"Seasonal Slugfest"

Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Advent  18 December 2016
The Rev’d John R. Clarke, Rector

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

St. Nick’s parting shot from ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.

And you might be wondering ― with Advent still in full swing ─ why jump the gun on Christmas?

Well, with roughly six shopping days left, it’s “now or never” if we’re going to wade into this whole “Merry Christmas” / “Happy Holidays” mess everyone with an axe to grind has their knickers in a twist about. (I know, mixed metaphors. Deal.)

That is, in a country that respects ― according to the spirit and the intent of the Constitution ― separation of Church and State … in a society that benefits from an increasingly diverse, pluralistic population ... just what are you going to wish people as we slouch inexorably toward the Christmas meltdown?

St. Nick’s all-points "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night"? Slim it down and you get “Merry Christmas!”

Or should we edit our best wishes for the season? Expand them to be more inclusive of all our neighbors?

If you choose the “Merry Christmas” option, it all depends on what you mean by “Merry Christmas.” Or, how you mean it.

And that requires getting into motives ─ maybe even agendas ─ when we express greetings of the season in stores, at the mall, at the post office … here in the parish … among friends … among strangers, total strangers.

Read: How likely are you to be the perpetrator in an incident like the one outside a Phoenix, Arizona Walmart a few seasons back?

Picture this: Salvation Army volunteer Kristina Vindiola was doing what the Salvation Army does this time of year: She was ringing a bell and had the kettle prepped to receive donations to fund the Salvation Army’s charitable work. You know, the work Jesus did in-season, out-of-season: feeding the poor … caring for the lonely … clothing people down on their luck … helping neighbors who have fallen into the cracks.

Disclaimer: This isn’t a plug for the Salvation Army. I’m not at all keen on their anti-LGBT stances. Your mileage may vary.

Nevertheless, ringing her bell and staffing her kettle, Kristina Vindiola wished a passerby “Happy Holidays.” The woman reeled around and snarled, “You’re supposed to say, ‘Merry Christmas!’”

And no-sooner-than-you-could-say “blessed are the peacemakers,” she hauls off and slugs the volunteer, knocking her to the ground.

Triggering the question: On a scale of 1 to 10, how likely are you to be charged with assault-and-battery in the next six days if someone wishes you “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas”?

Because this incident has me just gobsmacked. I’m wondering why “Merry Christmas” is such a sacred cow ─ you might even say, idol ─ to some people?

So, I’ve done a quick survey of news stories, blogs, and what passes for critical thinking among the pundits on Fox yelling the loudest in this season of peace, love, and joy.

And my admittedly unscientific survey suggests three possible meanings behind the greeting “Merry Christmas”: political … commercial … and Christ-centered.

First, “Merry Christmas” as politics.

What does that sound like? It begins with the president-elect pledging, “We’re going to start saying ‘Merry Christmas’ again.” I can’t tell you what that even means, but I do know it’s blatantly unconstitutional. And yet, it resonates with the sort who spit out “Merry Christmas” through clenched teeth.

Look. This is nothing less than a skirmish in the so-called “War on Christmas” or, “War on Christianity.” It’s a fabrication. It has absolutely nothing at all to do with religion. And everything to do with politics and pumping up the foaming-at-the-mouth base.

Because Christianity in this country is not under attack. Yes, it has diminished ─ and rightly so ─ under Constitutional review. But no one ─ least of all the government ─ has parked a tank on our lawn.

And those stories you hear about Nativity crèches being banned from public buildings and grounds? For the life of me, I can’t figure what they’re doing there in the first place.

Because, do we erect crucifixes on statehouse property on Good Friday? Replicas of the Empty Tomb on Easter (Easter, of course, easily besting Christmas in the annual liturgical year competition)? Do we erect on commons all around the country statues of Buddha on Buddha’s birthday? Or Krishna’s? Or the Mormons’ Joseph Smith? Well, maybe in Utah.

More to the point: Would you want your tax dollars used to clutter up public property with symbols of sects you don’t believe in or religions you consider downright heretical, even satanic?

Meaning: What’s under attack isn’t Christianity. What’s under attack is privilege bestowed by the accidents of history.

That’s because some of these folks who’ve had it pretty good since 1776 are feeling a loss of privilege: the perceived right of some to clobber all with their brand of road-rage Christianity.

It seems, however, Jesus ─ arguably, the only person with standing in this trumped-up brouhaha ─ has a few things to say about privilege. Like, “The first shall be last, and the last shall be first.”

And what Jesus has to say on this score has everything to do with how we look at saying “Merry Christmas” … and to whom.

For example, to those who lob an in-your-face “Merry Christmas” ― bullying complete strangers ― I ask, “Where in that is Jesus … Jesus, who suffered and died at the hands of bullies?”

So, that’s my gloss on the menace of “Merry Christmas” as politics. What about its commercial dimensions?

Factoid: Except for the crèche ― courtesy of mild-mannered St. Francis of Assisi ― and St. Nicholas ― now a bleached bloviation of the olive-complected fourth-century Bishop of Myra ― and except for a smattering of carols and chorales ─ just about all the trappings we have of Christmas today are the product of 19^th and 20^th century merchandising.

In other words, “Merry Christmas” means good business.

So, I have a problem when sales personnel are required to wish customers, “Merry Christmas.” Because all I’m hearing is “Fa-la-la-la-la! Ka-ching, ka-ching.”

But all is not lost. Plotting a course through the landmines of “Merry-Christmas” as bad politics and good business, a lot of people ─ and I mean a lot ─ have been circulating on Facebook what Google indexes under the “Happy Holidays Meme.” It’s gone viral because the optics are good and the sentiment makes so much sense.

The optics: It’s a JPEG of a sheet of paper torn from what looks like a legal pad. The writing is handwritten in block letters, a different rainbow color for each statement:

I don’t understand what the big deal is.

If you’re Jewish, tell me “Happy Hanukkah.”

If you’re Christian, tell me, “Merry Christmas.”

If you’re African-American, tell me “Joyous Kwanzaa.”

If you don’t prefer those, tell me, “Happy Holidays.” I will not be offended. I will be thankful you took the time to say something nice to me.

Great sentiments. I could quibble that there are African-Americans who don’t observe Kwanzaa. And the Seinfeld fans. What about Festivus?!

But the Happy Holidays meme? A heart-warming ─ if a bit treacly ─ “We come in peace” sentiment. Effective … to a point.

… because there’s a problem. It doesn’t reflect fully Jesus’ idea of hospitality to strangers. And Jesus is where we’re coming from, at least.

That is, the meme puts the burden on the greeter (let’s say, a hapless salesperson). “If you are Jewish … if you are Christian … if you are African-American, and so on … tell me …”

So, I’d like to flip it. I’d like to shift the burden to the person being greeted:

If you can tell I’m an observant Jew, wish me “Happy Hanukkah.”

If you can tell I’m a follower of Jesus ─ that I go to church most Sundays, support my parish, live the Good News ─ wish me “Merry Christmas.”

If you know I celebrate Kwanzaa, wish me “Joyous Kwanzaa.”

In the absence of any other data ─ stranger-to-stranger? Wish me “Happy Holidays.”

And if you don’t wish me anything … who … cares?!! Life is too short to shorten it further by carrying around a chip on your shoulder and calling it religion.

… because the point isn’t politics. It isn’t sales revenues. For us, it’s funneling every ounce of our energy into Jesus’ take on Christmas. Jesus’ take on any holiday, any day:

I was hungry … and you gave me food.
I was thirsty … and you gave me something to drink.
I was a stranger … and you welcomed me.
I was naked … and you gave me clothing.
I was sick … and you took care of me.
I was in prison … and you visited me.

Bottom line: Nothing else matters when we mean what we say by doing what we profess: “God bless us … everyone!”

Amen.

“Cher, John the Baptist, and Jesus walk into a bar …”

Homily for the Third Sunday of Advent  11 December 2016
The Rev’d John R. Clarke, Rector

“Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?”                                                                                                                  Matthew 11:3

“Snap out of it!” The line that caps one of the greatest moments ever on the silver screen.

The movie? Moonstruck, the Oscar-winning 1987 romantic comedy starring Cher and Nicholas Cage.

Not to make a virtue of sleeping with your future-brother-in-law two weeks before your wedding, but in the famous scene, Loretta Castorini (Cher) has just slept with her future-brother-in-law, Ronny Cammareri (Nicholas Cage).

As day breaks on Brooklyn Heights, Loretta has buyer’s remorse and swears to Ronny, “Last night never happened and we’re gonna take this to our coffins.”

Ronny protests, “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Loretta asks.

Ronny’s answer? “I’m in love with you!”

And not to make a virtue of domestic violence, but Loretta hauls off and smacks him in the face once … twice. And then the immortal line: “Snap out of it!”

In other words, “Ronny! Reality!”

Same sort of thing happens to John the Baptist when he’s expecting the Terminator, and he gets Jesus.

John’s reaction? “Jesus, are you the one who is to come ─ are you the Messiah? ─ or are we to wait for another?”

Jesus’ response? “Johnny! Snap out of it!”

That’s because, right up until the political tide turned against John, he had been riding high. Just about everybody was checking out his in-your-face message: “The Messiah is here! The End is near!”

But, for John, that was then, this is now. Where is John today?

The wilderness … the River Jordan. Gone.

Reality? A prison cell.

The crowds, the baptisms, the paparazzi. Gone.

Reality? Only a handful of disciples left. And they’re set to walk.

John’s expectation that Jesus — pronto! — would usher in “The End” not with a whimper, but with a bang. Gone.

Reality? Fizzle where John smelled sizzle.

That is, John has put all his chips on Jesus. For example, “I preach repentance,” John argues. “Jesus will bring judgment!

“I warn, ‘The ax is poised at the root of the trees.’ Jesus will level the whole forest!

“I baptize with water. He will baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire!

“I breathe the cracking, dry air of the desert. Jesus will be all blast-furnace!”

These are John’s expectations.

Problem is, given what Jesus delivers, are these expectations reasonable?

To find out, John sends a delegation to confront Jesus. “You’ve got the ball now,” they charge, “but you haven’t run with it. Jesus, are you the one we’ve been waiting for?”

Jesus’ answer? “Yes, I’m the one. But your expectations are out of whack.”

That’s because Jesus isn’t in the business of meeting others’ expectations. He’s in the business of creating God’s reality.

And that’s a reality that’s equal parts results, hope, and challenge.

Jesus tackles first the results and the hope.

“Snap out of it,” Jesus says. “I get results: The blind receive their sight, the lame walk. I cleanse lepers and the deaf hear. But, it’s obvious, not all the blind, the lame, lepers, and the deaf … just yet. But there’s reason to hope.

“Snap out of it! I raise the dead. But not all the dead … just yet. Hope.

“Snap out of it! I preach good news to the poor, but have you noticed? Not all the poor experience good news … just yet. Hope.”

In other words, it may not be what John — or we — were expecting, but God’s Kingdom is here. And it’s still coming, not ─ as hyped ─ in an Apocalypse of famine, fire, and smoke. But more often than not in quite unspectacular ways, in mini-decisions and minute actions.

One ostensibly unspectacular example: Awhile back, Bill and I were watching acerbic pundit Keith Olbermann. One of his guests was Maysoon Zayid, a 39 year-old Palestinian Muslim. She’s an activist, an actress … and a comedian. A funny, iconoclastic, skewer-Arabs-and-non-Arabs-alike, equal-opportunity comic now from New Jersey, no less. A female Muslim Jon Stewart. On American TV.

But there’s more. Ms. Zayid has cerebral palsy. And it’s very clear from her jerky movements on camera and her occasional facial distortions that she does.

So, here, the way it played out — no hoopla, no Gabriel’s Horn Blows at Midnight fanfare — in a highly image-based industry, just another in the line-up of political analysts that night on a fairly mainstream news show: a pundit, who happened to be a Muslim female comedian, who happened to have cerebral palsy.

The point? Barriers broken in high def. Expected or not, that’s what God’s Kingdom looks like. Here and now.

Consequently, Jesus’ message to John is: “Snap out of it! No pyrotechnics. Violence is always the easy way out. And in its place? The one-step-in-front-of-the-other slog of justice.” And that's the challenge.

What, then, of our expectations? For example:

Why are so many American families still forced to spend the holidays separated from their loved ones serving in Afghanistan and other war zones? The expectation? “Peace on earth.” Or so the angels billed Jesus’ birth.

Why ─ even with unemployment at an astonishing low of 4.6 percent ─ are 7.4 million of our neighbors suffering the effects of unemployment? The expectation? Jesus said, “Come to me, all you who labor.”

Why will so many millions of children in our communities — and exponentially more around the globe — go to bed hungry tonight? The expectation? Jesus said, “Suffer the little children to come to me.”

Why is a packing crate over a heat vent the only “affordable housing” available to so many homeless as bitter winter advances? The expectation? Jesus said, “In my father’s house are many dwelling-places.”

And your needs — career, health, relationships, home ─ your expectations? “Whatever you ask the Father in my name,” Jesus said, “God will grant it.”

Expectation vs. reality … a disconnect. What are we to do with that?

Rabbi Abraham Heschel offered an answer. “God,” Heschel wrote, “is waiting for us to redeem the world.”

In other words, if you’re waiting around for God to fix things, “snap out of it!”

What does that look like? Using Jesus’ categories, people need no longer be blind. God is waiting for us to redistribute the money, the technology, and the human resources we already have to eradicate blindness once and for all.

Children — no one — need ever be crippled by street crime and drive-by shootings. God is waiting for us to eliminate the root causes of crime and poverty.

The deaf ─ all deaf persons ─ will be able to hear. We’ve made extraordinary strides, but God is waiting for us to perfect current technology — including stem-cell technology — to make deafness history.

The lepers of our day — those living with HIV, especially in Africa — can be treated … or at the very least be treated with compassion. God is waiting for us.

And the poor can experience good news. The numbers don’t lie: We have in hand ─ today! ─ what it takes to feed, clothe, and provide housing for absolutely everyone on the planet. God is waiting for us.

The point:

Leaving all the heavy lifting to God?

Never tried roaming free in God’s imagination to discover what is humanly possible?

Think the isolated results Jesus got can’t ever be the norm?

Snap out of it! Because if we don’t, is the world supposed to go on waiting … and waiting and waiting … waiting … for another?

Amen.

"Loose Ends"

Homily for the Second Sunday of Advent  4 December 2016
The Rev’d John R. Clarke, Rector

“The voice of one crying out in the wilderness.”  Matthew 3:3

What if today turns out to be the “day the earth stood still”?

What if we were to have a “close encounter of the third kind”?

What if, as the 60s cavalcade of schlock blares, “Mars Needs Women”?

The stuff of sci-fi: “What if?”

But in ‘Tapestry,’ rated among the top 5 episodes of the seven seasons of Star Trek: The Next Generation, you have a “what-if” personal drama ─ a riff on “the road not taken” ─ wrapped in the requisite futuristic “what if” bells and whistles of wormholes and warp drives.

Picture this: Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the Federation Starship Enterprise, takes a direct phaser hit to his heart ─ his artificial heart. He dies and awakes in just what might be the after-life, only to be greeted by his perennial antagonist, the omnipotent god-of-sorts Q.

How did Picard acquire an artificial heart? The unintended consequence of a bar brawl decades before, when he and two of his fellow cadets unadvisedly took on a trio of aliens: the thuggish Nausicaans.

Nausicaans: Literally, head-and-shoulders-above the human cadets. They’re menacing, confrontational, cheating, overtly racist, big-mouthed, and misogynist (they threaten to sexually assault the female cadet in the group).

Bottomline: The Nausicaans are bullies. Armed bullies.

In the scuffle, one impales Picard with a jagged Nausicaan blade right through his heart. Jump to triage and a new, artificial heart for Picard.

But that was then, this is now. A natural heart, Q points out, would have survived the blast. Consequently, Q provides the now quite-dead Picard with the “what if” opportunity to rewrite his history, to write-over the bar brawl. Only this time, make peace, make nice, stand down. Q’s pitch? Appeasement is the way to keep your heart, not resistance.

And that’s the route Picard 2.0 takes: appeasement. The upshot? He never becomes captain of the Enterprise … just a dead-end junior officer majoring in mediocrity. Q concludes that the revised Picard “learned to play it safe. And he never, ever, got noticed by anyone.”

Picard’s reaction? “I can’t live out my days as that person. That man is bereft of passion and imagination. That is not who I am!”

How does the episode resolve? No spoilers, except to note Picard’s admission. “There are many parts of my youth that I’m not proud of,” he says, “loose threads. But when I pulled on one of those threads, it unraveled the tapestry of my life.”

The tapestry of a life, with its threads of recklessness, risk, and resistance. It’s a story that, in its basic contours, is the story of John the Baptist.

That’s because John is reckless. He bets on risk. He resists by standing up to bullies, chief among them his archnemesis, Herod Antipas. John takes on the corruption of the top one percent that fattens the “haves” and damns the “have-nots.” Up and down the economic ladder, John calls out behaviors that treat neighbors as throw-away objects.

Read: John’s project is to create a dwelling-place, a nation, a planet fit for God: God with us … right here … among us … neighbor-to-neighbor … neighbor-to-God … God-as-neighbor.

But that’s so far from the way things stand, John digs in his heels … with calamitous consequences. Herod jails him in the bowels of his fortress palace, where John is destined to be eliminated as an “enemy of the people.”

As forerunner of the Messiah ─ as herald of God’s New Order ─ this is not the end John has been risking life and limb for. And Jesus doesn’t appear to be the street brawler John has been paving the way for.

It gets to the point that skeptical ─ highly skeptical ─ John (in Herod's dungeon) sends emissaries to the considerably kinder and gentler Jesus with the challenge: “Are you the Messiah we’ve been expecting or not?” Unspoken message? “The evidence indicates you’re not.”

It’s all the language of disappointment and the posture of despair. And ─ Q or no Q ─ it’s not hard to imagine that, imprisoned and with no exit in sight, John might conjure up “what if” shades of John the Baptist 2.0. The one who plays it safe … whose head doesn’t end up on a platter … whose dead eyes don’t stare accusingly at his gloating tormentors … the do-over John, who doesn’t get noticed … doesn’t resist … the forerunner who doesn’t run before … the preparer who doesn’t prepare the way … the voice that doesn’t cry out in the wilderness or anywhere else.

“What if” result? No advent of God’s reign, because resistance itself is its first sign.

Meaning: Appeasement has consequences. Pull on one of the loose threads of John’s real life ─ his recklessness, his risk and resistance ─ and what happens? Not much.

And that’s a problem, because then the tapestry of John’s life unravels. The tapestry of God’s kingdom unravels. And we’re left with a question: Without John ─ the predictably menacing John that we have come to know as John the Baptist ─ would Jesus be possible?

That’s because, if we’re in the business of God’s kingdom ─ if we’re in Jesus’ business ─ we have to be willing, like John, to court what Georgia Congressman and civil rights pioneer John Lewis calls “necessary trouble.”

Pointing, then, to a factoid. We are followers of Jesus, shaped by the tradition of John. The thread of resistance is woven ─ without apology and by design ─ into the tapestry of the faith we claim. And now, more than ever ─ as in John’s day ─ now is our time to resist.

Because it is not who we are to allow the twisted faces of bigotry against our Muslim neighbors … the rants of racists ... the violence of white supremacists … the "America First" hostility toward immigrants in our midst … the homophobic “religious liberty” (so-called) of the evangelical right … it is not who we are to allow these threats to God’s kingdom to become the “threads of normal” enabled by our appeasement.

For Picard … for John the Baptist … for each of us, then, to consider this hour: What “necessary trouble” are we being called to court?

In other words, knowing that “not every battle can be won, but every battle must be waged,” what if our moment has come?

What if our moment has come to resist?

What if?

Amen.

“Of Castanets and Safety Pins”

Homily for the Feast of the Christ the King    20 November 2016
The Rev’d John R. Clarke, Rector

“And the people stood by, watching.” Luke 23:35a

Sometimes, you’ve got no choice.

Ask Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse in “Singin’ in the Rain.” Sometimes you “gotta dance, gotta dance, g-o-o-o-tta dance.”

Proof? I’m not sure Teresa of Ávila could hold a candle to Cyd Charisse, but one gray day in the bone-chilling cold of her unheated convent ─ during the one hour she allowed the sisters to gather for recreation ─ Teresa shocked the life out of every last one of them.

Without introduction, without warning, without so much as a “five-six-seven-eight,” Teresa jumped to her feet, grabbed her castanets (it appears, even saints are allowed castanets), and launched into a “DWTS”-worthy flamenco.

The look on the other nuns’ faces? “Well, that was unexpected.” Teresa’s defense? “Some days, you’ve got to do something to make life bearable!”

“You’ve got to do something. Someone has got to do something to make life bearable.” Certainly, that was on the minds of those who witnessed Jesus ─ innocent Jesus ─ being led to Jerusalem’s “killing field” (the Place of the Skull), nailed to the cross, then hoisted high for maximum, prolonged murderous effect.

“Someone has got to do something.” That someone, in some of the onlookers’ minds, was God. Surely God would intervene. God would do … something.

But that “something” just didn’t materialize that day. And that day, reality prevailed. Resistance was futile.

Result? Luke the Evangelist tells us, “The people stood by, watching.”

Just as we’re now caught in our own standing-by, watching moment. What are we standing-by, watching? A post-election rise in hate crimes.

Between the day after the election and Monday morning, November 14, the Southern Poverty Law Center ─ the go-to people for classifying hate groups and other extremist organizations ─ collected 437 reports of hateful intimidation and harassment. Among them:

99 reports from schools, grades K-12. 76 from businesses. 67 incidents on university campuses. 40 instances of vandalism and white-nationalist leafleting on private property. 38 epithets and slurs hurled from moving vehicles.

Some reports were local.

The fallout? People are afraid ─ and I’m one of them ─ that white supremacists, pumped up by the election results and feeling immune from prosecution (given the line-up of the in-coming administration’s appointments), we’re afraid that white supremacists are being given license to physically and emotionally abuse minorities, immigrants, women, and the LGBT community.

And of mounting concern to people of faith are reports that the President-elect is considering plans for a national registry of Muslims. People he will be bringing into the Oval Office have openly suggested that internment camps quarantining Muslims are a good idea. Internment camps. Like the forced relocation and incarceration of between 110,000 and 120,000 people of Japanese ancestry in the days following the attack on Pearl Harbor. 62 percent of the internees were US citizens.

One of the darkest moments in our history, this internment program was condemned in 1982 by the Commission on Wartime Relocation and Internment of Civilians. The Commission's report found little evidence of Japanese disloyalty at the time, and concluded that the incarceration had been driven by racism.

Do we have any reason to believe that racism isn’t behind calls for forced incarceration ─ or a national registry ─ of all Muslims this time around?

After all, [cue the opening bars of Deutschland über Alles], a comprehensive list of people based on their religion. What could possibly go wrong?

Is it unreasonable, then, for our Muslim neighbors, other minorities (including Jews), immigrants, women, and LGBT persons to suspect that in the next four years, conditions may become unbearable?

Leading us to side with Teresa of Ávila. “Some days, you’ve got to do something to make life bearable.”

Or, as Elie Wiesel said (and he knew a thing or two about the consequences of scapegoating): “We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.”

Factoid: Neutrality was never Jesus’ strong suit. Jesus took sides. Jesus’ project was a study in dissent ─ nonviolent dissent ─ with the exception of his highly-publicized attack against the moneychangers in the Temple. Yes, out … of … control. But, it could be argued, that anomaly was more street theater than a cruisin’-for-a-bruisin’ riot.

Pushing us to conclude: As followers of Jesus ─ Jesus, who relentlessly advocated for the rights of all our neighbors ─ we have no other option than to resist. We have no other option than to resist nonviolently when our neighbors’ well-being, freedom, and rights are being threatened. Standing by and watching is not an option now … because when we sing “Lift every voice and sing till earth and heaven ring, ring with the harmonies of liberty,” we ain’t just whistlin’ ‘Dixie.’

Read: Against those who turn bigotry into action, activism is the answer.

What, then, will we do? Let’s make it easier. What one thing will each of us do?

Well, where can you push back to overcome bigotry, racism, misogyny, homophobia … even anti-science, such as utterly fact-free and pro-Big Oil climate-change denial?

This Thursday is Thanksgiving, but it applies always: When a bloviating uncle (it’s often the uncle) ─ in the throes of alcoholic euphoria ─ makes a degrading comment about a minority or women, push back. Don’t let it slide. Call it offensive. Call it what it is: racism, sexism, homophobia, anti-Semitism, anti-Muslim bigotry … whatever fits. Name it. Name where you stand as a follower of Jesus. Do something.

Or up your charitable giving to make sure, as we say in Evening Prayer, that the needy aren’t forgotten and that the “hope of the poor” isn’t taken away … amid gratuitous tax cuts for the over-the-top wealthy in the next four years.

And then, there’s this: We don’t have castanets (or my hunch is most of us don’t). But we do have safety pins.

The safety pin ─ intentionally affixed to a shirt, lapel, blouse, jacket, hat ─ it’s a meme now, a form of resistance … a show of resistance. Not necessarily resistance to a political party, or an administration (existing or in-coming) … but resistance to threats made against our neighbors, even ourselves.

The safety pin. It’s a sign that you are a safe person and that, in real time, a minority neighbor or woman who is being attacked by bullies can look to you for help. The safety pin. It’s your pledge to create a safe place.

Sure, it sounds trendy, gimmicky. Easy as American pie to locate one. And yet, while not a fashion statement, it is a political statement. But it would be a hollow political statement ─ an even more hollow moral statement for a follower of Jesus ─ if it weren’t backed up by Jesus-type activism.

Not backing up the wearing with the acting: that’s called “slackerism.” A mash-up of “slacker” and “activism.” Slackerism. Meaning: wearing the safety pin doesn’t necessarily translate into getting off your duff and doing something.

Not to mention the fact that ─ channeling my father here ─ no one likes a slacker.

Now, truth-in-advertising: Standing up in real time for our at-risk neighbor? It’s not without risk itself. It requires training, for example, in de-escalation and self-defense techniques.

That is, if you come to the aid of, say, an immigrant who is being harassed on the Orange Line (“Go back to where you came from!”), and the aggressor turns on you, can you hold your own long enough for the authorities to get there? Risky. It takes Moxie. But, of course, Jesus had Moxie. But even more than Moxie, it takes training, planning.

If there is sufficient interest, then, here at St Paul’s in promoting the Safety Pin Movement, I’ll contact the Diocese about offering deanery-wide training needed to reduce risk, while allowing us to give bite to our activist impulse.

… because Captain Jean-Luc Picard and the crew of the Starship Enterprise got it right and proved the Borg wrong. Resistance isn’t futile.

Amen.

"Pants on Fire!"

“If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.”                Luke 16:31

I’m worried about the brothers. Yes, it’s the five brothers I’m worried about. And their pants.

That’s because, like their deceased sibling doing a slow burn somewhere beyond the sunset, they’ve bought wholesale into a gold-plated lie. And there’s no one in sight prepared to shout, “Pants on fire!”

That’s “pants on fire,” as in the schoolyard taunt “Liar! Liar! Pants on fire!” … and more recently, Pulitzer Prize-winning, nonpartisan PolitiFact’s ranking of claims made by politicians ─ rankings ranging from “True” to “Pants on Fire!”

Check out PolitiFact.com. Their researchers are working overtime this election cycle to assess what New York Times columnist Paul Krugman calls the competing “moral universes” occupied by the two principal candidates.

Now, they both rate “Pants on Fire!” rankings many times over. But one, who will go nameless, is nothing less than a raging conflagration. Kiss those broad-in-the-beam, fancy-pants good-bye!

And yet, the PolitiFact fact-checkers would be working no less furiously in rating the moral universe shared by the gazillionaire and his equally-cash-flush siblings in “The Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus.”

But let’s call the latter “Laz,” so as not to confuse him with Jesus’ well-heeled best friend Lazarus, the one he raised from the dead.

So, what’s the “Pants on Fire!” lie? And why should we care?

Picture this: Reversals.

You have two avatars of the ways of the world. There’s a no-name plutocrat. And then there’s Laz, the quintessential, not-a-pot-to-pee-in pauper.

The data? Trappings: The rich man is decked out in linen, the finest imported clothes money can buy. Laz, dumped in a pustulent heap just outside the gates of the rich man’s McMansion, is clothed ─ not in linen, but lesions.

Diet: It’s a non-stop banquet up in the McMansion. Outside, Laz is desperate for an occasional scrap, if only the rich bloke would stop ignoring him.

And that’s a huge problem that speaks volumes about the gazillionaire’s moral universe ─ a moral universe driven by a lie: “God blesses with wealth. God curses with poverty. Ergo, you can’t be too rich.”

But riches or no riches, death doesn’t discriminate. And one day death deep-sixes both the moneyman and Laz. Where do they end up? Reversal. The rich man is dumped in what we would call Hell, to suffer the torments Laz experienced in life.

And Laz is escorted to far more felicitous digs than even the rich man enjoyed in life. Laz ends up in Father Abraham’s lap ─ what we would call Heaven.

In death, as in life: yawning chasm … with a dash of karma.

Complication: Some (of a more literalist bent) suggest that Jesus is charting here the geography of the afterlife: Heaven … Hell. Reality check. This is a parable, not National Geographic. The point is the reversal in the two main characters’ fortunes. Standard storytelling stuff. Just ask Charles Dickens.

Result? When the rich guy gets a-load of Laz enjoying a silver-lined eternity, he channels Joseph Campbell: “Regrets are illuminations come too late.”

If that weren’t bad enough, he gets salt rubbed in his festering wounds … not once, but twice. Father Abraham shoots down his modest request for Laz to leap the gulf stretching between their new circumstances just to moisten his parched lips.

And when the rich man suggests that Abraham send Laz back from the dead to alert his gilt-edged siblings with a shout-out to Lost in Space (“Warning! Warning! Danger! Danger!”), Abraham’s response? “No can do.”

By now you might be wondering, “What is the name of the Montgomery Burns knock-off?”

We don’t know. This is Jesus’ stab at a short story. It’s fiction. So, it’s not as though the poor-excuse-for-a-human-being really lived. But many have tried to pin a name on him to avoid “The Parable of Laz and … What’s-His-Name.”

A few arbitrary names have been suggested, but the one that has stuck is Dives. (Wow your friends at cocktail parties with the Brit pronunciation: Dī-vēz.) But a tag like that doesn’t really work, because Dives-as-proper-name is the result of a bit of confusion. In the Latin version of the parable ─ the Latin version holding sway in the Middle Ages ─ ‘rich man’ = dives. So, some thought that was really his name: Dives, as in the ballad, Dives and Lazarus.

Fact is: In no other parable does Jesus provide a character’s name, suggesting that Jesus intentionally leaves the gazillionaire anonymous, while he intentionally names the beggar Lazarus.

Why?

Jesus has made his name by pointing out a grim reality: In the real world, the over-compensated one percent generate brand. They make sure their names monopolize the skyline from Caesarea to Jerusalem … from Manhattan to Vegas, lit up in yuuuuge gold letters, while the victims of their greed go unnamed in the anonymous shadows below.

That means, highlighting the economics at the heart of the parable, Jesus engineers another reversal: the obscenely-wealthy, larger-than-life person (stand-in for the one percent) goes unnamed … while the invisible, pauperized person (stand-in for the remaining 99 percent) gets a name.

Giving the rich bloke a name, then, is to miss the point … because Jesus here is showing his hand: God rigs the system. God rigs the system in favor of the 99 percent that have always merited a name in God’s book. Standing in for them all? Laz ─ or Lazarus ─ whose name means “God is my help.” Coincidence? We think not!

But what about those five surviving siblings I’m so worried about, the rich guy’s clueless brothers? With Abraham denying Laz safe conduct back to the Land of the Living, who will save the siblings from their brother’s fate? Who will save them from themselves with the alert, “Your ‘you-can’t-be-too-rich’ moral universe? God’s ranking: ‘Pants on Fire!’”

And we are left to wonder, Will the siblings never pay attention to facts laid out by Moses and the prophets, as Father Abraham suggests?

That’s Moses, who says in Deuteronomy, “Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, ‘Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.’”

And the prophets. Take Jeremiah: “Scoundrels are found among my people, says the Lord. They take over the goods of others. Like fowlers, they set a trap; they catch human beings. Like a cage full of birds, their houses are full of treachery; therefore they have become great and rich, indulging in gluttony. They do not defend the rights of the needy.”

It doesn’t get any more straightforward than that.

But do the gazillionaire’s gilded siblings ever get it? We don’t know. We don’t have to know … because the parable is open-ended, pointing to the moral universe Jesus invites us to occupy, one that captures the guiding principles of Moses and the prophets paraphrased as “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

Problem is: In this election cycle, we are witnessing unprecedented, gob-smacking affronts to that principle. We are awash in lies ─ about poor people … about immigrants … about African-Americans, Muslims, gay people, and so many of our other neighbors … passed off as fact ─ data-free “fact” ─ over and over again.

For example, when you hear a candidate say, as a candidate did this past week, “[Black people] are worse off than ever before. Ever, ever, ever!” … when you hear something so patently false like that, there should be alarms going off in your head … pounding, excruciating alarms:

Worse off than slavery? … worse off than mob lynchings? … worse off than segregation? … worse off than being clubbed, beaten, set upon by attack dogs?

I mean, you can’t be an aware follower of Jesus ─ active, engaged, voting ─ and let a comment like that wash over you without saying, “Hey, wait a minute! What about history? What about facts? What about, ‘Hey, you’re pants are on fire!”

Or when a friend or an acquaintance, maybe a co-worker, even a parishioner, says ─ as did a rep ─ a white rep ─ from one of the campaigns a few days ago: “There was no racism in this country before [January 20, 2009].”

Wha’?!

“If you’re black,” she continued, “and you haven’t been successful in the last 50 years, it’s your own fault.”

Wha’?!!

Now, look. That may have come from the mouth of someone who claims to be Christian … but it is not a Christian remark. It’s not a Christian remark because it’s not based in facts. It a lie … a verifiable, “Pants-on-Fire!” lie.

Consequently, Jesus’ “Parable of the Rich Man and Laz” compels us not to let a lie like this ─ and remarks like it ─ stand. Because such a freewheeling relationship with the truth doesn’t represent what we stand for. It’s alien to the moral universe Jesus invites each of us to occupy.

Bottomline: Whether or not we’ll shout “Pants on Fire!” when we witness these lies ─ in conversation with our friends and others face-to-face or online ─ depends on the degree to which we believe Jesus commissions each of us to stand for fact-based truths and opinions in real time, all the time.

The good news is that if we take to doing our own homework … and take a shine to facts … if we cotton up to shouting “Pants on Fire!” … think of all the friends we’ll save ─ perhaps, even ourselves ─ from ever having to sit on the hot seat!

Amen.