Rev. Will Campbell flustered political mandates

Another thoughtful column from Ray Waddle of The Tennessean, eulogizing one of my heroes, Rev. Will Campbell, who passed away earlier this month:

For centuries it has puzzled people that Jesus never left an owner’s manual for running a congregation or changing society. The history of the church has been an improvised competition, a juggernaut of believers trying their best and living with doubts while projecting confidence that their way is the true way.

Will Campbell, who died in Nashville June 3 at age 88, figured Jesus had his reasons for leaving no blueprint for building Christendom. Campbell concentrated instead on what Jesus did say: “Come, follow me.”

That simple directive gave him his marching orders — his ministry, a word he disliked — for more than 60 years. It showed him the risks of Christian discipleship and the value of religious freedom. It furnished him with a stripped-down credo: respect each person, practice reconciliation, refuse power.

Those are hard things. Probably the hardest is rejecting power, since all well-intended solutions (and egos) depend on accumulations of political influence and institutional muscle. But Campbell warned:

“True soul freedom can never be found in any institution. If they will pay you, let them. I did it, too. But never trust them. Never bow the knee to them. They are all after your soul. All of them. Jesus was a radical! And his grace abounds.”

For him, the Jesus movement revealed a path that cut across all political mandates. Visit prisoners. Be a friend to the forgotten. Be also a friend to racists. Put no faith in any ideology. Be the incarnation of Jesus in this world.

That message guaranteed his marginalization. Living near Nashville, a conscientious city of steeples and professional religion, Campbell had occasion every day to count the cost of his nonconformity.

Early on he had tried “institutional flings” — church jobs — but none worked out. His particular Christian faith was a bit too indigestible. He was molecularly suspicious of systematic doctrines. They divide people. They fuel an unwarranted human confidence in pronouncements of truth.

The God of the Bible is too enigmatic for well-rounded theological statements. Will Campbell relied on his own wits and the subversions of grace, summarizing a biblical command: “We must obey God rather than man. He is our only sovereign. He is our God. Him will we serve.”

The paradoxes of this writer-farmer-agitator were fascinating to admirers and catnip to journalists. The dossier provides a familiar litany: He was a white Mississippi Baptist in the vanguard of race relations, a Southern yeoman with an Ivy League degree, a literary man detached from the establishment circuit, an embodiment of gruff and empathetic, barbed and tender, inspirational and unknowable.

Out of these smoldering human contradictions, people saw a gospel witness they hadn’t encountered before. Campbell kept a laser focus on the meaning of the Kingdom of God — the reconciliation of all. He took seriously Jesus’ outlandish announcement that this Kingdom is at hand, and it’s our difficult task to be midwife in its delivery. Campbell’s outlook was as discomfiting in 2013 as it was in 1952 when he was starting out, or in 1852 or in year 52.

“Given a hearing, Will can describe a Christianity that is scandalous and objectionable, shockingly exhilarating and frighteningly attractive,” writes Richard Goode, a history professor at Lipscomb University who edited an indispensable volume called Writings on Reconciliation and Resistance (Cascade Books, 2010), a collection of Campbell essays and speeches.

“Precisely because we are reconciled, professing disciples must live an irrepressible conflict against the principalities and powers — the idols — that divide and dehumanize.”

I was privileged to count Will as a friend. It might now be tempting to establish a Church of the Will of Will or a Free Will political party. To that he’d scoff. A better homage would be to look homeless people in the eye, scorn pompous sanctimony, resist warmongering and read Scripture with courage.

Speaking to a group of Baptist brethren in 1995 he said: “As the sands of time run out on me, I do not consider that I have had a ministry at all, except in the sense that all believers are priests. I have had a life. As to how well I have conducted it I am willing to leave to the One so mysterious, so elusive and evasive, so hidden as to say to Moses from the burning bush, I AM WHO I AM, to be the sole judge. I can only exult that grace abounds …”

Israel's actions should make U.S. question support

My friend, Lynn Basler Grassmeyer, just published this editorial in the Sat. Dec. 15 edition of Nashville's daily newspaper, The Tennessean:

“Help! Pray for us. We won’t make it this time!” Fifteen-year-old Raneen, an International School student in Gaza, said as Israeli “Operation Pillar of Defense” began.

The students’ pleas intensified throughout the eight-day assault, with shelling from air and sea. While Israel claimed retaliation for “an unacceptable security threat,” The New York Times called the attack a “lopsided battle between this impoverished, intensely crowded and hemmed-in enclave and its militarily mighty neighbor to the north.”

Gaza war news, like other news, played out on Facebook as Raneen’s classmates held their thread of communication with the world. Their mentor and former teacher Linda Todd Gharib forwarded the messages to us in Nashville. And as we prayed, miraculous updates came: “Bombs dropped around us, but we are not hit!”

Gaza’s other children weren’t so fortunate. The Gaza Health Minister reports 183 Palestinians killed — 50 percent civilians, including 33 children, and 1,400 were injured — 55 elderly, 220 women and 450 children. Six Israelis died; 219 were injured.

Writer Graham Peebles reports that 1,477 Palestinian children have been killed since 2000, a level of carnage that contradicts Israel’s claims of “millimetric accuracy.”

During “Pillar of Defense,” 30 schools were damaged, including Raneen’s. Homes, mosques and a church were demolished. Raneen’s school was bombed back in 2008 as well. Chemical weapons, including white phosphorus, brought death and destruction to Gaza during “Operation Cast Lead.”

Retired Col. Ann Wright and Kathy Kelly, part of an emergency delegation of peace activists visiting Gaza days after the recent invasion, met the parents of 8-year-old Fares, decapitated by shrapnel as he slept. His father told Kelly, “He was the life of the house.”

Col. Wright notes, “We’ve seen the devastating destructiveness of Israel’s high-tech weaponry, most of it supplied by the U.S. at American taxpayers’ expense.”

The U.N. notes that the Israeli Defense Force sends warnings to civilians ahead of bombings, but “civilian losses are massive.” Most Gazans never receive such “courtesy calls.” If they did, where would they run?

Completely isolated, Gazans have no freedom of movement, even in the West Bank, where they have family. Hanna Massad, pastor of the Gaza Baptist Church, had to choose between his congregation in Gaza and his wife in the West Bank. He gave up his church and cannot return. Once bustling with coastal hotels and cafes, this forlorn strip now hosts bombed-out silhouettes.

While weapons smuggling occupies media attention, the notorious tunnels are Gaza’s lifeline to essential goods that Israel prohibits by normal routes. Two-thirds of consumer goods reach Gaza via tunnels, which also provide scarce jobs. Many workers meet injury or death in collapses, bombings and gassings.

Raneen’s story has meaning for us here in Nashville. When Christian leaders, musicians and politicians claim blind loyalty to Israel despite documented human rights abuses and international law violations, they spread ignorance and do great harm. Recently, 15 outstanding church leaders asked Congress to investigate Israel’s abuses and halt military aid.

As we near Christmas, Bethlehem’s beloved Rev. Alex Awad urges Western churches to cultivate peace and pursue justice, recalling that God’s kingdom is neither racial nor territorial: “When the angels in the sky over Bethlehem declared ‘peace on Earth,’ they were not far from Jerusalem or Gaza City. ... When we draw near to these places with compassion and understanding, there will be peace.”

Lynn Grassmeyer is a local realty agent and humanitarian with Semitic roots.

The Best Closing Prayer

Brennan Manning relays this…

Joseph was an old man dying of cancer in New Jersey.  This gentleman’s daughter has asked the local priest to come and pray with her father at her home where he was in hospice during what might be his last days.  When the priest arrived, he found the man lying in bed with his head propped up on two pillows and an empty chair beside his bed.  The priest assumed that the old fellow had been informed of his visit. “I guess you were expecting me,” the man of the cloth said.

“No, who are you?”

“I’m the new associate at your parish,” the priest replied.  “When I saw the empty chair, I figured you knew I was going to show up.”

“Oh, yeah, the chair,” said the bedridden man.  “Would you mind closing the door?”

Puzzled, the priest shut the door.  “I’ve never told anyone this, not even my daughter,” said the man, “but all my life I have never known how to pray.  At the Sunday Mass I used to hear the pastor talk about prayer, but it always went right over my head.  Finally, I said to him in sheer frustration, ‘I get nothing out of your homilies on prayer.’

“'Here,’ says my pastor reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk. ‘Read this book by Hans Urs von Balthasar.  He’s a Swiss theologian.  It’s the best book on contemplative prayer in the twentieth century.’

“Well, Father,” said the man, “I took the book home and tried to read it. But in the first three pages I had to look up twelve words in the dictionary.  I gave the book back to my pastor, thanked him, and under my breath whispered, ‘for nothin’.’

“I abandoned any attempt at prayer,” he continued, “until one day about four years ago my best friend said to me, ‘Joe, prayer is just a simple matter of having a conversation with Jesus.  Here’s what I suggest.  Sit down on a chair, place an empty chair in front of you, and in faith see Jesus on the chair.  It’s not spooky because he promised, ‘I’ll be with you all days.’  Then just speak to Him and listen in the same way you’re doing with me right now.’

“So, Padre, I tried it and I’ve liked it so much that I do it a couple of hours every day, even now while here at my daughter’s home.  I’m careful, though…if she saw me talking to an empty chair, she’d either have a nervous breakdown or send me off to the funny farm.”

The priest was deeply moved by the story and encouraged the old guy to continue on that journey.  Then he prayed with him, anointed him with oil, and returned to the rectory.

Two nights later the daughter called to tell the priest that her daddy had died that afternoon, finally succumbing to his painful battle.

“Did he die in peace?” he asked.

“Yes, when I left the house around two o’clock he called me over to his bedside, told me one of his corny jokes, and kissed me on the cheek.  When I got back from the store an hour later, I found him dead.” 

“But there was something strange, Father.  In fact, beyond strange, kinda weird.  Apparently just before Daddy died, he leaned over and rested his head on the chair beside the bed.”

The Writing is on the Wall: Messages from Palestine

I spent two weeks in Palestine during March.  The first half at a peace conference sponsored by Bethlehem Bible College that had over 600 particpants from various realms of the Christian, Jewish, and Islamic faiths, as well as representatives of Palestinian and Israeli governments.  In all, there were people from 21 countries exchanging ideas, discussing, debating, and working on plans for the grwoing peace efforts that are so crucial if this conflict is ever to be resolved.

The second week of my stay was with a lovely Palestinian Christian family in their home with many daily trips around the occupied territories as well as into Israel.  It was enlightening to see what pressures this family and their neighbors are under from the apatheid state that the Israeli government has put them under.  Over 250,000 brothers and sisters in Christ live in Palestine, alongside close to 3 million Muslims, and their rights have been curtailed, land taken from them, and freedom of movement strongly discouraged. The prime example of the latter is the ever-growing "security wall" that is three stories tall and stretches hundreds of miles to seprarate the territories.  In many cases, homes and businesses have been destroyed to make way for the barrier, and excesses have been demonstrated by the Israeli government taking over thousands of additonal square miles beyond aggeed-to borders for thier own gain.  Additonally, the checkpoints allowing Palestinians to enter Israel, or to re-enter their own occupied state are often overcrowded, and there can be delays of 5 hours just trying to get to their jobs or hospitals, etc.  

Now don't get me wrong, I believe Israel deserves to live in peaceful security.  I love the Jewish people and want them to have a homeland.  There just needs to be a better system in place than this.  I hope, pray, and believe there will be a day when this wall will come down and there will be peaceful co-existence.  That's one of the reasons I follow "The Prince of Peace."  

By the way, there is no freedom of expression via painting allowed on the Israeli side of the wall, but I met many Israeli citizens who are disgusted with this severe partition and feel it is has gotten out of control. I was able to walk along the wall on  thePalestinian side for just a few miles, and here are some of the messages I saw expressing views on what has happened, and hopes for a better tomorrow through peaceful reconciliation. Let me know which ones resonate with you:

The Real Holy Sights of Palestine and Israel

It’s been a week since my return from the Middle East where I took part in a remarkable peace conference as well as spending four days living with a Palestinian Christian family to better understand their challenges.

People are always curious about what sightseeing I did on my various trips, and certainly the Holy Land is full of remarkable history at nearly every turn. Thousands upon thousands of years of history wash over you as you traverse this rather tiny plot of land where major religions have been spawned, wars have been waged, and kingdoms were built and torn down.

I walked along the walls surrounding Jerusalem’s Old City that were constructed by the Ottomans, gazed up at David’s Tower, entered Jaffa Gate, and wandered thru the maze of shops that make up much of the Christian Quarter. I climbed the Mount of Olives, saw the Tomb of the Virgin Mary, knelt in the Church of Gethsemane, took in the view of the Temple Mount, drove thru the Valley of Kidron, and even stared into the bowels of Gehenna (yes, THE Gehenna, the former Jerusalem city dump that was used as a metaphor for Hell). I was on the route that Jesus supposedly took on his triumphal entrance into the city on Palm Sunday. I peered into the Damascus Gate, spied Mt. Carmel where Elijah called down Jehovah’s fire upon the Prophets of Baal, saw Herod’s summer retreat built into the cone of a volcano, and visited the Mosque in Hebron that houses the tombs of Abraham, Isaac, and Rebecca.

While In Jericho, a photographed the sycamore tree that Zacheus climbed, and hiked over the many layers of excavation of the self-proclaimed “World’s Oldest City,” including the walls that came a-tumblin’ down. Above there was the Mount of Temptation where Satan offered Christ the whole world. Along the desolate Pat River gorge I looked down onto St. George’s Monastery that was ingeniously built into the sandstone cliffs, looking like a piece of Rivendell. On the shores of the Dead Sea I visited the Qumran Park where the infamous scrolls of ancient texts were discovered in the caves that pockmark those mountainsides.

Bethlehem, where I was stationed most of my visit, is certainly chock-full of every imaginable site that has to do Christ’s birth, not the least of which is Manger Square, and the fields where the shepherds were greeted by the heavenly host.

With nearly every one of these locales there is the seemingly requisite cathedral, synagogue, or mosque (sometimes all three), overrun with tour guides to help you better understand the historical narrative, and a never-ending cadre of souvenir shops filled with the specific bric-a-brac to help memorialize your sojourn there. Upon close inspection, the vast majority of said trinkets were manufactured in China, which tends to diminish the authenticity a tad. Hucksters besieged me in the Christian Quarter as I wound my way through the gauntlet of mercenary consumption (one store was appropriately named “Lord Kitsch”), and wondered if this was not much different than what Jesus fumed about when he threw the moneychangers out of the Temple.

Besides the rather questionable claims of exact locations of Christ stumbling with the cross on his shoulder or what-have-you, there are the ones that are just blatantly made up. For instance, when traversing past Bedouin encampments along the road between Jerusalem and Jericho, we saw signs proclaiming “Site of the Good Samaritan.” Hmmmm…that was a parable. And yet it was a common destination for many of the Christian tours.

It got me to thinking that there was some serious shekels to be made if I could come up with my own apocryphal miracle marker. Then it struck me as we were walking the tight streets a block away from Christ’s birthplace that no one had determined exactly where Mary’s water must’ve broken on that special night. Why, with some pseudo archeology and liberal portions of hearsay, I could start declaring that this very spot (conveniently located on a low-rent storefront), is where that glorious gush took place. I could hew out a granite cistern of sorts and fill it with crimson liquid to clearly mark the consecrated puddle. In no time I could construct the Sepulcher of Most Holy Amniotic Plashet and be a quick add-on to the tours of tens of thousands of trusting souls who are bussed in each day to wander about the hallowed nativity grounds. You may think I wax too cynical, but I assure you it is not far from what has been purported as truth in many of these domains.

But before I could become too skeptical of the big tourism business, I would always be reminded of what was truly holy. It was hard to miss, since there were so many instances of it on display: lovely children populating the cityscapes and countryside. Whether watching Israeli kids all dressed up in whimsical costumes to celebrate Purim, or Palestinian girls wearing their pastel hijab headscarves at a bus stop, or Jewish kindergartners walking hand-in-hand across a busy street on their way to temple, Muslim and Christian Palestinian school children frolicking on a playground...I was struck by the fact that Abraham’s descendents were, indeed fruitful and did multiply. Those seeds now populate three of the largest religions on the planet. And it all started there.

The simple joys of these little ones kept me going when I was overwhelmed with the crass commercialism, or the sad tales of terrorism and injustice going on. While walking through the market in Hebron, I spotted some precocious five-year old Palestinian girls who became fascinated with my digital camera. As we visited a Muslim home on the West Bank, I was interacting with a ten-year old boy about silly phrases and moves by WWE Wrestling superstars. In Bethlehem I visited with a three- generation trio of a toddler, his dad, and the grandfather. Near Efrata I was surrounded by half a dozen elementary aged Muslims who were joyfully peppering me with questions in broken English and curious about everything American. Our taxi driver for several of the days, Abed, had the most adorable toddler daughter, named Rancon, who would sometimes ride in the cab with us. We were so excited for him as he had just become a father for a second time when his wife gave birth to a healthy young girl while we were there.

Abeer and Fadi, the mother and father of the Palestinian Lutheran family that we stayed with the final four days, had three amazing kids: the pretty Leena and Gina, and the handsome Hanna. They were doing there best to get along in the land of their forefathers (they come from a church tradition that goes back numerous generations). During our breakfasts and dinners together each day, we learned much about their daily lives, the education of their children and the pride of their extra-curricular school activities. They showed us photos of family milestones, and gave funny accounts of chapters of their familial histories. And we also asked about the hassles of working around a state of occupation.

For instance, Abeer’s sister was purposely given improper forms to fill out when she crossed the border into Lebanon to attend a business conference, and has not been allowed back in through any of the Israeli checkpoints since , forcing her to take up residence in Beirut. So, for seventeen years, Abeer has not been able to see her sister face-to-face. And Fadi’s brother, tired of taxation by the Israeli government without proper representation, was imprisoned for sixty days back in the early 90s. They seized his home, his furnishings, his store, and the goods of his medical supply business. Pretty steep penalties for just half a year of non-payment. He was finally allowed to go free, but none of his belongings or property was ever returned. We heard story after story like this from many of the Palestinians we met. Even Israeli citizens would shake their heads in shame recounting tales of their government’s overly harsh policies.

There is an overarching sense of weariness from the adults in that region. 95% of the Palestinians want a peaceful reconciliation, and even 70% of the Israelis agree. But when you look at the kids, whether teens or toddlers, they have hope in their eyes. Maybe it is the naïveté of youth. I’d rather look at it as a spark of the divine in their eyes. No one ever thought there would be peaceful resolutions between the British Empire and India during the 30s and 40s in their search for independence; nobody thought the Apartheid of South Africa would ever be solved without a massive conflict; the hatred in Northern Ireland between the Catholics and Protestants was considered too deep-seeded for coexistence; none of the experts saw the collapse of the Iron Curtain in Eastern Europe without bloodshed; nor did anyone think that Civil Rights would ever take hold in America led by a ragtag group of southern ministers…and yet in all these cases things changed due to non-violent reconciliation, often with the younger generations leading the way.

So, instead of giving much credence to the oft-dubious sites of supposed religious significance from eons gone by, it’s these young faces in Palestine and Israel that become the holy sights that get me excited about the future of this fascinating land. When I look back on this trip, and close my eyes to pray, they are the ones I see. May I keep that vision before me. May we all.

You can see some of these “Holy Sights” in my photo collection of the same name on my Facebook page.

"Waiting is a dry desert between where we are and where we want to be." Part 2 of Henri Nouwen Quotes

Some more of my favorite quotes from Henri Nouwen. Let me know which ones resonate with you.

The real "work" of prayer is to become silent and listen to the voice that says good things about me. To gently push aside and silence the many voices that question my goodness and to trust that I will hear the voice of blessing-- that demands real effort.

Emit gratitude as though it was done.

We fail to see the place of suffering in the broader scheme of things. We fail to see that suffering is an inevitable dimension of life. Because we have lost perspective, we fail to see that unless one is willing to accept suffering properly, he or she is really refusing to continue in the quest for maturity. To refuse suffering is to refuse personal growth.

Aren't you, like me, hoping that some person, thing, or event will come along to give you that final feeling of inner well-being you desire? Don't you often hope: 'May this book, idea, course, trip, job, country or relationship fulfill my deepest desire.' But as long as you are waiting for that mysterious moment you will go on running helter-skelter, always anxious and restless, always lustful and angry, never fully satisfied. You know that this is the compulsiveness that keeps us going and busy, but at the same time makes us wonder whether we are getting anywhere in the long run. This is the way to spiritual exhaustion and burn-out. This is the way to spiritual death.

Praying is no easy matter. It demands a relationship in which you allow someone other than yourself to enter into the very center of your person, to see there what you would rather leave in darkness, and to touch there what you would rather leave untouched.

Compassion means full immersion in the condition of being human.

Forgiveness is the name of love practiced among people who love poorly. The hard truth is that all people love poorly. We need to forgive and be forgiven every day, every hour increasingly. That is the great work of love among the fellowship of the weak that is the human family.

Peace is first of all the art of being.

Praying demands that you take to the road again and again, leaving your house and looking forward to a new land for yourself and your [fellow human]. This is why praying demands poverty, that is, the readiness to live a life in which you have nothing to lose so that you always begin afresh.

Somehwere we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that without listening speaking no longer heals, that without distance closeness cannot cure.

We need to be angels for each other, to give each other strength and consolation. Because only when we fully realize that the cup of life is not only a cup of sorrow but also a cup of joy will we be able to drink it.

God, who is the Creator of the Universe, comes to us in smallness, weakness, and hiddenness.

Theological formation is the gradual and often painful discovery of God's incomprehensibility. You can be competent in many things, but you cannot be competent in God.

A waiting person is a patient person. The word patience means the willingness to stay where we are and live the situation out to the full in the belief that something hidden there will manifest itself to us.

In solitude we realize that nothing human is alien to us.

As long as we continue to live as if we are what we do, what we have, and what other people think about us, we will remain filled with judgments, opinions, evaluations, and condemnations. We will remain addicted to putting people and things in their "right" place.

It is tragic to see how the religious sentiment of the West has become so individualized that concepts such as "a contrite heart," have come to refer only to the personal experiences of guilt and willingness to do penance for it. The awareness of our impurity in thoughts, words and deeds can indeed put us in a remorseful mood and create in us the hope for a forgiving gesture. But if the catastrophical events of our days, the wars, mass murders, unbridled violence, crowded prisons, torture chambers, the hunger and the illness of millions of people and he unnamable misery of a major part of the human race is safely kept outside the solitude of our hearts, our contrition remains no more than a pious emotion.

Hope prevents us from clinging to what we have and frees us to move away from the safe place and enter unknown and fearful territory.

True hospitality is receiving the stranger on his terms, and asserts that it can be offered only by those who have found the center of their lives in their own hearts.

Waiting is a dry desert between where we are and where we want to be.

For most of my life I have struggled to find God, to know God, to love God. I have tried hard to follow the guidelines of the spiritual life—pray always, work for others, read the Scriptures—and to avoid the many temptations to dissipate myself. I have failed many times but always tried again, even when I was close to despair. Now I wonder whether I have sufficiently realized that during all this time God has been trying to find me, to know me, and to love me. The question is not “How am I to find God?” but “How am I to let myself be found by him?” The question is not “How am I to know God?” but “How am I to let myself be known by God?” And, finally, the question is not “How am I to love God?” but “How am I to let myself be loved by God?” God is looking into the distance for me, trying to find me, and longing to bring me home.

Dear God,

I am so afraid to open my clenched fists!

Who will I be when I have nothing left to hold on to?

Who will I be when I stand before you with empty hands?

Please help me to gradually open my hands

and to discover that I am not what I own,

but what you want to give me.

And what you want to give me is love,

unconditional, everlasting love.

Amen.

Thoughts on any of these?

Seven Biblical Answers to Zionist Assumptions

I'll be heading over to Palestine in March of next year for a peace conference to learn more about how better communication is leading towards reconciliation in this hotbed. The writings of Stephen Sizer have been helpful in me gaining a more rounded view of the situation, and I'm looking forward to meeting him at this event.

Stephen is the vicar, or senior pastor, of Christ Church, the community church of Virginia Water in Surrey, UK. He is the author of three books, In the Footsteps of Jesus and the Apostles, (Eagle, 2004) Christian Zionism: Roadmap to Armageddon (IVP, 2004) and Zion’s Christian Soldiers: The Bible, Israel and the Church (IVP, 2007). He also writes occasionally for various journals and magazines.

He has an extensive international ministry, teaching regularly in churches, seminaries and universities in the USA, Africa, Europe and the Middle East.

Here Sizer lays out seven concepts of popular Zionism that require a more thorough biblical overview:

http://www.stephensizer.com/2011/08/seven-biblical-answers-to-zionist-assumptions/