Phil Kniss: Living on the verge

Advent 2: God’s harmony is at hand

Isaiah 11:1-10; Matthew 3:1-12

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Would you believe me if I said,
I’m no less optimistic about the world, and about our future
this December,
than I was last December, or the December before that one.

No, I have not been hiding my head in the sand.
I have not stopped following the news.
I continue to pick up (and read)
two newspapers people deliver, in the dark, every morning,
including one our president-elect openly despises,
and another one . . . he probably doesn’t.

I try to stay informed.
And, I try to stay emotionally present enough to still feel shock
when there is another violent attack in a public place,
and feel empathy for those
who die in crashes and fires and tornadoes and such,
and feel anger when a whole class of people
are demeaned or dismissed as unworthy or unwelcome.

The last thing I want to do is stop caring
about the suffering that surrounds us.
If I did, I think I would also stop feeling joy
at all the good that surrounds us.

But as much as I pay attention
to the truly sorrowful, wrong, and downright evil things
going on in our world daily,
In balance, as I view it all,
I am, as I said, no less optimistic about the world and our future
this December, than last.

Numberless people have commented on the calendar year 2016,
what a dismal and grief-filled year it has been,
and how they can’t wait to start a new calendar, come January 1.
I many ways, I resonate.

I guarantee, on New Year’s Eve, we’ll hear a whole lot more of that
as celebrities and talking heads make commentary
on the celebrations in Times Square and around the world.
I assure you, we will hear them say how this year,
more than any other in recent memory,
people want to close the book on 2016, and start new with 2017.

But I want to offer a different sort of commentary today.
Because I follow a different kind of calendar—
one where we are already in the New Year.
Those of us whose lives are shaped by the Christian story,
by the narrative of God’s redemptive work in Jesus,
are already in the second week of the New Year.

The shared worship calendar for Christians all over the world,
begins, very deliberately, with Advent.
And we just finished the 3-year calendar cycle,
and circled back to the very beginning, Year A.
Today begins the second week of Year A.

This is not a mere technicality.
This is not just some religious bureaucratic decision
to set dates and scripture readings for us.
No, there is a profound theological message
being communicated by the Christian calendar.

When followers of Jesus mark sacred time,
we begin with incarnation.
We begin with the mystery of God’s loving initiative
to come and live among us,
to connect, to commune,
to inhabit our lives.
We celebrate that God the creator
wants to be in relationship with God’s creation.

When the yearly Christian calendar was first devised,
they decided to start the new year
with the most theologically significant and foundational truth—
Emmanuel, God is with us.
God was with us.
God is with us.
God will be with us, in our time and space.
God will never abandon us.

Advent is the time to refocus,
and see where our hope really comes from.
So if I follow the lead of my defining calendar,
and listen to, and believe what I read in our sacred narrative,
how can I be any less than hopeful
about the world, and about our future in it?

This is the time to remember and rejoice
that God has not now, nor ever will, abandon us.
And proof of that was embodied in Jesus of Nazareth,
who lived among us, who conquered death,
who was and is the eternal Christ,
the cosmic Savior and Redeemer of all creation.

We worship, do we not, one who redeems?
Who restores to full value, that which has lost value?
That’s what redemption means,
restoring someone or something to its rightful place,
at full value.

Is there anything in earth or heaven,
past or present,
visible or invisible,
that is outside the reach of God’s redemptive work in Christ?
Our answer has to be NO,
if we believe what we say we believe in every Christian creed,
and what scripture repeatedly affirms.

We are living, always living,
on the verge of a holy inbreaking.
God keeps breaking in, again, and again,
and out of love for us,
God walks with us,
inhabits our time and space,
and works to redeem us.
Hallelujah!!
_____________________

Now, all that hifalutin theological talk,
in no way takes away our responsibility to act.

Just because we put our hope in a Redeemer,
does not mean we check out of this world and its brokenness.
No, no, no!
If anything, we invest more heavily.

Proclaiming our belief in the Advent of Christ’s reign in the world,
does not mean we just stand back and wait for it to happen.
We are collaborators.
We are co-conspirators in God’s kingdom.

The difference it does make,
is in the way we walk in the world.
When we walk in the way of God,
as this Advent worship series suggests,
we walk in hope and confidence that the way of God
is the way of life in the midst of death,
the way of light in the midst of darkness.

We do not give in to the despair
that threatens to undo the bonds that hold humanity together.

Yes, as people of the way, as followers of Jesus,
there is still plenty of room for righteous anger and action.
Jesus himself is a pretty good model for that.

But where is there any justification for living in fear?
Or for giving in to despair and hopelessness?
I don’t see any.

So as I stand here near the beginning of Advent,
a time of waiting for the imminent re-appearance of Christ,
I stand full of hope.

And yes, I know it’s embarrassingly easy
for me to speak these words from where I stand.
Here, in a place where I personally am safe and secure,
solid job, solid community, solid house over my head,
solid relationships.
My wellbeing is not under threat at the moment.

I am a person of privilege in a community of privilege,
and I have plenty of personal and communal reserves
to hold me over should something terrible happen
today or tomorrow.

Now if I was a preacher preaching at my church
in Gatlinburg, TN, or Rosalie, AL today,
or if I was Pastor Jones this morning in New Orleans,
preaching to my African American church in the Ninth Ward,
a couple miles from the site of Joe McKnight’s murder,
or if I was a priest preaching to my congregation
of Syrian Christians in Aleppo this morning,
I admit I would have a harder time sounding convincing,
or perhaps convincing myself, to have hope.

But if what I said about the incarnation
and the redemptive work of Christ is true here,
it has to be true in every place in every circumstance.
_____________________

Isaiah seemed to think that God’s agenda
would not ultimately be thwarted
by the violence that engulfed his world.
While his people were enslaved by King Sennacherib,
while their suffering was intense, and their outlook hopeless,
the prophet looks, and sees, a vision of a peaceable kingdom,
with wolves resting beside lambs,
and leopards and goats and lions and calves,
all grazing peacefully, with children nearby.

I’m sure this was not the dominant vision
shared by his suffering neighbors.
But in the face of this suffering,
Isaiah kept proclaiming peace.
He kept talking of swords becoming plowshares,
of rivers in the desert,
of lions that ate straw.
He said to his people, “Look here! See what God is doing!”

And the Quaker preacher artist Edward Hicks
did the same thing,
with 100+ different versions
of his famous “Peaceable Kingdom” painting,
based on Isaiah’s vision.
He just kept on painting, and painting, and painting,
and giving them away everywhere he went,
during a very painful period of division in his church,
and a time of violent conflict between
Native Americans and white settlers.

Now maybe Hick’s painting, and Isaiah’s prophecy,
were just wishful dreaming,
an exercise in the power of positive thinking.

But I don’t think so.
Isaiah was not trying wish something into existence.
His vision of utopia was not his imagination gone wild,
getting people’s minds off their troubles.
It was a picture of what Isaiah actually saw,
when he looked with his God-given eyes
into the heart and intentions of Yahweh, the God of Israel.
Isaiah was giving the people of Israel an inside look
at God’s dream for them, and for all creation.
They were seeing the future God was working on.
No, it was not yet fully realized.
But it was beginning to break forth.
They were living on the verge.

We believe in a sovereign God,
who is made known to us in the flesh in the person of Jesus,
who is still present with us through the Holy Spirit,
who is embodied in us as a community of God’s people,
and who, we confess by faith,
is intent on making all things new.
As such, where is there room for abject despair?

The peaceable kingdom of God is taking root now.
Look and you’ll see the signs.
Wherever God’s people open themselves
to collaborating with God,
to participating in God’s saving, healing, and redeeming work,
there God’s peaceable kingdom
comes a little closer to reality.
We are living on the verge.

There are competing visions being laid before us today.
And I’m not speaking of Republicans and Democrats.

We have a choice of which sort of vision to lock our eyes on—
power politics or God’s peaceable kingdom.

Is our vision to fix ourselves and our nation and the world,
through the use of brute political strength,
where one ideology struggles for supremacy over another,
and doesn’t give up
until one’s opponent is publicly humiliated and vanquished?

Because that vision gets all the air-play these days.
That’s where everyone looks to orient themselves.
Allegiance to an ideology . . . is the north star
for the news industry, and the fake-news industry,
social media, entertainment, business, government,
and partisan political machines of every stripe.
It drives this society . . . constantly.
It’s where we live . . . all the time.
Even if it doesn’t feel like home.
It’s our Babylon.
And glimpses of it even show up in the church.

That’s one choice.
The other is to fix our eyes on what Isaiah saw,
on what Edward Hicks saw,
on what John the Baptist saw.

They all saw a complete remaking of society,
where God’s love and justice rule the day,
a remaking that God would lead,
but in which they would participate,
by the act of repentance,
of turning toward God’s dream,
and making that our orienting vision.
_____________________

I mourn that many professing followers of the lamb of God,
who is head of this cosmic transformation project,
have been sucked into an emotional vortex that is so life-draining,
because they are oriented around a particular political vision.

In no way do I suggest we don’t get passionate
about causes we care about.
As I said, look to Jesus who demonstrated
righteous indignation,
passion for justice,
and resisting the powers
while maintaining his integrity and identity.

Jesus never lost his capacity to live in peace and tranquility,
while living under a more brutal dictatorship
than anything we could ever imagine,
and a corrupt religious hierarchy.
Jesus showed a lightness of being,
a personal, joyful affect that children were drawn to.
Jesus was patient, and took time for all kinds of folk
the religious elite had no time for.
Jesus was patient with himself—
he didn’t heal everyone,
he knew his limits,
he retreated often to pray.

But he also confronted the powers, without mincing words,
when that needed to happen.

So if you are incensed at the injustice you see in this world,
and feel an urge to act,
by all means, act!
Act . . . like Jesus.
Call out hypocrisy where you see it.
Stand up to the powers.
But also pray, often.
Laugh, often.
Weep, when necessary.
Be with the suffering, and with the powerful.
Listen.
Touch.
Shame the authorities with the power of love and kindness.

And always, as often as you can,
come to where you can be reoriented
to the sacred narrative of redemption.
Come to worship with your people
to remind you of your identity,
and to restore your hope in God’s good purposes.

We are not alone.
Not now, not ever.
Emmanuel. God is with us.
Hallelujah!!

Let’s sing “Hallelujah” again,
just to reinforce it.

—Phil Kniss, December 4, 2016

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Barbara Moyer Lehman: Glimpses of peace and reconciliation in hard times

Advent 1: God's peace is at hand

Isaiah 2:1-5; Matt. 24:36-44

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On the first Sunday of Advent, Pastor Barbara draws on Isaiah 2 and Matthew 24 and on our own context, to reflect on how we see evidence of God's peace and reconciliation in hard times. Her sermon includes interviews with several members of the Park View congregation.

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Phil Kniss: How the Grinch Stole Thanksgiving (and gave it back again)

Stewardship Sunday 2: It’s all gift: worship

Deuteronomy 26:1-11

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With apologies to Dr. Seuss,
    the Grinch in the sermon title is me.
    And this act of stealing (and returning) Thanksgiving
        will happen now, in the next 20 minutes.

See, I have this irritating inner conflict
    when Thanksgiving rolls around.
    So I’m going to dump all that angst on you,
        until you start to question your plans for Thursday.
    Don’t worry. In the end, you’ll get your holiday back.
        But it might look a little different.

From a national standpoint, Thanksgiving is great.
    Good to drum up positive vibes about life in these United States.
    Especially right now, don’t you think?

In the midst of national negativity and anxiety
    and uncertainty about the future,
    it’s good to remind everyone how prosperous is our land,
        and bountiful our harvest.
    It’s good to remind ourselves how blessed we are,
        and to thank God for those blessings.
    It sets the right tone for the citizenry in troubled times.

That’s the origin of the holiday.
    Something to boost national morale.
    A day of prayer for thanksgiving
        was declared by George Washington in December 1777
        during the Revolutionary War.
    But it was Abraham Lincoln in 1863,
        while the Civil War was still raging,
        who declared the last Thursday in November
            as a national day of thanksgiving,
            and started an annual tradition.

Part of Abe Lincoln’s declaration could have been written to us,
    in mid-November 2016.  Let me read some . . .

I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the [thanks] justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to his tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility and Union.

Good for Lincoln! My sentiments exactly.
    This is a good thing for nations.
    But as a feast day in the church calendar,
        I’m conflicted.

It’s ironic that the most sacred Christian feast days—
    Christmas and Easter—
        have been coopted by our consumeristic secular culture,
        and reinvented as
            seasons for shopping, decorating, and over-indulging.
        And their great theological core gets gutted.
    While Thanksgiving—
        an essentially secular and nationalistic holiday—
        has been coopted by the church,
        and wedged into our liturgical calendar.

Yes, harvest festivals are deeply embedded in religion, since forever.
    They are found in Hebrew scriptures,
        and in most world religions.
    But the fourth Thursday of November in the U.S.,
        is more than a religious harvest festival.
        It was instituted as a national holiday,
            is shaped by civil religion,
            and there are national interests behind celebrating it.
    But . . . I’m okay with that part . . . Really.
        It’s healthy for a country to look beyond itself, and thank God.
        That’s not what makes me a Thanksgiving Grinch.

My problem is that we in the church get a little sloppy, theologically,
    every Thanksgiving.
    The holiday tends to feed into a misunderstanding about God
        that many of us carry within us.
    Let me lay it out for you,
        but please don’t judge me as a total curmudgeon,
        until I finish.

    Here’s the crux of the matter:
        I think God gets a lot blame that is undeserved . . .
            and a lot of thanks that is misdirected.

    The phrase that gets bandied about a lot,
        is “count your blessings.”
    This is the season to stop, look around,
        and make a numerical list,
        to count all the good things we have in life.
        And as we count, presumably,
            we notice our list is long.
        And we are invited to thank God for these “many blessings.”
    But what are we really saying by that?

Are we saying that if the barn and pantry and closets are full,
    that God did that for us, directly?
Are we saying that God looked down upon us,
    and decided to make our barns full,
    and our blessings abundant?
Isn’t that what thanking implies?

So let’s follow the logic.
    If I thank God for giving me the blessings I have,
        doesn’t it follow that I should also blame God
        for the good things that don’t come my way?
    If full barns and abundant blessings are signs
        God is looking on me with favor,
        then I guess an empty barn—
            and disaster, loss, suffering, and grief—
        would be a sign that God is withholding favor from me.

Now don’t mistake me for saying we shouldn’t live with more gratitude.
    We desperately need
        more thoughtful and grateful people in this world.
    We’d all be better off if we were more thankful people.
    We need to open our hearts and minds
        and see life itself as gift,
        and notice and name all the gifts that surround us,
            all the time.
    That’s not what I’m talking about.

What bothers me is a transactional theology
    that assumes God specifically sends me blessings
        as reward for good deeds,
        or having enough faith,
        or for certain reasons known only to God.
    That leads us to trouble.

    When we make God entirely and directly responsible
        for the presence of the good things in my life,
        then God also needs to be responsible when they are absent.

    And if the good breaks we get in life,
        turn out to have disastrous consequences for other people,
            like having the eye of the storm pass a hundred miles north
                and hitting another town instead,
            or my cancer getting cured, and my neighbor’s not,
        then how do I thank God for blessing me,
        without saying God chose not to bless another?

Most of the good things
    we’re supposed to thank God for this Thursday—
        plenty of food, shelter, freedom, security,
        clean water, access to health care, material goods, education—
    we have to admit there is more to it
        than God pointing at us and deciding we get the blessings.

Lots of factors contribute to the fact that we have these things,
    and many other people in the world do not—
    illiteracy, chronic poverty, crime rates, disease, oppression,
        and all kinds of social ills
        impact certain classes of people more than others.

And in our own wealthy nation,
    if you are an immigrant,
    or have skin of a different color,
    or subscribe to a minority religion,
    or were born into certain neighborhoods,
    or can’t break into the world of higher education,
        then your odds of having an overflowing barn or closet,
        are infinitely smaller than those without those factors.

As I said last Sunday,
    I am a person of privilege, as are most of us here.
    We were born into that privilege.
    Not all our success can be attributed to our hard work.
    Nor can it all be explained by saying
        God had special regard for us, blessing us beyond others.

Saying that or implying that is not only theologically wrong.
    It’s offensive to most of the world.

Thanksgiving, if we’re not careful,
    takes us very close to that line.
We can end up casually thanking God for things we have,
    and stop there,
    ignoring the unequal economic system tilted in our favor.

Of course, the opposite also happens.
    In times of suffering, or loss, or illness,
        we can blame God for causing something
        that we ourselves contributed to, directly or indirectly.

God is not a candyman.
And God is not a thief.

When we Americans, in the most powerful nation—
    economically, politically, militarily—
    give our collective thanks to God for our blessings,
        we at least need to add a big footnote & disclaimer.
_____________________

And now, I think I’ve probably reached the end
    of your patience with my cynicism.
    You may be just as annoyed with me,
        as the residents of Whoville were with Mr. Grinch.

So I will slowly start giving Thanksgiving back.

First, let me assure you, I will do Thanksgiving this Thursday,
    and I’ll do it happily.
    Our table will be full to overflowing,
        and there will be leftovers on Friday and Saturday.
    We’ll be with family in Ohio, and it’s going to be great.
    I’m going to pray a Thanksgiving prayer.
    I’m going to express my deep gratitude
        for a loving and healthy family and a bountiful table.

    But I’m also going to be careful. At least I’ll try.
    I’m going to watch my words,
        so that I don’t give God credit that God would not own.
    I will try not to imply that God did something for me
        which God chose not to do for my more unfortunate neighbors.

I am going to attempt to make my prayer at the Thanksgiving table,
    an act of unconditional worship,
    rather than a transaction between God and me—
        a thank-you in exchange for God showing me special favor.

Deuteronomy 26 can help with that.
    We read this earlier.
    It’s a set of instructions, an order of worship,
        for how the people of Israel should approach God,
        after generations of wandering in the wilderness,
            eating food and meat that fell from the sky.
        Once they settle,
            and plant, cultivate, weed, and harvest,
            and bring in the first of the crop,
            they are to have a festival of worship,
                bringing the first and best.
        They are to remind each other where they came from,
            a nation of wanderers.
        They are to thank God with a gift from the harvest,
            present it publically in worship,
            and then have a feast with everyone together—
                including the foreigners living among them.

    It’s a beautiful, classic text about worship and first-fruits giving.

But take note.
    Even in the Ancient Near East,
        where the predominant world view was
        that the gods were directly responsible
            for everything that happened,
        and those gods were often capricious,
            giving to some, withholding from others,
            and our main agenda was staying on the gods’ good side,
        even in that cultural and religious context,
        a transaction with God was not the point of this liturgy.

The people were expected to feast and to celebrate,
    whether it was a good year or a bad year.

This first-fruits offering in Deuteronomy 26,
    the tithe set forth in the law, the first and best of the harvest,
    was not conditional, depending on how good the harvest—
        like if you are blessed, give thanks,
            and if not, you’re off the hook.

No, the assumption was, God was with them,
    and was on their side already.
    We all have gifts to give, because our gifts are proportionate.
    It didn’t matter if the tithe had to be hauled in
        with a team of oxen, with the wagon piled high.
        or . . . if the tenth of the harvest could be held in one hand.
    Either way, you brought it in, you celebrated, and you shared.

The focus of the offering, as far as I can tell,
    had nothing at all to do with how much they had been blessed.
The focus of the offering was solely on God as provider.
    God was the source of all life.
    God was creator and owner of everything they had.
    So God deserved their praise and thanksgiving. Period.

This was not American-style Thanksgiving—
    “Count your many blessings,
        then thank God for how many you have.”
No, the mandate is,
    “Worship God with all you have, and all you are,
        and return a proportion, no matter how small or large.”

We owe God everything, as the source of all life.
    The worship we offer is not conditional.
    In fact, worship itself a great equalizer
        between those who have a lot,
        and those who have little.
    Because every gift is blessed, is consecrated,
        and is then shared equally with all—
    In Deuteronomy, it was shared with the Levites (who had no land),
        and with the aliens, the orphans, and the widows.
    All ate.
    All were included.
    All had enough.
    And all worshiped God.

That’s the kind of Thanksgiving that the church is called to reclaim.
    So if I stole Thanksgiving in the first half of this message,
        sorry.
        Now I’m giving it back,
            and asking us to reshape it.
    Let’s reject the affluent American version of this holiday,
        and make it a celebration where all eat.
            All have enough.
            All are included.
            All are shown welcome and hospitality.
            And all are invited to worship God, the source of all.

    We have good reason to celebrate and give thanks,
        and to do so heartily.
    God is at work in the world, in all the world.
    God is with us, equally, in feast and famine,
        in blessing and suffering,
    It’s a tough Thanksgiving this year for some in our community,
        who feel alone and anxious and insecure.
    What better time to put even more leaves in the table,
        and share our abundance
        with those who need to be reassured they belong.

    It’s great to stick a sign in our yard welcoming our neighbors.
        I’ve done that.
        It says something important.
        But it’s also easy to do.
        Let’s find ways to risk including our neighbors in our lives,
            and entering into theirs.
            especially those on the edges of our community,
            and celebrate together
                the God who is the source of all that is good,
                and deserves our gratitude,
                    however little or much we have.

—Phil Kniss, November 20, 2016

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Phil Kniss: Stewardship and a Post-Election Christian Political Vision

Ecclesiastes 3:1-15; Colossians 1:11-20; Mark 2:23-28

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It’s typical for us at this time of year—
    about the time we start working on next year’s spending plan
    and distribute the Faith Promise letters and forms—
        to plan a couple Sundays focusing on stewardship.
    We did that again this year.

That might sound a little self-serving, institutionally speaking,
    and you could make a credible argument that it is.
    But I say, we don’t talk about stewardship enough.
    Stewardship is a way bigger theological theme than we think.

Even so, maybe you’re skeptical of my sermon title,
    “Stewardship and a Post-Election Christian Political Vision.”

You hear me say we’re focusing on stewardship today,
    and then you look at my sermon title,
    and you assume I went through some major mental gymnastics
    to turn a stewardship sermon
        into a chance to preach about something
        we’re all thinking about anyway, the presidential election.

Well, you’re right that I’m turning a stewardship sermon
    into an opportunity to address the topic of Christians and politics.
    But you’d be wrong,
        if you think I went through any mental gymnastics whatsoever
            to do this.
    Stewardship and politics are intimately related.
    It’s entirely natural to speak of an election in stewardship terms.

Why?
    Someone has defined Christian stewardship as
        everything we do after we say, “we believe.”
    That’s become my working definition.

Stewardship is a core theological concept.
    It starts with an affirmation about God.
    It affirms that everything good has its origin in God.
        Hence, the tag line for this two-Sunday series—“It’s all gift.”
            And we receive it as such.

Christian stewardship also asserts that while our lavish God
    invites us to share in the abundance of these good things—
    God does not transfer ownership.
    God invites us into partnership.
    God shares access to all this goodness and beauty and creativity,
        and asks only one thing of us—
        after we receive them,
            we use them for God’s own good purposes,
            and not for selfish purposes that work against God’s agenda.

Our scripture this morning underscored this.
    In Ecclesiastes 3, we heard that “there is a time for everything,
        and a season for every activity under the heavens:
        for birth and death,
            planting and harvesting,
            laughter and tears,
        for construction and destruction,
            dancing and mourning,
            keeping and discarding, etc etc.

Everything has its time, and its season.
    We heard that God has made everything beautiful in its time.
    We heard that time itself is the gift of a generous God,
        as is eternity a gift.
        We cannot add to, or take from, this gift.
    We heard that God put into our minds a sense of past and future.
    Yet, whatever IS has already BEEN,
        and what WILL BE has BEEN BEFORE.

I’m not sure I grasp that entirely,
    but it sounds like a good way to look at stewardship of time.
    Every day is a brand new day, yes!
        Every year a new year.
    But whenever we take a step into an uncertain future,
        the good news is that God has already been there.

And this time is all a gift God graced us with.
    Time – “on the clock” time and Sabbath time –
        is a gracious gift for which we are receptive stewards.
    In the Gospel story,
        when the disciples broke a Sabbath regulation,
            and had a run-in with the religious police,
        Jesus responded,
            “The Sabbath was made for us, not vice versa.”
            It’s a gift for our enjoyment and stewardship.

And then from Colossians 1,
    we heard an eloquent and lavish declaration
        of the preeminence of Jesus Christ, God’s firstborn,
    who fills all things, in heaven and on earth,
    who is before all things, and in whom all things hold together.

All that is, and all that will be,
    are in the gracious and generous hands of God in Christ,
        the head of the body, the church,
        the beginning and the end.
    God is Sovereign, source, and starting point
        of all that is and will be,
        and has graciously invited us to receive and participate.

That’s the beginning point for stewardship.
And therefore, it must also be the beginning point of our political lives.
_____________________

So let me talk about politics, specifically Christian politics.
    Politics, in the full sense of the word,
        is how a community of people—a society, a nation, a church—
            choose to inhabit shared space and time,
        how they see themselves, as a group, in relationship to others,
        how they choose to live together, how they decide things,
        how they distribute authority and resources.

    The practice of politics is essential to being human
        and essential to being Christian.
    We must speak of politics in the church,
        because human beings are wired for relationship,
            and Christians are called into a body.
        Therefore there is (and always will be) the necessity
            to clarify the nature of Christian politics.

    Does that thought scare you?
        If it doesn’t, it probably should.
        Because we as a Christian community have a unique challenge
            when it comes to shaping our political life:
            We have more than one citizenship.
            We have a responsibility to be good citizens
                of whatever civil government has authority over us.
                Scripture speaks clearly about that. See Romans 13.
            We are called to work for the well-being of all.
                Even if we are aliens in Babylon, so to speak,
                    we work for the shalom of our society.
                See Jeremiah 29.

        But no authority on this earth is permitted to overrule
            the authority that God Most High has already laid claim to.
            As God’s people—and specifically as followers of Jesus
                called into a new community,
                and made citizens of the Kingdom of God—
                we have another, and greater, political mandate,
                sealed with one foundational confession—
                    a spoken vow of citizenship
                    that should strike fear into the heart
                        of every earthly empire, including our own.
                It is the confession, “Jesus is Lord.”
                    That means Caesar is not.
                    Nor is any president or president-elect,
                        or king or queen or emperor or dictator,
                        or Congress or City Council.
                Or as the apostles in the book of Acts put it,
                    “We must obey God before humans.”

        This is not just individual resistance I’m talking about,
            where certain brave individuals put their lives on the line
                for a cause they believe in,
                    and stand up for civil rights, or
                    for protection of water and sacred land,
            or where someone individually chooses,
                for conscience sake, to object to war.

        No, the church, collectively,
            is its own political body,
            organized around
                a very different set of political principles.
        And it functions as a real, social and political entity
            overlapping with other political entities where it lives.
        And as we do so, we have the theological nerve
            to say we represent Jesus Christ in this world.
            As part of that body of Christ,
                we have our own set of binding political mandates.

        These mandates are counter-cultural,
            and counter to partisan politics, in just about every way.
        They do not rely on violence or threat of violence.
        They do not permit coercion or practicing power over.
        They are biased toward the poor and the suffering
            and the excluded.
        They demand we stubbornly love all people,
            to point of self-sacrifice, even martyrdom.
        They call us to be uncalculatingly generous
            (a point I made a couple weeks ago).
        They invite us to serve and help anyone in need,
            with no thought to recognition or reward
                or tax breaks for doing so.

        Sisters and brothers, that is our political mandate
            as followers of Jesus.
        That mandate has not been modified one iota,
            or made any easier, or any more difficult,
            because of the results of the election last Tuesday.
        As a community of Christ, our political status
            is the same as it was on Monday, November 7.
            Our political identity is unaltered.

    What is changing, and changing profoundly, and disturbingly,
        is the political and moral landscape around us—
            that of our political leaders, and leaders-to-be,
            as well as many in our society who feel newly empowered
                to speak and act in violent ways,
        because violent speech is being normalized by our leaders.

    This election season was unbelievably toxic and violent.
        We will not recover from it soon.
        As far as President-Elect Trump is concerned,
            in recent days, thankfully, there has been
                less vitriol and bullying and sheer meanness
                than what we heard from him during his candidacy.
        I don’t take that to mean
            there’s been a sudden change in his moral center.
            I think he’s adjusting his behavior to fit a new situation.
        The rhetoric and behavior of President Trump is yet to be seen.
            I hope it’s radically different than Candidate Trump.

    But as troubling as Donald Trump may be to many of us,
        even more troubling is the hatred and anger and violent spirit
            that has been unleashed in our society.
    What we all assumed was “beyond the pale” just a few years ago,
        has now become commonplace.
        In no way do I imply that everyone who cast a vote for Trump—
            including the many who did it while holding their nose—
            support his immoral words and behavior.
        Among those who voted for him
            are people who I know to be kind and generous
            and hospitable to everyone.

        But, let us be clear. And honest.
        There are elements within our culture—
            often within white male Christian America—
            who have been emboldened by this campaign,
            and are now engaging in hate speech and violent acts,
                aimed at persons of other races, genders, religions.
        I’m not fear-mongering.
            I’m describing what is now happening. Daily.
            Read the newspaper.
        Persons have experienced real physical and emotional abuse
            from strangers on the street,
            because of who they are, and because of the election results.

    It is objectively true that many of our neighbors—many—
        immigrants (documented and undocumented),
        Muslims,
        women (especially the far too many
            who have experienced sexual aggression),
        people of color,
        and more—
            are right now feeling anxious and stressful, at best,
            and at worst, are paralyzed by fear and dread
                and isolating themselves because of it.
    In part, they are afraid of the president-elect, and what he may do.
    But even more, they are afraid now,
        because it seems to them that half of their country,
            must not want them around.

    As followers of our Lord Jesus—a Jewish man
        who reached out and touched untouchable lepers,
        who related respectfully and deeply with women,
        who ate with social outcasts,
        who confronted the hatred and injustice
            inside his own religious structures—
        we have a Christian political mandate
            to notice those in our orbit
                who are experiencing fear and dread and isolation,
                and to move toward them in love and compassion
                    and a promise of protection.

    We must stand with those are suffering right now.
        We cannot join with other voices I have heard,
            that demean those who suffer.

    A couple days ago,
        one of our prominent state political leaders
            who is very public about his Christian faith,
        openly criticized Virginia Tech for sending a letter to students,
            offering support for anyone in pain
            or stressed or afraid after the election.
        The message was basically, “You lost. Deal with it.”

    That kind of sentiment,
        no matter what you think about someone’s party politics,
        has no place in a Christian political framework.
        If someone is suffering, we move toward them in love.
            We stand with those who can’t find their own voice.
            We welcome the outsider and stranger and alien.
            We protect the vulnerable,
                even if we pay dearly for doing so.

    I am a person of privilege.
        In every category I can check,
            I’m on the side of privilege.
                White. Male. Christian.
                Straight. Financially comfortable. American.
            The majority of people here
                could check the majority of those boxes.
            As a church, as a Christian political body,
                we are on the side of privilege.
        We barely need to give a thought to our own safety.

        I’m not saying we apologize for who we are.
        But let’s recognize that privilege has a price tag.
            The onus is on us.
            We have a greater obligation to respond
                to those who are not safe and secure.

    Our political vision as Mennonites has long made that clear.
    For generations, North American Mennonites have said
        we have a duty to respond with compassion to the suffering.
        After an earthquake or hurricane or tornado,
            when people feel most vulnerable and alone,
            we go out, in droves, to where they are,
                and offer our help and protection and compassion.
            We help them rebuild their lives.

    If the storm happens to be a political one,
        and it leaves extensive human suffering in its wake,
        why wouldn’t we do the same thing?

    I wonder what a collective church response might look like now,
        after this political earthquake?
        What needs to be rebuilt?
        And how can we come together to rebuild it?

Believe me, all of what I’ve said has nothing whatsoever to do
    with the competing political visions of Democrats and Republicans.
    There is plenty of room for healthy and vigorous political debate,
        about how best to provide for the public good,
        and what our government should do or not do.
    That debate should continue.

    I’m talking about a very different, and destructive, phenomena
        coming uniquely out of this election,
        fueled by hateful and violent speech and behavior.
    The church has a Christian political mandate,
        no matter how you voted,
            to now represent the healing presence of Jesus
            in the midst of the rubble left behind by this election.

The stewardship issue here is that we have given, by our generous God,
    a good and life-giving moral and political framework
        as kingdom citizens.
    Our constitutional charter, you might say,
        is in the gracious words of Jesus
            summarized in the Sermon on the Mount,
        and the gracious life, ministry, and deeds of Jesus
            which we are called to emulate.
    This social and spiritual identity and life-giving framework
        is a gracious gift we are called to receive,
            and then to steward, to manage.

    How we live our lives with each other, and in the world,
        is fundamentally a matter of stewardship.

I call us as a church to continue to do what we do best—
    to live in hope within a broken world.
    And keep articulating and demonstrating that hope.

    And keep up with our Christian communal practices
        that reinforce our alternate political identity.

    If this election has done anything for us as a church,
        it should be giving us a deeper longing and hunger
            for coming together and doing what we normally do—
        that is, gather regularly to worship in public,
            to listen to our body-shaping narrative from scripture,
            to sing and pray together,
            to break bread and share the cup of the new covenant,
            to share with and support one another,
        and then to go out into the world
            carrying that hope and that identity with us,
            accompanying the stranger and foreigner
            sitting with those who are fearful or alone or oppressed.

    I wonder how we might do that not just individually,
        in our day to day life,
        but collectively, as a church acting like a body,
            with our alternate political vision on full display.

    Let’s talk about that together.
        As a church community,
            as our smaller communities within the community.
        And see where that conversation leads us.
            And where the Holy Spirit leads us.

—Phil Kniss, November 13, 2016

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