all is an amendment of one’s ways. Repent, which simply means to turn around and head in a new direction – a saving direction, the direction of national solidarity and wholeness.
God doesn’t want that we should feel sad or guilty; the purpose here is that we should thrive. It is that the nation should be a realm of justice and equity so that we dwell in peace with one another, and the sojourner who also lives in the land.
This is a warning about the path you are on which is leading to ruin and destruction.
Apart from God’s corrective word, our hearts are idol factories. How quickly we lose the purpose of it all. The prophets, running all the way from Moses to Zechariah to Jesus and to Dr. Martin Luther King are the corrective to our self-serving, destructive rationalizations.
Under the category of self-serving revelations: Jai came across televangelist Kenneth Copeland, who told his congregation that airline vaccine mandates were “the mark of the Beast,” and another reason why they should buy him a private Jet.
No, pastor. God doesn’t want you to have a jet and lots of bling. God wants you to be a decent human being and faithful to the gospel you pledged allegiance to upon your ordination. God wants you to be an upright citizen in the land.
Perhaps a more contemporary warning and revelation has come from one of our conservative columnists, Robert Kagen — not an alarmist, but a deeply ethical foreign policy analyst who served in the U.S. State Department in the 80’s.
He sounds a warning to us Americans that our democracy is on the brink. “The United States is heading into its greatest political and constitutional crisis since the Civil War, with a reasonable chance of over the next three to four years on incidents of mass violence, a breakdown of federal authority, and the division of the country into warring red and blue enclaves”
The warning signs are obscured by the theatrics of Trump and his supporters, the January 6th insurrection, the pandemic, the economic malaise and flat-out “wishful thinking.” But the evidence is right out in the open. In front of God and everyone.
Bogus charges of election fraud only serve to diminish our faith in constitutional order. Even in California, one of the leading candidates to replace Governor Gavin Newsom in our recent recall election, began claiming that the election was rigged before a single vote was in.
Election laws are being perpetrated across over a dozen states that would limit the franchise, reinforce gerrymandered districts and permit legislatures in Red states to overturn the results of any election they don’t like. No matter what a secretary of state has certified. “We just don’t like your electors. Take ours!”
A local, John Eastman, a product of our very own Claremont McKenna College…that’s right, our own home-grown, a Claremont educated seditionist, provided Trump with the road map necessary to overturn the 2020 election.[1]
This is how it was to work. I know, it’s “in the weeds.” But this is how democracies die.
Trump gets enough states like Arizona and others to have their Republican legislators submit alternative slates of electors – alternative to those previously certified by their secretaries of state. All V.P. Pence needed to do was to void both slates of electors from those states, then declare that because were not enough valid electors for either candidate, and throw election into the House of Representatives. There the number of small, sparsely populated red states would overwhelm the rest, and then declare Trump re-elected. Warm up the Marine Corps Band for one more chorus of “Hail to the Chief.”
More realistic and far more dangerous than the delusional fantasies of Mr. Pillow Guy. This week I came across the headline from Salon, the internet magazine: “Mike Lindell’s new genius plan: Knock on your door and ask whether you’re dead. The pillow maven’s last-ditch effort centers around sending out canvassers to neighborhoods across the nation.”[2]
Maybe on Halloween such a canvasser might get a “yes” to that inquiry.
When fraud and lies and fantasy prevail, no nation can long endure. “Stop the Steal” and insurrection are dead ends for the promise of America.
Kagan, in preface to his essay quotes James Madison, author of much of our Constitution: “Is there no virtue among us? If there be not, we are in a wretched situation.”
Whether it be bribery, theft, cronyism, nepotism, or just plain idiocy…a nation governed on such a foundation cannot long endure. That was the judgment of the prophets. That was the judgement of earliest Americans who founded the Iroquois Confederacy, and those who met at Independence Hall in 1776. That is the lesson of all nations down through history.
What can we then do? We are not helpless. We have a sacred right and responsibility. We the moral obligation of agency as citizens in this republic. An obligation that goes far beyond simply voting every two or four years.
Become informed and involved. Yeah, newspapers are sometimes boring. Books are long and definitely more difficult than Facebook or Snapchat. If we want our children and grandchildren to have a chance at a decent life in a free society, it will take a bit of effort. Actually, a lot of effort.
This is not the of heroics as storming the beaches of Normandy or conducting undercover operations behind enemy lines. Won’t get you a Presidential Medal of Freedom or your name on that marble wall at the CIA headquarters. But it just might help us keep our democracy.
To raise these issues might be unpopular in some circles. But all it takes for tyranny to overtake us is for good men and women to say nothing, do nothing. Just keep quiet.
It maybe it is you who is appointed as the Paul Revere of this moment. You may be the one to trip the alarm. Wake us up to the fire on our doorstep. Or just urge your neighbor to vote.
Everyday in our morning news, faithful reporters and newscasters inform us of the rot in the Ship of State. The timbers are compromised. Wood borers have eaten through much of the structure. The sails mildew. The malnourished crew is exhausted. The ship is adrift. David Brooks, Robert Kagin and others are sounding the alarm. Just as Amos did for his nation.
DO NOT DESPAIR. Warnings are given that we might right the ship before it’s swamped. Before malefactors have scuttled it.
Warnings are given that all might enjoy “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” Their aim is that we all might live in peace, each secure in their own home, under their own fig tree.
Choose the better way and prosper. To flourish is the will of God, in harmony with all others and all living things on this “earth, our island home.”
“Seek good and not evil, that you may live…”
There are critical steps we can take now to preserve the inheritance of this land. Before it looks like Putin’s Russia, Kim Jong-un’s North Korea.
Push for the inclusion of all. Conservative and former Republican, David Brooks, a guiding light on the communal ethic necessary for our survival as a democracy, now urges not 3.5 trillion, but — GET THIS – 4 TRILLION in the Build Back Better legislation presently mired in congressional deadlock. This from our conservative friend! Why?
Like Amos and the 8th century Prophets, David Brooks knows that no country, no economy is sustainable if over half the people are left out. Left in hopeless destitution. And that’s how they feel. Jessie Jackson is right in his summons, “Keep HOPE alive.”
These people need a real champion, not a fraud who mainly cares only about himself and is too busy with mass rallies of adulation. That was Mussolini and Papa Doc in Haiti. That’s the old “bread and circuses” ploy of dictators.
“Seek good and not evil, that you may live…” That’s active citizenship.
Do your bit to help on election day. I never had so much satisfaction as when driving those without transportation to the polls. Join a service club. Subscribe to a local paper. Support a philanthropic organization. Maybe all you can do is send in a few dollars a month to a charity. Remember, it’s not just you. The money of us all adds up. Support your local school board. Many board members and teachers are presently under vicious attack.
You have opportunities at your disposal Amos did not have. This is how we create the beloved community. These are the building blocks of the New Jerusalem, the New San Bernardino, the New Highland, the New Claremont, the New West Virginia.
Truth is the cornerstone. Love is the password. Open are the city’s Gates of Justice. It is all meant to be glorious in the Lord’s sight.
None of this work is glamorous. Face it, meetings can be flat-out boring. But this IS the work of DEMOCRACY. It’s what you signed up for when you first put your hand over your heart in the third grade and learned the Pledge of Allegiance. It’s what you signed up for when you were first allowed to hold your very own sparkler on a magical Fourth of July night. It’s what you signed up for when you entered the voting booth that first time.
“Seek good and not evil, that you may live…” Amen.
[1] https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/21066248-eastman-memo.
[2] Zachary Petrizzo, “Mike Lindell’s Genius Plan: Knock On Your Door and Ask Whether You’re Dead,” Salon, October 5, 2021.
St. Francis Episcopal Mission Outreach
Rev. Dr. John C. Forney
Pentecost 19, October 10, 2021
Proper 23
“Some Fundamental Respect Needed Now”
Amos 5:6-7, 10-15; Psalm 90:12-17;
Hebrews 4:12-16; Mark 10:17-31
