"There is something deeply hypocritical about praying for a problem you are unwilling to resolve" (Miroslav Volf).
Another round of mass shooting over the past twenty-four hours: First in El Paso, Texas, then in Dayton, Ohio. I feel safe -- and deeply saddened -- to say that more will occur. FBI statistics tell us that we've had two such mass shootings every month in 2019*. There appears to be a collective anmesia about American society that cannot look to its history (the 1919 Red Summer comes immediately to mind) or honestly into the mirror (to see the violent rhetoric and dog-whistling that spews from the mouths of politicians -- on the Left and on the Right). Americans are good at worshipping at the altar of Mars (the god of violence and war) and offering our prayers and praises there (thinking that a good guy with a gun is the only way to stop a bad guy with a gun).
To the rest of the world, this situation looks insane. So folks will wonder: What kind of mental illness did these shooters have? No one would put up with this level of violence if there were something we could do about it, folks lament. ("But we can't because, well, the second amendment.") America, it seems to me, is accepting home the pigeons it sent out so long ago, and the roosting is a higher price to pay than we'd thought it'd be.
The power of those pigeons has proven quite powerful, indeed. We value our "rights" as Americans. Good and well. But what happens when those rights have turned toxic? What happens when it's no longer safe for children to go to school, for families to go to church, for those who want to have a good time with friends to go to the concert, a festival, a club? What happens when it's not safe to go shopping at Walmart? (What could be more American than our conspicuous consumptive right to shop?!?)
Why can't we Christians agree that it's time -- at least in the Christian community -- to lay down those rights? Could it be that what I've said for 25 years is really true: That Christians in America are more American than they are Christian? We follow a Lord who did exactly that, laying aside his privileges for the sake of those who needed him (Philippians 2.5-11). What's our deal?
We Christians bear a responsibility to those in need and the vulnerable around us. White, brown or black. Countries of origin or skin color be damned. That's the Golden Thread that runs through the gospel of Luke and the Acts of the Apostles. But it's an idea woven much more deeply into the fabric of Scripture. From the establishment of the Sabbath through the fierce denunciations of the prophets to the merciful love of Christ to the poor and needy. The Christian responsibility is to protect and cause no harm. The number of times that's done by a private citizen with a gun is vanishingly small when compared to yesterday. When freedom becomes the excuse you give to do a wrong against another, it's corrupted freedom (Galatians 5.13).
Rights, responsibilities, citizenship: They all come down to one question. Who do Christians serve?
I've quoted the Miroslav Volf quote today on Facebook. And someone pushed back in a private message: What, then, are we supposed to do?
Fine, okay, let me be a bit more clear than Dr Volf, then.
1. When you wake up this morning, and the news assaults your eyes and ears, you're going to be overwhelmed.
For minutes, hours and perhaps even days. The enormity of what has occurred in the past 24 hour news cycle -- the scope, severity and vividness of the loss. And you're going to wonder what you can actually do. That feeling is what psychologists call empathy and it's essential to our humanity. When you don't have it -- that's when you worry. (Look into the eyes of these shooters and see what I mean.) The moral courage necessary to risk that empathy is what makes us human.
2. Every human being you know -- regardless their religious affiliation -- is going to want to do something.
Reaching out to a personal reality beyond themselves, with grief, groaning and petition for relief. Even those far from the church will find themselves, almost involuntarily, addressing God in these moments. This is, in a way, another and perhaps higher form of empathy. It reflects our instinct that our own experience of personhood, identification and love must ultimately reflect something -- or I'd go so far as to say Someone -- fundamental to the cosmos who is personal, who has identified with us, and who responds to us and all the world with love.**
3. Unless you live in Dayton or El Paso, this feeling of needing to do something is going to be hard to manifest. We call it "thoughts and prayers", but what we're really struggling for is a language to identify what we humans do in the face of such horror.
This is where I go from preachin' to meddlin'. If you live in El Paso or Dayton, check with your local Emergency Management director; they'll have specific directions. If you don't, check with your community leaders. They'll know those thin social places where work needs to be done to bring reconciliation and healing in your own community. That's the best Christian spiritual wisdom out there, in my opinion: All love is incarnational love. It takes flesh and bones and blood to make real.
4. It's unrealistic, and arguably cruel, to ask for fresh words in the moment that we are confronted with suffering and loss, let alone horror and evil.
Every human being, in these moments, falls back on liturgies -- patterns of language and behavior learned long before that get us through the worst moments in our lives. There's no need to come up with a new thought or new words when you stand in the receiving line at a funeral home; it's entirely fine to say, "I'm so sorry for your loss", even though the family will have heard those words a hundred times before. What matters is not your words, which cannot possibly rise to the demands of the occasion, but your presence and your empathy. Again, think Jesus taking flesh and blood in that moment. Where these people really are.
5. It's going to be maddening for me to say this: But politicians are humans, too.
There's been quite a bit of lashing out at certain politicians on Facebook this morning. And while there's certainly a time and place to hold folks accountable, this morning isn't it.
No matter a particular politician's position about a controversial issue (you know, like gun control), it really shouldn't come as a surprise when they use the same stock words and phrases the rest of us do in the face of tragedy. Speechwriters will take days to come up with the language necessary to encapsulate what we think and feel and how we respond. Words are sometimes just too thin. No human being, even the most articulate, can offer adequate words in the first moments after terrible news. To demonstrate that level of rhetorical fluency would in fact be to demonstrate an inhuman lack of empathy. Inarticulacy is the proper, empathic immediate response to tragedy. Ask Job.
6. To offer a prayer in these moments is anything but an effort to "fix" something.
Except maybe in those most flattened versions of Christian faith where God is in charge of everything, and therefore ultimately responsible for everything. But that's just silly, especially for pastors -- who regularly walk the halls of cancer wards.
7. Maybe what we Christians should do is recapture the language of "lament".
Those are the most appropriate kinds of prayers today. Call out in anguish to God, asking why the wicked prosper and the righteous suffer. Lament confronts God with his seeming inaction and distance. This is a profound response of faith. Far from being unchristian, it's actually the prayer offered by Jesus himself on the Cross: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
8. And confront the reality at the heart of the mystery of the cross: God's patience.
No honest accounting of history can deny that God, if there is a God, is terrifyingly patient with evil. Read 2 Peter. And yet, over and over, astonishing goodness, holiness and reconciliation have emerged from even the most heinous acts of violence. When Jesus himself voiced the psalms of lament and the anguish of every victim of torture and terror, Christians believe God was at work reconciling the world to himself, and that three long days later God demonstrated his power to bring life out of death. So even when human beings have done their worst, it's not too late to pray for redemption and healing.
9. If you're asking for action without prayer, you're calling for a faithless, unchristian response.
We pray because we identify with the sufferings of those who suffer. At the same time, the Bible makes it clear that God despises acts of outward piety or sentimentality that are not matched with action on behalf of justice. The harshest words of Jesus recorded in the Gospels are directed at public leaders who pray extravagantly and publicly but neglect "the more important matters of the law -- justice, mercy and faithfulness" (Matthew 23.23).
To insist that people should act instead of pray, or that we should act without praying, is idolatry, substituting the creature for the Creator (Romans 1-3). It insinuates that goodness can be known, possessed, or done apart from relationship with the only One who is truly good. While our neighbors who don't share our faith will not agree, for people with biblical faith this prideful declaration of independence is idolatry, the original sin of humanity and the ultimate source of the evil in the world and in our own hearts.
10. Therefore, for the victims in El Paso and Dayton, and all those caught up in the cycle of violence at the heart of American society these days, we pray.
_____________________
* The FBI uses the following criteria: 4+ shot and killed in one incident, excluding the perpetrator(s), at one location, at roughly the same time. That's 17 mass shootings in 2019 alone. In other words, one mass shooting every 12.7 days.
** Read Martin Buber's I and Thou if you want to see how this works out in not-so-obviously-religious terms.
Another round of mass shooting over the past twenty-four hours: First in El Paso, Texas, then in Dayton, Ohio. I feel safe -- and deeply saddened -- to say that more will occur. FBI statistics tell us that we've had two such mass shootings every month in 2019*. There appears to be a collective anmesia about American society that cannot look to its history (the 1919 Red Summer comes immediately to mind) or honestly into the mirror (to see the violent rhetoric and dog-whistling that spews from the mouths of politicians -- on the Left and on the Right). Americans are good at worshipping at the altar of Mars (the god of violence and war) and offering our prayers and praises there (thinking that a good guy with a gun is the only way to stop a bad guy with a gun).
To the rest of the world, this situation looks insane. So folks will wonder: What kind of mental illness did these shooters have? No one would put up with this level of violence if there were something we could do about it, folks lament. ("But we can't because, well, the second amendment.") America, it seems to me, is accepting home the pigeons it sent out so long ago, and the roosting is a higher price to pay than we'd thought it'd be.
The power of those pigeons has proven quite powerful, indeed. We value our "rights" as Americans. Good and well. But what happens when those rights have turned toxic? What happens when it's no longer safe for children to go to school, for families to go to church, for those who want to have a good time with friends to go to the concert, a festival, a club? What happens when it's not safe to go shopping at Walmart? (What could be more American than our conspicuous consumptive right to shop?!?)
Why can't we Christians agree that it's time -- at least in the Christian community -- to lay down those rights? Could it be that what I've said for 25 years is really true: That Christians in America are more American than they are Christian? We follow a Lord who did exactly that, laying aside his privileges for the sake of those who needed him (Philippians 2.5-11). What's our deal?
We Christians bear a responsibility to those in need and the vulnerable around us. White, brown or black. Countries of origin or skin color be damned. That's the Golden Thread that runs through the gospel of Luke and the Acts of the Apostles. But it's an idea woven much more deeply into the fabric of Scripture. From the establishment of the Sabbath through the fierce denunciations of the prophets to the merciful love of Christ to the poor and needy. The Christian responsibility is to protect and cause no harm. The number of times that's done by a private citizen with a gun is vanishingly small when compared to yesterday. When freedom becomes the excuse you give to do a wrong against another, it's corrupted freedom (Galatians 5.13).
Rights, responsibilities, citizenship: They all come down to one question. Who do Christians serve?
I've quoted the Miroslav Volf quote today on Facebook. And someone pushed back in a private message: What, then, are we supposed to do?
Fine, okay, let me be a bit more clear than Dr Volf, then.
1. When you wake up this morning, and the news assaults your eyes and ears, you're going to be overwhelmed.
For minutes, hours and perhaps even days. The enormity of what has occurred in the past 24 hour news cycle -- the scope, severity and vividness of the loss. And you're going to wonder what you can actually do. That feeling is what psychologists call empathy and it's essential to our humanity. When you don't have it -- that's when you worry. (Look into the eyes of these shooters and see what I mean.) The moral courage necessary to risk that empathy is what makes us human.
2. Every human being you know -- regardless their religious affiliation -- is going to want to do something.
Reaching out to a personal reality beyond themselves, with grief, groaning and petition for relief. Even those far from the church will find themselves, almost involuntarily, addressing God in these moments. This is, in a way, another and perhaps higher form of empathy. It reflects our instinct that our own experience of personhood, identification and love must ultimately reflect something -- or I'd go so far as to say Someone -- fundamental to the cosmos who is personal, who has identified with us, and who responds to us and all the world with love.**
3. Unless you live in Dayton or El Paso, this feeling of needing to do something is going to be hard to manifest. We call it "thoughts and prayers", but what we're really struggling for is a language to identify what we humans do in the face of such horror.
This is where I go from preachin' to meddlin'. If you live in El Paso or Dayton, check with your local Emergency Management director; they'll have specific directions. If you don't, check with your community leaders. They'll know those thin social places where work needs to be done to bring reconciliation and healing in your own community. That's the best Christian spiritual wisdom out there, in my opinion: All love is incarnational love. It takes flesh and bones and blood to make real.
4. It's unrealistic, and arguably cruel, to ask for fresh words in the moment that we are confronted with suffering and loss, let alone horror and evil.
Every human being, in these moments, falls back on liturgies -- patterns of language and behavior learned long before that get us through the worst moments in our lives. There's no need to come up with a new thought or new words when you stand in the receiving line at a funeral home; it's entirely fine to say, "I'm so sorry for your loss", even though the family will have heard those words a hundred times before. What matters is not your words, which cannot possibly rise to the demands of the occasion, but your presence and your empathy. Again, think Jesus taking flesh and blood in that moment. Where these people really are.
5. It's going to be maddening for me to say this: But politicians are humans, too.
There's been quite a bit of lashing out at certain politicians on Facebook this morning. And while there's certainly a time and place to hold folks accountable, this morning isn't it.
No matter a particular politician's position about a controversial issue (you know, like gun control), it really shouldn't come as a surprise when they use the same stock words and phrases the rest of us do in the face of tragedy. Speechwriters will take days to come up with the language necessary to encapsulate what we think and feel and how we respond. Words are sometimes just too thin. No human being, even the most articulate, can offer adequate words in the first moments after terrible news. To demonstrate that level of rhetorical fluency would in fact be to demonstrate an inhuman lack of empathy. Inarticulacy is the proper, empathic immediate response to tragedy. Ask Job.
6. To offer a prayer in these moments is anything but an effort to "fix" something.
Except maybe in those most flattened versions of Christian faith where God is in charge of everything, and therefore ultimately responsible for everything. But that's just silly, especially for pastors -- who regularly walk the halls of cancer wards.
7. Maybe what we Christians should do is recapture the language of "lament".
Those are the most appropriate kinds of prayers today. Call out in anguish to God, asking why the wicked prosper and the righteous suffer. Lament confronts God with his seeming inaction and distance. This is a profound response of faith. Far from being unchristian, it's actually the prayer offered by Jesus himself on the Cross: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
8. And confront the reality at the heart of the mystery of the cross: God's patience.
No honest accounting of history can deny that God, if there is a God, is terrifyingly patient with evil. Read 2 Peter. And yet, over and over, astonishing goodness, holiness and reconciliation have emerged from even the most heinous acts of violence. When Jesus himself voiced the psalms of lament and the anguish of every victim of torture and terror, Christians believe God was at work reconciling the world to himself, and that three long days later God demonstrated his power to bring life out of death. So even when human beings have done their worst, it's not too late to pray for redemption and healing.
9. If you're asking for action without prayer, you're calling for a faithless, unchristian response.
We pray because we identify with the sufferings of those who suffer. At the same time, the Bible makes it clear that God despises acts of outward piety or sentimentality that are not matched with action on behalf of justice. The harshest words of Jesus recorded in the Gospels are directed at public leaders who pray extravagantly and publicly but neglect "the more important matters of the law -- justice, mercy and faithfulness" (Matthew 23.23).
To insist that people should act instead of pray, or that we should act without praying, is idolatry, substituting the creature for the Creator (Romans 1-3). It insinuates that goodness can be known, possessed, or done apart from relationship with the only One who is truly good. While our neighbors who don't share our faith will not agree, for people with biblical faith this prideful declaration of independence is idolatry, the original sin of humanity and the ultimate source of the evil in the world and in our own hearts.
10. Therefore, for the victims in El Paso and Dayton, and all those caught up in the cycle of violence at the heart of American society these days, we pray.
_____________________
* The FBI uses the following criteria: 4+ shot and killed in one incident, excluding the perpetrator(s), at one location, at roughly the same time. That's 17 mass shootings in 2019 alone. In other words, one mass shooting every 12.7 days.
** Read Martin Buber's I and Thou if you want to see how this works out in not-so-obviously-religious terms.