Thoughts on worship music, theology, hope in hopelessness, and the Matt Redman song “You never let go.”

It’s not uncommon in Christian churches to think of corporate worship as preparation for an eternity of worshipping God.  But I contend that it’s also preparation for life, now. 

Worship music, especially, offers this gift.  Whether it is an old hymn or a new chorus, the act of singing it in church or hearing it on the radio may be a mostly meaningless learning exercise, resulting in learning the song by simple repetition.  But once learned, it can then rise up within to offer an anchoring hope when you need it most, and a way to make sense of situations when they are senseless. It can also offer in-the-moment reminders of how to live like Jesus.

Sometimes–I must admit–our favorite music has poor theology, little better than our equally poor aphorisms, like “it’s all in God’s plan,” an unhelpful encouragement to someone grieving a loss.  Other times, it offers a reminder to hold to a core belief, even when it is hard to do so.

There are many songs to explore through these lenses, but today I am reflecting on the soulful “You never let go,” by Matt Redman. Incidentally, in writing this post, I discovered that there is a website that assesses song lyrics for their Biblical “accuracy.”  Thebereantest.com ranks this song 10/10.

The song starts based on the familiar text of Psalm 23, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, your perfect love is casting out fear….I will fear no evil, for my God is with me, whom then shall I fear?”  The chorus continues, in a powerful chorus simultaneously plaintive,  hopeful, and exclamatory.  “Oh, no, You never let go, through the calm and through the storm…in every high and every low, oh, no, you never let go of me”

The power of the music and lyrics is undeniable.  It can be sung with celebration and thankfulness–a deep appreciation for God’s love (if your theology allows for a belief in such unconditional love).  This is singing as worship: ascribing worth to God.  But this is also rehearsal.

Perhaps more importantly, once “rehearsed” this song is there when you need it, even if you don’t believe it in the moment.  It can be sung through tears and disbelief, a self-assurance of hope in the midst of hopelessness.  It can be a reminder of God’s goodness, an anchor holding fast as you weather the storm.  This is a song–sung in the closet, the shower, at the graveside, in the car–that can combine belief and disbelief, anger and thankfulness, love and rage. This is a song which can lead the believer close to God for a VERY intimate and honest conversation.

What if the singer has lost faith, but the song persists?  What if the pain is so deep that the love gets lost in the rage or sadness?  Does the song feel like a mockery, a promise broken?

Today, though, I also reflected on this song through yet another lens (or two).  What if the singer has lost faith, but the song persists?  What if the pain is so deep that the love gets lost in the rage or sadness?  Does the song feel like a mockery, a promise broken?  In this case, I believe the song still has incredible power – but through a different vehicle.  The friend singing beside you can be that vehicle.

Worship is also rehearsal and reminder for how to live like Jesus.  A tweak to the lyrics makes a powerful credo for believers and non-believers alike: “Oh no, I’LL never let go. Through the calm and through the storm…oh, no I’LL never let go of YOU.”  There’s some powerful Good News, and a challenging call to a life of hands-on love.

It was coffee hour in online church.  During the COVID-19 pandemic of 2020, our church has been meeting for live worship services through videoconference.  After the service, we remain online, and talk with one another, each person or family in their own square of the Zoom gallery onscreen, trying to speak without interrupting others.

Today followed a week of global protests against police brutality and systemic racism against black people.  Our Washington, DC, congregation has preached “liberation theology” and social justice long before the current protests.  Our church staff include gay, latina, black, and pacific islander persons. Our “Black Lives Matter” sign on the front stoop has been up for several years, now. While it’s a historically white church, we now accurately describe ourselves as “multi-ethnic,” and “multi-racial.”  We are not perfect, but we have cultivated a safe environment for honest conversation. I share this to set the stage for the question raised in online coffee hour.

One little girl had a question she wanted to ask, and it is necessary to note that the inquirer is black. “Why do people think that white skin is better,”  she asked with innocent and almost cheerful curiosity.

Our congregation includes numerous individuals–both white and black–who are professional diversity and inclusion experts, and a pastor finishing his doctorate in Black History, but we sat in silence for a moment, stunned by the weight and clarity of the question.

I will not attempt to summarize the responses that followed, except that one of them was in my opinion too pedantic for a response to a child’s question. It was my annoyance at that response that launched my participation in the conversation, to which I now turn.  I want to share my response, and what I learned about myself and white fragility in self-observation.

I was troubled that no one had yet given what I considered to be an affirming and age-appropriate answer.  I would call myself a disciple of Fred “Mister” Rogers, and while thoughtful and accurate comments had been offered, no one had yet spoken in the calm, friendly, affirming voice I wanted to hear.

I said something akin to this: “not everyone thinks that white skin is better. But many white people haven’t met a person with dark skin. I grew up in a place with very few people with dark skin.  There are many Americans who don’t know people with dark skin, and they are afraid of what they don’t know.” (Again, we had already heard more technical answers, like “their parents taught them,” or “it’s a 400 year old systemeic problem.”)

My statement (however I actually phrased it) is an imperfect, vastly oversimplified, and incomplete answer, but my intent was to offer a hopeful truth: “not everyone thinks white skin is better!” I wanted her to hear it from a white person. My intended subtext was “you are whole, worthy, and perfect just the way you are!”  I wanted to channel Mr. Rogers.

A friend of mine later confided that she hadn’t heard what she had hoped to, either — a simple declaration that “white skin IS NOT better.”

After my response, I could sense the very polite frustration of my black pastor.  Those of us who live our lives in church community know that sometimes you have to nod affirmingly with love to the person in the congregation who misses the point, doesn’t get the context, literally can’t hear, or is out of touch. I knew that was me in this moment.

It’s been two weeks of rapid growth and learning in America – and around the world – as anger and honesty about police brutality toward non-white people has reached a tipping point. At work, with friends, at church — I, along with many, are doing the hard work of talking, listening, learning.  We are learning to respond in ways that are overdue – but also ways that are appropriate to the moment, a moment in which pandemic and policing have left people exhausted, angry, nerves frayed, hopes frustrated.

I arrived at this moment, this question, having read halfway through the best-selling book White Fragility the day before.  As my pastor and his wife rolled their eyes (figuratively) at my comments, I also recognized that I had fallen into at least two of the common traps the author outlines.

Yes, I passionately wanted to respond “not everyone thinks white skin is better!” as an hopeful affirmation to a child in our congregation.  But embedded in that is also a defense of whiteness. It’s “we’re not all bad people,” “I don’t hate you,”  ultimately “I’m not a bad person.” As author DiAngelo describes (better than I will here), well-meaning white folks reject overt, active racism as a moral failure. We want to be clear “that’s not me!”  The hard work comes in realizing that systemic racism is the sea in which our friends of color swim, and privilege is the air we the white breathe.

The second characteristic I see in this moment of self reflection is the post-civil rights era yearning for equality, despite inequity. DiAngelo suggests that white Americans have perhaps embraced the most famous teaching of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., a bit too well.  “I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.”

As I looked back on our church conversation, I realize within myself a most passionate yearning for a pure equality – what DiAngelo would better describe as the very American ideal of meritocracy.  I passionately want to assess people based only on the content of their character and skill, with dispassionate stoicism.  And I want that to be the norm to which we aspire in American society.  But what that purist conception of meritocracy avoids is the foundational inequity of whiteness in America–its advantages–and the disadvantages of non-whiteness.  No matter how much I want to look at my black friends as total equals, the embodied, experienced, lived reality is that we are not.  Read White Fragility  and other books to keep digging on this subject.

Back to a child’s question.  I want to paint a hopeful and loving picture, one that we might believe into existence.  I want the answer to be “white skin is not better,” and “many–maybe even MOST– people don’t think white skin is better.”    But I find myself grappling with the reality I don’t want to acknowledge; the factual reality I’m struggling to write because I hate it so much: that white skin is better. Not genetically better, not morally better, not more worthy of God’s love–just measurably more advantageous in the United States and most Western cultures.

There is so much more work to be done.

I’m sure I’ve said something imperfectly. Please accept the sincerity of my effort to grow personally, and to contribute to the betterment of the lives of people of color.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In 1997, I cast a “nay” vote at a national gathering of United Methodist students. I now regret it.

Too often Christians talk about repentance as turning away from some personal sin.  Rarely do we discuss it as learning something new and seeing the error of our previous position.  Even more rarely do most of us talk about it as seeing the systemic injustices, the communal sins, we are a part of and turning in a direction that points more toward justice.

I’ve had two major transformations in my understanding of the world, but only publicly “repented” in relation to one.  For those who know me, it should be no surprise that the first one is political – I’ve repented loudly and often for my previous political affiliation and votes.  I’ve never publicly repented for the other change, however.

In all likelihood, on Tuesday, February 26, 2019 United Methodists will once again vote to uphold their regulations which prohibit gay clergy and gay marriages. It’s happened almost routinely every few years for the last 47.  As a young United Methodist, I too once voted to uphold that stance.  I’ve since learned the error of my way, and now repent for it publicly.

In 1997, delegates to the United Methodist Student Movement, a national gathering of college students, wanted to send a message to the next General Conference of the church that this prohibition should be lifted.  That motion did not pass.  I was among those voting against it.  I felt deep compassion for the (hypothetical) gay people affected, but I could not get past what was so clear (I thought) in the Bible.  No matter how much my heart wanted to choose a kinder path, my mind – and my understanding of God’s “law,”- made it unconscionable to vote anything but “nay.”

In addition to being a delegate, I was also part of the leadership team for the event.  I will never forget the moment after the vote, when discussing it in what I recall was a matter-of-fact way, that I suddenly realized the person I was speaking with wasn’t just on the other side of the “issue,” but was actually a lesbian, herself.  Nothing was said. I knew only from the heartbroken look in her eyes.  A wonderful, beautiful person I had been working with in leadership was personally affected by this vote.

That is a powerful reminder for any “culture war” debate: we must actively work to understand that someone on the other side of the table may have more than just an opinion, but also a personal connection to the issue, and that it may not always be obvious.

While a memorable moment, this did not change my views.  My views changed gradually, over time, as I learned more and sought to learn more.

I would actually fault the Church for doing a poor job of teaching members how to read and interpret the Bible.  The pop-culture idea of a literal, plain reading of the Bible — reading every sentence in every book as literal and imperative, and as though it doesn’t conflict with other portions of the Bible — is simply wrong.  United Methodist pastors, among the most thoroughly educated of any clergy, know this.  But they have failed to teach it.

Seeking answers, I began to reread the Bible, looking to perhaps find something I had missed.  I was stunned to realize that the story of Jonathan and David, with its explicit, affectionate, physical relationship would sound scandalously gay now, yet it is celebrated by the scriptures.   I did not have answers, yet, for the other passages that would seem to condemn gay relationships, but I began to open myself to the possibility that God’s story was bigger and more complex. And, if I truly believed in salvation not by works, but through God’s grace (a very Methodist idea), I should have no fear in following God’s nudge to open my heart and mind, and trust the Holy Spirit to guide me.

At the time of this writing years later, I can now tell you that Sodom and Gomorrah were not destroyed because of gay relationships, but gang rape — and even more directly, because of their discompassionate, indulgent wealth, according to Ezekiel:

“Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy.”  (Ezekiel 16:49)

The very few New Testament passages that appear to address homosexuality are more likely referring to temple prostitution and/or pederasty, but some of the original words are actually hard to translate (they aren’t used elsewhere in ancient literature).  Thus, the versions we read in English are heavily biased by the moment in time in which they were translated and the inclination of the translators.

Meanwhile, we miss the point that the celebrated Ethiopian eunuch (Acts 8) was likely considered to be “gay” or gay-equivalent in his time.

“There are eunuchs who were born that way, and there are eunuchs who have been made eunuchs by others—and there are those who choose to live like eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. The one who can accept this should accept it.” (Matthew 19:12, emphasis added)

We ignore Paul’s radical, countercultural claim that “there is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” (Galatians 3:28)  Both in its words and in its concept, this statement challenges any and all barriers to a relationship with God and with one another.

And most importantly, we overlook the message of Jesus, that loving one’s neighbor — the neighbor you don’t like — is the heart of the Law.   Jesus was constantly pushing the boundaries of what his followers thought was the “in” group.

But these are merely the foundation. (Or perhaps the excavation of contaminated soil.)  I have now met and befriended many wonderful gay, lesbian, and transgender Christ-followers. Their lives are testimony to God’s grace.  They demonstrate the fruit of the spirit.  They are the ones, simply through their lives, who have fully transformed my beliefs.

“Likewise, every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit. A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, and a bad tree cannot bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.  Thus, by their fruit you will recognize them.”  (Matthew 7:17-20, emphasis added)

My friend Justin works tirelessly to bring people with different faith beliefs together for dialogue.  My friend Maria preaches prophetically against racial and economic injustice.  My friend Wes helps place children in foster homes.  Jen is a schoolteacher. Tino and Dave wrote a book on marriages to assist all kinds of couples.  Scott is planting an orchard to feed the homeless. Ryan spends his vacation working with orphans in central Europe, every year. Lisa and Drew set a dinner banquet table that runs through three rooms.  And my friend Joey is a United Methodist campus minister.

Is this not fruit?

So, I repent of my vote in 1997.  I am repenting not because I made a intentionally malicious choice then, but because I know better now.  Many a pastor has defined repentance is moving in a new direction.  I hope that the United Methodist church can today (midnight has come and gone) or soon join me and move in a new direction.

Jeremy Fretts served on the leadership team for the United Methodist Student Movement from 1996-1997, and later served on the Indiana Committee on the Episcopacy representing the Northern Indiana Conference of the United Methodist Church. He served in part-time staff roles at Gethsemane United Methodist Church in Muncie, Indiana, as well as the Wesley Foundation at Ball State University.   He is currently a “Methodist on loan to Baptists” at the historic and progressive Calvary Baptist Church in Washington, DC, where he serves on the Board.

He is a registered architect and holds an additional degree in Education and Human Development.

Author’s note: this is an odd and minor post to begin the series that’s been rolling around in my head.  It’s not the strongest to explain my thesis for the series. But I start here, nonetheless, because the post will be short and easy to write. The premise of the series (to be written) is that events over the last 10-15 years have shed incredible new light on passages of the Bible which previously seemed distant and unreal to me.  Now, the Bible seems more than ever a record of human behavior that gets repeated throughout history.

A political reflection on 2 Samuel 12.

Yesterday, after weeks of intense public conversation, protest, and scandal, the U.S. Senate confirmed Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court.  Many ordinary people around the country have been passionately invested in the debate.  Many see Kavanaugh as a Christian hero, who will finally “put right” the travesty of Roe vs. Wade. On the opposing side, many see the process of his selection to be badly tainted; his personal reputation suspect; his Senate testimony disingenuous and either a lie, or evidence of his lack of self-awareness.  Beyond the person of Kavanaugh, many remain shell-shocked by the the way in which men in the Senate, and around the country, have reacted.   For those who believe in truth and representative democracy,  our most basic beliefs about our nation and our fellow Americans have been shaken to the core.

Many people have lost friends in the debate.  Some women have shared their most awful, intimate experiences to public jeers.  For many others, their past trauma has been brought back to front of mind. For me, for my entire life one who treasures older people, I find myself hating old white men like Orrin Hatch, who doesn’t even have the common sense to choose his words carefully. (He called Dr. Ford an “attractive” and “pleasing” witness, in the context of a sexual assault discussion.) I’m not thrilled with 85-year old Dianne Feinstein, either, who took too long to bring the accusation forward, not understanding the context of the times.

Today, I expected to find more people I knew weeping and angry, debilitated by the end of hopefulness.  But some of the people I expected to be most exasperated were instead calm and refreshed.  Carrying on.  My casual observations of a few people are hardly a scientific survey of mental health and mood in the country.  But it made me think of the story of David in the book of Second Samuel.  David’s son was terribly sick, and David had been praying and fasting for his recovery.  When his son died, his servants were afraid to deliver the bad news.  When they finally told him, they were surprised how quickly he composed himself.

 Then David got up from the ground. After he had washed, put on lotions and changed his clothes, he went into the house of the Lord and worshiped. Then he went to his own house, and at his request they served him food, and he ate.

“Why are you acting this way? While the child was alive, you fasted and wept, but now that the child is dead, you get up and eat!”

He answered, “While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept. I thought, ‘Who knows? The Lord may be gracious to me and let the child live.’ ²³ But now that he is dead, why should I go on fasting? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me.”  (2 Samuel 12:20-22, NIV)

I think this is a helpful story for our current times of political upheaval. We work and plead, fast and pray up to the moment of decision.  Then, regardless of the outcome, we pick ourselves up, bathe, eat, and carry on.

The Kavanaugh decision has been made.  It’s not a big surprise, though it’s also not the preferred outcome of most Americans. (The Senate, by design, provides unequal representation of the population, in favor of equal representation of the states).  The death of David’s son was likewise not a big surprise, but not outcome his father wanted. Like David, let us carry on in living, in faithfulness, and in hopefulness for what comes next.

 Then David comforted his wife Bathsheba, and he went to her and made love to her. She gave birth to a son, and they named him Solomon. (2 Samuel 2:24 NIV)

(endnote: I nearly made an Orrin Hatch-ian error in neglecting the context: let’s not overlook the fact that the pretext for this story is David’s lusting after another man’s wife and killing Uriah to get her.  Unpacking that mess is a topic for another day, and another author.  Like the authors of old, I’m using the familiar story to illustrate my point, not condoning the context.  THAT is a topic I WILL address at some point, or you can just read The Human Faces of God.)

Sunday was a powerful day at Calvary Baptist* Church.  Thursday, Pastor Maria had visited the border wall in Texas. Saturday, members of our church had marched with our documented — and undocumented — immigrant members to oppose current cruel border policy in the United States.  So by Sunday morning, pastor Maria was both teared-up and fired-up, ready to preach.  Our scripture lesson was from Acts 1. This is a familiar passage of scripture, but I had never heard it this way before, or looked at the underlying questions the disciples were asking.

Acts 1:6-8

6 Then they gathered around him and asked him, “Lord, are you at this time going to restore the kingdom to Israel?”

7 He said to them: “It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority. 8 But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

As Pastor Maria Swearingen pointed out in her sermon, the disciples are asking Jesus a very “nationalist” question – When will you restore the nation of Israel?  When will we again be sovereign, not subject to Roman rule?

It is a season in US and global politics when nationalism is on the rise.  “America first.” (Or Germany first, or Italy first, or Britain first)  “Protect our borders.”  While USAmerica is not subjugated by another nation, the spirit of the times makes the sentiment of these followers of Jesus more familiar now than it has been in my lifetime. “When do we get back what is rightfully** ours?”

Pastor Maria went on to point out how Jesus answered them: he said, in effect, “none of your business.”  As Maria put it, “Nope.”  Not going to answer that.

Think how we might phrase this today. “Rabbi Jesus, when will you Make America Great Again?”  To which he replies, “That’s not for you to know when (or if) I will.”

Don’t get hung up on my modern paraphrase — because we actually haven’t gotten to the real punchline yet.  This is the part I almost missed.   This is the part that is jaw-dropping, if you know the context.

Jesus then tells the disciples that they are to be his witnesses — not warriors, not even colonial-style missionaries– his witnesses, to the ends of the earth.  The disciples ask a question about local geography, and local power.  Jesus brushes them off, and instead tells them to be his witnesses, EVEN in Samaria (hated), and “the ends of the earth” (unclean, non-Jewish, even the Romans).  They have a myopic focus on their land and power.  Jesus’ vision is global, and not concerned with boundaries.

To further consider the implications of this teaching, listen to Maria’s entire sermon. (which will be posted and linked here soon.)  But I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to emphasize this one component:  The disciples asked a political question about borders and power, and Jesus instead claims a borderless kingdom without political power. The disciples asked about themselves.  Jesus’ answer explicitly included hated others. Jesus named people-groups who were considered foreign or unworthy by his audience.

I write this on the Fourth of July, Independence Day in the United States.  It is currently an era when American Christians think that the United States and Christianity are one in the same. For many people, “Make America Great again” is rooted in a desire to “make Christianity great again.”  To all this, Jesus says “be my witnesses to America and Mexico, El Salvador North Korea, Europe, and the ends of the earth.”

When the Holy Spirit fell upon Jesus’ disciples– soon after he taught them this lesson–they started giving things away, hanging out with people of different classes, being selfless…it got crazy.  And by the way, the church grew.

May I suggest a hymn:  This is My Song 

 

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* A different kind of Baptist (sm)   Calvary, in Washington DC,  is the founding congregation of the American Baptist Convention.  It was founded by abolitionists during the Civil War, and is not affiliated with the Southern Baptist Convention.

** I can’t bring myself to even say this hypothetically without commenting that ALL non-Native Americans ought never think that anything here is “rightfully” ours without remembering that we are all sojourners and immigrants here.

 

 

There’s a “chain meme” (what else might it be called?) going around, challenging folks to share one black and white photo per day, featuring no people, and no explanations.  Architect and urbanist Sarah Lewis challenged me.   With over 60,000 digital photographs in my collection, how could I refuse!  I took a little different tack, though, and decided – on a whim – to try and select pictures with an underlying theme.   Here, I’ll explain the theme.  (I have since seen a different variation, emphasizing that they should be scenes from daily life. Oops.)

THE BIG IDEA
I selected photos from places which have profoundly shaped me.  It’s not a comprehensive collection–my hometown is missing from the pictures, as are pictures from Lynchburg and Muncie–but it does include some places very special to me.

THE PHOTOS

1. Indianapolis, Monument Circle.

Moving to Indiana for college was a big deal for me.  Terrifying, emotional, bold. But the people I discovered there were wonderful and kind.  After graduating, I began a successful career in Indianapolis, with an outstanding mentor and community of peers.  Here, I learned to be a professional.

Here, I also became involved in a large and impactful church, as well as non-profits the likes of which I could have only dreamt of as a child.  When I lived there, at least, Indianapolis government had long been a shining example of progressive, practical bi-partisan cooperation.  Simultaneously, the Lilly Endowment insured that Indianapolis was a global center for the study of philanthropy.

And, Indy is pretty. The city was laid out by a disciple of Pierre L’Enfant. Its form and spirit borrow from Washington, DC, and ultimately Paris.  This monument (with a wonderful civil mar museum under it) was designed by Bruno Schmitz, a German who won the competition for its design.

2. Seven Fountains (and a palm tree), Hollywood, California

In 2001, I traveled to California with several friends to “make sure I didn’t like it.”  I’ve been back many times since, because I found that I love it.

This picture is from a later trip, and represents not only a love for California, but a profound learning experience.  In 2005, the Congress for the New Urbanism was held in Pasadena, California (another favorite spot, and, incidentally, founded by a group of pioneers from Indianapolis.) Between the sessions and tours, I learned a tremendous amount about housing design, mixed use development, urban form, and the history of Southern California.

This picture is the exterior of the Seven Fountains Condominium.  It is deceptively simple and unassuming — yet elegant.  There are lessons to be learned about simplicity and the play of sunlight, but the greater lesson in within.  Beyond the facade is a labyrinth of tiny courtyards and seven fountains, surrounded by unique condo units. It is a masterwork of residential architecture, combining elegant design, individuality, and a bit of social engineering.  It is one of two projects I toured on this trip, the other equally profound in its influence on me, at Mission Meridian.  Both projects were designed by Moule and Polyzoides.

3. Bear Bridge (Moabiter Brucke), Berlin, Germany 

Fun sculpture, fun urban building.  But so much more:  this is one of my favorite corners in the world, and it changed me.

In the three weeks that I lived here in 1995, the building in the photo had not yet been built.  This picture, then, would have been centered on a small window in the side wall of am historic courtyard apartment building, above a vacant lot.  That window was the view from my high-ceilinged rear apartment across the willow-lined Spree River.  Across the street, the Spree-Bogen development had brought fresh modern architecture to the neighborhood.  The combination of old and new, public art, and public riverfront made this a magical neighborhood.

I returned in 2009 (when I took this picture), and was delighted to discover the neighborhood to be as wonderful as I remembered.  And while my window had been covered up, the vacant lot had been transformed into another wonderful residential building.

This, then, is the address where I lived as I learned to adore European urbanism, small-scale modern architecture, and city living.  This is a photo of both my home and my teacher.  And the bear is cool.

4. WQED Studios, Pittsburgh

The Oakland neighborhood of Pittsburgh was, and is, home to some of the finest cultural and educational institutions in the United States.  I was fortunate to grow up in the afterglow of steel-era riches: glorious cultural institutions were surrounded by physically decaying communities around them, still abundant in pride and spirit.  That’s the Pittsburgh of my youth in Western Pennsylvania: an odd mix of glorious urbanism, and urban decay.

This picture represents Oakland, then, with the wonders of the Carnegie Museums and Pitt’s Tower of Learning.  Equally profound, though, is what emanates from inside this  unassuming brutalist building.  This is the headquarters of WQED television, the first public broadcasting station. This is also where Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood was filmed.  Before my Mom took me to the Carnegie Museums, before school field trips took us to plays at Soldiers and Sailors Hall or the international classrooms at Pitt, WQED came to me.

In an era before parents worried much about “screen time,” I grew up watching Sesame Street and Mister Rogers on WQED.  In an era before you watch a movie in your car (like my nephews do), we nonetheless measured the remaining distance to Grandma’s house in how many episodes of Mister Rogers and Sesame Street remained until we arrived.   Mister Rogers introduced me to Pittsburgh’s trolleys before my Aunt took us to ride on one of the last ones in service.  He brought cheff Julia Child, and jazz legend Johnny Costa to my living room. I could go on — as many have — celebrating the impact of both Sesame Workshop and Fred Rogers.   They brought a bigger, smarter, more diverse world into my home, along with kindness and laughs.

As I grew, WQED brought concerts, plays, travelogues, and famous books to life through their analog over-the-air signal.  Later, other Public Broadcasting stations would teach me history, and then reshape my understanding of the world (multiple times) through in-depth documentaries.

This photo represents cultural Pittsburgh, and it represents the world brought into my home through WQED and other PBS stations.

5. Kurfurstendamm, Berlin, from Zoologischer Garten

I’ve already talked about how the experience of living and studying in Berlin, for a mere three weeks, transformed me.    It also changed me as an architect–perhaps MADE me an architect, despite three years of education prior. Design – both traditional and modern design — “clicked” for me in Germany.

This photo also began a smaller, more occasional journey into nighttime photography.  This was a “welcome home” moment, returning to Berlin from two weeks traveling Europe.  The following day would be a flight back the US.  We stepped off the train at Zoo Garten station (then one of the main stations) and had this magnificent, glowing view of Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedächtniskirche.  It was before the instant gratification and computer-assisted world of digital photography, but using my best knowledge of photographic exposure, I attempted to capture it.  When the pictures came back from being developed, I was elated with the result.

Speaking of Gedachtniskirche: when I could pronounce it without fumbling, I realized I was making real progress in teaching my tongue to wrangle the German language.

6. California Theater, San Jose, CA

Back to California! I have actually had the privilege of working in Cali multiple times.  First, designing a sales center for medical products in Orange County, then later working on a competition project with our San Jose office.  For the competition project, I was based in San Jose for three weeks, and then in Pasadena for a week. This provided amazing opportunities to explore both Northern and Southern California.

 

 

 

 

7. Metro. Washington, DC

My first trip to Washington, DC, I was the obsessive travel planner, making sure we saw EVERYTHING.  I was 15.  Washington became the place I dared not dream I might one day live.  Washington is beautiful.  It was, to me, like ancient Rome, polished to glistening white and planted with magnolias.  (Yes, I now know Rome was gaudily painted. Their loss.)   Washington is steeped in history and sacred ideals. It hosts the worlds great treasures in countless museums. Like Berlin, it is verdant and lush, with modestly scaled (height-limited) buildings.

When I attended the Congress for New Urbanism when held in Washington, I fell madly in love with Connecticut Avenue and Dupont Circle.  Rock Creek park! Ice cream and chess at midnight? Farmer’s market the next morning? I don’t play chess, but this whole scene of LIFE was magical. When I visited my sister in Washington’s suburbs, we spent a beautiful day in postcard-perfect Alexandria, and I decided that one day I would live there.  Alexandria – where we had actually stayed when I was 15.

When my first nephew turned two, I decided to move to Washington. I wanted to design housing, and live in Alexandria.  I was blessed with the amazing opportunity to do precisely that.

Now, I call the Washington area home. I still dream of the day I can afford to actually LIVE across the river, but for now, visiting weekly is just fine.

Why do Christians hate gay people? Isn’t Jesus supposed to be about love?

In the two days since the Supreme Court affirmed the right of marriage for gay couples nationwide, my social media feed has been a blend of sheer joy, horrified sorrow, and anger. I have dear friends whose marriages are now validated (most of them both Christian and gay), and I have dear relatives who are mortified and fear God’s wrath. In the midst of these extremes, it occurs to me that in our modern American culture, many non-Christians might not have the faintest idea why gay marriage is such a big deal to many Christians.

In this post, I will summarize my understanding of “why.” There was a time when I still shared many of these reasons for fearing “gay rights,” so I think I can address some of the roots of that opposition. Here I will only summarize the why. In a future post, I will address the “why not”– how my beliefs and opinions have been radically changed.

I’ll give you the summary first. In brief, many American Christians share these beliefs and feelings:

1. Sin–disobeying God’s teachings–is a real thing.
2. They fear God’s reaction to sin: in the past, He has destroyed sinful nations
3. God has explicitly destroyed nations guilty of SEXUAL sins
4. People I love will burn forever in hell if they don’t believe the right things about sin

In tension: Sin, grace, and judgement
The Christian Bible holds two ideas in tension (please forgive the vast oversimplifications): the idea of a judgmental God, demanding strict adherence to a moral code, and the idea of a forgiving and loving Jesus who “completed” the impossible task of saving believers from inability to comply with that code (“sin”). Even the sentence you just read could shatter my readers into a dozen denominations and sects debating its finer points.

Resolving this tension between judgment and grace likewise had the earliest Christian churches in fits. Some questioned whether the god of the Old Testament could even be the same god to which Jesus prayed. (cf. Marcionism) Theologians have continued to debate these issues for two millennia, starting with the writers of the inter-church letters of the New Testament (“epistles”), and continuing to the present day. A famous writing from the apostle Paul addressed the question. Some of his followers had apparently asked if Jesus’ actions freed them from the moral code entirely. Paul’s answer in Hebrews 10 was a resounding “no:”

” If we deliberately keep on sinning after we have received the knowledge of the truth, no sacrifice for sins is left.”

Yet Paul’s writing in his letter to the Romans spends pages building an elaborate argument that nothing can separate those who follow Jesus from the love of God:

” Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death…. Who then is the one who condemns? No one. Christ Jesus who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?…. I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (excerpts from Romans 8, New International Version)

But the ellipses–oh the ellipses, the sentences I have omitted. Paul’s elaborate argument is filled with paragraphs more nuance and subtlety that I dare attempt to address here. Let it suffice to say, then, that two thousand years of church history renders a majority opinion: even Christians saved by Jesus shouldn’t commit “sin,” or they will find themselves subject to God’s judgment, and perhaps his condemnation (depending on your school of thought). Even for those who believe Jesus’ paid the price for their sins, there remains a lingering fear of God’s judgment and condemnation.

Sodomy & Destruction
Both the Old and New Testaments condemn certain sex acts between men. As many are quick to point out, the Bible also condemns shrimp, pork, women who talk in church, divorce, and sex during menstruation, among other things. Here, I won’t debate whether the translation is accurate or whether the Old Testament laws apply. The words are there, and a simple reading in English says these are sins.

But why are modern Christians so willing to eat shrimp and get divorced, but terrified about accepting gays? One word: Sodom, the city from which we misappropriate the word Sodomy. (more on that in a minute)

The Old Testament is littered with cities and nations that God and/or the Israelites (at his command) destroyed because of their sins. The city of Nineveh is famous for being warned by Jonah (assisted by a certain whale) that God was going to destroy them. The city and its people repented and changed their ways, and God did not destroy them.

The story of Sodom and Gomorrah is different, though. Just before God destroyed it, we read the tale of how the men of the city wanted to have sex with the male guests in Lot’s house (who happened to be emissaries from God). Lot offered them his daughters instead (what??!!) but they refused. When we read this through a modern lens, it sounds like a gay pride parade gone bad.

My subsequent post will more fully address how we have misread this story, but let me at least say this: the story can also be read as a tale of gang-raping the strangers as an expression of dominance; the perpetrators were not likely “gay” as we define it today. It is a story of being unwelcoming in a culture that valued hospitality more highly than we can comprehend. Most importantly, neither sex nor gang-rape is the reason Sodom was destroyed–according to the Bible itself. Ezekiel 16: “‘Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy. They were haughty and did detestable things before me.”

Sodom–and Sodomy–are why many Christians fear gays. God did not even bother to use a human army, he just obliterated the cities. He rained down fire, and turned them to salt. All because they were gay perverts. (Or, because they were arrogant and didn’t help the poor, if you believe Ezekiel.)

Many Christians believe this is an historical account. Many non-Christians probably can’t grasp that. But based on this story in its common understanding, it appears that God has a special hatred for gay sex acts, a hatred so strong he will destroy nations that allow it.

Victorian sex ethics, 1950’s psychology, and early 1980’s propaganda from the politically organized “Religious Right” have only reinforced these beliefs.

It’s personal
Jesus did teach love, and many of the Christians who are vehemently opposed to gay-anything are also deeply loving people. American Christianity, though, often focuses on “right belief.” One must not only believe in Jesus, but believe the right things about Jesus, as defined by a certain denomination or local church.

I knew a man who was infamous for asking uncomfortable questions of his children and grandchildren regarding their beliefs. It alienated members of the family from him and from faith, but his motivation was love. He did not want to see them condemned to hell for having wrong (or no) belief in Jesus. He loved them too much to allow that to happen because of any inaction on his part.

I know people who have wept this week, because they sincerely believe that allowing gay marriage saddens — or enrages — God. They are weeping because they don’t want their children and grandchildren to grow up with wrong beliefs in a promiscuous culture. They do not want the United States to be a nation which loses God’s favor, or receives his destructive anger. Most of them do not want to see anyone – gay stranger or misled grandchild – burn in hell.

I respect and honor those fears and desires. I just think they are unfounded, a subject I will address when next I sit down to write.

In the interim, to those who are offended, angry, or afraid, I simply offer words often spoken by Jesus: “do not be afraid.”  I mean it: I hope you will be less afraid.

When I was a kid growing up in Pennsylvania,  I had a Confederate battle flag in my bedroom. To me,  it was a symbol not of the Confederacy,  but an innocent icon of the “south,”  where my grandparents lived and my Mom grew up.  (It also reminded me of the beloved TV show,  “The Dukes of Hazzard”) It represented sweet people with thick accents who loved me, and the southern half of my gene pool.   My grandma would tease my Dad and call him a yankee,  but she loved him dearly.   It was friendly banter,  like rival small-town sports teams who still cheered for the same major league team.

It did not represent —  to me,  at least– a living ideology,  but a long past history.  If I’m not mistaken,  I even bought my flag at Appomattox battlefield –  where the Civil War ENDED.

As I have grown older,  two things have changed.  First,  I have become aware that the Civil War and its sentiments are not as far removed from the present as my younger self believed.   Its impact on culture continues:  it is embedded in the DNA of our histories,  our institutions, our cities, our language,  and our religious practices. Second,  I have learned that that flag has been used (and even continues to increase in use?) to champion fringe movements encouraging racism and disunity.   That flag represents pain — historic and contemporary pain —  for people of color.

Last week, I was traveling in Europe and came across a specialty store which sold “western wear.”  The store was festooned in American flags… and the Confederate Battle Flag.   I was embarrassed and incensed.  This symbol of the long dead and deadly past lives on as a representation of the United States abroad.  Had the store been open,  I might have ventured to confront the proprietor.  Would he sell a Nazi flag?  Or worse –  was the Confederate flag a substitute for the Nazi flag used by modern day racists?

Less than a week after I passed that store,  our nation found itself in mourning for a massacre committed under that banner,  and in extensive dialog about that very flag.  I threw my flag away years ago,  but wish I still had it — so I could burn it as a ritual of mourning and repentance. 

No matter what good things that flag represents to people with southern heritage,  we must also be enlightened to what it means to others,  in the present. The swastika symbolized good fortune for millennia,  but no longer.   For Christians especially,  we are charged with sacrificing our own interests and freedoms for the sake of others.   It’s a hard teaching from Paul in 1 Corinthians : “Be careful, however, that the exercise of your rights does not become a stumbling block to the weak…. if what I eat causes my brother or sister to fall into sin, I will never eat meat again, so that I will not cause them to fall.” (What actions of others contributed to the stumbling of the Charleston murderer?  But that’s another topic.)

Paul is writing about meat and idol worship,  but the premise resonates from Jesus teachings’ on love: love your neighbor as yourself. Once I become aware that the Confederate battle flag causes pain to some,  and that it is actively used as a banner for hate and disunity by others,  why would I still cling to its sentimental value? Love for others demands that I reject it. 

One commenter on a Facebook post summarized my sentiments beautifully.  Karen Redwine,  responding to a post by The God Article,  offered this: “I love my southern heritage and my roots are planted there in many ways, but cruelty and evil are not what I choose to identify with. If removing that flag would remove all traces of racism, then, let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.”

Over the last several months, we’ve said many goodbyes, never knowing which would be the last. We’ve had many chances to reflect on our lives together.  This wicked disease has offered this small blessing – the opportunity to engage in these tender moments.  Two thoughts were foremost in Dad’s mind as he dealt with the frustration of an early departure from this life.  First, he hoped he had made a difference.  Before leaving Pennsylvania, the local farm community presented him with a plaque which stated, “In Don we trust.”  I know there are many people who felt that way in many places. The stories we’ve heard over the last several days have reiterated over and over again that my father was a confidant, advisor, and faithful supporter to so many.

The second thing Dad hoped was that he had been a witness.  He believed firmly that believing in and accepting Jesus led the way to both a meaningful life and an eternal life. He also believed in our obligation to be the representatives of Jesus’ on earth, in the flesh, through our actions.  A commitment to serving the mission of Jesus through “our prayers, our presence, our gifts, and our service” is a phrase common in several Methodist liturgies, and a phrase which he embodied.   

If the phrase “in Don we trust” rings true for you, know that his care for you flowed from his trust in God, and his understanding of Jesus teaching.  My Dad hoped that he had made a difference.  A difference in agriculture, a difference in education, a difference in the church, a difference in the lives of people around him.  He hoped he had been a witness. A witness to the love of God, and the need for a life built on the teaching of Jesus. 

It is our hope that Dad’s witness has inspired you to offer your prayers, your presence, your gifts, and your service, so that Jesus may be visible in your life, and celebrated as savior and God.

What does a collection of offerings look like in an era of e-currency?Jesus didn’t really make a habit of collecting an offering, except some loaves and fish.  Nonetheless, in religious practice, the giving of an offering or sacrifice as an act of worship is an ancient tradition. The practice remains symbolic and meaningful in Christianity today:  participants pool their resources, and offer them to the work of God through the assembled community. The collected gifts are usually presented formally at the altar in front of the church.

In modern practice, however, it has become an awkward vestige. Increasingly, Americans conduct all their financial transactions electronically. Many congregations have adopted e-giving practices. Members of the congregations gladly sign up for automated giving, rather than writing checks or depositing cash in the collection plate.  It is, frankly, an easier and more reliable way to fund the work of the church.

But what of the liturgy of the Offering in worship?  We pass empty offering plates, and offer empty plates to the work of God.  In a way, the symbolism has become negative–we “offer” nothing.  The tradition has become an anachronism. Some non-liturgical churches have minimized the ceremony to a a minor footnote in worship–passing the offering plates during the sermon, and bypassing any formal presentation of the collection.  But what of the liturgically-inclined?  What might an updated liturgy look like?

Here are two possibilities for consideration.

Offering, with collection and presentation

Invitation:  “Many in our congregation utilize online giving.  If you have additional offerings for the work of the church, our ushers will collect those at this time.  You may also place your prayer requests (reservations for events, visitor card, etc) in the offering plates.”Prayer of consecration: “Almighty God, we give you thanks for the gifts of our congregation to your work in this community and the world.  We offer the gifts presented here, the gifts given in the past week, and the gifts of our time and talents.  Use them; use us to your glory.  Amen.”

Offering, without collection
Assuming offering boxes at the doors and a predominance of e-giving.

Invitation:  “Many in our congregation utilize online giving.  If you have additional offerings to the work of the church, you can place those in the offering box as you leave today (alt: bring them to the front at this time).   This week, our community has given (dollar amount) to the work of God, and we have (number) people participating in ministry leadership.  Take a moment to reflect on how you will serve God this week, and then let us offer these gifts of time, treasure, and talent to the Lord.”(brief musical interlude with modulation to a doxology)

Prayer of consecration: “Almighty God, we thank you for your many blessings to us and once again dedicate ourselves to your service, offering the gifts of our time, our talent, and our treasure to you. Use them; use us to your glory.  Amen.”

I invite my many pastor and theologian friends to further develop these ideas.