Off the Bench and Into the Game

“Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.”

 - Martin Luther

            When I began seminary in the spring of 2013, my Pastoral Care class dedicated an entire lecture around 9/11 literature. For pastors, chaplains, and other clergy types this would be the event that impacted their entire ministry. This was a transformative experience for all of the U.S. I remember returning to seminary in the Fall of 2014, after the murder of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri. While some of us were in classrooms hundreds of people were protesting every single day demanding justice for our slain brothers. Then the Grand Jury announcement came and chose not to indict Officer Darren Wilson. Seminary Professors kept saying, this is your 9/11. This will be the event that shapes your entire ministry . . . and they were right.

The murder of black people by public servants and local vigilantes in the United States is a clear reminder that social and institutional racism is quite real. What many of us were not prepared for was the unveiling empowerment of institutional White Supremacy. For some seminarians we have spent our entire academic track watching our nation invoke Willie Lynch, Adolf Hitler, comparative representations of the fictional Lord Voldemort and President Snow that would one day come to life in the nightmare we now know as the 2016 elections. Within a week we have seen a vast increase of hate crimes against all marginalized groups of people. We are witnessing Grand Wizards of racism and intersectional bigotry enter the White House. However if we are able to normalize the lynching of brown bodies and excuse elementary school shootings, none of this should actually come as surprising. It is 2016 and it feels like we never left the 1950’s.

            Us as clergy types have been placed in a tight spot trying to balance our own emotions, fears, and grievances while also ministering to those in the same position. Right now there are dozens of vicars in their first full time congregational contexts trying to walk this type rope. Though I am a vicar, my international context has left me in a different standing than my colleagues back home. For this reason I have called on vicars from other seminaries and other denominations to share their stories and reflections since the elections. For the reader today who is at a loss of words, who has lost hope in the world, or who just needs to hear they are not alone, it is my hopes that these reflections can bring comfort to you.

We Are Called:

"Serving in a parish in the middle of a rather democrat heavy area during this election has been difficult. Our church opened its doors the day after the election to welcome those who needed prayer or pastoral care. Only one person came, but as I got ready for those open sanctuary hours, as I put in my collar, I didn't know if I was ready to be pastorally present to others. I was already hurting myself, it was my first dose of realizing what a call can mean and the weight one must bear. I can say that my supervisor and I have seen a marked increase in those who need pastoral care or who need to talk. I imagine every context is different, but here where I am one could feel almost a shroud over us. A lot of people seemed to be in shock and not know what to feel. As I prepare for Sunday and the sermon I will preach I am trying to see where the spirit is leading me and what I am to say. I don't know what lies ahead, but with God's help we will all walk that path together."

 – Blue Church, Red State

           

“Having spent some time reflecting on the election personally as a woman and in my pastoral context of Compton and South Central Los Angeles, I would like to offer these thoughts to my community. I challenge each of you, my friends, to invite someone with whom you did not agree over this election out for a cup of coffee. Then while you are together, choose to listen instead of talk, choose to love instead of hate, choose to lean in instead of pulling away. We must show those in leadership how to work together. We have to power to lead with our own actions and attitudes toward each other.

Our greatest guide for our own behavior is in these words that were written 1900 years ago to a community in great conflict. "If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres." (1 Cor 13:1-7)

Pastor SN, my supervisor and pastor of PB has chosen Jeremiah 29:4-7 as the focus of a predominately Latino community in Compton, CA.

4 This is what the Lord Almighty, the God of Israel, says to all those I carried into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon:

5 “Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce.

6 Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease. 7 Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.”

He sees this election as an opportunity for the Latino community to take responsibility for itself and claim its role in this country. To make sure that children are educated and encouraged to pursue careers. That drugs and alcohol are not used and that no one abuses the welfare and social services of this country but instead works for self-sufficiency and responsibility at all times. This is an opportunity to show that Latinos are full-fledged citizens of this country along with everyone else.  While SN is issuing this challenge as a member of the Latino community, I am offering my support and encouragement to the community. We do not need to live in fear but instead live into the love of God and trust that God is calling us to stronger faith in all that is happening."

 – Lat(in)America Context

“I have been serving on internship in Washington, DC for several months with a fairly large and relatively left-leaning congregation. They have been publicly affirming and welcoming to LGBTQ+ people for over a decade now, and although I have certainly felt welcomed and affirmed as a gay man serving as vicar, there always seems to be a quite vocal minority population in most liberal communities that pushes back against efforts to change and expand the narrative of what it means to live and serve as followers of Christ. The congregation is also fairly homogenous in terms of their ethnic demographic, and I believe that same attitude extends towards people of color as well. There seems to be this sense that it’s great and necessary to have a message of inclusion and love for all in a broad general sense, when it’s being done “out there”, but when it comes to your front door and means that you as a white, straight individual might need to expand your theology and sense of community, and thereby actually have to change and become uncomfortable in the process, then a sense of pushback and resistance emerges. Particularly after the recent elections, one of my goals in ministry here is to work with the congregation as a whole and also with individuals within the community, to work on their flexibility, their ability to adapt, and to help them understand their own identity and how that relates to others who do not share that identity, all the while looking for points of identity overlap to help build bridges between our congregation and the community that surrounds us. There will undoubtedly be a delicate balance of pushing them to bend without breaking, using a prophetic voice to call out problematic behaviors and attitudes, and supporting them through the process with the gospel and Spirit of justice and love throughout. This will certainly mean greater risks for myself in the process, but we are way past the point where we can be comfortably complacent and willfully ignorant without causing great harm to our siblings in Christ, and I believe the position of vicar allows for a wider margin of risk and frees me to do more challenging work that I might not be able to do if I were serving in a permanent call.

–Freedom in the Capital

“I do ministry on a college campus, so being a liberal soon-to-be pastor, I assumed most college students agreed with most of my political opinions. I quickly learned that, yes, most of the students I do ministry with are liberal, but I also have been learning to make space for those whose political ideology was different than mine.

At our church, the students talk about everything—religion, classes, vestments, puppies, football, and, of course, politics. So, this Fall, we had our debates and discussions about political candidates, the death penalty, human rights, and the like. We all had a general idea where each of us stood come Election Day.

I sat on my couch Tuesday night and watched my television closely. Watching the polls felt worse than watching football. When Trump won, I was shocked. I shared a picture on Facebook, and a couple hours later someone from the fringes of our community posted a hateful response against people who are transgender. I was pissed. Since he made that vile, angry, bigoted comment that I knew was harmful to someone within our community, I promised to never be silent in the face of that talk again.

The following day at work, many of us were mourning together. One student who hadn’t cried in two years, and often bragged about having no soul, cried after the election. She cried. Because of our president-elect. I cried. My co-workers cried. Students cried. We had discussion together. I hugged students that needed hugs, and I heard a student preach a beautiful sermon about God pursuing, even when we cannot understand what’s happening.

During a conversation one of our students commented how she didn’t want to talk about the election anymore. I think partially she felt isolated because she was the only person in the lounge that voted to keep the death penalty, but it was obvious she had enough. And when I read aloud the first four sentences of my sermon for Sunday, she confirmed to me, “I think that’s enough about the election.” Enough? Really? The student was obviously irritated, but I struggled to empathize with her in that moment. I just didn’t care. I was worried about my friends who are actually scared right now. Their fear matters more than her comfort.

Being in my context, I feel I can sometimes be more honest than if I were at a traditional church, but I’m always reminded that my bubble of thought isn’t the only bubble of thought in a college campus. I feel called to preach the Gospel in the most honest way. This week, Luke’s Gospel speaks of chaos, war, people turning against each other, and uncertainty. Chaos. How fitting. So, I preach the chaos because it’s exactly how this country feels right now.

I assume each week will begin to feel more “normal”, but we will continue to have conversation because that’s what we do at our church. And, I am reminded of my good friend/co-worker’s words, “I don’t want to be complacent as time goes on.” I don’t want to be comfortable. I don’t want to be complacent, either. And I pray to God people at my church and my friends won’t let me be.”

– Blue Bubble Wrapped

“I am a six foot, heterosexual, cisgender European American born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I have been involved in evangelical congregations and I have been serving catholic communities for the past decade. I am an ordained deacon in the Catholic Church who is studying to be a priest. This year I am serving in a Spanish speaking parish in the metro Atlanta area. I'm learning Latino culture as well as practicing Spanish as a second language. The current congregation is eighty percent Mexican descent, with many
other Latino and South American countries represented. There is a large population of immigrants in this community, which totals five thousand plus families.

As a progressive Christian in this congregation during this particular
election cycle, I am invited to be in solidarity with a people who are
fighting for their citizenship, as well as basic human rights. I offer ministerial accompaniment as someone who desires to defend those without a voice in the larger culture. My preaching has focused on salvation by God's grace, which in the catholic world, pushes up against neo-Pelagianism tendencies. The Good News of the Gospel has been my focus, something that pronounces blessing to those who are mourning and hope to the seemingly hopeless.

Race has been a large issue that I have encountered. I am learning what it is like being a minority. I'm one of the few white individuals to step foot in this congregation. I represent something to the congregation, but I'm not sure what. Surely it's different for everyone, but I'm also aware that my presence speaks, despite not knowing what exactly it's saying. I could very well pose a threat to many and I am working hard to display myself as non-threatening. In a country where Hispanic migrants are a minority, I have to be cautious about how I come across. Thus, my identity as a tall white male who has entered into a Latino context of thousands has proved to stir up identity questions in myself. What does it mean to represent white privilege in the Latino context? Why am I offended that the community doesn't want to work with the larger culture? How am I supposed to respond when people limit me to my skin color? What does it take to be comfortable and confident in my European-American identity when I'm a minority? What do I do with these feelings of being a minority? I am finding myself at the interconnection of the larger church and the larger culture, hoping to be a bridge of peace for a very large community that is seemingly overlooked.

As a Christian, I seek solidarity with those who are suffering. Many individuals in this community are suffering undocumented statuses. Over the years I have worked with immigrants in Chicago as well as the Mexican side of the Mexico/Arizona border. When I look at the stars at night, I remember those faces who have fought the desert walk, the coyote challenge, and have encountered dangerous obstacles along the migrant journey. Here, in this congregation, I have found myself walking, sitting, and praying with those who are in the United States but have yet to reach their promise land. Parents have the hope that their children reach the opportunities that they have never been offered themselves. The journey out of Egypt displays a vision of the situation of this people, walking a difficult, often dry escape into a better tomorrow. As Moses led the people through the desert with doubts and frustration, I have found myself hoping and praying that God will indeed deliver his promised peace, pronto.

The current election cycle has caused much disruption in the air. It's as if Jerusalem sent a messenger to Moses's people to tell them that they may very well see their families separated and sent back to where they are coming from. I remind the community of the liberating Gospel, the promises of God, and the constant accompaniment of Christ. God is in our sufferings, God is with us. Jesus knows our struggle, desires to empower us, defend our cause, and wants to see us flourish as humans.

I am growing to be a part of the community. At first, I was an outsider, and in a sense I always will be. But I desire to be a part of their community just as a brother (or step-brother) is a part of the family. As a progressive Christian, I make sure to attempt empowerment as much as possible, and the God of the Universe has placed me in personal encounters with parishioners for the sake of such encouragement. God is with us and we all know it here, yet were also hoping for liberation in this world.

Shamelessly, I wanted to be a part of this community to better my Spanish fluency. My entire life I have made decisions with terrible intentions, but God has always seemed to show up, shown me my incompetence/ignorance/obnoxiousness and has always seemed to offer resurrection. While my intentions were once that, they've now changed
as I continue being a minister in this community. Why ought I to continue? That is my current question to myself. I am comfortable with my Spanish fluency and yet I'm still here. I suppose I'm moving forward with this specific question in mind.”

–Getting Uncomfortable for Others to be Comforted

"Living in Chile this past week has been surreal. I spent all of last Wednesday on the verge tears, struggling to answer the question many Chileans have been asking me, "But how did Trump win? I don't understand." I don't either. And that's a big part of the problem. I cannot comprehend the fact that a majority of white Christian women voted for a man who is a sexual predator, a white male supremacist, and someone who exemplifies extreme and sinful greed. This means I completely lack understanding for a significant number of my fellow countrymen and women, many of whom are present in the pews in ELCA churches. I am angry and utterly devastated about the results of the election. I am angry and utterly devastated that so many of my Black and Brown and LGBTQ brothers and sisters in Christ feel even more vulnerable and unsafe than they did before. I am angry and utterly devastated that my right as a woman to make decisions about my own body has been called into question. I am angry and utterly devastated that my sister's six year old students are asking her if their parents are going to be sent back to Mexico without them. And it hurts so badly to be thousands of miles away from my friends and family who are terrified for their physical, emotional, and spiritual safety. 

I don't understand. And I am angry and devastated. And yet. My hope remains in the living God, made incarnate in Jesus of Nazareth, crucified by the powers of Rome, and risen on the third day. 

Psalm 146 says, 

"Do not put your trust in princes,

    in mortals, in whom there is no help.

4 When their breath departs, they return to the earth;

    on that very day their plans perish.

Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob,

    whose hope is in the Lord their God,

6 who made heaven and earth,

    the sea, and all that is in them;

who keeps faith forever;

7     who executes justice for the oppressed;

    who gives food to the hungry."

My ultimate hope is in the Lord my God, not in the American political system or any public official. And so I will continue to preach this God, who makes justice, feeds the hungry, cares for the stranger, and sets the prisoners free. And I will try to understand the people I am called to serve and called to love. For with God, all things are possible."

-Angry For Justice 

Final Thoughts:

This is one of the more significant times where I have felt alone during internship. I can’t just call my friends and cry or check out for the day. I feel like I abandoned my friends and community members. For the first few days I just kept thinking about my students back in Philadelphia. Many of them were women, Muslim, in need of public assistance, and some were learning English as a second language. I have no outlet here. Back in the states I could reflect and preach my heart out to an audience that would hear me. I can’t preach with American politics in my heart to an Argentine audience. Then I thought back to the sermon I preached the week before for All Saints Day. I spoke about being able to pray for your enemy and acknowledging all people suffer, not just the oppressed. We raised our prayers to the cross and lit candles for the sins of our nations. Was that my elections sermon? The Sunday before I shared my grievances and dressed in white before the U.S. could disappoint me again but it did not make me feel any less relieved. This fall after losing two relatives, the elections made it feel like I lost another. Even worse, it felt like my country walked out on me. In one night, our skeleton of a marriage finally flew out the window. For years he had been abusing her children and stealing from her family. Then the U.S. finally packed his bags and left all of her values. The doors were left unlock and thieves came in to jack all that was left. In reality, I do not know if I would know how to be pastoral at this time. To be honest, I do not know how I could look at any of my old Sunday school kids in the face and not feel like I failed them. All I have to offer this dialogue is Romans 5: 3- 5, “And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, ⁴ and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, ⁵ and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.” This is going to suck today. In fact, it is going to suck tomorrow too. And that is Okay. Because of this experience we are going to continue forward to learn from our mistakes and to grow as individuals and in communities. We will become better. Seeing that self-development often times leads to hope. Let hope lead you.

 – Motherless Child

#ReclaimMissionary