Tag: neighbors

Neighbors

It was either the famous Swiss theologian, Karl Barth or the renowned preacher, Harry Emerson Fosdick for whom John D. Rockefeller built the Riverside Church in NYC, or maybe both who said: “The responsibility of a preacher is to step into the pulpit with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other.” That being true. This story.

As many of you know, I grew up in a small community just outside Pittsburgh, PA. The great, great grandchild of Scottish immigrants who, along with so many of their countrymen and women, made their way from Scotland to Ireland to either to western Pennsylvania to work in the steel mills that lined the Allegheny and the Monongahela Rivers or to Kentucky and southwest Virginia to work in the coal mines of Appalachia. Like all those other waves of immigrants before and after them, among the things they brought with them to their new homes was their religious traditions which, for these Scotch Irish immigrants was Protestant and primarily Presbyterian which is why I am who I am. One example of how this played out in my life is that, even after several generations, as a boy growing up I was not allowed to wear green on St. Patrick’s Day because green was the color worn by Irish Catholics. Irish Protestants wore orange.

I share that with you because if you were to ask me, when I was growing up, who my neighbor was I would have told you to look around me. Everyone I knew was white. Most everyone I knew was Protestant, and probably Presbyterian. I only knew two Roman Catholic families even though there were others in our community. And, St. Scholastica, the Roman Catholic Church in our neighborhood, had a hedge around it taller than I was. I remember walking past the church, looking through the opening for the gate and wondering what was back there behind all those hedges. I had no idea. Needless to say, growing up I did not know anyone who was Jewish or Muslim or black or Latino. Everyone I knew looked like me.

All that began to change for me when I went to college.
The country was at the tail end of the civil rights movement and in the middle of the anti-Vietnam War movement. The college I attended had a black fraternity and international students. I was aware of them and knew some of them, but none were in my circle of close friends. That is context for this. The summer before my Junior year in college, after failing as a door-to-door salesman for Fuller Brush (Remember them? And, yes. I really did that.), I found a job working for Youth Opportunities Unlimited. A summer day camp program in the part of the Pittsburgh that went up in flames when the news hit that Martin Luther King, Jr. had been assassinated.

I can’t remember how I heard of the program or how I got the job, but there I was. One of a handful of white youth in a community that was nearly 100% black working for an organization focused on providing a safe summer program for African-American children and youth. It was the first time in my life I was the one with the different colored skin. That summer challenged me in many ways and made my world a bit larger and more complicated as I grappled with the question “Who is my neighbor?”

After graduating from college I found a job in a state run institution for what we now call those who are developmentally disabled. Then they were called mentally retarded. It was the first time in my life I had been around anyone with that level of disability. I worked on a locked ward with 16 profoundly retarded adults all of whom were bigger and stronger than I was. It was the hardest and most inhumane job I have ever had. Those 16-24 months put me in touch two very different types of individuals. One were those who were seriously trying to make a positive difference in the way our communities and country understood and handled individuals with disabilities. The other were those who were dismissive and often abusive of those who were different and disabled. My world, once again, became a bit larger and a bit more complicated.

A couple years after Shodie and I were married and living in suburban Chicago, a friend stopped by to visit us. For several summers, we had been camp counselors together at a Presbyterian Church camp. As we talked and caught up with each other, he told Shodie and me he was gay. It was the first time someone I knew came out to me. A year or so later a different person made an appointment to see me. He came by my office and asked me to pray over him in order to cast out Satan. He had been taught and told it was Satan who was making him gay. Several years later, when we had just moved to Bedford, a child of the church ask if her relationship to another woman could be acknowledged and blessed. This was before Holy Unions and marriage equality were even on the horizon. When her request became public a number of people left the church and, because I supported her request and said so publically, some walked out the door telling me I was not a Christian and did not deserve to be a minister. And, the question hung in the air for all of us to answer. Who is my neighbor?

Then there were the work trips to Appalachia and to Nicaragua with high school students to repair homes or to build homes. And, the conversations with those young adults about how it is possible that there are people in our country who live in homes with no indoor plumbing or in homes with roofs that are caving in or floors that have rotted away. Or, when we were standing in the dirt front yard of Rufina Amaya, the sole survivor of the El Mazote massacre. Do you remember ever hearing about that? Salvadoran troops had received training at the School of the Americas in Georgia, were flown back to El Salvador and then immediately flown to El Mazote where they rounded up everyone in the village, several hundred men, women and children, and massacred them as a message and threat to other communities in an effort to keep them from supporting the rebels who were fighting the dictatorial Salvadoran government. Rufina stumbled and fell as she and others were being rounded up. She lay hidden and listened as her husband and children and neighbors were shot. Standing in that dirt front yard with us, she talked about what had happened and about the challenge of forgiveness. In a way I had never done before, I grappled with the question “Who is my neighbor and how large a circle am I willing to draw around my life?”

I share all that with you because somewhere along the way I also began to take the Bible seriously and to take God seriously and to take Jesus seriously. Not so much as a list of things I am to believe or a creed I am required to say, but as a choice I make about the type of person I want to be and the values around which I wanted to build my life. The seeds for all that were planted by those who were members of the Aspinwall United Presbyterian Church. That all white, very traditional, mostly conservative congregation. And, yet it was in that community of faith that I was encouraged to learn and to memorize Bible verses that somehow stuck with me. Lodged not just in my memory, but also in my heart and soul.
Treat others as you would like to be treated.
Lord, when did we see you hungry.
Whatever you do for one of the least of these.
What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, to love kindness and to walk humbly with God?
Search me, O God, and know my heart. Test me and know my thoughts.
See if there is any wicked way in me.
Blessed are the peacemakers.

And, this…
The parable of the Good Samaritan which we heard read a few moments ago. The lawyer standing up and asking Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life. The question was not what do he needed to do to get into heaven. But about what must one do to live a deep and full and meaningful and purposeful life. The answer given by the lawyer and affirmed by Jesus is clear and was understood by both of them. Two sentences from the heart of Hebrew scripture, one from Deuteronomy and the other from Leviticus, which were understood to sum up the entire Torah and all the the writings of the prophets..
Love God.
Love your neighbor as yourself.
Then the real question.
The hard question.
The question which I think is the the most critical and most important religious question of the day. Not just for Christians, but also for Jews and Muslims and Buddhists and all others. A question I regularly ask high school students as we grapple with the intractable poverty which plagues places like Appalachia or complex geopolitical politics of places like El Salvador or Nicaragua.
Who is my neighbor?
And, how large a circle do we draw around our lives?
And, how do we understand compassion and mercy.

I know there are political responses to this question.
And there are economic responses to this question.
And there are sociological responses to this question.
But here you and I are…
In a church.
Immersed in and surrounded by a Christian liturgy and tradition.
Celebrating World Communion Sunday.
And, from that context the question lingers waiting for our response.

This is where I will leave it.
With that question.
Is the definition of neighbor the people of my childhood?
Those who looked like me and went to church with me?
Who had the same background and history as me?
Or is my neighbor those who are black and who lived on the North Side of Pittsburgh or who, in our own community, are sometimes followed around when they walk into a store? Or what about those who are gay or transgender whose desperation leads them to ask me to exorcise the demon from them or worse yet, in despair, take their own lives? Or what about those who are Jewish or Muslim as attacks, both physical and verbal, on them are on the rise? Or those who are mired in poverty in one of wealthiest countries in the world? Or those who have suffered under decades of dictatorships, many of which were supported by our own government, and who long for opportunity and a chance? Whose skin is brown? Whose primary language is Spanish?

As you plunge the depths of your own faith and allow the the witness of the Bible to rattle around inside your heart, mind and soul. And as you look at the community in which you live and the circle you draw around your life., how will you respond to the question asked of Jesus and the story he told? I believe how we answer the question makes all the difference in the world.

Better Together

Taking our lead from the Interfaith Youth Core, three of us – a Muslim, a Jew and a Christian – sat down at one of the tables in front of the local deli extending the invitation for those who came to the deli for lunch or who were walking through the Village to stop and to say hello. In exchange for saying hello, we offered to buy them a cup of coffee. Then, we ask them “Why are we better together.” Here is what some of them shared with us:

It is better to be talking to one another.
We can accomplish more.
To know our neighbors.
Peace and love
It works better.
Enough of this war craziness.
We can find common ground.
God wants us to be connected.
Better to be connected for peace, happiness and joy.
That is the way it is supposed to be.
More connection.
We are stronger together.
Friendship
More options and opportunities
It’s just better.
Peace
How are we not better together?
Less conflict
We can count on each other.
We can arrive at better answers.
We are all human beings.
We are all people. We don’t have to be racist.
It is better to help each other.
We are all the same.
We need each other.
Not being together is a bad thing.
The combination of people of different faiths getting together leads to a greater excellence.

All this from two hours, on a cool spring day, sitting in front of a deli introducing ourselves to neighbors and asking a simple question.

Why are we better together?
What would you add to our list?

I Thought It Was The Porch

Tomorrow I leave for another week long work trip to Appalachia along with seven other adults and twenty-two high school students. This is a part of our country where I have traveled for at least a week each summer for more than thirty years. A part of our country which is breathtakingly beautiful and which struggles every day against soul crushing poverty.
I used to think it was the porch that was important.
Or the roof.
Or the floors.
Or whatever it was were asked to build or repair.
And, then I realized it was not just the porch, but the hope that was important.
The reminder that someone remembered them.
That someone cared about them.
This time I am thinking it is the bridge that is important.
That bridge we have a chance to build between one of the most affluent zip codes in our country, with all that represent’s and one of the least affluent zip codes, with all that represents. How often, across that immense divide, do I have the opportunity or make the opportunity to sit on their porch and to listen to their stories? How often do I ask about their families and their concerns and do my best to see the world through their eyes. And not just me. What about the twenty-two high school students who will be with me?

The porch is still important.
And the roof that will not leak the next time it rains.
And, the new floors and the handicapped ramp.
We will do our best to make sure the work we are asked to do gets done and done well.
But, in the end, it is the bridge we build and the friendships we form, that will make the difference.

I Dare You

This morning our congratulations to all who are graduating this spring at whatever level.
Nursery school.
Elementary school.
Middle school.
High school.
College and beyond.
And, congratulations to their families, as well.
Each step, in its own way, represents an important milestone for both graduates and parents.
But today is set aside specifically to recognize and honor our graduating high school seniors.
So, to all of you, this morning’s message is for you.
I Dare You.
In four parts.

First, I dare you to remember what we talked about in Confirmation. Not necessarily the week in, week out conversations – drawing pictures of God or how we might read and understand the Bible or what we do and do not know about Jesus (though I do hope you remember some of those things.). What I really want you remember are the two rules for Confirmation which I shared with you the very first time we met four years ago. So, just in case you forgot, let me remind you. The first rule was (and is) that it is okay to say anything, tp ask me anything, to agree with me and with each other or to disagree with me and with each other. And, the second rule was the only thing you were not allowed to say in Confirmation was “I don’t know.” said in such a way as to avoid thinking about a new idea or a hard question or doing the sometimes challenging work of finding words to express what you were thinking or feeling.

I dare you to remember those two rules as you step away from home and out into the world because they are rules for more than just Confirmation. Don’t just accept the easy answer or the pre-packaged ideas or the all too ready stereotypes.
Ask the next question.
Push your own understanding.
Listen well, but also reach for words to express your own thoughts and ideas.
Don’t just believe it because I said it or they said it you read it on Twitter or Facebook or saw it on the internet. This applies whether you are thinking or talking about economics or politics or social policy. Or whether you are thinking and talking about religion or God or the values around which you would like to build your life.
I dare you.

And, I dare you to remember what you have learned about who your neighbor is.
The four of you here today know Bonnie Gordon, the Bridges to Community staff person who lives in Masaya, Nicaragua and who works in the communities around Las Conchitas. Maybe you have heard Bonnie tell the story of being somewhere in Central America with her niece and traveling to a resort for some sort of special occasion and being on the bus that picked everyone up at the airport to take them to the hotel where they would be staying. As the bus was about to go through the poorer section of the community, the representative from the resort told everyone to “put their blinders on and not look out the windows” until they were through that part of town.
Bonnie then says…
And, I want to remind you is this.
The tour guide had it wrong.
Instead of putting on blinders and staring straight ahead, take your blinders off.
Look around you.
See the world.
See what it really looks like and not just what your own backyard looks like.
See the faces and learn the names of those whom God names as our neighbors.
And, remember what you have learned because you have been a part of this community. Your neighbor is not always the person who looks like you or speaks the same language you do or has the same opportunities as you. Those out there are your neighbors, as well. And, while you have gifts and abilities to share with them, you already know they have something important to teach and share with you, as well.
I dare you.

And, I dare you to take seriously that there is that Something More.
Something more than you and me.
Something larger than you and me.
Something More that has to do with love and life and gratitude and wonder.
And, having to do with justice and peace and a vision of the world where all have enough and all have a place.
I name it as God.
You may as well.
I believe it is all around us. And in us and through us linking our lives and all lives together. My hope for you is that you look for it and see it and experience it and name it in more and more moments of your life. It is there all the time, but let me remind you of one time when I think you stood in its presence. It is when you stood in that 16’x16’ home which you helped to build and listened to a mother or a father say Thank you.
Do you remember?
I believe with all my heart that God was in that moment and in that place.
So, in those moments to come…
Whether in college or beyond…
When you find yourself wondering about God or maybe even wondering about yourself remember that moment and use it as the starting place for asking your questions.
I dare you.

And, I dare you to remember Bedford Presbyterian Church.
Not necessarily the building.
Or Sunday School or Sunday mornings.
But remember the people.
Those here with you today and so many more.
And, remember the values which we try to do more than just talk about and, in fact, try to live towards. Knowing the four of you, my guess is that the most meaningful experiences you associate with church are what you experienced beyond these walls rather than in this place. But I would ask you to remember that it was and is a gathered community that believed in you and believed in what you were doing and believed the world around us should be better and safer and a more welcoming place for all that made what you did…what we did and do…possible.
None of our experiences are singular.
Just about us.
Done only by us.
Somewhere in the background, sometimes visible sometimes not, stands a larger circle of people who have supported us and cared for us and challenged us and believed in us that have led us into that moment.
I want you to remember Bedford Presbyterian not for our sake,
But to remind you and to encourage you…
Even to dare you…
To do what you can to find or to create and to be a part of a gathered community wherever you are that does for others something of what we have tried to do for you here.
The responsibility is now yours.
Pay it forward.
I dare you.

A New Year’s Resolution

The list could be endless, but I have decided that I will focus on only one New Year’s resolution this year and that is to say Hello in Spanish to the Latino workers who I pass by on the streets of the village where I live.

Here is the back story to my resolution.
Years ago, we moved to where we live now from a small city in Wisconsin.
In Wisconsin, you were expected to acknowledge those whom you walked by on the streets whether you knew them or not. When we moved to Bedford we brought that assumption with us. Walking down the street we acknowledged and said Hello to those whom we passed by. No one said Hello back to us. Most looked down or looked away or looked right through us. At first we thought it was because we were new to the community. Now we realize it is just a part of the culture in the communities in and around New York City. But we still don’t like it.

A few days before Christmas, I passed by and nodded my head at a Latino landscape worker who was walking from his truck to the local deli. Seeing my smile he responded with a timid Hello. As a result of that exchange I realized that if it was hard for me when others passed by me without acknowledging I was there, how hard must it be for the those who are new, not only to our community, but to our country and for whom English is not their primary language. If I felt ignored and sometimes “looked through” when I walked down the street, they must feel the same way many times over. For me, the response of others is cultural. For them, it is exclusionary.

I realized I needed to be a better job at practicing what I preach.
I preach about the importance and value of community.
I preach about the most important religious question we must ask and answer is: Who is my neighbor?
I preach that in God’s Kingdom come all will have enough and all will have a place.
And, that can happen…
And needs to happen…
Right outside my front door. Literally.
My saying Buenos Dias reminds me and includes them in the circle of my neighborhood.

Still Dreaming

Today, tens of thousands of people are gathering in Washington, D.C. and in cities and towns across our nation to rally for comprehensive and meaningful immigration reform. I have been asked to give the Invocation at one of the rallies which is taking place in a neighboring community. As I thought about what I might say to those who are gathered who come from multiple backgrounds and many countries, this is what I wrote:

Today is a day for dreaming.
And for Dreamers.
And maybe even for dreams come true.
So, maybe today is also a day to borrow the words of another.
Powerful words first spoken long ago, but meant, also, for a moment like this and a day like today. So, let us begin with this…

I have a dream.
I have a dream of the day when individuals and families will no longer have to live in the shadows or to live in fear. I have a dream.

I have a dream of the day when all our children will have the freedom to pursue all the educational opportunities to which they aspire. I have a dream today.

I have a dream of the day when those who work hard and who spend their time and energy to pursue the American dream will live as full and welcomed members of our communities and our country. I have a dream.

I have a dream that one day we will all learn to live together as neighbors and not as strangers with each of us and all of us doing our part to make our families stronger and our neighborhoods safer and our country better.

I have a dream today.

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Several things I believe: