Jun 28 2020 Acts 17:12-34

The God who made the world and everything in it, he who is Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in shrines made by human hands, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mortals life and breath and all things. 

Last week, I returned to working in the office, physically distanced, with a face mask whenever I was in shared space. It was both familiar and foreign. I think that’s how our world’s return will be. We’ll return to things familiar, we’ll be grateful for the comfort of those familiar things, and then we’ll be struck by how foreign this new masked, distanced world is. And who knows when we’ll return to that new normal?  Strange times indeed. 

Churches are working to return to that new normal, with different strategies. In my work world, there are churches that are returning to in-person worship, physically distanced, and masked. There are churches that are conducting services in the parking lot, using transmitter radios so people can tune in on their car radios, unmasked, and see each other. One church has decided not to return to in-person worship until a vaccine is released, and all members can return to worship safely. Another has said they hope to open in December. 

On one hand, every priest in this area knows that God is not in the building. God does not live in a church or cathedral made by human hands. Every person of faith knows that too. I know God isn’t contained in a building. Jesus isn’t any more present in that crucifix, than in my living room. The Holy Spirit is no less alive in me, just because I can’t ‘go to church’. 

And yet, people of faith are yearning to return. Some of that may be habit; it’s what we do on our sabbath. Some may be the richness of the worship service or the jubilation of the praise music, or the collective energy of the gathered body of Christ. 

We know God isn’t in the building, or Jesus isn’t only contained in the Eucharistic bread and wine. We know God is alive and moving in the world, even when our church buildings are empty. 

The desire to gather is more about community. We want and need each other. And although it’s a wonderful technological tool, video conferencing is not the same as being in person. I had the honor at serving at an ordination yesterday, in person, with 25 people. Although we were masked and distanced, it was so nice to join others in worship, and to actually receive communion. 

So what do we do with the knowledge that God does not need shrines and encounters with Jesus are not restricted to those encounters that occur in collective worship, and yet we hunger to return?

I think what we do not do is return, disregarding the public health advice. We don’t gather in large masses, unmasked. Or if we do, we need to understand that while God may feel more imminent, so is the risk of transmission, illness and death. The risk is not just to those gathered, but to everyone they subsequently come into contact with. God, who doesn’t need a building, also made epidemiologists, who help us stay safe. 

I’m reminded of a great book, Canoeing the Mountains, about ministry leadership in uncertain times. Published in 2015, it long precedes this pandemic, but was talking about the changing world of ministry. Tod Bolsinger uses the story of Lewis and Clark as a great analogy. They started off with canoes, determined to get to the other side of the US. They were selected for the mission because of their great navigational ability of water, and thought they could canoe their way from St. Louis to the water way to the West. Little did anyone know they’d encounter the Rocky Mountains. At that point, they had a massively changed mission. The book chronicles the major lessons from their journey, and compares it to the world of ministry leadership, pulling salient lessons to carry forward.

The first lesson is that the world in front of you is nothing like the world behind. The canoes that Lewis and Clark thought would get them to the ocean would not help in the mountains. They could have decided to carry the canoes through the mountain (hence the title of the book), but instead they adapted, and changed the plan. That’s like ministry now. 

This morning, I’m thinking about what canoes we are trying to carry into the mountains. God is not in the church building, and neither are we in the same way we were. How is it we move forward with a new normal, that isn’t even defined. Perhaps we need to refocus on our mission. Church, as we know it, will likely be different moving forward. Our mission hasn’t changed. We are called to Love God, and Love each other. Instead of spending our time talking about how to canoe the mountains, or use the tools we had for the job ahead, we should look ahead and figure out what we need for that new world. It probably isn’t video conferencing, or a canoe. 

Jun 23 2020 Romans 4:1-12

Now to one who works, wages are not reckoned as a gift but as something due.

I’ve long heard about justification by faith, and not by works. As a constant do-er, I’ve always wondered about this, or at least struggled to understand how good intentioned, done-for-Christ actions aren’t what matter. I’ve understood that faith is better, and I’ve had to simply take that as, well, faith. It didn’t necessarily make sense to my constant-motion self. Of course, I’ve not been able to make sense of much of my faith, and have been willing to accept things throughout my life that don’t make sense, or at least things that I couldn’t wrap my head around. 

This morning’s reading from Romans explains much to me. Basically, Paul is explaining that when someone does works, they are paid because it’s due. That’s the problem with works. When we ‘do’ something to earn God’s grace, when it comes, it’s not a gift, but something we’re owed. That sounds far too transactional for the God of Grace and Love without cause or limits. 

Works aren’t inherently wrong. But when we do them, they should be done because it’s the right thing to do, not because anyone will thank us, or because another hash mark will be added to God’s great tally sheet. 

I’m reminded of my sick loved one. Sometimes they’re delightful to be around. Sometimes, not. Sometimes they’re demanding, and say mean things. My actions and support and love should not be conditional on their behavior, especially when it’s driven by illness. I should do the right thing, regardless. It’s not easy because we, unlike God do keep a tally sheet. If you’re nice to me, I can reciprocate. When you’re mean, there should be consequences. Sure, there can be natural consequences, like if you’re late, you miss the bus. But contrived or punitive consequences are must mean, and based on my sense of works. As Paul explains, to one who works, wages are due. You can get your wages, if you do the work or behave as I suggest. But when it comes to kindness, love, grace, and mercy, none of that should be based on works, or behavior. 

This morning, I’m thinking about how nice it is that God’s grace, love and mercy aren’t dependent upon my works or behavior. Mine shouldn’t be either.

Jun 21 2020 Acts 15:1-12

In cleansing their hearts by faith he has made no distinction between them and us. 

Peter is explaining to the devout Pharisees that circumcision is not required to be saved. God, through the universal gift of the Holy Spirit erased that distinction, along with others. Jew, Greek, slave, free. No distinction in God’s eyes (if God had eyes). It’s such an easy thing to profess, and to imagine that I’m like Peter, trying to tell others that there is no difference. 

This is especially true now, in the midst of the racial tension in this country. Come on, everyone! Don’t you know that there’s no difference? Can’t we all just get along?  There is an increasing number of people crying out, “there is no distinction between them and us!”  So why is more not changing?  Is it because the Peters of the world are up against more Pharisees?  Maybe. But I think it’s a bigger problem than that. 

The Pharisees were God-loving, religiously-conscientious people, who genuinely believed they were doing what was right. They had standards that they believed were true and right, and conveyed a truth about God and their relationship with God. They were not mean, hateful, power-hungry, antagonists, although they are often used as the example of all that Jesus was combating. 

I’m going out on a limb to say our problem today is that although many of us profess that we feel like Peter, trying to explain that there is no difference, I suspect we’re more like the Pharisees. We have standards. We are God-loving, religiously conscientious people, who believe we’re doing what’s right. At the same time, we’re crying out for the end of the systems of power and privilege – the very systems that have benefited us. 

My first example isn’t race-based, but it illustrates that deep-seated sense of decorum that creates an us vs. them mentality. Fresh out of Grad School, I went to a conference in Jackson Mississippi, on legislative auditing. Like I imagine Peter would have done, I railed against the confederate flags that peppered the town. But like the Pharisees, I secretly thought that people with the slow Southern drawl were somehow less intelligent, or more country-bumpkin-ish. I was amazed time after time when I met smart southerners. Um, that sure daylighted some of my Yankee implicit bias. 

In modern day, those biases continue, all the while I’m crying out for equality. African American vernacular is troubling to my ear. It sounds crass (read less proper). I’m certain in job interviews, white folks would make judgments about language, accent, word use – none of which is truly indicative of qualifications for a job. We, like the Pharisees, might argue that they need to dress and speak and groom like we do. In ancient days, we might have said they needed to be circumcised.

Huge hoop earrings, accents, long false eyelashes, words used that aren’t in our white man’s dictionary, a different sense of clothing style. As it turns out, these don’t matter any more than circumcision. We should not care. And yet we do. We secretly judge people who are not from the dominant culture as more than different, we judge them as less than. And by we, I’m speaking of me, and most of my loving Christian friends who’d be the first to stand up like Peter and say there’s no difference! 

We have work to do. The first part of work we have is to recognize that we’re probably more like the Pharisees than Peter, even if we don’t see it – especially because we don’t see it. It’s once we recognize that we do have expectations about others who should conform to our sense of right, that we can spot those expectations and genuinely start to dismantle the systems we’ve perpetuated that allow us to make those judgments in the first place. 

This morning, I’m thinking about how easy it is to relate to Peter, and decry racism, when I believe we’re more like the Pharisees, with the best of intentions, perpetuating expectations of circumcision. Today, I want to try to spot the little ways I’m more like a Pharisee. 

Jun 20 2020 Numbers 13:31- 14:25

[N]one of the people who have seen my glory and the signs that I did in Egypt and in the wilderness, and yet have tested me these ten times and have not obeyed my voice, shall see the land that I swore to give to their ancestors

We’re in this for the long haul, this life of faith. God has told Moses that none of the people who were brought out of Egypt will see the promised land. What a crushing disappointment. They’d survived years, wandering, eating manna instead of their beloved cucumbers and melon. They’d complained bitterly, and they left everything they’d known. And yet, the won’t finish this marathon they started; they won’t cross the finish line. How tempting it would be to give up, if they’d all known what Moses knew. How tempting was it for Moses to give up, knowing what he knew?

We live in tumultuous times. Even before pandemics and racial oppression, there was rampant homelessness, economic disparities, drug abuse, poverty. Add in these new threats of a pandemic and tension, and our collective problems have only increased. We may not see the end of economic disparities, poverty, racism. And knowing that, how tempting is it to give up? 

We may not see the end of those problems, but our progress, like the Israelites, is critical for our children’s progress, and our children’s children. We are not charged with reaching the promised land, but we are commanded to keep going. But we cannot equate our actions with any outcome or progress, lest we be tempted to give up. Of course, I want a better world, and of course I’ll do everything I can. But if God’s kingdom doesn’t come on my watch, I’m still called to keep going. 

This past week as been a wonderful week of celebrations and new ministry. I had the great privilege of serving at three physically distanced, face-masked, small gathering, ordination services, for three new deacons to God’s church. Their optimism and conviction about changing the world is inspiring, and much needed. Every day, people take up the marathon started back by the Israelites, and we continue today. Every act of grace and love and mercy, every act to dismantle the systems of racism, every missionary act and dollar donated. 

The Talmud is a body of writing of Rabbinic writings about Hebrew Scripture, and like the Christian writings of our ancient fathers and mothers, it contains timeless reflection on our scripture. The Talmud states, "Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief. Do justly now, love mercy now, walk humbly now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.”

This morning, I’m thinking about my small piece in alleviating the world’s great grief, whether it’s in my personal actions, or training the next generation for their actions. I’m also thinking about a history that’s strewn with people who did not abandon the work, but also didn’t complete it. They kept going, to assure that their successors could make it a little further. We must too.

Jun 16 2020 Numbers 11:1-23

Why have you treated your servant so badly?

Moses has led the Israelites out of Egypt. They hungered and prayed. God gave them manna to eat. Every day, enough manna to satisfy their hunger for the day. It could not be kept or stored or hoarded, otherwise it would go bad. But it came, every day. Enough for everyone. The Israelites complained, and kept trying to hoard, and store. Nope. It went bad, and they were back to receiving sufficient manna for their day. 

After a while, they got tired of the same thing, day after day. They lamented about the leeks and garlic, cucumbers and melon, that they had while in Egypt. And the meat!  They’d gone without meat and cucumbers and melon and leeks. Instead they got manna. Day after day, manna. They complained, and God got angry, and agreed to give them meat until it “comes out of your nostrils and becomes loathsome to you”. 

This pandemic is creating real economic problems. Both 24 Hour Fitness and Gold’s Gym have filed for bankruptcy. A Portland iconic restaurant has announced its closing most of its restaurants, along with dozens of others. Upscale dine-in theaters, Cinemax has declared bankruptcy, along with Penny’s, J Crew, Neiman Marcus, Pier 1. My undergrad college has closed, for good after 170 years. Other schools are also potentially closing.

This pandemic is taking away some of our choices. Our melons, cucumbers and garlic. To be clear, the economic impact on those employees is real, and I am not trying to dismiss that real problem. The lack of demand on the Egyptians for their cucumbers and onions would have created real economic loss too. 

I am absolutely certain that the Israelites were tired of manna. And yet, they had enough, every day. As Psalm 78 says,  Man ate of the bread of angels; God provided for them food enough. 

I am also certain that we will survive without J Crew, 24 hour Fitness, and dine-in movie theaters. God will provide for us food enough. 

I am not suggesting the pandemic or the resulting economic impacts are God’s way of right-sizing our economy, or that God wants to cause deep problems for anyone. And I think there might be some benefit from right-sizing our economy. 

This morning, I’m thinking about the Israelites complaining about manna day after day,  cucumbers, and Neiman Marcus. As opposed to pining for onions, I want to face each day remembering that Jesus taught us to ‘give us this day our daily bread’. I want to be grateful for the manna I have. I do not want meat coming out of my nostrils. 

Jun 15 2020 Matthew 17:14-21

‘Why could we not cast it out?’ 

Jesus has just healed the epileptic from the demon that was causing him to thrash about and fall in the fire and water. The father of they boy explains that he’d already brought the boy to the disciples, and they could not heal him. After the boy is healed and leaves, the disciples return to Jesus and ask why they were unable to heal the boy. Jesus’ answer? “Because of your little faith”. He went on to say that if they had faith the size of a tiny mustard seed, they could move mountains, and nothing would be impossible. Ouch.

I’m not sure what to do with this. In other stories, the disciples were able to heal, so it’s not that they were always without a mustard-seed-sized-faith. What do we do with this story, now in the midst of pandemic, deep racial unrest, and my family challenge of my sick loved one? 

What I believe ultimately about this is probably the conclusion from other things I believe. 

• God has the power to step in and fix everything. Pandemic, racial hurts and anger, and every sort of illness. God is all powerful. I do not believe God is impotent. 
• This isn’t about humanity needing to cry louder to God. God is omniscient. God knows all. God is not deaf. 
• As an individual person, my faith waxes and wanes. But that doubt of mine as to do with my ability to affect or change or improve things. I don’t, with very few exceptions, ever believe God couldn’t do anything. 
• I have no idea why God does not reach down and fix everything. But I don’t believe it’s out of malice, deafness, or capriciousness. 
• In the times of the disciples, I have to believe that they were deeply committed, and believed they could heal the boy. They were newly minted disciples of Jesus himself.

So if the disciples believed they could heal, if God is omnipotent, omniscient, and always loving, and if pain and suffering aren’t gone, why? 

The only part in this that seems to be tenuous to me is my personal faith in my power – or more accurately, my faith in God’s power through me, through all of us.  Maybe God equips us all with precisely what we need to fix everything. To end pandemics, racial injustices, illness, economic ruin. 

But maybe I’m not doing what God’s envisioned for me to do. Maybe my neighbor isn’t. Collectively we aren’t. Some people aren’t because they don’t know of God’s plans. Some aren’t because they are working against God’s plans. Some aren’t because they misunderstand God’s plans. Some aren’t because they don’t believe they have God’s power within them. 

Yes, God can accomplish anything. Yes, we collectively, fulfilling God’s dream here, could move mountains. But we aren’t collective. We aren’t working together. We doubt our mortal abilities, or God’s work in and through us. I’m reminded of a quip I read, but cannot now find that went something like, “Sometimes I look around and wonder why God hasn’t fixed this mess, healed the hurts, fed the hungry. God looks at me and wonders the same thing.” 

Maybe the lack of faith isn’t in God as an external, all powerful all loving being. Maybe the lack of faith is in ourselves. In God’s power in each of us. 

This morning, I’m thinking about why we cannot currently heal the sick and right the injustices. Maybe, collectively, with all of us doing God’s will with the gifts and talents we each have, and fully trusting that God’s power working in us, we actually can accomplish more than we could ask or imagine. 

Jun 13 2020 Matthew 17:1-13

But Jesus came and touched them, saying, ‘Get up and do not be afraid.’

This morning, we have another example of Jesus telling his disciples to not be afraid. It is the single most repeated sentiment from Jesus. Do not be afraid. And it comes at all sorts of times when normal folks would absolutely be afraid. Big storm in small boat. Do not be afraid if someone kills the body. Jesus walking on the water. Jesus shows up in the locked room after he’d been crucified. Or today’s story, Jesus is ‘transfigured’ or made very illumined after going up the mountain. 

To me, these are examples of the big difference between us mortals, and Jesus, God incarnate. Each of the circumstances would be terrifying, because they’re so far outside of our human experience or expectations. Jesus, God incarnate, shows the power and might of God, which of course would cause fear. It’s almost as if God is setting up a circumstance where fear would absolutely be the result, and a reasonable result. Perhaps like tempering metal, God was creating repeated tests, to make us stronger. And in each instance, the response was to remind us again we are not to be afraid. In all of these extreme circumstances, Jesus again reminds us to not be afraid. 

Here we sit, thousands of years later, still needing this message. It seems we’re tested, right and left. And yet, I can imagine that if Jesus was here, he’d be offering the same repeated message. Do not be afraid. 

• Unprecedented pandemic, killing hundreds of thousands of people worldwide. Do not be afraid. 
• Crushing economic disruption caused by shutting everything down. Do not be afraid. 
• Jobs lost, loved ones dying alone, stable housing jeopardized. Do not be afraid. 
• Unarmed black men killed at the hands of white men sanctioned to carry weapons. Do not be afraid. 
• Looting, riots. Do not be afraid. 
• Healthcare protections for transgender children of God removed. Do not be afraid. 
• An insidious disease like schizophrenia permanently changing the life of the sick, and their families. Do not be afraid. 
• Whatever it is that’s going on in my world, in your world that’s scary. Do not be afraid. 

As a people of faith in Jesus Christ, we are absolutely called to not be afraid. Some might argue that some of these current day problems cause anger, not fear, and that anger might be justified. But most often anger, at its root, is how we lash out when we’re afraid. If we are not afraid, perhaps the anger would dissipate too. 

I’m not suggesting things aren’t crappy. But we are absolutely called to rise above the absolutely normal reaction to be afraid, and I’d argue the resulting reaction of being angry. 

This morning, I’m thinking about how to respond to this world with love, rather than fear. Love in the face of the pandemic. Love in the economic and personal tragedy caused by the pandemic. Love in the face of continued white supremacy. Love in the face of mental illness. 

Love has the ability to stop fear in its tracks. I can see that when I get glimpses of love in action, in the face of what is scary. I want to be that person. I want to respond with love. I want to stop fear in its tracks. 

Jun 11 2020 Psalm 67

Let your ways be known upon earth, your saving health among all nations.

There’s a little recitation in the midst of Morning Prayer that is in a call and response format; the person leading prayer reads the first part, and everyone responds. It is a compilation from several bits of Scripture. It includes this sentence from Psalm 67. What that means is that every morning, I recite this sentence. So when I read it in the psalm, it warmed my heart because it is so familiar. 

Morning Prayer in its entirety has become familiar. It is a wonderful structure of consistent prayers and scripture readings that differ. There are parts I can settle in to and recite because I know the words. There are parts I rest in. And then there are the parts where I’m actively listening to the new words from God. In that mix of familiar and new, my mind settles in and is able to pray and to listen to God.

Even though I haven’t been writing daily, Morning Prayer has continued to be my morning rule. As we are looking at slowly reopening, I am thinking about how my Rule of Life, or my daily practices should adjust. Perhaps I will alternate writing with some intentional exercise, every other day. Perhaps I’ll pick up Evening Prayer,  which is structured much like Morning Prayer. Or the prayers for bedtime, known as Compline. Like with everything that’s reopening, I’m hoping to retain the best of what I’ve learned and gotten accustomed to, as opposed to just returning to my previous normal. 

I believe I’ll be returning to work next week, face mask and all. It won’t be like the past three months of working from home. It won’t be like the years before that. It will be like nothing I’ve seen or done. My mornings will be different too, as I get ready to go and add my commute time in my day. 

As I reenter a new and different world, I plan to rely on my regular morning prayer time, as something that is familiar and comforting. 

This morning, I’m thinking about the comfort of familiar things, especially when it seems most everything else is changing. 

Jun 7, 2020 Apostle’s Creed – Trinity Sunday

I

 believe in God the Father. . . I believe in Jesus Christ. . . I believe in the Holy Spirit

Every day in prayer, I recite the Apostle’s Creed. Every day in prayer I commit that I believe in God, Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit. And I believe in one God. 

Today my tradition celebrates the Holy Trinity – a great mystery that when I try to explain or understand, I’m pretty sure I dance through someone else’s heresies. As a deacon who did not go to seminary, or even have a class that attempted to explain the Trinity, I have nonetheless been charged with preaching numerous times on this day. And I still stand. 

Like much about my theology - or God thoughts (theo – logos), my thinking of the Trinity changes as I change. Here’s where I land today. 

I have no problem believing in God the Father, Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit. And that’s a good thing, because I recite it so frequently. I have no problem believing in one God. I don’t understand how that happens, or what it looks like. And all of my previous attempts at explaining that part of the trinity result in heresy. Nothing horrible, but not right either. If you want to see a little more about the ancient heresies, go to YouTube and search for St. Patrick’s Bad Analogies. It’s clean.

So I believe in three persons. One God, and have no idea how to explain or nor do I care to. But what I do have is a deep sense of how I experience that one God, that I attribute to the three persons. For me, when I see sunrises, mountain vistas, oceans, I sense God the Father. God, who created all that is. When I see human kindness in others, when I see goodness settling in, when I see the goodness of humanity, I sense the Holy Spirit. And when I see the eyes of someone in need, or receive human touch I need, when I experience God’s love through and by fellow children of God, I sense Jesus. And it’s all one God. One undivided Trinity. 

This morning, I'm thinking about how grateful I am that I've stopped thinking about some things. I believe in the Trinity. I believe in One God.  I don’t understand how it happens. I’m grateful it does. All I can say is Holy, Holy, Holy. 

Jun 6 2020 Matthew 15:1-20

So, for the sake of your tradition, you make void the word of God. 

Jesus has withstood another attack by the Pharisees, asking why his disciples eat with unclean hands. He swiftly dismisses their attack by reminding them that it’s not what goes into the mouth that defiles, but what comes out of the mouth. What comes out of the mouth – words – come straight from the heart, and can reflect love, light, grace, mercy, or can reflect evil intentions, slander or false witness. I think in this tumultuous time, we all need to be very careful what comes out of our mouth, as it reflects what’s in our hearts. The world needs more love, light, grace and mercy. Enough said about that. 

Jesus challenges the Pharisees that they make void the word of God, for the sake of their tradition. This feels pretty convicting to me today. How many of us participate in a faith tradition that somewhere, somehow makes void the word of God, all because we ascribe to that particular tradition?  

I’m not thinking about the particular rites or practices that might seem irrelevant. Christians who fast during Lent, Jews who have different pots for different foods. Done for the right reasons, and with the right intention, these practices can bring the believer a more imminent sense of the Holy. It’s hard to forget about God when you’re reminded several times a day with slight hunger pangs. These practices are a way to bring attention to God’s presence throughout our otherwise mundane days. Personally, I don’t think God cares about what I eat during Lent. But it helps me remember. 

At its most fundamental, I believe this sentiment is about Jesus’ great two commandments. Love God. Love your Neighbor. Simple, but not easy. Our faith says we should do this. And when we participate in a church meeting, or ascribe to a certain belief held by our tradition, we need to do that. Is everything we’re doing, everything we’re saying, everything we’re challenging – everything – supporting our basic duty to Love God and Love our Neighbor? 

This morning, I’m thinking about all of the opportunities I have to assure that my faith tradition fully and entirely Loves God and Loves our Neighbors. I love my faith tradition. I need to assure I never love it more than God or my Neighbor. 

Jun 4 2020 Galatians 3: 1-14

Having started with the Spirit, are you now ending with the flesh? 

We’ve now been home-bound, fretting about this pandemic for three months, and while things are maybe getting better, the new normal is not yet in sight. Meanwhile, emotions have rightly erupted over the senseless killing of another unarmed black man, George Floyd. Nightly protests have continued. 

Meanwhile, it feels like too many are starting with the spirit and ending with the flesh, as Paul chides the people of Galatia. We start with the true and noble goal of furthering God’s commandment. Love God. Love your neighbor. But somewhere along the way, we stop loving. We start sounding, to my ears, strangely similar to what we’re protesting. Don’t judge black people. The aren’t all criminals. Don’t treat black men differently in sentencing, in arresting, in searching, in killing. People are people. Yes!  

Maybe it’s just Portland, but I’ve seen ACAB written all over town. All Cops are Bastards. But shouldn’t those same protestors be able to see the hypocrisy in this pre-judged, or prejudiced attitude? All Cops?  Isn’t that the same as saying All Blacks? 

It is absolutely true there are some police who are rotten to the core. And that should be dealt with. And anyone who’s taken the Harvard Implicit Bias Test knows we all have implicit bias (If you haven't, I'd strongly recommend it)  Even knowing that the test is trying to see if you have a bias, and actively trying to beat the test renders nothing better than actual implicit bias (I’ve tried).

Everyone in our culture has bias, and unfortunately we all apply those implicit biases in our work. Our banking work, our food service work, our pastoral work, our realtor work, even our police work. We all use the tools available to us to unintentionally further our implicit biases. We deem some people less worthy so they get less of our time, our approvals, our forgiveness. It can’t not happen. The largest difference with police is the tools of their trade. When they apply their legitimate tools, people die. And add implicit bias to that, and the results are disastrous. But the same could be true for lenders, and realtors, and church leaders. When we apply the tools of our trade, combined with our implicit bias, the results are disastrous. 

We all start with the Spirit. Especially now, with so much wrong in the world. We want things better. We want all of God’s children to be loved. We want others to be treated with respect and dignity. We don’t want others to be judged. 

And despite the heinousness of any action, we are called to do the same. We are called to love. To treat everyone with respect and dignity. To not judge. 

This morning, I’m thinking about how hard it is to stick with the Spirit, when it sometimes seems so much more effective to lean on the foibles of the flesh, whether it’s prejudice, hatred, bias, violence, unkind thoughts, unkind words. We need to always stick with the Spirit. Love God. Love your Neighbor.