The day began uneventfully, as most do here. A couple soldiers asked if I would drive them over to the main part of Bagram since I have access to the chapel truck. Since I drive manual, I am often asked to drive. However, this was the first time that I had to drive AND navigate without someone in the truck who knew the way. “It’s just one big circle,” they all said. “Impossible to get lost..” These are famous last words. I should have realized that we would be in for a real adventure.
There are a few things that one doesn’t want to do accidentally while driving around a military base in Afghanistan. Find oneself on the wrong side of the fence or drive through an active mine field are the two that I plan to avoid, at least in the future. With all the money that we are spending over here, the least they could do is put up a few “detour” and/or “do not enter” signs when they open up a road that is not supposed to be accessed by just anyone.
My witnesses concur that I had no choice but to turn left since the right turn was blocked with orange cones. It didn’t feel right, but without “danger” spelled out, we just went with it. One of the soldiers in the car commented on how beautiful the scenery looked, so different than the rest of Bagram. That should have been the red flag. But, not knowing any better, we continued on. A few peaks and dips in the road later, it became apparent that we had made a very poor choice. Suddenly, we were surrounded by fields of mines. I was concentrating on staying on the road, so I didn’t notice the red, upside-down triangles which indicate active mines. Hardly a stone’s throw from the truck, individuals were dressed in special demining gear, using their probes and equipment to continue the process of clearing the fields of active mines.
It was hard to know exactly where we were, but when it became apparent that the fence was actually keeping us out rather than in, we all knew that the left turn had been the wrong way to go. Turning around seemed like a bad idea since we knew the road was safe. The other cars and military vehicles in front of us gave us that assurance. And, going a bit too far into the field to do a three point turn may have triggered some kind of explosion. So, we pressed on.
I cannot imagine de-mining fields every day as a job. Apparently, many of the de-miners that work on Bagram are from parts of Africa where land mines are prevalent. They come here to work for months at a time, in many cases making a very good wage compared to the work they might find a home. After watching them out in those fields and realizing just how dangerous their work is, if anyone gets a bonus this year, it should be them.
Eventually we found our way back to the road and to the “safety” of the t-walls. We actually were safe the whole time, and never truly left “the wire.” But I still maintain that a couple of simple signs would have made all the difference! It’s always something, but at least the adventure quells any monotony that we may be feeling on some days. Just take a ride with the Chaplain and you never know where the road will take you! I am sure there is a sermon in there… :)
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Saturday, November 26, 2011
No Darkness at all
1st Sunday in Advent
November 27, 2011
Isaiah 64:1-9
This week has been a little impossible when it comes to sermon writing. Instead of having writer’s block, I have had sermon block. And, unlike other weeks, I started early, reading the scripture verses and looking over the commentaries. But, no matter what I have done to prepare for this Sunday, nothing seems right. It hasn’t helped that I have had, you know, other work to do. Between counseling sessions and dressing up like a turkey to help celebrate Thanksgiving, this sermon has been a real thorn in my side.
I think part of my problem is that its hard to prepare for the first sunday of Advent when it doesn’t feel like Advent. It’s not quite cold enough, not that I am complaining about THAT. But there are other things that seem “off.” Yes, we had our turkey and some of us stayed up all night to football. But, besides the hour meal that we shared on thanksgiving, this holiday weekend has been no different than all the other days and weeks we have spent here. The mission comes first which means that there really is no break, no time to pause and prepare for this season which is now upon us.
In a way, though, our Advent here must be pretty similar to the very first Advent. Our text from Isaiah tells us that the world was holding its breath, waiting for God to make a move. In some ways the world in which Isaiah preached in wasn’t that different from the world that we know here. Mostly, it was dark. There wasn’t a lot of good news. In fact, more often than not the news was bad. It was a world where a leader, out of fear of one day being overthrown, would slay all of the baby boys under two. It was a world where corruption had spread like disease, so much so that the temple had toppled and no leadership could be trusted to keep true to their word. It was a world where people relied on themselves and their own devices and only after they found themselves in an impossible position, turned and remembered God. Does this world sound familiar to you?
Now, I have always loved Advent, even when I was very small. It is possible, back then, my love of Advent had something to do with the fact that I got a piece of chocolate from the Advent calendar every day or that I was making my Christmas list and checking it twice, to make sure I had included all of my toys and dolls so that Santa would not forget anything. As I have grown older, though, I have learned to appreciate a different gift present in Advent. Unlike any other part of the church calendar, Advent is the time where we specifically acknowledge that we are in a world covered in darkness. It is in these weeks that we do what we should be doing all the time, that is actively waiting and watching for the coming of our Lord. It is now that we cry out, “O Come, O Come Emmanuel,” and we really mean it or at least try to mean it.
I have a friend who once told me that she used to pray for some kind of tragedy to happen in her life. It’s not that she was a masochist, but she felt like everything had always worked out for her so easily. She never knew suffering or what it meant to cry out to God from a place of utter desperation. She was studying to be a pastor and through her studies, she had traveled to many countries in the developing world. In those places she had worshiped God with people who had lost family members to war and violence. She had shared meals with children who were orphaned from HIV and AIDS. She had celebrated communion with pastors who had buried many more people because of illness and poverty than they had ever married. She had visited some very dark places in the world, and she realized that where it was darkest, the light of Christ could shine brighter than anywhere else. This friend admitted that she didn’t really want something bad to happen. But, she experienced something almost remarkable when she worshiped God in the darkness.
This is the kind of fractured world from which Isaiah called out to God. “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down.” Isaiah is not singing a sweet Christmas carol, but he is demanding an audience with God. Because where Isaiah was, in exile, it was really dark. The temple was in ruins. The Israelites had been forced to walk through the desert in chains to a place of captivity. They had been defeated, and I am willing to bet that many them felt that God was no longer there with them. And, even worse to admit, they deserved it. After all God had done, freeing them from Egypt and setting them up in the land of milk and honey, the least they could have done was worship God alone and remember that it was because of God alone that they had their very lives. But, I think we understand how easy it is to forget about God when we have everything the we need. And this is just what my friend was getting at. It’s not the tragedy that she longed for. She just recognized that she needed help remembering how much she needed God.
In a way, this Advent is a unique experience for us. We are not ACTUALLY in exile, but we can’t leave either. Day after day, whether we are part of the guard force dealing with detainees, interrogators, working to garner information which could save lives from a terrible end or medical personnel, walking alongside of those who have deep wounds and trying to offer a salve which may bring relief, no matter where we are while in this place, we face an overwhelming darkness. There really is no escaping it. Yesterday, I went on a tour of the new Justice Center for Parwan and the new housing units that will be used by the Afghan Army to hold more detainees. We are in the process of building even more of these units which is enough to make even a hopeful person feel a little hopeless. Is this ever going to end? Even the good things that we think we can celebrate, new schools for kids to learn and true partnership being forged between all of us, seems to fade into the background with news of more IEDs and setbacks.
We know what Isaiah felt like when he said “You have hidden your face from us.” In other times and places, God moved mightily, with such power that mountains quaked and nations trembled. So, why isn’t God doing that now? Isaiah is asking and so are we. Some days we are at the end of our rope. Some days it is so dark that we can’t even see a hand reaching out to us. Yet, sometimes we need the darkness because it helps us remember the true meaning of hope. Someone once said, “Hope is what is left when your worst fears have been realized and you are no longer optimistic about the future. Hope is what comes with a broken heart willing to be mended(De Jong, Patricia. “Isaiah 64:1-9.” Feasting on the Word p. 4.)”
I often forget just how painful hope can be. In place like this hope is calling us to keep a space open for the impossible to become possible, for good to grow out of the ashes of war. On most days, I am just not interested in putting myself out there again, in risking the hurt and disappointment that hovers. But where we are afraid, God is there. Where we lack courage to believe, God is there. When we doubt that light, even the light of Christ, can make a difference, God is there too.
Into the mire and mess of our world, a child is born-- God with us. This is not really what Isaiah may have hoped for when he begged for God to show up and make a difference in the world. But, God is a God who continues to defy our expectations. God’s answer to the darkness is a child. It is not power and might, not quaking mountains and trembling nations, but a child. The light which cannot be overcome by the darkest, most terrible night is a new life. It didn’t make sense then and nor does it now, at least by the world’s logic. Yet, maybe this is the point. As dark as it feels, we still go on, stumbling along the way, and it doesn’t always make sense.
At the new Justice Center, a team of teachers are waiting for their pupils to arrive, the very first class of Afghan Forensic Scientists. On Thursday, a group of US service members are preparing to bring school supplies to over three hundred children who will be treated at the Egyptian hospital this week. Yes, it is a drop in the bucket, but the ocean is made up of many drops. We aren’t doing this on our own, but we are called and sent to be the hands and feet of Christ. “Yet O Lord, you are our Father. We are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.” These are Isaiah’s words to us, reminding us that we are held and fashioned by God and alone. From God’s fount, we find our strength and our hope.
Today we light the first candle of our unconventional Advent wreath. Honestly, I waited to the end of the service to do this because if it is combustible and we need to get the fire department involved, at least the service will be almost over! The candle we light does not represent our own light, but God’s light--the light of the world. When we dare to hope, when we share God’s love one drop at a time, when we wait and watch for the coming of our Lord, we reflect the light of Christ and witness to the world that in Him there is no darkness at all. Amen.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Thanksgiving fun!!
For most of my childhood, Thanksgiving Day was spent with my father’s family at a farm about an hour from Pensacola. When I was young, that one hour felt more like four or five hours, particularly when I sat in the backseat, my brother and I separated by a sweet potato casserole. Even when we hit the dirt road which would bring us to the farm, I knew that the wait for the meal had only just begun. There were lots of good distractions at the farm, though, horses and dirt bikes to name two of my favorite. With my mother preoccupied by cooking responsibilities, I enjoyed unusual freedom from her watchful, sometimes overprotective, eye.
Most of my eleven cousins have “broken bone” and “stitches” stories which transpired in those hours of waiting for our turkey meal. The closest I have ever been to needing stitches happened right before thanksgiving dinner once when I was in high school. My cousin persuaded me to mount his skateboard. The road that had appeared flat all those years suddenly became mountainous. I ended up rolling down the road into a ditch. Considering some of “the cousin” injuries, I faired pretty well.
Though memories of Thanksgiving vary from family to family, there are a few markers of this special day which seem to be ubiquitous, eating too much and spending time with loved ones at the top of the list. No matter where I have been for Thanksgiving, even when this meal has not been shared with my parents and cousins, a have still known family on this day, passing the turkey and gravy around the table, taking a moment to count my blessings. This Thanksgiving was no exception. As members of my battalion, now Task Force Viper, gathered around tables, exclaimed aloud excitement over cranberry sauce or pumpkin pie, the feeling of family was undeniable. It may not have been what we would have hoped for, being so far away from loved ones, but it was good and rich and full nonetheless. As we ate our fill and regaled stories of our favorite Thanksgiving traditions, there was an unmistakable feeling of home.
Once everyone passed through the “chow” line, the room was called to attention, and I blessed our meal. I can’t say a blessing without thinking of my dad. His eloquent words of grace resound in my head whenever I am asked to pray over a meal. In recent years, I have noticed that he always blesses those present around the table as well as who those present represent. Those who are physically present and those who are with us in spirt, I guess in a way, they are one and the same.
Maybe I have noticed his blessings because I spend so much time away from my family’s table, not present with them. When I have heard his words in recent years, they have helped me to remember that our connection to one another extends beyond what meets the eye. Presence is as much a matter of the heart as it is a physical state of being. Whether or not my father said the grace this Thanksgiving, I know that for a moment my family, as well as the families of all of my soldiers, took time to recognize that the table reached across quite a few time zones today.
For those who we sit beside and for all the rest who are a part of our hearts, there is much to be thankful for. As we take the time to express gratitude for all the blessings that we have known, it seems fitting to remember that giving thanks, pausing to tell our family and friends just how much they mean to us, should be an every day thing, not just once a year. Sometimes it takes two hundred plus bags of homemade chex mix and a couple of bigger than life-sized turkeys to remind us of what we already know. Whatever it takes....
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
"Hope" tote!
Now that I have been “unpacked” for about a week, I have been able to walk around Camp Sabalu-Harrison toting my green “Hope” bag over my shoulder. PCCers should recognize this plastic grocery bag from last year’s Advent season. A year ago, all of the members of our church’s leadership were given a seasonal (and reusable) tote bag filled with barn hay. Throughout the weeks of Advent building up to Christmas Eve, we were encouraged to fill the nativity manager with handfuls of our hay whenever we served the God. Service was defined in a variety of ways from “doing” something for someone else, praying about the darkness of the world, or simply, being a witness to the Good News of the season. I remember dumping a whole bag of hay into the manager one day, on behalf of one of our members, who was fighting for his life in an intensive care unit in Baltimore. I figured struggling to live after days of painful, debilitating illness was definitely a testament to how we all should honor the life that we have been given, even when giving up would be a welcome relief.
Somehow, I have ended up with quite a few of these “Hope” bags. They are immensely useful because they don’t get dirty and can hold just about as much as I am able to carry over one shoulder. Of course, a bright green bag with “Hope” written across the side is not part of the Army uniform regulations. Though I am risking a scolding and have a perfectly acceptable black backpack that I could use alternatively, I can’t help myself from choosing my “Hope” bag whenever I need to ferry things from one place to another.
A few days ago, I got a wonderful shipment of cookies from my mother. Though I had a sermon to write and a Sunday bulletin to prepare, I knew that keeping those cookies in my office would only cause me trouble. The temptation to eat them was just too much. So, I packed my “Hope” tote full of peanut butter, chocolate chip, and oatmeal raisin cookies, and I headed for the detention center. It wasn’t until I was inside, walking down the long corridor where Afghan detainees as well as US soldiers and Afghan Army live and work, that I realized how radical this four letter word is, particularly in a facility that houses persons accused of terrorism.
Day after day, hearing stories about girls schools being targeted and bombed and getting news about more American and partnership soldiers (not to mention innocent civilians, too) being killed by IEDs, it’s easy to lose sight of hope. I am in the business of hope, and there are many days when I wonder if having hope is just plain foolish. With the news headlines ever dismal, hope seems far from smart or even practical. And, yet, as we prepare for this Advent season in Afghanistan and everywhere, hope is exactly what we need. It’s not the easy, cheap kind of hope that many like to toss around too carelessly, but it is the kind of hope that breaks open the heart. It challenges us to be open to the possibility that something good, something of God even, can emerge out of the ashes, even when nine times out of the ten or even ninety-nine times out of a hundred, we have been deeply disappointed and hurt. Hope helps us remember that even someone who has chosen a lot of bad and hurt a lot of people in the process, can still turn toward goodness.
As long as there are cookies to share and aging Halloween candy to pass out, I will continue to carry around my non-regulation "Hope" tote bag. If anything, it helps me remember who I am and what I am called to witness here. Some days there are plenty of things “to do.” Always there is reason to pray. And, holding on to my own version of “Hope,” and on some days, remembering to share it, I also bear witness to the Good News. After all, tIs the season!!
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Another Sunday
For one reason or another, it has taken me a few days to sit down and reflect on this past week. As a pastor, marking time in “Sundays” comes naturally. The build up to Sunday is fairly consistent. Around Tuesday, I remind myself that I need to look at the lectionary for this next Sunday. This means actually reading the scripture for the week and then starting the process of looking at other people’s commentaries and reflections. Then, sometime on Thursday, I start looking at the bulletin. And, since I have the “hook up” from some seasoned pastor types, there is always help if I need it. By Friday night, I force myself to write something. I DO have a whole day to get the service ready, but we all know, whether we are stateside or in Afghanistan, life has a way of interrupting best laid plans.
Last Sunday I started my own worship service, the early service. Even my own mother would think twice before attending early church, especially if it is one’s day off. While there are quite a few Protestant services on our camp, none of them have, even loose ties, to traditional liturgy. Even though I knew that my audience would be small, possibly even non-existent, I wanted to offer weekly communion and prayers for worshipers who were seeking something a little different. Our first service was a little dicey. We didn’t have the right music, and I ended up having to lead the small group in an “A capella” hymn sing. When church finally ended, my only consolation was that I had to drink the rest of the communion wine we had prepared for about twenty people. It was throw it away or drink it up. I never waste… anything.
This Sunday went off without a hitch. We more than doubled our attendees and the music worked perfectly. In a way though, I have had some anxiety in the hours that followed our service. Why did I have to preach on Judgment Day the first Sunday that we actually had a critical mass? It serves me right for following the lectionary so faithfully. But preaching the Gospel is not always easy, for the preacher or the listener. After the service, one of the soldiers who looked a little suspicious as I preached God’s love, asked me if the upcoming Bible Study, based on Rob Bell’s book Love Wins about heaven, hell, and the fate of every person who ever lived, was going to take a particular position. I told him that the book definitely takes a position, but I was hoping to create an open forum for honest discussion about a subject that causes a lot of debate. I also told him I hoped he would join us.
Perhaps the best part of the day was when Fisch reminded me of something that I should have remembered, but that got lost in my own self-consciousness. “Ma’am,” he said. “I may not always agree with you, but don’t ever apologize for speaking the truth.” Amen.
Last Sunday I started my own worship service, the early service. Even my own mother would think twice before attending early church, especially if it is one’s day off. While there are quite a few Protestant services on our camp, none of them have, even loose ties, to traditional liturgy. Even though I knew that my audience would be small, possibly even non-existent, I wanted to offer weekly communion and prayers for worshipers who were seeking something a little different. Our first service was a little dicey. We didn’t have the right music, and I ended up having to lead the small group in an “A capella” hymn sing. When church finally ended, my only consolation was that I had to drink the rest of the communion wine we had prepared for about twenty people. It was throw it away or drink it up. I never waste… anything.
This Sunday went off without a hitch. We more than doubled our attendees and the music worked perfectly. In a way though, I have had some anxiety in the hours that followed our service. Why did I have to preach on Judgment Day the first Sunday that we actually had a critical mass? It serves me right for following the lectionary so faithfully. But preaching the Gospel is not always easy, for the preacher or the listener. After the service, one of the soldiers who looked a little suspicious as I preached God’s love, asked me if the upcoming Bible Study, based on Rob Bell’s book Love Wins about heaven, hell, and the fate of every person who ever lived, was going to take a particular position. I told him that the book definitely takes a position, but I was hoping to create an open forum for honest discussion about a subject that causes a lot of debate. I also told him I hoped he would join us.
Perhaps the best part of the day was when Fisch reminded me of something that I should have remembered, but that got lost in my own self-consciousness. “Ma’am,” he said. “I may not always agree with you, but don’t ever apologize for speaking the truth.” Amen.
Sermon for November 20, 2011
Chaplain (CPT) Mel Baars
Camp Sabalu-Harrison, Bagram
20 November 20, 2011
Matthew 25: 31-46
Camp Sabalu-Harrison, Bagram
20 November 20, 2011
Matthew 25: 31-46
“Love Wins”
When I was in high school, our youth group put on a production of the Broadway musical Godspell. Basically, Godspell is straight out of the gospel of Matthew, alternating music and dramatization of the scripture. Admittedly, at that point in my life, I didn’t know very much about the Bible. But I thought I had the basics down. Creation and Adam and Ave, Noah, flood and rainbows, Joseph and his colorful coat, David, Goliath, and a slingshot, Mary on a donkey heading for Bethlehem, Jesus’ birth, miracles, the Last Supper, the cross and then resurrection. The end. Episcopalians are not known for their biblical knowledge.
So, in the play, whenever we got to the skit about the sheep and the goats, a parable on Judgment Day, I always got a little uncomfortable. This one kid in my youth group, who was a total ham, played “the King.” In grand gestures he would separate the sheep and the goats, who were “played by” other high school youth on their hands and knees, pretending to be four legged creatures. First he would give the sheep the good news. Guess what? Surprise! They were saved! “Sweet,” all the sheep would say, as they gave each other high fives and danced around the stage. Because they had given a cup of water and visited prisoners, they got to go into God’s kingdom. Then, the “king’s” whole demeanor would change. His face would get all contorted as he would turn toward the goats. Giving a little cackle, he would drop the bomb on the goats, who were sitting there, with such hopeful looks on their faces. “Eternal fire and damnation,” he would yell. And all the little goats would burst into fake tears, falling all over the stage. They would look so update and confused, wondering out loud how in the world this could have happen.
Every time this would happen in the play, I would think to myself, “Man, it really stinks to be a goat!” It just seemed so random. Neither group really knew what was coming because neither group really understood what it meant to love and serve in God’s name. Their questions to the king demonstrate just how confused they are. The sheep, happy of course that their news was good news, still pose the question, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?” They genuinely don’t understand how they gave this king food, water, shelter, clothing and care, because, even though they are sheep and their brains are small, they still know they would have remembered serving “the king.” Likewise, the goats, devastated by the news of eternal damnation, are also confused. “When,” they ask, “Did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and not take care of you?” The goats brains are also small, but they are pretty sure they would have remembered, snubbing a king. And, this is when the king reveals the big secret. “Just as you did or did not do to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did to me.”
I used to feel so sorry for those goats. I mean, they didn’t really know what they were or were not doing, right? I mean, if they had KNOWN that eternal damnation would be the consequence of neglecting the poor, the marginalized, the imprisoned, and the rejected, don’t you think they would have changed their ways? I mean, I would, wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t I?
It doesn’t take much reflection of my own life for me to realize that I am actually one of the goats. Sure, I have rolled my window down a number of times to offer a dollar or an apple or granola bar to a beggar at a stop light. I have served food at soup kitchens and built houses for Habitat for Humanity. I have even gotten pooped on, not once, but twice by diaper-less toddlers in an orphanage while trying to play games and color. Surely, THAT counts for something. But, even still, I have a suspicion, if responding to the least of these wherever and whenever they cross my path is the standard, on most days, I simply fail. I can just think all the way back to yesterday and my walk down Main Street in the DFIP. How many detainees did I see being wheeled around? Even when they can’t see me, even when I am not allowed to visit them, at least formally, even when I have been ordered not to talk to them under any circumstance, somehow I know that those are not the kinds of excuses that this “king” of our gospel story would listen to. I know, even though I don’t want to admit it, that I am being called to more, called to step beyond my comfort zone, to stop hiding behind my fears. I am called, every day, again and again, to respond out of compassion and love, even to those who have hurt me those I love.
So, mostly, I am a big goat and unlike the goats in Matthew, I don’t have the excuse that I didn’t know. Cause I do know. After all, I was in the play! And, I have read this passage countless times, now that I am a preacher. So, really, there are no excuses. Sometimes, though, when we know something in our minds, it is hard to know how this translates into our every day lives. We may know what kind of life God is calling us to live, but we may not know how to actually live this life, day to day. And for this particular season of our lives, here in Camp Sabalu-Harrison, living and working in this detention facility, what does Jesus’ instruction, “What you do to prisoners, you do to me,” really mean for us?
Before I arrived here, I had all kinds of ideas about how I was going to love Jesus in this prison. But, the truth is, I struggle every day. It’s not a struggle about whether or not I think these detainees deserve to be here or not or if I believe that they have done wrong. In many cases they have done wrong. They have brought pain and harm to innocent people, and they need to be stopped. My struggle is more about how I feel about them, what goes on in my heart when I see them, or worse, when I feel nothing, when I am unwilling to even acknowledge them and how they are somehow a part of me. Jesus demands more of me than that. Jesus calls every one of us to see, to acknowledge, and then, to love. If we can’t rise to that, if that seems too hard, then we are at least called to pray about it. When we struggle to respond to the least of these because of our fears or our prejudices or our self-centeredness or even our legitimate pain, we can still pray for a more generous heart which has the capacity to let go and forgive, to embrace instead of throw away.
This reminds me of a story that I have heard told before. Back during the days of integration of the public school system, President Johnson called in US Marshals to protect children from angry hecklers as they walked into their new, desegregated schools. There was a little girl named Ruby Bridges. Grown ups, who didn’t think she belonged in a white school, would scream at her and call her names. Whenever she walked by the angry mob, she would whisper under her breath. When she was asked what she was saying, she said that she was praying for the people that were yelling at her because they didn’t know what they were doing. She was echoing the words that she had heard in church where she had learned that Jesus was given a whole lot of trouble, and he said about those who were causing this trouble, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” When there is nothing else we can think of, we can still pray. When we feel we have nothing to give, nothing to offer, we can still pray.
Today, in our scripture, we are reminded that God is not a distant God, but God who is right here, in the midst of all of us. If you want to see God, you only have to look as far as your neighbor. To see the one who is in need, for whatever reason, the one who is vulnerable, the one who can’t stand alone, is to see God, face to face. “When you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to me.” The interesting thing is that there is nothing in the king’s judgment of sheep and goats that cites proper religion, attending church, following the rules or anything of that nature. It’s simpler than that. The only thing that seems to matter in this business of separating sheep and goats is whether or not love, care, kindness, and compassion was shared freely with those who needed it. That’s it. Deeds of love and mercy are the ways of God’s kingdom.
Recently, a friend of mine asked me if it was possible to do real good without a religious background. I can’t help but think about this passage. The righteous, the ones that were welcomed into God’s kingdom, were considered faithful, not because of a belief or a claim, not because of membership in a church or because of what they said, but they were called righteous because of how they lived, even when they didn’t realize it. If the goats had been clued in, they may have changed their ways, but all for the wrong reasons. You see, the sheep just shared, not because they were forced to or compelled by religious edict, but because they had love and compassion in their hearts, and it flowed freely. It seems this is what Jesus is getting at, a kind of love that flows, not out of calculation or duty or hope of “doing the right thing,” or even hope of being saved, but instead, because it naturally spills over.
Today we celebrate the Reign of Christ, God’s love made into flesh, teaching us, showing us, encouraging us along the way so that we might realize that it is only when we love that we truly live. And this is the thing about God’s love, the more you are willing to share it, the more you have to give away. This is the other thing about God’s love. It is for all of us. It fills in the gaps that we have not been able to fill. It makes us strong where we have been weak. It helps us transcend all that we cannot do on our own. This kind of love even takes us goats and transforms us into sheep. Because, in the very end, God’s love wins. Amen
When I was in high school, our youth group put on a production of the Broadway musical Godspell. Basically, Godspell is straight out of the gospel of Matthew, alternating music and dramatization of the scripture. Admittedly, at that point in my life, I didn’t know very much about the Bible. But I thought I had the basics down. Creation and Adam and Ave, Noah, flood and rainbows, Joseph and his colorful coat, David, Goliath, and a slingshot, Mary on a donkey heading for Bethlehem, Jesus’ birth, miracles, the Last Supper, the cross and then resurrection. The end. Episcopalians are not known for their biblical knowledge.
So, in the play, whenever we got to the skit about the sheep and the goats, a parable on Judgment Day, I always got a little uncomfortable. This one kid in my youth group, who was a total ham, played “the King.” In grand gestures he would separate the sheep and the goats, who were “played by” other high school youth on their hands and knees, pretending to be four legged creatures. First he would give the sheep the good news. Guess what? Surprise! They were saved! “Sweet,” all the sheep would say, as they gave each other high fives and danced around the stage. Because they had given a cup of water and visited prisoners, they got to go into God’s kingdom. Then, the “king’s” whole demeanor would change. His face would get all contorted as he would turn toward the goats. Giving a little cackle, he would drop the bomb on the goats, who were sitting there, with such hopeful looks on their faces. “Eternal fire and damnation,” he would yell. And all the little goats would burst into fake tears, falling all over the stage. They would look so update and confused, wondering out loud how in the world this could have happen.
Every time this would happen in the play, I would think to myself, “Man, it really stinks to be a goat!” It just seemed so random. Neither group really knew what was coming because neither group really understood what it meant to love and serve in God’s name. Their questions to the king demonstrate just how confused they are. The sheep, happy of course that their news was good news, still pose the question, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?” They genuinely don’t understand how they gave this king food, water, shelter, clothing and care, because, even though they are sheep and their brains are small, they still know they would have remembered serving “the king.” Likewise, the goats, devastated by the news of eternal damnation, are also confused. “When,” they ask, “Did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and not take care of you?” The goats brains are also small, but they are pretty sure they would have remembered, snubbing a king. And, this is when the king reveals the big secret. “Just as you did or did not do to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did to me.”
I used to feel so sorry for those goats. I mean, they didn’t really know what they were or were not doing, right? I mean, if they had KNOWN that eternal damnation would be the consequence of neglecting the poor, the marginalized, the imprisoned, and the rejected, don’t you think they would have changed their ways? I mean, I would, wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t I?
It doesn’t take much reflection of my own life for me to realize that I am actually one of the goats. Sure, I have rolled my window down a number of times to offer a dollar or an apple or granola bar to a beggar at a stop light. I have served food at soup kitchens and built houses for Habitat for Humanity. I have even gotten pooped on, not once, but twice by diaper-less toddlers in an orphanage while trying to play games and color. Surely, THAT counts for something. But, even still, I have a suspicion, if responding to the least of these wherever and whenever they cross my path is the standard, on most days, I simply fail. I can just think all the way back to yesterday and my walk down Main Street in the DFIP. How many detainees did I see being wheeled around? Even when they can’t see me, even when I am not allowed to visit them, at least formally, even when I have been ordered not to talk to them under any circumstance, somehow I know that those are not the kinds of excuses that this “king” of our gospel story would listen to. I know, even though I don’t want to admit it, that I am being called to more, called to step beyond my comfort zone, to stop hiding behind my fears. I am called, every day, again and again, to respond out of compassion and love, even to those who have hurt me those I love.
So, mostly, I am a big goat and unlike the goats in Matthew, I don’t have the excuse that I didn’t know. Cause I do know. After all, I was in the play! And, I have read this passage countless times, now that I am a preacher. So, really, there are no excuses. Sometimes, though, when we know something in our minds, it is hard to know how this translates into our every day lives. We may know what kind of life God is calling us to live, but we may not know how to actually live this life, day to day. And for this particular season of our lives, here in Camp Sabalu-Harrison, living and working in this detention facility, what does Jesus’ instruction, “What you do to prisoners, you do to me,” really mean for us?
Before I arrived here, I had all kinds of ideas about how I was going to love Jesus in this prison. But, the truth is, I struggle every day. It’s not a struggle about whether or not I think these detainees deserve to be here or not or if I believe that they have done wrong. In many cases they have done wrong. They have brought pain and harm to innocent people, and they need to be stopped. My struggle is more about how I feel about them, what goes on in my heart when I see them, or worse, when I feel nothing, when I am unwilling to even acknowledge them and how they are somehow a part of me. Jesus demands more of me than that. Jesus calls every one of us to see, to acknowledge, and then, to love. If we can’t rise to that, if that seems too hard, then we are at least called to pray about it. When we struggle to respond to the least of these because of our fears or our prejudices or our self-centeredness or even our legitimate pain, we can still pray for a more generous heart which has the capacity to let go and forgive, to embrace instead of throw away.
This reminds me of a story that I have heard told before. Back during the days of integration of the public school system, President Johnson called in US Marshals to protect children from angry hecklers as they walked into their new, desegregated schools. There was a little girl named Ruby Bridges. Grown ups, who didn’t think she belonged in a white school, would scream at her and call her names. Whenever she walked by the angry mob, she would whisper under her breath. When she was asked what she was saying, she said that she was praying for the people that were yelling at her because they didn’t know what they were doing. She was echoing the words that she had heard in church where she had learned that Jesus was given a whole lot of trouble, and he said about those who were causing this trouble, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” When there is nothing else we can think of, we can still pray. When we feel we have nothing to give, nothing to offer, we can still pray.
Today, in our scripture, we are reminded that God is not a distant God, but God who is right here, in the midst of all of us. If you want to see God, you only have to look as far as your neighbor. To see the one who is in need, for whatever reason, the one who is vulnerable, the one who can’t stand alone, is to see God, face to face. “When you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to me.” The interesting thing is that there is nothing in the king’s judgment of sheep and goats that cites proper religion, attending church, following the rules or anything of that nature. It’s simpler than that. The only thing that seems to matter in this business of separating sheep and goats is whether or not love, care, kindness, and compassion was shared freely with those who needed it. That’s it. Deeds of love and mercy are the ways of God’s kingdom.
Recently, a friend of mine asked me if it was possible to do real good without a religious background. I can’t help but think about this passage. The righteous, the ones that were welcomed into God’s kingdom, were considered faithful, not because of a belief or a claim, not because of membership in a church or because of what they said, but they were called righteous because of how they lived, even when they didn’t realize it. If the goats had been clued in, they may have changed their ways, but all for the wrong reasons. You see, the sheep just shared, not because they were forced to or compelled by religious edict, but because they had love and compassion in their hearts, and it flowed freely. It seems this is what Jesus is getting at, a kind of love that flows, not out of calculation or duty or hope of “doing the right thing,” or even hope of being saved, but instead, because it naturally spills over.
Today we celebrate the Reign of Christ, God’s love made into flesh, teaching us, showing us, encouraging us along the way so that we might realize that it is only when we love that we truly live. And this is the thing about God’s love, the more you are willing to share it, the more you have to give away. This is the other thing about God’s love. It is for all of us. It fills in the gaps that we have not been able to fill. It makes us strong where we have been weak. It helps us transcend all that we cannot do on our own. This kind of love even takes us goats and transforms us into sheep. Because, in the very end, God’s love wins. Amen
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Rise and Shine and Give God the Glory
Lately, I have noticed that I walk around camp singing songs under my breath, sometimes more audibly than I realize until I get an odd look from a passerby. Walking is my typical mode of transportation, unless I have to take the truck to the MAIN post, another story altogether.
Every time I put one foot in front of the next, heading off to a meeting in most cases, I find myself enveloped in song. As I concentrate on keeping good footing on the rocks, the song begins to play in my head. This is not a new phenomenon for me. In fact, the only way I got through many an Army march was by singing my way to the finish. I can’t really remember where I was marching or even in what year of my life, but I remember the words of the song that helped me to continue on, that kept my energy flowing.
These days I am singing a song I learned in Bible School some years ago. The refrain, pretty much all that I remember goes, “So rise and shine and give God the glory, glory… children of the Lord.” There is a noticeable pep to my step whenever I am singing it, even when I am headed to the “latrines.” I can’t help myself. It just comes to mind, all times of day, no matter how the day has unfolded. The only problem with this particular Bible School special is that it comes with hand motions. I have caught myself, on more than one occasion, perched for the choreography, jazz hands at the ready. I always stop my arms from shooting up, right at the last minute. And, then I laugh at how ridiculous it is that I am walking around a combat zone, singing songs about God that I learned more than two decades ago. Yet, on any given day, as crazy as it may sound, I can’t help myself.
It is truly a mystery, what is written into our fabric, even when we don’t realize it. Almost daily, I hear stories about earlier memories of church or spirituality which shed great light on a person’s experience of God. Sometimes, these stories are similar to my favorite ones from church, but sadly, sometimes these stories are painful and harsh and completely incongruous to what I have seen and known as a part of the church. When I hear these kinds of stories, I don’t blame them from walking away. I probably would have, too. Yet, sometimes I wish I could just give them a glimpse into the fullness of what a community of faith can be.
Whether I would share memories of the annual “mile” long ice cream Sunday reserved only for the church picnic, breaking Subway bread with a rag tag small group on a Thursday night, gathering in a manger on a cold Christmas Eve night, people and animals joined together to follow a star, or simply the weekly infusion of love, support, and grace I have known being a part of a church, the point is, after all this time, I can’t help but sing, even here. I don’t think it is possible to forget this kind of song, no matter how long it may be set aside. The song is a part of our very being, who we were when we were young and went a long with the music almost unquestionably, who we are now, even if the melody has become unfamiliar, and who we will be, when there is no breath left to sing.
“So, rise and shine and give God the glory, glory… children of the Lord.”
Every time I put one foot in front of the next, heading off to a meeting in most cases, I find myself enveloped in song. As I concentrate on keeping good footing on the rocks, the song begins to play in my head. This is not a new phenomenon for me. In fact, the only way I got through many an Army march was by singing my way to the finish. I can’t really remember where I was marching or even in what year of my life, but I remember the words of the song that helped me to continue on, that kept my energy flowing.
These days I am singing a song I learned in Bible School some years ago. The refrain, pretty much all that I remember goes, “So rise and shine and give God the glory, glory… children of the Lord.” There is a noticeable pep to my step whenever I am singing it, even when I am headed to the “latrines.” I can’t help myself. It just comes to mind, all times of day, no matter how the day has unfolded. The only problem with this particular Bible School special is that it comes with hand motions. I have caught myself, on more than one occasion, perched for the choreography, jazz hands at the ready. I always stop my arms from shooting up, right at the last minute. And, then I laugh at how ridiculous it is that I am walking around a combat zone, singing songs about God that I learned more than two decades ago. Yet, on any given day, as crazy as it may sound, I can’t help myself.
It is truly a mystery, what is written into our fabric, even when we don’t realize it. Almost daily, I hear stories about earlier memories of church or spirituality which shed great light on a person’s experience of God. Sometimes, these stories are similar to my favorite ones from church, but sadly, sometimes these stories are painful and harsh and completely incongruous to what I have seen and known as a part of the church. When I hear these kinds of stories, I don’t blame them from walking away. I probably would have, too. Yet, sometimes I wish I could just give them a glimpse into the fullness of what a community of faith can be.
Whether I would share memories of the annual “mile” long ice cream Sunday reserved only for the church picnic, breaking Subway bread with a rag tag small group on a Thursday night, gathering in a manger on a cold Christmas Eve night, people and animals joined together to follow a star, or simply the weekly infusion of love, support, and grace I have known being a part of a church, the point is, after all this time, I can’t help but sing, even here. I don’t think it is possible to forget this kind of song, no matter how long it may be set aside. The song is a part of our very being, who we were when we were young and went a long with the music almost unquestionably, who we are now, even if the melody has become unfamiliar, and who we will be, when there is no breath left to sing.
“So, rise and shine and give God the glory, glory… children of the Lord.”
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Sermon - November 13, 2011
Reverend Mel Baars
13 November 2011
1 Thessalonians 5:1-11
“Be Still and Know that I am God”
I knew this season of my life would come to pass sooner or later. And, sure enough, as soon as I heard from one friend that she was expecting her first child, it seemed like EVERYONE was having a baby. Childhood and college friends and then when I joined my unit in May, I stepped into a company of pregnant women... literally, five female soldiers all due around the same time in July. Everywhere I went, friends, cousins, soldiers were all in a posture of expectation, preparing for a birth of a child. If any of you have been close to someone who is pregnant, you may agree that it kind of feels kind of like they are a ticking time bomb. As the due date draws nearer, the ticking seems to get louder and faster. Because no one knows exactly when the baby is going to come, what may seem like a normal, ordinary day, may suddenly take a turn that will be life altering. One thing is for sure, not even the best doctor or the best laid prenatal plans can predict the arrival of a baby.
When it comes to experiencing the fullness of God’s promises to us, we are all a little like expectant mothers. We don’t know the moment, the hour, even the day, but we know that a time will come when our lives will be transformed by God’s doing. In one moment, it will be business as usual, which in our current world includes suffering, sadness, despair, loss, and grief, but in the next moment, the face of the world will be forever changed, forever reshaped and restored, made utterly good, as God intended and as God has promised.
When I read our scripture for today, it was hard not to think of those last weeks of pregnancy, when the wait and the anticipation becomes even more intense. The people of Thessalonia were like a community of pregnant women who had passed their due dates and were starting to wonder if they would ever deliver. They had been waiting patiently for Christ’ return. They had waited with hope and with faith. But, as the weeks became months and months became years and years turned to decades, they started to wonder: Was Jesus really coming back after all? Members of the early church had started to get old. As this waiting generation, those who had known Jesus, began to pass away, doubt settled over the community. Maybe God was not a God of promises after all. Maybe God had turned away from this people. Maybe God had forgotten them. Maybe the hope that they had carried for all this time after Jesus’ resurrection was for nothing. I can almost feel their despair.
It is into this ever darkening night that Paul writes these words we just heard. I can almost picture the scene as they huddled together to listen to Paul’s letter. They were feeling down. They didn’t feel like saying their prayers or singing any songs of praise. They just wanted to crawl under the covers and go to sleep, perhaps hoping to escape reality. But, Paul reminds them of something that they already know, something that they should have remembered, something that could have prevented their tailspin toward depression. He reminds them that they really don’t need to be reminded. But, what was said in Matthew’s gospel but, “Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. Understand this, if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into (Matt. 24:42-43).”
We do not know what only God knows. Jesus reminded us of this truth. The Lord’s time and way is not ours to possess. So, what are you doing worrying about stuff that really isn’t your business? But, I need to at least sympathize for a moment with these Thessalonians, who were past their due dates. It would be really nice to know some of these things, to know how it was all going to work out in the end, to have a little bit of a heads up just for my peace of mind.
But, even as I say this on one hand, I am not so sure if I actually mean it. Whenever I hear someone talking about having their future predicted, it always makes me uneasy. Not just because I am unsure of the forces and the powers contributing to such a prophesy, but more because I just don’t think I want to know. Would knowing either the time and circumstances of my death or the even the date of Christ’s return really make a difference in my life. Maybe the better question is, should knowing the time and the day impact the way that I choose to live in the present moment? Paul would say an unequivocal no. We are supposed to live each day as if it is the only day we have. We are supposed to say the things that we ought to say and hold back from those things that are better left unsaid. We are called live every day well, so that even if it is our last day, we will not have regrets, we will not have held anything back.
This is why language of staying awake versus sleeping is so effective. We all understand how tempting it would be to “sleep” through part of our lives, particularly the more challenging days and seasons. Sleeping disconnects us from pain and disappointment. It gives us a break from all which demands our energy and our effort, and this is not a bad thing. In fact, sleep is an important tool needed for healing the body and the mind, especially when we have been sick or overly drained. This is also why we are encouraged to sleep once a day for about 8 hours. We need this time of renewal to stay in balance. But the other two thirds of our day we are supposed to be awake and engaged, present fully in the life which is enfolding around us. The problem with sleep occurs when we either get too much of it or too little. This is why driving late into the night is so dangerous. One’s ability to be alert and present is compromised. And, likewise, too much sleep, can cause us to be groggy and disconnected. Balance is the key.
During deployment time, it may be especially important to think about Paul’s words. Balance is not always easy to accomplish. There are quite a few of us burning the candle at both ends, sometimes out of necessity. Yet too much of that can cause us to become less effective and dull. On the other hand, if we spend all of our free time sleeping or hiding in our rooms playing video games, or even, because of the groundhog day syndrome, basically sleep through even our waking hours, we are not able to engage fully in our lives right now. In many ways, it might be easier to sleep through this year, then be fully present and engaged in every single of the 365 days or the 180 days that we are called to this place. It is a lot of days, after all. But Paul reminds us that God has given us a different way to live, even during the difficult seasons, the seasons of our waiting. Because of the gift of life that we have been given, we are called to respond to this gift through living each day with faith, hope, and love.
Living with faith, hope and love, focusing on these practices, give us a better frame of mind to live out the last part of Paul’s instruction. When it is all said and done, he reminds us that we are to encourage one another and build up each other, too. Perhaps, this is the most important part of our lesson, especially in this place. If there is one thing that we can offer one another, it is a bit of encouragement. I will be the first to admit that this is not always easy, when the days are long and the work piles up. You can just ask PFC Fischer, who shares my office and whose job is to be my chaplain’s assistant. Even though I know that my job both as a chaplain and also as a Christian, is to encourage people and build them up, I don’t always do it. Sometimes it is because of the stress, trying to get everything organized and accomplished within the time allotted. Sometimes it is because I am sleeping on the job, living in a daze as I walk around, kicking rocks and looking for my next jolt of caffeine.
But as I hear Paul’s words, I remember the greatest commandment, to love God with my whole heart and mind and soul and to love my neighbors. Part of loving one another means to encourage and to build each other up. This means paying attention to how my neighbors are coping with their lives here, how they are managing this time away from family and friends. It means remembering each others birthdays and, at least every once in a while, asking how a friend is doing and staying around long enough to hear the answer. It means staying awake, even when sleep is easier, because only when we are awake, only when we are ready, can we live with faith, hope, and love. Only then can we live the kind of lives that are grateful for all that God has done and is doing in the here and now.
Of course, we know that we know this. But what we know here in our minds, doesn’t always translate here to our hearts. We have been told again and again, that we are children of light. We live in Christ and that is all that we need to know. But the “signs of the end times,” whether it be wars or earthquakes or hurricanes or the Mayan Calendar’s end in DEC 2012 or the billboards about rapture or a charismatic prophet/pastor who tries to convince us that the end of the world is on May 21st so sell your stuff and euthanize your pets, these things actually take our focus away from God. For the time and the place and the hour is only God’s to know.
Do not be dismayed. Do not let anxiety take you away from the God who loves you, the God who will never leave or forsake you, the God who will go to the ends of the earth to find you and bring you back to the fold. Listen to God’s voice saying this, “Be Still and Know that I am God.” Be still and know that I am God. Isn’t that really all we need to know? Amen
13 November 2011
1 Thessalonians 5:1-11
“Be Still and Know that I am God”
I knew this season of my life would come to pass sooner or later. And, sure enough, as soon as I heard from one friend that she was expecting her first child, it seemed like EVERYONE was having a baby. Childhood and college friends and then when I joined my unit in May, I stepped into a company of pregnant women... literally, five female soldiers all due around the same time in July. Everywhere I went, friends, cousins, soldiers were all in a posture of expectation, preparing for a birth of a child. If any of you have been close to someone who is pregnant, you may agree that it kind of feels kind of like they are a ticking time bomb. As the due date draws nearer, the ticking seems to get louder and faster. Because no one knows exactly when the baby is going to come, what may seem like a normal, ordinary day, may suddenly take a turn that will be life altering. One thing is for sure, not even the best doctor or the best laid prenatal plans can predict the arrival of a baby.
When it comes to experiencing the fullness of God’s promises to us, we are all a little like expectant mothers. We don’t know the moment, the hour, even the day, but we know that a time will come when our lives will be transformed by God’s doing. In one moment, it will be business as usual, which in our current world includes suffering, sadness, despair, loss, and grief, but in the next moment, the face of the world will be forever changed, forever reshaped and restored, made utterly good, as God intended and as God has promised.
When I read our scripture for today, it was hard not to think of those last weeks of pregnancy, when the wait and the anticipation becomes even more intense. The people of Thessalonia were like a community of pregnant women who had passed their due dates and were starting to wonder if they would ever deliver. They had been waiting patiently for Christ’ return. They had waited with hope and with faith. But, as the weeks became months and months became years and years turned to decades, they started to wonder: Was Jesus really coming back after all? Members of the early church had started to get old. As this waiting generation, those who had known Jesus, began to pass away, doubt settled over the community. Maybe God was not a God of promises after all. Maybe God had turned away from this people. Maybe God had forgotten them. Maybe the hope that they had carried for all this time after Jesus’ resurrection was for nothing. I can almost feel their despair.
It is into this ever darkening night that Paul writes these words we just heard. I can almost picture the scene as they huddled together to listen to Paul’s letter. They were feeling down. They didn’t feel like saying their prayers or singing any songs of praise. They just wanted to crawl under the covers and go to sleep, perhaps hoping to escape reality. But, Paul reminds them of something that they already know, something that they should have remembered, something that could have prevented their tailspin toward depression. He reminds them that they really don’t need to be reminded. But, what was said in Matthew’s gospel but, “Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. Understand this, if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into (Matt. 24:42-43).”
We do not know what only God knows. Jesus reminded us of this truth. The Lord’s time and way is not ours to possess. So, what are you doing worrying about stuff that really isn’t your business? But, I need to at least sympathize for a moment with these Thessalonians, who were past their due dates. It would be really nice to know some of these things, to know how it was all going to work out in the end, to have a little bit of a heads up just for my peace of mind.
But, even as I say this on one hand, I am not so sure if I actually mean it. Whenever I hear someone talking about having their future predicted, it always makes me uneasy. Not just because I am unsure of the forces and the powers contributing to such a prophesy, but more because I just don’t think I want to know. Would knowing either the time and circumstances of my death or the even the date of Christ’s return really make a difference in my life. Maybe the better question is, should knowing the time and the day impact the way that I choose to live in the present moment? Paul would say an unequivocal no. We are supposed to live each day as if it is the only day we have. We are supposed to say the things that we ought to say and hold back from those things that are better left unsaid. We are called live every day well, so that even if it is our last day, we will not have regrets, we will not have held anything back.
This is why language of staying awake versus sleeping is so effective. We all understand how tempting it would be to “sleep” through part of our lives, particularly the more challenging days and seasons. Sleeping disconnects us from pain and disappointment. It gives us a break from all which demands our energy and our effort, and this is not a bad thing. In fact, sleep is an important tool needed for healing the body and the mind, especially when we have been sick or overly drained. This is also why we are encouraged to sleep once a day for about 8 hours. We need this time of renewal to stay in balance. But the other two thirds of our day we are supposed to be awake and engaged, present fully in the life which is enfolding around us. The problem with sleep occurs when we either get too much of it or too little. This is why driving late into the night is so dangerous. One’s ability to be alert and present is compromised. And, likewise, too much sleep, can cause us to be groggy and disconnected. Balance is the key.
During deployment time, it may be especially important to think about Paul’s words. Balance is not always easy to accomplish. There are quite a few of us burning the candle at both ends, sometimes out of necessity. Yet too much of that can cause us to become less effective and dull. On the other hand, if we spend all of our free time sleeping or hiding in our rooms playing video games, or even, because of the groundhog day syndrome, basically sleep through even our waking hours, we are not able to engage fully in our lives right now. In many ways, it might be easier to sleep through this year, then be fully present and engaged in every single of the 365 days or the 180 days that we are called to this place. It is a lot of days, after all. But Paul reminds us that God has given us a different way to live, even during the difficult seasons, the seasons of our waiting. Because of the gift of life that we have been given, we are called to respond to this gift through living each day with faith, hope, and love.
Living with faith, hope and love, focusing on these practices, give us a better frame of mind to live out the last part of Paul’s instruction. When it is all said and done, he reminds us that we are to encourage one another and build up each other, too. Perhaps, this is the most important part of our lesson, especially in this place. If there is one thing that we can offer one another, it is a bit of encouragement. I will be the first to admit that this is not always easy, when the days are long and the work piles up. You can just ask PFC Fischer, who shares my office and whose job is to be my chaplain’s assistant. Even though I know that my job both as a chaplain and also as a Christian, is to encourage people and build them up, I don’t always do it. Sometimes it is because of the stress, trying to get everything organized and accomplished within the time allotted. Sometimes it is because I am sleeping on the job, living in a daze as I walk around, kicking rocks and looking for my next jolt of caffeine.
But as I hear Paul’s words, I remember the greatest commandment, to love God with my whole heart and mind and soul and to love my neighbors. Part of loving one another means to encourage and to build each other up. This means paying attention to how my neighbors are coping with their lives here, how they are managing this time away from family and friends. It means remembering each others birthdays and, at least every once in a while, asking how a friend is doing and staying around long enough to hear the answer. It means staying awake, even when sleep is easier, because only when we are awake, only when we are ready, can we live with faith, hope, and love. Only then can we live the kind of lives that are grateful for all that God has done and is doing in the here and now.
Of course, we know that we know this. But what we know here in our minds, doesn’t always translate here to our hearts. We have been told again and again, that we are children of light. We live in Christ and that is all that we need to know. But the “signs of the end times,” whether it be wars or earthquakes or hurricanes or the Mayan Calendar’s end in DEC 2012 or the billboards about rapture or a charismatic prophet/pastor who tries to convince us that the end of the world is on May 21st so sell your stuff and euthanize your pets, these things actually take our focus away from God. For the time and the place and the hour is only God’s to know.
Do not be dismayed. Do not let anxiety take you away from the God who loves you, the God who will never leave or forsake you, the God who will go to the ends of the earth to find you and bring you back to the fold. Listen to God’s voice saying this, “Be Still and Know that I am God.” Be still and know that I am God. Isn’t that really all we need to know? Amen
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Veteran's Day Reflections
There’s nothing like a Veteran’s Day Service while deployed in Afghanistan to make me sad to be an American. Perhaps it was the message which claimed that US involvement in 130 or more countries around the world fostered unequivocal peace and justice or the many references to how God is pleased with all that we are doing in God’s name. There are many pockets of good which we can celebrate as a nation, but my fear is that we are not more critical of our intentions, particularly when we take the step of claiming God’s favor as we take action as a nation.
Maybe this is why I found myself unable to sing along with Lee Greenwood’s “I’m Proud to be An American,” our first hymn selected for the service. Ironically, I have never been able to sing that song, but for very different reasons. In my kindergarten class, after the Pledge of Allegiance, we would also sing Greenwood’s iconic verses. Back then, I could stop myself from crying. At five, I just couldn’t get past the first line. I figured that it would be utterly devastating to lose everything, and I just couldn’t bear to think about it.
Since those elementary school days I have learned that there are many people in the world who suffer great loss because of sickness, natural disasters, the death of a loved one, violence and much more. These people are in America and South Africa and Afghanistan. They are neighbors down the street in the perceived security of the middle classes, and they are in the slums and poverty of the developing world. I also believe that God has particular care and investment in all of us, every people, every race and every nation. From the family whose life is forever changed by two soldiers dressed in formal attire who have come to deliver the news of another “Killed-in-Action,” to the children who are left to fend for themselves due to the death of a mother or father or both because of AIDS, God is right there with them.
But it is Veteran’s Day. And, it is on this day that we have the opportunity to honor that greater love which is this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friend. This is what Jesus has taught us and even showed us. And, when I consider the service of some of the soldiers that I have known, I do catch a glimpse of this kind of transforming love. I think of a friend I have whose job it is to patrol villages in southern Afghanistan. His willingness to remain open to the possibility that some good may come from sharing pencils, stuffed animals, and coloring books as he and his squad encounter great risk each day they simply do the job we have asked them to do, this makes me proud to be an American. Sharing a meal with a group of young women soldiers who are part-time college students, full time deployed, and yet still demanding that our work here be not simply about numbers but more importantly about quality because real quality may actually make all the difference in another soldier’s life, this makes me proud to be an American. When I think about soldiers that I met at Walter Reed who were learning how to walk again with prosthetic legs, who weren’t about to give up even though their lives had drastically changed, and their mothers and spouses who had left home to come and help in the healing process, even when this journey demanded months and years, this makes me proud to be American.
Earlier this week I learned that a girl’s school was targeted and bombed here in Afghanistan. The only strategic reason I can discern in this attack is that it confounds those of us who believe that all people have a right to learn, no matter their gender or background. Reading this report, knowing that there are so many children in this place, who may never know a life without suffering and violence or may never have the opportunity for education that I have had, this makes me grateful that I have been empowered to live well. For much of this gift, I do recognize and give thanks to my country and all those persons who have given blood, sweat, and tears to shape and mold it. However, we must not forget those persons, fellow citizens even, who do not experience empowerment within our own borders. Let their struggle remind us that our work toward justice, even in our backyards, is never finished.
And, most importantly, when it comes to a God of every nation, I have to think of the sound theology I encountered, almost unknowingly, through hymns sung in church. I include below three verses of one of my favorite hymns, This is My Song, for reflection on this day. For a nation, these sentiments may seem idealistic and impossible to achieve without the mechanism of war. We can leave that one on the table for debate. No matter how we strive for peace and justice, if we are so bold to endeavor to claim God's will and favor, let us remember that we are all made in God's image, every last one of us.
This is My Song:
This is my song, Oh God of all the nations,
A song of peace for lands afar and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is;
Here are my hopes, my dreams, my sacred shrine.
But other hearts in other lands are beating,
With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.
My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,
And sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine.
But other lands have sunlight too and clover,
And skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
Oh hear my song, oh God of all the nations,
A song of peace for their land and for mine.
May truth and freedom come to every nation;
may peace abound where strife has raged so long;
that each may seek to love and build together,
a world united, righting every wrong;
a world united in its love for freedom,
proclaiming peace together in one song.
Maybe this is why I found myself unable to sing along with Lee Greenwood’s “I’m Proud to be An American,” our first hymn selected for the service. Ironically, I have never been able to sing that song, but for very different reasons. In my kindergarten class, after the Pledge of Allegiance, we would also sing Greenwood’s iconic verses. Back then, I could stop myself from crying. At five, I just couldn’t get past the first line. I figured that it would be utterly devastating to lose everything, and I just couldn’t bear to think about it.
Since those elementary school days I have learned that there are many people in the world who suffer great loss because of sickness, natural disasters, the death of a loved one, violence and much more. These people are in America and South Africa and Afghanistan. They are neighbors down the street in the perceived security of the middle classes, and they are in the slums and poverty of the developing world. I also believe that God has particular care and investment in all of us, every people, every race and every nation. From the family whose life is forever changed by two soldiers dressed in formal attire who have come to deliver the news of another “Killed-in-Action,” to the children who are left to fend for themselves due to the death of a mother or father or both because of AIDS, God is right there with them.
But it is Veteran’s Day. And, it is on this day that we have the opportunity to honor that greater love which is this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friend. This is what Jesus has taught us and even showed us. And, when I consider the service of some of the soldiers that I have known, I do catch a glimpse of this kind of transforming love. I think of a friend I have whose job it is to patrol villages in southern Afghanistan. His willingness to remain open to the possibility that some good may come from sharing pencils, stuffed animals, and coloring books as he and his squad encounter great risk each day they simply do the job we have asked them to do, this makes me proud to be an American. Sharing a meal with a group of young women soldiers who are part-time college students, full time deployed, and yet still demanding that our work here be not simply about numbers but more importantly about quality because real quality may actually make all the difference in another soldier’s life, this makes me proud to be an American. When I think about soldiers that I met at Walter Reed who were learning how to walk again with prosthetic legs, who weren’t about to give up even though their lives had drastically changed, and their mothers and spouses who had left home to come and help in the healing process, even when this journey demanded months and years, this makes me proud to be American.
Earlier this week I learned that a girl’s school was targeted and bombed here in Afghanistan. The only strategic reason I can discern in this attack is that it confounds those of us who believe that all people have a right to learn, no matter their gender or background. Reading this report, knowing that there are so many children in this place, who may never know a life without suffering and violence or may never have the opportunity for education that I have had, this makes me grateful that I have been empowered to live well. For much of this gift, I do recognize and give thanks to my country and all those persons who have given blood, sweat, and tears to shape and mold it. However, we must not forget those persons, fellow citizens even, who do not experience empowerment within our own borders. Let their struggle remind us that our work toward justice, even in our backyards, is never finished.
And, most importantly, when it comes to a God of every nation, I have to think of the sound theology I encountered, almost unknowingly, through hymns sung in church. I include below three verses of one of my favorite hymns, This is My Song, for reflection on this day. For a nation, these sentiments may seem idealistic and impossible to achieve without the mechanism of war. We can leave that one on the table for debate. No matter how we strive for peace and justice, if we are so bold to endeavor to claim God's will and favor, let us remember that we are all made in God's image, every last one of us.
This is My Song:
This is my song, Oh God of all the nations,
A song of peace for lands afar and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is;
Here are my hopes, my dreams, my sacred shrine.
But other hearts in other lands are beating,
With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.
My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,
And sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine.
But other lands have sunlight too and clover,
And skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
Oh hear my song, oh God of all the nations,
A song of peace for their land and for mine.
May truth and freedom come to every nation;
may peace abound where strife has raged so long;
that each may seek to love and build together,
a world united, righting every wrong;
a world united in its love for freedom,
proclaiming peace together in one song.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Courage to Pray
As I write, my tears are making spots in the dust on my keyboard. I cleaned the keyboard two days ago, but dust and dirt have a way of creeping into the office, through cracks and crevices that are bare to the eye. Why is it that bad news always comes when its rainy and grey? I should have been on guard when I walked out of the tent to find foul weather.
Today I got a very sad email detailing devastating incidents from a dear friend in South Africa who I worked with for two years. For almost a decade she has been running a program for children orphaned and vulnerable because of HIV and AIDS. Over these years of working with children and families impacted by the HIV and AIDS crisis, I have learned to listen gently, balancing my own heart ache with a desire to help those who grieve also find the space to celebrate hope. When a child would come into my office, I never knew what story I would hear—sexual violence, abuse, neglect, sickness and death. Always, though, I prepared myself to enter into a sacred realm where, even for a moment, I would be given a chance to help carry a bit of a burden too great for any one person to bear.
I also learned to live with the sharpness of disappointment. Just because a child is given an opportunity to succeed, an opportunity for good education, an opportunity for a better way, doesn’t ensure that he or she will be able to accept this gift and carry it through to completion. Sometimes even a priceless gift is too heavy to hold on to when one has lived through hell, when one has been worn ragged and wrung dry by life’s unfair blows. Through witnessing unwavering love of grannies, aunties, friends, and care givers who pick up pieces and continue to pray even when darkness covers the whole earth, I have learned that hope can bring you to your knees with sadness.
Today it feels like no one understands the trouble I know. How can they? No one here has lived and worked with these children. No one here has hosted sleepovers and ice cream parties for kids who then turn and steal or perpetuate violence against one another or have unprotected sex leading to another life being born into what seems to be a never-ending cycle of poverty. No one here has listened to tales of child rape by uncles and bothers. No one here really knows, or do they? As I have gone about my morning routine, a prayer breakfast, encouraging soldiers in their work, sitting through intelligence briefs, I have reconsidered my position. While no one here may understand the details of my particular story, tragedy and sadness do not discriminate. They come knocking on all of our doors, one day or another. Today. I know, just a little more closely, what it must be like to experience difficulty away from family or friends who understand all the details. Though there are many here who are prepared to listen to my sadness, none of them feel the same way about it.
Writing this helps me remember that when a soldier or any person comes to share their story of loss, I can only hear so deeply. At some point, I own my deficiency. Yet, even in inability to fully know or understand anything a person is going through, I know that willing ears and a compassionate heart mean a great deal. It certainly has made a difference for me today, as I have carried around my own measure of sadness for a place and a people I no longer touch but still love. On days like today, prayer demands courage. Because of the faith I knew there and for the people who, in many ways, taught me to praise God in utter darkness, I will find strength to pray.
Today I got a very sad email detailing devastating incidents from a dear friend in South Africa who I worked with for two years. For almost a decade she has been running a program for children orphaned and vulnerable because of HIV and AIDS. Over these years of working with children and families impacted by the HIV and AIDS crisis, I have learned to listen gently, balancing my own heart ache with a desire to help those who grieve also find the space to celebrate hope. When a child would come into my office, I never knew what story I would hear—sexual violence, abuse, neglect, sickness and death. Always, though, I prepared myself to enter into a sacred realm where, even for a moment, I would be given a chance to help carry a bit of a burden too great for any one person to bear.
I also learned to live with the sharpness of disappointment. Just because a child is given an opportunity to succeed, an opportunity for good education, an opportunity for a better way, doesn’t ensure that he or she will be able to accept this gift and carry it through to completion. Sometimes even a priceless gift is too heavy to hold on to when one has lived through hell, when one has been worn ragged and wrung dry by life’s unfair blows. Through witnessing unwavering love of grannies, aunties, friends, and care givers who pick up pieces and continue to pray even when darkness covers the whole earth, I have learned that hope can bring you to your knees with sadness.
Today it feels like no one understands the trouble I know. How can they? No one here has lived and worked with these children. No one here has hosted sleepovers and ice cream parties for kids who then turn and steal or perpetuate violence against one another or have unprotected sex leading to another life being born into what seems to be a never-ending cycle of poverty. No one here has listened to tales of child rape by uncles and bothers. No one here really knows, or do they? As I have gone about my morning routine, a prayer breakfast, encouraging soldiers in their work, sitting through intelligence briefs, I have reconsidered my position. While no one here may understand the details of my particular story, tragedy and sadness do not discriminate. They come knocking on all of our doors, one day or another. Today. I know, just a little more closely, what it must be like to experience difficulty away from family or friends who understand all the details. Though there are many here who are prepared to listen to my sadness, none of them feel the same way about it.
Writing this helps me remember that when a soldier or any person comes to share their story of loss, I can only hear so deeply. At some point, I own my deficiency. Yet, even in inability to fully know or understand anything a person is going through, I know that willing ears and a compassionate heart mean a great deal. It certainly has made a difference for me today, as I have carried around my own measure of sadness for a place and a people I no longer touch but still love. On days like today, prayer demands courage. Because of the faith I knew there and for the people who, in many ways, taught me to praise God in utter darkness, I will find strength to pray.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Sermon for Sunday, November 6, 2011
Chaplain (CPT) Mary E. Baars
November 6, 2011
Camp Sabalu-Harrison Chapel, Afghanistan
Joshua 1:1-9
God’s Gifts of Manna: for this Season and Every Season
Before I read the scripture passage I am preaching on this morning, I want to take a few minutes to set up this scene which is unfolding in the book of Joshua. These verses that we are reading directly follow the final book of Torah, Deuteronomy, where after a LONG stay in the desert, Moses has died. But, before he died, Moses laid his hands on Joshua, and appointed him as the new leader of the Israelites. Now, let’s put ourselves in Joshua’s shoes for a moment. Moses has been a fearless leader for more than 40 years, guiding this people through the wilderness, helping them stay safe and sound and ensuring no matter what, their eventual passage into the Promised Land. There was really no other leader, no other prophet, like Moses. Most importantly, Moses was the only one who knew God face to face. God came to Moses first in a burning bush and then again and again throughout his life. Moses and God, in many ways, had a very personal relationship. Not only were Moses and God on friendship terms, Moses was also well known for the miracles that God had performed through him... the many plagues in Egypt which freed the Hebrew slaves, the receiving of the 10 commandments, bringing water from a rock and food from the sky. Moses was a powerful leader, kind of like a four star General or a Command Sergeant Major. So, you can imagine what Joshua would have felt, having been thrust into the position of leadership over this people, having to follow in such enormous footsteps. Keep this in mind because, it is right after the death of Moses, that God then speaks these words to Joshua, this new, young, inexperienced leader who was going to take God’s people from their “temporary” desert home back into Canaan.
Now listen to this reading of Joshua 1:1-9.
“No one shall be able to stand against you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will not fail you or forsake you. 6Be strong and courageous; for you shall put this people in possession of the land that I swore to their ancestors to give them. 7Only be strong and very courageous, being careful to act in accordance with all the law that my servant Moses commanded you; do not turn from it to the right hand or to the left, so that you may be successful wherever you go. 8This book of the law shall not depart out of your mouth; you shall meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to act in accordance with all that is written in it. For then you shall make your way prosperous, and then you shall be successful. 9I hereby command you: Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.’” Joshua 1:5-9
And so, after 40 years of wandering in the desert wilderness, the time came for the Israelites to cross back over into their rightful home, the place which God had prepared for them, the place that they had originally come from years and years before. I bet most of us would say, without hesitation, that going home sounds like a wonderful idea, and especially after being in the desert for such a long time. We can all agree I am sure because I have only been in this place a little over a week, and in many ways, I am ready to get home, back to the people that I love and the places that I have known, back to my own bed where I can sleep through the night without having to don my IOTV, helmet, and boots, and run for the bunker, like I did last night. Nonetheless, even though home is exactly where I want to be on some level, I also know that the desert is an important place, a unique place, where we can meet God up close. As most of us have learned, once you have been in the desert, going home is not altogether easy.
And, we see this in our story this morning. For the Israelites, passage home was not simple. Their beloved leader was dead, and many of them did not know if they could cross over without him. In a way, they had all gotten used to life in the desert. The “food” while they had been deployed may not have been that great, and it was definitely more than a little bit repetitive, but they were used to it after all this time. Even if they wouldn’t admit it out loud, they had come to even look forward to it... who could complain about a daily dose of quail and manna. Who could complain about unlimited grilled cheese and those mini-packs of jelly beans that go so easily into the cargo pockets... of course I am saying this after only two weeks... But God had made a promise to the Israelites, that this manna would be enough. And it was. It kept them alive and going strong, day after day.
Since the moment the Israelites departed Egypt, they had been together as one people, one cohesive unit. They did everything together. They always stayed close because they never knew what threats might be out there which could bring them harm. They survived many things with one another, questionable water, venomous snakes, watching as loved ones suffered because of the perils of the desert. But no matter how bad things were for them, they found the strength to continue on because they were on their journey together. Crossing over meant separation. They would have to go their separate ways, into different parts of this Promised Land, establishing, re-establishing their own families and tribes.
For some of them, going home meant saying good-bye to a friend or a comrade who had become a close as brother or sister. It must have been a difficult thing to imagine. Could life really go on after this desert, where friends laughed at the same old jokes as they trekked through the sand and the rocks day after day, making the most out of the situation they were in. Let’s face it, even though the Israelites knew that going home was a good thing, they were a little uneasy. Some of them may have even been a little scared. After all that time in the desert, it was hard to know what exactly to expect back at home. Forty years is a long time to be in the desert. One year is a long time. Six months is a long time in the desert. Any time spent in the desert changes you because, more than any other place, the desert is a place where we encounter God face to face. In the desert we depend on God because there is nothing else that can provide and sustain us like God does. Of course God is faithful in every season of our lives, but it is in the desert more than any other place that we are reminded that we need God. Every hour, every day, we need our gracious and loving father.
This was true for the Israelites and this is also true for us. We know this all too well. We have experienced God’s incredible provision in this desert. We know just how God keeps God’s promises. So, we can put ourselves in the Israelite’s shoes as they stood on that mountain, preparing to cross the Jordan, preparing to go home. Now, before this moment of going home, while they were still lost in the desert, we can imagine the scene, the mumbling and the complaining. They were probably remembering all the things about their old lives that they missed. I bet they spent a lot of time talking about all the things they would do once they got into the Promised Land. What they would cook when they had their own stove again, when they had access to a whole variety of food instead of that endless supply of dry, flaky manna. They probably sat around the fire, dreaming about the day they would settle into their homes, being grateful for some real permanence after moving around, living in tents and backpacks for so long.
In some ways, they fantasized about going home so much so that I wonder if they set themselves up for disappointment. Would going home really be as good as they had imagined it to be as they struggled through the desert or would this promised land, their new home, end up having its own set of challenges. They were all excited and yet they were also nervous, all at the same time. They were pacing and stressing, hardly sleeping and wondering what would become of them once they had made it to the other side.
Into this fray of transition and uncertainty, God speaks these words, “No one shall be able to stand against you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will not fail you or forsake you. Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” Strength and courage, this is God’s commandment, this is God’s instruction to them. In the midst of this shift, in the midst of this life passage, God reminds them “be strong, have courage.” But it’s not strong and courageous on their own, not strong and courageous through their personal ability or capacity but it is strength and courage through God... because the Lord God was with them no matter where they went.
I don’t know about you, but I find myself relating a lot to this desert people. And this week, as two of our battalions are preparing to RIP, to cross over, back to their homes and families, as many of us look to that day with great anticipation when we will be on the verge of a homecoming, we share in the experience of those Israelites who stood on the edge of the Jordan River, anxiously waiting for return home.
Throughout these months of deployment, we too experience the perils of desert life. We hunger and thirst, but we do this together. We fight off the all of the poisons which seek out to harm us here, but we do this together. We also watch as someone we love dearly suffers pain, maybe because of the pressures of their jobs or stress with family who are far away. BUT we also do this together. Joining your church service last Sunday I was struck at the significance of this faith community. The love and care is palpable in this room. And, while I have heard over this week, many people who are preparing to go, express a sense of relief in going home, I have also heard, sometimes even between the lines, a sense of sadness and loss. Going home is an exciting passage but it requires saying goodbye to friends, to brothers and sisters in Christ who we come to love and depend on.
In some moments, it’s hard to imagine any other life but this one. As hard as it is on some days, we still find ways to make this life here a good life nonetheless. We laugh more laughs over nothing and we cry tears over everything and for as many bad moments that we may have, there are also some good ones, some joyful times. It is because we are a team. As much as we want to be freed from this place, as happy as we are to get home to what we love the most, deep down we know that we also mourn for the losses that we have seen and felt here and for the loss we will feel when we are not together in this close knit way.
Many of you may ask yourselves some of these questions. What is waiting for me at home? Has my family moved on somehow in my absence? Will my spouse still need me the way he or she did before, or will what I have to offer no longer matter as much? Will my son still look up to me the way he did before or my daughter remember our special times together or have too many days gone by with my absence? Will I be able to cope with life over there on the other side, the pressures and the expectations and all those people who don’t understand what I have been through in this desert experience? Will I survive this transition?
To all of our questions and doubts and fears, God whispers this “No one shall be able to stand against you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will not fail you or forsake you. Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” No matter how you feel as you stand on the mountain, looking over the Jordan river at the promised land, excited, scared, nervous, ready one minute and ill-prepared in the next one, know that God has made a promise to you, to be there with you every step of the way.
Strength and courage do not come from you alone, but are given to you by a God whose love for you is wide and deep and broad. A God who is known for steadfast ways. A God whose love literally knows no bounds. So may you feel God’s presence as you finish your desert journey. May you experience God’s care as you cross over into your homes and communities. And, may you know God’s steadfastness as you negotiate the new challenges that are waiting for you. And always, in whatever season you find yourself in and in every place that you go remember God’s words:
“As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will not fail you or forsake you. Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” Amen and amen.
November 6, 2011
Camp Sabalu-Harrison Chapel, Afghanistan
Joshua 1:1-9
God’s Gifts of Manna: for this Season and Every Season
Before I read the scripture passage I am preaching on this morning, I want to take a few minutes to set up this scene which is unfolding in the book of Joshua. These verses that we are reading directly follow the final book of Torah, Deuteronomy, where after a LONG stay in the desert, Moses has died. But, before he died, Moses laid his hands on Joshua, and appointed him as the new leader of the Israelites. Now, let’s put ourselves in Joshua’s shoes for a moment. Moses has been a fearless leader for more than 40 years, guiding this people through the wilderness, helping them stay safe and sound and ensuring no matter what, their eventual passage into the Promised Land. There was really no other leader, no other prophet, like Moses. Most importantly, Moses was the only one who knew God face to face. God came to Moses first in a burning bush and then again and again throughout his life. Moses and God, in many ways, had a very personal relationship. Not only were Moses and God on friendship terms, Moses was also well known for the miracles that God had performed through him... the many plagues in Egypt which freed the Hebrew slaves, the receiving of the 10 commandments, bringing water from a rock and food from the sky. Moses was a powerful leader, kind of like a four star General or a Command Sergeant Major. So, you can imagine what Joshua would have felt, having been thrust into the position of leadership over this people, having to follow in such enormous footsteps. Keep this in mind because, it is right after the death of Moses, that God then speaks these words to Joshua, this new, young, inexperienced leader who was going to take God’s people from their “temporary” desert home back into Canaan.
Now listen to this reading of Joshua 1:1-9.
“No one shall be able to stand against you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will not fail you or forsake you. 6Be strong and courageous; for you shall put this people in possession of the land that I swore to their ancestors to give them. 7Only be strong and very courageous, being careful to act in accordance with all the law that my servant Moses commanded you; do not turn from it to the right hand or to the left, so that you may be successful wherever you go. 8This book of the law shall not depart out of your mouth; you shall meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to act in accordance with all that is written in it. For then you shall make your way prosperous, and then you shall be successful. 9I hereby command you: Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.’” Joshua 1:5-9
And so, after 40 years of wandering in the desert wilderness, the time came for the Israelites to cross back over into their rightful home, the place which God had prepared for them, the place that they had originally come from years and years before. I bet most of us would say, without hesitation, that going home sounds like a wonderful idea, and especially after being in the desert for such a long time. We can all agree I am sure because I have only been in this place a little over a week, and in many ways, I am ready to get home, back to the people that I love and the places that I have known, back to my own bed where I can sleep through the night without having to don my IOTV, helmet, and boots, and run for the bunker, like I did last night. Nonetheless, even though home is exactly where I want to be on some level, I also know that the desert is an important place, a unique place, where we can meet God up close. As most of us have learned, once you have been in the desert, going home is not altogether easy.
And, we see this in our story this morning. For the Israelites, passage home was not simple. Their beloved leader was dead, and many of them did not know if they could cross over without him. In a way, they had all gotten used to life in the desert. The “food” while they had been deployed may not have been that great, and it was definitely more than a little bit repetitive, but they were used to it after all this time. Even if they wouldn’t admit it out loud, they had come to even look forward to it... who could complain about a daily dose of quail and manna. Who could complain about unlimited grilled cheese and those mini-packs of jelly beans that go so easily into the cargo pockets... of course I am saying this after only two weeks... But God had made a promise to the Israelites, that this manna would be enough. And it was. It kept them alive and going strong, day after day.
Since the moment the Israelites departed Egypt, they had been together as one people, one cohesive unit. They did everything together. They always stayed close because they never knew what threats might be out there which could bring them harm. They survived many things with one another, questionable water, venomous snakes, watching as loved ones suffered because of the perils of the desert. But no matter how bad things were for them, they found the strength to continue on because they were on their journey together. Crossing over meant separation. They would have to go their separate ways, into different parts of this Promised Land, establishing, re-establishing their own families and tribes.
For some of them, going home meant saying good-bye to a friend or a comrade who had become a close as brother or sister. It must have been a difficult thing to imagine. Could life really go on after this desert, where friends laughed at the same old jokes as they trekked through the sand and the rocks day after day, making the most out of the situation they were in. Let’s face it, even though the Israelites knew that going home was a good thing, they were a little uneasy. Some of them may have even been a little scared. After all that time in the desert, it was hard to know what exactly to expect back at home. Forty years is a long time to be in the desert. One year is a long time. Six months is a long time in the desert. Any time spent in the desert changes you because, more than any other place, the desert is a place where we encounter God face to face. In the desert we depend on God because there is nothing else that can provide and sustain us like God does. Of course God is faithful in every season of our lives, but it is in the desert more than any other place that we are reminded that we need God. Every hour, every day, we need our gracious and loving father.
This was true for the Israelites and this is also true for us. We know this all too well. We have experienced God’s incredible provision in this desert. We know just how God keeps God’s promises. So, we can put ourselves in the Israelite’s shoes as they stood on that mountain, preparing to cross the Jordan, preparing to go home. Now, before this moment of going home, while they were still lost in the desert, we can imagine the scene, the mumbling and the complaining. They were probably remembering all the things about their old lives that they missed. I bet they spent a lot of time talking about all the things they would do once they got into the Promised Land. What they would cook when they had their own stove again, when they had access to a whole variety of food instead of that endless supply of dry, flaky manna. They probably sat around the fire, dreaming about the day they would settle into their homes, being grateful for some real permanence after moving around, living in tents and backpacks for so long.
In some ways, they fantasized about going home so much so that I wonder if they set themselves up for disappointment. Would going home really be as good as they had imagined it to be as they struggled through the desert or would this promised land, their new home, end up having its own set of challenges. They were all excited and yet they were also nervous, all at the same time. They were pacing and stressing, hardly sleeping and wondering what would become of them once they had made it to the other side.
Into this fray of transition and uncertainty, God speaks these words, “No one shall be able to stand against you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will not fail you or forsake you. Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” Strength and courage, this is God’s commandment, this is God’s instruction to them. In the midst of this shift, in the midst of this life passage, God reminds them “be strong, have courage.” But it’s not strong and courageous on their own, not strong and courageous through their personal ability or capacity but it is strength and courage through God... because the Lord God was with them no matter where they went.
I don’t know about you, but I find myself relating a lot to this desert people. And this week, as two of our battalions are preparing to RIP, to cross over, back to their homes and families, as many of us look to that day with great anticipation when we will be on the verge of a homecoming, we share in the experience of those Israelites who stood on the edge of the Jordan River, anxiously waiting for return home.
Throughout these months of deployment, we too experience the perils of desert life. We hunger and thirst, but we do this together. We fight off the all of the poisons which seek out to harm us here, but we do this together. We also watch as someone we love dearly suffers pain, maybe because of the pressures of their jobs or stress with family who are far away. BUT we also do this together. Joining your church service last Sunday I was struck at the significance of this faith community. The love and care is palpable in this room. And, while I have heard over this week, many people who are preparing to go, express a sense of relief in going home, I have also heard, sometimes even between the lines, a sense of sadness and loss. Going home is an exciting passage but it requires saying goodbye to friends, to brothers and sisters in Christ who we come to love and depend on.
In some moments, it’s hard to imagine any other life but this one. As hard as it is on some days, we still find ways to make this life here a good life nonetheless. We laugh more laughs over nothing and we cry tears over everything and for as many bad moments that we may have, there are also some good ones, some joyful times. It is because we are a team. As much as we want to be freed from this place, as happy as we are to get home to what we love the most, deep down we know that we also mourn for the losses that we have seen and felt here and for the loss we will feel when we are not together in this close knit way.
Many of you may ask yourselves some of these questions. What is waiting for me at home? Has my family moved on somehow in my absence? Will my spouse still need me the way he or she did before, or will what I have to offer no longer matter as much? Will my son still look up to me the way he did before or my daughter remember our special times together or have too many days gone by with my absence? Will I be able to cope with life over there on the other side, the pressures and the expectations and all those people who don’t understand what I have been through in this desert experience? Will I survive this transition?
To all of our questions and doubts and fears, God whispers this “No one shall be able to stand against you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will not fail you or forsake you. Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” No matter how you feel as you stand on the mountain, looking over the Jordan river at the promised land, excited, scared, nervous, ready one minute and ill-prepared in the next one, know that God has made a promise to you, to be there with you every step of the way.
Strength and courage do not come from you alone, but are given to you by a God whose love for you is wide and deep and broad. A God who is known for steadfast ways. A God whose love literally knows no bounds. So may you feel God’s presence as you finish your desert journey. May you experience God’s care as you cross over into your homes and communities. And, may you know God’s steadfastness as you negotiate the new challenges that are waiting for you. And always, in whatever season you find yourself in and in every place that you go remember God’s words:
“As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will not fail you or forsake you. Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” Amen and amen.
A Trip to the Bunker
I knew the moment would happen, sooner or later, but when I went to sleep last night, experiencing my first “rocket attack” was the last thing on my mind. I should have known, after all I had to preach this morning. I should have been ready for my first genuine bunker experience to happen the night before my first Afghanistan sermon. The irony of the whole affair was that I heard the explosions about 15 minutes before the sirens went off. I thought, like most of the noises that float through the thin walls of the tent, it was business as usual.
I must have just drifted off to sleep, thanks to my nightly Benadryl, when the first alarms sounded and a voice from the loudspeaker announced “incoming fire, don your equipment and take cover in place.” The procedure of our base is that, as long as we are in a building, we stay put, crossing our fingers and hoping that whatever happens, the buildings will provide enough stability. Of course, still being in tents, we didn’t have luxury of staying in our beds, but had to head for the bunkers.
For those of you who are wondering about what a bunker actually is, imagine a big hole covered with thick cement walls and roof. Around the cement walls are bags of sand. Apparently, this is enough to keep us mostly safe. Now, up until last night, I had never been in a bunker. In fact, I had no idea where the bunker was. Note to self, next time, locate bunkers before the attack.
I don’t think 10 seconds passed before I was up, wearing my boots, my helmet, and my body armor. I have never put it on that fast. Now mind you, I had been wearing only a t-shirt and shorts in my sleeping bag. But in my great haste, I didn’t take the time to get fully dressed. So, with no socks or under garments to speak of and my shoe laces not even tied, I started running for the tent flap, hoping that finding the bunker would be relatively easy.
Before I go on, I should add that the rest of my tent mates took a little different approach. A few of them were still in their sleeping bags as I went running through, wearing hardly anything but my gear, heading for “the bunker.” Our JAG lawyer set up in her bed, just as I was announcing to the group that we were under attack, and some of the other women were looking for their clothes, knowing better than me that it was cold outside and we were likely going to have to sit out there for a while. I burst through the tent, expecting to see the sky on fire or some evidence of the exploding rounds. Instead, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. I started running down the path, looking for the bunker, when I ran into some of the soldiers in my unit. They looked at me like I had lost my mind. I will admit that my helmet, not even fastened because my hair was disheveled and all over, was a little crooked. But I was “heading to the bunker” so none of that really mattered to me. I can’t really remember what I said, but I had a fleeting thought that if we lived through this “attack” I would not live this down. This was truly the first time that I lived up to Father Mulcahy from M*A*S*H. And, this morning, I have already endured the impersonations acted out by my fellow soldiers. But, even though I looked ridiculous, between their laughter, they all agreed that I had done the right thing by getting geared up and to the bunker so quickly.
I was the first one to get to the bunker, and it didn’t cross my mind that there was probably more of a chance that I would be greeted by a cobra instead of a rocket impact. But I willingly entered into the dark hole, ready for the next ring of fire. I am not sure what I really expected, possibly a full scale attack, but sure enough, the night stayed quiet. As soldiers gathered into the bunker with me, most of them, having deployed before, laid down on the ground and attempted to go back to sleep. I just laughed in my heart, telling myself that I wouldn’t have a real war experience without being startled awake by sirens and rockets. I think my sermon had a little more impact with a few added lines about the hour we spent in the early hours of the morning, sitting in the bunker.
For all those soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines whose work requires that they leave the safety of a forward operating base on a regular basis, my anxiety over a few sirens and explosions will seem almost comical, but we all have to have a first time experiencing, even from a distance, the possibility of harm. The rockets hit about two miles away in an open, deserted field. Because we are in holiday time, we are told to expect more possible attacks. So, we can only hope that when this happens again, their aim will remain less than exact.
I must have just drifted off to sleep, thanks to my nightly Benadryl, when the first alarms sounded and a voice from the loudspeaker announced “incoming fire, don your equipment and take cover in place.” The procedure of our base is that, as long as we are in a building, we stay put, crossing our fingers and hoping that whatever happens, the buildings will provide enough stability. Of course, still being in tents, we didn’t have luxury of staying in our beds, but had to head for the bunkers.
For those of you who are wondering about what a bunker actually is, imagine a big hole covered with thick cement walls and roof. Around the cement walls are bags of sand. Apparently, this is enough to keep us mostly safe. Now, up until last night, I had never been in a bunker. In fact, I had no idea where the bunker was. Note to self, next time, locate bunkers before the attack.
I don’t think 10 seconds passed before I was up, wearing my boots, my helmet, and my body armor. I have never put it on that fast. Now mind you, I had been wearing only a t-shirt and shorts in my sleeping bag. But in my great haste, I didn’t take the time to get fully dressed. So, with no socks or under garments to speak of and my shoe laces not even tied, I started running for the tent flap, hoping that finding the bunker would be relatively easy.
Before I go on, I should add that the rest of my tent mates took a little different approach. A few of them were still in their sleeping bags as I went running through, wearing hardly anything but my gear, heading for “the bunker.” Our JAG lawyer set up in her bed, just as I was announcing to the group that we were under attack, and some of the other women were looking for their clothes, knowing better than me that it was cold outside and we were likely going to have to sit out there for a while. I burst through the tent, expecting to see the sky on fire or some evidence of the exploding rounds. Instead, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. I started running down the path, looking for the bunker, when I ran into some of the soldiers in my unit. They looked at me like I had lost my mind. I will admit that my helmet, not even fastened because my hair was disheveled and all over, was a little crooked. But I was “heading to the bunker” so none of that really mattered to me. I can’t really remember what I said, but I had a fleeting thought that if we lived through this “attack” I would not live this down. This was truly the first time that I lived up to Father Mulcahy from M*A*S*H. And, this morning, I have already endured the impersonations acted out by my fellow soldiers. But, even though I looked ridiculous, between their laughter, they all agreed that I had done the right thing by getting geared up and to the bunker so quickly.
I was the first one to get to the bunker, and it didn’t cross my mind that there was probably more of a chance that I would be greeted by a cobra instead of a rocket impact. But I willingly entered into the dark hole, ready for the next ring of fire. I am not sure what I really expected, possibly a full scale attack, but sure enough, the night stayed quiet. As soldiers gathered into the bunker with me, most of them, having deployed before, laid down on the ground and attempted to go back to sleep. I just laughed in my heart, telling myself that I wouldn’t have a real war experience without being startled awake by sirens and rockets. I think my sermon had a little more impact with a few added lines about the hour we spent in the early hours of the morning, sitting in the bunker.
For all those soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines whose work requires that they leave the safety of a forward operating base on a regular basis, my anxiety over a few sirens and explosions will seem almost comical, but we all have to have a first time experiencing, even from a distance, the possibility of harm. The rockets hit about two miles away in an open, deserted field. Because we are in holiday time, we are told to expect more possible attacks. So, we can only hope that when this happens again, their aim will remain less than exact.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Update: Week One
I really don’t have a theme for this blog entry. Yet, as our days unfold, “Like an ever rolling stream,” I wanted to highlight a few images from our first week in Afghanistan. I have described chaplaincy as friendship, and this really is the best word. In our first week, friendship in this place has meant many things.
Chow Hall adventures -
For all of you who had complaints about collegiate dining options, I wish you could visit us here at Bagram. But let me start with the positive. It’s all free. We all know that free food tastes a little better, no matter what it is or how repetitive it becomes. There is always salad, coke zero, and jelly beans. What more could a deployed soldier want? And, often, there are grilled cheese sandwiches. Not quite the gourmet variety found at the Schminkey/Holben household, but in a pinch, still really good! It’s been a week, however, and I don’t think the food has changed much day to day. All this said, any baked goods or treats that come our way will be very appreciated. The other “positive” of one chow option is that you can always find a friend to sit with. I feel like I am back in freshmen year. Dining is often a group event that happens at 5:30, just in time for the senior citizen special.
New friends -
I am still the battalion chaplain for the 14th MI BN, but we have been subsumed in a larger unit called Task Force Viper. My flock has doubled and, let me just say, I feel like I am constantly in an episode of NCIS or Bones. These are my new people. Along with the usual “intel” suspects, we also work with a community of linguists who serve as interpreters. Though I have only had a few interactions with them, I am looking forward to a growing relationship over this year. Many of them are from Afghanistan but are now US citizens. They bring amazing depth and understanding to our team and we could not do this without them. While talking to one man earlier, I realized how wrong my assumptions could be about an individual born in Afghanistan. At some point in our conversation he mentioned, almost sheepishly, that he was a Republican. I had to laugh and tell him that I had a lot of family members who fell in the same category. We could still be friends. In our conversation it became clear that he was also well versed in the New Testament. I am sure, over these months, I will be surprised again and again. This is the wonderful thing about new friends. In reaching out across nationality and birthplace as well as religion and culture, if we so choose to see it, we discover that we share more similarities than differences.
Tents -
We are still living in them. A few nights ago, before I fully accepted that we would not get moved in a timely manner, I convinced myself that I was going to get lice from the mattress that probably has never been “cleaned.” Because this is so “temporary,” I don’t even have a pillow, but sleep with my fleece under my head. I try, every time I get in my sleeping bag, to not allow my imagination to snow ball… between spiders the size of my hand and the threat of cobras, there is a lot I can get worked up about. Yet, there is a blessing in balancing and really having to let go of managing all of the “threats” that seem to lurk somewhere over the horizon. Whether it is a possible rocket attack or a vehicle born explosive device, whether it is a stomach virus easily passed around a camp where people live on top of one another and bathrooms are less than sterile, whether it is fear of an assault in the dark hours of the night and all the possible threats in between, at some point I have given up on worrying about controlling it all. I just can’t. All I can do is pay attention, watch out for obvious signs of harm, and pray for peace of heart and mind.
Shabbat service -
Tonight I brought a few of my soldiers to a Shabbat service. I told them that it was their only opportunity to drink while in Afghanistan. That is not the ONLY reason that I wanted to attend. It was a wonderful night of prayers and eating. There were only a handful of Jews, a few Christians, and then a soft spoken, yet witty, Muslim. It struck me, as we prayed and ate together, sometimes serious and often laughing through the Hebrew phrases, that this myriad of people is exactly what sharing God’s table should look like. I plan to go back again next Friday.
It has been two weeks since we left San Antonio. As I write this, a year seems like a long time. It’s actually too hard to think about a whole year. So, for now, I am thinking about tomorrow, finishing a sermon on Joshua for Sunday’s Pentecostal service and figuring out how I am going to fold my socks in the dark. I may even be able to think about next week and how I will start to move things into my new office. But not a whole year. It’s just too much for my brain to fathom. And, this is a good thing. It would be easy to wish this year away, but I should take some of my own advice. This is about the day to day, discovering God’s gifts of manna in the desert, remembering that with a faithful God, there is always enough. It may not be what we want or hope for, but it is, nonetheless, all that we need.
Chow Hall adventures -
For all of you who had complaints about collegiate dining options, I wish you could visit us here at Bagram. But let me start with the positive. It’s all free. We all know that free food tastes a little better, no matter what it is or how repetitive it becomes. There is always salad, coke zero, and jelly beans. What more could a deployed soldier want? And, often, there are grilled cheese sandwiches. Not quite the gourmet variety found at the Schminkey/Holben household, but in a pinch, still really good! It’s been a week, however, and I don’t think the food has changed much day to day. All this said, any baked goods or treats that come our way will be very appreciated. The other “positive” of one chow option is that you can always find a friend to sit with. I feel like I am back in freshmen year. Dining is often a group event that happens at 5:30, just in time for the senior citizen special.
New friends -
I am still the battalion chaplain for the 14th MI BN, but we have been subsumed in a larger unit called Task Force Viper. My flock has doubled and, let me just say, I feel like I am constantly in an episode of NCIS or Bones. These are my new people. Along with the usual “intel” suspects, we also work with a community of linguists who serve as interpreters. Though I have only had a few interactions with them, I am looking forward to a growing relationship over this year. Many of them are from Afghanistan but are now US citizens. They bring amazing depth and understanding to our team and we could not do this without them. While talking to one man earlier, I realized how wrong my assumptions could be about an individual born in Afghanistan. At some point in our conversation he mentioned, almost sheepishly, that he was a Republican. I had to laugh and tell him that I had a lot of family members who fell in the same category. We could still be friends. In our conversation it became clear that he was also well versed in the New Testament. I am sure, over these months, I will be surprised again and again. This is the wonderful thing about new friends. In reaching out across nationality and birthplace as well as religion and culture, if we so choose to see it, we discover that we share more similarities than differences.
Tents -
We are still living in them. A few nights ago, before I fully accepted that we would not get moved in a timely manner, I convinced myself that I was going to get lice from the mattress that probably has never been “cleaned.” Because this is so “temporary,” I don’t even have a pillow, but sleep with my fleece under my head. I try, every time I get in my sleeping bag, to not allow my imagination to snow ball… between spiders the size of my hand and the threat of cobras, there is a lot I can get worked up about. Yet, there is a blessing in balancing and really having to let go of managing all of the “threats” that seem to lurk somewhere over the horizon. Whether it is a possible rocket attack or a vehicle born explosive device, whether it is a stomach virus easily passed around a camp where people live on top of one another and bathrooms are less than sterile, whether it is fear of an assault in the dark hours of the night and all the possible threats in between, at some point I have given up on worrying about controlling it all. I just can’t. All I can do is pay attention, watch out for obvious signs of harm, and pray for peace of heart and mind.
Shabbat service -
Tonight I brought a few of my soldiers to a Shabbat service. I told them that it was their only opportunity to drink while in Afghanistan. That is not the ONLY reason that I wanted to attend. It was a wonderful night of prayers and eating. There were only a handful of Jews, a few Christians, and then a soft spoken, yet witty, Muslim. It struck me, as we prayed and ate together, sometimes serious and often laughing through the Hebrew phrases, that this myriad of people is exactly what sharing God’s table should look like. I plan to go back again next Friday.
It has been two weeks since we left San Antonio. As I write this, a year seems like a long time. It’s actually too hard to think about a whole year. So, for now, I am thinking about tomorrow, finishing a sermon on Joshua for Sunday’s Pentecostal service and figuring out how I am going to fold my socks in the dark. I may even be able to think about next week and how I will start to move things into my new office. But not a whole year. It’s just too much for my brain to fathom. And, this is a good thing. It would be easy to wish this year away, but I should take some of my own advice. This is about the day to day, discovering God’s gifts of manna in the desert, remembering that with a faithful God, there is always enough. It may not be what we want or hope for, but it is, nonetheless, all that we need.
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