Monday, July 18, 2022

Donald Trump and the Decline of American Empire

 

Donald Trump and the Decline of American Empire

July 18, 2022

 

This is a relatively long essay by my standards. It probably says more than it needs to say to make its point. So before I start I’ll give you the Cliff Notes version: A healthy nation would never make Donald Trump its president. The United States of America made Donald Trump its president. Therefore, the United States is not a healthy nation. It is an empire in decline, and Donald Trump is a symptom of that decline. You can stop reading here if you don’t want to follow my wanderings toward an explanation of that truth. You’ll still have gotten the main point.

 

The United States of America is an empire in decline. It has been an empire for most of its existence, and it has been in decline at least since the 1960s. It reached its imperial peak after World War II. By then it had conquered and suppressed (and worse) the Native Americans whose land it stole and occupied. It had taken what became the American southwest in an imperialistic war against Mexico. The country had imperial outposts in the Philippines, Samoa, Guam, Hawaii, and Puerto Rico. As the strongest western victor in World War II, it had positioned itself as and proclaimed itself to be the major opponent of the Soviet Union, that totalitarian state that was more responsible for the defeat of Nazi Germany than the United States or any other nation had been. The country masked its imperial status and ambitions so effectively behind a claim of standing for freedom and fighting Communism that few Americans even realized that they were citizens of an empire, but they were. So are we.

No empire lasts forever. The history of what we call the west (west of course being a relative term) can be seen primarily as a story of the rise and fall of empires. The Assyrian Empire rose, then fell to the Babylonian empire, which rose and fell to the Persian empire, which rose and fell to a Greek empire, which rose and fell to the Roman Empire. The Egyptian empire rose, lasted for a very long time, but eventually fell to the Greeks and the Romans. In the eastern part of its realm the Roman Empire morphed into the Byzantine Empire, which rose and fell to the Ottoman Empire, which lasted until 1918, then disappeared from history. After the space of a millennium or so in which they amounted to essentially nothing, the western European nations Spain, Portugal, France, the Netherlands, Great Britain, and to a lesser extent Germany and Belgium, established empires in lands far removed from Europe. In eastern Europe, over the centuries, the Russian Empire conquered and absorbed Finland, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, part of Poland, the Belorussian and Ukrainian people (who did not have their own nation states at the time), Georgia, Azerbaijan, Armenia, and vast territories in central Asia. It stretched as far from the Russian homeland as northern California. The Russian Empire rotted internally to the point that it was conquered by its own Communists. Those Communists turned most of the former Russian Empire into the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, which rotted internally to the point that it too collapsed. When the USSR was dissolved on December 25, 1991, Russia lost the remaining non-Russian parts of its empire. Elsewhere, the overseas empires of the European powers gradually disappeared as non-European people around the world demanded and eventually got their political independence from their European conquerors.

After World War II the United States filled the power vacuum created as those European empires disappeared. It became the world’s dominant economic power. It stationed its military all over the world to protect its economic interests and political power. It claimed that its military was defending American freedom, but for the most part it wasn’t doing that at all. It was extending and protecting American empire. It still does. Now America is an empire in decline. The future is of course uncertain, but there is good reason to believe that America’s imperial position in the world, which it is losing, will be filled by China. Vladimir Putin’s Russia would love to replace America as the dominant world empire, but, unlike China, it lacks the ability to do so.

Although most of the European powers lost their empires without major internal decay, they are the exception not the rule in that regard. Rome is the classic example of an empire that rotted from within even as it was regularly attacked by foreign peoples. In the west, the culture and political structure of Rome survived only in the form of the Roman Catholic Church, which is essentially imperial Rome present in today’s world nominally at least as a church not an empire. When a people loses its empire, that people virtually disappears from the face of the earth. Today there are no Assyrians or Babylonians. The secular culture of Rome continues to have influence in Europe (and Louisiana) primarily through law codes derived from Rome, but there are no ancient Romans around. Rome’s impressive physical infrastructure fell into decay and ruin as the Roman people lost their ability to maintain empire.

As I’ve already said, the Untied States is an empire that has been in decline at least since the 1960s. The Vietnam War is evidence of that decline. The US fought an imperialistic war against North Vietnam and much of the population of South Vietnam. It lost. Another major and related symptom of decline was the election of Richard Nixon as president in 1968. He was a deeply flawed human being, and by 1968 it was obvious to anyone who would look at the evidence that he was. The American people made him president because he represented their reactionary response to the movements for freedom and justice that were afoot at the time.

One characteristic of most if not all empires is that there is in them an immense wealth gap between a small number of very wealthy people and everyone else. That certainly was true of the empires of the ancient world. It was true of Great Britain in its high imperial stage. It has been and is true in many parts of the world formerly ruled by European empires, which empires did nothing to address it. It was true in the United States in the age of the great industrialists of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It became less true after the reforms of the New Deal in the 1930s. After World War II it was less true because of an income tax system that had the wealthy paying significant amounts of tax. The top marginal tax rates during the Eisenhower administration were very much higher than they are now. The middle class benefited and grew.

Then came Ronald Reagan and his tax policies. He began the practice, followed essentially every president ever since, of slashing taxes for the wealthy but hardly at all for the rest of us. Reagan’s “voodoo economics,” as George H. W. Bush called them before he became Reagan’s vice president, with its “trickle-down” theory, claimed that “a rising tide lifts all boats.” What is did was lift all yachts. Income distribution in the US today is grossly uneven. The country’s income tax structure is grossly unfair to the middle class and the poor. It benefits only the rich. Such it ever is with empire.

Nations often turn to authoritarian and even totalitarian politicians when those politicians promise to reverse the process of change that the people experience, if perhaps only subconsciously, as decay. Classic examples are Russia’s turn to the Communists in 1917 and thereafter and Germany’s turn to the Nazis in 1933. Both Communism and Nazism, in their separate ways, promised the people either the creation of an ideal world of peace and justice or a renewed and expanded dominance for their nation. Both were reactionary responses to internal decay and national decline. Richard Nixon wasn’t a totalitarian nor even as much of an authoritarian as perhaps he wanted to be. Nonetheless, he represented a reactionary step in response to a changing world. He wasn’t so much a cause of America’s decline as a symptom of it.

The American people have turned to conservative presidents ever since in a vain attempt to hold on to what they know they are losing. Since Nixon we’ve had an ineffective but quite conservative Democrat, reactionary Republicans with Ronald Reagan being Exhibit A, and more conservative Democrats as president. Clinton adopted many Republican policies, and even Barack Obama, in whom so many of us put so much hope, was nowhere near as progressive as we thought he would be or as he needed to be. At least since Nixon, America’s political culture has been trying desperately to apply the brakes, with limited or no success, to worldwide change that we know is a move away from American hegemony, from American empire.

Which brings us to Donald Trump. Although he lost the popular vote to Democrat Hillary Clinton, this country’s federal system, which gives disproportionate power to small population states, made him president in the presidential election of 2016. He was president until January 20, 2021, when Joe Biden, who had beaten him in both the popular vote and the electoral college vote in the 2020 presidential election, became his successor in office. Donald Trump was easily the worst president in American history. He was, and is, so bad that it’s hard to know where to start to list the ways in which he damaged this country and the world. The only good thing one can say about him is that he didn’t get us involved in another unwinnable, imperialistic war the way some of his predecessors did. That’s no small accomplishment, but everything else about him was, and is, so bad that he fully deserves the title of worst American president ever. Because my focus here is on the decline of American empire, I’ll concentrate on the ways in which Trump was and is a symptom of that decline and the ways in which he accelerated it.

We start with the fact that no healthy nation would ever make Donald Trump its president. He was by far the least qualified person ever to assume that office. He was a New York real estate wheeler-dealer who claimed to be a genius at business but who had declared bankruptcy more than once. He was a con artist who bilked people out of their money with scams like “Trump University,” which wasn’t even close to being a university and which offered people essentially nothing for their money. He had a reputation for not paying contractors who had done work for him. He had been married three times and had cheated on all three of his wives. It was obvious that he was a sexist and a misogynist. There was good reason to believe that he was a racist too. He had no political experience whatsoever. He had become famous mostly through a TV show in which he was able to keep shouting at people, “You’re fired!,” something he obviously enjoyed doing. Trump was and is a buffoon, a swindler, a cheat who cared and cares about nothing and no one but himself. That he became president of the US is in and of itself evidence that something is seriously wrong with this country.

Trump and the Trump phenomenon were reactions against the way the country was changing. We see that fact in the slogan he used for his 2016 presidential campaign and continued to use thereafter, namely, “Make America Great Again.” He and his supporters used that slogan so often that MAGA became shorthand for the Trumpist movement. It isn’t at all clear what Trump meant by “great,” but this slogan clearly points backwards rather than forwards. It calls not for creating a new, better future but only for recreating a past that actually never existed except in our national imagination.

The demographics and culture of this country are changing in significant ways. They have been changing for quite some time now. America is become more diverse not less. For its entire existence up to the 1950s, and to a considerable extent for decades thereafter, white, Protestant men ran this country and virtually everything that happened in it. That is no longer as true as it used to be, and it becomes less true all the time. White men are losing the unjust dominance they had, and many of them feel threatened by that loss. It used to be true that poorly educated men could make a decent living as unskilled or only slightly skilled laborers in manufacturing and mining. That is for the most part no longer true, and a great many poorly educated, mostly white men long for a return to the time when it was true. Trump promised them that time was possible and that he would make it happen. It wasn’t possible, and there was no way he could make it happen, but desperate, gullible people in their millions took Trump’s bait and voted for him though he was a man who never should have been allowed anywhere near the levers of power.

Racism played and plays a big role in Trump’s appeal. So did and does xenophobia. So does cultural and religious prejudice. The first things he said he’s do were ban all Muslims from entering the country and build a wall along the entire length of the US-Mexico border to keep undocumented people out. That’s 1,954 miles of fence, assuming that you even could build a wall along all of the border. In reality Trump could do none of those things, and building his wall would not improve our immigration issues on our southern border. Moreover, both of those things are culturally and morally despicable. They did however appeal to a great many Americans of the formerly dominant demographic because of the unease they feel about a changing world.

Trump’s racism shows how he is both a symptom and an accelerator of America’s decline. Racism is America’s original sin. This country has been racist to the marrow of its bones from the beginning. It still is, but since roughly the 1950s we have made at least some significant progress in atoning for that sin. Trump brought American racism, which had become less apparent but still existed, into the open. He made overt racism more socially acceptable in some parts of American society than it had been for a long time. Once a bunch of white supremacist thugs marched through Richmond, Virginia, chanting “Jews will not replace us!” A group of people demonstrating for equality and justice met and opposed them. Trump said that there were decent people on both sides. There weren’t, but Trump’s blessing of the violent racists appealed to the racism and xenophobia of so many Americans. Trump accelerated America’s decline by affirming negative aspects of American culture that many of us were trying, with some success, to overcome.

As bad as that was, it wasn’t the worst thing Trump did as president. All through his presidency he showed that he has no respect for or appreciation of American’s constitution, the governmental structure it creates, or the rule of law. He tried to make the Department of Justice his personal law firm. He resisted the Mueller investigation into his campaign’s connections with Russia and his efforts to obstruct that investigation. He put in a compliant Attorney General, William Barr, who quite happily and effectively lied to the American people about what was in Mueller’s final report. Trump claimed that the report exonerated him. It didn’t.

Yet the worst of Trump’s contempt for the constitution and the rule of law didn’t become fully evident until the presidential election of 2020. As early as his presidential campaign in 2016, Trump claimed that he could lose the election only if it were “rigged” against him. His enemies could steal the victory from him, but he could not otherwise lose. Of course, he won the electoral college vote (though not the popular vote) in 2016, so that election wasn’t rigged enough to keep him from winning. Because he became president, the supposed theft of his popular vote victory didn’t matter so much.

Then came Trump’s campaign for reelection in 2020. Again, long before any votes were cast, Trump claimed that the only way he could lose was if the election were rigged against him. This time he lost both the popular vote and the electoral college vote. Under the US constitution and other election law, his term as president would end on January 20, 2021, when former vice president Joe Biden, who won both the popular vote and the electoral college vote, would be inaugurated as Trump’s successor in office. So of course, according to Trump, his landslide victory had been stolen from him by despicable Democrats and “never Trump” Republicans. He refused to concede the election. A political candidate’s refusal to concede an election loss is legally meaningless. There is no legal requirement that a losing candidate concede, and their conceding has no legal significance when they do. So it’s wouldn’t have mattered much that Trump didn’t concede if that were all he did.

It wasn’t. After he lost the election in early November, 2020, Trump began an assault on the American constitution and system of government by seeking in various ways to have the results of that election overturned. He filed something like sixty-one lawsuits in state and federal courts in an effort to get the courts to void the election results in their states. He lost sixty of those suits, and the one he didn’t lose has had no significant legal effect. The courts often chided his lawyers for having filed cases with no evidence to support them. That’s a breach both of court rules and a lawyer’s ethical duty. One of those lawyers, the formerly respected but now thoroughly discredited former mayor of New York City Rudi Giuliani, has had his licenses to practice law suspended in both New York state and Washington, D.C. He should and perhaps will be disbarred.

Trump did a lot more than file frivolous lawsuits in his effort to reverse his election loss. He asked the Republican secretary of state of Georgia to “find” him the votes he needed to reverse Biden’s narrow victory in that state. In several states that Trump lost, his supporters, certainly at least with his blessing if not at his instigation, had people who were not the state’s properly chosen electors make up false certificates saying they were the state’s electors. One or more of the states where that was done submitted those fake certificates to Congress, a clear violation of federal law. Trump tried to get the Department of Justice to seize the voting machines of the swing states he lost. The Department of Justice refused. Nothing worked. Joe Biden was still going to be inaugurated as the next president.

So Trump and his team of advisors who some in the Trump orbit came to call “the crazies” turned to an aspect of American election law few Americans know about. That law provides that on January 6 of the year after a presidential election both houses of Congress shall meet in joint session to receive, count, and certify the electoral votes of the several states and the District of Columbia. In his role of president of the Senate, the sitting vice president presides at that joint session. Trump’s “crazies,” including Giuliani, came up with the bogus theory that the vice president had the legal authority to reject the electoral votes of any state. The vice president has no such authority. Nonetheless, Trump began to pressure Vice President Mike Pence to do just that. Pence, thank God, refused to do it.

Trump kept up the pressure on Pence. He called for his supporters to come to Washington, D.C., on January 6, telling them it was going to be “wild.” Thousands of people responded. On the morning of January 6, 2021, Trump and his “crazies” held a big rally down Pennsylvania Avenue from the Capitol. Giuliani and others whipped up the crowd, many of whom Trump knew were armed. Trump told them he hoped Mike Pence would “do the right thing,” saying he wouldn’t like Pence so much if he didn’t. Trump sent a mob of his frenzied supporters down Pennsylvania Avenue to the Capitol. He said he would be there with them. News reports say he really did want to go to the Capitol, but the Secret Service took him to the White House instead.

Then at the Capitol all hell broke loose. Trump supporters, engaged in insurrection against the government of the United States, erected a crude gallows outside the building and began to chant “Hang Mike Pence!” The mob included a group from the white supremacist group the Proud Boys, who came in military-style gear. They marched through the crowd in a single line that, we’re told, was a tactic the United States Army used in certain situations. They and other rioters broke into the Capitol, smashing doors and windows in the process. The Secret Service rushed the vice president out of the House chamber where the joint session was held. They took him to a parking garage where they told him to get in a vehicle. He refused. Representatives and Senators fled or hid behind furniture in the House chamber. The Capitol police, who fought the mob bravely but were vastly outnumbered, told the congresspersons to put on the gas masks that were stored under the seats in the chamber. Who knew there were gas masks under those seats?! The Capitol police shot and killed one rioter as she tried to break into the House chamber. Rioters ran amok through the building. At least one of them carried a Confederate battle flag, something that hadn’t even happened during the Civil War. The riot just went on and on. The rioters said they were there because Trump told them to be there.

Meanewhile, back at the White House, Donald Trump sat watching the insurrection on television. Numerous supporters of his, his staff, and even his family pleaded with him, mostly by text messages, to go on television and tell the rioters to go home. Yet for more than three hours Trump did nothing. There has been testimony that he said he agreed that Mike Pence deserved to be hanged. Eventually Trump did tell the rioters to go home, in the process calling them patriots and repeating the lie that the election had been stolen from him.

In the aftermath of the January 6 riot the House of Representatives impeached Trump for a second time, this time for his involvement in sparking the riot. Once again the Senate acquitted him in a vote that was clearly political not legal. There have been hundreds of criminal prosecutions of the rioters. A “select committee” of the House of Representatives, made up mostly of Democrats but with two Republicans brave enough to sacrifice their political careers by standing up to Trump, has been investigating the January 6 riot and Trump’s attempts to overturn the results of a free and fair election. This committee has held several public “hearings” in which they have made effective presentations of damning evidence against Donald Trump. As of this writing they have one more such hearing scheduled. They may or may not have more hearings after that one.

What does all this have to do with the decline of the American empire? Here’s what. Donald Trump is the first American president ever to attempt to overthrow the US constitution and the rule of law. He has millions of supporters in that effort. Not since the Civil War has there been a fascistic movement like Trump’s that was anti-democratic, that was willing to use force to control the American national government with no regard for the law or the will of a majority of the American people. Fortunately, though there are many of them, Trump’s supporters remain a minority of the American people. Yet their disdain for constitutional government and the rule of law is a symptom of America’s decline. When empires are thriving few if any of their people seek to overthrow them. When they are in steep decline things change. We get things like the Russian Communists and the German Nazis, who use every tool imaginable to overthrow the government, undermine the rule of law, and impose tyranny on their people. Trump and his supporters have not committed crimes against humanity the way the Soviet Communists and the Nazis did, but they have tried to overthrow the US constitution and subvert the rule of law in a way that is at least a faint echo of Soviet and Nazi tyranny and terrorism. No such thing happened in this country when it was at the height of its imperial power.

Trump and his supporters are both a symptom and an accelerant of American decline. They try frantically to reverse that decline, which is impossible. Empires in decline eventually cease to exist. The American empire still exists, but its days are numbered. Numbered perhaps in decades not years, but numbered nonetheless. That Trump and his insurrectionists nearly succeeded in their attempted coup d’état is evidence of just how weak the American empire has become. It is not much threatened by external enemies. It is threatened from within by people whose desperation is causing them to abandon traditional American values like the rule of law. The Russian Empire was never conquered from without. It collapsed from within. The German Empire, the “Second Reich,” was conquered from without in World War I, but it was economic and moral collapse from within that produced the Nazis. The American empire is declining from within in a similar way. Under Trump if very nearly collapsed.

The decline of the American empire can’t be stopped, but it could be managed. The United Kingdom is an example of how a nation can cease to be an empire without completely collapsing. After World War II, England let its empire go. The country’s law and unwritten constitution survived. Empires that resist decline collapse. Empires that manage decline can survive. What would a managed American decline look like? It would be a complex operation to be sure, but a good place to start would be drastically to reduce America’s military footprint around the world. One major manifestation of American empire is precisely the enormous size and reach of the American military. Military spending was a major cause of the collapse of the Soviet Union. It isn’t yet causing a collapse of the United States; but as US dominance in the world wanes, maintaining immense armed forces around the world will become even more economically irresponsible than it already is. A declining empire means a declining economy. We need to manage our decline in a way the minimizes the harm the decline could cause. Reducing military spending could be a big part of doing so.

Beyond that, we must stop playing the role of world cop. Why do so many nations and peoples in so much of the world look to the United States to get involved in their internal problems? It’s because we are still the dominant world empire. As we cease to be the dominant world empire, as we inevitably will, we will have to let peoples and nations in other parts of the world handle their problems without looking to the United States for solutions. To manage internal disruption from the loss of empire we will have to establish a just tax system and reduce the wealth gap between a small number of immensely wealthy people and the rest of us. No doubt other measures will have to be taken as well. The loss of empire needn’t be a disaster. Ignoring it will make it one. The choice is ours. May we choose better in the future than we have in the past.

Friday, July 15, 2022

On Human Cruelty

  I do not typically put my own journaling on this blog, but I think something I wrote last night might be posting. So here it is, mostly unedited.

I write here not because of what I think but because of what I feel. I just read an essay by John Green about bears. He talks about bearbaiting and bear hunting. And I thought, I just don't get human cruelty. Most of all being exposed to it even just in writing breaks my heart. It also makes me angry. I jut don't get it. How can so many people inflict physical and emotional pain on other people and other living things? The Nazis murdered six million Jews, but it wasn't the Nazi party that did it. Nazi ideology probably inspired it, but ideology didn't do it. Human beings did. Human beings systematically killed millions of other human beings as though that were a perfectly normal, acceptable, and moral thing to do. Under Stalin the KPSS [the Communist Party of the Soviet Union] murdered millions upon millions of people, but it wasn't the party that did it. It was ordinary Russian and other human beings who confiscated food from peasants so they would starve to death. Who spent eight hours a day shooting people in the back of the head. Who worked other people to death in the Gulag. And I just don't get it. Ordinary people from every nation on earth put on military uniforms, are trained to kill other human beings, then go kill them as though that were an ordinary, acceptable, and moral thing to do. It isn't, and I can't understand how so many people can fail to understand that it isn't. On an individual level spouses beat up their spouses. Men rape women and even little girls. People abuse animals and cause them immense suffering. People unload AR-15s into classrooms or crowds of people for no conceivable reason. Prison workers calmly put other human beings to death as though that were a moral thing to do. It isn't. Earlier today I read Jim Wallace's account of the two year old boy both of whose parents died protecting him from the Fourth of July gunman in Illinois. Some heroes returned to the fire zone to rescue him. As they carried him to safety he cried, "Shot. Shot Mommy. Shot Daddy." Reading that story brought me to tears Writing about it just now did too.

So why do we do it? How can we do it? Why doesn't the very thought of harming or killing another human being let alone millions of them reduce us to tears? Why do so few Christians understand and live by Jesus' teaching of nonviolence? When did forming up in armed ranks to go kill other people become a Christian thing to do? When did fire bombing Dresden and Tokyo and dropping atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki become a moral, Christian thing to do? It isn't It can't be. It is the infliction of inconceivable suffering and death on other human beings. Calling them the enemy doesn't make torturing and killing them moral. We may make them our enemy. God makes them every bit as much God's people as we are. I just don't get it. It burdens my spirit. It breaks my heart. Why are we humans so cruel? How can we be so cruel? I don't understand it. I will go to my grave not understanding it. All I can do is cry Lord forgive! Lord have mercy! And that isn't enough. It never has been and never will be enough.

Why do I feel this way about human cruelty so much more strongly than most people do? Is it because I was bullied as a child? Is it because I take Jesus' teaching of nonviolence seriously? I have never personally experienced anything much like the cruelty I've described here. Even being bullied was nothing like what so many humans inflict on so many other humans. I grew up in a safe home. I've never really been personally unsafe. I have suffered pain some both physical and emotional, but other people's cruelty hasn't caused that pain. Is it a genetic disposition? Maybe. Is it a weakness? Many people would say yes. I don't think it is, but it makes me awfully vulnerable. I feel assaulted by all the bad news these days. Life must be easier with a hard heart than with a soft one. Hard hearts rule the world, and no cruelty is too vile for them to use doing it. I have so many questions and so few answers. So few answers.

Wednesday, July 13, 2022

Stick to the Text

 

Stick to the Text!

July 13, 2022

 

The Scripture quotations contained here are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A., and are used with permission. All rights reserved.

 

Of course, when I was in seminary I had some courses on the Bible. There was a general introduction to both Testaments of the Bible. There was a class on the prophets, or at least some of them. I did some work on the writings of the Apostle Paul.[1] These parts of my MDiv program all had different professors, but there was one phrase that all of them drummed into our heads. It became almost a mantra: “Stick to the text!” When you’re doing any kind of exegesis of any biblical text, “Stick to the text!” Don’t go  wandering off making the text mean something you want it to mean even though that meaning is not sufficiently grounded in the text. Don’t go speculating about facts that aren’t in the text at all. Don’t go asking questions about the content of a text that the text doesn’t ask about itself. I got it. I think I still get it. Stick to the text!

I was reminded afresh of this mantra recently in a discussion of a biblical text with some friends and colleagues of mine. I was reminded about how easy it is for us to insert things into biblical texts that just aren’t there. A friend and colleague of mine wanted to do something with a biblical text reminded me of what I had learned so long ago. In a small pastoral support and lectionary study group in which I participate, we were discussing the story from Luke of Jesus’ visit to two sisters named Mary and Martha. You’ll find it at Luke 10:38-42. In this story, Jesus enters the house of a woman named Martha. We’re told that Martha has a sister named Mary. We’re also told that Mary “sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying.” Luke 10:39. Martha, on the other hand, was “distracted by her many tasks.” Luke 10:40a. Martha complains to Jesus that her sister isn’t helping with her with those tasks. Jesus replies to her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” Luke 10:41-42. Whereupon the story ends.

The story seems innocent enough, I suppose. It quite obviously is telling us that no matter how many other things we have to do, it is still most important to listen to Jesus. It probably seems to us that that’s about all there is to learn from this story. That, however, isn’t all there is to learn from it. To understand what else the story can teach us we need to learn some things about the context in which this story was first told.[2] We understand first that the story sets up the culturally standard way in which rabbis like Jesus instructed the people who came to listen to them. (Unfortunately, the rabbis back then were all men. The word rabbi means teacher.) The rabbi would sit in a chair or on something else that elevated him a little bit. The people he was teaching would sit on the floor, thus at a level at least a little bit lower than the rabbi. They would literally sit at the rabbi’s feet. Thus, the story’s first listeners or readers would find nothing odd about a student sitting at a teacher’s feet.

They would find something very odd about Mary doing it. We must understand that in the story’s original culture only men were permitted to sit at a rabbi’s feet and listen to him. Men could sit and learn from a rabbi, women could not. When we understand that truth about the story’s original context, we see how radical, revolutionary even, the story was. Mary has taken the expected gender roles of her culture and overthrown them. Rabbi Jesus approves of her doing so. Mary has taken a place reserved for men. Both the Jewish culture in which Christianity arose and the Greek culture through which it spread were strongly anthropocentric. Men were privileged over women. Men were active in public life, women mostly weren’t. Men studied the texts of their faith, women didn’t. Whether the audience that first heard this story was Jewish or Greek, the men in that audience—there wouldn’t have been any women in it—would have been shocked by what Mary does and probably appalled that Jesus affirms her doing it. That’s how it was with so many things Jesus said and did. He turned the world of his day—and of ours—upside down. That, I think, is the primary lesson Luke wanted to make with this story. At least that’s what I have long taken to be the story’s primary lesson. I still do.

Now, obviously, I have done something here other than just look at the text of the story. I have delved into the world behind the text, into the story’s original context. I have used what I found there in finding meaning in the story. So have I violated my professors’ mantra, “Stick to the text”? Though it may seem that I have, I actually haven’t. Rather, I have used a customary and necessary tool for understanding any text, namely, an examination of the text’s original context. When we do that we often find new meanings in the text that we’d never discover merely by reading the story in our context. We have learned things the story’s author could assume his audience knew but that we can’t assume anyone knows today. If we have read anything into the story, it is only what the author originally assumed.

So back to my friend and colleague. As we discussed this story, he wanted to consider what it would mean if we assumed that Mary didn’t just listen to Jesus but entered into conversation with him about the things he was saying to her. In our contemporary context, that surely would happen. In our world students interact with their teachers all the time. Some of the richest learning comes from that interaction. When my friend started talking about Mary doing that I said, “but the story doesn’t say that.” It says she listened to him and nothing more. To think or speculate that she did something other than that is to read something into the story that just isn’t there. This friend of mine also wanted to assume that Martha heard Jesus and Mary speaking with each other. Could Martha have heard them? Perhaps, but the story doesn’t say that she did. Neither does it say she didn’t. I said this story, like most Bible stories, is skeletal storytelling. It gives us just enough facts to make its point. The author of the story didn’t need to say anything about Martha hearing them or not hearing them to make the main point he wanted to make with the story. So he didn’t say anything about it. We don’t hear this story the way its original audience did even when we have learned important things about the story’s original context. That context is not our context. This story does of course have something to say to us about gender roles even though our world is not quite as anthropocentric as Jesus’ world was, or as Luke’s world was too. But that truth doesn’t mean we can legitimately make up facts to insert into the story.

Because so much biblical storytelling is so bare bones, we often have questions that the story we’re reading neither asks nor answers. The Parable of the Prodigal Son is a good example. You’ll find it at Luke 15:11-32. We have questions like: What specifically did the son do while he was off squandering his inheritance? People often say he consorted with prostitutes, but the story doesn’t say that he did. Did he ever get any more of his father’s estate? Did he actually work for his father as a hired hand as he had planned? Did he and his brother ever reconcile? I have all of those questions about this parable, and I have heard other people wonder about them as well. Yet I avoid projecting speculative answers to those questions into the story. Answers to them just aren’t necessary for the story to make its central point about unconditional grace. I suppose we can make up answers to our questions if we want, but doing so is really nothing but idle speculation, so why bother?

So I’ll say again what my seminary professors said to me so many times years ago: Stick with the text! Work with it. Study what scholars have said about it. (There’s absolutely nothing in the Bible that scholars haven’t worked to death.) Learn about the story’s original context. Wrestle with any linguistic ambiguities the story has, and the Bible is full of linguistic ambiguities. Compare different translations of the story. All of those things are legitimate, helpful, and appropriate things to do. Reading things into the text, or ignoring things in the text for that matter, isn’t. So I’ll close where I started: “Stick with the text!”

 



[1] My seminary was the School of Theology and Ministry of Seattle University, a Roman Catholic university. One of the very few shortcomings of the MDiv program there was that we didn’t get as many courses on the Bible as students in Protestants seminaries do. Roman Catholicism doesn’t put the Bible as high on its list of authorities as most Protestants do, hence, fewer classes on it.

[2] For my purposes here it doesn’t matter whether the event this story recounts actually happened or not. We approach it the same way whether it did or not.

Saturday, July 9, 2022

Wence Comes Our Help?

 This is the text of a sermon I'm going to give tomorrow, via Zoom, for St. Paul's UCC in Seattle. It's a church that could use a good deal of help.

Whence Comes Our Help?

A Sermon for St. Paul’s United Church of Christ

Seattle, Washington

July 10, 2022

 

Scripture: Luke 10:25-37

 

Let us pray: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O God, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.

 

 

Here’s a truth for this morning. No matter how strong we are, no matter how self-reliant we like to be, we all need help from time to time. No individual lives an entirely isolated life. Neither does any human institution, including the church. We all have difficult times in our lives, and so do our institutions. The formerly mainline Protestant churches have been having a difficult time for the past several decades. I imagine that we all have places we might look for help—family, friends, the government, or even the church. There is no shame in needing help. It is a perfectly human thing to do.

In our scripture for this morning Jesus tells a parable about a man who needed help, the well-known and well-loved Parable of the Good Samaritan. We all know the primary moral of this parable—help people in need. Don’t pass by on the other side of the road. That lesson certainly is there, and it is important. It may, however, be less well-known that there are a lot of other lessons in this parable too. To get those lessons out of it, however, we need to understand some things in the first century CE context in which Jesus told the parable that many people don’t understand. So if you do know these things, bear with me while I give a bit of a history lesson for those who don’t.

There are four characters in this parable we need to know something about. Two of them are clergy from the Jerusalem temple. One is a priest. The priests were the top of the Jewish hierarchy at the time. They worked only in the temple. They were the ones who performed the animal sacrifices that were Judaism’s primary form of worship at the time. Another of them was a Levite. A Levite was essentially an assistant priest. They also worked only in the Jerusalem temple. Then there is the man called only “an expert in the law.” There were such people who were not priests. The law in question is the Torah law, and all three of these characters would see themselves as the keepers, teachers, and defenders of that law.

Then there is the Samaritan. Samaritan doesn’t mean here someone who does a good deed for another. It designates the man as a member of a certain ethnic group. The Samaritans were a people who lived in Palestine more or less between Judea and Jerusalem to the south and Galilee to the north. They were the remnant of what centuries earlier had been the northern Hebrew kingdom of Israel. The Assyrian Empire conquered that kingdom and exiled most of its residents in 722 BCE. A few of the Jewish people of the kingdom remained. They evolved into the Samaritans, one of whom appears in this story.

Here's the thing you need to keep in mind. The Jews of Jesus’ day hated Samaritans. The Samaritans traced their heritage back to the Jewish patriarch Jacob and through him to Abraham. But faith was different from orthodox Judaism in a few ways. Those ways don’t matter to us, but they mattered a lot to Jesus’ first century Jewish audience. Jews avoided Samaritans, probably considered them to be ritually unclean. The Jews had no time for the Samaritans at all.

Now the parable itself. In it a man identified only as “an expert in the law” asks Jesus a question. We’re told he does it to “test” Jesus. He asks: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” (I wish Luke had told us here what he means by “eternal life,” but he didn’t). In response Jesus does what he so often does. He doesn’t give an answer, he asks a different question, a habit of his that I imagine sometimes drove people nuts. He asks the lawyer what he finds in the law relevant to his question. The lawyer responds by reciting what we know as the Great Commandment—basically love God, neighbor, and self. Jesus says yes, you’ve got it. But the lawyer isn’t satisfied. He asks Jesus who his neighbor is. This time Jesus doesn’t respond with a question. He responds with a parable, the Parable of the Good Samaritan.

We’re told that a man traveling the road from Jerusalem to Jericho was robbed, beaten, and left on the side of the road half dead. He obviously needs some significant help, and he needs it now. So first a priest and then a Levite, both clergy from the Jerusalem temple, come walking down the road. Jesus’ audience very probably would have expected them to stop and help the man. They were supposed to be the good guys. They don’t stop and help the man. They pass by on the other side of the road.

Then the parable takes what would have been a shocking turn to Jesus’ audience. A Samaritan sees the beaten man lying by the side of the road. Jesus’ audience is Jewish, and, as I’ve already said, all of them hated Samaritans. They would have been shocked when Jesus says that it was the Samaritan who helped the beaten man. They expected nothing good from a wretched Samaritan. Yet he is the one who stops to help the man. He cares for him and is generous with his money in providing for him. Surely Jesus’ audience thought, “Really? A miserable Samaritan? You’ve got to be kidding!” But Jesus wasn’t kidding. In his parable the beaten man’s help doesn’t come from the people his audience would have expected. It comes from a Samaritan, the last place in the world most Jews would have thought it would come from. Some of Jesus’ listeners probably thought he’d gone mad.

But you know, that’s how it works sometimes in our lives. I’ll give you an example out of my own life. I used to be a lawyer, but starting in about 1994 I started to burn out on law big time. I’d hit a wall. I couldn’t go on as I had been living, but I could see no way around the wall. I was getting pretty depressed about it. I had developed a strong interest in good Christian theology by then, and I served as Moderator of Richmond Beach UCC, but I couldn’t construct a way forward. I was, metaphorically speaking, like the beaten man in Jesus’ parable.

Then not just help but salvation came to me from a totally unexpected source, Seattle University. It’s a Roman Catholic university. It’s even a Jesuit university. I’m not Catholic. I have never been Catholic. I guess I knew that SU granted a Master of Divinity degree, the ordination degree in the UCC and other Protestant denominations, but it had never occurred to me to go earn one. Then in the summer of 1997 Seattle University’s School of Theology and Ministry, the part of the university that provided the MDiv and other pastoral programs, announced the creation of something called the Institute of Ecumenical Theological Studies. They’d work it out with representative of several different Protestant denominations, including the UCC. IETS as we came to call it, was meant specifically for Protestant divinity students at that Catholic University. Somehow, I knew I had to enroll in IETS’s MDiv program. I didn’t really know why, but I knew. Seattle University, a school of a type of Christianity that was not mine, unexpectedly became my way out of no way. It is a big part of the reason I’m sitting here preaching to you today.

I think there’s a profound lesson here for all of us as individuals and as people who love our Christian church and want it to thrive beyond its current difficult condition. When things get tough, trusting in God, we can have good hope for a better future. The thing is, though, that we very probably won’t know how that future will happen until it happens. They say God works in mysterious ways. One mysterious way God works is by providing God’s people help from entirely unexpected sources.

So our lesson this morning is that when we’re in trouble we must keep our eyes and minds open. We must look for help in places where we think there’s no help to be had. There aren’t any Samaritans around, and, sadly, Seattle University has closed its School of Theology and Ministry. But help can still come to us from totally unexpected places. So, if we are wise, when we’re in trouble we’ll trust in God, pray without ceasing, and open ourselves to the totally unexpected. The help we all need may well come from a source that will shock us the way Jesus’ good Samaritan shocked his audience so long ago. We might be shocked, but we just might also find salvation. May it be so. Amen.

 

Wednesday, July 6, 2022

On Guns

 

This is the text of a letter I sent to the Everett Herald, our local paper, on July 5. I rather doubt that they'll publish it, but it expresses what I think about the need for a ban on assault rifles.--They did publish in on July 13, 2022.

When will it be enough? When will this country wake up and get reasonable about guns? Our nation is simply insane about firearms. We seem to consider the Second Amendment right to keep and bear arms as the one constitutional right we have that is essentially unlimited. There is absolutely no legitimate reason for any civilian to own a military style weapon that can shoot more than a dozen rounds a minute. It is simply unconscionable that we allow the sale of such weapons in this country. I have had Canadian friends who just don’t understand how the United States can be so crazy about guns. I don’t either. For God’s sake we have to do something! Outlaw the sale and possession of AR style rifles now. Not tomorrow. Today! Nothing else even qualifies as sane.

Saturday, July 2, 2022

The Moral Compass of Hope

 This is a sermon I will give tomorrow morning at Prospect United Church of Christ in Seattle, Washington.


The Moral Compass of Hope

for

Prospect United Church of Christ

Seattle, Washington

July 3, 2022

 

Scripture: Psalm 30

 

Let us pray: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable to your O God, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.

 

I must begin by admitting that it is a bit of a challenge to preach on a theme that will be used over several weeks that someone else has established, especially perhaps when you’re giving the first sermon in that series like I’m doing here today. Meighan has told me that your theme for July is “what is our moral compass?” It seems appropriate to me then to start this sermon series on that theme with some definitions. I mean, if you’re going to be talking about the theme of “moral compass,” it would be good to know just what that theme means. Perhaps Meighan will define it for you differently, but I’ll start with a definition of “moral.” According to one online dictionary “moral” means “concerned with the principles of right and wrong behavior.” That sounds about right, doesn’t it? Morals or morality in the sense relevant here are about right and wrong. They are about not just what it is permissible to do or not do in a particular situation. They are about what it is right and what it is wrong to do in that situation. And I think we all know what a compass is. It’s a device that tells us which way north is, or at least which way magnetic north is. It “orients” us, which means shows us where east is. A moral compass then is something that points us toward what is right and away from what is wrong.

Now, as I was thinking about what to say to you this morning, I did what I always do when I have a sermon to write, or even when I don’t. I looked in the Revised Common Lectionary for the scripture readings it designates for today. We just heard one of them, Psalm 30. I frankly am not sure I’ve ever preached on a Psalm before. Maybe the Psalm 23, and maybe most if not quite all of Psalm 139. I probably haven’t preached on any others. But this past week as I read Psalm 30 there arose for me what I think can actually be a moral compass of sorts for us. There are of course lots of things than can be a moral compass—Jesus, the Bible, tradition, our family, philosophy, and I suppose many others. The theme that arose for me out of Psalm 30, however, is hope. I find the theme of hope especially in verses 4 and 5 of that psalm: “Sing praises to the Lord, O you his faithful ones, and give thanks to his holy name. For his anger is but for a moment, his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes in the morning.” Let me explain first how I see hope in these verses.

It certainly seems to me, and perhaps it seems to you too, that we are living today in a time of the darkness of night and of weeping over the condition of our nation. As tomorrow we mark the anniversary of the beginnings of our nation, there certainly seems to be little to celebrate. I won’t go down the entire list of today’s horribles. I don’t want to keep you here all afternoon, and you know them as well as I do. I’ll just mention a few. A rogue Supreme Court is hurling us backward in time not forward and constitutes a real threat to our freedom. A climate crisis we are unwilling to address in a truly meaningful way threatens life on the only planet we have. Racism still rots the core of our culture and our society. We face a crisis of homelessness we want just to go where we can’t see it. We lack the will to address it in any truly constructive way. But enough. Facing these and all the others can seem simply overwhelming.

That’s where hope comes in. What is hope? It is the desire for something good to happen combined with the expectation that it will someday even if we know not when. The psalmist of Psalm 30 knew a time of darkness in his life—all of the psalmists were certainly men, unfortunately. He faced danger from what he calls his “foes.” He has been near death, which he calls going down to “the Pit.” He has felt God hide God’s face from him, or so he thought. Like all ancient people he attributed his ills directly to God in a way most of us today do not. He attributed them to God’s anger and saw that anger and the ills it produced as grounds for weeping. He attributed his mourning and his sackcloth, a symbol of woe, to God. He surely knew trouble in his life, just as we do.

But he also knew hope. He knew that things had gotten better for him, or maybe he just anticipated that they would. He sings—the psalms were meant to be sung—that God’s anger is but for a moment. We can understand him to mean that there is hope that our woes will not last. We may weep through the night, but we can hope that we will come out on the other side of that night and find joy, or I’d say find joy at least that things are getting better not necessarily that they are already good..

How can we have that hope, a hope that can get us through the night both literally and figuratively? Because God. That’s why. God is where we find hope. God is, it seems to me, the only place we can find hope these days. Trusting in our fellow human beings seems a mere vanity, but with trust in God we can hope for a better tomorrow. Without God, to me at least, all would seem hopeless. If there is to be joy in the morning, if our troubles are to be only for a moment, it must be because God wills that it be so. We can at least hope for a better tomorrow because we know that our God of hope is with us and never deserts us, not even in the worst of times.

So OK. If there is hope we must ground it in our trust in God. But how is hope a moral compass? I find it to be a moral compass because it points us forward not backward. It keeps us moving in the right direction. See, hope is not just a state of mind. It is a way of being. It is a way of action. People Francis says “You pray for those who are hungry. Then you feed them. That’s how prayer works.” Hope works the same way. You hope and pray for a better future, then you act to bring that better future about. Whatever our hope for the future is, it is the hope itself that points the way. The way forward. The way toward the world of justice and peace that Jesus called the realm of God.

It is true of course that hope as a moral compass is only a beginning. We need something that can direct us in deciding what is right for the future for which we hope  and work.  Perhaps in future sermons Meighan will discuss with you what that something else might be. In any event, in our present national darkness let us cling to the hope that comes from God and that can come from nowhere else. Trust in God. Cement your hope in that trust. If we can do that we will have a moral compass. We will keep moving in the right direction. May it be so. Amen.


I Will Not Celebrate

 

I Will Not Celebrate

July 2, 2022

 

Two days from now my nation will mark the anniversary of its declaration of independence from Great Britain. We consider that date to be our country’s birthday. Most Americans celebrate on the Fourth. There are parades, picnics, and fireworks. But I am here to confess that I cannot and will not be celebrating on the Fourth this year. Our country’s condition is simply too bleak for celebration. A reactionary, ideological majority on the Supreme Court is hurling us back in time a century and a half or more. It and the “Christian” nationalist, neo-fascist, white supremacist movement to which it panders constitute a growing threat to  the very foundation of our country’s constitutional system of government and law. They are putting American democracy in grave danger because they believe in ideology and power rather than in true rule by the people. If they can they will destroy liberty in this country as they work to re-create an imagined glorious past of white supremacy, patriarchy, Victorian sexual attitudes posing as biblical ones, and unbridled capitalism enriching the wealthy and impoverishing everyone else. They are destroying the only planet we have through unbridled consumption and refusal to address global climate change. Our supposedly secure political institutions are failing to control them, largely because our federalist system of government gives disproportionate power to regressive, small population states and because politicians, especially Republican politicians, care more about power than about justice. Our federalism is stopping us from stopping them as they strive to turn our country into an authoritarian or even totalitarian theocracy rather than a constitutional democracy.

This weekend Americans will crow about this being the greatest country on earth. It isn’t, and it never has been. It’s not even close to being that. Our original sin of racism continues to rot the core of our society and culture just as it always has. We fail people in need at every turn because the wealthy control our tax structure. They distort it out of even a resemblance of fairness for their own utterly unneeded benefit and tell the lie that a rising tide raises all ships. We tolerate millions of homeless people and millions of people without access to health care. We spend obscene amounts of money on the world’s largest military. We claim that it is there to defend democracy, and it isn’t. It’s there to project American power around the world. We make heroes of everyone in the military, the only reason for which is killing, maiming, and destroying. We incarcerate more people than any other country in the world, a disproportionate number of them being Black or Brown. We are simply insane about guns, and we pay the price for our insanity in murdered schoolchildren and teachers. We have never acknowledged our genocide of Native Americans and have done nothing to atone for that horrendous sin. The same is true of the way slavery built this country and most of us don’t even know it.

So no, I won’t be celebrating this July 4. I will be mourning. I will be mourning the impending death of a country that has simply failed in its experiment in democracy and republican government. That is precisely what we have done, failed; and we will keep failing as long as the neo-fascist right in Congress and on the Supreme Court continues to hold sway. Our national holiday is an occasion for grief not joy. So no. I will not celebrate. I cannot celebrate. I can only grieve the loss of my country’s potential for decency and justice. I wish it were otherwise, but it simply isn’t.