Kids and Covid: It might not be enough, but I know it's Gospel

To my pastor friends trying to find a WORD, and parents preparing for this school year: 

I've been thinking all day, and it all feels trite. Empty. Not enough for the deep fears so many parents are expressing about this fall and what's to come with kids and Covid.  I can say "We are people of Resurrection hope." But I can't look parents in the eye and say that when the fear is for their own child. 

I can craft my image of people of faith walking to the empty tomb on Holy Saturday, speaking of the now and not yet.  I can say "if it feels broken then let it break." 

But none of it is enough. That Gospel isn't enough. 

So I speak a Gospel that says I'm mad as hell. At the people of faith who won't do the right thing and get vaccinated. Wear a mask. Love their neighbor as themselves. I'm mad as hell at the politicians who seem to want to cause harm for political gain and those who voted them into power. I'm mad as hell at the lack of courage from school leaders who won't do the most simple things to keep kids safe.  I'm mad as hell that kids will die this fall as a result of the arrogance and lack of care from our country. 

So I speak Gospel that says we can DEMAND answers from God for the brokenness around us. 

That this anger and disgust is righteous and holy. Maybe even our duty in this time. That it IS GOSPEL.

I don't know. But I guess I don't have to know. 

But, parents and pastors, know the fear and anger is seen. 

Know it's not felt in isolation.

Know that I'm talking to A LOT of parents who are right there, needing to hear THIS Gospel. So it's the Gospel that needs to be preached boldly.

It might not be enough to---I don't even know. Bring comfort(?) Ease our 

dis ease?

Create a cataclysmic Gospel proclamation that makes things better?

It certainly won't be a big enough Gospel to shut down the need for expanded PICUs and pediatric ventilator orders. It won't change the deep and horrifying sorrow I fear is coming because our schools and culture don't love kids enough to require masks to save lives. 

But know, if you think you're alone, know there is Gospel. There is someone else in the Body that hears the lament and cries. That the cries and fears of other parents are creating a chorus of fear and grief that does not go unheard. 

This is all the Gospel I can offer, as you all prepare to offer Gospel, and as you prepare to send your kids to school. And it feels shallow and helpless and an inadequate. And maybe you're not even in a place to hear this... 

But I inhale the deep mystery of faith, and exhale the Spirit within me into the universe, with the hopes that the wind of God catches it and directs it to go where it is needed.

I pray you hear a WORD and Gospel. That you know your fears are heard. 

And always always always--know you are a beloved Child of God.

That is all I can offer.
I know it might not be enough. 

But I know it's the Gospel...

A WORD to the Proclaimers: Ecotones of Faith (John 6:24-35)

 An Ecotone is a transitional area between two ecosystems, containing characteristics of both.  Teeming with life that is mingling with other species from ecosystems different from their own, it is also a space where new plant and animal species are birthed.  Often found where one body of water meets another (think lagoons) you can find creatures adapted to salt water merging with fresh water, adapting to a new way of being.  It's an ecological wonder. But it is just as theologically rich...the space where our creator God continues to speak new life into being.  A place where kairos moments are born and, if we're open, new experiences, life, and possibilities are revealed. 

In John 6:31, the crowd tells Jesus "Our ancestors ate manna in the wilderness" and Jesus replies "Very truly I tell you...it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world....I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never thirst." 

When looking at the Greek tense, scripture tells us "manna" is not simply a story that resides in Israel's past, but is an ongoing gift of God in the present.  God's liberating power was not something confined to the past but claimed as a present action.  Manna is a present tense gift from God, a life giving power that originates in heaven and comes to us through Christ. 

In the kingdom of God's ecotone, people are fed and nourished in the present by manna from heaven...giving us new life here and now.  Taking us to a new ecosystem.  A place where heaven and earth become one through the ONE.  Characteristics of both, with Ruach breathing new life into being before our eyes...using our minds and bodies to bring the witness into LIFE.  Creating kairos moments where we ourselves are evolving into something new.  We have characteristics of what we once were, mixing with the beauty of God's creation, and seeing within ourselves that we are being made new.  

One could argue that in God's kingdom, we are always living in an ecotone,  witnessing a powerful kairos time.  It's a "now and not yet" time-- and to be clear, not the kind of "now and not yet" that encourages  sitting in the back waiting....instead, in the kingdom of God, something powerful, life creating, and shifting is occurring. The previous fresh water ecosystem of our lives can't support the new life being formed in the salty water. But the new species isn't built for the open ocean either.  So something new is being nourished and emerging. And it happens before our eyes...

In the ecotone of ministry and what God's WORD is speaking into a new creation.

In the ecotone of hearing scripture in ways that allow manna to communally nourish us after a period of individual separation

In the ecotone of deeper relationships that wildly demand God's call for justice for all people.

Unexpected. Holy. Awe inspiring.

All this because God's story is not something confined to the past, but something active and alive in the very presence of our lives.  

We weren't "liberated" in some past time and place--we are BEING liberated 

From the insecurities, false narratives, broken relationships, former hurts, and lost dreams that LIMIT the full proclamation of the Gospel. 

In this ecotone, the Bread of Life LIVES into the promise that we will never hunger or thirst in the desert of despair. We are not forever trapped in the valley of isolation. Our home is not built on the hillside of broken dreams.  Instead God's promise is we are never thirsting. We are never hungry...In this ecotone, God is taking us from those places of loss and hurt and lifting us ALL into a newly evolved LIFE in Him.

Being open to seeing the life evolving in the ecotone of God's kingdom (not a metaphorical one...the one RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW) allows for transformation, connection and hope.  

When things are NOT in times of radical transition, as we are now in this After Time of Covid,  

The willingness to proclaim isn't as urgent.

Speaking radical truths of God's justice feels unsettling. 

The desire to be cocreators with our creator God languishes. 

But when the fresh water becomes a little salty, we thirst for the waters that flow from above. The manna is broken and shared NOW so we don't miss the moment.  

It is when we know we are dwelling in an ecotone of abundant joy that the urgency to receive every gift from the Bread of LIFE grabs hold.

So live into THIS ecotone.  Live into the LIFE God is creating. Feast on the manna and water of life that flows from above....

Heaven and Earth Touch...

 Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God..."

The place where Heaven and Earth touch....language for an act that I have led and received infinite times.  First (unofficially) placed in my 4 year old palm during my grandmother's Catholic funeral because I reached for it.  Then (officially) offered at 10, by my grandfather--welcomed as a guest minister for the occasion of my First Communion.  

Throughout the pandemic, our family gathered around the kitchen island Sunday morning. Sometimes using homemade naan. Sometimes Kroger pretzel rolls. But always Manischewitz.  Amid the crushing weight of responsibility I felt as I entered into Nursing Homes and COVID unit others could not...as I began to see the Ruach pulled from the bodies of my patients...And awaiting the wave of death I knew I was going to witness in this war, my soul demanded that I experience Heaven and Earth touching. I spoke the ancient and familiar words that felt foreign in my home. Feeling connected to generations who spoke these words in exile, amid war, in bombed out churches, in refugee camps, at the bedside of the dying.  I did not expect this to last forever--but I empathized with the desperation  exiled followers must have felt, desperate to receive and demanding they keep the WORD alive.  

A 80 year old silver platter my grandmother had received for her wedding, with a brass chalice sculpted by my great uncle beside it. A  cinnamon apple candle providing the LIGHT.  The WORD was spoken and Manischewitz became a tsunami of grace.  Heaven touched this broken, hellish Earth, and redemption, hope and God's love was placed in the palm of my hand.

"See, the home of GOD is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his people, and GOD Himself will be with them. 

He will wipe every tear from their eyes.

Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away...."

A family that had been granted a "window visit" to say goodbye to their loved one with COVID.  I was in the patient's room offering impotent sympathy to the family through the open window.  Before I arrived, they had broken the screen out (an action that became more common as grief and anger grew over months). Their fingertips reaching out, just to touch the floor of the room their loved one was in.  I spoke the WORD, using a gloved hand to place a drop of wine of the lips of one of the 601,341 souls who had the life stolen from them. 

Then, reaching through the window, offering only the bread to the outstretched fingers that met mine.  

The Ruach rattled in the man's chest, and it seemed as if more tears flowed than God could ever wipe away behind the masked faces of those outside. Layers of protection separated me from the earth--the only N95 I had for months was covered by a surgical mask. A single use gown I had worn all day covered my scrubs. Gloved hands wiping knotted hair away from my goggles and face shield. They wanted to have one last physical touch of the man they loved before heaven came to earth to take him away.  

After Heaven and Earth touched, and the commendation prayer was spoken, I laid on the floor, reaching my fingers to touch theirs, my arm rising up to the bed, stretching to hold the foot of one whose new heaven was about to arrive....my physical body, filled with the Body of Christ, trying to connect the Body of Christ...

....on earth, as it is in heaven...Give us this day, our daily bread....

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God...Behold! I am coming soon!  Blessed is the one who keeps the words of the prophecy...."

Christ is Risen! He is Risen indeed!  Alleluia!

For a SECOND Resurrection Sunday, the empty tomb was revealed in our home.  Neighbors, who first gathered around a driveway firepit to sing Silent Night, then stood by a mailbox for the Imposition of Ashes, brought lawn chairs to the backyard to hear the promise of the empty tomb.  Bubbles exploded from yellow and green wands, as preschoolers heard that God's love was EVERYWHERE, just like their bubbles.  Homemade bread on a pottery plate and Mogan David in a glass cup were placed on a folding table altar--a great grandmother's linen table cloth covering the mensa. Lifting up the full, still warm loaf, I tore it in two, an act not of separation but unification of Heaven and Earth as they touched on this glorious broken, restored, joyful, bittersweet, orthodox, unconventional, familiar, foreign Resurrection Day.  

Johnny Cash's Breakin Bread the Communion Hymn flowing from the bluetooth backyard speaker.

And the glory of Heaven touched the Earth.

I didn't have the words in the Before Times--but that's what it is....Heaven touching the Earth...how it was what I so desperately wanted and needed and longed for.  AND YET (because with God there's always an "and yet") AND YET heaven never left.

It. Was. Right. There. 

On my kitchen island. In the room and through the window. Filling my physical body as I lay flat on the ground covered in sweat and PPE and filled with rage and grief. 

And with my beautiful neighbors on that Resurrection Sunday in the warm homemade bread and precious cup.

Amid the isolation and death of this earth, heaven was always there....  

We are Children of a Fallen Humanity

We are Children of a Fallen Humanity

On an unremarkable Sunday, in the city of Flint, Michigan, a baby, fitted in a slippery, billowing dress, worn by her mother and her grandmother, is brought to the front of a sanctuary.  Tap water is poured into the baptismal font. God's promise is spoken."We are children of a fallen humanity...in the waters of baptism, our gracious heavenly Father redeems us from sin and death..." 

Water and WORD combine, transformed into redemption...In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit...

The Pastor's finger, dipped back in the water, traces a cross upon the child's brow--"Child of God, you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit, and marked with the cross of Christ, FOREVER."

Water. WORD. Redemption.

A freshly cut branch from a tree in the churchyard is immersed in the basin. Tap water is now God's promise raining down upon the assembled Children of God.

Water. WORD. Redemption.

Remember your Baptism.

Remember God's WORD of redemption, found in this water.

We are children of a fallen humanity. 

They say the toxic waters of Flint have poisoned an estimated 10,000 children.

But I will argue the waters did not poison Flint's children--we are children of a fallen humanity. 

Corruption. Greed. Disregard for the poor. Racism. Neglecting the city's children for a generation--THIS is a fallen humanity is! THIS is what sin is! THIS is what causes our God to weep...

We are children of a fallen humanity. 

We are children of this....and as Children of God, we can not blame "the other" or the "toxic waters" for the fallen humanity of Flint. 

10,000 poisoned children.

That's ours. That is a broken, fallen creation....and yet...

In the waters of baptism, our gracious heavenly Father  redeems us from sin and death. 

Churches in Flint filled baptismal basins with toxic waters...and yet, through water and the WORD, this toxic waste became Living Water. Holding BOTH God's promise of redemption AND toxic lead that would poison its children....

In the lead poisoned waters of our Baptismal river, we are called to be the Living Body of Christ. To strive for justice for all people. We are to live and proclaim to the world the TRUTH that our fallen humanity is redeemed and transformed.  Water. WORD. Redemption.

We are called to remove the lead from the waters of our baptism.

Reflection: Community Service

Below is my reflection, shared as part of a community prayer vigil held in Dayton following the murders of 9 Children of God at Emanuel AME. Humbled and blessed to have been asked to share a Lutheran voice as part of the service.

Over the past days, words from Paul’s letter to the Romans, chapter 8 have come into my heart and have been upon my lips—“We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of labor, right up to the present moment…”

We, the whole creation of God, groan, we lament, we cry out for the lives of 9 beloved Children of God, who, while studying the Word of God within the walls of Mother Emmanuel, were not safe from the vicious sin of hate and racism. We, as the whole creation of God groan and lament because again and again, from Birmingham to Charleston, Children of God are murdered in the very house of God—killed by the hands of one drenched in sin and hate.

In the midst of groaning and lamenting, I continued reading Paul’s letter--“The Spirit intercedes for us, with sighs too deep for words.”

Sisters and brothers in Christ, I call upon the Spirit, I cling to this hope and promise, because my sighs are too deep for words. I speak to you first and always as a Child of God. I also speak to you as an ordained pastor in the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America.

And it was at an ELCA seminary, The Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary in Columbia, that Rev. Pinckney and Rev. Simmons received theological training—these pastors were part of our Lutheran family. During their time at the seminary, during weekly chapel, they worshiped, prayed and extended their hands to receive the Body and Blood of Christ with my Lutheran colleagues. And that’s just too close to home…My sighs are too deep for words…

But, the young man who entered Mother Emmanuel and slaughtered 9 Children of God, this young man was a member of a South Carolina Lutheran congregation. In his church, he heard the same liturgy, and extended his hands at the Lord’s Table. And that’s just too close to home—. My sighs are too deep for words…

As Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton said in a written statement Friday “All of a sudden and for all of us, this is an intensely personal tragedy. One of our own is alleged to have shot and killed two who adopted us as their own," said Eaton.

My sighs are too deep for words as I acknowledge the sin of denial, and complacency, the sin of racism and hate have spilled more blood—my sighs are too deep for words as we spend time in repentance and mourning, not of the sins of the past, of our history, but of the sins of this very present moment. Bishop Eaton encouraged us to spend the weekend in repentance and mourning—then, she said “we need to get to work. Each of us and all of us need to examine ourselves, our church and our communities. We need to be honest about the reality of racism within us and around us. We need to talk and we need to listen, but we also need to act. Look with newly opened eyes at the many subtle and overt ways that we and our communities see people of color as being of less worth. Above all pray – for insight, for forgiveness, for courage."

So I stand here today, filled with sighs too deep for words. My head bowed in humble, constant prayer. Prepared to examine myself, my church, and community. Prepared to be honest, prepared to listen and prepared to act. Let our eyes, filled with tears, be opened. Let our hearts be filled with courage. And let our entire beings be filled with the power of the Holy Spirit, ready to transform and be transformed in the name of Jesus, crucified and risen for the sake of us all….

Pictures

This Place Goes With Us...

The rust red dirt, fine as baby powder, danced through the bus' air vents, focusing the sun into beams of light.  Upon ending the 1 1/2 hour transit from Johannesburg, the powder settled, almost thick enough to create stains as it was brushed off black pants and sweaters.  Under the red soil lay some of the world's richest platinum mines, pulled from its resting place in the earth by thousands of workers housed in barracks, separated from their families for 11 months at a time.


Sifting through the red powder soil, we find the lives of women in mining towns, brought from Botswana, Zimbabwe and Mozambique with the promise of work in mining communities.  Human trafficking and poverty meld and the bodies of Children of God are dishonored.  The metal shacks that the women call home often lack windows. Doors are reinforced with wood in an attempt to keep their bodies safe at night--though, on occasion, roofs have been ripped off, the intruder taking all that is inside.

Women give birth to babies, and, even in places of unspeakable darkness, children grow and play while their mothers wash clothes, cook food, and form friendships with one another.  When their bodies begin to slim, and tubercular fevers begin, the women press washcloths upon one another's brow, emptying latrine buckets, holding babies while their mothers lay motionless on rust red dirt floors.

Close to half of all pregnant women in the community are HIV positive, with no money and no access to antiretroviral drugs (ARVs) to combat the disease.

Then the Body of Christ responded.  Tapologo hospice began.

As a priest who lived in the area for much of his adult life, Bishop Kevin Dowling worked to secure treatment services and end of life care to the women living in the villages.  Relationships and trust grew and medications were obtained.  The women in the village were empowered, as they heard of options and possible ways to earn income and break free of those who used their bodies.  However, even as this decision was made, more women were brought to the village, the cycle of AIDS, poverty and trafficking unbroken.

The women began to receive training from nurses and health care professionals.  Empowered to help provide care to their community, the women, even those infected themselves, go door to door, ensuring those with the disease receive ARVs, take the medication correctly, and receive monitoring to promote health.  Chart notes are made, patient's conditions are monitored weekly, and the women, thanks to the support of one another, live.

The hospice beds, once filled with dying women prior to ARV therapy, are now mostly empty with close to 1,000 patients receiving maintenance therapy in their homes.  Mothers who receive therapy are at much lower risk of transmitting AIDS to their babies at birth as they nurse.

Further, the women have become more empowered as they learn trades and skills, which in some cases frees them from those who held their bodies and finances captive.  As a whole, the women have now begun demanding the men use condoms--which, while far from a solution to the dire situation the women find themselves in, has helped reduce transmission.

Loading the bus to leaving Tapologo, red dust footprints covered the floor.  It peppered our hair, filled our lungs, could not be brushed away.  This place goes with us.

New life, new opportunities for the community, new found health provided us with hope and thanksgiving--the Body of Christ was present and transforming.

The beast of trafficking, rape, poverty, and pain remain.  Christ is still on the cross, crying out in agony.

Death and Resurrection.

We give thanks for the power of community, Christ's work in the world, and hope for a future.

We must not be satisfied until women are no longer trafficked.  Babies are no longer orphaned.  Men's lives are no longer damaged by a world that degrades their humanity, leading them to degrade others.

The Body of Christ must look to Tapologo as a sign of light and hope in the darkness.  But we must also take the red powder with us and be the Holy Spirit's very breath upon all that still must be restored.