Our Visitation

“I was in prison and you visited me.” I am going to attempt a brief, concluding riff on that sentence, inspired by Eric’s pending parole.

“I was in prison.” Yes, you were. But, in many ways, so are we all.

Not likely literally, but often figuratively. We may be imprisoned by guilt, by habits, by addictions, by history, by ignorance. Perhaps we made a decision long ago whose consequences we feel we cannot escape. We may be a victim of childhood or adult neglect, indifference, or even abuse. There are many kinds of prisons.

We are at the mercy, if not imprisoned by, economic and cultural forces that invade our every living moment. The mysterious algorithms of the internet; the hidden and blatant persuader that is advertising, the rabbit holes of suspicion and conspiracy theories that make it nearly impossible for us to sort fact from fiction. We may be tempted to give up, to drop out, to construct a prison of our own making so that we can, at least, control our day-to-day lives.

And the prison of sin…yes, sin. Our frequent and persistent inability or unwillingness to do the good we know we should do or to avoid the bad we know we shouldn’t do. Our attempts to make our way through life apart from the love and grace of God. One day we decide we will do better; the next, we fall off the wagon of goodness.

And the pandemic. How is that for a prison? Huddled inside our homes seems the only safe place to be. If we dare venture out, it is because we must, even if just to avoid a complete mental and emotional breakdown. Even if the government doesn’t require us to do so, we hide behind our walls and our masks to protect ourselves, and wonder if we are being punished for something, and if so, for what?

Eric will walk out of a prison that has clear and obvious walls and fences into a world filled with vague and hidden forces that want to entrap him into their service. Not to mention into a world that may still be locked down by a pandemic. He will walk into the world we live in all the time.

“I was in prison…” and we still are.

“…and you visited me.” Yes, he did.

And that is my other good news for today. It is the eternal, unchanging good news of God’s earthly visit to us in Jesus Christ, of the Holy One’s visitation into the dark cells of our many and overlapping prisons.

Matthew 25’s dramatic vision of judgment meted out upon the nations by a sovereign Lord suddenly gives way to Matthew 26 and 27’s judgment meted out upon sinless Jesus by sinful human beings. In the same way, as the church turns the page from this Sunday of Reign of Christ/Christ the King to next Sunday’ beginning of Advent, we suddenly go from being awed by the sight of a mighty ruler surrounded by glory and angels to engaging in humble preparation for the birth of a helpless child on the darkest of nights, and surrounded the cattle.

Because of that holy child’s forthcoming visit to us, we know we are not alone despite all the walls that would enclose us and imprison us. By that one’s visitation in Jesus Christ, we are strengthened not only to endure the walls that encompass us, but even perhaps one day to break out of them. We are released from the fears of isolation and separation that incarcerate us in our past and in the pain and turmoil of our present. We are emboldened to live with trust that love is eternal, that justice prevails, that we need not abandon our humanity to get through all this, and that the hungry and thirsty and stranger and naked and sick and imprisoned deserve God’s life-giving visitation and presence as much as anyone else.

These continue to be difficult days and weeks, perhaps the most threatening we’ve known as a people in a couple of generations. But we are not alone. We meet and see and uphold one another as we ask questions and face challenges, dispelling doubt as we are in our beloved faith community. Jesus is in each face. We are not alone.

Seeing him and encouraged by each other, we are compelled toward generosity of time, talent, and treasure on behalf of those we likely do not know. As we serve strangers with resources and care and presence, Jesus is in their faces. And perhaps, they see Jesus in ours. We are not alone.

For Mary’s child liberates us all—servers and served alike—together: Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world…

Amen.

Congressman Crockett takes on President Jackson

Last weekend, Maxine and I watched the 1955 Walt Disney film, Davy Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier. We both could recall it being very important to us in our youth, although I, at age 12, was a bit too old to get as involved in it as did younger kids. For example, I never owned, nor even wanted, a coonskin cap.

One scene that I had not thought about for decades came back with such clarity that it surely had a big impact on me at the time. It’s the scene where U.S. Congressman Crockett gives an impassioned speech against the abrogation of treaties made with (actually, forced upon) the Creek Indians.

In making his speech, Crockett takes a stand in direct opposition to the man who had convinced him to run for congress and who expected his undying support in return, President Andrew Jackson. Although Crockett’s fellow congressmen wildly applaud his remarks (which almost certainly did not happen!), the president is not amused, and Crockett is defeated in the next election.

Crockett’s main motivation for arguing against breaking the treaties is that he had given his word that they would be kept. The extent to which he is also compelled by some higher principles is hard for me to say, but perhaps that is enough: I made a promise, and I keep my promises.

Now, there is much that is objectionable about Davy Crockett. I can see why Disney shows a disclaimer before it. The whole history of the “Indian Wars” is at the very least problematic, and at the worst tragic. Crockett may be more concerned with his integrity than with achieving social justice.

But I am more forgiving of historical persona who at least give hints of being just than are those who need them to be perfect—by current standards at least—in order to be admired. And when I was twelve years old, Davy Crockett’s courageous speech taking on the president himself must have really touched me, because it touched me the other night when I heard it again for the first time in perhaps 65 years. Maybe it touched me because it’s the kind of thing that continues to be hard for me to do.

There’s a lesson in that scene: we don’t have to be right about everything in order to be right about ourselves and our values. Perhaps if more of us where at least true to ourselves, we’d be in better shape as a nation than we are now. We might even solve some of our problems.

Davy Crockett: King of the Wild Frontier is probably more fiction than fact. But it’s the kind of fiction that, when incorporated into the real world, can inspire us to better behavior and greater good. That’s not so bad, and it is much needed these days.

(Oh, I forgot to mention that at the end of his speech, Congressman Crockett tears the offending bill in half and lets its two pieces drift to the floor. Not the last time that kind of thing happened in the House of Representatives...)

“I am truly heartbroken but until my President Trump tells me it is over I will continue to pray for him and for pro life.”

That is a Facebook comment by a Trump supporter (a person I do not know), lamenting the outcome of the election. I saw it about a week ago, and it troubled me enough to draft a blog that turned into a rant, which I decided not to post. Let things work themselves out, I told myself.

Well, things are not working themselves out. At least not as the president and his associates want them to work out. That is why there is a rally on the National Mall today in support of the President, one that he has encouraged (and apparently drove by on his way to play golf).

Despite the fact of no credible evidence to question the results of the November 3 election, the Trump team continues to search for ways to discount those results. Moreover, they deliberately stand in the path of an orderly transition to a new administration, putting our nation at risk.

The post reveals at least part of what’s going on here. Its writer is “heartbroken,” as if the life of a beloved friend or relative had come to a tragic end. The writer will believe what has happened only when “my President Trump tells me it is over.” (What up with the my in that phrase?) The writer will “continue to pray for him and for pro-life,” revealing what they believe is primarily at stake, and for which they are willing to ignore all other sources of information until my President validates them.

I am not suggesting that all of Trump’s supporters are so fanatical and nearly cultic as that person, but I do think this comment represents a large segment of his “base,” much of it worshipping in evangelical churches. Consider the emotional parallels between that Facebook comment and this old hymn:

I come to the garden alone while the dew is still on the roses,

And the voice I hear falling on my ear, The Son of God discloses.

And He walks with me and He talks with me,

And He tells me I am his own…

I am his, and he is mine, and we walk lockstep together. Nothing will ever sever that bond. And more rational and thoughtful Trump supporters who are not so tightly tied to him emotionally are afraid to admit to anything that might anger his base.

President Trump’s ability to capture some people’s unthinking loyalty is phenomenal. It is so phenomenal that they can apparently be convinced to ignore or deny realities that are slapping our nation and the world in the face. The pandemic and climate change are two of the most obvious. If you cannot see what’s happening unless Donald Trump tells you to see it, then what hope is there for you and for our democracy?

Power tends to blind leaders to the daily challenges and struggles of ordinary people. Nancy Pelosi had to be told that hosting a dinner party in the capitol during a pandemic is a dangerous thing to do. At least she listened. But why didn’t she know that instinctively, when out here in Ohio we are being told not to share Thanksgiving dinner with our families?

Here’s the bottom line: it is not up to President Trump (or Nancy Pelosi, for that matter) to decide “when it’s over.” It was up to us, and we voted, and Trump was defeated both in the popular and the electoral votes. If some credible facts come to light that change that, we will have to accept it. It’s what we do. In the meantime, it’s time to stop playing games with our democracy and our security, and move ahead.

(Note: I am weary of being told that Democrats did not accept the results of Trump’s election four years ago. Democrats did not like the results, and were troubled by the fact that although Trump lost the popular vote, he won the electoral vote. But I do not recall Democrats questioning the integrity of the election process itself, something Trump has made a career of doing.)

Our signs come down

Shortly after noon Saturday, I removed the Biden-Harris sign that we’d displayed in the front door of our retirement community home. It had been there a couple of months.

Campaign signs had generated a bit of controversy among our residents, but there were no rules against it, and some of us felt we had the right and even the duty to express our preferences. We’ve never done that before did not stop us.

Our cul-de-sac of 10 to 12 homes became the hotbed of political expression on our campus. At the height, 5 homes expressed support for the Biden-Harris ticket, but only one for Trump-Pence. But it displayed two signs, one of them being a Veterans for Trump sign. (Our few numbers were not at all representative of Lake County, which voted solidly Republican all down the ticket.)

A couple of residences’ signs came down right after Tuesday’s election. I decided to wait until the winners were declared, which was Saturday. Last I looked there was only one sign left standing.

But here’s my point for today: about an hour after I had removed our Biden-Harris sign, our neighbor was out removing his two Trump-Pence signs.

As I watched him, I thought to myself, This is our American way. We disagree, sometimes loudly and radically, but when the votes are counted, we put our most partisan personas aside, so that we can work with one another to meet our challenges and solve our problems.

I hope Washington, D.C. will choose to follow the example of our little cul-de-sac. It will not be easy, of course—not nearly as easy as President-elect Biden sometimes makes it sound. But we can do this, given the will. There’s too much at stake for any of us not even to try.

Tuesday is about me

Just thinking today about how elections--especially highly-partisan and contentious elections like this one--tell us as much about ourselves as they tell us about the people we ultimately elect.

How I vote is an expression of what I value for myself, for my family and friends, and for my community, nation, and world. Who I vote for tells who I think will best lead me and my country in the direction I believe we should go, and whether that direction will benefit just me or the common good. My vote tells where I find a balance between my own self-interest and the interests of Americans I can never know.

How the nation votes tells where the nation's heart lies. Unfortunately, things like the electoral college and gerrymandered congressional districts obscure a clear sense of our collective heart's desires. But if we look carefully, we can know who we are and what we want to become. We can see at least in outline our values and our ideals.

Everyone seems certain that Tuesday and the days following will be rough, and filled with rage and accusations and bitterness. Maybe we will surprise ourselves. Maybe we will show ourselves to be better than we think. That would be a great relief.

In the meantime, I can prepare myself to be a good, fair and, if necessary, very vocal citizen who resolves neither to belittle nor to lose respect those with whom I differ. How I react to this election says as much about me as does my vote itself.