Stilling Storms
Jesus woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm.
--Mark 4:39
Since getting back from General Assembly in Portland, it seems a storm of violence descended. Horrendous floods tore through West Virginia. Terrorist attacks claimed 300 lives in Turkey, Iraq, Bangladesh, and Saudi Arabia. Closer to home, police officers killed two more men of color in Louisiana and Minnesota with no obvious rationale. The presidential election cycle remains one of violent vitriol, revealing the worst in our political process, and one becoming more unhinged as we get closer to the actual election. It leaves us feeling tossed and turned completely at the whim of whatever wind this is blowing through the world.
It would be so nice to shut my eyes and hear Jesus' firm, Peace! Be still! It would be so nice to reopen my eyes and find the world calm, serene, and settled in compassionate care.
But nothing much comes that easily.
Instead, we find ourselves more often complaining with the disciples in the storm-tossed boat, Don't you care that we are perishing? We can relate to their incredulity. We can sympathize with their impatience. We can certainly understand their frustration. We know God has the power to alter reality. We know God has the ability to calm any storm, from one of cosmic proportions to the squall on a nearby lake. God could change everything instantaneously. God could render miracles that would leave utter silent awe in their wake. But God doesn't do anything. God may listen, but God seems slow off the mark. Has God gone to sleep on the job? Does God just not care? Are all the promises empty and vain? What gives?
Maybe God waits because God waits for us.
Something remarkable is how much congruence there is among the world religions about the core principles. If we read through the basic tenets of Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, Christianity, or Judaism, we discover mutual recognition that the fullest expression of being human is compassion.
That tells me something.
It means I need to reread my own faith's basic principles in scripture. What will I find? Compassion writ large as the means by which the Kingdom of God enters creation. Jesus is the Christ because he embodied God's compassion, meeting human beings with love, grace, mercy, and comfort. Jesus is the Christ because he did so completely emptying himself for the world. Jesus is the Christ because he spared nothing in bringing peace to whomever he met. But that is not the end of the story. Rather, we discover that Jesus commissioned whoever followed him with the same task of bringing compassion to life in their own words and deeds. They were not to simply speak of Christ, but they were to be Christ.
Our faith stream is one of active participation. Love must be lived for love to be real. Our deepest core really is something that cannot just be spoken of, it has to be embodied. In other words, if the storms we meet are to be stilled, we have work to do.
How, when the storms seem so vast?
Let's take the microstorms within the big tempest of the last few weeks.
We can send assistance to West Virginia, collecting money, hygiene kits, and whatever else ministries like PDA let us know are needed. Soon enough, there will be mission teams descended to help homeowners rebuild. There will be plenty of work to do to keep us busy for a long time. The point is to communicate to our kith and kin in West Virginia that they are not alone, that there are people who care, and that their current pain and misery can and will pass.
We can fight the trend to dismiss terrorist violence in Muslim nations as not worthy of our attention, or, worse still, as something they brought on themselves, so fie on them. We can pray for them, work for peace between cultures by standing with our Muslim neighbors (maybe following the example of Elk Grove Presbyterian Church here in Sacramento that went to have dinner, share in fellowship, and learn who their neighbors at the mosque up the street really were), and remember that every human being is a precious child of God.
We can speak the truth of who we are confessionally--i.e., old problems are still current problems, like racism. We can stand with the marginalized, the different, and ethnic, proclaiming the dignity, value, and worth of their lives. In so doing, maybe we can soften our urge to violence that often turns deadly. As we walk with others, maybe we can slow down our reactions and responses, allowing for real discernment to enter--actually seeing who is before us. Maybe we can work to cleanse our systems of justice from the taints of power for power's sake, bigotry, and presumption by treating each person without any of these stains. I know we can listen--listen when someone of color tells you of their experience without getting defensive, just listening. Then, we can act differently because we know the story.
As we consider who will lead us as a nation, maybe we really need to listen closely and watch perceptively. Who is acting without self-interest as the primary motivation for seeking office? Who really seems tuned into the concerns of the Least of These? Who sees justice for all as a national agenda? Who sees the benefit of everyone having a place at the table so all can have enough? We cannot shy away just because we will readily note that imperfection is a universal among all seeking office. Calvin named that Total Depravity, but Calvin also was firmly convinced that order that was just, peaceful, and compassionate could come through civic order. Note how many Presbyterians were at the foundation of our own nation's move to become a place of "liberty and justice for all."
You see, there are things we can do, say, and be.
Maybe God is waiting for us to do, to speak, and to be.
Maybe stillness and calm are that close.
--Mark 4:39
Since getting back from General Assembly in Portland, it seems a storm of violence descended. Horrendous floods tore through West Virginia. Terrorist attacks claimed 300 lives in Turkey, Iraq, Bangladesh, and Saudi Arabia. Closer to home, police officers killed two more men of color in Louisiana and Minnesota with no obvious rationale. The presidential election cycle remains one of violent vitriol, revealing the worst in our political process, and one becoming more unhinged as we get closer to the actual election. It leaves us feeling tossed and turned completely at the whim of whatever wind this is blowing through the world.
It would be so nice to shut my eyes and hear Jesus' firm, Peace! Be still! It would be so nice to reopen my eyes and find the world calm, serene, and settled in compassionate care.
But nothing much comes that easily.
Instead, we find ourselves more often complaining with the disciples in the storm-tossed boat, Don't you care that we are perishing? We can relate to their incredulity. We can sympathize with their impatience. We can certainly understand their frustration. We know God has the power to alter reality. We know God has the ability to calm any storm, from one of cosmic proportions to the squall on a nearby lake. God could change everything instantaneously. God could render miracles that would leave utter silent awe in their wake. But God doesn't do anything. God may listen, but God seems slow off the mark. Has God gone to sleep on the job? Does God just not care? Are all the promises empty and vain? What gives?
Maybe God waits because God waits for us.
Something remarkable is how much congruence there is among the world religions about the core principles. If we read through the basic tenets of Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, Christianity, or Judaism, we discover mutual recognition that the fullest expression of being human is compassion.
That tells me something.
It means I need to reread my own faith's basic principles in scripture. What will I find? Compassion writ large as the means by which the Kingdom of God enters creation. Jesus is the Christ because he embodied God's compassion, meeting human beings with love, grace, mercy, and comfort. Jesus is the Christ because he did so completely emptying himself for the world. Jesus is the Christ because he spared nothing in bringing peace to whomever he met. But that is not the end of the story. Rather, we discover that Jesus commissioned whoever followed him with the same task of bringing compassion to life in their own words and deeds. They were not to simply speak of Christ, but they were to be Christ.
Our faith stream is one of active participation. Love must be lived for love to be real. Our deepest core really is something that cannot just be spoken of, it has to be embodied. In other words, if the storms we meet are to be stilled, we have work to do.
How, when the storms seem so vast?
Let's take the microstorms within the big tempest of the last few weeks.
We can send assistance to West Virginia, collecting money, hygiene kits, and whatever else ministries like PDA let us know are needed. Soon enough, there will be mission teams descended to help homeowners rebuild. There will be plenty of work to do to keep us busy for a long time. The point is to communicate to our kith and kin in West Virginia that they are not alone, that there are people who care, and that their current pain and misery can and will pass.
We can fight the trend to dismiss terrorist violence in Muslim nations as not worthy of our attention, or, worse still, as something they brought on themselves, so fie on them. We can pray for them, work for peace between cultures by standing with our Muslim neighbors (maybe following the example of Elk Grove Presbyterian Church here in Sacramento that went to have dinner, share in fellowship, and learn who their neighbors at the mosque up the street really were), and remember that every human being is a precious child of God.
We can speak the truth of who we are confessionally--i.e., old problems are still current problems, like racism. We can stand with the marginalized, the different, and ethnic, proclaiming the dignity, value, and worth of their lives. In so doing, maybe we can soften our urge to violence that often turns deadly. As we walk with others, maybe we can slow down our reactions and responses, allowing for real discernment to enter--actually seeing who is before us. Maybe we can work to cleanse our systems of justice from the taints of power for power's sake, bigotry, and presumption by treating each person without any of these stains. I know we can listen--listen when someone of color tells you of their experience without getting defensive, just listening. Then, we can act differently because we know the story.
As we consider who will lead us as a nation, maybe we really need to listen closely and watch perceptively. Who is acting without self-interest as the primary motivation for seeking office? Who really seems tuned into the concerns of the Least of These? Who sees justice for all as a national agenda? Who sees the benefit of everyone having a place at the table so all can have enough? We cannot shy away just because we will readily note that imperfection is a universal among all seeking office. Calvin named that Total Depravity, but Calvin also was firmly convinced that order that was just, peaceful, and compassionate could come through civic order. Note how many Presbyterians were at the foundation of our own nation's move to become a place of "liberty and justice for all."
You see, there are things we can do, say, and be.
Maybe God is waiting for us to do, to speak, and to be.
Maybe stillness and calm are that close.
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