Tag: Jesus

The Messiah Misunderstood: From Ancient Expectations to Modern Distortions

by Christopher Schouten

Throughout history, there has been a recurring tension between the Jesus of the Gospels and the “Messiah” people want him to be. This disconnect wasn’t just a problem in first – century Judea – it is a central struggle in modern American faith today.

The Ancient Expectation: A Lion of Judah

In biblical times, the Jewish people lived under the crushing weight of Roman occupation. Naturally, their expectations for a Messiah were shaped by their immediate suffering. They looked for:

  • A Military Conqueror: A second King David who would lead a violent revolt to overthrow Caesar.
  • Nationalistic Superiority: A leader who would restore Israel to geopolitical dominance and judge the surrounding nations.
  • Political Power: A king who would sit on a literal throne and enforce Jewish law through state power.

The Jesus we know delivered on none of those expectations.

The Reality: The Suffering Servant

Instead of a general on a white horse, they got a carpenter on a donkey. Jesus did not come to replace one earthly empire with another; he came to subvert the very concept of “empire.”

  • Power in Weakness: He chose a cross over a sword.
  • Inclusivity: He ate with the “unclean,” the tax collectors, and the enemies of the state.
  • The Upside – Down Kingdom: He taught that the last shall be first and that true greatness is found in service, not domination.

The Modern Distortion: Christian Nationalism

In modern America, we see a striking parallel to those ancient, erroneous expectations. The rise of Christian Nationalism has essentially “repainted” Jesus to fit a narrative of power, exclusivity, and domination.

The “Americanized” Jesus

This movement has traded the humble Galilean for a figure who mirrors the very Roman authorities Jesus resisted. This distorted version of Christ is used to justify:

  • The Lust for Power: The belief that Christians are entitled to control the mechanisms of the state to enforce their worldview.
  • Exclusivity: Moving away from “love your neighbor” toward a “us vs. them” mentality that marginalizes immigrants, the LGBTQ+ community, and those of other faiths.
  • Domination: Using the Gospel as a tool for cultural supremacy rather than a message of liberation for the oppressed.

By wrapping the cross in the flag, this movement attempts to turn a global message of radical love into a narrow tool for nationalistic control.

Reclaiming the Prophetic Voice

As progressive Christians, our task is not just to point out these distortions, but to actively reclaim the identity of Jesus in the public square. Here is how we can begin to shift the narrative:

1. Centering the Marginalized

Jesus consistently moved toward the edges of society. To reclaim his message, we must ensure our theology and our activism center the voices of those whom the “Empire” seeks to silence.

2. Embracing Radical Non – Violence

In a culture obsessed with “might makes right,” we must proclaim the power of sacrificial love. This means standing against policies of dehumanization and violence, even when it is politically unpopular.

3. Using Our Prophetic Voices

The prophets of the Bible didn’t just comfort the grieving; they “afflicted the comfortable.” Using our prophetic voices means speaking truth to power in the public square – whether through protest, policy advocacy, or community organizing.

4. Redefining “Kingdom” as “Kindom”

We must remind the world that the Kingdom of God is not a territory to be conquered, but a way of treating others characterized by justice, mercy, and humility. Jesus came not to dominate and rule in the traditional sense, but to create a “Kindom” where all people matter and their fundamental dignity as beloved children of God is recognized by all.

The Jesus of history was a threat to the status quo because he refused to play the game of domination. By returning to that radical, inclusive roots, we can offer a weary world a glimpse of the true Christ – the one who heals rather than hurts, and who invites all to the table instead of excluding and demonizing those who are marginalized.

What kind of day is Palm Sunday?

by Rev. Paul A. Whitlock

It’s the observance of a tragedy. It’s not a day of simple optimism. We know all about optimism; we’ve tried to be optimistic while the various countries of the world, including our own, position for war. We’ve tried to be optimistic while our government is falling apart and lacks the moral leadership to dig us out of this hole.
Palm Sunday is the observance of a tragedy, but not a day of despair.

Palm Sunday is one bright and glorious moment in human history when we proclaim the courage and the integrity of God in Christ. Palm Sunday isn’t a day when we throw up our hands because Jesus was killed. It’s not a day of pessimism when we condemn the people of the first century, the crowds which later became ugly. It’s not a day when we get morose over the money changers in the temple and declare that nothing ever turns out well.

Palm Sunday, rather, is a day when knowing…

  • People are fickle and get tired of parades and go home
  • Religious leaders like things neat and tidy and kill reformers
  • The humble truth teller is walked upon
  • People will sell their souls for a handful of silver
  • Even good friends will sleep while we suffer

Knowing all of this, Jesus still came riding into town.

Palm Sunday is a bright and glorious day when love turned into courage and integrity and became a small parade headed for the gallows. It’s the day that Jesus the Christ, knowing the facts of life – the truth about our person, and the truth of what we do when we get together – knowing all this Jesus loving does what he is called to do, and does it without bitter and ill feeling towards us. It’s so tragic that it had to come to this. It’s so tragic that God had to do that for us.

Palm Sunday is a tragedy, but a tragedy worth celebrating.  

photo credit: Rev. Paul A. Whitlock, Church of the Palms UCC

That Was Me

The Church of the Palms used the following litany, written by Rev. Max Klinkenborg, at the dedication of the “Homeless Jesus” sculpture on Saturday, November 18, 2023.

Jesus said, ”I’m telling the solemn truth; whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me – you did it unto me.” Matthew 25:40

Leader: Once I saw a man eating from a buffet of leftovers in a dumpster.

All: That was me!

Leader: Once I smelled the urine soaked clothes of an old women wearing two coats on a city bus.

All: That was me!

Leader: Once I saw a frozen body covered in snow with no coat, hat, shoes or gloves.

All: That was me!

Leader: Once I saw a man fall to the street; his shoes were stolen before he could get up.

All: That was me!

Leader: Once I heard the screams of a man set on fire in a dumpster for stealing drugs.

All: That was Me!

Leader: Once I felt the despair of a man turned away on a cold night from an overcrowded shelter.

All: That was Me.

Leader: Once I saw a woman on a bike pulling two carriers filled with her earthly possession.

All: That was Me.

Leader: Once I heard a person arguing with themself at full volume as they pushed a grocery cart.

All: That was Me.

Leader: Once I gagged at an infected blister under a blood soaked sock on the sole of a woman’s foot.

All: That was Me!

Leader: Once I wept as I saw a boy and his sister eating ketchup on crackers, alone in a restaurant.

All: That was me!

Leader: Once I saw three adults, four children and a dog sleeping in a minivan.

All: That was Me!

Leader: Once I heard a shivering man in a wheel chair, stuck in snow, calling to no avail for help.

All: That was Me!

Leader: Once I saw a man asleep on a park bench covered by newspaper.

All: That was Me!

Leader: Once I smelled burning flesh when a woman fell on a steel grate in August and no one helped her get up.

All: That was Me!

Leader: Once I sent Christmas cards to a woman’s prison; a woman thanked me later for her only card or gift.

All: That was Me!

Leader: Once I heard a bone-rattling cough from a pile of rags holding a blood soaked rag to her mouth.

All: That was Me!

Think about what you believe. Then see if you believe what you think. 

by Rev. James Briney

I like what Jesus did.  He noticed what was going on for others, did what he could and moved on.  Jesus did what he did as a matter of faith.  He lived for what he believed and he died for what he believed.  But his last words indicate that he did not know if it was worth it:  “My God why have you forsaken me.”  Jesus understood that when you know the right thing to do, but are not certain of the outcome, do it anyway.  That’s all any of us can do.  

A challenge of ministry is the futility of it all.  If it weren’t for so darn many flawed human beings, clergy would be out of business.  More congregations would be extinct and forming community would be left to amateurs.  Professionally—or not—the key is to minister.  Show up.  Be present.  Be in the practice of ministry, not the ministerial business. 

The major religions of the world have one thing in common.  No one knows anything.  Religious practices are based on faith and belief, not proof and knowledge.  We all are just trying to figure out where we come from, why we are here, and where we are going.  The best we can do is employ words and symbols to express such concerns.  

I like who Jesus was, and is.  He still is, and will continue to be, for as long as he is remembered, thought about, and talked about.  Jesus was anointed as the messiah by those who recognized him as the King of Kings, the Prince of Peace, the Lord of Lords, and the Son of God; not the Caesars, who claimed those titles for themselves. 

When Jesus was confronted by the law-givers, who were out to do him in, he did not say he was the ‘only’ way to be in relationship with God.  Jesus said: “I am the way.”  I take that to mean, I am the way to be.  Be the way I am. 

Jesus is not some sort of magic man who did things we can’t do.  He was not being modest when he said:  “You will do greater things than I.”  Jesus understood, hoped for, and trusted that every person is capable of being and becoming the soul that God intends for them to be. 

It is tempting to give up on humanity, or to blame God in the context of overwhelming tragedies, horrors, and sorrows.  It is seductive to settle for a life of distractions that prevent us from thinking about that which matters most.  

I am a person of faith.  I believe there is more to life than life itself, perhaps experienced in the afterlife as manifestations of consciousness and energy.  I once told an atheist who ridiculed my faith, to try to be gracious should he meet God face to face.   

God has given all of Creation everything we need.  Everything in this world that is wrong, unfair, hostile, and unjust is on us.  Trust the Spirit that is Holy within you.  All that you experience and all that you do is part of the Eternal. 

There is no my god, your god, or our god.  There is one God, by a variety of names.  The Church is a flawed institution, not the Kingdom of God.  Individuals that understand the basics, fundamentals, and particulars of their own faith—and the faith of others—give me some hope.   

It’s scary to contemplate our fate and to wonder where we came from, why we are here and where we are going.  But do it anyway.  When you are satisfied that you have all the answers start over.  Think about what you believe.  Then see if you believe what you think. 

Over 25 years of ordained ministry the Reverend James Briney served congregations in Indiana, Michigan, Wisconsin, and Arizona. Early on, Jim earned degrees in Philosophy and Theology.  He is retired and living in Oro Valley.  (Photo by: Lou Waters.)

Balanced

This is Conference Minister Rev. Dr. Bill Lyons’ message preached at First Christian Church UCC/DOC in Las Cruces on Sunday, July 24, 2022.

38Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. 39She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying. 40But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.” 41But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; 42there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” Luke 10:38-42

Martha is fussing, and Mary is listening. Martha is wrong and Mary is right. Right? Or maybe, Martha is doing what a woman is supposed to do (serving) and Mary is doing what a man is supposed to do (learning)[1] so when it comes to the cultural norms and gender expectations of their day, Mary is wrong, and Martha is right. Or maybe, Martha is attending to the needs of others, and Mary is doing something more like what the priest and Levite were doing in the story just before today’s text, focusing on things above. And in that story – the story of the Good Samaritan – someone neglecting the needs of people, especially hurting people right in front of them, in favor of focusing on things above got scolded by Jesus. And in today’s story, that response is reversed. Jesus scolds Martha who is attending to the needs of others and the honor of her house, and he commends Mary. One thing that is certain about this passage is there’s nothing simple about it! A second certainty is that the story of Mary and Martha opens a profound window for understanding the Realm of God as Jesus understood it, and as Luke and the early church tried to live it.

The Rev. Dr. Niveen Sarras is a Hebrew Bible scholar and pastor at Immanuel Lutheran Church of Wausau in Wausau, Wis. She was born and raised in Bethlehem, Palestine. About Mary and Martha she writes:

In my culture and in first-century Palestine, hospitality is about allowing the guest to share the sacredness of the family space. The women’s role is to do all of the cooking and food preparation. It is very unusual for Palestinian women to join male guests before they are done with all the food preparation. In my culture and Jesus’, failing to be a good hostess means disrespecting the guest. 

The traditional interpretation of Luke 10:38-42 presents the narrative as a problem between Martha and Mary, but it is about the two kinds of ministries: diakonia and the word. Marta represents the ministry of diakonia, and Mary represents the ministry of the word. Jesus does not prefer the ministry of the latter over diakonia. Instead, Jesus does not want the diakonia to be at the expense of the ministry of the word. Both ministries are important.[2] 

Luke’s point in chapter 10 is that hospitality quintessentially marks membership in the people of God. When the seventy received their mission, a community’s hospitality was the proof of participating in the Kingdom of Heaven. Hospitality defined the Samaritan as a good neighbor. And in the next chapter, Luke 11, the tell of a friend is their willingness to give you good things when you ask for them, even when doing so inconveniences or costs them.

Jesus told the story of the Good Samaritan when he met a man skilled in Biblical study who had trouble living God’s Word in relationship to his neighbors. Luke “shock[ed] [his readers] because they did not expect a Samaritan, an enemy…, to be their neighbor and succeed in what their religious leaders failed to do.” [3]  In this story Jesus met a woman so busy serving others that she wasn’t listening for God’s Word.[4]  Luke shock[ed] his audience again” when he welcomed Mary as a student.[5] 

Recovering the symbiotic relationship between the ministry of service to a broken and hurting world and deeply listening to the words of Jesus can be a step toward healing the divisions in today’s Church and empowering us for being Kin-dom of God friends, Realm of God neighbors. Notice that “Jesus does not ask Martha to give up the ministry of diakonia; instead, he intends to relieve Martha from her anxiety and exhaustion by inviting her to join her sister in learning from him. Then, she can resume her hospitality with her sister.”[6]

These past several weeks I’ve spent a significant amount of time offering a progressive Christian witness in the public square. Listening to the stories of our neighbors about the impact of unaffordable health care and resulting medical debt has been heartbreaking. Listening to the anger and determination of young activists whose communities have been targeted by voter suppression laws has been inspiring. Crafting public statements and working on ballot initiatives in what the UCC Statement of Faith calls “the struggle for justice and peace” is exhausting! Sitting at the feet of Jesus listening deeply to his words grounds us, calms us, reminds us why we are doing ministry in the public square. Without the doing – the struggle, the risks, the solidarity with and accompaniment of our neighbors, “faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.”[7]

Last Saturday while moderating a webinar to inform, educate, and mobilize progressive churches for reproductive rights I heard both Rev. Dr. Cari Jackson with the Religious Coalition for Reproductive Right and Brittany Fonteno, executive director for Planned Parenthood AZ say they were engaged as Christians in the fight for abortion rights not in spite of their faith but because of it. They are women who model for me the ministry of hospitality – neighborliness, and friendship – built upon a foundation of sitting at the feet of Jesus and deeply listen.

More than that, these women are the voice of Jesus for me. The Word of God that Mary was drawn to was not written on the scrolls in her synagogue. The Word of God that engaged Mary was the Word of God embodied and the words he spoke. Balancing the tasks of hospitality with the ministry of the Word means sitting at the feet of our neighbors and listening to them too, for they have a Word from God for us told in the stories of their lives. Jesus always taught us about the Realm of God through the lens of human experience. Jesus was focused on people not issues. He always interpreted the issues of his day through the lens their impact on people’s lives. And when challenged with a decision between what his Bible said and doing the compassionate neighborly thing, Jesus always chose hospitality.

Martha, thank you for opening your home to us this morning. Mary, thank you for your calm non-anxiousness in the midst of swirling surges of busy-ness and doing. Jesus, thank you for affirming countercultural gender roles, and for reminding us that actions related to loving mercy and doing justice and spending time in your presence listening deeply are two sides of a balanced life for everyone invited to your banquet table.

“If we censure Martha too harshly, she may abandon serving all together, and if we commend Mary too profusely, she may sit there forever. There is a time to go and do, there is a time to listen and reflect. Knowing which and when is a matter of spiritual discernment. If we were to ask Jesus which example applies to us,” Martha or Mary, “his answer would probably be, “Yes.”[8]

[1] Swanson, Richard W. Provoking the Gospel of Luke: A Storyteller’s Commentary. P. 167.

[2] Sarras, Rev. Niveen. https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-16-3/commentary-on-luke-1038-42-5

[3] Ibid.

[4] Craddock, Fred B. Luke (Interpretation: a Biblical Commentary for Teaching and Preaching. P. 151

[5] Sarras, Rev. Niveen. https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-16-3/commentary-on-luke-1038-42-5

[6]Ibid.

[7] The Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version (Jas 2:17). (1989). Thomas Nelson Publishers.

[8] Craddock, p. 152

STILL???

by Dr. Kristina “Tina” Campbell

At the end of a recent meeting, a male clergy stood to his full height, looked me square in the eye, and announced, “Tina, now I’m going to a meeting of pastors who do not believe in the ordination of women, and I consider them to be my brothers in Christ.” And then he turned on his heel and exited the room. It felt like a drive by shooting. Like most cowards, he made sure there were no witnesses and no opportunity for confrontation. I was triggered into full blown post traumatic stress, going back to countless similar episodes that occurred during my seminary days fifty years ago. I was stunned.

Later in the day, I shared the incident with a trusted colleague, and he, too, looked me straight in the eye and said, “That was no micro-aggression. That was an all out attack.” Then he paused and said, “I’m sorry.”

I was one of the “firsts”—women to be ordained, to be accepted in my CPE program, to serve in certain roles in ecclesiastical, administrative and chaplaincy positions. Being a “first” is exhausting, lonely, and sometimes challenging beyond measure, and yet we “firsts” hope some progress has been made as a result of our efforts. I have not lost hope or determination or a sense of call, yet I find myself the only member of my full-time staff belonging to a denomination that ordains women. Sometimes it feels as if no progress has been made. Sometimes it feels like we are fighting fifty year old battles.

I get it why Jesus went to the desert to be alone. I don’t think he wanted to give up. He just needed a moment to shed a few private tears, to absorb the concept of betrayal, to reassess, to regroup, to ready himself for crucifixion. I get it why Jesus needed to stare stunned into space, allowing his doubts, fears, anger, and disappointments to wash over him. He needed that sacred desert space to regroup, restore and return to his ministry as a whole human being. I love Jesus for going to the desert and unapologetically experiencing his full humanity. I love Jesus for never saying it would be easy or without personal pain. Lent affords us the opportunity to pause, to fully feel and to prepare to return to the challenges of our faith and calling. Breathe. Bow. Weep. Restore. Return. Amen.

–Tina was ordained in 1975 and retains a faith where all are fully embraced to pursue their authentic selves and callings. She has been in the desert for over forty years.

Be the change you wish to see.

by Sandra Chapin

How many of us feel that there are things in the world we’d like to see changed? I celebrate those who speak truth to power, those who hold up a mirror or focus a spotlight on actions that do harm, that limit opportunities for some of us to live full and dignified lives – who are routinely dismissed as having little, if anything, of value to contribute. Other harm to people on a global scale is ongoing as decisions are made, or avoided, in regard to climate. Our kinship with animals and plants is cast aside.

The scope of social justice issues is wide. I include the need for an attitude adjustment in our everyday interactions. I promote tenderness and gentleness. I’ll try not to be too icky sweet about it.

Let’s start with cute pet videos online. Recently Spence showed me a video on his phone of a cat reclining in a drowsy position and a human hand entering the scene holding a small teddy bear. The bear is nudged against the kitty who responds by reaching out its paws to grasp the bear in a hug that melts the heart. Awww. It’s just so sweet! Not icky. Even the stoic among us who disdain showing emotion would surely smile on the inside.

I am not a cat owner (is there such a thing as a cat owner?) but…

Most people would be moved by the simplicity of the act, the relationship of animal and human with a common ground of nurture and comfort. Cat and human (and teddy) are engaged in this tender and gentle moment. My take-away is to pose a question: Am I missing similar human-to-creature encounters? Not to be touching wild things, but to be aware of eye-contact as a gentle exchange of regard. To appreciate the lean and luminous lizard. For the lizard to appreciate not getting squashed by me – as if I could move that fast.

Sharing the earth with lizards and lions.

My next story is about a couple (humans) of mature years who I see often at Panera Bread. I go there to pretend I’m at a Parisian cafe composing some great work. They have a different agenda. They get coffee and sit at their favorite table and then proceed to work on a cross-word puzzle. I never see them speak, yet with heads together each takes a turn at the puzzle, even sharing the pencil. I can’t tell what the rules are. What pattern do they follow? Do they move in sequence – across, down – or scan for a category of expertise? Does he start a word and she complete it? Silently for more than an hour they sit in this back and forth manner. Seamlessly. Lovingly.

I am not in a coupled relationship but…

Watching them makes me calm. And curious. What is it like to be part of a pair that (I assume) has been evolving for years and years? I know couples who do not demonstrate such tenderness, at least not in front of others. Couples whose interaction hint at problems unresolved and a staying together more about habit than respect.

Over time I have struck up an acquaintance with this couple. They are as sweet as they appear. Not given to excessive conversation. That’s not why they come to Panera. Seeing their choreography with the puzzle I believe they have not had a cross word between them. That’s the lens I choose when I look at them. Real human to human contact can be prickly, and I remind myself that friendships need to be tended. Like my coffee at the cafe, better when sweetened and stirred. When we hold a person gently in our heart, it is easier to hold more and more. 

Speaking truth to power. The Bible is full of it. Consider the prophet Nathan confronting King David with a story of a poor man and his beloved pet lamb, and a rich man who wanted lamb for dinner but not one from his own flock. (2 Samuel 12:1-9) Nathan’s words brought David to his knees.

Actions communicate truth. Jesus washed the feet of his disciples. They were confused and protested. Servants or slaves performed this lowly chore, not a person held in high esteem. (John 13:1-15) Was Jesus confronting the power of privilege which can erode relationships and unravel a community?

In speech. In action. In attitude. Be the change you wish to see.

Guns and God: A Progressive Christian View

by Tony Minear

I own a hand gun. It is a 22 Ruger revolver single action with a 6-inch barrel. I received it from my dad on my 18th birthday. I even bought a genuine leather western-style holster in Tijuana to go with it. The next two summers I played cowboy while working at a church summer camp. I haven’t shot that gun for over twenty years. I go back and forth between selling it or some day giving it to one of my grandchildren. However, the possibility of one of my grandchildren or any individual doing harm to themselves or someone else, intentional or unintentional, frightens me. Occasionally, I contemplate literally carrying out the Hebrew scripture, “Hammer your swords into plowshares and your spears into pruning hooks.” I could have my pistol melted down to a pile of metal. Maybe even molded into a miniature plow. Not sure how the grandchild would like receiving a plow as an heirloom.

With the recent church shooting in Vegas and now Texas, the topic of gun control is once more front and center in our conversations. What can Progressive Christianity bring to the table in this arena? I offer an entrée, food for thought, for your culinary pleasure. What one believes about God can inform one’s stance on gun control.

Would Jesus under any circumstance condone a human being taking the life of another? No. Would one human being inflicting violence upon another ever be present in the realm of God’s will, which Jesus envisioned, either now or in a future “heaven?” No.

My understanding of Jesus’ view of the Kingdom of God, or God’s will for humanity, is centered around God’s love and value of life. Yet some stories in the Bible seem to contradict this. God is said to have ordered the genocide of groups of non-Hebrews. Justification? They are evil. Yet God admits to using a wicked people (The Hebrews), who are slightly less evil, as executioners. This doesn’t compute. Perhaps our willingness, and at times, desire, to use violence influences how we interpret God’s will and imagine God. For me this does compute. If God is inclined to acts of violence, no wonder we are too.

Wasn’t it God who established and decreed that the results of sin are death? Wasn’t it God who desired daily sacrifices for enjoyment and appeasement? Isn’t it God who continues to use the threat of death as a means to shape our beliefs and control our behavior? If God constructed a system of justice based upon death and violence, is it any wonder that some Christians and nations are comfortable turning to violence to resolve their problems or punish evildoers? Is it any wonder that some Christians carry a gun and are willing to use it to protect themselves or their family? Is it any wonder that efforts to legislate laws to limit certain guns in our communities, to decrease the chances of such weapons ending up in the hands of unstable individuals, or to take steps promoting gun safety in homes, are opposed by some Christians?

What if this picture and understanding of God as violent and using violence is incorrect? What if what the historical Jesus taught about God and God’s kingdom being encapsulated in one word, “love,” is right? I choose to believe it is. For this reason, I read all of scripture through the filter of love. It is my bias. It is the presupposition I bring to my study of the Bible. It is the reason why I choose not to have ammunition for my gun in the house. It is the reason I continue to ponder the validity of a pacifist life for myself and what that might look like. It is the reason why I’m googling metal artists who can take a gun and turn it into a plow.

On the Light Rail

by Abigail Conley

A street preacher made her way onto the train, walking down the aisles, calling people to repentance. The odor hovering around her made it clear that her newfound faith didn’t include regular access to showers. Her language was crass, naming all the sexual sins people fall prey to, including what makes them appealing. Substance abuse was a far second in what required repentance. My drunken neighbor said to no one in particular, “Well, she’s got passion. I’ll give her that.”

I knew her particular brand of fundamentalism well, chuckling to myself as she shouted some new tenet. Only one person took her up on her offer to talk. Graciously, I wasn’t close enough to hear any of the conversation. My neighbor continued to sip from his gas station cup, a whiff of what was most certainly not a soft drink wafting over occasionally. His running commentary on events continued for most of the morning.

“Get through the train, then start over,” he said of the man panhandling. It was true. I watched the man quietly make his way from one end of the train to the other, asking each passenger for some money. Even those who had in headphones to avoid conversation were asked repeatedly, until they took off their headphones and offered a response.

When he got to me, he told his story, “I haven’t eaten in two days. Do you have just a couple of dollars? Even some change?” Truthfully, I didn’t. The three or four dollars in cash I currently have are in the glove box of my car. As he spoke, the odor of cigarettes permeated the air around him. Looking into his eyes, I saw that they didn’t meet mine or focus as they should. It’s often that way with people who are chronically homeless. I’m not trained enough to recognize the whys, but I have the guesses of mental illness, low IQ, or lifelong trauma. Truth be told, in most cases, it’s the last one that means they can’t get off the street. They’ve lived under toxic stress their entire lives and there’s no way out.

Today, the light rail was more interesting than usual. My work and life don’t often give me an opportunity to use the light rail. When I can, I do, because I believe in systems created for the good of the public: public schools, public healthcare, public transportation. The world here is different than the one I inhabit daily. The homeless people I typically encounter are in a program. They’re not the chronically homeless whose struggles are so great that they will always be homeless unless offered free public housing. These homeless neighbors have been coached to be polite, to say thank you, to act how people who want to help expect people to act.

There is a rawness on this train, a rawness that grows as the day goes on. In the morning, it’s filled with commuters and college students. By mid-afternoon, it’s full of everyone. Get on a bus if you want to see truly raw, though. The bus is where people lug groceries, and coach their kids through boredom, and sit in pain. Buses that run late and clumsily roll down city streets are a different world than the reliable, well-policed light rail.

Here’s my confession: about every third ride on the light rail, I think about calling the police. So far, I’ve talked myself out of it every time. The conversation about my racism is one I’ll hold for another day. I know that’s part of it and why I must think through events to reach the conclusion that I’ve never been threatened in any way on public transportation. Instead, I’ve been taught to see people as dangerous even when they aren’t. To fix that, I need Jesus.

When I think, “Maybe I should call the police,” I start to tell myself, “These are the people Jesus loves.” It’s difficult, at first, to believe that Jesus loves the smelly street preacher, from her unkempt hair to her booty shorts. Jesus loves that man sitting across from me, in who knows what state of intoxication at 7:30 a.m. The man asking everyone for money, Jesus loves him, too.

Jesus loves the jerk who didn’t move from the handicapped seats until asked, even though she was obstructing the only place for a wheelchair to sit. Those noisy guys who were doing only God knows what, Jesus loves them, too. And Jesus loves the probably homeless guy who was overjoyed to find today’s sports section of the newspaper left on the seat of the train.

I don’t think that Jesus loves them more than he loves me, but am pretty sure he would be quicker to show them he loves them because they haven’t had enough people to love them. This in-between, nowhere sort of place is beautiful in its own Jesus-breathed way. On mornings like this, I am grateful that it pulls me closer to Jesus.

Christ on the Cushion

by Joe Nutini

When I was a child, my parents sent me to Catholic schools. This was both a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing because I received a wonderful, college preparatory education that did indeed prepare me to go to college. I loved college.  I also loved Christ. Like seriously. I was in love with Christ. From the time, I was quite young, I felt the energy of Christ deep within my heart. It was instantaneous. It didn’t require any understanding of doctrine, bible etc. It was just there.

I became a social worker. My education and the love that was in my heart because of knowing the energy of Christ (and perhaps even angels and other “heavenly” beings) led me to that path. Buddhism increased my awareness of Christ. It brought me back to Christ’s energy and love. It also brought me back to myself, to my own heart and to forgiveness.

That’s where I am right now. To get there, though, was quite the journey. The curse of being in the Catholic school, was that as I got older, conservative and literalist doctrine began to enter my soul as a poison. I will add this caveat before I continue. I understand that for some people, conservative and literalist doctrine and biblical interpretation is what “Saves” them. That wasn’t my experience. Though I respect that it is for some.

When I was quite young, I also remembered feeling like I should have been born a boy. I literally thought that my body would look like my fathers and not my mothers. Somewhere in early childhood, I also learned not to say that I felt like a boy. I just knew it was a “Sin” per the powers that be. Just like I knew that two men kissing was supposed to be “sinful”. I kept it to myself. A secret. Mom and Dad told me I was a girl, so I decided to be one.

As time went on, I became a pro at religion class. I always had an A in that class. I was fascinated by it because I had intrinsically known spirit since the time I was young. I wanted people to explain things to me. I wanted to try to understand what was happening. Sometimes, I would argue or debate with the teacher. I didn’t believe all the stories. I didn’t believe that Adam and Eve were the only humans and they populated the earth. I didn’t necessarily believe that Jesus had to die on a cross. It just didn’t really fit for me. And so, I wanted to learn more. To see what I was missing.

I received confirmation when I “came of age” as a teenager. I believed in Christ and what I felt was a certain spirituality to the universe. I also didn’t want to go to hell, if I’m being honest. Back then I wasn’t sure if there was a hell or not but the adults kept saying there was. I wanted to do the right thing by this energy that was with me through all the troubles that I felt. I wanted to make Christ happy. I did what the church told me to do. It was a beautiful ceremony and we had a party.

At this time, I also became aware of my queer (at that time we said bisexual) feelings. I had been in puberty early and it felt like torture. I didn’t understand why my body was betraying my spirit and mind. I kept it to myself. I prayed for these feelings to go away. It was a sin. The more I did this, the further and further away Christ felt. That energy, that love, that guiding force in my life started to slip away. In hindsight, I realized I had been betraying myself. When I was 13-14, I didn’t know better.

When I was a senior in high school, my best friend and I wrote a feature edition of our school paper on LGBTQ youth. The religion teachers let us give a survey out on sexuality and gender identity. Right before we were going to print, I was called to the “brothers’” offices. They basically said that, “this issue doesn’t exist here.” They meant that there were no LGBTQ people. I told them that wasn’t true. That I was bisexual. IT just fell out of my mouth. It was the most freeing thing in the world. I felt my heart fill with that energy and love again, for a moment. I was told that I was confused, wrong and that if I engaged in “homosexual acts” I could be excommunicated from the church.

It felt like poison. Every fiber of my being rejected their words. I decided to no longer be Catholic.

In college, I began reading about every religion and spiritual belief that I could find. That included new age spirituality and Buddhism. I wanted to find out what was going on. I couldn’t believe that the God they taught me about in school was the same God who created me. Absolutely not. I figured that maybe I was wrong. That there was no Christ energy or holy spirit. So, I studied, I attended various religious and spiritual services and I began meditation.

During those years, I was a mess until I began transitioning. Even after coming out as queer, I still felt so distant from that love I had known as a child and young teen. It felt miles away. Something that was unattainable. When I came out, it felt slightly closer. When I transitioned, my life changed. I meditated and chanted in Buddhist and Hindu traditions. I attended healing arts school where this was solidified. I was invited into some native American spaces to learn their teachings.

Yet something was still missing. I could feel that I was in touch with the love of the universe again. And yet, that Christ energy was missing. It felt like an emptiness. So, I began exploring Christianity once more. I spoke with literalists who debated with me, stating that I didn’t understand the scripture or bible. So, I studied it with them, pointing out linguistic differences from my studies in college, debating meaning and syntax. I hung out with Unity and Unitarian Universalists who helped me understand and heal from some of my experiences. I met people from the United Church of Christ who explained their understanding of Christ. I met liberation theologians who, like the UUs and UCC folks, made the most sense to me intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually.

And then I found Shambhala Buddhism. I read the book, Shambhala, the Sacred Path of the Warrior by Chogyam Trungpa, the person who brought this form of Buddhism to the US. He was literally saying everything that I had thought and felt for many years. I viewed a talk about “Jesus as Bodhisattva”, a concept that I had read about before but didn’t quite understand as well before.

So, I decided to take Shambhala classes. I distinctly remember sitting in the first class. We meditated for hours. I couldn’t shake this feeling that it was I who had been blocking myself from fully feeling the world. I had internalized these poisonous messages that I had heard for a good portion of my life.

I breathed in, when I breathed out, I found Christ again. It was a distinct feeling, so hard to describe. Like putting the last piece into a puzzle and being on fire at the same time. The intensity of it lasted for a moment then dissipated. A chunk of the poison left me and in its place, was this gentle love. A love that came from both within me and outside of me.

Today, I continue to work on undoing these teachings that kept me so far away from this Universal love, the love of Christ, and the love or Buddha nature within. I personally believe these are also complexly intertwined and simultaneously always available to me. I still learning, debating, meditating, praying and learning. I often wonder if these things happened for a reason…a journey to build empathy, love and relationship with others.