Combating the world's longest-running hate campaign by Rabbi Evan Moffic
Evan Moffic is a rabbi in the Chicago area who leads Congregation Solel, a synagogue of 500 families. He blogs regularly for Beliefnet.com, Huffingtonpost.com and MichaelHyatt.com. This is an excerpt of his upcoming book, First the Jews: Combating the World’s Longest-Running Hate Campaign (Abingdon Press, 2018).
Last August, an acquaintance at a local church asked for a meeting. I knew her because her son had married someone Jewish, and they and their son had joined the synagogue where I serve as rabbi. When we sat down in my office, she held back tears and said, “I’m scared. I’m scared for my grandson. I want to know he will be okay.”
She answered, “He’s Jewish.”
Oh, I thought to myself. She’s scared because his parents are not raising him in the church. She wants to make sure he is getting a good religious education. Her concern is not uncommon. I’ve met with many mothers and grandmothers in similar circumstances. She did not know much about Judaism, I surmised, and was concerned about her grandson’s spiritual fate.
Was he going to learn about the Bible? Was he going to feel close to God?
“It’s okay,” I replied. “His parents are wonderful people. You can be sure they are giving him a strong religious education. And remember: Jesus was Jewish, and I even wrote a book about it. I’m happy to give you one.” I got up to get a copy of my book on the Jewishness of Jesus and brought it to her.
She looked at me strangely. She seemed to not understand anything I had just said. So, I continued, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean be rude. I’m also happy to talk with your pastor about ways we can remind your grandson of his Christian heritage as well.” She continued to look at me strangely.
“Am I missing something?” I asked.
She replied, “He’s Jewish. That’s fine. That’s wonderful. I know he will get a good education at this synagogue and will be close to God. But just look around the world, Rabbi. So many people hate the Jews. Look at what happened in Charlottesville. Look at what’s happening in Israel. Look at how many people have forgotten about the Holocaust. I am worried about his safety . . .
“Rabbi,” she continued, “why is there so much anti-Semitism? Why are the Jewish people always hated and attacked? Why?” Tears rolled down her face.
That’s where First the Jews began. It is my answer to her question. It is a look at history’s most enduring hatred. In this book, I explore how anti-Semitism affects Jews — but I also argue that anti-Semitism is not just a Jewish problem. It affects all of us. And it threatens not only physical safety and security. Anti-Semitism is a litmus test of the social fabric — anti-Semitism’s uptick usually goes hand in hand with other social and political problems, like political divisiveness, suppression of basic rights and increased violence.
What is anti-Semitism?
As the grandmother of my congregant saw, anti-Semitism is growing today. Anti-Semitic incidents increased by 86 percent in the first quarter of 2017!* Many of the rioters in Charlottesville, Virginia, in August 2017 carried signs that said, “Jews will not replace us.” Anti-Semitism is a core value of both the alt-right movement and the Far Left, and anti-Semitism underpins many commonplace tropes that at first blush seem to be apolitical and unrelated to Judaism. But what, exactly, is anti-Semitism?
Anti-Semitism is hostility toward Jews. It appears in behavior, words, political policies, economic transactions and religious practice. Anti-Semitism can even appear when Jews are not present, as was the case in Japan during the early twentieth century, when people expressed hostile views of Jews even though they had never met one. In addition, certain actions can be anti-Semitic in effect but not intent. For example, someone can say, “The Jews killed Jesus” without thinking he or she is saying something hostile toward Jews. But as we will see, this belief has had destructive and deadly consequences.
We also need to point out that anti-Semitism is not technically the right term for referring to persecution of Jews because Jews are not the only Semitic people. Others throughout the Middle East are considered Semites.
While certainly a prejudice, anti-Semitism is not synonymous with bigotry or racism. Judaism is not a race, because a person can convert into Judaism, but Judaism is, in part, an ethnicity, because a person is automatically Jewish if his or her mother is Jewish. Thus, anti-Semitism is not simply a traditional form of racism or religious bigotry. It is both and more. Even more importantly, history suggests that when anti-Semitism grows, so does racism, bigotry, sexism and the other kinds of divisions we see spreading around the world today. As anti-Semitism grows, so does the erosion of our faith, culture and core values. A world not safe for Jews is a world not safe for anybody. Hence the title of my book. “First the Jews” is a quotation from the apostle Paul, who wrote in the letter to the Romans that God would save all who believed, “first the Jews” and then the Gentiles (1:16 GNT). But “first the Jews” is more than a biblical statement about God’s saving power. It is also a reminder that Jews are the first targets of tyrants. An old Jewish proverb says that when a Jew coughs, the world catches a cold. Put differently, treatment of Jews is a barometer for the health of a society.
The journey
We begin by looking now and answering the question, why has anti-Semitism surged over the last two decades? In doing so, we look at recent events on the left and right of the political and social spectrum: The anti-Semitism articulated by the alt-right is a new phenomenon, but not a surprising one — reactionary groups thriving on public anger and division have often persecuted Jews. However, the Left’s consistent targeting of Israel — which has anti-Semitic components — has led many Jews to feel betrayed by people they thought were peers and friends. It’s one thing to experience anti-Semitism from neo-Nazis. It is another thing to see it among people you trust.
Then we ask the broader question: Why does anti-Semitism exist at all? Why is it the world’s longest-lasting and most persistent hatred? My answer is the “Big Five” — the five rationales used throughout history for anti-Semitism:
- Jews are different.
- Jews killed Jesus.
- Jews are greedy.
- Jews are an inferior race holding back scientific and human advancement.
- Jews are Western imperialists.
In First the Jews, I also include my personal story as a rabbi — how experiencing and witnessing the rise of anti-Semitism changed me from naive to committed, from a leader focused on serving only his own community to a rabbi committed to teaching people of all faiths. Ten years ago, I didn’t teach much about anti-Semitism, but I increasingly feel it’s urgent for Americans of all religions and no religion to address together the rise in anti-Semitism — and to consider what the consequences will be if we do not. Will we look back and see our era in the same way we look back and see the Europe of the 1930s? Or will we learn the lessons of the Holocaust and combat the resurgence of history’s oldest hatred?
*For an overview of current statistics on anti-Semitism, see the audit by the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) titled “U.S. Anti-Semitic Incidents Surged in 2016-17.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rabbi Evan Moffic
A graduate of Stanford University, Rabbi Evan Moffic is the spiritual leader of Congregation Solel on the North Shore read more…
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5 ways your church can address violence by Rebekah Simon-Peter
Violent conflict is all around us. Not only are we honoring Domestic Violence Prevention month, we have also lived through much recent public conflict. This includes a contentious Supreme Court nominee proceeding further tainted by sexual abuse allegations, a terrifying mass shooting at a synagogue in Pittsburgh and eleven pipe bombs sent to high-profile national leaders and philanthropists.Our country — publicly and privately — is beset by violent conflict. How are congregations to respond? I’d like to name five kinds of congregational approaches. And to offer a bonus webinar on “Productive Conflict.”
As congregations do church in the midst of violence, we have a range of options.
1) Insular congregations avoid naming conflict. Instead of acknowledging violent acts in the private or public sphere, they opt to focus on local activities and local concerns. These insular congregations preserve a sense of safety. But miss the opportunity to connect with larger movements of love, prayer, grief, and solidarity. They also impose an emotional cut-off for congregants impacted by these seemingly removed acts of violence.
2) Harmony-at-all-costs congregations affirm love and forgiveness. But never name people, places or situations that cry out for either love or forgiveness. These congregations preserve a pseudo-harmony by not broaching topics that could divide. However, they miss the opportunity to model effective ways of dealing with conflict.
3) Pastoral congregations name violent offenses while offering prayer and affirmation. As they bind up wounds, they connect the Gospel with our everyday lives. These congregations run the risk of becoming Eeyore-ish, since acts of violence may always be found. Grief may eventually outweigh rejoicing.
4) Prophetic congregations reflect theologically about acts that destroy domestic harmony or public civility. These congregations actively equip us with biblical language, metaphors, and approaches to the world around us. The risk here is that not everyone will agree with any given reflection. Pastors need to be prepared to lay out a biblical case for their reflections. And to offer pastoral care to those who feel slighted.
5) Doomsday congregations encourage, or at least do not discourage, violence. These apocalyptic groups play into hopelessness and fear by proclaiming that the end is near. This approach denies God the power of resurrection.
As a Jewish Christian whose extended family is deeply involved in cultivating and preserving Jewish life, fear and anger gripped me when I heard about the Tree of Life Synagogue shooting in Pittsburgh.
The shooting offered cold affirmation of recent pronouncements that anti-Semitism is on the rise throughout Europe and the U.S. I dreaded going to church. Will my pastor think it important to mention this? At times, this congregation has been very insular, and sought to preserve harmony at all costs. My expectations were as low as my heart. Yet, I was deeply gratified when the senior pastor took a moment to intentionally stand by the flag and offer a heartfelt prayer for the Jewish community and the victims of the synagogue shooting. “This is not who we are as a country,” she said. “It is not who Christ calls us to be.” It was a poignant moment. One this Jewish Christian needed to bring some healing to my soul, and to feel part of my congregation once again. In less than 5 minutes, she was both pastoral and prophetic; it was brilliant pastoring.
Conflict will always be with us. It doesn’t have to get violent. In fact, it can be productive. To help us navigate these times, please join me for a special one-hour bonus webinar on Productive Conflict: Making the Most of Bad Situations on Friday, November 9, 10-11am MT. Send your email address, name, phone number and congregation/location to rebekah@rebekahsimonpeter.com to join in.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rebekah Simon-Peter
Rebekah Simon-Peter is passionate about transforming church leaders and the congregations they serve. She’sread more…
Won’t you be my neighbor? by Eric Park
I spent a portion of my 8th birthday walking through the streets of a small town in Pennsylvania with my best friend, Tim. On the way home, we walked into Kroger supermarket for the purpose of purchasing a couple of Mountain Dews. As we stood in the check out line, Tim and I chuckled at a little boy, maybe four years of age, who had accidentally knocked over a supermarket display. His mother reprimanded him. As the two of them, mother and child, walked past us in the store, the little boy stopped to stare at my friend, who was standing right beside me. The little boy was wide-eyed in his observation, as though he were seeing something astonishing. We couldn’t figure out what had captured the boy’s attention so dramatically, but then he made it clear to us. The little boy smiled, pointed his finger at Tim, and spoke these words: “Look, Mommy—a black person!” Only, he didn’t say “black person.”
Instead, this little boy used a very particular word—a word for black people that has become a vulgarity and an expression of contempt. I had heard the word on television, but never in real life. Mom and Dad had helped me to understand why it was a bad word and why I was never to use it. And yet, there, in the middle of the Kroger supermarket, a little white boy was using that word to describe my best friend in the entire world. The mother and son quickly left the store. But my best friend and I stood there, breathless and silent, knowing that we had just experienced something ugly that we would never forget.
In many ways, it was my introduction to a world in which people are eager to mistreat, marginalize, and sometimes even kill people over the things that make them different. Things like skin color. And culture. And religion. And political ideology. It was my introduction to a world where people are often nurtured in the rhythms of hatred at such a young age that they grow up to be people who can’t wait to dehumanize all the people who are not like them.
Saturday’s massacre at the Tree of Life Synagogue reminded me of how sickeningly real this struggle is. I wept. I groaned in despair, counting on the Holy Spirit to take hold of my wordless anguish and transport it to the heart of God as an articulate lamentation. Then, not really knowing why, I turned to a story. A story that Jesus told.
It’s a story about a Samaritan helping a fallen traveler. Remember, Jews and Samaritans were at opposite ends of a religious and cultural feud that was centuries old. My sense is that this feud, as feuds often do, had engendered a spirit of hatred in the relationship between the two communities. Contempt had become the air that people breathed in the relationship, so much so that people stopped asking why the contempt was there. They simply breathed it, in and out, with heart-hardening regularity.
When this Samaritan stumbles upon the fallen traveler, he glimpses the sacred personhood of the man lying on the filthy road, broken and beaten. He nurses the man’s wounds. He takes him to a nearby inn. He even pays for the man’s room and board. The story that Jesus tells, then, comes down to this: The Samaritan (from whom the Jewish audience would have expected precious little by way of sacrificial compassion) becomes the moral example. “Pay attention to this Samaritan whom you would ordinarily disparage,” Jesus says. “See how he offers a compassionate and countercultural neighborliness to a stranger! Then, GO AND DO LIKEWISE!”
The story illuminates that the Way of Jesus is always about the unsettling and disruptive love of God shaking up the order of things to such an extent that cultural adversaries begin to see one another as neighbors to engage instead of enemies to despise. The Way of Jesus is where the love of God becomes so dynamically transformational that strangers begin to say to one another, “I glimpse a sacred personhood in you that society tells me not to see but that Jesus compels me to see.” That is the worldview we find in Jesus’ story. It is a worldview in which people are so inwardly reconfigured by the love of Jesus that they stubbornly refuse to see differences as a reason to mistreat or kill one another.
I had an unexpectedly poignant conversation one afternoon with a 79-year-old church member whose name was Charlotte. “You know,” she said to me at one point, “I loved my daddy. But I sure didn’t love what he stood for.” She then showed me a black and white photograph of her father, taken just a few years before he died. As I studied the photo, it became clear to me that Charlotte’s father was dressed in the traditional garments of the Ku Klux Klan. The nature of the uniform was unmistakable.
“Yeah,” Charlotte said as she held the photo in her hand, “My daddy was big into the Klan. He hated black people. He hated Jewish people. He hated people from other countries. He pretty much hated everybody who was different from him.” When I mustered the wherewithal to speak out of my stunned silence, this is what I said: “That must have been such a painful way to grow up. But tell me: How were you able to avoid inheriting your father’s hatred?”
“Oh,” she said, “that wasn’t hard. ‘Cause my best friend growing up was a black girl who lived right down the road with her family. We played together. We talked to God together. We ate lunch together. We learned how to read together. Daddy always hated her for the color of her skin. But, for my friend and me, the color of our skin became just another reason to love each other.”
“Don’t you see?” she said. “Daddy never let Jesus write a new story in his heart about how to treat people who are different than us. He went to church every Sunday. But he never let Jesus write a new story in his heart.”
In this world where anti-Semitism and other expressions of racism fuel the kind of hatred that inspires people to kill one another over their differences, maybe the most important thing the church can do is to produce disciples who have allowed Jesus to write a new story in their hearts about how to treat people who are different from us. In the new story, hatred gives way to repentance; the Way of Jesus begins to dismantle the rhetoric of a polarized culture; and even the most diverse people become neighbors who engage in conversation over the fences.
I learned the theme song from “Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood” early on: “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day for a neighbor—Would you be mine? Could you be mine? Please won’t you be my neighbor?” Fred Rogers was a Presbyterian minister who started his neighborhood show in Pittsburgh, the same city with the Tree of Life synagogue.
Jesus tells a story about a radical and vulnerable neighborliness, offered where it was least expected. Then he has the audacity to say to us, “Go and do likewise.”
It makes me think that, in the aftermath of Saturday’s massacre at the synagogue, perhaps the most urgent question that the world needs to hear from the church is something like this: “Won’t you be my neighbor?!”
Won’t you be my neighbor, so that together we might find our way out of fear and into a creative way of valuing one another? Won’t you be my neighbor, so that together we might stubbornly resist the temptation to kneel at the altars of derision and contempt? Won’t you be my neighbor, so that a mystical and transcendent neighborliness might become as natural to us as breathing and every bit as urgent?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Eric Park
Eric Park is the District Superintendent of the Butler District in the Western Pennsylvania Annual Conference, where heread more…
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Several of my friends are in long-term recovery from alcoholism or drug addiction. Many of them tell stories about hitting bottom.They lost a job or a spouse. A DWI landed them in jail. Their children, their parents, and their friends wouldn’t speak to them anymore. An overdose or liver disease nearly killed them. Their life had become so unbearable that they had to find another way or resign themselves to an early death.
Other recovery stories feature what some call a moment of clarity. For instance, one of my friends — we’ll call him Bill — drank to cope. Homeless, he slept in a local park favored by alcoholics.
Each morning he awoke in abject misery and rushed to the store to buy his first pint of Thunderbird. He spent the rest of the day panhandling to keep the Thunderbird coming until bedtime, making sure to hold back just enough change to get that first pint to start the new day.
One morning Bill got up and thought his usual first thought, “I feel miserable. I need a drink.” Then he heard, “It’s the drinking that makes you miserable.” From that moment on, he could never see things the same way again. He had had a moment of clarity.
Don’t misunderstand me. This epiphany did not translate into an instantaneous transformation of Bill’s life. Initially it just ruined his drinking. But eventually, he checked himself into rehab, seriously worked his twelve-step program, and faced the damage he had caused to others and to himself. He actively made amends.
"A Resurrection Shaped Life: Dying and Rising on Planet Earth" (Abingdon Press, 2018). Pre-order here: http://bit.ly/2K2M3wB
Today if you passed Bill on the street, you probably wouldn’t notice him. He prefers navy blue suits, white shirts, and bland ties. He’s boring. Reliable. Good-natured. And one of the kindest, most compassionate men I know. He never judges. He assumes that everybody is struggling with something. He’s been there himself.Experiencing a moment of clarity is like taking the blinders off. What’s been hidden or what we’ve refused to see comes into view, and it changes everything. Or, at least, it can change everything. As Anne Lamott puts it, “We can choose to see or to squinch our eyes shut like a child, which looks silly on people over eighty pounds.”
In other words, with a moment of clarity comes the challenge to learn to tread the earth in a radically different way. Tentatively and gradually at first, with greater confidence over time. Always imperfectly.
I think this is what Jesus was getting at when he asked obviously blind Bartimaeus what he wanted Jesus to do for him. I mean, really. The guy couldn’t see. He wanted to be healed, right? He wanted his vision restored.
I think Jesus was saying something like this. “Sure, I’ll bring sight to your physical eyes. But that’s not all you’ll get. You’re going to see things—comprehend things—in a way that will change the world for you. Starting with you.”
Turning to Anne Lamott again,
"Awareness spritzes us awake. Being awake means that we have taken off the blinders…. Awareness means showing up, availing oneself of the world, so there is the chance that empathy will step up to bat, even in this lifetime. If we work hard and are lucky, we may come to see everyone as precious, struggling souls." (Lamott, Almost Everything, p. 76)
Jesus came to take off our blinders. But he’s very honest about what that will mean. We will begin to see the world in a dazzling new way, and what we see will challenge us to live in a radically new way. A way that will look crazy to the rest of the world.
For much of the world, life appears to be a fierce competition for scarce resources. We have to gather what we can and cling to what we manage to accumulate in the desperate struggle to have enough. To be safe. To be significant.
We are not in this thing together. We are set against one another. We will be winners or losers. Haves or have-nots.
Jesus helps us see things entirely differently. He says,
Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. (Matthew 6:25-26)
Our Creator has tenderly braided us into a single, marvelously textured fabric. God’s love reliably sustains all that is at every moment. God is not holding out on us. There is enough to go around. Not because we have earned it or deserve it, but because God is, well, God.
And God spreads the wealth through the channels of our compassion and generosity. After all, we were created in the image of God.
That is why we do crazy things like turn the other cheek and love our enemy. That is why we feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and shelter the homeless.
It’s never about who deserves what. We’ve caught a glimpse of the world as God means it to be, of our selves as we are meant to be. We’ve had a moment of clarity.
"A Moment of Clarity" originally appeared at Looking for God in Messy Places. Reprinted with permission.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jake Owensby
Jake Owensby is the fourth Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Western Louisiana. Jake is the author of several books read more…
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It is a source of angst for many pastors: a forecast of inclement weather scheduled to hit on a Saturday night or Sunday morning. Whether heavy snow, ice, hurricanes, major storms or brutal cold temperatures, pastors have to make the decision of whether to cancel church services entirely or hold worship for the faithful few who will brave the elements regardless of the forecast. The angst is not just about what canceling services will do to the annual attendance figures or preaching a sermon (that took 15 hours to prepare) to a much smaller crowd. Rather, the angst typically centers on church giving, or the lack thereof. How will church giving be impacted when services are canceled?
When weather negatively impacts attendance, the church may face a financial crunch without that week’s regular offering. The impact on the budget may be felt for months as the church tries to “catch up.” And if bad weather hits on more than one weekend, the effect is multiplied.
Pastor Aaron Brown had not canceled worship services for over twenty years. There was no snow deep enough or temperature too low to keep him away from church on Sundays. As lead pastor at St. Paul's United Methodist Church in Joplin, Missouri, a multi-campus church with 1,000 average Sunday attendance, he was willing to preach to 10 people if they were willing to come out. But last winter he faced a forecast that even he could not overcome. Inches of ice falling from Saturday evening into Sunday afternoon were predicted. A mandatory order was issued for people to stay off the roads. Church was canceled. Like many pastors who faced the same wintry weather, Pastor Aaron was concerned about the impact of canceling services on church giving.
On a day when the doors of the church were iced over, imagine his joy when he learned the offering was $4,000 higher than the same Sunday a year before when good weather prevailed, and worship services actually happened!
What made this possible?
It all started a year earlier when the church went through Horizons’ “Stewardship Discovery” program. We reviewed data, met with staff and ministry leaders, and had conversations with financial supporters. Through the Stewardship Discovery process, the church gained valuable insights into their unique culture and how it impacted church giving. The recommendations were accepted, and the church engaged a Horizons coach to assist with implementation.
The church leadership initiated the following Horizons recommendations:
- In the church bulletin, remove the weekly offering “received-to-date” data. The amount “received-to-date” provided an inaccurate and incomplete depiction of annual church giving.
- Communicate more effectively through enhanced giving statements, regular mailings, emails and meetings. This strategy provided a more comprehensive view of overall church giving.
- Share life-change stories in worship of how money given to the annual budget was used to impact people’s lives. Giving to the church was being used to deepen ministries and grow disciples, not just pay the bills.
- Encourage electronic church giving through the website and text-to-give. Provide instructions and testimonies in worship from people contributing electronically. Write thank-you notes to those who gave, whether financially or by teaching/leading a Sunday School class or small group, volunteering in a ministry, or helping at a church work day.
- These strategies cultivated a deeper understanding of church giving as a spiritual discipline.
Most importantly, the mission of the church continued without disruption.
It may be another20 years before Pastor Aaron is forced to cancel worship again. But if inclement weather should strike, he won’t need to be anxious about church giving. Now, about that well-prepared sermon … that’s another story.
For more information about Horizons or to schedule a free 20-minute strategy session, visit horizons.net.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dustin Cooper
The Rev. Dustin Cooper has been in ministry for over thirty-five years. For the first twenty-five years, he read more…
This year I might explore the delightful ambiguity (or is it confusion?) with the whole notion of a saint. We have the official saints, and even the famous yet still unofficial (or Protestant!) ones who show us the way, who were heroic in their dogged allegiance to God. When I was researching Servants, Misfits & Martyrs: Saints & their Stories, I found cool stuff, like “In his holy flirtation with the world, God occasionally drops a pocket handkerchief. These handkerchiefs are called saints” (Frederick Buechner). Such exemplars, such flirtation devices are more important than ever in our vapid culture where we have celebrities who are (as Daniel Boorstin put it in The Image) famous for being famous. As Christopher Lasch says, “Celebrities are welcome in a culture of narcissism, for we lack courage and imagination. Demands are implicitly made by traditional heroes; celebrities are not imperatives.” We need saints who make demands. I have St. Francis images in my hallway — not only to admire, but to remember he’s watching me, he’s raising (or lowering!) the bar on how I’ll act today.
Brian Doyle told of a couple whose child was born with no limbs. They freaked out; they just couldn't accept such a child. But the labor and delivery nurse and her husband were happy and eager to take the child home. They adopted her, and said she was "the best kid ever." After she died at age 8, they adopted more special needs children. Doyle wrote, "There really are people like that on this planet."
And yet, as I wrote in the book, “These friends of God are not superhuman. Saints do not possess an extra layer of muscle. They are not taller, and they do not sport superior I.Q.s. They are not richer, and their parents are not more clever than yours or mine. They have no bat-like perception that enables them to fly in the dark. They are flesh and blood, just like you and me, no stronger, no more intelligent. And that is the point. They simply offer themselves to God, knowing they are not the elite, fully cognizant that they are inadequate to the task, that their abilities are limited and fallible.”
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"Weak Enough to Lead: What the Bible Tells Us about Powerful Leadership" (Abingdon Press, 2017). Order here: http://bit.ly/2rYxHac
Saint is a christological hero. Saint is a viable possibility if we have availability, not ability. And Saint is one who trusts and has trusted in the Gospel, and is finally redeemed 100% by mercy and God's determination to win us in the end. The texts are lavish in their portrayal of the zealous heart of God. Isaiah 25:6-9 should probably be read and re-read instead of preached upon. I always wonder about the sermon that just relishes a text, the way a docent in a museum would say Wow, look at those brushstrokes; I just adore this. Revelation 21:1-6a is a shimmering window into God’s future which we lucky dogs get to be a part of. I could delve into lots of historical and cultural background about Roman persecution and apocalyptic symbolism. But again, the text speaks beautifully and triumphantly across the centuries. Besides, in our place we have special music, and we read the names of those who’ve died in the past year. The names, the music, the hope in silence: that’s the Word of God for this day.I know for me, All Saints' Day, and trying to preach it, will pose a challenge, as my much loved mother-in-law died back on Nov. 11. I will, of course, speak of her and our grief. I love John Irving's thought in A Prayer for Owen Meany: "When someone you love dies, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time—the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone."
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Of course, the lectionary Gospel, John 11:32-44, picks up mid-stream of a long story at verse 32, with the hard questions our grievers will have been feeling. It's no surprise that in the catacombs of ancient Rome, this story was featured when artists adorned the walls. If I must point to a few details, I’ll remind us that this text has the shortest, and yet most elegant and meaning-overflowing verse in all of the Bible: “Jesus wept.” There it is, the full heart of God on bold display. Verses 33 and 38 say that Jesus “grieved” or was “deeply moved” or “troubled.” The Greek, embrimaomai, has the connotation of anger or outrage. Is it their lack of faith? Scholars say yes, I say no. I think it is that Jesus is flummoxed by the cocky overreach of evil, that death has dared to reach into beloved human life. In Jesus’ gut, at this moment, I think he says of evil, I’ll show him. Clearly, in John’s plot, it is this miracle that provokes the Sanhedrin to plot Jesus’ death (11:46-53).A kind of anger is nestled into the heart of hope. St. Augustine said that “Hope has two beautiful daughters. Anger at the way things are, and courage to see to it that things do not remain the way they are.” We might piggyback on Jesus’ embrimaomai and get mad, and then courageous, we people of hope, we would-be saints.
Tourists can visit Lazarus’s tomb in Bethany. It is of the sliding stone, not rolling stone type — so not into the cave of a hillside, but down into the ground. I think there is something profound in Jesus’ words, “Unbind him and let him go.” Yes, the corpse was wrapped in fabric. But there is also something about the resurrected life that is a being unbound, being liberated, being freed to be your true self, set free to follow Jesus.
"What can we say November 4? All Saints' Day" originally appeared at James Howell's Weekly Preaching Notions. Reprinted with permission.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
James C. Howell
Dr. James C. Howell has been senior pastor of Myers Park United Methodist Church since 2003, and has served read more…
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The ongoing process of intellectual formation which a working pastor pursues, or ought to pursue, is itself a deepening participation in Christ's dying, burial and rising. In last week's column, we explored the theological foundations of this claim, and began to get specific and practical. We discussed the way in which a pastor's ongoing self-familiarization with, and memorization of, the text of Scripture is, for a thinker like Hugh of St. Victor (12th century), a participation in the labor of Christ's dying on Good Friday. Yet Christ's Passover does not end with death on Good Friday. So, today, we take up a pastor's or Christian's continuing intellectual immersion and re-formation in Christ's transitus. The humble return to, and memorization of Scripture, is, for Hugh, like a foundation to the passage to intellectual illumination that correlates to Christ's burial and rising.A note on the mystery of Christ's burial.
There is indeed an imponderable mystery in the resurrection. The body in the tomb disappears, it doesn't simply get up and start ambling around. When the Risen Christ appears, he doesn't appear as resuscitated — he appears and disappears, seemingly at will, on the one hand walking through closed doors and on the other hand eating fish, and he isn't always immediately recognizable even to those who knew him well. Resurrection is not merely resuscitation, then, it is transformation: Paul calls the new body a "spiritual body" — and we clearly cannot understand all that this means since it exceeds our categories and capacities of ordinary perception. And, note, that this mystery, this transformation or Passover or transitus happens in the darkness of a tomb. Buried away beneath the surface of the earth, the supernatural light appears in that darkness. In Hugh of St. Victor's theology and spirituality, Christ's burial on Holy Saturday corresponds to this mysterious passage to eschatological divine Light.
And we're called to participate in that Light intellectually. We do so by having our intellects re-formed (or renewed, cf. Rom. 12:5) in Christ — which is to say, in and by the mystery of Christ's Passover, which whisks or consummates his humanity's passage through death and into the eternal life of the Trinity. And that, in turn, is to say that a pastor's intellect participates in the Triune divine Light, in part, by being re-formed into probing habits of thought and criticism which accord with trinitarian doctrine or Christian dogma. There are two aspects of the pastor's intellectual passage that we explore today: the pastor's formation in Christian dogmatic theology and the pastor's ongoing intellectual work of meditating and speculating on the basis of that dogmatic formation. Both of these take time. They thus require a measure of "burial" in another sense: the periodic but regular burial away from the cares of life and ministry for the work of reading and thinking that this participation in Christ's burial requires.
The "second foundation": Dogmatic formation of the intellect's habits of thought
While the memorization of the text of Scripture is foundational for Christian doctrinal and theological thinking, anyone who has observed a work site prepared for construction knows that those preparing to build a building don't work with the earth as is. The earth as one finds it is frequently rocky and uneven. The literal text of Scripture can appear just this way: rocky, uneven, at times containing contradictions, etc. Hugh, like the other medieval and patristic theologians, has noticed this. He thinks that Christians need some theological training to learn how to see and interpret the coherence of Scripture. The deep narrative that unearths the coherence of all the others — and so the directionality of their right interpretation — is of course the christological one: God's once-for-all and for all act of salvation in Christ's incarnation, life, death, resurrection. (If you feel inward hesitancy about the degree to which the literal text of Scripture needs to be interpreted in light of a deeper coherence — Christ's — consider: [a] the way many Jews of Jesus' time, including seemingly many of his disciples, read the Old Testament as a seamless narrative about how a Messiah would come as a military liberator and Make Jerusalem Great Again; [b] the scandal of rival Christian positions throughout history on e.g. slavery.)
Point being, whether in medieval or modern times, the rocky foundation is smoothed or normed in some regard by the necessity of what will be built on top of it. Hugh calls this the "second foundation," and his metaphor is Parisian artisans filing and precisely ordering rows of foundation stones to get ready to build a lovely and symmetrical building on top of it — perhaps a fabulous cathedral we'd still know today. Today, we do the "second foundation" differently, but the same principle still holds: we need to wind up with something level and even and precisely the right dimensions for the sake of what we're going to build on top of it.
That's the metaphor. What Hugh has in mind is that his students need to read the greatest of the Church fathers on the main Christian doctrines in order to be able to interpret Scripture well, coherently, and elegantly in relation to the main Christian doctrines. A good dogmatic formation of mind actually frees one to see the beauty in, and inside, Scripture's text. The ultimate norm here, for Hugh and us, will be christological: just as the NT (and OT) bears witness to Christ, who is prior to and transcends it, so Christ himself, the norm of Christian proclamation and doctrine, norms our (to some degree allegorical) interpretations of the Bible. On the basis of Christ, we see past the surface of Scripture, and into the divine doctrinal depths. From the letter to the Spirit.
And, by reading enough Christian doctrine on the main doctrinal topics, we form good dogmatic habits of thought and criticism.
Here are the main doctrinal topics a pastor should read up on: God's existence, attributes, and Trinity; Creation; Human as imago dei; Fall and Evil; Israel; Jesus Christ; the Holy Spirit; Providence; Church and Sacraments; Spirituality, Mysticism and Charismata; Eschatology. The Church has a lot of official dogma on some of these doctrinal loci, and almost none on others.
Here's an incomplete but helpful list of authors through the 20th century that are especially good for forming this "second foundation": Irenaeus of Lyons; Origen of Alexandria; Athanasius; Augustine; Gregory of Nyssa; the writer known as Dionysius the Areopagite; Maximus the Confessor; Anselm of Canterbury; Hugh of St. Victor; Richard of St. Victor; Thomas Aquinas; Bonaventure; Julian of Norwich; Teresa of Avila; John of the Cross; Luther; Calvin; William Burt Pope; Karl Barth; Sergius Bulgakov, Hans Urs von Balthasar.
Like all such lists, mine's inevitably to some degree idiosyncratic. Notice that the above authors don't all agree on all points. Yet the dogmatic formation of a pastor comes, in part, through these tensions, resulting either in synthesis or through adopting one view of a given topic at the expense of others. (This is the work of meditation described below.) Some, but not all, of this dogmatic intellectual formation is ordinarily accomplished in seminary or divinity school. It can also be — and perhaps in the Church in the USA will in the near future often need to be — accomplished outside of ordinary seminary curricula. But, whatever the means of one's initial formation, the work of getting the second foundation right, like the work of familiarity with Scripture, continues.
Doctrinal meditation and speculation
Having achieved a degree of familiarity with Scripture and a generally coherent grasp of the main doctrinal loci, the elegant edifice of a pastor's doctrine may be constructed. Hugh is now thinking metaphorically of the finely measured structural elegance of the building, be it ancient biblical temple, 12th century cathedral, or what have you. So, in our time, there is indeed a marvelous work of intellectual construction going on in the pastor's study (or home office, or kitchen table, as the occasion of her/his solitude may have it). Doctrinal meditation is a species of philosophical and intellectual soul-formation. One constructs one's interpretation of Christian doctrine — passing interiorly, hidden in Christ, from darkness to light — through the work of meditation (meditatio): rigorous, scrutinizing, penetrating, coherence-seeking thinking. One does the work of such thinking on the basis (or foundation) of Scripture as seen in its doctrinal/dogmatic coherence (or "second foundation").
On the one hand, such meditation results in the further and structural internalization of the dogmatic heritage of Christian thought (described above) in a particular form. Yet, doctrinal meditation also properly goes beyond what has been thought and agreed upon before: there is an aspect and an open door to speculation. The pastor's duty isn't only, or primarily, to the past. The pastor's duty is to Christ, who is always also the One who is to come. Our participation in Christ's transitus terminates in his — and our — resurrection, which is to say in the spiritualization and restoration of the cosmos and all things (Acts 3:21). So the pastor and Christian — even if not professionally an academic theologian — has to reflect and preach in the present moment looking forward to Christ's return — and so is summoned not to let her or his thought rest in the well established, but to think beyond, to live and argue in the present, to take up rival positions in order to oppose them and deepen one's own position, etc. This is to say, the intellectual vocation of a pastor is at once radically conservative and radically liberal. It inclines always to preserve and to reach the fullness of Christ. It aspires to know that which surpasses knowledge — the love of Christ (Eph. 3:19).
It is by seeking to intellectually reach, and hand on, this knowledge — knowledge beyond knowledge, knowledge of the love of Christ — that the pastor passes intellectually, again and again, from the domain of Holy Saturday's tomb into the Light, and Love, of the Risen One.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Clifton Stringer
Clifton Stringer is based in Austin, Texas and holds a Ph.D. in Historical Theology from Boston College. He previously read more…
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American belief and interest in heavenChristians in the United States aren’t the only ones who believe in heaven.
While the percentages of U.S. adults who believe in God, pray daily and regularly attend religious services have experienced a modest decline in recent years, a 2014 Pew Research poll found that 72 percent — more than seven in every ten — believe heaven exists.
This widely shared belief helps to explain why heaven often captivates the public’s attention. Popular culture frequently finds inspiration in stories featuring heaven or its ambassadors. In 2003, Mitch Albom released the novel The Five People You Meet in Heaven, a sentimental story about a man who goes to heaven and meets several people who had a profound impact upon his life. The book stayed on the New York Times’ best-seller list for 95 weeks. This October, Albom published a long-anticipated sequel, The Next Person You Meet in Heaven. Similarly, the book Heaven Is for Real (2010), about a three-year-old’s near-death experience, was also a best-selling phenomenon. A movie based on the book earned over $100 million worldwide and was honored by a satirical skewering in The Simpsons’ most recent season premiere.
Even this small sampling of popular representations of heaven reflect a wide variety of beliefs about heaven. For Christians, the critical question isn’t how many people believe in heaven but what we believe — and why those beliefs matter.
Heaven as reward
The 2014 Pew Research poll specified that most Americans believed in heaven when defined as a place “where people who have led good lives are eternally rewarded.” That concept of heaven is at the core of NBC’s acclaimed sitcom The Good Place, which recently began its third season. The Good Place depicts an afterlife in which every person’s actions during their lives either earn or lose them points based on their positive or negative effects. “You are here,” an orientation film informs new arrivals in the first episode, “because you lived one of the very best lives that could be lived.”
The show is ultimately a comedy, not a theological treatise, and its take on the afterlife turns out to be more complicated than it first appears. However, utilizing this vision of heaven — as a reward for virtuous living — highlights how easily understood and commonly accepted this idea of heaven is for Americans.
But does Scripture support this belief? Daniel 12 contains the Old Testament’s only unambiguous reference to a resurrection, claiming many “who sleep in the dusty land will wake up” — some to “shame and eternal disgrace,” but the wise and righteous to “eternal life” (verses 2-3). The New Testament, which was written by and for communities who worshipped a risen messiah, discusses resurrection and the afterlife much more, sometimes linking them to God’s affirmative judgment of one’s earthly life (Matthew 7:21-23; 25:31-46; 1 Corinthians 6:9-10; Revelation 20:11-15; 22:14-15).
Scripture also suggests that those who will be rewarded in heaven aren’t those who have lived good lives but those who lived hard lives full of poverty, pain and rejection on earth. In one of Jesus’ most memorable parables, Lazarus, the poor, sore-covered man who lay outside a rich man’s gate, is “carried by angels to Abraham’s side” when he dies to receive the good things he never got in life (Luke 16:22-23). Jesus even promises his followers who are persecuted a great reward in heaven (Matthew 5:11-12). Often in Scripture, heaven is God’s great repudiation and reversal of worldly power and privilege. The “last” in the world’s eyes are “first” in heaven (Matthew 19:30; 20:16; Mark 10:31; Luke 13:30).
Eternal life
In his 2004 book For All the Saints? Remembering the Christian Departed, biblical scholar N. T. Wright writes, “ ‘Going to heaven when you die’ is not held out in the New Testament as the main goal.” In fact, Scripture generally seems less interested in how we can go to heaven than in how heaven comes to us and changes this life.
The Bible consistently speaks of heaven as God’s world, distinct from the created world we live in. More importantly, it also testifies about God’s world drawing near to this one. Christians believe heaven came to earth most fully and decisively in Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus embodied not only God’s priorities but also God’s own self (John 1:14; Colossians 2:9). “Don’t you see?” Jesus asks. “God’s kingdom is already among you” (Luke 17:21). His earthly ministry, death and resurrection bring heaven close in a unique way.
While the 72 percent of Americans who believe in heaven agree that heaven is eternal, Christians believe we don’t have to wait until the afterlife to begin spending eternity with God. Jesus brings us into God’s world even as we continue to live in this one. Eternal life, on either side of the grave, isn’t a mere synonym for immortality. Eternal life is knowing God and knowing Jesus, whom God sent (John 17:3).
Living as citizens of the kingdom of heaven
The apostle Paul teaches that we’re citizens of heaven, awaiting Jesus’ second coming to transform us (Philippians 3:20-21). Elsewhere, Paul teaches that Jesus’ coming will free not only us but also the whole creation from everything contrary to God’s good purposes (Romans 8:18-22). The prophet John’s vision of “a new heaven and a new earth” (Revelation 21:1) underscores how radical and transformational the Christian hope for heaven truly is.
This hope is about far more than our individual futures. It isn’t exclusively about looking forward to being raised as spiritual bodies (1 Corinthians 15:44) or reunions with loved ones who have died before, no matter how joyful those reunions will be. It also isn’t about finally understanding the great mysteries of life or any of the other grand experiences we envision in heaven. Instead, our hope is about looking forward to the time when, as we pray in the Lord’s Prayer, God’s will is finally done “on earth as it is in heaven” (Matthew 6:10, NRSV).
Jesus’ prayer implies that heaven is present wherever and whenever God’s will is faithfully done. We don’t need to wait until after death to experience heaven. We have abundant opportunities to show heaven to others right now, giving them compelling reasons to believe and “praise [our] Father who is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16).
Be sure to check out FaithLink, a weekly downloadable discussion guide for classes and small groups.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mike Poteet
Mike Poteet, writer of the teaching articles, is a Presbyterian minister (PCUSA), currently serving the larger church read more…
People attend a community gathering in Soldiers & Sailors Memorial Hall & Museum in the aftermath of Saturday's deadly shooting at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, on Sunday, Oct. 28, 2018. (AP Photo/Matt Rourke)
(JTA) — When a gunman entered The Tree of Life Synagogue and killed 11 worshippers Saturday, he also struck at the heart of Pittsburgh’s Jewish community — the neighborhood of Squirrel Hill.Squirrel Hill, in eastern Pittsburgh, has been the center of the city’s Jewish life since the turn of the 20th century, when wealthy Jewish families began settling there. While the Jewish communities of other cities have moved neighborhoods or migrated to the suburbs in the ensuing century-plus, Squirrel Hill and its environs have remained the home of Pittsburgh’s Jews.
Jeff Finkelstein, president of the Jewish Federation of Greater Pittsburgh, says the neighborhood’s sustained Jewish presence is a result of its proximity to local jobs and two universities nearby — Carnegie Mellon University and Chatham University. (The University of Pittsburgh isn’t far away, either.) Recently, he said, the area has also experienced an influx of Jewish millennials seeking urban life.
“It may be the last major urban-centered Jewish community outside of Manhattan in the country,” he said. “Over the years, this Jewish community has made serious investments into the Jewish institutions in Squirrel Hill.”
Today, the neighborhood is home to about 30 percent of the Pittsburgh area’s 50,000 Jews, or about 15,000 people, according to a 2017 study of the Jewish community. It’s home to more than a dozen synagogues across denominations. Tree of Life, which recently merged with another congregation, Or L’Simcha, is one of two Conservative synagogues in the neighborhood. There are also multiple Orthodox and Reform synagogues in the neighborhood, which is just over one square mile wide.
“It’s just really a special place with multi-generational family homes and a real nice sense of esprit de corps,” said Rabbi Aaron Bisno of Rodef Shalom, a Reform congregation. “It’s really collaborative and supportive and rather unique.”
Like many Jewish neighborhoods, Squirrel Hill boasts an array of Jewish day schools (four), kosher restaurants (three) and other Jewish community organizations, according to a 2016 article in Shady Ave., a local magazine. In addition to a Holocaust museum, it’s home to a sculpture of a Star of David made of 6 million soda can tabs — a project of Community Day School, a local Jewish school, that took five years to complete.
Squirrel Hill’s centrality to Pittsburgh Jewry is also reflected in the numbers. While it’s home to 30 percent of Pittsburgh Jews overall, nearly half of the area’s Jewish children are being raised there. The neighborhood also ranks high in terms of synagogue membership, Jewish education and similar measures, according to the community study.
(It was also home to the children’s television icon Fred Rogers, the host of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, who was not Jewish.)
But what sets Squirrel Hill apart, says Finkelstein, is the cohesiveness of its Jewish community. Its wide range of denominations and Jewish organizations, he said, make an effort to collaborate. At an all-night learning program this spring on the Jewish festival of Shavuot, 500 people from across the Jewish spectrum came to study together.
“There is a phrase in the Talmud that has always felt especially relevant to our community: Kol Yisrael Arevim Zeh Bazeh. All of Israel is responsible for one another,” wrote New York Times columnist Bari Weiss, who celebrated her bat mitzvah at Tree of Life, in a column Saturday. “For us that is not a lovely theory but a lived reality.”
That communal unity, Finkelstein said, has been in evidence in the wake of the shooting. In addition to a vigil Saturday night in Squirrel Hill, its Jewish organizations have mobilized. The local Jewish Community Center is acting as a base for the community and families of the victims, where rabbis from around the area have visited throughout the day. Jewish Family and Community Services of Pittsburgh is providing counseling, while the local Jewish federation is handling donations.
This is not the first time the community has experienced anti-Semitism recently. Last year, residents found stickers and business cards with white supremacist slogans around the neighborhood, featuring swastikas and messages like “It’s not illegal to be white… yet.”
But Finkelstein says Saturday’s events are the worst he’s ever experienced in his professional life.
“This is the one day I hoped would never happen,” he said. “It’s about these families — my heart goes out to them. Just watching their emotions has shaken my soul.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ben Sales / JTA
Ben Sales is a U.S. correspondent for the Jewish Telegraphic Agency (JTA), an international news agency and wire read more…
The Ministry Matters
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