Omens and Epitaphs

Kathy and I drove to Boston a few years ago. The trip was to see an amazing art exhibition of William Turner's paintings. We had a wonderful time. In planning this little expedition, I thought why not stay in Concord. It's not far outside the city and Concord is the home of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. I have always wondered if the words written in Concord would find a complement in the town itself.

This was true and proved lovely. It was as if their essays and poetry dwelled in the woods and paths and homes. Thoreau walked at least three to four hours a day. Saying, "I have seen a great deal of the world walking around Concord." It was a thrill to do just that. Well, we drove mostly, but it was still exciting. 

One question I had was a matter of proximity. I wanted to see how dose Walden Pond is to the town of Concord. In other words, how much seclusion did Thoreau's find in his experiment of living in solitude. The answer was tricky. I could see how Thoreau could have lived a bit like a hermit in the woods, but I could also see how easy it would have been to visit friends. I knew he always ate dinner with his mother on Friday and that she did his laundry. But was this Friday dinner and laundry run a trek or a short walk? It was somewhere in the middle.

Thoreau has been in my mind these last few weeks. In times of political turmoil my habit is to go to the source, go to my personal foundation. When the storms come, I grab Thoreau before I batten the hatches. It's almost as if I need to remember why I am here. At some point in such a tumultuous time and debate in which we find ourselves, at some point someone will quote Thoreau, government that governs best governs least. I am sure such a statement will be used to justify the dismantling of the federal government.

In a sense he does stand on the side of undoing a federal government. Thoreau not only saw the federal government of his day as completely complicit in the crime of slavery he was also a cynic when it came to power and greed. He believed, as all cynics do, that we are prone to corruption, likely to fall to temptation, predictably and deeply flawed human beings. So less government was really about reducing the likelihood that we would injure and abuse one another.

His real views of government though were more than cynicism. Very similar to Emerson's "self-reliance," Thoreau believed you should govern yourself. You have the power and with great effort and honesty and determination you could live in peace with your neighbors. Civil Disobedience, his most famous essay, is not a helpful tool for those who simply want to protest or destroy. For with Thoreau, you are called to disobey what would take away your liberty, your ability to find freedom where you live. Freedom is nearby; it1s local. For Thoreau, if power needs to be held, then grassroots are the best place to hold it.

Localism is not a budgetary strategy but a belief in living where you are.

Our neighbor Bob was surprised when I shared this view with him. Given my commie leftist persuasion, Bob was surprised that our views were so similar with him being an NRA, Heritage Foundation right-winger. Other than a shared love of Jesus there wasn't a lot of common ground between Bob and me. Yet, in terms of localism, we were of the same mind.

All who know Bob believe he is a great man. His kindness, generosity and faithfulness are the stuff of legend. As Bob was both an elder of the church and my next-door neighbor, we were great friends. Bob liked to sleep in so I would plow his sidewalk in the mornings;

Bob knew how to fix just about everything, and he knew with six kids I tried to fix things on

my own. I did until Bob came over and guided me.

I remember when our foundation needed repainting. He said, you dig the trench and I'll bring the tools and mortar and show you how to do it.  I cherish the memory of being in that trench with a man who owned a large company, had achieved great wealth and success in life, but chose to spend his Saturday covered in mud with me.

Bob didn1t need me to agree with him or believe the same as him; he didn1t feel the need to identify my flaws or confusion. He wasn't kind so to convert me, win me over. We trusted that we canceled each other's vote, we trusted we would find little agreement about regulations or the decisions of the supreme court. But somehow, we trusted our friendship more.

Our common view of freedom surprised him. How could we who saw life so differently begin with the same idea? Localism was a common starting point that led us in very different directions. Like Thoreau we believed people were not to be trusted with great

power or wealth; don't expect great things from those who amass great power and wealth. We also believed people needed the freedom and liberty to find their way, find their truth. Not a law unto themselves or distracted anarchy. We trusted goodness, the divine. How and what that goodness made or didn't make, we went separate ways. But we both started with goodness.

In our reading today from Luke we have a similar place as to where Bob and I found common ground. The shared view is found in two teachings that should cancel each other out. The Son of Man will be betrayed, this is a very cynical view of life, a dark view of fate. Jesus is predicting his demise as if it is inevitable. At some point the spirit of generosity and freedom will suffer violence. Dark. The second teaching, greatness is found in meekness and humility, greatness is found in the child, in welcoming the child, this is not dark. This is a trust of innocence regained, of wonder and joy. This is the opposite of cynicism and fatalism. Welcoming the child is the greatest confidence in humanity, the most profound trust in our goodness.

This common ground of cynicism and hope, fatalism and faith is the work of Luke. In the Gospel of Luke, from time to time the author makes choices, arranges the stories and teachings in such a way that the arrangement is key to understanding them, or better yet living them. Luke puts the prediction of betrayal alongside the question of greatness. He puts things together that should cancel each other out.

If you  are cynical, and most people are cynical when it comes to things like

governments or power or greed or motives, if you are cynical, you take a dim view of humanity. People are broken. Don't expect more than a mess. Putting more broken people together and giving them power should not lead to good things.

This cynicism is lived as sophistication. We are smart, cultured, experienced to know bad things happen, things fall apart; it just takes a bit of power to corrupt even the best. It is what it is: this is cynicism. We don't say it is what it is when good things happen, when things work out. Cynicism is knowing what it is, how life is broken. People are broken.

Suffering is enviable. It is what it is.

In the early church, cynicism was a theological debate arising from our first lesson today. The church theologians argued over why Jesus was betrayed; why did he speak of it as fate; why was this suffering necessary? It is a really difficult question, especially when you put God in the mix. And it was not just his suffering that was debated, but ours as well. Jesus told is disciples if you follow me, you will be persecuted, hated, reviled. You will suffer the violence of betrayal.

For centuries there has been a debate over why Jesus had to die. Why does he predict his suffering and death? Most of the de bates try to define the purpose of suffering. Jesus dies for a purpose. This is Paul's view. The death of Jesus was the price paid for our sins,

our atonement. This was the purpose of his suffering. If you find such transactional grace

hard to take, you could consider the Docetist argument helpful. Jesus just appeared to suffer. This was a dramatic expression to lead us beyond the suffering of the body. The purpose was instructional.

From time to time the arrangement of the gospel has a powerful effect, a light to cast. If we take the question of suffering and fate and violence to its logical conclusion, then we will inevitably be confronted with varying degrees of cynicism. Paul on one extreme and Docetists on the other were both cynical. But Luke did something very powerful. Beside the dire prediction he placed a beautiful image. He balances the darkness of betrayal with the light of the child, welcoming the child. Luke seems to say, if you take up the hard question of power and greed and envy and the darkness, the darkness that would put Jesus to death, if

you are going to consider that, make sure you consider the child at the same time. Don1t let cynicism be the only voice. Even more, don't let cynicism have the last word.

Near the end of Thoreau's reflections about Walden Pond, there is a theme, a thread binding all the insights together. The theme is this: cast off wealth and possessions and ambition and political schemes, he says, sell your clothes and live in modesty. He bids you to lose all the possessions that keep us from being free. Like Emerson he believed what we possess owns us, our greed is a kind of possession. Give this up, Thoreau proclaims, so you can live in harmony with your neighbor and nature. Lay aside all that entangles and come to life as a child, become one ready to welcome the child.

I assume my friend Bob would have caught the scent of a redistribution of wealth scheme in the call of Thoreau. Fair. But it's not what Thoreau was calling for and more importantly it is not what Jesus calls us to do. There is a very clear message in our readings today, something very powerful. The message is this: be cynical, be cautious, be mindful of the inevitability of violence and cruelty. We are broken. But alongside, at the same time, keep this cynicism juxtaposed with wonder and delight and joy. Be more hopeful than you are cynical. Hopeful that our life, our time together, our day to day can find the freedom of the child in us, between us. Give away your life, lay aside all the greed and selfishness that incarcerates, be free from all that so to know the divine in us.

In the swirling storm of the last few weeks, I have found myself wanting to leave tbid earth for a little wbil.e. Walden Pond, its solitude is a lovely image, calls to me. Enticing.

Sometimes the darkness of cynicism is too much, too greasy. Makes me want to retreat to a tranquil place, take a bath. Like the disciples, when I try to understand the necessity of suffering, I am confused. My only certainty is my lack of certainty.

In this desire to withdraw I find our second lesson today, I hear Henry David saying, don't stay in the darkness, nor expect to be rid of it. It is what it is. And yet, remember, never forget, hope is greater. Great are those not overwhelmed by the darkness, great are those ever persisting in welcoming the child. Amen.