I can understand a church’s desire to protect its’ people. We’ve seen far too many massacres at churches (or anywhere, for that matter). But, despite that reality, threatening more violence in reaction to violence doesn’t even remotely approach having anything to do with the teachings of the faith.
When relating the story of Jesus’ arrest in the Garden of Gethsemene, Matthew 26:52 tells us that when a disciple sought to defend Jesus from those arresting him:
…Jesus said to him, ‘Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword.
Christ calls us to see the unseen, and right now the unseen include many who are rejecting the wisdom that we hold dear. They reject it because they see nothing in it for them, and nothing in it that respects who they are or what they need. And, until that changes, nothing we do will have a lasting impact, no matter how well intentioned we are. …And that’s a hard truth to face.
I’m starting today’s message with a slideshow. Each and every quote and image you’ll be seeing in these slides was said or written by someone I know well, or by a friend of someone I know well; and many of the locations shown in these slides (except for the very last one) are probably places you know of and may well have been to, or at least near… So, these are all people and locations with a relatively close connection to me.
These quotes and images demonstrate how this election has caused fear to overwhelm so many people that we know. This is not a criticism of whoever ran. It is trying to help us understand that there are a lot of scared and hurting people out there. People close to us, living in places close to us. I’m hoping they help us see how these reports of terror, bullying, and oppression are not just something from a newscast about a distant place, but are happening to our neighbors and friends and relatives right here, and right now.
Is it the Muslims? ISIS? Gays? The NRA? (Well …) Maybe Mr. Trump?
Blaming assumes we can have winners and losers; but nobody ever wins. How long will we continue this mindless charade?
Look: 50 people died, and another 53 were hospitalized. Uncounted others lost loved ones, many more will be dealing for the rest of their lives with the physical and emotional trauma they experienced that night, or caring for others forever scarred by that attack.
We see pain erupting from within the LGBTQ community because of this. You can understand why: places like Pulse are a refuge from the painful judgmental world they deal with every other moment of every day. Such refuges are now no longer safe. LGBTQ people have become a new target of domestic terrorism just when we finally seemed to be on the verge of forever setting aside homophobia.
For an LGBTQ person, this attack was very personal, and very scary: a very real threat to their own individual and communal existence, carried out against them purely because of who they are. I can’t imagine feeling like I’m living with a target painted on my back, but I’m sure many of our kindred within the LGBTQ community feel exactly that way right now.
50 people died. Thousands more will never escape the pain and fear planted within their souls that night.
Back in the mid 1990’s I worked for a well known conservative Christian organization. All employees of that organization were periodically required to spend a day ministering to those in need, in various ways. My role in one of those efforts was to be part of a crew that distributed food to those in need.
One of the people that I encountered that day, a very slightly built black woman, lived several blocks away from the place where we were handing out our boxes of food. The box I gave her was very heavy, so I offered to help her carry it back to her home. She gratefully accepted. She said it was only a block or two, so I didn’t worry about telling anyone what I was doing, since I figured I’d be back in just a few minutes.
We chatted as we walked along, she was quite an interesting person – but as we went on, I steadily became more and more nervous, Here I was, getting further and further away from my team, several blocks, in fact, in the middle of a one of the worst neighborhoods in the Tidewater region of Virginia. I was the only white anywhere in sight, and a red head at that! I knew that no one would be looking out for me when it was time to pack up and head back. So, I was likely to be stranded if I didn’t get back soon. I felt conspicuous, I felt alone, and I was afraid.
Back in the mid 1990’s I worked for a well known conservative Christian organization. All employees of that organization were periodically required to spend a day ministering to those in need, in various ways. My role in one of those efforts was to be part of a crew that distributed food to those in need.
The Here and the Hereafter 