Prisoners & Release

Acts 16:16-34

In 1913, 74 members of the International Workers of the World labor union (the "Wobblies") were arrested and put into the Snohomish County Jail near Everett, Washington. It was the newest jail, highest security technology - all steel. By common consent, all the Wobblies organized to start singing at a certain time that morning. They started singing, and jumping up and down, and soon enough hit the resonating frequency of the steel walls and broke the wall. They broke the jail by singing.

Now, it wasn't an earthquake, and they didn't have the opportunity to escape afterwards, but it does go to show the tremendous potential of being in prison for a just cause.

Paul and Silas were imprisoned and tortured because they set a girl free from economic exploitation. Her bosses were mad that they lost their source of revenue (they showed no concern for the girl, just their money), and took Paul and Silas to the authorities. The authorities, all too often ruled by the economic interests of the wealthy, agreed that Paul and Silas had to be kept under lock and key. Not only that, but stripped and beaten, then "severely flogged," and then taken to the inner-most cell of the jail, the most secure place, and even then put in stocks to hold them. (Sounds a little like Abu Ghraib.)

That night an earthquake destroys the jail (and their stocks?). The jailer comes rushing back, knowing that if these prisoners escaped it would be his life. He finds Paul and Silas waiting patiently for his return. The jailer asks: What must I do to be saved? His question is really a double entendre. What he means is what does he need to do to keep Paul and Silas from escaping, he is at their mercy. But what we know (because we're reading this story through the eyes of the Holy Spirit) is that what he needs is the gospel.

This is also a clear example of civil disobedience. Paul and Silas are arrested for an act of justice that violated the laws (and economic interests) of the rich and powerful. They do not take back the act, and do not attempt to evade the consequences of their actions. In fact, their submission to the laws (however unjust) is a double indictment of the injustice. Even when offered an opportunity to escape, they remain, forcing the authorities to confront the question of injustice in their midst.

But what is most striking is that the roles are reversed. (This is so Lucan.) Paul and Silas are tortured and imprisoned, but in the end they are the free ones, and it is the jailer who is tortured and imprisoned by his job and obligation and loyalty to the System, and it is he who requires liberation from his bondage. The jailer is converted by the experience of trying to hold Paul and Silas.

Individuals enmeshed in the System are converted not by people being nice and polite, but by people honestly and sincerely challenging the injustices supported by the actions of those enmeshed in the System. Paul and Silas' act showed the jailer who was really the victim of the State: not Paul and Silas the prisoners, but the jailer who is forced to torture and imprison men whose only crime is standing up against oppression.

The jailbreak, therefore, isn't for Paul and Silas, but for the jailer. When he asks: "What must I do to be saved?" he is recognizing that he is really not free, not safe, not saved.

What a tremendous testimony. Even those who are carrying out the orders of the System, who are doing terrible and unjust deeds, even those who think they are doing the right thing by supporting the State and its violence and oppression, can be converted by the civil disobedience and dedication of the faithful. A-men!

"This Man's Blood"

Acts 5:27-32

Jesus' disciples cannot stop talking about Jesus - and talk about Jesus is teaching about Jesus (which is why, incidentally, neo-orthodox theologians get so upset by historians and people like The Jesus Seminar who want to talk "about" Jesus... their "talk" becomes teaching about Jesus). As soon as the apostles get out of jail (either by escaping or by being set free), they return to talking all over Jerusalem about Jesus. And at this point, it is likely that whatever they say, even if it is the most orthodox Jewish claim, will be spoken and heard through the filter of making some statement about Jesus.

Is Luke being deliberately ironic when he has the high priest say to the disciples that they "are determined to bring this man's blood on us"? What the high priest means, of course, is the guilt of a condemned and executed criminal, perpetuating whatever crime of treason or disorder of which Jesus was convicted. But in another way, what the disciples are doing is precisely that: to bring Jesus' blood on all of them - spread recognition of Jesus' act(s) of sacrifice and opening the way to redemption. The high priest was exactly right about what the apostles were wanting to do, but misunderstanding it himself. (The continuation of the motif of misunderstanding is another link to Luke's Gospel - but here the high priest is in the position of the disciples in the Gospel: having heard the teachings but misunderstanding what they mean or imply, and being instead filled with confusion and fear of reprisal from earthly powers.)

The apostles do want to bring Jesus' blood on the people - but not as condemnation but as redemption, not as imprisonment but as liberation, not as a death-sentence but as new life.

Peter answers, however, the question of the high priest: "We must obey God rather than any human authority." What a perfect summary of principled disobedience. It is a more-articulate echo of an earlier similar confrontation a few verses previous (4:19). This is why Martin Luther penned his 95 theses; why Martin Luther King, Jr., led the bus boycott and spoke against the Vietnam War; why Gerrard Winstanley, Conrad Noel, Cesar Chavez, John L. Lewis, Rev. Lewis Bradford, and Hugh Thompson Jr., disobeyed and acted righteously: Holy (Dis)Obedience. Obedience to God supplants obedience to any human authority - something American Christians would do well to remember when the nation calls for war and vengeance. This new loyalty (and its political dimensions) is referenced again when Peter describes Jesus as "Savior": the Greek word "soter" was used to describe the Roman Emperor and the Roman gods. By using this politically-charged word Peter was making a statement about political loyalties and calling the religious leaders of Jerusalem on their collusion with an oppressive occupying power (instead of, presumably, principled disobedience of some kind).

Peter continues this inversion of expectations by actually highlighting Jesus' criminal conviction and violent end. Luke has Peter reference Jesus being hung on a tree. Is Luke taking some dramatic poetic license here in describing the cross as a tree? (It seems most contemporary Christians sing with this kind of language this way, as if Peter was euphemistically describing the wooden cross as a tree.) In Deuteronomy (21:22-23) hanging the body of an executed criminal on a tree was an act emphasizing his accursedness. It was a such a potent symbol of accursedness that it was not allowed to remain overnight, lest it defile the whole of the country. Luke is taking poetic license here, but not in describing the cross as a tree. Luke is using hyperbole in describing the general sense of accursedness attributed to Jesus. He wasn't just condemned, tortured and executed as a criminal by the Romans, the general impression is that Jesus was condemned and cursed by God! How much more powerful is the reversal of fortunes if this man so profoundly cursed is not only redeemed but exalted to the right hand of God, and declared Soter?!

Peter here is one-upping the high priest in describing the misfortune of Jesus, as if to say that no matter how bad you think Jesus was, we can go even further. Even more to say: no matter how much we describe his accursedness in this world, so much more profound is the work God has done (is doing) in/through Jesus and his redemption. Luke has Peter almost grandstanding in court (reflecting a fine twist of language that is characteristic of skilled Greek rhetoric), which makes it more understandable why the council before which Peter is speaking becomes enraged at his statements.

Finally, something that impresses me is that in this confrontation the apostles make no reference to Jesus' resurrection as part of the kerygma or message. They speak of exaltation, but not resurrection. Why is that? Was it just an oversight on the part of the author, or something more deliberate? Was the bodily resurrection (a notion popular at that time, so there was no reason to exclude it from the testimony of the apostles) not important to the message the disciples were spreading?

Something for me to chew on... and take comfort in. The fundamental of the kerygma is transformation, repentance, metanoia.

At least, in front of that council.

Loss and Gain

Philippians 3:4b-14 (Part Three: esp. v 7)

Whatever gains I have made in the world, because of Jesus I consider them rather a loss--not only rubbish and worthless, but actually counting against me, listed in the 'minus' column of my spiritual balance-sheet.

Why should worldly success be counted so adversely to a transformative relationship with Christ? Can't we have a relationship with Christ and be successful in the world? For Paul, it seems, the answer is no. I wonder if he was reading the Gospel of Luke at the time.

Paul seems right in line with Luke on this point. One of the overriding themes of Luke is the danger of material (worldly) success: wealth, power, prestige, praise, and so on. More than the other Gospels, Luke castigates wealth and the stranglehold material possessions have on people's hearts--and he's right, of course, our wealth does hold us back from being the kind of disciples Jesus calls us to be. (We are all that rich ruler who asks in all sincerity what we must do to gain eternal life, but then shirk from Jesus' frank reply: give up all your wealth and comforts and follow me.) Paul, too, picks up on this radical demand of Jesus, and seeing how difficult it is to do, Paul counts all those things holding him back to a worldly sense of accomplishment and merit, success and comfort, power and praise... Paul holds all of them as a loss, as something that holds him back, something that holds him down or slows his reaction to the gospel, that prevents a true discipleship.

Here, Paul is wrestling with the same realization--that this is really tough, and most people won't be able to do it very well--the same realization that Matthew faced in his Gospel when the rich ruler confronted Jesus. Matthew's answer was that one could be a disciple to the degree to which one gave up attachment to possessions. If one would be perfect, he wrote, one would give up all possessions and follow Jesus... opening the door to all of our (eager? inevitable? satisfactory?) 'mediocre' discipleship: we'll give up a little and count that as discipleship, or we'll know that our attachment to possessions is bad and we'll consider that awareness as our discipleship. Matthew opens this door to a softer, more permissive, less demanding discipleship. And Paul wrestles with his own convictions on the one hand, and the likely response of seekers to such a demanding discipleship on the other. Even so, Paul for himself comes down clearly in step with Luke on this issue: confidence in the flesh (or worldly goods) is only a stumbling block to discipleship.

This is a big statement for the Philippians--signaled by the occupation of ten verses on this specific point.

And for me... it is a reminder. I easily jump to the condemnation of wealth and power (even though I enjoy both as a middle-class American in a world dominated by American interests and supporting an high American standard of living). (For all my love of Luke's harshness and clarity of vision, in the end I sneak into discipleship through the back door opened up by Matthew.) Condemnation of wealth and power comes easily to me--I have taken that part of the prophetic message to heart and it is in my blood everywhere just under the surface. What is harder for me is the 'being thought well of' and especially the surety of convictions that I hardly question that are to me stumbling blocks to my transformation. To have such single-minded confidence in ideas or theories is one way the world holds on to my heart. It gives me some impression (however false or inadequate) that I am in control, or that I have some profound understanding of the mechanisms at work. And this is a false impression (as Job so painfully shows us). I am not loosed from the struggle or senselessness of the world, even in my accepting struggle and senselessness as a reality or means of creating meaning and purpose. I have to accept the contingency of my confidence/belief in contingency. What is ultimate for me must not be these convictions about the world--the way it works, the evil of capitalism, the inevitability of war, the horror of alliance with Bush, and so on. What must be ultimate for me is the dedication to the possibility of transformation, new life, new understanding--and the shifts I cannot predict may be subtle or radical, but I have committed myself to them, not knowing what they are.

Discipleship is like baptism or marriage, we dedicate ourselves to something (and someone) not knowing what will happen, the changes we will be called upon to make, the demands we must answer, the roads we will have to go down. But we commit ourselves nonetheless. And that, like any two paths diverging in the woods, makes all the difference.

And our time spent deliberating about which path to go down--one leading to wealth and comfort, the other to suffering and Christ--is counted as loss.

Hymn for Nonviolence

Psalm 27

(3) Though an army encamp against me, my heart shall not fear.
(6) Now my head is lifted up above my enemies all around me, and I will offer in God's tent sacrifices with shouts of joy; I will sing and make melody to the Lord.
(10) If my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take me up.
(11) ... lead me on a level path because of my enemies.
(12) ... they are breathing out violence.
(13) I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
(14) ... be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!

This psalm is one of extraordinary confidence. It is more than hope, but less than casual certainty. Most of all, however, it is a hymn of nonviolence in the face of violence. Though enemies surround and attack, the psalmist here chooses to worship and sing for joy rather than fight.

What's more, the psalmist wants to grow in the Lord through her enemies: in verse eleven, perhaps the most inspiring verse in addition to the final stanza, the psalmist asks that the enemy be instructive to her, that the enemy teach her something, that the Lord open her heart to see herself through the eyes of her enemy. Oh, that American Christians would pray earnestly to see themselves through the eyes of their enemies, that they would ask God to help them transform themselves through an encounter with their enemies! This is an incredible line.

The psalmist is singing a daring hymn - confident in God's ability to transform people, and not being primarily concerned for one's own physical safety at the hands of an enemy, but being concerned with one's own transformation in light of God and one's enemy. What would happen if American Christianity turned around and instead of supporting horrific violence against their supposed enemies in certain Islamic factions, asked to see themselves through their "enemies'" eyes, asked how they could change to meet their enemies' desires? What if American Christianity's first reaction was not to reach for the gun or aircraft carrier group, but to reach for our enemy and embrace them for a moment - recognize their worth, their perspective, their experience - and not be so preoccupied with securing our own physical safety. (The irony is clear: risking our personal safety then would actually secure it in the long run; while the opposite strategy is proving a terrible failure: secure our physical safety first - through the denial of such safety to others - is costing us our safety for generations to come.)

What if, when surrounded by armies, we Christians chose to worship and sing songs of joy, rather than fight?

This hymn gives us hope, speaks of confidence in God's power. It places the confession in our mouths: "I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of living." These are not idle words, not easy words - they don't rush to our mouths in the heat of approaching battle. When faced with an enemy, it is easy (and cheap) to speak bravado and boasting, to speak of vengeance and power. How much more difficult (and costly) is it to speak love on the battlefield?

What if, when "terrorists" charge at us, Christians waited... just waited a moment? "Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage." Just wait a second! Slow down. Think about what we're doing, about how we're reacting, about the possible legitimacy of our enemies' grievances. Wait. "Wait for the Lord."

In this psalm we have preserved for us a precious jewel in the foundations of our faith tradition. Even in that violent, tentative time and culture, we have here an articulation of a fundamental conviction that stands in contrast with the bulk of human discussion. Perhaps, when asking ourselves which voice to follow, we should look at these exceptions with special care - and ask ourselves which genuinely represent the mind and will of God.

Christians may find ourselves standing on the wrong side of things.

Prophets and Capitals

Luke 13:31-35 (esp. v 33b)

"It is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem."

It isn't impossible for anyone to be killed outside of Jerusalem... just take them outside the city walls and execute them there! Jesus isn't making a statement about someone being killed, so much as he is making a statement about being a prophet. What makes someone a prophet is if they speak truth to power, if they confront the Powers That Be on their own territory with the word and will of God. And in an occupied land, Jesus preaching his message of renewal and resistance, Jesus must eventually preach it at the seat of the oppressive occupation - in Jerusalem. (For the same reason that Paul, speaking to the whole Roman Empire, must preach - and be killed - in Rome.)

If one is to be a prophet, one must speak truth to power - and worldly powers are seated in capitals (unlike the Reign of God which is spread throughout creation, and thus has no "capital"). Jesus is declaring his intention to continue the prophetic critique of the status quo. The prophetic voice - so strong and clear throughout much of Hebrew history - in Jesus' time had not been heard again for several hundred years. Jesus knew that God continued God's desire for unity, solidarity, charity, hospitality... and felt called to give voice to God's longing.

A capital is the centerplace of earthly organization - it concentrates wealth and resources, it decides where to allocate resources and attention, it guides the machinations of institutionalized relationship between people. It has so much potential for good, but so easily falls prey to greed, gluttony, and deceit. Still, Jesus weeps over the city and its wasted potential. It could be so much, do so much, feed so many, lift so many out of poverty, answer so many needs - but it refuses to do so. Even though Jesus senses that he is facing his death by bringing this critical voice to the capital (particularly at a nationalist festival time when crowds are already gathered and restless), he still feels a loving lament for the city. He wanted to gather Jerusalem like a hen gathers her chicks - a surprisingly warm and intimate sentiment, given his critical stance and Jerusalem's likely violent reaction. You can see here Jesus' underlying love for this world - even the fallenness of it. No part of this world is beyond redemption.

This is a tough call for me. It is as if I walked to Washington D.C. and into the White House and told George W. Bush that I loved him, that God loves him, and that he must stop being an international terrorist. If I could gather a crowd to listen to and support me, I might be arrested and detained as a terrorist myself (perhaps tortured and executed as well). But even in the midst of all that drama, Jesus would have me still see Washington as redeemable. I can see tremendous potential in Washington, but considering the tremendous suffering it has inflicted and is inflicting the world over, I find it difficult to see it as redeemable, let alone worth loving. But this is what I am called to do, as a disciple of Jesus.

This isn't some "Love America" spiel. Bush is called to make the same journey to Baghdad, or the Sunni Triangle, or whatever outpost of resistance that seems to be leading at the moment. I'm not saying America is ok in what it is doing - just as Jesus was not condoning the brutality of the Roman occupation by preaching in Jerusalem. But Jesus brought a loving critique. And that is what I have to remember. "Washington, Washington, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! See, your house is left to you - you will not see Christ until you say 'Blessed is the one who challenges us in the name of the Lord.'"

Isaiah 62:1-5

In the context of "Racial Justice Sunday" and so near the celebrations of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday, this scripture takes on forceful meaning. "For Zion's sake, I will not keep silent" - about injustice, about prejudice, about militarism, about nationalism. All of these themes King lived and spoke about. Our particular debt to King rests in his having put plainly before us the undeniable economic dynamics of our moral malaise. Racism is an economic proposition, too, designed and perpetuated in part to maintain economic relations in place. Injustice is an economic issue as well. Militarism and nationalism are racism writ large, and serve the same economic ends - to further enrich the wealthy, at the expense of maintaining the grinding poverty of the poor.

For the sake of Jerusalem I will not rest until her vindication shines out like the dawn. A declaration of commitment for justice activists today, and a pledge in Isaiah's day as well. Isaiah, we must remember, defined the true worship of God as defending the poor, the widow and the orphan, the stranger and foreigner. (And remember that he was speaking in the context of Israel being invaded by a brutal enemy, marching on Jerusalem itself.) For him, Jerusalem and the Temple were meant to be the center-place of worship of God - the epicenter of justice and right-treatment of others.

Isaiah was facing the imminent siege of Jerusalem. The invading Babylonians were laying waste to the countryside in their march to the holy city. And Isaiah steps back from this horrific scene of doom to say that Jerusalem will be a jewel, neither forsaken nor desolate, and that quite contrary to everyone's expectations Jerusalem will be rejoiced over by God because of her faithfulness - her treatment of the poor and lowly!

The actual fate of Jerusalem, we know from history, was more mixed - spared this time but later to fall to Babylon. But spoken on our lips, in our country, the pledge is no less poignant: we will not keep silent! We will stand up and protest and speak truth to power. We will set ourselves against the unjust actions of our nation and churches. We will rise up like lions after slumber, always before us the vision of the reign of God. We are not as naive as Isaiah was, believing that the king or president will obey God's Will in true worship, rather than serve the nationalistic, tribalistic, greedy and racist values that increase his wealth and power. The king and president serve Power. We serve God. And in God's reign there is no place for race or borders; no flags are flying in that kingdom. God serves all; so must we.

The nations will see our vindication, and we shall be called by a new name that the mouth of the Lord will give. There is yet no name to describe the citizens of this new kingdom, the kingdom of God, of Zion. We are yet indescribable, indefinite, beyond any label or category. We will be given a new name.

Let's work to be worthy of the new name, the new kingdom, the new world. Keep salvation burning like a torch, setting fire to pyres of injustice and inequality. And, of course, that means that something will have to burn before the day is done.