Acorns, King, Beloved Community

On the eve of Tu Bishvat, Hebrew New Year of the Trees, I found myself planting pin oak acorns I Jerusalem as a mark of new beginnings.

collected last fall from a healthy wetland forest. I had been waiting for a good wet day to drop them into the muck in the less healthy wetland where I do my Weed Warrior work, a fitting activity to mark the date when trees are planted in

As I squashed each acorn into the mud, I found myself thinking about new beginnings, this month’s Synchroblog topic: “Starting something new. Dreaming about the future. Second chances. Change/Transformation.”

Every acorn planted is a dream for the future. The start of something new. An occasion of change or transformation.

But the topic of new beginnings goes far beyond acorns, or trees. New beginnings are the heart of the Christian faith: new life from old, grace breaking through the tight confines of the past. Read any of the gospels and there they are, stories of new beginnings: Jesus reaching out to heal the blind, retrieve the outcast, offering new sight, new starts, new standing.

Interesting, as I think about it, how insistent the scriptures are on individual stories: names named, locations given. The point seems very personal. Interventions of grace, new beginnings, happen one person at a time. Blind Bartimaeus on the road outside of Jericho. Greedy Zaccheus. Mary Magdalene.

The book of Acts continues the pattern: Saul interrupted on the way to persecute the new Christians, and given a new name, a new mission, a new beginning. Lydia of Thyratira, dealer in purple cloth, first convert in Europe.

Yet Jesus was explicit that faith in him also marked a new beginning for the Hebrew tradition he was born to. When Nicodemus, Pharisee and member of the rabbinic ruling counsel, saw in Jesus something startling and new, he came in secret to ask more.

Jesus told him: 

“No one can enter the kingdom of God unless they are born of water and the Spirit. Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit. You should not be surprised at my saying, ‘You must be born again.’ The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.” 

I have heard the term  “born again” since I was small, but it never occurred to me that Nicodemus might have heard the term in a different way. Apparently, to a rabbinic Jew of Yeshua’s time, there were already at least six ways of being “born again.” Born of water was commonly understood as physical birth, while “born again” could refer to someone converting to Judaism, experiencing circumcision, getting married, becoming a rabbi, becoming a king, or becoming a leader of a yeshiva, a rabbinic academy.

All those “born agains” are new beginnings in some way under human control. The new beginning Jesus offers is something different, and in fact is a play on words. gennatha anothen, translated in John 3:3 and 7 as “born again” could also mean “born from above” or “from a higher place,” or “of things which come from heaven or God.”

There was much discussion, in Jesus day and after, about the relationship between law and faith, between Jew and Christian. Can a Jew be a Christian? Does faith in Christ null obedience to law? Nicodemus walked away from Jesus puzzled, but appeared again in John 7, urging his fellow Pharisees to take more time to understand what Jesus is doing. In John 19, he came to help take Jesus body from the cross, to wrap it and prepare it for burial.

Jesus said “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them.” Rattling acorns in my hand, it occurs to me that in some strange way, the relationship between law and new life is a bit like that between acorn and oak tree. The acorn is manageable, graspable. It has defined boundaries, protective shell. But the acorn isn’t really the point. It’s what comes after.

Sprouting Acorn, Wikimedia Commons

At what point does acorn become tree? Is the new beginning the moment of planting, or the moment when the shell splits, and roots begin to sink deeper? The moment when the first shoots surface?

I love stumbling across stories of conversion: Augustine, in his garden hearing a voice saying “pick up and read.” Francis, struggling with illness and depression, confronted by a strange question: "Who do you think can best reward you, the Master or the servant?" Brother Yun, awestruck at the miraculous healing of his father, listening as his parents explained what they had learned of Jesus from missionaries banished 25 years before.  T. S. Eliot, embarrassing his companions as he knelt before Michelangelo’s Pieta.

For some, new beginnings are dramatic and immediate: my grandmother on a street corner in a rural Oklahoma town. My friend reading the gospel of John in a lonely prison cell. Other times, new beginnings are less easy to date, or track.

Martin Luther King couldn’t point to a precise moment of conversion, but instead spoke of moments when abstract theology shifted into personal conviction. In “Stride toward Freedom”, he wrote of a January night in Montgomery, Alabama when as a 27 year old pastor, new husband and father, the accumulation of abusive, threatening phone calls prompted by the Montgomery bus boycott brought him to a point of near defeat:   

It seemed that all of my fears had come down on me at once. I had reached the saturation point. I got out of bed and began to walk the floor. . . Finally I went to the kitchen and heated a pot of coffee.
 I was ready to give up. With my cup of coffee sitting untouched before me I tried to think of a way to move out of the picture without appearing a coward. . . With my head in my hands, I bowed over the kitchen table and prayed aloud. The words I spoke to God that midnight are still vivid in my memory: ‘Lord, I’m down here trying to do what’s right. I think I’m right. I am here taking a stand for what I believe is right. But Lord, I must confess that I’m weak right now, I’m faltering. I’m losing my courage. . .  I’ve come to the point where I can’t face it alone.’ It seemed as though I could hear the quiet assurance of an inner voice saying: ‘Martin Luther, stand up for righteousness. Stand up for justice. Stand up for truth. And lo, I will be with you. Even until the end of the world.’ . . . At that moment I experienced the presence of the Divine as I had never experienced Him before. Almost at once my fears began to go. My uncertainty disappeared. I was ready to face anything.” 

A few years later, in 1960, King wrote: 

In past years the idea of a personal God was little more than a metaphysical category which I found theologically and philosophically satisfying. Now it is a living reality that has been validated in the experiences of everyday life. Perhaps the suffering, frustration and agonizing moments which I have had to undergo occasionally as a result of my involvement in a difficult struggle have drawn me closer to God. Whatever the cause, God has been profoundly real to me in recent months. In the midst of outer dangers I have felt an inner calm and known resources of strength that only God could give. In many instances I have felt the power of God transforming the fatigue of despair into the buoyancy of hope.

What was King’s point of new beginning? Does it matter?

Will anyone remember when I planted these acorn? Will anyone note the date new life springs up out of the muck, and reaches toward the sky?

One oak tree can feed over 500 species ofbutterflies and moths, more than 100 species of vertebrate animals. One oak tree can change an ecosystem, a landscape. Not just for now, but for centuries to come, just as one courageous follower of Christ, or a small handful, growing together, can change a culture, a continent.

At the beginning of his time of public ministry, Jesus read from the prophecy of Isaiah 61:   

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,    because the Lord has anointed me    to proclaim good news to the poor.He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,    to proclaim freedom for the captives    and release from darkness for the prisoners,to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.  

The Isaiah prophecy goes on to describe the result of this work of new beginnings: a community of joy instead of mourning, of praise instead of despair:

They will be called oaks of righteousness,    a planting of the Lord    for the display of his splendor. 

Pin Oak, George Thomas, 2013

Martin Luther King described this prophetic vision as “the beloved community” – a planting of the Lord providing shelter and restoration for all seeking freedom from captivity or release from darkness.

In this time of new beginnings, I pray for all the seeds I’ve planted across the years. For the seeds still dormant in dark places. The seeds struggling toward light.

I pray for the fruit of new beginnings: for mercy, wisdom, justice, love. Food for the hungry. Joy for those in despair.

I pray for oaks of righteousness – towering trees that change the world around them. A beloved community of restoration and redemption.

For branches that reach far beyond their roots, offering shelter and nourishment in ways I can only imagine. 

Synchroblog had a record number of postings this month, with lots of thoughts on all kinds of new beginnings. Take some time to check some out:

Jen Bradbury - Enough

Abbie Watters - New Beginnings

Cara Strickland - Bursting

Done With Religion – A New Year, A New Beginning

Kelly Stanley - A Blank Canvas

Glenn Hager - Overcoming The Biggest Obstacle To Reaching Your Goals

Dave Criddle - Get Some New Thinking

David Derbyshire - Changed Priorities Ahead

J A Carter - The Year of Reading Scripture for the First Time

Damon - New Beginnings: Consider These 5 Questions Before Tying The Knot

Jeffrey Kranz - Where To Start Reading The Bible

Joanna990 - On survival – my one word for 2014

K W Leslie - Atonement

Happy - my One Word 365 surprise

Michelle Moseley - Ends and Beginnings

Matthew Bryant - A New Creation

Liz Dyer – It’s a new year and time to make some new mistakes

Edwin Pastor Fedex Aldrich - Foreclosed: The beginning of a new dream

Jennifer Clark Tinker - Starting a New Year Presently

Loveday Anyim - New Year New Resolutions

Loveday Anyim - New Year Resolution Dreamers

Loveday Anyim - New Year Resolution Specialists

Loveday Anyin – New Year Resolution Planners and Achievers

Jeremy Myers - Publish Your Book with Redeeming Press

Amy Hetland - New Beginnings

Phil Lancaster – New Beginnings

Mallory Pickering – Something Old, Something New

Margaret Boelman – The Other Side of Grief

Where is Newness Needed?

Where is newness needed?

What are the things that trap us, trick us, hold us captive, like tightly wound grave clothes, or stones against a tomb?

What brokenness in us, in our faith, in our world, holds us in fear, whispers “this is all there is,” insists “the future you dream of is not possible”?

Where is newness needed?

The world Jesus was born to was brutal, angry, merciless.

Watching the new Bible series on the history channel, I flinch at the level of violence depicted. Yet Jesus lived in a violent time, under the rule of violent, arbitrary leaders addicted to power, willing to execute sons, brothers, wives, innocent children, to maintain control and suppress any hint of opposition.  

In a fearful, self-protective world, the church had become as fearful and self-protective. Divided, distrustful, angry: the leaders watched for any hint of opposition, aligned themselves with political power, did what was needed to maintain their own illusion of control.

Who could live in a world like that without being fearful, angry, suspicious? Every move was watched, every word was judged, every resource carefully guarded.

Jesus promised newness. In everything he said and did, he called to question the logic of his day. The poor will be rich. The weak will be strong. Those who risk their safety in acts of love will be the ones held safe in God’s eternal care.

His words made power angry. His acts defied the economics of the day. 

His promise of new hope, new freedom, a new spirit, a new way, led to the same punishment that awaited anyone who dared to challenge the order of the day: death. 

The Harrowing of Hell, icon, 1500s

A painful, public death. A sign to all watching that might is absolute, and newness, the kind Jesus promised, is a fool’s dream, nothing more.

So did the resurrection happen?

Did the same old story take an unexpected turn?

Did the newness Jesus promised, new life, new hope, new freedom, rise with him and walk free from the tomb?

Or did power, death, the established order, the accepted logic, the self-protective anger, win the day, and prove, yet again, that hope is food for fools?

Track the newness in the lives of Jesus’ followers.

New courage, new wisdom, new abilities, new compassion.

Track the newness in the spread of their story.

New communities. New worship.

New insistence on care for the poor, help for the sick, love of the enemy, a place at the table for women, outsiders, untouchables.

Track the newness, even now, in unexpected places.

New confidence among the untouchable Dalit Christians in India. 

New courage for underground churches in China.

New joy in small in-prison Bible studies, new hope in communities of care built on the edges of city dumps, in battered urbanneighborhoods.

Jesus promised new lives, new hope, new wisdom, a new spirit.

New unity with his father.

New unity with others who seek to follow him.

Where is that newness needed?

Where is it visible?

Do we believe it’s possible?

Or do the old kings, the old laws, the old powers, systems, priorities, still rule the day?

Controversial Irish thinker/writer/speaker Pete Robbins talks about what it means to affirm, or deny, the resurrection:

I deny the resurrection of Christ every time I do not serve at the feet of the oppressed, each day that I turn my back on the poor; I deny the resurrection of Christ when I close my ears to the cries of the downtrodden and lend my support to an unjust and corrupt system. 

However there are moments when I affirm that resurrection, few and far between as they are. I affirm it when I stand up for those who are forced to live on their knees, when I speak for those who have had their tongues torn out, when I cry for those who have no more tears left to shed.   

Is he right?

Is the newness Christ offered something personal, particular, private, just for me?

Or does it start there, like a seed, and grow into something so visible no one can miss it?

Does the newness change my heart, and nothing more, or does it change the way I love, the way I serve, the way I align myself with those left behind by the powers of the day?

Are we ready to let the old selves, the old ways die, and rejoice in this newness beyond our own achieving?

Where is newness needed?

And are we ready to embrace it? 

We give thanks for the gift of Easter
     that runs beyond our explanations,
                     Beyond our categories of reason,
     even more, beyond the sinking sense of our own lives. 

….and we give thanks
                                For the newness beyond our achieving.
                                               
  ( from Not the Kingdom of Death, Walter Brueggeman)

Other posts on resurrection:

Risen Indeed? The Hermaneutic Community  April 8, 2012

The Great Reversal: A Resurrection People  April 15, 2012

Earth Day Shalom: Ripples of Resurrection  April 22, 2012

Resurrection Challenge: Feed My Sheep  April 29, 2012

Resurrection Laughter  May 6, 2012

Resurrection Women – Happy Mother’s Day May 12, 2012

Reconciling Righteousness  May 20, 2012

Resurrection Power: A Prayer for Pentecost  May 27, 2012

If Only   Apr 10, 2011

Resurrection  Apr 25, 2011

• 
  

• 
  
• 
  
• 
  

Silent Sentinels

If I had lived a hundred years ago, would I have been one of the silent sentinels, the women who stood outside the White House, day and night, from January 1917 to June 1919, advocating for the right to vote?

Would I have risked public humiliation to march with the suffragettes? Or would I have stayed home, even more silent, waiting for others to win the freedom I wanted?

Rotate the question just a little: if I lived in Damascus, now, would I be actively protesting Assad’s tyranny, or quietly waiting for things to blow over?

If I lived in Cairo, would I be finding my way to Tehrir Square?

We look back with rosy glasses to our own Declaration of Independence without much thought about the crisis of conscience faced by those called on to sign it. Robert Livingston, member of the five-man committee that met to craft its wording, never signed. Other delegates took their time adding their names; at least three refused to sign.

We forget that there were Loyalists, or Tories, maybe as many as one in five colonists, who sided with the status quo. And we forget that there were many who were neutral – hoping the conflict would pass them by, not sure independence was worth the cost.

I approach Independence Day with a sense of uneasiness. In part, I wonder if the holiday celebrates war, and wonder: if Canada, Australia, New Zealand, India, other colonies gained independence without war, would the same have been possible if the American colonists had exercised greater restraint, greater patience, more creative means of persuasion?

But my uneasiness also stems from a sense of unearned privilege: what have I ever done to deserve the freedoms denied to so many? And what have I done to use those freedoms wisely, or to see them extended to those without?

If freedom is a gift, it’s a gift with a cost, and a weight of responsibility.

What happens when too many of us take our freedoms for granted, or exercise our rights without adequate attention?

The Supreme Court decision last week on the Affordable Care Act threw the question into high relief.

Some people I know and respect listened to the news, then turned quickly to others things. “I’m not interested.” “Politics bores me.” These are people who care deeply about the needs of the world, who give time, money, prayer for those in trouble. These friends quickly dismiss the idea that a piece of legislation could be part of caring for human need, or that concern for others should prompt attention to political process. To them, the actions of government are irrelevant.

Others I know saw the court’s decision as a victory in the war on women. I understand why they use the term, but it seems to me that once we start thinking in terms of “war,” we are all losers. War breeds violence, hatred, inevitable loss. Are there better ways to carry on the discussion?

Yet others in my circle of friends consider the Affordable Care Act a dangerous move toward socialism, think President Obama is destroying the country, and are focusing great energy on seeing him defeated in November. People who have never invested much time in the political process are energized and angry. The more I listen, the more I wonder: What’s fueling the anger?

From what I can see, the Affordable Care Act is an imperfect attempt to resolve a wide mix of troubling problems: insurance companies that pocket too much profit and drive our health expenses ever higher; individuals with no primary care who use emergency rooms as their sole source of medical attention; a growing list of “existing conditions” that make adequate coverage impossible; families bankrupted when a parent loses both job and insurance and health expenses swallow a lifetime of savings. And yes, a system that costs women more in premiums, and sometimes denies women the legitimate care they need.

M Turner Obamacare

From what I can tell, the ACA is already benefitting many young adults, caught in part-time jobs while they look for full-time work that will offer health benefits and a salary adequate to pay back college loans. It’s benefitting friends who have struggled with existing conditions, and will eventually make preventive care possible for friends who currently postpone appointments and stop taking medications because they can’t afford them.

The issue for me, though, isn’t so much this particular legislation, it’s the conversation surrounding it. Are those who disagree with me on specific points evil monsters, or well-intentioned people who see things differently? Is Barack Obama an evil man? Is he trying to destroy America?

When a leader – on any side – advocates a policy or position I disagree with, am I free to speak of him as the enemy? Am I free to respond with anger? Am I justified in listening to public diatribes that ridicule, disrespect, misrepresent?

I understand those who run from any political dialogue because they’re tired of the angry rhetoric, or bored by the unstoppable harangues.

And I understand those who grab the party platform, endorse the party favorites, and dismiss all opposition.

But as a Christian, a follower of Christ, steward of gifts I’ve been given, including the right to vote, to speak, to investigate, I find myself caught in a troubling conundrum:

I believe I’m to honor and respect those in authority, even when I disagree with them.

I’m also to look for the best in others, to want their good, to rejoice in the truth.

I’m to listen more than I speak, to seek and model wisdom. I’m to advocate for the poor, earnestly desire justice, demonstrate humility.

And I’m called, as all followers of Christ are called, to be a peacemaker. Do I interpret that globally, advocating for an end to war? Nationally, advocating for peace between parties? Personally, looking for points of agreement with individuals whose opinions challenge mine? All three? Is that possible?

Here are a few questions I take seriously, and will be puzzling and praying about as we near the next election:

What is God for? I hear, maybe too often, about what He's against. But spread our priorities out in front of His word: which ones are worth pursuing? Which aren’t?

Should government be concerned with private morality (sexual expression, family composition), or with public morality (issues of equality, just policy, equitable economy)? Both? Neither? Is it possible to separate the two?

Is the best government the smallest? What are the proper roles of government? What happens when those roles are abandoned?

What is my own responsibility? Is it enough to be a good parent, wife, neighbor, here, in my own small part of the world, or am I called to use the privileges I’ve been given to advocate for others less able to advocate for themselves?

Who stands for the common good? Is it okay to pursue policies that benefit me, my own group, my own demographic, or am I called to affirm policies that benefit all of us – not just Americans, not just Christians, but all nations, all creation?

A Chinese proverb warns: "Unless we change direction, we are likely to end up where we are headed."

Or, as a wise friend of mine recently said "Unless something changes, nothing changes."

Are we headed in the right direction? As a country? As individual followers of Christ?

And if not, what do I need to change in my own life, in my own conversations, actions, expectations?

And what will that change cost?

lines for first Tunisian democratic election, October 201

This is the first in a series about faith and politics: What's Your Platform?

Please join the conversation. Your thoughts and experiences in this are welcome. Look for the "__ comments" link below to leave your comments.