What does it mean to offer a sacrifice of praise?

by Rev. Deb Worley

“Praise the Lord!
Praise God in his sanctuary; praise him in his mighty firmament!
Praise him for his mighty deeds; praise him according to his surpassing greatness!…
Let everything that breathes praise the Lord!
Praise the Lord!”
(Psalm 150:1,2,6)

I’ve had the phrase “sacrifice of praise” stuck in my head for the last few days. I’m not sure where I saw it, or how it got there, but it’s been there, rolling around, forcing me to think about it. What does it mean, to offer a sacrifice of praise? Those two words don’t really seem to go together easily.

Doesn’t offering a sacrifice usually imply some sort of hardship? Doesn’t the idea of making a sacrifice generally include the understanding of doing something that’s not comfortable or easy, but in fact, is inconvenient, difficult, or even painful? And isn’t offering praise, on the other hand, the sharing of something good and encouraging and uplifting, the offering of which usually comes easily and willingly, and even naturally?

So why are we invited to “continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise”? (cf. Hebrews 13:15; emphasis mine).

People are struggling right now. And not just “right now,” but for close to a year. A year. For almost twelve months we have been living with the restrictions imposed by COVID-19–which I do not need to elaborate on; we all know them all too well. Of course, people were struggling before that, too; life was not all rainbows and roses pre-coronavirus.

But the COVID-related restrictions have made everyone’s struggles even greater.

People are struggling. People around the world and across the street. Our neighbors and co-workers, our educators and political leaders, our relatives and friends. You who are reading this, and I who am writing this. We are all struggling. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hide, nothing to try to deny. I dare say it’s a fact of life in this season through which we are living.

And yet, we, as people of faith, now as always, are invited to praise God….

Suddenly, the idea of offering a sacrifice of praise makes sense. Right now, in the midst of these struggles, there may not be a lot that we want to say to God that is good and encouraging and uplifting. Right now, in the midst of these struggles, offering praise to God may not come easily or willingly or naturally. Right now, in the midst of these struggles, praising God is not necessarily easy or comfortable. Right now, in the midst of these struggles, I dare say that praising God may very well be difficult, or even painful.

And yet, we, as people of faith, now as always, are invited to praise God….

Perhaps it doesn’t come easily. Perhaps it doesn’t feel natural. Perhaps it’s even painful.

But maybe, just maybe, as people of faith, we can dig deep and offer a sacrifice of praise to God–praising God for God’s steadfast love and abiding presence if nothing else–right now, in the midst of these struggles.

Peace be with us all.
Deb

Love Letter From God

by Rev. Deb Worley

“And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” (Mark 1:11)
 


Yesterday–Sunday, February 14, 2021–happened to be both Valentine’s Day and Transfiguration Sunday, both of which celebrate belovedness. 

In honor of that, I am taking the liberty of sharing something I wrote in 2002, as I was leaving my position as the youth pastor of The United Church of Los Alamos, in order to stay home with my soon-to-be-born baby girl.

I had asked myself the question: “If the youth group hasn’t learned anything else in my time with them, what do I hope will stay with them?” This was the answer. I hoped something in it would speak to the kids then; perhaps something in it will also speak to you today.

Please enjoy this “Love Letter From God”…


To my Beloved Child…

That is, indeed, a good place to start—
by reminding you that you are my Beloved. 

You are a beloved child of mine.  You. 

Do you know that?
Do you know how much I love you?  
Do you really, really know, deep in your soul,
how much I, God, the Creator of the Universe, 
love YOU?

And do you know that the reason I love you 
is NOT that you are a good person?
Although you are.

Nor is it that you are a kind person. 
Although you are that, too.

The reason I love you is not all the good you do
(and I know even better than you how much good 
you have done, and how far-reaching its effects),
nor is it all the smiles you share, 
nor all the times you’ve reached out 
to help someone in need–
whether someone in your family, a friend, 
or even a stranger.

No, it is not for any of those reasons that I love you….

Oh, beloved child of mine, I love you so much!
If only you knew how much….

And do you know, and truly believe, that I love you 
even though I know your secrets?

I know the things that you’re afraid of….
I still love you.

I know the things that you’re ashamed of….
I love you anyway.

I know the things that you wish you’d never done….
I still love you.

I know the things that you wish you’d done differently….
I love you anyway.

I know your doubts…your judgments…your fears…your failures…
…and yet, I love you.

None of those things, nor anything else, 
could ever keep me from loving you….

I love you, my dear child, because I created you.
I love you, precious one, because there is no one else like you….
No one else.

I love you, Beloved, simply because you exist–
because that is what Love does
and Love is who I am.

I love you, now and forever and always,
and there is nothing you can do to change that.

There is nothing you can do to make me love you any more,
and there is nothing you can do to make me love you any less.

I.love.you.

Deeply.
Totally.
Passionately.
Unconditionally.
Forever.

Please, my dear child, let me love you….

God”

Peace, deep in our souls, be with us all
as we claim ever-so-slightly more fully,
our belovedness.
Deb

Thank God I Don’t Have a Demon…

by Rev. Deb Worley

“That evening, at sunset, they brought to [Jesus] all who were sick or possessed with demons….And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons….” (Mark 1:32, 34)

When I read passages like this in the Bible, I’m immediately grateful that I don’t have a demon. There are stories where someone has a demon who throws that person into the fire, or onto the ground; there are stories where someone with a demon is mute and another howls and cuts himself. In all of these stories, Jesus casts out the demons and restores their former “hosts” to wholeness; but still–I read them and feel very grateful that I don’t need that kind of healing from Jesus.

I’m especially thankful that I don’t have a demon that throws me into the fire–because this is where I’ve been spending a LOT of time in recent weeks:

But…as I think about it…I realize that there is something within me that can pull me away from wholeness, and forcefully.

There is no demon within me that pushes me to the ground…but there is, sometimes, something within me that does try to push me down–telling me things like I’m not good enough, I’m not capable enough, I don’t know enough….

Similarly, there is no unclean spirit within me that causes me to be mute…but there is, sometimes, something within me that influences me to be silent when I should speak up, that keeps me from speaking what I know to be true when that truth feels too uncomfortable or painful or risky….

As for cutting myself, there is no evil spirit within me that has led me to do that…but I have, at times, listened to something within me that has allowed me to chose to harm myself in other ways–by not addressing unhealthy relationships, for example, or by not listening to my own voice among all those I listen to for wisdom and guidance. 

I am more comfortable calling the “something within me” that puts me down, my “inner critic” instead of the voice of a demon, but it is similarly destructive. And while I’m more likely to think of those thoughts that try to silence me as coming from a place of fear and insecurity rather than an “unclean spirit,” couldn’t fear and insecurity be considered something similar?? And the variation on self-harm? Well, the voice within me that persuades me to not value myself appropriately could perhaps be considered an “evil spirit.”

Maybe I do have demons that need to be cast out by Jesus–demons within me that cause me to doubt my goodness and my capabilities, to doubt the truth that I know, to doubt my own wisdom and authority.

Maybe I do need Jesus to cast them out, so that there will be more space for a sense of my belovedness, and so that I can more fully trust God’s goodness and truth and wisdom within me.

Maybe I do need “that kind of healing” from Jesus….

Do you?

Heal us, Jesus!

Amen.

Visioning the Future

by Hailey Lyons

Every January I parse out what I want from the coming year. Sometimes this takes the form of a written list of goals; other times I sketch out ideas and possibilities that aren’t just for the coming year but beyond. When I entered high school, I had goals I wanted to accomplish spanning all four years. In undergrad I did the same, adjusting each year and checking back in with how far I’d come. These visions of the future, possibilities of what might be, delighted me as much as they terrified me.

Movements, organizations, and politics are dictated by competing visions of the possible future. Possibilities make us feel a part of something greater and better. Possibilities spur us to do great things even in the face of terrible odds. Possibilities lead us toward liberation, allowing us to breathe even as the oppressor grinds their boot on our necks. When we in the UCC envision a Just World for All, we ask what that actually looks like. We talk not just to each other, but to those we have nothing in common with. In the confluence, we dream up a just world for all with the necessary emphasis on all.

In my Evangelical tradition, the book of Revelation was a carefully pored over manual on Eschatology. Millennialism and its other forms became the battlegrounds for the time leading up to a new Heaven and Earth. Now, I understand the apocalyptic rhetoric of John during his exile on Patmos as a canonized microcosm of the apocalyptic tradition of the era. An era in which a vast empire ruled with an iron fist and a divine mandate. Visions of the end of that empire, visions of justice, and of accountability proliferated. And in their midst were revolutionary visions of future possibilities, symbolic and majestic, that incorporated justice and peace to form something beautiful. Thus, we read of lions laying down with lambs and of swords beaten into plowshares. A grand city and a world in which there are no more tears.

For two thousand years, Christianity has made its mark on the West and imperialized much of the known world. An empire that rules with the iron fist of capitalism and faux democracy with a presumed divine mandate. Coupled with a postmodern world in which the acceleration of history necessitates apocalyptic rhetoric, it is time we revisited John’s Revelation.

We must imagine an end, and then a new beginning for Christianity itself. Not with the small hope of merely subsisting, but with great and powerful visions of the future for our denomination and the Church Universal. What do you envision as a just world for all? What grand dreams – literal and symbolic – give you hope? Imagine the fruition of possibilities. But don’t stop there. Share your visions with others. Share your visions with those inside and outside your congregation. Write, talk, create art around them. Test them with the visions of others and find intersectional community. That is the way we find the future together. A Just World for All.

Pray Not with Swords in Hand: Reflecting on A Prayer by Violent Insurrectionists

by Rev. Teresa Blythe

Imagine the shock and disgust that rippled through mainline and progressive Christianity in this country after the New Yorker video from the January 6 insurrection showed a group of rioters standing around the Senate President’s chair in the Senate chamber pray, holding hands in the air praising God for their success at storming the Capital. One rioter who was interviewed after the event said he consulted God three times before coming, and each time “he didn’t hear a no.” Discerning types noticed that God also didn’t offer the man a “yes” either.

What can we say other than we denounce traitors and violent rioters who are overcome with a spirit of evil — a mob mentality — and that we do not believe this is something Jesus would ever sign off on? Jesus’ last words to his apostle Peter (and to future followers as well) was “put down your sword.”

We can’t say “they aren’t true Christians” because we know full well there is a strain of Christianity that is heavily nationalistic. And while we don’t interpret scripture the same way they do, we must acknowledge that they are part of what we call “the body of Christ.” We leave the judgment of who is and is not a Christian to a higher authority.

We can’t say “not all Christians” are like this. Even if it is true, it’s beside the point. Most people know there are a variety of strains of Christianity and not all strains condone violence. However, there are enough radical right activist Christians around to sully the reputation of all Christians. And our nationalist brothers and sisters manage to claim the media limelight more than we do.

What can nonviolent Christians say about a situation where a half-naked man wearing bull’s horns on his head calls on Almighty God for a blessing on his fellow rioters, some of whom were defecating in the halls of the Capital and smearing their waste on the walls? Until today, I’ve been at a complete loss for words. The faces of those around him praying and reaching to heaven confirmed how seriously these men felt that God was on their side. Cultic Christianity was on full display.

The responses to this deadly storming of the Capital have varied. Some Christians are holding prayer vigils. Some are doing a sort of biblical criticism denouncing this form of spiritual expression. Others are sticking their head in the sand — it’s just too horrible to think about. And still others are wondering how we can influence these nationalistic types and basically “convert” them to nonviolence.

My way, as a progressive, contemplative Christian spiritual director, is to simply grieve. To lament. If it were my style, I would cover myself with ashes and rent my clothing in distress. But it’s not my style. I grieve the loss of life; the way it will spread more Coronavirus; the fear it caused for so many of my elected leaders. I grieve how this event makes Christians look, and how this hardness and hatred will drive some people out of the church. I grieve what it all means for the future of our nation.

Like many others, I will watch, wait and pray for better days. And, however you respond to seeing rioters pray over Senate chambers, may it be a way that cultivates hope and deep peace in your life.

This post originally appeared on Patheos.

Racial Injustice and Mental Health

guest post by Ray Littleford of Desert Palm UCC; this post originally appeared in the Desert Breeze

February 14 may be Valentine’s Day, and in the United Church of Christ, it is also designated as Racial Justice Sunday, and the theme across the denomination is Compassionate Community.  It is well established that experiencing racial discrimination often leads to mental health problems that detract from quality-of-life over the course of a year or even a lifetime.  Numerous studies have found that rates of anxiety, depression and posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) are significantly higher among minority groups in the United States. 

Historically, Dr. Benjamin Rush, a signer of the Declaration of Independence and the first American physician to study mental disorders, declared that Negroes were not inferior to Whites.  In the 1850s, however, Dr. Samuel Cartwright defined “drapetomania” as the disease which causes slaves to run away, and “dysaethesia aethiopica” as the condition that causes laziness and made slaves insensitive to punishment.  A century later it was theorized that the urban violence among blacks in the 1960s was due to brain dysfunction.

There is also the problem of the over-diagnosis of schizophrenia among African-American males, nearly four times greater than that of white males.  The diagnosis was applied to many hostile and aggressive black men, and then they were treated with high doses of antipsychotic medications. 

Articles in prominent journals of mental health and psychiatry have explored the reluctance of African-Americans, Native Americans, Asian-Americans and Latinx individuals to seek mental health treatment.  Cultural paranoia and lack of trust in the medical community are often mentioned, as well as concerns regarding the cultural competence and understanding of clinicians.  Mental health professionals are predominantly white (e.g. only 2% of US psychologists are African-American) so these professions need to do a better job of attracting minority groups.

Finally, another area of discrimination is the lack of awareness by physicians of physiological differences of various racial groups in how medications are metabolized by the liver.  This can result in either toxic levels of medications or ineffective levels.  If you have tried several different psychiatric medications with poor results, then ask your physician to order genetic testing of the liver enzymes.  Most insurance plans will authorize it, and then the test results can point to the medications that are well metabolized by your liver, not too fast or too slow.

I believe we are making progress in reducing the stigma of mental illness in the general population.  It behooves us to extend this progress to people of all races and ethnicities so that biases in diagnosis and accessibility to treatment are eliminated.  As members of DPUCC, our witness to the community is that everyone is welcome here.  In the words of the Apostle Paul:

If our Message is obscure to anyone, it’s not because we’re holding back in any way.  No, it’s because these other people are looking or going the wrong way and refuse to give it serious attention.  All they have eyes for is the fashionable god of darkness.  They think he can give them what they want, and that they won’t have to bother believing a Truth they can’t see.  They’re stone-blind to the dayspring brightness of the Message that shines with Christ, who gives us the best picture of God we’ll ever get.  Remember, our Message is not about ourselves; we’re proclaiming Jesus Christ, the Master.  All we are is messengers, errand runners from Jesus for you.  It started when God said, “Light up the darkness!” and our lives filled up with light as we saw and understood God in the face of Christ, all bright and beautiful.  (2 Cor 4:3-6, The Message)

“Put a muzzle on it!”

Rev. Talitha Arnold, United Church of Santa Fe

As a pastor, I probably shouldn’t confess this, but I have a hard time with some of the stories the Bible tells about Jesus. His zapping a fig tree for not bearing fruit (when it wasn’t the season for figs) is one. (Mark 11:12-25) His chastising Martha for being busy in the kitchen is another. (Luke 10:38-42) How else was dinner going to get fixed?

These days—eleven months into the pandemic, economic upheaval, and virtual church—the story of Jesus calming the storm (Mark 4:35-41) is at the top of the list. According to Mark’s Gospel, one night Jesus decides he wants to get to the other side of the Sea of Galilee. Peter and the other fishermen-turned-disciples humor him and set sail. Before they reach shore, they get caught in a storm that threatens to swamp the boat and dump all of them into the drink.

But in the midst of the howling wind and crashing waves, Jesus calmly rebukes the storm. “Peace, be still,” he says, according to the King James Version. J.B. Phillips translates Jesus’ words as “hush now” and the Wycliffe Bible as “Wax dumb.” The Message translates Jesus’ command as “settle down,” as if Jesus were talking to an errant child, and not a raging storm that’s about to drown them all.

Given the myriad of storms that swirl around us—from the pandemic to economic upheaval to “alternate facts” to conspiracy plots—I need a Jesus who does more than say “hush now” or “settle down” to the howling winds. Speaking personally, on a day in which my computer was hacked, my dog figured out how to unlatch the back gate to get out, and a backlog of work swamps my desk, I need a Jesus who stands up to the chaos and pushes back at the waves of disruption, be they global or part of daily life.

Believe it or not, that’s the Jesus in this story. In the Gospel’s original Greek, he snarls at the screeching wind and crashing waves: “Put a muzzle on it!” That’s the literal translation of how this story was first told. It’s a far cry from the gentle, long-suffering Jesus of some later translations.

I find Jesus’ snarl to the wind and waves comforting. When the storms of life rage around us and within us, it’s good to remember that Jesus didn’t stay safe on the shore but was in the boat with Peter and the others that night—and is with us as well. When like those fishermen, we’re caught in storms we’re not sure we can weather, I’m glad for the One whose power can silence even the loudest clamor. When we can’t calm our own waves of doubt or quiet the inner howls of despair, I’m thankful for the One who can put a muzzle on it all.

Most of all, I’m thankful for the One whose voice we can still hear through such an ancient story that still offers new life. Perhaps you are, too.a

Blessings,
Talitha

P.S. Nizhoni came back 🙂

Attitude

by Rev. Deb Worley

“Now the Lord came and stood there, calling as before, ‘Samuel! Samuel!’ And Samuel said, ‘Speak, for your servant is listening.’ Then the Lord said to Samuel, ‘See, I am about to do something in Israel that will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle….I am about to punish [Eli’s] house forever…’

“Samuel lay there until morning…afraid to tell the vision to Eli. But Eli called Samuel and said, ‘Samuel, my son….What was it that [the Lord] told you? Do not hide it from me….’ So Samuel told him everything…. Then [Eli] said, ‘It is the Lord; let him do what seems good to him.'” 

(1 Samuel 3:10-18…ish…)

The above passage is a significantly abbreviated version of the familiar “Calling of Samuel” passage (cf. 1 Samuel 3), wherein “the boy Samuel was ministering to the Lord under [the priest] Eli” (1 Samuel 3:1). Prior to what we read above, God had already called three times: “Samuel! Samuel!” And all three times Samuel had gone to Eli, saying, “You called?” The first two times, Eli said, “I didn’t call you. Go back to bed.” The third time it hit him: “Ah! GOD is calling you! If it happens again, say, ‘Yes, God? I’m listening.’” 

That’s where we pick up the story: “Now the Lord came and stood there, calling as before, ‘Samuel! Samuel!’ And Samuel said, ‘Speak, for your servant is listening.’” Often, it seems, the focus of this passage is on God calling, and on listening for God’s call. When I read it this week, however, there were a couple of other parts that stood out to me.

One is just Samuel’s response to hearing what was going to happen to Eli–he “lay there until morning” (cf. 1 Sam. 3:15). So, I’m not the first person (nor, I suspect, will I be the last) to lay awake until morning, my mind spinning over things (especially bad things!) that are out of my control. In fact, not only am I not the first person to spend a sleepless night, fearing what lies ahead, but I’m in good company! 

The other thing that spoke to me was Eli’s response to what Samuel told him. Samuel had just delivered some pretty unwelcome(!) news–that God was “about to punish [Eli’s] house forever” (cf. 1 Sam. 3:13). I don’t know exactly what that would look like–to have your house and family punished by God forever–but surely it’s not a good thing. Surely, in fact, it’s a terrible thing. 

And how did Eli respond? Did he say, “What?? That’s not fair!” No. Did he say, “What?? Why me??” No. Did he say, “Surely ‘forever’ doesn’t really mean forever…” No. Did he otherwise moan or whine or complain or rage? No. 

He said, “It is the Lord; let him do what seems good to him.”

“It is the Lord; let him do what seems good to him.”

And I thought, “Wow…if only I could adopt that attitude….” That speaks to me of trusting in God, no matter what. Of claiming God’s goodness, no matter the circumstances.

“It is the Lord; let him do what seems good to him.”

That speaks to me of trusting in a bigger picture, even though it can’t be seen. Of claiming to be part of a bigger–and better–story, even though this part sucks. 

“It is the Lord; let him do what seems good to him.”

That speaks to me of faith.

Does that mean in every situation that is “unwelcome,” we are to simply sit back and accept it, without complaining or raging? Or doing anything to change it? Of course not. 

But perhaps there are times–particularly when the unwelcome situations are out of our control (not that any of us can relate to that concept…!)–when an attitude of “It is the Lord; let him do what seems good to him” could be helpful.

Just a thought.

Peace be with us all.
Deb

The Use of Violence

by Hailey Lyons

I am not the only one who watched the storming of the Capitol in utter horror. And I am certainly not the only one who watched it without surprise. We knew this was coming, we knew for decades that this was going to happen.

What was unexpected to the neoliberals was what I and other marginalized peoples have been warning about for decades. As we departed from Evangelicalism and conservative ideologies, as we grew up in open opposition to the powers that oppress us, and as we ran to mainline and progressive havens, we warned about the dangers to come. But we were not heard. Instead, we could neither truly escape the past nor shrug off the painful present, leaving us in rage and silence.

The terrorists that stormed the Capitol did so with signs like ‘Jesus Saves’ and American flags, Confederate flags, and ‘Proud American Christian’ flags. Their jubilance was palpable as they attacked the press and stood on the Capitol for steps an hours-long photo-op. They invaded offices of members of Congress, planted bombs, and posed in the chambers themselves. Their purpose was clear: to defy the will of the people and vaunt the power of white supremacy and Christian nationalism.

And yet, all I see from the media and from ecumenical responses are denouncements of violence. The media and our political institutions use symbolic language to talk about America’s status as a place of peace and hope. Church leaders talk about Jesus’ nonviolence as if it were enshrouded in sacred history and understood as truth by all. They shame their institutions and denominations.

To say that Jesus was nonviolent is to ignore the Scriptures. The man who spoke out in synagogues and on mountainsides in the face of Roman colonial and Pharisaical rule did so with the knowledge that his teachings and practices were a violent rejection of them. The man who braided a whip and struck people and livestock, overturning tables in the temple of the Lord was not nonviolent. The man who preached that we were to turn our cheek once slapped to allow only a dishonorable strike be the next one was not nonviolent. The man who announced that his was the way of truth and life; the man whose death spawned an entire religion that would for centuries violently oppose powers and principalities was not nonviolent. Even in its appropriation as state religion, Christianity has ever been a religion of violence. To say otherwise cherry picks church history in the same manner we malign Evangelicals for.

America is not a place of peace and nonviolence. Our arms and munitions fund wars all around the world and have done so for an exceedingly long time. Our laws and governments privilege violence against the marginalized to keep us marginalized. Our culture is rooted in violent destruction of those who oppose us. We are not a shining beacon of democracy; we are an imperial power inherited from colonial Europe.

No broad civil rights movement has ever been achieved in America without violence. From the Civil War to recognize black bodies as human; to women’s suffrage and the street carnage; to the Civil Rights Movement of the 60s that saw still more black and brown bodies murdered and brutalized; to the Stonewall Riots that demanded LGBT bodies be seen and not murdered or brutalized; to the Black Lives Matter and ANTIFA marches in recent years. Martin Luther King Jr. knowingly incited violence during his marches, and toward the end of his life he was on the crux of announcing far bolder and violent measures to take racial equality by force. As police moved in to arrest and brutalize and murder LGBT people at Stonewall, they stood up and fought back directly. Had they not, I wouldn’t have the right to be where I am today.

In my coming out and coming to understand my peoples’ history and culture, I am horrified at the violent methods by which transgender bodies have been systematically oppressed, brutalized, and murdered. I live with the terror of knowing that not passing in public subjects me to the possibility of verbal abuse, a beating, or being killed. Simply by choosing to be myself I am an act of violence, of violent rejection of the multifold violence done to me.

Religious and political institutions ignore the fact that violence is not and has never been solely an expression of physical force. Violence takes many forms, and most often it is epistemic and psychological. While we distract from the real issue at hand and titillate on the use of violence, we must understand that the epistemic and psychological forms of violence are the most common tools of those in power. For us on the margins, it is not just physical violence that we face when we march in the streets, but the epistemic and psychological violence by institutions seeking to rip legitimacy away from us. Marching in and of itself is an act of violence, violently rejecting the oppressive powers that would see us isolated and alone in order to be more quietly brutalized and murdered.

When we read Scripture, we find Christ is most often present where power and violence clash with the marginalized. Christ is a force of violence, but where the state privileges power, Christ privileges people. Two ideologies – power and people – clashing against each other necessitate violence, or otherwise there would be no opposition. When American neoliberal culture and Evangelicalism perpetuate the idea that violence is evil, they take away the opportunity for opposition to them, and instead rule unchecked. This is nothing less than hypocrisy and perpetuates still more violence and oppression. Neoliberals and Evangelicals alike are horrified by it and yet don’t hesitate to use it when it benefits them. We should condemn why the terrorists were at the Capitol rather than critiquing the methodology when we were just cheering Black Lives Matter on and acknowledging the only language that gets the attention of those in power is violence. It is nothing short of hypocrisy and grandstanding.

It’s not just our burden, but our requirement as Christians to check this oppressive power with the people. Whether marching in the streets, teaching a different curriculum, or favoring the marginalized over those in power, these are all acts of violence. They are also immense acts of love and compassion and empathy, binding us together in solidarity against power and violence. If we do not acknowledge those facts and cower in the shadows when the word violence is used like a slur, then we will never achieve equality and we will never be truly heard on the margins.

Let us remember where the true war is being fought. Let us adjust course and fight the fight as Jesus and the Prophets did, knowing that things can be better. Knowing that one day our children and grandchildren will know a world in which violence is no longer necessary because there is nothing but the people. Until then, we fight.

What Do We Mean When We Say ‘Justice’?

by Hailey Lyons

The greatest joy I have found in helping lead our UCC@ASU ministry is the moment an individual recognizes that we’re there to jump in alongside them, lift them up, and fight for justice. For far too long, Evangelical institutions have dominated the scene at ASU, creating a narrative that demands conformity to strict theology and causes lasting harm. When I was still a member of an Evangelical institution and doing campus ministry, a word that rang in our ears and filled our mouths with distaste was ‘justice’.

This seven-letter word has caused Evangelicalism and white, heteronormative communities around America, to reflexively cringe. This is because seeking justice inherently challenges their positions of power. This is because seeking justice inherently rebukes whiteness, heteronormativity, and strict gender roles. Even in the UCC, a denomination founded on seeking justice, we still find bastions of white supremacy, heteronormativity, and transphobia. We still have much to learn about actually doing the work of justice.

The UCC has largely become inoculated to the word ‘justice’. Sure, it goes on our slogans and marketing campaigns, but from there it fizzles out like soda going flat. It retains some of its taste as sugary juice, and one might still recognize it, but the carbonation is completely gone. The fire, the passion, the zeal to be transformative is gone. Instead, it is flat. Inert. The UCC has a long and storied history of seeking justice on the front lines of national debates, but this obscures the fact that too often local UCC churches distill the message of justice into only putting up a slogan in the building or on the website and separate from the transformation that justice requires. It’s not enough to just do a food drive in your church. It’s not enough to go to the border and help struggling migrants avoid dehydration and starvation. It’s not enough to label your church as Open and Affirming. These things are wonderful, but they are not enough.

The heart of the problem is churches choosing complacency rather than the true, transformative work of Christ. Instead of changing our polity, liturgy, and curriculums we uphold whiteness, heteronormativity, and transphobia. We inject ourselves into public discourse on a few areas to make ourselves feel better when we’re as colonizing as every other invasive non-profit that exists for its own gratification.

Our ministerial call in the UCC is to embrace transformative justice as a catalyst for change. “God is still speaking,” isn’t just a cute denominational phrase, it’s a rallying cry to the spark of change found in the margins. If we yield to the discomfort and withdraw from change because we can’t deal with our own complicity, we reject the idea that God is still speaking. We reject the embrace of justice and trade it for institutional security.

Justice is our call, our urgent need. Transformative justice that embodies the Christ in both the personal and the systemic, both the local church and the universal one. Jesus died, but the Christ lives on in the church. Radical rejection of oppressive systems and powers and total love tempered by communal striving toward mutual servanthood aren’t just attributes of the Christ, but the call of the church. Jesus’ ministry wasn’t a campaign as a synagogue leader or a pharisee to bring more Samaritans and Romans into the fold, but to evolve spiritual praxis into something totally different, radically new.

Justice is an analogous term to the Christ, one that the law cannot aspire to because the law is too often trapped by the oppressive systems and powers to truly strive communally toward mutual servanthood with total love. Too often the church is wrapped up in the opposite side, bogging itself down in what it means to love and communally strive toward mutual servanthood so that its rejection of oppressive systems and powers is watered down to the personal or too weak to make systemic change.

The UCC has an amazing opportunity to embody the Christ through seeking justice, but that means doing the work. We have the chance to do something totally different and radically new, but rather than getting caught up in visions of a restored UCC population: do the work. When we say justice let us truly mean the burning, urgent passion to embody the Christ in all its transformative power.