Archives For Life

As I’ve repeated these last weeks, I believe the Gospel creates communities where there is neither Republican nor Democrat. The Church, however, is political in that it subverts the politics of the day by refusing the either/or dichotomy found in our politics. Like the community we call Trinity, the Church is a community of both difference and peace, which is an ongoing–and not always easy–process that Paul calls the discipline of reconciliation.

Reconciliation is a discipline that requires the habit of listening to those with whom you disagree.

To that end, I offer this challenging reflection from my friend David Fitch, professor at Northern Seminary in Chicago and a theological brother from another mother. David is the author of the new, damn fine book Faithful Presence: Seven Disciplines that Shape the Church for Mission. Get it here. No, really, get it now.

I think it’s a peculiarly relevant critique given that abortion is the particular issue on which many conservative Christians rationalized their vote for a candidate whose character would have otherwise disqualified him among those very people.

What if many Christians voted for Donald Trump hoping for a pro-life administration, yet Donald Trump will always be more pro abortion than President Obama?

Here’s David’s piece:

“To change behavior by law has never been the Christian way. A country may be preserved by laws but cannot be redeemed by them. The law has limited effect.

Even Luther and Calvin agreed on the law’s limits. Evangelical protestants (of which I am one) who claim we are saved by faith not by works would also seem to agree. Instead, people are challenged by culture, a way of life, by examples of a life well lived, not being told what they can and cannot do.

This we hope leads to a saving faith, not mere comformity to rules. There is nothing remotely pro-life/anti-abortion about a nation that legally prohibits abortion but promotes a culture that sexualizes and abuses women. It is this sexualizing misogynous culture that promotes abortion.

This is why I have never taken lightly the way the way a leader lives his/her life morally before a country (I couldn’t support Clinton).

Ultimately President Trump, even though he appoints a pro-life judge, is a pro-abortion president.

By his example (the locker room talk, the groping-and maybe assault, the sexualizing of women, the multiple divorces, the misogynous comments toward women, the multiple scandals) he promotes a sexualizing-of-women culture through his own example and the people around him.

The most pro-life thing Donald Trump could do is visibly repent of his behaviors before a listening nation.

You can have all the laws in the world, but if the (young) men of this culture see that these are the values that ‘successful men’ in USA live, the Trump presidency is a complete failure on the pro-life issue.

He is ultimately more pro-abortion, less pro-life, than President Obama ever was. And for this I grieve.”

embryo

Presumably, the complaint I received in my inbox had to do with the number of posts on the blog about homosexuality. Maybe the complainer was worried about the platform in Cleveland.

Well, here goes:

That Christians continue to call abortion “abortion” and not “termination of pregnancy” is itself to make a moral claim. Language matters and because language matters it’s also important to note:

Christians do not believe life is sacred in and of itself.

Such a singular reverence for life could too easily become a form of idolatry. Instead, for Christians, life is sacred not because it’s life but because it’s a gift from God. The value life has is alone the value God gives to it. Every life and every potential life is a sign of blessing because it is grace. Life need not be given. If God so chose, none of us would exist tomorrow.

It challenges many of our assumptions to think of every life, potential or real, as a blessing. Clearly many lives come into this world under difficult or tragic-seeming circumstances. Christianity’s reverence for life does not compel us to naiveté regarding the trying circumstances of much of reality. Rather Christianity’s reverence for life calls us to attend to and minster to those difficult conditions, believing that one day even the most despairing of circumstances will be yielded God’s blessing. Another way of stating this is that the Christian’s vocation is not to be an arbiter of life; the Christian’s vocation is to be a steward of something that is given to us conditionally.

An important dimension to this conviction is that, for Christians, life never ceases to be a gift from God. This means that Christians are foremost grateful people, thankful for the blessing that is given them. In addition, it means that Christians are called to exhibit equal measures of reverence for all stages and manifestations of life. This is the critical point at which a true biblical ethic departs from political platforms and posturing. A genuine Christian ethic on the issue of abortion fits comfortably in none of the categories made available to us by our politics. If life never ceases to be a gift, then a Christian’s passion for the unborn, for example, cannot be to the exclusion of others’ lives. The conditions of the poor, for instance, or the treatment of prisoners or the care of the disabled are all evidence of how we steward God’s gift of life as well.

The Roman Catholic tradition has referred to this consistent Christian reverence for life as “the seamless garment,” taking the image of Christ’s seamless tunic in the Gospel of John, stressing that Christians are called to show reverence for and protection of life ‘from the womb to the tomb.’

Christians who advocate exclusively for the issue of abortion give witness to an incomplete Gospel.

The convictions that cause Christians to welcome the life of the unborn also call Christians to show compassion for, for example, impoverished children, the elderly and the powerless. As the Letter of James notes, the fruit of our faith is evidenced by our treatment of society’s least. In many ways, the “seamless garment” harkens the Church to more closely mirror the communal ethic of the church of Acts.

It challenges many Christians’ political categories to discover that the same conviction that motivates the Church’s historic opposition to abortion- reverence for life as a gift from a sovereign God- also lies behind the Church’s traditional opposition to such issues as the death penalty or, more recently, the state practice of torture.

Our reverence for life also teaches Christians how to treat one another in this debate.

The life of the one who disagrees with me is also a gift from a gracious God.

How I treat that person, in other words, is but a form of worship. Even on an issue as emotional and divisive as abortion, Christians are called to practice love, humility and patience. A Christian ethic that respects the unborn but condemns the living is incomprehensible to the Gospel. This is why the tactics of so many abortion protesters are both off-putting and unpersuasive.

The Samaritan parable, last Sunday’s lectionary gospel, is paradigmatic. For the “liberal” Christian the abortion opponent never ceases to be a neighbor deserving of mercy and reverence. For the “conservative” Christian, the abortion-rights proponent is never not a gift given to the world by a gracious God. If Christians allow the Samaritan story to serve in this paradigmatic way, then much of how the culture engages this debate will be off-limits for followers of Jesus. For Christians, our position on the abortion issue is inseparable from the manner in which we engage it.

It’s exactly a year ago the GI doctor called me the night after my CT scan and asked if I was sitting down.

I missed Ash Wednesday last year.

The year before immediately after the Ash Wednesday Service I ran to Safeway to procure a few (non-meat) products for the first dinner of our Lenten fast.

I was standing in line in the small, Soviet-esque Safeway near my house, about 4 people back. I could hear the bagger and the teller whispering words like ‘what’s’ and ‘going on’ and ‘holiday’ and ‘apocalypse’ and ‘probably’ and ‘something’ and ‘in’ and ‘Revelation.’

They were staring at the black, greasy cross on my forehead.

When I got to the checkout, one of them asked me furtively:

‘So, uh, is it like a holiday or something? Or did you go to a funeral?’

Thinking that would certainly be a memorable (and probably psyche-destroying) funeral, where we grind up the dearly departed and wipe him on our collective craniums, I replied:

‘It’s Ash Wednesday.’

‘Oh, right!’

Long pause.

‘What’s Ash Wednesday?’

And I replied with exactly what I’d told the congregation 30 minutes earlier: ‘Ash Wednesday is the day we remember that life is a gift from God by remembering our mortality.’

Longer pause.

‘I don’t get it.’

I kind of just smiled and swiped my debit card not wanting to venture too much more into this conversation and not because there were a dozen people waiting behind me impatiently with their lunch meat, TP and Crystal Light.

I didn’t want to say much more because, in all honesty, I still hadn’t processed or recovered from the night’s service.

Less than hour before, I had traced an ugly black cross on a child in my son’s class and said: ‘Remember that you are from dust and to dust you shall return.’

Words that become jarring when spoken on to a 10 year old’s forehead.

And after her, several people back in line, I traced the same bruise-like cross on the forehead of someone whom I’ve grown to love over the past 8 years. Knowing that if I stay in this congregation for a while longer I’ll likely perform this person’s funeral, I said to this friend: ‘‘Remember that you are from dust and to dust you shall return.’

I fought back the sudden urge to cry.

And after that friend came another soon after, someone with whom I’ve shared many a laugh on mission teams in Guatemala. On him, I traced a brooding black cross and said: ‘Remember that you are from dust and to dust you shall return.’

There were others like that.

Like the parishioner whose battle with cancer I was privy to. When I marked him with the cross and said ‘Remember that you are from dust and to dust you shall return’ the words rung with a painful truth.

Or the parent worried that their child will one day make good on threats to return themselves to the dust prematurely.

And then there was a handful of complete and total strangers. People who came in off the street because they saw the service announced on the sign out front. To these strangers, I drew an executioner’s tool on their forehead and basically said: ‘Remember, eventually you’re going to die.’

More so than any other holy day in the church year, Ash Wednesday affects me.

On Ash Wednesday it’s as though every one gathered in the pews becomes a walking, talking, breathing (for now) illustration of the day’s meaning:

life is a fragile, tightrope experience, sometimes precious and sometimes terrifyingly awful and, good or bad, it will one day end.

In so many ways, we’re finite. We’re grass, says the Poet. Just a part of the world God made. Worse than grass, says the Ash Wednesday, we’re like dirt.

But were it not so, our lives would cease to be gifts.

I didn’t preach a sermon that Ash Wednesday. A year later, last winter, I learned how I hadn’t need to preach one.

I was, somewhere deep in my percolating marrow, already embodying the day’s message.