Getting Out Alive

If my father and mother forsake me, the LORD will take me up. Teach me your way, O LORD, and lead me on a level path because of my enemies. (Psalm 27.10-11)

Under Siege

So it’s the Second Sunday of Lent and Oscar night, the one time during the year when my two greatest passions—faith and film—nod at each other in passing. (I should clarify: the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences doesn’t schedule its awards ceremony to coincide with Lent. Still, the two often overlap.) This year I’ve set a new personal best in seeing the nominated films. Other than two Foreign-Language nominees and four Documentary Shorts, I’ve seen everything. And what’s struck me about this year’s slate is the preponderance of movies about survival. It can be said that virtually all of the Best Picture nominees portray individuals dealing with traumatic events that threaten their wellbeing. Not all of them make it out alive. But this theme of facing horrendous odds is even more pronounced in the specialty categories.

• In addition to Beasts of the Southern Wild (my favorite film of 2012), the Live-Action Short Nominees Asad, Buzkashi Boys, Death of Shadow, and Curfew present young people whose lives are irrevocably shaped by trauma, as does War Witch (Foreign Language Film) and Inocente (Documentary Short Subject), which introduces us to a 15-year-old homeless girl whose only hope exists in her extraordinary artistic ability.
•  Literally all the Best Documentary nominees tell survival stories. Two (5 Broken Cameras and The Gatekeepers) ponder the Israeli-Palestinian crisis. How to Survive a Plague recounts the genesis of ACT UP, the AIDS activist group that pressured the government and drug firms to develop effective treatments. The Invisible War paints a heartbreaking—and enraging—picture of veterans whose lives are forever scarred by rape while in the military. Searching for Sugar Man is the redemption tale of a 70s pop star presumed dead after his career tanked and he survived poverty as a day laborer in Detroit.
• Chasing Ice (Best Song) is a harrowing documentary that chronicles climate change’s visible impact on the planet’s survival.

The pulse that races through these films beats with the sense of being under siege. There are no easy answers in these movies. Forces beyond their characters’ control raise seemingly insurmountable barriers and we can gauge how we’re feeling about our predicaments by how few of them earn that old “ triumph of the human spirit" cliché. These pictures have been chosen for the industry’s highest honor because they speak to us in urgent, inescapable ways. And what they’re telling us is not overly optimistic.

Souls at Their Extremes

Perhaps the Oscars’ close proximity has filtered my response to this weekend’s texts. But it seems to me that they, too, present vivid portraits of endangered survival. The Old Testament (Genesis 15.1-18) recounts God’s covenant with Abraham, who’s lost all hope of fatherhood. In Psalm 27, David feels beset on all sides, yet he resists the pressure to give up by declaring, “The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” (v1) In Philippians, Paul contrasts the waywardness of those who “live as enemies of the cross of Christ” with the assurance of believers, whose “citizenship is in heaven.” “Stand firm in the Lord in this way,” he says. Then the Gospel (Luke 13.31-35) gives us the poignant moment when Jesus predicts His imminent death and mourns that, had things gone another way, His story might have ended differently. “Jerusalem, Jerusalem!” He cries. “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”

Everything in these texts feels in flux and uncertain. The voices we hear are weary and confused. There are deeply struck notes of trepidation, conflict, and loneliness. The cries come from souls at their extremes, hanging on to hope against all hope, belief in spite of all evidence that things are not working out favorably. Abraham is too old to have children. David is a warrior king in retreat. The fledgling congregation at Philippi is in danger of being overtaken by heretics. And Jesus is facing certain death because His own people won’t listen to Him. To a one, these people travel rocky roads. They’re struggling to survive. And the vivid emotions that enfold them require turning to the only help they know: a God Who is personally involved in their lives, Who is a Friend that sticks closer than any sibling, Who will go with them to the end. There is optimism in these stories, but you have to look for it, because the situations they describe are bleak.

God is With Us

Reading the texts—my head swimming with movie images of children, families, nations, and a planet at grave risk—the stubborn faith that David proclaims in Psalm 27.10-11 grabbed my heart and lifted it. “If my father and mother forsake me, the LORD will take me up,” he says. “Teach me Your way, O LORD, and lead me on a level path because of my enemies.” While conflicts and confusion that befall us may not achieve the epic scale of Scripture and movies, they nonetheless bring us to points of crisis when we feel our very survival is at risk. Loved ones come and go, often laying responsibility for their departure at our doors. Unforeseen circumstances threaten our inner sense of self, stability, and strength. Time keeps ticking, stacking up regrets and disappointments that erode our hope for the future. Opposing opinions and false ideologies rob our clarity of purpose. The feeling that no one listens to us creates profound grief.

If we are to survive, we have to know that God is with us. Those nearest to us may walk away, but the Lord will take us up. When we place our lives in God’s hands, we pray David’s prayer: “Teach me Your way, O LORD, and lead me on a level path.” God alone is able to carry us over life’s rocky roads. Only God can help us stand firm in the midst of chaos. Only God can provide stability in the time of trouble. If we emulate David’s confidence in his Maker, we will discover the truth at the end of Psalm 27: “I believe that I shall see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living. Wait for the LORD; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the LORD!” Whatever we face, if we place our patience and trust in God, God will take us up. We will get out alive.

Surviving life’s traumas and terrors is the binding theme in this year’s Academy Awards. And we see a similar array of survivors in Sunday’s texts.

Zealous for Peace

The effect of righteousness will be peace, and the result of righteousness, quietness and trust forever. (Isaiah 32.17)

Yesterday our church gloried in the promise of peace. Our guest preacher, Rev. Dr. Edward Campbell—a highly regarded Bible translator and seminarian whose title belies his salt-of-the-earth pragmatism—said something that stuck with me. As we read Scripture, he said, we should remember it’s the story of people figuring out how the world is supposed to work. Thus, the tension that binds together 66 books written across centuries is manifest in a contest of wills: human will and its wantonness versus God’s will and all that God desires for, and from, us. Consequently, we’ve invented an alternate reality to accommodate weaknesses that, as Scripture persistently reminds us, bear no reflection of God’s vision. Nowhere is this discrepancy more magnified than in human proclivity to make war. The Bible, particularly the Old Testament, is rife with war zeal. Repeatedly, we watch Israel engage in military conflicts that lay ruin to its country and other nations. The extreme losses are plain to see. And while it’s true that God sometimes—though not always—intervenes on Israel’s behalf, no stretch of scriptural interpretation can be made to translate God’s role in human combat as a divine sanction of war. When God steps into military conflicts, miracles occur that restore peace. Peaceful cohabitation is how the world is supposed to work.  It is God’s will. Why can’t we figure that out?

I submit we have figured it out. What we’ve not yet resolved are the international, cross-cultural, and political conflicts that cause war. Proverbs 14.31-34 diagnoses our failure when it says: “Those who oppress the poor insult their Maker, but those who are kind to the needy honor God. The wicked are overthrown by their evildoing, but the righteous find a refuge in their integrity. Wisdom is at home in the mind of one who has understanding, but it is not known in the heart of fools. Righteousness exalts a nation, but sin is a reproach to any people.” (Emphasis added.) When we set our hearts to prove our superiority over other nations—when we advance policies and actions that promote poverty, violence, and suffering, whether abroad or at home—we forsake God’s call to righteousness. We will not live in peace. As we’ve recently experienced in a recession largely brought on by reckless war-making, the costs of militaristic bravado are enormous. Conflicts wrought of aggression inevitably exact a huge toll on the aggressors. And the prices aren’t just paid out of pocket: they’re deducted in human lives, bodies, minds, and emotions. War is not God’s will. Why can’t we figure that out?

Isaiah 32.17 says, “The effect of righteousness will be peace, and the result of righteousness, quietness and trust forever.” We are not so naïve to expect global righteousness and its peaceful effects will prevail in our present world. Yet, as Christians, we must also ponder how we can expend our resources to promote righteousness. That we need adequate defenses against malevolent powers is a given. The question is whether we permit our leaders to pursue unrighteous policies of aggression—to foster nationalistic, military bravado that is quick to pull triggers and create undue poverty, suffering, and loss of life. We must be zealous for peace at all costs, as the price of warfare is more than we can bear. We are regularly confronted with the harrowing realities of warfare, yet we cling to the myth that war can ever be just. Military aggression is the way of the world. But it’s not how God intended it to be. It’s time we figured that out.

Do the Math

Then Peter came and said to Him, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy times seven.” (Matthew 18.21-22)

“’Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus” was one of my grandmother’s favorite hymns. When she sang it to herself, she turned it into a prayer by replacing “Him” with “You”:

Jesus, Jesus, how I trust You

How I’ve proved You o’er and o’er

Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus

O for grace to trust You more

I often hear her when I read Jesus’s admonition that we should forgive those who offend us many times (“seventy-seven” in some translations, “seventy times seven” elsewhere). I imagine Peter giving Jesus one of those “Really?” looks, and Jesus nodding with eyebrows raised, as if to say, “Trust Me.” All of this forgiveness calculus comes after Jesus lays out a very specific protocol for handling differences with fellow believers. He hasn’t mentioned forgiveness, but it’s clear that He’s concerned about unaddressed slights and sins enslaving His followers. Peter catches Jesus after the lesson and asks, “Should I forgive a repeat offender seven times?” It’s a plausible question, albeit a somewhat self-aggrandizing one. Since the Transfiguration, it’s increasingly apparent that Peter’s being groomed to take over when Jesus is gone, and he wants to reassure the Lord he’s got the right stuff. To his surprise, Jesus says he's grossly miscalculated what will be asked of him—either he’s off by 70, or a factor of 70. In any case, Peter’s magnanimous offer isn’t nearly enough. Really?

When we do the math, we realize the magic isn’t in the numbers. It’s in the product. Multiplied forgiveness goes beyond incidental pardon and seeds in us the daily practice of grace. Christ calls us to a transcendent state that frees us of weights we take upon ourselves by withholding forgiveness—heavy chains of resentment, confusion, despair, and cynicism. It’s not as simple as telling those who wound us, “It’s okay.” It’s not okay for someone to hurt us, denigrate us, or inflict violence of any kind on us. Yet the only way to overcome our pain and disappointment is to return grace for ill will. To do as Jesus says requires us to trust it’s in our best interest to repudiate insults with grace. So when we rework the equation, replacing the numbers with Christ’s meaning, this is what we get:

Forgiveness X Trust = Grace

Forgiveness multiplied by trust yields Christ-like grace—the same bottomless grace we seek for ourselves, no matter how many times we fail. Do the math. Forgiveness isn’t really about mercy we extend to those who fail us; it’s about witnessing the grace Christ extends to us.

Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus

O for grace to trust You more

Stumblers

The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? When evildoers assail me to devour my flesh—my adversaries and foes—they shall stumble and fall. (Psalm 27.1-2)

Yesterday Walt and I, along with many members of our Lake View Presbyterian faith community, joined more than 60 churches to walk in Chicago’s Pride Parade. There were hundreds of us—so many that our entourage stretched longer than a city block, far longer than any Chicago Coalition of Welcoming Churches parade entry ever had. It was thrilling, and our joy was made full by the ebullient response we received. Thousands of spectators cheered, thanked us, high-fived us, and more than a few embraced us with teary eyes. As we turned the corner for the parade’s last leg, we spied the Westboro Baptist crowd, a small clutch of people from the infamously homophobic Kansas church that turns up each year. And something marvelous happened. We began to rejoice! Those on the sidelines added to our chorus. The roar that went up overpowered the invective hurled our way through Westboro’s loudspeakers. Not one hateful word could be heard.

Last night, as I reflected on the event, it occurred to me that we witnessed exactly what David writes about in Psalm 27. We saw our adversaries stumble and fall. And there was an important lesson in that, I think. When we embrace God as our light and salvation—as the very stronghold of our lives—we have nothing to fear. There is no reason to suppress our joy and confidence. In fact, facing those who would denigrate our making and beliefs is cause for joy. It incites rejoicing that we are free from gnawing hatred and hollow piety. We are at peace with our God, our neighbors, and ourselves, And out of that realization flows rivers of joy that drown out those who condemn us—especially those who, like the Westboro folks, go out of their way to diminish the wonder of our making.

Our joyful antidote to the bilious attacks was the last hurrah for this year’s parade. No doubt there will be repeat engagements at future marches. Yet our number will continue to increase, and with it our joy. We will rejoice even more vibrantly in the coming years—not to prove a point, but because joy is the point. As I closed the chapter on 2012 Pride, it struck me that this year’s parade ended just as it began. Our service preceding the march closed as the choir sent us out with the “Everybody Rejoice” chorus from The Wiz:

Can you feel a brand new day!

Can you feel a brand new day!

“They shall stumble and fall,” David reminds us. And on we march, into the light, salvation, and stronghold of God’s new day.

The Chicago Coalition of Welcoming Churches prepares to step off at this year’s Pride Parade.