The story and teachings of Jesus really are difficult for people in a wealthy nation with a success-oriented culture. 

The Old Testament text for Sunday is a story from the Exodus, and the good folks rescued by God from slavery and misery in Egypt are not happy campers, out there in the Wilderness of Sin (what a name for the place where this story occurs).  They don’t have water, and of course, they are thirsty.

Rather than turning to God in prayer, maybe with a little fasting thrown in, they turn on Moses, who was appointed by God to lead them to the Promised Land.  It’s difficult to blame the people too much, but God saved them and set them on their journey, making promises of provision and care.

It just wasn’t happening in the way the people thought was appropriate or expedient.

It turns out that being set apart as a “people of God,” with promises of a new homeland, an identity, and a purpose given by God does not mean that everything will be lollipops and roses.  Maybe we think that’s what it should be, but instead we discover that there often is conflict, tension, stress, uncertainty, and the necessity of sacrifice.

Jesus himself spoke of sacrifice, alienation even from family members, the reality of suffering and death, but again with the promise, and ultimately, with the example from his own case, of God’s care even to the point of new life.

God’s people, from whatever era, spend a good bit of time shuffling around in the wilderness – sometimes because that’s where God calls us to go, and sometimes because we lose sight of who we are and whose we are.

Meanwhile, a so-called “prosperity gospel” sells pretty well to folks like us.  Declare your faith in God, or embrace some doctrines (usually that somehow end up demonizing others while helping us avoid responsibility for our own sinfulness), or proclaim the inerrancy of scripture, and God will bless you with financial and material rewards.  This approach can be hard to resist.  It puts one in control of his or her fate.  We like that.

More than once, the folks in the Exodus wilderness realized that the “prosperity gospel” was nowhere to be found, but in the end, God was there.  Sometimes proponents of the prosperity gospel forget about God altogether.

The pastor of the mostly African American church in Columbus, Ohio decided something had to be done.  Following four deaths in the congregation in a week’s time, Rev. Keith Troy stopped the Sunday morning worship service and asked for all the men present to stand up.  He instructed the deacons to hand out paper and pencil to the men, who were to write down their names and phone numbers. 

Rev. Troy told the men, “I want you to see a doctor within in the next three months.  If you can’t afford it, the church will help pay.  If you have no transportation, we’ll find someone to give you a ride.  One way or another, every man in this church will see a doctor, and soon.”   So, the men had to get a check-up, and that’s exactly what the church would do as well – check up to see that they did.

Troy said his concern was solidified when a 58 year-old man in the church died because of diabetes and high blood pressure.  “We didn’t have 900 meetings about it – it was just one of these moments of inspiration,” Troy said, explaining his spontaneous directive to the men in his church.

Apparently, black males are among the least likely to seek medical help or advice.  They also are the most likely to suffer strokes, have high blood pressure, or become obese.

Some predominantly African-American denominations are beginning to acknowledge and address these and other health-related realities among their parishioners, forming partnerships with state and local health agencies and launching educational campaigns.

Since his little outburst during worship, other churches have sought information from Rev. Troy and his congregation, and even a few hospitals have offered their assistance.  There has been a good response from the men of the church, as Rev. Troy gleans from the weekly updates he receives on which ones visit a doctor.

Describing the importance of this emerging health emphasis and ministry in his church, Rev. Troy maintains, “What we do on Sunday has got to impact Monday through Saturday, and if not, what are we doing?”

Can I get a witness?

The poem about the dog I posted here last week reminded me of the many dogs I have known over the years.  Several were regular characters in my life during my days at East Carolina University.  My favorite was Bear.                                                                      

Bear, named by me because of his size, was the biggest yellow Labrador retriever I ever saw.  I knew him all four years at ECU and he was a frequent visitor to the dorm.  A janitor told me Bear was around the campus for at least 10 years.  I eventually learned where he lived, and that his real name was Duke.  The one time I called him by his real name, he looked at me totally confused.  He was Bear to me. 

I’ll never forget the afternoon I went to meet a friend of mine who was earning a few extra dollars by serving as the proctor for an exam in the absence of the teacher.  Bear tagged along as I hustled across the campus.  He bounded into the classroom building with me, which wasn’t unusual at ECU in those days, but suddenly he slammed on the brakes.  I turned back. “C’mon, Bear, what’re you doing?”  Panting heavily, his brow was furrowed.  Something truly was upsetting him.  He frantically looked around, standing near the doorway, trying to figure out how to get where I was, down the hall.  “C’mon, Bear.”  

He started walking carefully, yet hurriedly, along the edge of the hallway, as close as dogly possible to the wall.  The only thing I could figure was he was frightened for some reason by the tile pattern on the floor.  It had a checkerboard effect, and he must have thought the black tiles were holes.  The edge was solid, and that’s where he walked. 

I finally got him up the stairs, and we struggled again on the second level.  By now, Bear was beside himself, his deep-voiced displeasure echoing thru the empty hallway.  We went into the room – yes, I took the frenzied dog with me into the classroom where people were taking an exam – I made plans with my friend, and told him I had to get Bear out of there.   So, with great effort, I managed to coax Bear down the stairs, back again along the edge of the hallway on the first floor, and when I opened the door for him, he ran out of that building faster than I ever saw him move before.  He didn’t look back.  

Another day, after I served Bear some dog food (hmmm, why did he keep coming back?), I got out the broom to sweep up crumbs he left.   I said, “Bear, I should make you sweep the floor,” and offered him the broom.  Much to my surprise, he took the handle in his mouth and dragged the broom across the floor over the crumbs!   If you don’t believe me, look here.

“No miracles, no preaching, no rude behavior.”  Those are the rules for people that choose to chime in on Jesus’ candidacy for president.  That’s right.  Jesus is running for president of the United States – at least in the mind of Stephen Heffner, who has set up a website called “Jesus in 2008,” that “invites participants to infer his stances on modern politics and choose a contemporary running mate, using the results as a voting guide in November.”

Heffner determined that the actual candidates, and the process used to narrow them down, all fall short.  So, we need to figure out what Jesus would say about the issues and find someone who reflects his positions and views.  Good luck on that one.

There is a qualifier, though.  Only part of Jesus is running for president.  The divine side of Jesus’ persona is disqualified from the race.  The candidate Jesus is “Jesus the man, the revolutionary individual who comes to us through history as a model for ethical and moral human behavior.”  Would that be the Jesus of William Barclay?  Marcus Borg?  Jon Dominic Crossan?  Pat Robertson?  (I’m sorry – that’s supposed to be a joke)  John Hagee?  (I can’t stop myself!)  James Dobson? (At least, it would be clear that Jesus is a Republican!)

To his credit, Heffner is open in his attempts to water down Jesus.  Most of us remain more subtle and self-deceiving.  But, what’s the point?

After forty days of fasting, when he was at his most vulnerable, Jesus rejected earthly position and power.  He saw the vanity of “glory and all this authority” over the “kingdoms of the world.”  Running for president, or prime minister, or even grand poohbah would never occur to him.

Jesus campaigns for hearts, not votes – and the results have the potential for a deeper and longer lasting impact on human life.

Here’s a surprise:  “When asked about voting habits, belief in God or their feelings toward race and gender, Americans are notorious for answering what they think pollsters want to hear.  Church demographers say the same rings true for church attendance.” 

This tidbit comes from an article by Amy Green of the Religious News Service.  It turns out that more people identify themselves as Southern Baptists than actually are counted by that denomination, which claims to be the most numerous Protestant denomination in the United States.

Officially, there are 16.3 million Southern Baptists (as distinguished from other Baptist groups), and some reports indicate only 6 million attend worship on a typical Sunday.  “The reality is, the FBI couldn’t find half of those if they had to,” remarked one pastor.  Lest you think this is about ridiculing the Southern Baptists, rest assured, other denominations, and congregations within those denominations, have the same difficulty with counting, adding, and subtracting.

Some churches play fast and loose with their membership figures because, well, bigger is better.  In some denominations there is a financial assessment based on membership numbers, so in that case, it’s not entirely negative in the eyes of the congregation if the figures slide downward a bit.  Sometimes people join a church, however that occurs in a particular tradition, and are never heard from again.  Member or not? 

Others join one church, eventually disappear, and join another.  No one bothers to inform the first church.  Are they members of two churches, counted twice?  Apparently, the Roman Catholic Church never removes anyone from the membership rolls until they die, or submit a written request to be removed.  There are a lot of invisible Catholics among the 69 million names on the books in the U.S.

In the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), a person can be a “participating” or “non-participating” member.  To be among the former, one simply must either show up for worship once during the year or make a financial contribution.  Every church in which I have served as a pastor, had membership levels far outdistancing the reality.  It seems that somewhere along the line, perhaps in the same year everywhere, attempts at precise record-keeping collapsed.  How many members are there in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ)?  God only knows.

It’s kind of funny that among the first questions people ask in discussions about churches is, “How many members do you have?”  Rarely do you hear, “What is the focus of the ministry of your church?”  or “How is the spirit of Christ manifested among the people there?” or “What difference does it make that your church is there?”  Those kinds of questions might prove to be embarrassing.

But then, the New Testament doesn’t portray Jesus as saying “Make church members of all nations.”  I believe the word he used was “disciples,” which means “one who embraces and assists in spreading the teachings of another…an active adherent, as of a movement or a philosophy.”

How many of those do we have?

In The Christian Century magazine, there always are thought-provoking articles, interesting columns, and informative news reports.  There also are poems.   A poem in the current issue is relevant to Lent and the emphasis on prayer.  It is by Rodney Clapp, and I will share it with you here.

Lessons in prayer; from a dog

He assumes his still posture

two feet from the table.

He is not grabby,

his tongue is not hanging out,

he is quiet.

He wants to leap,

he wants to snap up

meat and blood.

You can tell.

But what he does is sit

as the gods

his masters and mistresses

fork steak and potatoes

into their mouths.

He is expectant

but not presumptuous.

He can wait.

He can live with disappointment.

He can abide frustration

and suffer suspense.

He watches

for signals,

he listens for calls

of his name from above.

At hints that

he may be gifted

with a morsel,

he intensifies his

already rapt concentration,

he looks his god

in the eye, but humbly,

sure of his innocence

in his need,

if his need only.

On the (often rare) occasions

when gifts are laid on his tongue,

he takes them whole,

then instantly resumes

the posture of attention,

beseeching, listening, alert,

the posture of hard-won faith

that will take no for an answer,

yet ever and again hopefully

return to the questioning.

The preacher at a church I used to attend once lamented during a Sunday morning sermon the pace of life in today’s world, and expressed a longing for a time he recalled from his youth.  “We went to church on Sunday, then returned home to a nice home-cooked meal, and afterwards went out and sat on the front porch.”  Does it sound idyllic?  Was it relaxing?  Did people have lower blood pressure? 

I don’t think the women in the congregation were convinced everything was so slow and easy “back in the day.”  The kitchen can be a busy, hot, tiring place.

Today I read about “Teen Mania Ministries” that rounded up busloads of youth and carted them up to Times Square in New York, where they chanted “Jesus!  Jesus!  Jesus!” and called for the “recreation” of “music, film, fashion, television, and other media to remove explicit language and imagery.”  One young person remarked that she was there, along with the others, “To make changes for our generation, to just stand up and say, ‘We’re tired of all the filth’…You know, music and songs that are constantly so negative --- just making us numb to the abuse of alcohol and drugs and sex and pornography and all that stuff.”

Fair enough.  That kind of witness is helpful, as long as they aren’t aiming for censorship and imposing one viewpoint on everyone else.  People, even youth, can make choices, after all.  And perhaps pursuing that angle would prove more productive.

But, another idea expressed by the same person caught my attention.  She suggested that “America saw happier, more wholesome times fifty years ago, when the problems were different, and in her view, less serious.”

Yikes!

Fifty years ago there was a bus boycott in Montgomery, Alabama.  Public facilities posted signs regarding their availability, differentiating between “White” and “Colored.”   Communism was snaking around in Southeast Asia.  The Cold War was pretty frosty.  The proliferation of nuclear weapons was on the agenda.  (Oh, and Elvis Presley was swiveling his hips in provocative, “un-Christian” patterns.  I believe Milton Berle was dressing as a woman on television on one channel while Jackie Gleason was threatening his “Honeymooner” wife on another:  “One of these days, Alice!  To the MOON!”)

You don’t have to read very far into the scriptures to discover that human sinfulness has been evident for a long, long time, and that the effects have been “negative,” as our Maniacal Teen termed it.

There really is no point in longing for a romanticized period of time that never truly existed.  We have to deal with the here and now, and wrestle with the same age-old problems.

Bob Foster likens himself to Noah of Old Testament fame.

It seems Mr. Foster determined back in 1979 that the world was about to end.  So, he high-tailed it out into the Utah wilderness and carved out a dwelling for himself in a huge rock.  He calls his home, and the community that has grown there over the years as the world managed to hang on, Rockland Ranch.

Foster was a polygamist Mormon, excommunicated long ago.  He still has three wives, despite going through a divorce, and almost forty children.  Over the years he has chipped away at the rock enough to fashion 9 more “buildings,” which are naturally cool in the summer, warmed by wood stoves in the winter, and benefit from a nearby reservoir.

Maybe he originally made a miscalculation, but Foster cannot imagine “life as we know it” continuing any longer than ten more years.  Too many factors work against it:  “global warming, war, and all.”

So, he has his escape all arranged, out there among the rocks, along with the seventy-five or so others who have found their way to this refuge.   If the world ends, I’m not sure what those people think they will do, or why they even think they will survive.

Foster sees himself as a “religious” person, blending Christianity and Mormon teachings in his outlook.

He can do what he chooses, I suppose (although he once served 20 days of jail time for a polygamy conviction.  He described it as “hard time” – he had to wash the sheriff’s car.).  But, it occurs to me that people of faith aren’t instructed or encouraged to withdraw from the world, or culture, or society, no matter how depraved it may become.

I thought we were supposed to be witnesses to an alternative – a world, culture, or society imagined by God, reflecting God’s love and inclination to create new life.

With the season of Lent now upon us one of the issues confronting people of faith is fasting.   The association of fasting with Lent hearkens back to the forty days Jesus spent in the wilderness following his baptism.  As he emerged from the water of the Jordan River, Jesus saw the heavens opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in the form of a dove.  Then came God’s voice declaring, “You are my son, the beloved, in whom I am well pleased.”  Next stop – the wilderness, to wrestle with what it all meant.  The wilderness was the setting for the Temptation Story.  Jesus spent the days in the wilderness in prayer and fasting.

Jesus was able to depart from the wilderness, and begin his ministry without having to fall back on the old excuse, “The devil made me do it!”  The fast undertaken by Jesus allowed him to empty himself to the extent that God so filled him, it was clear to him where his strength, inspiration, guidance, wisdom, and protection were to be found.

I personally never knew anyone who regularly engaged in the spiritual discipline of fasting.  History reports that Gandhi fasted.  Sometimes we may hear of others who face difficult or challenging choices, or who weigh their responses to some given set of circumstances, and include fasting in their spiritual work.  These fasts commonly involve forsaking food during the designated period of time.

Fasts can be declared, though, on other aspects of our lives.  When we eliminate behaviors or activities from our normal patterns, room is created for something else.  For instance, if time spent on the computer writing blogs is reduced or abolished, the writer may find that more fruitful endeavors can fill that time.  When people of faith recognize an inner focus on selfishness and find ways to declare a fast on such an approach to life and interactions with others, then more compassion and service can fill the void.

The idea of a Lenten fast is to get rid of whatever inhibits or detracts from the spiritual seeker’s relationship with God.  Throw out the junk, and let God fill the emptiness.

If one were to identify traits, practices, or behaviors for members of the faith community to unload onto the scrap pile through a fast, one might include:  our take it or leave it attitude toward the worship of God; our aversion to spiritual growth; our reluctance to tithe (that is, to give 10% of our gross income as an offering to God); our fear of change; our suspicion of others within our community of faith; our tendency to associate conventional cultural notions and norms with faithfulness; our thoughtlessness in what we say to or about others; our substitution of busyness for creative ministry – you get the idea.

Maybe the most frightening aspect of this type of fast is that it requires us honestly to own up to who we are in relation to our calling.

Today, Mary and I went to the Florida State Fair.  It was a beautiful day and we enjoyed it, especially when Mary had the opportunity to feed two giraffes.  She always has liked giraffes, and there was a “menagerie” exhibit that had wallabies, a zebra, a burro, some camels, and llamas, along with the giraffes.  For a buck you could get a bag of carrots to feed them. 

When we talked about it later, we recalled a television program we watched on PBS featuring Lynn Sherr of ABC News, who visited friends in Africa that keep a horde of giraffes on their property.  The giraffes come right up to the house and even stick their heads inside through open windows or the front door.  These folks are very chummy with the giraffes! 

Thinking of Lynn Sherr today reminded me of when I invited her to visit William Penn House during my tenure as Executive Director.  She was familiar to me mainly from her regular television reporting on Democratic and Republican presidential campaigns and National Conventions.  She also was a correspondent on the television newsmagazine 20/20.  One day I heard her on the other side of the microphone, interviewed on National Public Radio about her book Failure Is Impossible: Susan B. Anthony in Her Own Words.  Immediately I began devising a plan to bring her to William Penn House. 

I called her office in New York and got her voice mail.  When she called me back I explained what I had in mind:  a lecture and book signing at William Penn House.  I knew Quakers were interested in Susan B. Anthony, and this would be an open event publicized primarily among the local Friends Meetings. 

Lynn Sherr was cordial when we spoke on the telephone.  She also, of course, was all business, and I soon sensed she might not especially be inclined to make a trip to Washington for what I had in mind.  But I didn’t want to let her wiggle off the hook, so when she made some vague comment about “maybe sometime” rather than simply saying no, I said, “when would be good for you?”  She exhaled audibly and said, “Well, call my publicist and set something up with her.”  So, that’s what I did.  I mean, she gave me the publicist’s telephone number. 

We arranged for a supply of the books to be shipped to me at WPH, we paid for Sherr’s transportation between Washington and New York (she told me there were rules, or maybe it was an ABC News policy, against journalists accepting honoraria), we rounded up the local Quakers, and had just a delightful evening beginning with a nice dinner prepared by some of the WPH Board members.   

All the books were sold and appropriately inscribed, we enjoyed anecdotes and insights about Susan B. Anthony, and William Penn House received a few dollars for our trouble.  Following the program I drove Lynn Sherr to her friend’s home near the Washington National Cathedral where she spent the night, and all was well. 

Our day today was pleasant, and so were the memories it invoked.