Thoughts on Haiti -- A Sermon (January 17, 2010)

NY Times Op-Ed Columnist, David Brooks, begins last Thursday’s opinion column with these words: “On Oct. 17, 1989, a major earthquake with a magnitude of 7.0 struck the Bay Area in Northern California. Sixty-three people were killed. This week, a major earthquake, also measuring a magnitude of 7.0, struck near Port-au-Prince, Haiti. The Red Cross estimates that between 45,000 and 50,000 people have died.” (Red Cross figures now go as high as 150,000 people.) Brooks rightly opines, “This is not a natural disaster story. This is a poverty story.”

Also featured in the news this past week was the well-known televangelist, Pat Robertson, whose comments ignited a firestorm of media attention in their implication that the cause of this natural disaster lies in a pact that the people of Haiti had made with Satan in an obscure Voodoo ritual that allegedly took place in the late 18th century in order to overthrow French rule.

My first reaction to Robertson’s remarks were anger and the desire to publicly dissociate myself from his remarks and from everything he stands for, including his version of the Christian faith. On more sober reflection (though I am no more in agreement with him now than I was at first), I can well understand his need to find some kind of theological explanation or moral rationale for this tragic disaster, for it is conundrum that all people of faith share.

Disasters of such magnitude inevitably cause crises of faith. Yet we all know it doesn't take a natural disaster to cause a crisis of faith. Any spouse who has lost a lifelong mate, any parent who has lost a child, or any child who has lost a parent -- perhaps in a car accident or to an incurable disease -- has faced the question, “Why did God allow this to happen?” If God is both ALL-POWERFUL and ALL-LOVING, then how could he allow his people to suffer so?

This dilemma has led some to suggest that our assumptions of God are simply mistaken. Perhaps God is not both all-powerful and all-loving. Perhaps he is just one or the other, but not both. Take, for instance, Harold Kushner, the popular rabbi and author of the book When Bad Things Happen to Good People. Kushner certainly errs on the side of God’s all-loving nature when he suggests that God cannot prevent bad things from happening, though God’s love is nonetheless always present to give us strength when they do. On the other side of the spectrum, some extreme forms of Calvinism would hold that God is not all-loving, i.e., that God loves only the Elect. This is a rather tidy explanation until disaster suddenly falls upon the Elect (like Job in the OT) with no apparent reason.

For many people of faith the fallback explanation is to find a moral or ethical root cause, because someone or something simply has to be at fault in order to vindicate the justice of God. So if we cannot point to personal sin, we must invoke the doctrine of original sin, or (according to Robertson) see as the cause an ill-advised pact with Satan. Priests, ministers and pastoral caregivers face this dilemma all the time. Crises of faith within the flock become crises of faith for the shepherds of the flock. Multiply that by the number of people under one’s care, and it is easy to understand why some prominent religious leaders like Pat Robertson resort to ready-made ethical cause-and-effect explanations.

But there are no ready-made answers. If you came to church today seeking such an answer then you will no doubt leave disappointed. I can only hope to put some things into perspective for you. So I leave you with two observations.

First, natural disasters happen. There is no ethical cause-and-effect mechanism for natural disasters. Earthquakes occur where they do, not because the people who live in those locations sin or because those nations are more evil than other nations; but rather because the tectonic plates that make up the earth’s crust shift from time to time.

We would do well to recall the perspective of Jesus. His remarks in Luke 13:1-5 come readily to mind: “Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish. Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them do you think they were more guilty than ...all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish.”

It does not take a rocket scientist to realize that if one builds a house or a city on a fault line there will likely be consequences. This is the nature of the world that God created. How quick we are to rejoice in the splendor and beauty of God's creation when it cooperates with our plans and movements! But when we happen to be in the way of the physical realm acting according to its nature, how quick we are to blame God! We simply can't have it both ways.

Second, all human tragedies have a moral or ethical component, even those which involve natural disasters. (No, I’m not contradicting what I said earlier.) That’s why Brooks’ Op-Ed piece comes closest, in my opinion, to giving us a theological rationale for the disaster in Haiti, and he was writing from a political perspective! What makes this disaster the epic human tragedy that it is are the poverty and human exploitation, and the systemic evil that existed in Haiti before the disaster ever occurred, and will certainly exist, if not increase, in its aftermath. But these evils are pervasive. They are not limited to Haiti, though certainly they have taken root in a most pernicious and highly successful manner on this tiny island nation. That's why this disaster is truly global in both its scope and effects.

Indeed, Pat Robertson is correct about one thing: Satan and his minions (if we are prone to personify evil in this manner) are very active in this world. But neither Satan nor his demons can move tectonic plates. As the primordial story of the Fall tells us, the main weapon in the Serpent’s arsenal is deception. And Haiti is filled with generation upon generation of deception -- cultural, political, and spiritual. The spiritual darkness that shrouds that tiny island nation is but a microcosm of the darkness that affects the whole world, though perhaps in varying degrees; and the Gospel of Light is the only hope of dispelling the darkness.

The question is, what can we do as the Body of Christ to stem the tide of deception, to dispel the darkness, and to preach the gospel of liberation to a world that desperately needs the light of Christ?

"Wearing Our Dirt" - A sermon preached on the Sunday of the Baptism of Our Lord (January 10, 2010)

OT: Isaiah 43:1-7
PSALM: Psalm 29
NT: Acts 8:14-17
GOSPEL: Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

The baptism of Jesus by John is the subject of some of the earliest Christian art. It is found in early third century fresco paintings in the Roman catacombs as well as being the subject of great mosaics found in the baptisteries of the imperial age church. All of the elements of the story of Jesus’ baptism from the Gospels are portrayed in these works of art, including Jesus standing in the Jordan River, John the Baptist (dressed in camel hair) pouring water upon his head, and the Holy Spirit descending upon Jesus as a Dove. Assumed, if not somewhere written, are the words from heaven: “You are my Son…with whom I am well pleased.”

The reason for these works of art is obvious: the early Christian saw Jesus’ baptism as a picture of their own. Jesus’ baptism gives meaning to the baptism that Christians receive. What happened to Jesus at his baptism happens to us in our baptism. Like Jesus, we too receive the Holy Spirit in baptism; and as Jesus was proclaimed the “Son of God” at his baptism, we receive our adoption as children of God. There’s a beautiful symmetry here. But there’s also a theological conundrum, because Jesus received John’s baptism, not “Christian baptism” per se (in the sacramental sense).

John himself testified that he merely “baptized with water.” His baptism was a ritual washing of repentance, signifying the washing away of sins and a return of the people to their covenant relationship with God. Luke’s account portrays those who came to John as a people “filled with expectation” and “questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah” (Luke 3:15). But John could only give them water and the promise of forgiveness and a restoration still to come. He could not give them what he too sought: “I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming…He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” (v. 16).

And yet, no sooner does Luke record these words than we see Jesus, the One who baptizes with the Holy Spirit, rather nonchalantly submitting to John’s baptism (cf. v. 21). Absent from Luke’s account is any protest and questioning from John. But nonetheless the question is implicit: why would Jesus submit to John’s baptism? Is this not the Son of God who “lived as one of us, yet without sin,” (as our Eucharistic Prayer D expresses it)? This is the Savior, Christ the Lord, who takes the burden of our sins into his own sinless life, and puts them to death when he himself dies on the Cross. Surely Jesus did not need a baptism of repentance to mark the beginning of his adult public life and ministry. He did not need to be reconciled or brought back into a covenant relationship with God. So what is going on here? Of course, theologians down through the ages have pondered this question and offered up complex theological rationales. But there is perhaps no better explanation (that I have found) than a story once told to me by my Great-Aunt Helen.

Aunt Helen was the sister of my paternal grandmother, the oldest of six children. She had more impact on my faith as a child than anyone else in my life, and could she tell a story! Her father (my great-grandfather) was a chicken farmer in Delaware. Life was hard at the turn of the century. As Aunt Helen would say, “In those days, the only thing there was ‘plenty of’ was dirt.” And since her family did not have indoor plumbing (let alone a hot water heater) you can imagine that bathing – something we take for granted – was quite a chore. Once a week, each Saturday night, the family would fill a large washtub in the kitchen with hot water from kettles, and each person in the family (a family of eight mind you) would in turn take a bath in that tub. My great-grandmother would be the first to bathe, since “going first” was one of the only luxuries she had in life. Then each child would have his or her turn, the oldest children first washing the babies, and then going in the order of “cleanest to dirtiest” (the rule in the family being that the dirtiest child went last). Aunt Helen would laugh as she described how often she fought with my grandmother over which of them was dirtier. By the time the children were finished, the water was usually the color of coffee.

Yet there was still another person that needed a bath: my great-grandfather, who would come in from the fields after everyone else had bathed. Except for an additional kettle of hot water used to replenish the tub, he stepped into that same coffee-colored water, the water that everyone else had bathed in. Then, after his bath, he would put on his only white shirt, the shirt he wore to church. As Aunt Helen described it, “Over time that shirt looked more gray than white.” Since she was responsible to wash that shirt each week, she was embarrassed by its appearance, especially when her father sat next to the other deacons in their Baptist Church. She began to resent that shirt, and to resent her father for being so poor. She was angry at her circumstances. But then, one Sunday, while sitting behind her father in church, she suddenly realized to her own shame the reason that shirt had become so dingy gray over time: “He was wearing OUR DIRT.”

Is this not what we see in Jesus? What is the significance of his submitting to the baptism of John if not a willingness to stand in complete solidarity with us? – A willingness to put on and to wear OUR DIRT?

In everything that Jesus does, we see God at work, showing us how intimately God relates to human beings, yet without sin. Jesus did not need baptism because he was not a sinner. However, we do. We need to be cleansed by God, refined by the Holy Spirit. And because we need that cleansing, Jesus stands in solidarity with us – enters our condition, puts on our dirt, in order that the mere sign of outward cleansing (water) can become the instrument and means by which we receive the true spiritual cleansing (by the Holy Spirit).

In his baptism we see Jesus entering our condition, just as he was born into this world, and just as he would hang on the Cross of his death. In this way God in Christ identifies himself with us in every aspect of our existence – birth, life and death – in complete solidarity with us. This is why Jesus is called “Emmanuel” (“God-with-us”). God is with us, and God is for us, even in the depths of our sin as he meets us where we are in our deepest need for reconciliation.

Reflections on the Star of Bethlehem - A sermon preached on the Feast of the Epiphany (January 6, 2010)

OT Lesson: Isaiah 60:1-6
Psalm: 72:1-7, 10-14
Epistle: Ephesians 3:1-12
Gospel: Matthew 2:1-12

One of my favorite Television sit-coms of late is The Big Bang Theory, which airs on CBS. The show is about two male Caltech prodigies in their 20s, Leonard and Sheldon. Leonard is an experimental physicist with an IQ of 173, and Sheldon is a theoretical physicist with an IQ of 187. They live across the hall from an attractive blond waitress, named Penny, who predictably enough happens to have show-biz aspirations. Leonard and Sheldon’s ‘geekiness’ and sheer intellect are contrasted with Penny's social skills and common sense. In the very first episode, after they’ve made their introductions, Penny tells Leonard and Sheldon: “I'm a Sagittarius, which probably tells you way more than you need to know.” To which Sheldon responds: “Yes, it tells us that you participate in the mass cultural delusion that the sun's apparent position relative to arbitrarily defined constellations at the time of your birth somehow affects your personality.”

The Star of Bethlehem, about which we read in our Gospel lesson this evening, continues to baffle both believer and skeptic alike, particularly those who search the ancient records for some indication of an astronomical phenomenon that may have occurred at or around the time of Christ’s birth. Part of the problem is that we don’t really know the year of Christ’s birth, let alone the month or the day. So when the records tell of a supernova or a comet, rather than solving the issue, these records tend to cause more controversy than not. The fact of the matter is that we simply cannot identify what the Star of Bethlehem was to be able to pinpoint the time of Christ’s birth, nor do we know the time of Christ’s birth with enough precision to be able to identify an event or astronomical phenomenon as "the Star of Bethlehem."

That being said, the story of the Star of Bethlehem continues to inspire research down to our very day. In recent times researchers have employed computer models to track down this star based on what we know about Near Eastern astrology (particularly Persian or Zoroastrian understandings). Now, mind you, we don’t really know all that much about ancient astrology, but what we do know is enlightening. The result of this kind of research is that more recent theories tend to be much less extraordinary and luminary than the traditional bright star that we often see perched above the little town of Bethlehem on Christmas cards. The recent trends suggest that the Star of Bethlehem was a quite natural event – e.g. the conjunction of planets with other planets or with important stars, and/or the alignment of planets within certain constellations. These are the kind of “natural” or “ordinary” events that ancient astrologers understood as telling stories of real events here on earth or perceived as omens or as foreshadowing certain events that would take place (much like pop-astrology does today, though today’s astrologers do so with more personal pretense and individual application and much less political pretense and national application).

As such, the planet Jupiter is often a prime suspect for the “Star of David,” particularly as it is the fourth brightest object in the sky (after the sun, moon, and planet Venus). One theory I recently read about, based on computer models, speculates that the conjunction of Jupiter with the star Regulus around the year 3 BC, along with its traverse through the constellation Leo “the Lion” (which often represented the tribe of Judah in ancient times), may have been read by our watchful Magi (a term synonymous with “astrologers”) as indicating an important event – the birth of the “King of the Jews.”

As most people know, the night sky’s constellations are fixed and predictable, as is the sun’s course in the seasons and the phases of the moon. But planets are another matter altogether. Planets tend to “wander,” which is precisely why they are called “planets” (planetes in Greek means “wanderer”). Given that all planets, including the earth, revolve around the sun at different speeds and in different orbits, and given the slant of the earth’s own axis, predicting where any given planet is going to be in the sky at any given time is a tad trickier than predicting the apparent position of the constellations, and sometimes full of surprises as planets tend to wobble on their own axes as well. But the most intriguing thing about planets is that, relative to the earth’s own revolution around the sun, sometimes planets appear to stop in the sky and then to reverse their course – an optical illusion on an astronomical level (but one that was sure to get the attention of ancient astrologers when it happened). And “where” such an event happened, relative to other heavenly bodies (not to mention relative to places on the earth), was seen in the ancient world as significant.

Now certainly educated people of our day will tend to share the views of Sheldon, the Caltech physicist that I told you about earlier. The movement of planets and constellations relative to other planets and stars still is of interest to many an amateur astronomer, but we don’t take such things seriously anymore. The apparent position of plants and the identification of constellations are arbitrary things.

OR ARE THEY? With all of our advances in modern science and technology, could we perhaps have “outsmarted” ourselves?

If there is a lesson here in this Gospel for educated moderns it is that ultimately NOTHING is arbitrary in the will and providence of God. St. Paul tells us in Galatians 4 that “in the fullness of time God brought forth his Son, born of a woman.” The story of our Gospel tells us that every last detail in all of God’s creation was prepared for this precise moment, for this very time and event: the moment that God’s Son entered into this world. Even those objects which we now know to be hundreds, perhaps thousands of light years away from our own small planet, were carefully choreographed by God to perform an elegant cosmic dance in the sky to proclaim the birth of the King of kings and Lord of lords. Our Gospel also tells us that God prepares people, nations and even kings to receive him. These ancient astrologers may seem backward or even naïve to us moderns. But were they really? The fact that they invested their time and money, at great personal sacrifice no doubt, to go on this “fool’s errand” into another country to search for this particular child at this particular time, tells us that they had some distinct advantages over the typical modern person: they were attuned to God’s created order, knowledgeable of its patterns, sensitized to its cosmic resonance, and perfectly comfortable with the notion that the Almighty Creator of the world is intimately involved in all aspects of nature.

I often wonder as our knowledge has increased whether our sense of the divine in the universe has diminished; whether our view of God has become too small. Perhaps people have a hard time believing in God because the God that is presented to them is no better than a magician doing the occasional hat trick. But the God of our Gospel is not the “Great magician” in the sky. He controls all things, even the stars in their courses relative to events here on earth. That is a much grander view of God; and a much more terrifying one. But this view of God must be balanced by the deeds of this God, and his love shown forth to us and to all humankind, in the birth of his Son, Jesus Christ. Once seen in this light, we can see that true greatness – the greatness of God – is not to sought after in marvelous signs or flashy events, but rather in the subtle, gentle, unassuming witness of his constant care for creation, his call of people from every tribe and nation, and his sacrificial love for all of us in the person of his Son.