Risking for Justice

In a speaking engagement I raised two fairly recent public statements as a case study in contrasts. One was the statement issued by Liverpool pastors speaking out against homophobia in their community in the wake of the beating death of a gay teen and near-fatal assault on another gay man. The other was the Manhattan Declaration - a call to defend the truths of sanctity of life, marriage and religious liberty. The contrast, as I saw it, was the difference in use of power.

It seemed to me that the Liverpool statement used the power of the signers to promote shalom for those in their community – including those who held divergent views. It was a statement that could create some problems for them, where the pastors could potentially lose power in their constituency.

The Manhattan Declaration, on the other hand, seemed to be using power to beget power. It seemed to me an example of a desperate church trying to reestablish the realm of Christendom in an increasingly post-Christendom context. (My personal view is that I don’t think the Kingdom really comes through the establishment of Christian Empire) Regardless of one’s convictions about the positions presented in the Declaration concerning abortion, homosexuality and religious freedom, I think every follower of Jesus needs to consider how God exerts his power.

Consider this Advent reading from Henri Nouwen:

God 'Unmasks the Illusion of Power'
Learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart. Matthew 11:29

God chose powerlessness. God chose to enter into human history in complete weakness. That divine choice forms the center of Christian faith. In Jesus of Nazareth, the powerless God appeared among us to unmask the illusion of power, to disarm the prince of darkness who rules the world, and to bring the divided human race to a new unity.
Through total and unmitigated powerlessness, God shows us divine mercy. The radical, divine choice is the choice to reveal glory, beauty, truth, peace, joy, and most of all, love in and through the complete divestment of power. It is very hard - if not impossible - for us to grasp this divine mystery.
Jesus, in all we do and say this Advent, may we follow your example of gentleness and humility.

Well as you might imagine, I got some flack for raising this case study in contrasts. It was interesting to me that my support of the Liverpool statement was considered to be an “endorsement of gay people” (which was viewed as negative). And that my critique of the Manhattan Declaration was perceived as divisive, dishonouring, tearing down the Body of Christ, and assisting in the promotion of the ‘gay agenda’ (whatever that even is exactly….)

Now I happen to really value unity in diversity. So, in raising my critiques my goal was not for everyone to agree with me or necessarily adopt my views. Rather, my goal was to get people thinking.

I fear we are too apathetic to really think. And even more, that we are too afraid to think.

I first spoke up for justice for glbtqi people in Uganda last March. At the time I could never have imagined the draconian legislation advocating extremely harsh penalties for gay people currently before that nation’s government. As I consider the jaw-dropping developments in the Ugandan context over the last 9 months, I see a lot of scrambling (I won’t speak up …. Oh, now there’s a lot of pressure …. OK I will speak up …..). If you are unfamiliar with all the developments, check out this link for a comprehensive time line and description of events. And if you’ve been silent up till now: go think, pray and act. A first, easy step is to join the facebook group “Speaking Out Against Uganda’s Anti-Homosexuality Bill 2009”

Friends, these are real people with real lives that are at stake. What risks are you willing to take on their behalf? After my radio interview this week, a man emailed to say that he’s just had to resign from the position of elder in his church because he spoke out and advocated loving engagement with gay people. Would you risk your position in your church to stand up for justice and shalom?

I suppose one good thing about not really having much power is that you don’t fear losing it. Janis Joplin sang, “Another word for freedom is having nothing to lose.”

When it comes to engagement, not on gay issues, but engagement with people for whom gay issues are real, personal and intimate – I want to be truly free.

I want to be free to think - and to rethink.
Free to stand up and speak up.
Free to follow Jesus’ example: which essentially means free to lose everything, suffer much, have people misunderstand, misinterpret, desert and betray you (apparently, especially folks in your own religion) ….

Am I willing to experience all of that to speak up for justice and shalom?
Am I willing to experience all of that to challenge power politics and the church behaving like the empire?

Damn right I am.

Because the good news of the gospel begins with justice and shalom and it comes in the way of a subversive Kingdom not a power-majority empire.

It comes in the way of love.


(Personal note: For those who may be wondering, I was grateful for my sabbatical from July - September. I did begin my book - but, no, it is not finished. The last couple months being back have been jammed packed with speaking engagements. But, I am really looking forward to getting back into the swing of blogging - and hope to reconnect with y'all in the comment section. wendy)

The Writing on the Wall by Brian Pengelly

I came home from yet another speaking engagement Sunday night feeling pretty good. The talk had gone well, and the youth staff had invited me out to a pub afterwards to talk more. I was very tired since I had taught Sunday School that day, and then spent the afternoon at a picnic with the youth group from my church. As I pulled into the underground parking of my apartment building, I was feeling tired but content. I had spent the day doing what I love doing most. I fumbled with my keys to open the door from the garage into the main building and made my way to the elevator and pushed the button, knowing it would probably take forever for the machine to recognize my request and send an elevator down to the basement. As I stood there waiting my eyes wandered around the room as it always does when the boredom of waiting for the elevator sets in.

And then I saw it: a new piece of graffiti carved into the deep brown bricks of the hallway. In the midst the familiar etchings declaring eternal love between various youth of the building, in big ugly letters were two new words: KILL FAGS.

My stomach dropped, my muscles tightened and I could feel that old familiar dread grip the core of me. It was like I was back in high school again, wondering if someone had found out about me. Afraid of losing my home, losing my friends, getting beat up again.

I took a deep breath and exhaling began a centering prayer that I had been taught years ago by my spiritual director. I forced myself to remember who I am: I am a child of God. I am part of the body of Christ. I will NOT wear that name anymore.

I grabbed my keys and began to vigorously rub it against the offending words. I applied all my strength to it and the scratches I made began to cover over the hateful words. I stepped back and looked at my handiwork. It was now impossible to read the hateful words under all the other scratches I had made.

But I knew what was under there.

The elevator finally arrived and I got in and punched the button for my floor. As it began its ascent I slumped against the wall and fought back tears. I felt so very tired. I wondered about putting in a work order to have the wall repainted or something. But the thought of having to explain to the landlords...just left me feeling exhausted beyond words. Did I really want to make a big deal of this?
It was probably just some stupid kids.

The elevator lurched to a halt and I stepped out on my floor and used the key I had so recently applied to the wall to open the door to my apartment. Inside my wife was already fast asleep. I dumped my bags on the floor and collapsed on my sofa. Tears began to roll down my cheeks as I took up an old lament.

"How long oh Lord? How long?"

How long will hatred rule men's hearts.

How long will children grow up in fear?

How long will the wounds I thought finally healed be torn open yet again?

I had been struggling for days with a deep weariness. Sometimes I get tired of the overwhelming ugliness of the hate that this issue seems to engender in others. I am frustrated by the teens I can not protect, the damage I can not undo, and the fact that while words scratched in walls can be covered over the ones carved in some hearts are never fully removed. What does one do in response to such naked hatred?

But in this time I feel the Spirit with me, comforting me and reminding me that Jesus too was hated. I am not alone. And slowly, ever so slowly my heart begins to turn. I remember that the only response to hatred is to love, and I pray for whoever carved those words. I wonder what experiences have twisted them so that they would do such a thing and pray for God's grace in their lives. I remember that the only response to ignorance is truth, and as I take a day of rest I gather strength to go out this weekend and share my story once again. In the face of such ugliness I remembered the weekend before: watching 2,000 young Christians standing together after I shared my story cheering for me and declaring together that they wanted their generation to be the one that changed the legacy of homophobia that Christianity has long embraced.

Hatred may carve words on walls and hearts, but it is not the last word.

God's Word is alive and active. It is bringing change. It will not be stopped.

And with that hope held in my heart I put the words on the wall out of mind and I am able to sleep.