The Pattern (Christmas 1 ABC)

In principio erat verbum, Book of Kells, 8th century

The Pattern  
John 1:1-18
Homily delivered First Sunday of Christmas (All Years RCL TEC)
29th December 2019: 8:00am Said and 10:00am Sung Eucharist
Parish Church of Trinity Ashland (Oregon)
Readings: (Isa 61:10-62:3; Ps 147, Gal 3:23-25; 4:4-7; John 1:1-18)

Take away our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.

The day after Christmas, I got a message from a friend, an Episcopal priest in Tuxedo Park, New York, one of my sibling priests in the Society of Catholic Priests, that included  a picture of a young girl standing reverently before his Church’s Christmas Crèche with her hands in a pious “little church” praying position.  He wrote:  “There are so many frustrations in ministry, but when I saw this little girl praying before the crèche, my heart grew three sizes. Keep teaching the faith. They are listening.” 

Worship Jesus in the manger.  That is what we Christians do at Christmas.

Our carols and hymns say it all:  “O Come, Let us adore Him.” “Veiled in flesh the Godhead see, Hail the incarnate Deity,” “Of the Father’s Love begotten, ere the worlds began to be,” and “God from God, Light from Light, Lo he abhors not the Virgin’s womb. Very God, begotten, not created. O Come let us adore him.”

Today’s Gospel does not tell the story of Jesus’ earthly origins.   John tells us of something quite a bit deeper and much, much more hidden.  He begins also by quoting a hymn, this one to Christ as

the Logos, the eternal word of God.  It begins, “In the beginning was the Word.”

This translation misses the richness of the Greek en arche en ho logos. Another way of translating might be, “At the start, at the root of all, the logos existed.”  The usual way it is translated in Chinese captures the idea much better than any I have seen in English: 太 初 有 道 “At the great beginning of all things, there was the Tao.”

The Greek word logos is where we get our words logo, logic, and analogue and dialogue. It means much more than just “word.”   Its basic meaning is whatever it is that creates or conveys meaning or sense, whether in our minds or on our lips.   Something is logical, or has logos, because it coheres and is patterned.  Geo-logy is the patterns we see in the physical world, Gaia.  Theology is a patterned and coherent way of talking about God, Theos.   Logos is a deep pattern, a coherence, that lies behind and beneath disparate and apparently random facts. 

This is how I translate the verses that come from this early Christian hymn:

At the root and heart of all things,

There was a meaningful pattern.
The pattern was God’s; God was the pattern.
At the moment of creation, this pattern was already with God.

Everything came into existence from it.
Nothing exists that didn’t come from it.
The pattern brought forth life and

    the light of meaning for humankind.
This light shines in darkness, and darkness cannot put it out. … The genuine light, the source and meaning of everyone's life,

was coming into the universe,

and though the universe came into being by the light,

the universe did not recognize it for what it was.  

It came into its own realm,

but his own kin did not take him in.

But he empowers all who do receive him,

those who trust in all that he is,

to become children of God:  

children not born from masculine will,

    reproductive instinct, or the blood of birth,

but rather, begotten from God alone.  

The pattern and meaning of everything

Took on human flesh

and lived with us a short time.

We experienced how wonderful he is:

as wonderful as a father’s only child,

full of joyful promise, where things are as they should be.

John 1:1 in the Cuthbert Gospel, from c. 698.

The hymn says that the Word/Meaning/Pattern of God took on flesh. The choice of the word “flesh” is deliberate. In Semitic culture, basar “flesh” was the physical, earthy part of a person that you could see, touch, and smell. It was a key part of you, and not wholly separable from your mind or spirit. The symbol for a man to be part of God’s covenant with Abraham was that he be circumcised in his flesh. For Greeks, sarx “flesh” was the changeable, impermanent part of a human being. For some Greek philosophers, it was the part that resisted reason and had a mind of its own, the part that I think we would identify by talking about addictive, obsessive, or compulsive behaviors. It was in this sense that Saint Paul had occasionally used the word—sarx for him sometimes is shorthand for that part of a human being that resists God’s intentions for us.

When the prologue of John says the logos became sarx, it means that Reason, Pattern, Meaning itself, took on all it means to be a human being: all the limitations, all the doubts and fears, the ignorance, all the handicaps.

The hymn adds “he dwelt among us.” The word used for “dwelt” is eskenasen: he “set up his tent” among us. The image is of a temporary habitation, like the Tent of the Meeting or the Tabernacle of the ancient Israelites, where God Himself was made manifest to Moses. 

 Copyright ©  Word Made Flesh, Donald Jackson, Copyright 2002, The Saint John’s Bible, Saint John’s University, Collegeville, Minnesota USA.

The hymn adds, “and we saw his glory, as of a father’s only Son, full of Grace and Truth.”

Grace—joyful and tender love, without condition.  Truth—genuineness, authenticity, things being as they ought to be. It is here that the conflict between divine and human, the perfect and imperfect, the boundless and the bounded is resolved: Grace and Truth. For despite all our limitations, we human beings can on occasion transcend ourselves and open ourselves to Grace and Truth. On even fewer occasions, we can even become the channels or instruments by which Grace and Truth can be given to others.

“We saw the glory of God made flesh, we saw the beauty of the pattern behind the worlds placed within this apparently meaningless world—and we recognized that glory as Grace and Truth.”

It is in Jesus’ gracious love and authenticity that the Gospel of John says we can recognize the pattern of the universe, look to it, and see Jesus.   But he adds “the only child of the father.” Jesus is monogenes—one-of-a-kind.   Despite all he shares with us, he is different in this one way.  Despite the limitations his humanity imposed, Jesus as Eternal Pattern of Meaning is Transcendence Itself.

The hymn to the Logos ends by saying, “The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father's heart, who has made him known.”

The Ultimate Meaning of the universe found a place in human flesh, in the person of this helpless baby.

This only Son of God offers us Grace and Truth.  He is the midwife who helps us be born as Children of God, to share in his pattern and meaning.  Grace and truth:  Joy, love and thankfulness on our part. 

As helpless, pathetic fellow human beings, let us accept what he offers, and in Love offer the same Grace and Truth to those around us.

In the name of God, Amen.

Joy for the Poor (Christmas 1 and 2 A)

José y María, Everett Patterson 

Joy for the Poor

Christmas Day (Year A)
Isaiah 9:2-7 ;Titus 2:11-14 ; Luke 2:1-14(15-20) ; Psalm 96

Homily delivered at Trinity Parish Ashland (Oregon)
24th December 2019: 6:00 p.m. Said Mass, 11:00p.m. Sung Festal Mass

The Rev. Fr. Anthony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.

We thank you, God, for the wondrous incarnation of your Word,

Your child who saves us from all we fear.  

Give us joy in our hearts and generosity for others. 

Help us to come to your holy place,

Be it manger, temple, or all the majestic world you created,

With poverty and hunger in our hearts, that we may

Be filled always with the good things you give us,

And be instruments of bringing them to others.

Amen.

I have heard many times advice that preachers should stick to the Gospel and stay away from politics.  I am always a little flummoxed when I hear this. I try to preach only the Gospel.  Granted, this is the Gospel and scriptures as I understand them, but it is the Gospel and not partisan advantage that I seek to preach.   But here’s the rub—the Gospel is about all of life, and embraces everything that matters to us, and inevitably will touch—roughly or gently—on topics that are grist for the mill of partisan politics.

This is true even in today’s Gospel from Luke, the joyful story of our Lord’s birth.  It begins with a reference to Caesar Augustus, intended not only to place these events in a specific time and place, but also to say something about Jesus and how he contrasts with the rulers of this age.  Augustus (“the Majestic One”) was the throne name of Gaius Octavian, the adopted heir of Julius Caesar who conquered all other competitors for power and founded the Roman Empire.   Julius Caesar had been declared a god by the Roman senate after his assassination; when Augustus ascended to the role of First Citizen, he quickly accepted what was to become his favorite title:  divi filius, son of a god.  This was because he honored his adopted father Julius as a god as well, and liked the sound of the title.  His propaganda machine over the years added other terms to make sure everyone understood who Augustus, the son of God, was:  Savior (soter), Lord (dominus or kyrios), and High Priest (pontifex maximus).  Augustus, who brought in the Pax Romana, the Roman Peace, to make Rome the greatest nation on earth, wanted everyone to know that he was great, smart, rich, powerful, the ultimate winner where other Roman politicians and generals were losers.   The propaganda machine in the eastern provinces went even further:  the birth of Augustus had been miraculous and marked with signs in the heaven and divine announcements.   In becoming Emperor, Augustus was merely receiving his due.  He was quality, and had name recognition to beat the band.  It was not civil war that brought him to power, but divine will. 

The gospel writer who places the birth of Jesus against the backdrop of the rule of Augustus is making a point.    It is this little baby born in a stable who is Son of God, Savior, Lord, and High Priest, not Augustus.   The focus in this story is not on the rich, the powerful, and those who claimed they were quality.  The focus is on the lowly of the land: the poor.  The angel choirs and heralds announce the birth, just as the divine Augustus’ birth had been announced, but they do so to shepherds in the fields.  The ones who greet the baby Jesus are not the rich, famous, and powerful.  Shepherds come to the stable.  The prophets Simeon and Anna later in this chapter are both elderly retirees who spend their days in the Temple.  There is not a ruler in sight, nor a master of commerce.   It’s just poor people.  In this Gospel, when Jesus has grown up and finally gives his first sermon, he starts his ministry with these words:  “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor” (Luke 4:18). 

One of the reasons Luke’s infancy story is so warm is that it focuses on those who accept and love Jesus, and these are generally people on the margins of society, the poor. 

Contrast this with the story in Matthew:  Jesus’ people reject him at his birth, but mysterious magi (wizards) from the East bring him expensive gifts fit for a King and a Priest.   King Herod hears of the birth of Jesus from the magi, and along with the rich and mighty of Jerusalem high society, trembles in his boots.  He is afraid of a contender for the title King of the Jews, and begins plotting to rid himself of this unwanted competitor.  Herod lived in a Palace and fortress named after him, the Herodium, just south of Jerusalem--dare I say, "Herod Tower?"  Driven by his own fear of becoming a loser, he orders a massacre of children.  The family of Jesus has to flee to Egypt, become refugees and immigrants to save their lives, and later have to take up a new residence in Nazareth because Jerusalem, Bethlehem, and Judea are no longer safe.

But in Luke’s story, the poor welcome Jesus, and he is able to lose himself in the mass of poor people, and return with his family to grow up in his home town Nazareth, where he “increased in wisdom and in years, and in divine and human favor” (Luke 2:52).

The angel says “I bring you news of great joy to all people.”  Such an euangelion  is an announcement of good news of a royal birth, normally addressed to the elite ruling class.  When the angel says “all” here, he lays a bit of stress on the word "all," meaning, “including you, the poor.”  But he says “joy to all people,” all the same.  This announcement of good news is not just joy for the literal poor, the rich are included.  All are called to rejoice, including the wealthy and the powerful.  But in order to experience this joy, we must in our hearts feel the need and the open-handed sense of expectant hope of most of the poor.   I have lived in several third world countries and seen poverty.  Some of the most perfectly beautiful acts of generosity and sharing I have ever seen were performed by the poorest of the poor.  We see it in our homeless shelter here in Ashland:  apart from a very few disturbed and occasionally belligerent people, most who come are grateful, generous, and bring as much to the evening as they get out of it.  This is the heart of the poor the angel song seeks. 

In order to accept and receive Jesus as Lord, Savior, High Priest, and Son of God, we need to question the claims of such political leaders as Augustus and Herod in this broken and unhappy world, as well as those who would challenge them with the same old weapons.  We must find solidarity with the poor, the marginalized, the alien, and work hard to help them, bring justice to our social and economic arrangements, and end exploitation and abuse of any and all of our siblings. We must turn aside from vainglory, self-aggrandizement, and lying.  We must live simply, not abuse our earth or each other, and live joyfully knowing that because God now has taken on our flesh, our very bodies and souls are now made holy, and the Reign of God is in our midst. 

In the name of Christ, Amen. 

Beyond Right (Advent 4A)

Beyond Right
Isaiah 7:10-16; Romans 1:1-7; Matthew 1:18-25; Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18
Fourth Sunday of Advent (Year A)
Homily delivered at Trinity Parish Ashland (Oregon)
22 December 2019: 8:00 a.m. Said, 10:00 a.m. Sung Eucharist

The Rev. Fr. Anthony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.

God, give us hearts to feel and love,

Take away our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.

Today, the final Sunday of Advent, is Mary Sunday.  But we hear actually very little about her in today’s Gospel.  That is because the cycle of Gospel readings for this year is from St. Matthew, and in general, Saint Matthew does not focus on women as closely as does Saint Luke.  The principal figure in Matthew’s infancy story is not Mary, but Joseph.  There is no annunciation by the angel Gabriel to the Blessed Virgin here, as in Luke, but only an unexpected pregnancy and a dream explaining it to Joseph, her soon-to-be husband, to whom under the laws of her society she owes sexual fidelity, even before the marriage is performed.   Matthew patterns Joseph after the Genesis patriarch by the same name, the one with a coat of many colors who has dreams and prophetic interpretations, who saves his family by taking them into Egypt. 

 

There is an important detail in this story: “because he was a just man, Joseph did not want to publicly denounce Mary, so he decided to divorce her quietly.”  This assumes that Joseph could exercise the rights accorded to males in that society and, to protect his honor, punish the woman who has so shamed him.  He can do this by publicly accusing her of adultery and divorcing her, since engagement here imposed the same rules as marriage, and perhaps even see her stoned to death. 

But Joseph just can’t conceive of such a harsh way of treating Mary.   He decides a quiet divorce is the kindest way.   Of course, abandoning Mary and her child would mean probable starvation for both or a life of prostitution for Mary, but at least he would not have to know about it.   And for choosing this “merciful, kind way,” Joseph is called “just,” or “upright.” 

Usually, when we say someone is “just,” we define this in contrast to “unjust,” or wicked:   not respecting the minimum rules that defend us all from abuse.   We are “unjust” in this sense when we look out for number one, not play by anyone’s rules, and are nasty, dishonest, brutish, self-seeking, and do all in our power to get away with it.  The religious and legal traditions of most cultures, Joseph’s included, label such unfettered selfishness and shameless pursuit of one’s own pleasure at the expense of others as wicked, as deplorable. 

We often think that the opposite of “wickedness” in this sense is “righteousness” or “being upright,” that is, following those minimum standards of decency and “righteous” behavior. A corollary is encouraging such decency in others, by enforcing the rules and punishing the wicked. 

But this is where it gets tricky:  sometimes our own rules of decency can be used to abuse others.  Our values and sense of rights, our laws, may be skewed and wrong in light of greater concerns:  we can sense this from the distance of our own culture when we think of the basic logic of the rights Joseph enjoys here.  It is based in the oppression of women, in males holding females as chattel property in marriage.  This is an important thing to remember in our own age:  law and morality, so conceived, can themselves be wrong.  People defending exploitation, cruelty and brutality on the basis of “we’re just exercising our legal rights” or “we are just trying to enforce the law” are still trying to defend the indefensible.

Honorable, law-abiding citizens are far better than lawless, selfish, and unrestrained narcissists in pursuit of greed, pleasure, and raw power.   But we can also use law and the rules to beat up on others unfairly.  Compassion for others is the best way to check such a twisting of, such a corruption of, the right.  Generally, this means not standing on our honor and insisting on our rights and dignities. 

But there is something to be said for standing on one’s rights.  I once posted an article saying that seeking inner serenity and balance meant leaving rage at injustice alone.  A dear friend and colleague from the foreign service made this comment:  “It’s a thin line.  Are we like sheep? If we don't speak up, does our silence give approval to the bad behavior now and on future victims?” A Chinese scholar once told me about why he thought there is so little respect for human rights in China: “We get the governments we deserve—we Chinese are so focused on getting along, cultivating acceptance, and gracefully eating bitterness that over the centuries we have enabled tyrant after tyrant.  You Americans stand up for your rights, and your leaders generally respect them.”  

Of course, you can maintain your serenity, not lose your temper, and still be consistent and strong in standing against wrong.   This is what Jesus calls us to do. 

This is because there is a path beyond insisting on our rights, beyond right itself. 

Joseph has a dream, and an angel tells him that Mary has not betrayed him, and rather, that the child to be born is holy.  Joseph must not abandon Mary or the baby.  He is to support and sustain Mary, foster the child, and even give it the heroic, patriotic name Joshua. 

On occasion, God intervenes and talks to us, whether in dreams, or scripture, or contemplative moments, or in the advice of friends.  And sometimes God tells us to go beyond right, beyond good, beyond nice, and truly sacrifice ourselves to make God’s love become flesh in our lives and the lives of others.  Sometimes this means civil disobedience; sometimes simply in forgoing our rights.  

This principle lies behind several sayings in the Sermon on the Mount.  Jesus says that a commandment forbidding a bad thing does not mean you get a free pass on related things that have gone unmentioned.  “You have heard the Law say, do not commit adultery, but I tell you do not even look lustfully on another.  The Law says do not murder, but I say, do not lose your temper in anger or call people demeaning things.” 

Jesus teaches us to forego our rights in a peaceful but robust engagement with evil: “If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him your left.”  If a haughty overlord gives a brutal but dismissive blow with the back of the right hand to someone lower in the pecking order, Jesus says “Don’t strike back.  Instead, stand up tall and turn, forcing them to use their open palm on your left cheek as they would a social equal.”  

He also says “If a creditor sues you for your outer garment, give him your inner garment as well. Let your nakedness shame them and their system of exploitative oppression.”  Jesus also says, “If the Roman military compels you to carry baggage for them for a mile, insist on going with them a second mile.”   The one mile limit had been set up to prevent unmanageable popular disgruntlement and the uprisings it inspired. “Make those Romans break their own rules in order to show just truly how bad things are.”   Don’t stand on your own rights.  Give them up, and actively use the sacrifice to help bring the Reign of God near. 

Joseph’s path is less resistance-oriented than this, but all the more self-sacrificing.  He listens to the dream and then spends the rest of his life supporting and nurturing the woman and child whose abandonment had been his legal right.

Even in his infancy, even in the womb, Jesus calls us to abandon self, serve those who have no claim on us, and make God’s love present.  May we listen to that dream.  May we follow Joseph’s example and follow this call.  May we go beyond just and unjust, and beyond right. 

In the name of God, Amen.

Deadlines (Midweek Message)

Fr. Tony’s Midweek Message

Deadlines

December 18, 2019

I need deadlines to get things done.  I tend to be lazy and indolent, and put things off until they MUST be done.  Without deadlines, I procrastinate and put things off, sometimes until it is too late, or almost too late.  Deadlines help impose a pressure to perform before things get to a critical point. 

But deadlines and pressure have a cost too:  they rob us of the ease of doing things naturally and spontaneously.  I have noticed that my worst caregiving for Elena comes when I am under a hard deadline, whether it is getting her to Church, a concert, or a play at a specific time, or bedtime before evening exhaustion threatens to melt us down and cause what care professionals call “sundowning.”  Under pressure, I tend to transfer the pressure on me onto her, even as I keep my words civil and my tone restrained.  The tension leaks out; I cannot help it.  And pressure and tension is a surefire way of aggravating Parkinson’s freezing or tremors, only making the delay in meeting the deadline worse.  I do a much better job when I build in plenty of time to take things at a leisurely pace and not rush anything at all. So I have learned to take things at a more leisurely pace, and start earlier than my indolent self likes.  I think I am slowly improving in this. 

Courage is often described as grace under pressure.  But I wonder:  is grace itself love that refuses to be put under pressure, or love that plans ahead to keep the pressures at minimum?  Is grace love that won’t let its hair be set on fire when the hair of all those about is ablaze? 

The curious thing about Advent is that with all the talk of the coming Great and Dreadful Day of the Lord, it ends with sweet baby Jesus lying in a manger.  With all the talk about repenting and amending our ways NOW in the time of this mortal life, before death makes it too late, Advent tells us that the day is already breaking, and life is already being renewed.  With all the talk about standing ready, awake, lest the Master come suddenly and find us unaware and asleep, Advent tells us to have hope and thankfulness in our hearts for the Salvation that is on it way.    It tells us to hurry up and wait, to relax into the great wave that is washing over us. 

This morning I gave last rites to a beloved member of the parish, whom a stroke quickly and painlessly put to sleep before breakfast.  She had said many times she did not want to grow older and more and more afflicted and diminished (“not like these hundred-year olds around me”).  She just wanted to go swiftly and painlessly, to be rejoined with her beloved husband, whose remains lie in the Trinity Columbarium.  For her, the final deadline arrived suddenly, with her unaware of its arrival.  Her prayers were answered:  she did not suffer.  She was well prepared, and she died well. 

We should not let our hopes and expectations create pressure and trouble our hearts.  We should make and honor deadlines to keep pressure away, not to increase pressure.  We need to act in timely ways, deliberately, relaxed.  For the final deadline is coming, and will be sooner than we expect.  

Grace and peace. 

Fr. Tony+ 

Advent Prose (midweek message)

Advent Prose

Fr. Tony’s Midweek Message

December 11, 2019

The Advent Prose is a striking catena of passages from the Hebrew Scriptures expressing the hopes of the prophets for Yahweh's salvation at the end of time, when all would be set right.  It traditionally served in the Western Church as responsory for votive masses honoring the Blessed Virgin during Advent and was the appointed Introit for the Fourth Sunday of Advent, Mary Sunday.    It is now commonly used in Anglican/Episcopal churches for introits throughout Advent.   Here is my translation. 

   

Latin	English
Roráte caéli désuper, et núbes plúant jústum.	Distill dew, O heavens, from above, and let the clouds rain down         the Righteous One:
Ne irascáris Dómine, ne ultra memíneris iniquitátis: ecce cívitas Sáncti fácta est desérta: Síon desérta fácta est: Jerúsalem desoláta est: dómus sanctificatiónis túæ et glóriæ túæ, ubi laudavérunt te pátres nóstri.	Be not angry, Lord, Neither remember our wrongs anymore: See the holy city made a wilderness, Zion, a desert.  Jerusalem, abandoned: Your house, once holy and bright,    Where our forebears once praised you.
Peccávimus, et fácti súmus tamquam immúndus nos, et cecídimus quasi fólium univérsi: et iniquitátes nóstræ quasi véntus abstulérunt nos: abscondísti faciem túam a nóbis, et allisísti nos in mánu iniquitátis nóstræ.	We have sinned, and have become like something loathsome; We all have fallen like leaves in the autumn: Our wrongs have swept us away, like the wind; you have hidden your face from us: you have bound us in the hand of our wrongs.
Víde Dómine afflictiónem pópuli túi, et mítte quem missúrus es: emítte Agnum dominatórem térræ, de Pétra desérti ad móntem fíliæ Síon: ut áuferat ípse júgum captivitátis nóstræ.	See, Lord, how your people suffers.  Send the One who is to come. Send forth the Lamb—ruler of the earth from rocky Petra of the desert to the mount of daughter Zion— that He himself may bear away the yoke that has imprisoned us.
Consolámini, consolámini, pópule méus: cito véniet sálus túa: quare mæróre consúmeris, quia innovávit te dólor? Salvábo te, nóli timére, égo enim sum Dóminus Déus túus, Sánctus Israël, Redémptor túus.	Take comfort, take comfort, my people, Your salvation comes swiftly: Why waste away in sorrow Because pain has come over you anew?  I will save you; cease your fear.   For it is I, the Lord your God, Israel’s Holy One, Who purchases your freedom.

 

J. Brahms, 2 Motets, Op. 74: No. 2. O Heiland, reiss die Himmel auf, a metrical rendition in German of the Advent prose texts

Desolation, desert dryness, sorrow, wasting away, and the burden of wrongdoing—all this is what the Righteous One—coming gently like dew or thunderously like rain—will water, heal, and cleanse.  “Why waste away in sorrow” indeed!

Grace and Peace. 

Fr. Tony+

Watch and Wait (Midweek Message)

Reinhold Niebuhr

               

                                                         H. Richard Niebuhr

Watch and Wait

Fr. Tony’s Midweek Message

December 3, 2019

“Watch, stand fast in faith, be brave, be strong” (1 Corinthians 16:13).

“Keep your clothing hitched up, ready, and keep your lamps lit.  You yourselves be like servants who wait for their master, when he will return from the wedding, that when he comes and knocks they may open to him immediately. Blessed are those servants whom the master, when he comes, will find watching ” (Luke 12:35-36).

“Watch and pray, to avoid being put to the test.  Intentions may be good, but follow-through is hard” (Matthew 26:41).

A parishioner recently said to me, “I can’t watch the news any more.  It just makes me angry.  It just makes me realize how helpless I am, how hopeless things are.”  Hopeless and helpless: these emotions often precede people withdrawing, disengaging, and hunkering down depressed and alone.    Such isolation, though, just makes matters worse—people not challenging the broken status quo, not calling people to account, not framing hope for a better, different world just encourages the brokenness of things to continue and grow.  Hopelessness encourages further helplessness.    

In 1932, Imperial Japan had just invaded China and brutally taken over Manchuria.  Everyone could see that this presaged overall war in East Asia.  Some argued for military intervention to assist the Chinese, but this did not go anywhere because an honest assessment saw that such intervention had little chance of success and only would make the bloodshed and suffering worse.  So most people just said “in the face of this hopeless situation, we must do nothing, precisely because it is hopeless.”  People passed resolutions condemning the Japanese aggression and brutality of the occupation, in particular medical experiments on Chinese prisoners.  But all knew that such resolutions would change nothing, and in fact, only increased the hopelessness. 

In response, H. Richard Niebuhr wrote an article in the progressive Christian Century entitled, “The Grace of Doing Nothing.”  For him, in situations when nothing helpful can be done by anyone, there are different ways of “doing nothing.” Most feed the hopeless situation, but one actually might make a difference.    Pessimistic inaction feeds the horror by letting it go on unchallenged.  A “conservative” or “realist” inaction feeds it by saying that such horror is the way of all nations and nothing we can do will change this.   But the inactivity of a moral person frustrated and angry over the horror is something else entirely.  Such an objector, unable to use violence or threat of violence to change things, either because of its likely failure or because you renounce the tools of the broken world, challenges and questions the wrong all the same.  This inactivity is not meaningless.  A secular objector has hope that in the long arc of history, public naming and shaming of evil will eventually win the day once the processes of history work to unveil the deep contradictions in the violence of the system.  A Christian objector, on the other hand, has faith that God will eventually intervene and bring about the eschatological “Reign of God” hoped for in apocalyptic thought, and that ongoing witness to this in the here and now, rather than not accomplishing anything, actually keeps alive the hope that will be part of the arrival of the hoped for Kingdom.   

R. Richard’s brother, Reinhold Neibuhr, wrote a response to the article agreeing with the idea that both kinds of hopeful inaction may make a difference, but questioning his brother’s idealism in hoping against hope that eschatological consummation alone will heal the brokenness of our world.   How can we say that our anger and frustration at evil are tools in God’s hands but at the same time say that God forbids us to use them in any effective way?  No, Reinhold says:  it is better to use, carefully and ethically, the processes of history and the tools of nations to minimize harm, injustice, and bloodshed, even as a complete image of how things ought to be remains veiled from our eyes in this broken world. 

H. Richard’s position has been at the heart of Christian pacifism ever since, while Reinhold’s was the argument that later persuaded Dietrich Bonhoeffer to join the July 20, 1944 failed plot to assassinate Hitler.   Reinhold’s realism lies behind much of the hopeful activism of such leaders as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and Sojourners’ Jim Wallis.   

As a student of Buddhism, I learned in taiqi the importance of lifting your weight off a leg and foot, and using absence of weight and of effort as a tool in the struggle of balance that occurs in any physical confrontation.  In meditation, I learned that emptying one’s mind was the ultimate presence.  And as a U.S. diplomat, I learned the importance of strategic inaction as a tool in advancing one’s national interests.   Though derided in the West as lazy, laissez-faire, not-so-benign neglect, or mere ineptitude, strategic inaction is a key element of theory behind Sunzi’s Art of War.  The Chinese Taoist proverb says it all:

无为而治

Do nothing, but accomplish everything. 

Watching and waiting are scriptural tag words that explain how we should approach the fulfilment of our hopes.   Watching implies intentionality, clear witness, and keeping awake and engaged.  Waiting implies strategic inaction.  We are now in Advent, a season that looks forward to the fulfilment of God’s promises.  The basic message of Advent is don’t lose hope, and don’t let helplessness make you give up on doing what’s right. 

Grace and Peace. 

Fr. Tony+