Nine Eleven no, No, NO!

Each year, as September 11th approaches, the air is filled with a kind of horrid nostalgia. It makes us all into self involved little automatons. Particularly idiotic are the suggestions that we build some sort of 9-11 Shrine or declare a National Holiday of it. The prospect makes me shudder. Here is why.

Some celebrations of national events ennoble and uplift participants. They bring us all into one space, one nation. Like the headlines on 9-11 itself, we gloried in "We are all Americans now." Other celebrations are like the organ recitals of the aged. What is otherwise to be an expected glitch of the flesh (say a slipped disc or a rectal lesion, a dimming eyesight or the inability to hear well) is dwelt on until it becomes a major identifying force. 9-11 would be one such debilitation. The celebration would take what is otherwise peripheral and make of it an obsession, an orgy of the put upon self. We do not need to magnify 9-11, letting it exert full force on us. We are quite injured enough already.

Theologians call the ennobling rituals, symbols and the demeaning ones, diabols. Symbols bring integrity and wholeness. Diabolical rites make of us petty and smaller than we might otherwise find ourselves to be. Several features of a proposed 9-11 holiday make it a sure fire diabol.

First, we are in the habit of thinking that we are different than everyone else on the globe. None of us will ever forget where we were on the morning of September 11, 2001, as scheduled airliners plunged first into the World Trade Center towers in New York, then into the Pentagon in Washington D.C. and finally into a barren field in rural Pennsylvania. The day is memorable. But it is not notable. Here is why. What made it seem consequential was the sheer surprise of it. We want to magnify the sheer number of souls lost. But held up next to the annual carnage on the nation's highways, the death toll was rather small (by a factor of 10). And if we measure death against the war deaths we ourselve have inflicted on others, say in Dresden or Hiroshima, the death toll of 9-11 is minuscule, by as much as a factor of several hundred. Terror did happen to us, but not in near the volume we ourselves allow. Such a holiday would only underscore our gross exaggeration of our self importance or worse, our overreaction in 2 full scale, ill advised and long duration wars. We do not want to spend too much time dwelling on that, I would not think.

Further, such a celebration is vulnerable to the worst of our patriarchal excess. We probably need a holiday to celebrate public servants, the police and fire personnel who, like troopers, put their lives in danger on behalf of others. It happened to be true in those days, that those who responded to the tragedy were men, family men most of them. We grieve their loss. We look for heroes. It is but an opening to relish in a confusing past of a man's world. Today, those who respond to our public tragedies may be family men, but they are also women, gays and lesbians. The temptation is to use the responders of that one holiday to imprint a generation with patriarchy. There is at least as much danger in a gay couple trying to live "out" with integrity. Single mothers who face overstacked odds have a bravery worthy of the 9-11 first responders. We have quite enough trouble trying to get our Boy Scouts to face the world as it is, a world made up of men, women, gays and straights. No need to pile on yet another stack of fraternal orders to confuse, or worse, to derail the progress we are making.

In the end, we need for a holy balance. We came to 9-11, 2001 in near total ignorance of any other holy group on the planet, save for the occasional Jew. The "we're number one" crowd looks for a chance to spread the deception of the US as a so called Christian Nation, in contrast to the terrorists we so easily identify with Islam. Jews, Baha'is, Hindus, Muslims, animists and a host of other persuasions have shared this planet with the righteous for a long time. They threaten to share it for a good long time to come. We are not well served by fooling ourselves into thinking that 9-11 was the opening volley in some holy war or other. We would do well to try to find out the righteousness of others on the holy days that we already have available. (Ramadan, anyone?)

We have managed to twist a goodly number of national holidays to the service of our meanest desires. I see no reason to drag gender and faith into the mix. We might better take the time we might have celebrated 9-11 to figure out how we are going to get meaningful holy days back from the ones we have already lost to a variety of interests. Veteran's Day or Pearl Harbor Day or Memorial Day or Armed Forces Day or Thanksgiving or Independence Day or Mother's Day, each has departed from its original shape so profoundly that it is but a diabolical wart on the nation's hide. Only the insanely curious can tell you what gave rise to these holidays in the first place! They have been co-opted by special interests. We would do well to get them back.

We simply do not need another day to dwell on ourselves with such magnificent obsession. So use September 11th as a day to get at what you usually do on such a day! But please, no holiday.

Oops!

Some thoughts while mowing the lawn. . .

The apparent failure of the Diocese of Northern Michigan to secure consents to its Bishop Elect, Kevin Thew Forrester has elicited a spirited, if superficial, response. While I have written publicly on the matter before I wanted to reflect on something of the meaning of the failure. So here goes.

It seems to me that the key question revolves around the tension between orthodoxy and innovation. At a time when the unthinkable is happening to us as a nation: Our largest corporation is bankrupt and evaporating; banks and brokers are falling; medical care is increasingly inaccessible; we continue to fight in far away lands with a bare grasp of the significance of some of these wars; the list is long. One needs to ask, how will the church respond? Shall we take a sectarian approach, circle the wagons and end the discussion? Shall we utter the last words of a dying church, "We never did it that way before?" (A perception that is entirely manufactured, by the way. Nothing Kevin proposes has not been done before.) I think that is what Kevin's repudiation represents. Now that comes at a cost, one that our future generations will bear. We already see what happens when congregations are divided and embrace the status quo option. I hope that this is not the first whisper of a church following the way of General Motors.

It is clear to me that if we are to be the church in the coming decades we will do so as we are able to build bridges to innovation. We will face the hard questions around a calcified system of authorization, a shrinking from R and D in congregational life and the near loss of mission focus. Northern Michigan has been on the forefront of each. Time and again, in human relations, prison ministry, environmental leadership, canonical reform, ministry development, this little community has produced astonishing results. Elsewhere, the church displays an dismaying lack of vigor.

By the witholding of consents, we will effectively bar a strong voice from the table in the House of Bishops. . . a seat which Jim Kelsey held with distinction. When we are entering into a corporate and congregational environment, the likes of which we have not seen in my lifetime, retreat into the answers of the past will not do. Some exploration will be required. If Kevin's modest innovations set folks hair afire, I cannot see how we will muster the umph to look our problems squarely in the eye.

For now, we seem to have set our course in the matter. I am distressed that we are leaving ourselves so vulnerable to coming events that are as inevitable as they will be crushing. I so wish we would not dig up the shoots of new life, naming them as weeds.

Evolutionary THEORY

There is a form of sleight of hand that happens when Intelligent Designers and Creationists discuss the THEORY of Evolution. They say theory, with a particular meaning in mind (an iffy proposition) and then they wheel the spotlight across the stage onto Evolution. Presumably they want to show us why it is such an iffy idea. Scientists have been driven batty trying to make evolution appear bigger than it is, when they might give attention to the cynical use of the word theory. Theory can mean a guess. Certainly that is true about Creationist Theory. Theory can also mean a construct into which unconnected facts find a home. More than that, they find a home whose address you can verify. Intelligent Design, Creationism leads to a predetermined address, like masturbation. But it is not fruitful to explain interrelations of things. It has no scientific offspring! Evolution is a kind of springboard from which an entire branch of applied science is launched. Advances in ecological theory, in genetics and in the treatment of disease may be seen as important examples of applied evolutionary theory.

It appears that the stakes are quite clear in the Evolution Debate. It is all about theory. One definition leads to buttress the truth claims of an increasingly shrill (and shrinking) segment of the population. Another definition leads to advancement and the improvement of the quality of life of the globe's inhabitants. Now, you make the call. What kind of theory is Evolution?

Work in Progress

I have begun work on a series of essays on the subject of fidelity. The basic thesis is that of Hebrews 11:1, "Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." What has mystified me is the "true believer" form of conviction that makes rigid affirmation as if it is a destination. "I believe." But faith, in my limited experience, is a point of departure. "I believe, so."
It may be that the reason that American Protestantism, and now Catholicism is so pugnacious and sterile is that there is a willingness to arrive at conviction, but not at dialogue. It seems to me that the route through the bankruptcy of our present faith climate is somehow tied up with the recovery of mystery at the heart of faith. So, I will be pursuing the mystery at the heart of seven lifegiving capacities (with which I hope to supplant the seven deadly sins.) Here is a preliminary agenda of essay titles

The Mystery of the Person
in the flesh
in nature
in conversation

The Mystery of a People
as strangers
as understanding
as pilgrims

Where Mystery is met
at table

The aim will be to reframe the way we do our faith from a problem/solution frame that is the prevailing frame used in our culture to a mystery/capacity frame, one that searches for openings onto divine life in the context of our humanity.

Brand Name Faith

Gone are the faith conversations of my youth. Back then, we were all Christians. The questions were about "what brand?" Lots of jokes revolved around church denominations. Brand religion still hangs on among the less acquainted, who speak "church" to religious functionaries. The language is about being baptized Methodist or wed by the priest (shorthand for Roman Catholic). But in public conversation, brands are nearly dead. More accurately, Christian has become one of the brands among Hindu, Baha'i, Muslim, Hebrew, etc.

At a recent family reunion, one of my nieces took me aside. She asked me to explain to her the bewildering variety of Christians about which she had heard. What makes a Baptist different from a Methodist, from an Episcopalian was her line of inquiry. I was enormously uneasy about this. It offered no avenue into the heart of faith. Faith as brand ignores the questions of the heart. It concentrates instead on superficialities, church attire. Much later it dawned on me that she was asking about brands. What a wonderful reflective moment we might have shared, had we thought a bit about the purposes and effects of a brand name culture.

Since then, I have been looking at branding as a feature in itself. Brands began as a sign of ownership. Early on, they are about possession. One brands a property. My cow, My beer, My buggywhip were the sine qua non of branding. Only later, when mass communication appeared a brand identified me. It is no longer my beer, but it is me! I not only use Budweiser, I am Budweiser. This shift produced great profits for those who held the trusted brands. (Naomi Klein, the Canadian writer has done a wonderful job of tracing the history of branding in her book, Logo, so I won't repeat her efforts here.) What bridges the transition from "brand as owning" to "brand as identity" is the intense focus on me, my and mine. Branding is the source of the cultural habit that everything "it is all about me."

As branding matured in the television age, it became a way to squeeze out the competition. Folks would pay more and seek out a brand simply because they knew they could trust it. The seamy side of the story comes when this trust shifts to identity. Then a brand becomes a bludgeon with which to club the competition. Branding narrows the market choices. It also narrows the human identity. Of course, political operatives soon discovered that same power. Parties, policies and candidates began to become part of the brand. Ad man H. R. Haldeman pioneered this approach in Richard Nixon's White House. It was he who branded Nixon the candidate of the Silent Majority, a dubious demographic. To one degree or another political campaigns in the mass media have been about brands. (eg Morning In America, Where's the Beef?) Fatally, they also came be be about a synthetic reality.

As I noted above, branding is no stranger to American Christianity. We have been branding from the very beginning. Some say that the population of the colonies rested on the free exercise of brands. (as long as they were Christian) Of late, Christian brand competition have become so complex that folks have begun to check out. Worse yet, it has created a bumper sticker shorthand and identity religion. Happily the superficial language of "faith as brand" is beginning to lose its grip on the public mind. That is a good thing.

Branding in religions is about creating division, limiting competition and finally market domination. By no stretch of imagination can any of these be the core mission of any faith. They are not virtues. As brands are now showing themselves to be a diversions in the commercial and political realm, religious brands are faltering too. Amid the rubble, hucksters of brand speak about the "rebranding" of failing products and ideologies. But the public sees the emperor walking around without naked. At last some sanity.

But we will still need information about products, politics and faith. George Barna, the guru of the religious focus group, recently noted, "Faith is increasingly viral rather than pedagogical."* The adage of faith, that it is caught not taught, may open a way to a new conversation on the subject. (I say may, because branding has made the public intolerant of conversation in sentences longer than sound bites.)

But this opening has breathed new life into our congregations We now can offer frameworks, skeletons, within which a search receive and interpret their faith can thrive. I can hardly wait to replace the "medical model" of faith (something you have to do that makes you better) to faith as collaboration. Such a shift holds great promise not only for the faith communities, but also for all who live around those who practice faith. At the very least, we can use a little respite from all the alternate realities that religious marketers have piled upon us in recent decades.




*www.barna.org/barna-update/article/12-faithspirituality/15-christianity-is-no-longer-americans-default-faith

Taking Out the Trash

"Garbage in; garbage out." This warning to computer users is also a warning to theologians. Has God withdrawn favor from the American experiment?

In recent disasters, the implicit theology is implicated. The so called "war on terror" and the collapse of the global economy have deep and hidden theological roots. While these are complex phenomena, to begin on theological examination cannot happen too soon. Atop the list of offenders is the laser like focus on the personal over the collective. Theological discourse is popularly understood to be "all about me." This, in part, explains the explosive growth and recent sagging of evangelical congregations. There is a direct connection to the biases of the consumer culture. "Have it your way," Burger King exclaimed and the churches promptly produced a theology to match. There was a time when the "success gospel" was the butt of jokes. No more.

The focus on God and me is now the dominant arena for God talk in the west. "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so," the evangelical gospel proclaims. Economic policy is shaped by what is good for me. The "war on terror" is waged to keep me safe. It is all so personal, shaped by my Savior, my religion, my wants. First person singular.

Does theological discourse ever talk in the first person plural, about us? In fact, the biblical root of the judeo christian forms of faith admits to very little in the way of personal focus. It is written largely in the context of we. So, in the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth he spoke of the divine life as we. The texts continue to address our dilemma, our culture, our society. In the context of we, the biblical text conveys some very different lessons than it does in the first person singular.

What might we be doing now, were we to consider that the good news was a collective sort of thing? I think that lessons about folks fending for themselves would be the central concern of congregations. We would bear our appropriate responsibility with the "least of these." Church membership would be understood as a shared enterprise, rather than just a personal choice. We might be more focused on mission than personal transformation. We would be much more careful about dividing the world into we and them. The experience one has in congregation as a part of something larger, introduces the futility of personal conformity. When our theology is no longer absorbed in "what will happen to me," we are able to mobilize the variety of us. We will also be able to see that the drawing lines of division is no simple matter. As a friend noted, "in the church, there is no them." The complex concern of the Gospel cannot be summoned by the sort of hats we wear. It is far deeper than that.

The garbage in the theological system is that "it is all about me." We will begin to clean up the theological and cultural mess when theologians can clarify that "its all about us." Perhaps then, and only then, can the theological disciplines begin to shed light on the dilemmas we face as a nation and as a culture.

It it time to take out the theological garbage.

Time It Was

My brother Michael and I have been talking about the old days. "Old when you gain as much pleasure from memory as from prospect," an old friend once told me. (He also said, "Old is when physicians become impotent.") I am not one who subscribes to Old in religion as an unquestioned virtue, as in "Gimme That Old Time Religion." But there is something to be said about having a firm grasp on the journey. Michael and I had a seminal conversation last Sunday evening as we remembered the year 1969. The first astronauts landed on the moon in July of that year. Woodstock happened. For me, a peraonsl event involved the March on Washington, when hundreds of thousands expressed themselves against the war in Vietnam. I shudder when I think back on those days, when one generation was willing to sacrifice the manhood of another, seemingly without question. It turns out that Michael and I we had both come to that march by different routes. We did not know the other was there. We marched.

I recall the trip from Northern Lower Michigan to Washington D.C. in Joe Sobel's battered Mercedes Benz. The car was a rolling wreck. Six of us packed on its bench seats. The car had no functioning brakes. As we motored east across the mountains, I can recall being terrified for the entire trip, so terrified that my digestive tract punished me for days to come. We made it there and back, by the grace of God. But the car became a metaphor for me of that moment in our national life. The nation careened ahead with no brakes. Vietnam did, in fact had crashed our armed services. The consequences of the crash still haunt us in the vaunted "all volunteer military."

Each age follows on the foundation of another. When the Greeks translated the Jesus stories, they did so in the familiar Greek. There, the word for time is rendered by two words, chronos and kairos. Chronos attends to marking the passage of time. It is the consciousness of the clock. Listening to the Naval Observatory's exact treatment of time in seconds, minutes, hours and days is the mesmerising sound of chronos. Each tick has its own sameness, but over the short wave it had a peculiar texture. Chronos is hypnotic. When Jesus spoke about time, "the time is fulfilled, the Kingdom of God is at hand," the word is kairos. This is a notion that time is like a vessel, as it fills up with events. This time is shaped by events. Old men talk about kairos. And by the time you reach my age, the impact of events on character becomes ever clearer. We were of a generation on a fools errand, a careening Mercedes, condemned to great suffering among the compliant and among the resistant. Some sacrificed their lives. Others watched as our brothers fell to their deaths. I am still amazed how this shared tragedy created an enmity within a generation. How could that have happened?

1969 was the year that imprinted a generation with conflict. We continue to live the tension between mistaken official world and the truth of our own consciences. The Bush administration's fantasy government is the direct heir to the Vietnam fantasy. When I see the sign, Support our Troops, my visceral response is suspicion. "Support Our Troops lacks context. It is meant only to line up sides in a bitter conflict. Support our troops in Abu Ghraib? Of course not. Support Our Troops is but an introductory phrase. It requires completion. Support our troops, bring them home. The machinery of death rolls on the wheels of Support Our Troops. The focus never seems to wander to those who bear the weight of responsibility.

Truth is that way. It is chronos. It must be talked about and requires stories. How might we learn the empathy that can help us to understand one another? How can we look at Vietnam in wasy that reflect what actually happened to us?

We are again writing the story of a nation at war. How badly we want it to have a happy ending. Yet we pay no attention to the way we have set out to create it. The world tells us that we are again officially misguided. But we are far from any awareness of that ourselves. This is no surprise to Vietnam era folks. But it seems slow to dawn on the body politic.

The time is fulfilled. I do not regret the marches and the Days of Rage. Many will trivialize the resistance born of official treachery. They will speak of hippies and free love and Haight Ashbury. But that will miss the point. The kairos that still shapes us must be understood if we are to avert future Iraq catastrophes. When will we understand that we are together in a car with no brakes. Decades ago over 50,000 of us paid with their lives. Again, a generation is being winnowed with maiming and death. And for what? That is why it is essential that old men talk.

Can the Dream be Silenced?

I am old enough to remember the delivery of the "I Have a Dream" Speech at the Lincoln Memorial on August 28, 1963. I am also old enough to recall the backlash from that speech. In those days, Martin Luther King, jr's name was whispered as a rabble rouser, a troublemaker. And while his speeches were broadcast, they spoke of change to come. That change was, at first, mightily resisted. Happily, on this day before Barack Obama is made our President, we can see progress in the fulfillment of that dream.

The Episcopal Bishop of New Hampshire invoked God's blessing upon the Inauguration Celebration, last evening. His speech was blacked out, by mistake some say. Whether or not it was an intentional oversight remains to be seen. But that it was not broadcast to the nation is an ugly fact of life. Already, the whispering voices of fear and hate can be heard in the background. (to the eternal shame of the community the leading voices are those of Christians) The whispers seem to have carried the day. It is all very unpleasant.

But the prophets remind us that change is coming. Christians in particular are called to resist legalized mistreatment and to speak out against vigilante violence. Will the dreams of gays and lesbians; bisexuals and transgendered citizens be silenced? If history is any guide, we will look back upon Bishop Robinson's muted prayers straining hard to recall the hate that so permeated this moment. Even as we are being urged to "see ourselves in one another," let us include the nation's GLBT citizens in that invitation.

Clearly, we have a ways to go along the gender road, before we can be said to have arrived. "Now is the time," Martin told us in his dream. "Now is the time" for our GLBT sisters and brothers.

A Prayer for the Nation and Our Next President, Barack Obama

By The Rt. Rev. V. Gene Robinson, Episcopal Bishop of New Hampshire

Opening Inaugural Event
Lincoln Memorial, Washington, DC
January 18, 2009

Welcome to Washington! The fun is about to begin, but first, please join me in pausing for a moment, to ask God’s blessing upon our nation and our next president.

O God of our many understandings, we pray that you will…

Bless us with tears – for a world in which over a billion people exist on less than a dollar a day, where young women from many lands are beaten and raped for wanting an education, and thousands die daily from malnutrition, malaria, and AIDS.

Bless us with anger – at discrimination, at home and abroad, against refugees and immigrants, women, people of color, gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people.

Bless us with discomfort – at the easy, simplistic “answers” we’ve preferred to hear from our politicians, instead of the truth, about ourselves and the world, which we need to face if we are going to rise to the challenges of the future.

Bless us with patience – and the knowledge that none of what ails us will be “fixed” anytime soon, and the understanding that our new president is a human being, not a messiah.

Bless us with humility – open to understanding that our own needs must always be balanced with those of the world.

Bless us with freedom from mere tolerance – replacing it with a genuine respect and warm embrace of our differences, and an understanding that in our diversity, we are stronger.

Bless us with compassion and generosity – remembering that every religion’s God judges us by the way we care for the most vulnerable in the human community, whether across town or across the world.

And God, we give you thanks for your child Barack, as he assumes the office of President of the United States.

Give him wisdom beyond his years, and inspire him with Lincoln’s reconciling leadership style, President Kennedy’s ability to enlist our best efforts, and Dr. King’s dream of a nation for ALL the people.

Give him a quiet heart, for our Ship of State needs a steady, calm captain in these times.

Give him stirring words, for we will need to be inspired and motivated to make the personal and common sacrifices necessary to facing the challenges ahead.

Make him color-blind, reminding him of his own words that under his leadership, there will be neither red nor blue states, but the United States.

Help him remember his own oppression as a minority, drawing on that experience of discrimination, that he might seek to change the lives of those who are still its victims.

Give him the strength to find family time and privacy, and help him remember that even though he is president, a father only gets one shot at his daughters’ childhoods.

And please, God, keep him safe. We know we ask too much of our presidents, and we’re asking FAR too much of this one. We know the risk he and his wife are taking for all of us, and we implore you, O good and great God, to keep him safe. Hold him in the palm of your hand – that he might do the work we have called him to do, that he might find joy in this impossible calling, and that in the end, he might lead us as a nation to a place of integrity, prosperity and peace.

AMEN.

Orwell in Winter

George Orwell's name has been a staple during the past eight years as the language has been twisted into a kind of magician's "sleight of hand." Orwell was a master of the word. There follows a snippett of reflection on the literary giant.

The evening's reading includes two of George Orwell's essays, "Down and Out in Paris," and "The Poor Die." They chronicle a sojourn in Paris shortly after World War I had ended. They are, at once, exotic and familiar. They pull the reader into the situation of the underclasses in postwar France, as if by the lapels. There, to find a world that is at once exotic and painfully familiar. The discovery of it is that poverty is not as awful as one might imagine. The insight is a flash of brilliance. It is simply the way of things. Sickness, on the other hand, is not so easily embraced. The hospital, invented as a refuge for the poor, became a dumping place for those who were unable to summon a physician to their homes. So sickness is poverty's younger sibling. Privation and illness are the constant companions of the poor. To Orwell, they are outrageous intruders.

But Orwellian is not the "end of the world" sort of vision. It is its polar opposite. In a curious way, he is a man of abiding faith. His loathing is a sort of hope. For these are things about which we can do something, were we to focus our attention on them. I admire his rapierlike penetration of the human condition. Like a finely tuned seismograph, he can magnify the most subtle of turnings of the soul. He can evoke in a nod of recognition the web of the human family.

The faithful one requires an Orwell, if for nothing more than a point of departure. His vivid sketche evoke what are our partners in compassion. It is a brilliant light shed on our condition. How contemporaty is the need for an Orwell. In a time when the condition of the poor approaches the great middle classes, increasing numbers of the world's citizens fall into its grip. We need to pay heed.

Reading Orwell is something to do in winter. I wonder what might have happened had his work included Christmas. Divine entry into the human condition is a natural counterpoint to his penetrating vision. Should the vivid chronicle of misery turn an eye to the redemptive power of love, Orwell's gift might have found its completion. As it is, his essays are fragments of reality.

Nonetheless, he shows the way. Would that the heart of love had the power to invite that does Orwell's practiced eye. I have seldom encountered such power to involve me in the situation of complete strangers. An Orwell essay is to literature what a stereoscope is to photography. They are provocative Advent reading.

-December 15-16, 1997

Orwell died on St. Agnes Day, 1950. Maybe it is the spirit of Agnes that inhabits his work. Who knows?

Turkey Day, 2008

National Holidays make me suspicious. It may be something Anglican in me that leads me to approach Thanksgiving and its noble Pilgrims with trepidation. An apocryphal story is told about the Bishop of South Carolina, Fitz Allison. Bishop Allison when confronted with his child dressed as a Pilgrim for the Thanksgiving Pageant is reported to have asked, "Why are you dressed like the enemy?" As a preacher, the annual Community Thanksgiving Commemoration (complete with the mayor's intonation of the presidential proclamation) gave me the creeps.

H. L. Menchen's definition of Puritanism as "the haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy," takes me to a place I would not rather go either. The problem with Thanksgiving is not gratitude, nor is it the pursuit of happiness. My problem with thanksgiving is empire. It is the same kind of avarice that has transformed Mother's Day from a lament over wholesale destruction in our own Civil War into a Sentimental Hallmark Day. It is that greed that makes of the end of the carnage of World War I in an Armistice into a happy little "support our troops" day. Empire does that. It takes the deeply painful and transforms it into a cartoon that serves its own ends.

Nowhere have I read work as keenly sensitive to the dynamics of American Empire than the new book, The Wordy Shipmates. Sarah Vowell uses Thanksgiving themes to explore what has happened to us in these days since the winter of 1620. She does it with depth and great good humor. What fascinates me most is the intentional meeting of politics and religion in the Pilgrm narrative, manipulating both our politics and our faith. That modern day t. v. evangelists and even Roman Catholics more resemble each other than those long ago renegade protestants is quite astonishing. As the groaning Thanksgiving table invites all to eat too much, the religious fare invites all to talk too much. Vowell's explorations give some important hints about all that religious yammering on the multiplying religious channels. Television, it turns out was not the first of the genre of overheated one way communication in American history. Pious New Englanders had mastered the craft fully three centuries before t. v. showed up. So, if you like to talk back to the one way politics and religion of our day, you'll love a day spent in Vowell's company.

On the subject of Empire, in an accidental juxtaposition of texts, brought unexpected insight during this past week. I had picked up copies of two books in one trip to the library, reading one right after the other, quite by accident. The first was a recent translation into English of Agnes Humbert's well know French Diary, Resistance. In it Humbert chronicled her days in the French resistance. Then she wrote in painful detail about her imprisonment and use as slave laborer in the Third Reich. These descriptions of life in first prisons, then camps were genuinely repulsive. I had thought I would read a book about the glories of a resistance group, successfully subverting its Nazi occupiers. I had no idea that I would be slogging from prison to camp to factory in a dismal tale of unimaginable human misery and degradation. Next on the book pile was My Guantanamo Diary, the story of Mahvish Khan's quest to provide legal representation to detainees housed at Gitmo under our supervision and flag.

My mind went back to an evening with the grandfather of a young German woman of our acquaintance. Sharon and I were visiting the woman's family when it was announced that grandpa was coming over for a chat with the Americans. As we talked, it unfolded that grandpa had spent a good part of World War 2 in a prison camp stateside. I was not sure what to think. Should we ask about it? Should we change the subject. It turned out that grandpa was treated very well in American Custody. He looked back on his imprisonment with fondness, with laughter and with admiration for his captors.

Hearing Khan tell it, a lot has happened in American internment camps in the 60+ years since WW2. The change is not the sort of thing one wants to look squarely in the eye. My little experience peeking inside Nazi interrment camps and then into Gitmo did our Empire no favor. I was astonished to find, in this little informal comparison, that resistance fighters in Nazi Germany, while suffering horribly, held not a candle to the horror inflicted on Gitmo detainees in Kandujar or Abu Ghraib or in the one of many of the Empire's sites of extraordinary rendition sites.

National Holidays make me suspicious because Empire never insists on National Days of Contrition. In the Empire, it is always Easter and never Ash Wednesday. C. S. Lewis described one such haunted land as "always winter, but never Christmas." We are living there on Thanksgiving, 2008.

This holiday, maybe we can be grateful for the distraction of a Detroit Lions game. Otherwise, we could drive ourselves batty in search of the contrition that is required of us. But, please do not blather on about how those Germans did not pay attention to what was happening in the Camps. Pay attention and tell someone you are watching.

What Words Can Make Holy

Ian Stavens wrote the book, "Dictionary Days," several years back. Like Maggie Jackson's book, "Distracted," it illuminates the journey of the spirit at least as brightly as it does its subject. Three points Stavens has made speak directly to the journey of the heart.

Language is not, first of all, about sounds. It is about the spaces between the sounds. What is so disorienting about computer speech is that it has no sense of the spaces. Like a paint by number painting, all the shadings are correct, but the spaces have it wrong. Languages have spaces. The neophyte and the native speaker are distinguished by their use of the spaces. A sentence has insight in relation to the openings it leaves between words. I am thinking that the public discourse in our time is increasingly hot, conducted without spaces. We are willing to sacrifice deep communication because we are worried about being interrupted.

Some clutures have supervisors for their language. Some grammar teachers of my youth tried to do that with English. They failed. English resists hegemony. Our greatest dictionary, the Oxford Etymological Dictionary, in a descriptive document. It tells us what has happened with language. It does not tell how language should be. It may be that the agendas of the language supervisors among the French and the Spanish are responsible for the poverty of expression of their tongues. In comparison, the English language spews out word forms at a riotous rate.

As any comedian knows, words and timing go together. The great punch line is a work of words and of counting. Jack Benny used to wait for a punch line. It was there that the laughing began. Steve Martin's genius was to never get to the punch line. He left us with our own laughs.

It seems to me that theologians can learn a lot from these three approaches to language. Dead faith talks too much. Dead faith is dominated by the agendas of supervisors. Dead faith has no sense of timing. I wonder what life in a congregation might be like were we to give attention to these dynamics of language. I wonder. . .

About Getting Well

"Good experience" was my father's euphemism for a "bad job." - Joseph Epstein

Going forward, accountability is a word that will be on the lips of most of us. To be accountable is, first of all, to understand about one's life direction.

There is an illusion that accountability is about "getting even." But that is an impossible demand. When a horrid injustice is done, its effects are indelible, like a tattoo. Schemes of retribution, revenge, deterrence all lead to the same dead end, a blindness to how the mistakes of others are now become a part of us. How can we repay the years an innocent has lived on death row? How can an IED injury be completely eradicated? How can we manage our ire as trickle down economics is revealed as a hoax?

Accountability is about getting well. Some call it forgiveness. Others call it restoration, rebuilding. Rebuilding begins in remembering what is real and who is involved. These recollections are like a pebble cast into a pond. They ripple and touch all of the other drops of water there. So it is with accountability. We affect one another for good or ill. My decisions and actions impinge on those around me. And when I have acted badly, they damage others. It is the sad illusion of retribution that the offender bears the weight of a mistake. The truth is that when an accounting comes, the actor and the victim are all involved. But there is still a distinction to be made. "Some are guilty, but all are responsible," Rabbi Abraham Heschel reminds us. Rebuilding happens when the guilty new direction, even as all participate in the search for new direction. And all, victims AND perpetrators are essential to a dialogue that gets to wholeness.

Getting well in our time, then, will focus on questions like these:
+ What is needed to heal all parties involved?
+ What is needed by the harmed?
+ Who can provide the solutions?

Whether it is the so called war on terror, the indifference around hurricane Katrina, the collapse of the housing and equity markets, or the old staples of gender and race discrimination; healing is not just for the guilty. Retribution against the offender, in the end, does not bring health. (Gandhi is reputed once to have said it this way, "An eye for an eye and soon we'll all be blind.") Punishment cannot be the core question of restoration. We will need to find a way to engage the guilty in ways that bring us all into the problem solving.

If you are like me, the past decade has left you tired, depleted. As one wag puts it, "when you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is to stop digging." That is a great place to start. We need to prepare to face the accountability questions in the coming months. If we can stop digging, later we will find in restoration a wonderful source of energy. But for now, just to rest is a good place to be.

The Least of These

for I was hungry and you gave me no food,
I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink,
I was a stranger and you did not welcome me,
naked and you did not give me clothing,
sick and in prison and you did not visit me.

I have been going door to door around neighborhoods encouraging folks to vote in the upcoming presidential election and, when asked, explaining the positions of the Obama Campaign for Change. I was assigned door to door canvassing in one of Battle Creek's affluent neighborhoods. The experience was quite an eye opener. I saw, unfolding before me, the surprising nexus of spirit and politics as clear as glass. I had expected that there might not be much enthusiasm for Barack in this very affluent neighborhood. One, after all, does not get to such affluence paying large tax bills and Barack has been painted as a "tax and spender." There was some of that. But there was a whole lot more gracious and welcoming folks of all sides of the political spectrum, grateful for one who cares enough to nourish the body politic with conversation. It is clear that grace and hospitality are not the property of one political party. A good and generous spirit is available in both.

I came across some other, rather disturbing conversations. A middle aged man railed against the distribution of "MY" wealth to the undeserving. "They ought to be left to starve," he exclaimed full of hyperbole. I was shaken by that encounter, wondering what was missing in his own life. There, poverty of spirit and brutal politics were partners. There were other stops. I came to houses that clearly were just keeping body and soul together. Shabby homes. Paint peeled on the outside. Holes in the porch shouted poverty. Inside was a free market economist. S/he worried about helping the poor while oblivious to the poverty into which s/he had fallen. "Let them make it on their own." I must say, I did not get it.


The climax of the Gospel of Matthew is in a vision of lasting things, concerns of ultimate importance. "Inasmuch as you have done it unto the least of these, you have done it unto me." The Gospel writer puts "concern for other" in the mouth of Jesus! It is the telltale sign of the faithful, or spiritual wholeness. I am left to ponder not that folks have political differences, but that those who seem to suffer most from their politics are those who are on the margin. . . the poor man who embraces the chance at ""hitting it big" or the overworked small businessman stretched to the limit and angry about it.

What comes first, the marginal lifestyle or the pinched and angry ideology? Who knows. In a great irony, it turns out that "the least of these" are those who hold the least of these in contempt, who are afraid to share what they have. Now that is the spiritual nexus of the Gospel. It was all I could do to recall that I was there to distribute political information to these tortured souls. There was a fertile field for Pastoral Care. That will be for another day and another time. For now, I bathe in the mystery of what it is to be human, grateful for its deep contradictions.

Door to door canvassing is a great way to take one's own spiritual pulse. There was that surprising generosity of the bulk of the affluent. There is hope for the "least of these." The sign in my yard this year asks, "Got hope?" Clearly there is a hunger for hope, some gracefully expressed, others in a brutal "cri de coeur."

Political and spiritual health are in such complex interrelationship. It is striking.

News from Florida

Wisdom consists partly in not pretending anymore, in discarding artifice. . . Showing off is part of ambition; but now that we are old, let us have the confidence to speak simply.
-Julian Barnes

Florida has a kind of smell, a pungent, "alive smell" of things that are always growing. It is the smell of a greenhouse. I have spent the past week in the Florida greenhouse with some 35 other retired or about to retire Episcopalians, considering what our future holds. Thanks to the forethought of the Church, most of us have adequate means to live in comfort. But we are looking at meaning. What will it mean to be among the elders of our Church and society? It would seem that the answer to that question might be quite simple. It is not. It turns out that playing an important role as a maintainer of the social/cultural fabric involves questions that face all retirees, questions of health and finances. But further, we have delved into questions of spirit and of continuing use of gifts we have developed over the years we have spent encouraging Christian congregations to grown and nourish their participants.

The substructure that supports those who have finished their gainful employment is rooted in Spirit. What sort of person am I called to become by the God who draws us into newness? How might the gifts I have used (and overused) over the past decades be translated into something helpful, even needed by those around me? In other words, "Where does my desire meet the world's needs?"

The answers are not in any one sized fits all format. The require a good deal of patient waiting, a clear sense of self and an ability to recognize in a chance encounter, an emerging vocation. One is reminded that the educated mind is not simply the one who can read and write, but one that can entertain a new idea, discern a new possibility and face limitation with humor and serenity.

A lot of what we are doing is letting go. We are loosening our grip on a role we each have worn for most of our adult life. We are finding that some of the abilities we have developed are no longer used or useful. We are preparing for life increasingly dependent on hope.

I was reminded that from God's standpoint nothing is ever lost. That may have been the most important learning of the entire 8 days. The smell of Florida is not the smell of rotting of decay. It is a greenhouse of a place, where plantings can come to fruit and to flower. Retirement may appear to be being put out to pasture. I can see that it might mean a glorious harvest. Thank God.

The Gospel Dog

But religious knowledge comes incrementally and slowly.
And religion is like any other activity.
It is not easy to do it well.
-Karen Armstrong

The wholesale pursuit of "life changing" experiences are a paradox of our time. In what is, perhaps, the most affluent nation in history, we seem hell bent of 'life change." It is a script being played out time and again in the media. It may be a measure of the "born again" staple of evangelical religion that we are so inhabited with this pursuit. "Remember whenever you're down and in, the only way is up and out," sings the lyric of Hey Look Me Over. But what of the up and outs. How do they change? It is a provocative question for our time. I want to suggest that the life changing promotions of everything from bromides and religion are so thoughtlessly applied as to have no meaning. They have become, rather than a source of inspiration, the tap root of dissatisfaction.

Bring on the dogs. The Bible, along with most of western civilization, have few kind words for our "best friend." Years back, when I looked into the status of dogs in the scriptures, I found universal disgust. Canines are panned in the pages of holy writ. If you want to deliver a put down, in biblical terms, call it a dog.

Were it not for the dog reference, I might have missed this little tale, buried in the Gospel of Matthew.

From there Jesus took a trip to Tyre and Sidon. They had hardly arrived when a Canaanite woman came down from the hills and pleaded, "Mercy, Master, Son of David! My daughter is cruelly afflicted by an evil spirit." Jesus ignored her. The disciples came and complained, "Now she's bothering us. Would you please take care of her? She's driving us crazy." Jesus refused, telling them, "I've got my hands full dealing with the lost sheep of Israel." Then the woman came back to Jesus, went to her knees, and begged. "Master, help me." He said, "It's not right to take bread out of children's mouths and throw it to dogs." She was quick: "You're right, Master, but beggar dogs do get scraps from the master's table." Jesus gave in. "Oh, woman, your faith is something else. What you want is what you get!" Right then her daughter became well.

It is a tale of encounter. The Master meets a Canaanite woman. She is not only a foreigner. She represents the seductress whose marriage to good Israelite boys threatened the early life of the community in the promised land. It is also a tale of insult. Jesus, infers the common wisdom, "she is a pagan, then she is a dog." To that point Jesus' world was one made up of two teams; the children and the dogs.

Owing to the woman's persistence another world came into view. Jesus found what he was looking for in that conversation with the forbidden pagan. Isn't that usually the way it is when we meet the enemy as a human being? Matthew signals that Jesus' mission was transformed from that of a narrow slice of the Israelite camp to a universal world embracing Gospel. Even for Jesus, religious knowledge came incrementally and slowly, built on in depth conversation with the uppity Canaanite.

Now, those with close association with canines are not surprised by this story. It is always they way it is with dogs. They do not get their good habits not from a "born again" moment, but from the persistent careful training of a master. They may learn to bite in a moment of cruelty. But they learn loyalty in a lifetime of considerate treatment. And there is no better companion than a loyal dog. They are the teachers of the lessons of loyalty and empathy.

Maybe the metaphor of dog training as life in the Spirit is what it will take to build a deep running empathy in the human family. At least in this one story, the Bible gets dogs right. I am wondering how we might apply the lessons of life training in a world that lusts after just one more experience that "changed my life."

Let a dog teach you a thing or two.

quote, quote

Because television can make so much money doing its worst, it often cannot afford to do its best. -Fred Friendly

The way we live is eroding our capacity for deep, sustained, perceptive attention--the building block of intimacy, wisdom and cultural progress. -Maggie Jackson

9-14, The New 9-11?

Strange travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God.
-Kurt Vonnegut

Sometimes, the lectionary (a listing of public worship readings assembled over 2 decades ago) can be eerily prescient. Across the nation, church going folks will be hearing this pithy tale Jesus told, on the subject of economics. How amazingly timely! Will preachers take the opportunity to remind folks that the terrorists are not the only ones who are implicated in the figurative fall of the twin towers? Or will this become yet another appeal for parish fund raising? As Abraham Heschel reminds us, "All are guilty, some are responsible." Listen and pray for the prophetic voice in your local pulpit this week.

“The kingdom of heaven is like the owner of an estate who went out at dawn to hire workers for the vineyard. After reaching an agreement with them for the usual daily wage, the owner sent them out to the vineyard. About mid-morning, the owner came out and saw others standing around the marketplace without work, and said to them, ‘You go along to my vineyard and I will pay you whatever is fair.’ At that they left. Around noon and again in the mid-afternoon, the owner came out and did the same. Finally, going out late in the afternoon, the owner found still others standing around and said to them, ‘Why have you been standing here idle all day?’ ‘No one has hired us:’ they replied. The owner said, ‘You go to my vineyard, too.’ When evening came, the owner said to the overseer, ‘Call the workers and give them their pay, but begin with the last group and end with the first.’ When those hired late in the afternoon came up, they received a full day’s pay, and when the first group appeared they assumed they would get more. Yet they all received the same daily wage. Thereupon they complained to the owner, ‘This last group did only an hour’s work, but you’ve put them on the same basis as those who worked a full day in the scorching heat. My friends’: said the owner to those who voiced this complaint, ‘I do you no injustice. You agreed on the usual wage, didn’t you? Take your pay and go home. I intend to give this worker who was hired last the same pay as you. I’m free to do as I please with my money, aren’t I? Or are you envious because I am generous?

Apres moi, le deluge

Our capacity for justice makes democracy possible, and our capacity for injustice makes democracy necessary - Reinhold Niebuhr

It is equally illegal for rich and poor to sleep under bridges. - French Proverb

Louis XIV’s prescient words are the metaphor for our time. His reign as the King of France built the nation into an international power while simultaneously bankrupting it. Le deluge reminds us that the raw pursuit of power and influence have their costs. That seems to be the lesson of history and of recent politics.

The deluge came to mind as over 9 inches of rain fell on us over the weekend. While we live on a ridge, our front hallway was flooded, just on some of the runoff from the driveway. It was a cloudburst.

My attention soon turned to a contemporary deluge, a regieme fixated only on power and influence. It is the ultimate self defeating behavior in governance. That focus has failed to have any impact on the hurricanes, market collapses and wars of choice that have come our way. The failure of Louis XIV and of the current occupant are, at root, theological in nature. Each have rejected a balanced stewardship of the whole of a nation’s life as too complicated. They substitute simplistic power formulae in place of a solid understanding a complicated world. The Hebrew Prophets*, along with the ancient Greeks agree that our misguided aims can bring on le deluge. And the stakes continue to build. Global Climate Change will challenge our best efforts. But the ancients warned us of this sort of excess.

At bottom, we need to grasp reality “as it is” with all its complexity. It is not enough to be satisfied with our preferred formulae. A bipolar world of good and evil, simply cannot get its arms around the nuanced real life situations we face. It creates synthetic verities, truthiness as Stephen Colbert calls it. We need to pull our economy, the environment, our military forces and our politics back from the precipice.

The adage goes, “even a blind pig comes up with an acorn now and then.” Maybe we’ll get lucky this time.

*See especially the prophet Amos for a vivid description of contemporary politics.

With God's Help

Life oughta be much clearer to me than it is.
-Garrison Keillor

Many Christians, upon entry into the community of faith, make promises. In the Episcopal Church, these vows are called the Baptismal Covenant. The Covenant begins in the Apostles Creed and ends with five affirmations to which the candidate responds, "I will, with God's help." That is the perfect response, because the affirmations are challenging indeed. Among the things we vow is to "strive for justice and peace and respect the dignity of every human being." This is, for me, the most challenging, if not impossible of the promises. Not a day goes by when respect of my fellow human beings is not an issue. Sometimes, I think that we have made that vow and dwell on it so that we can notice those times when genuine respect actually appears, when consideration and true compassion are present among us.

Those who grasp the depth of this promise have been disconcerted by the imprisonment of so called detainees at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. This is no news. Walled off from the rest of the human race by name calling and military restrictions, these prisoners have been called "the worst of the worst" by government officials. Mahvish Khan, a translator and student of the law, has written a book, My Guantanamo Diary, which pulls back the curtain of Gitmo. The not so surprising discovery of the book is that the folks at Gitmo are in most ways persons, just like me. Sure, there are those who have plotted dastardly deeds agains Americans. Many are probably prisoners of war. But 87% of the detainees came into our custody having been "turned in" for a reward. Many of these are folks "just like me" which Khan interviews. The simple act of telling the stories of these ordinary people snared in the "war on terror" may be a first step toward living out the promise "to respect the dignity of every human being."

What surprises me about the book is not that human beings are about the same everywhere. What caught me off guard was the vehemence with which folks resist that self evident idea. In the climate of fear, complicity and name calling that pervades this nation, it should come as no surprise that the last thing many might want is a human face on the so called terrorists.

I commend Ms. Khan's book to you. It would make an excellent counterpoint to the prayers and devotional reading you will be consulting during the coming Advent or Lenten Seasons. Make a note of it.

Creating Wild Men?

As I see it, the primary religious task these days is to try to think straight.

-William Sloane Coffin

Idolatry is the peculiar province of the inflexible and unimaginative. American religion has its own brand of idolatry which remains largely unexplored. Like a feeding vulture, one of the foundational issues circles around the question “How are we to live in creation?” From that question emerge idols, rooted in deep faith needs. Some, in fact most, of American Christians are deeply moved by a need to belong. A full 75% of us identify our faith by family or tribe, i.e., by denomination. We need to belong. A smaller proportion of us have the need to quest, to challenge the prevailing conditions so carefully nurtured by those who derive identity from their faith. Each of these primal needs creates its own particular theological “spin.” And when that spin becomes fixed, it quite naturally leads to consequences. In fact, each has its own particular idolatry.

Excessive focus on belonging leads to the idol of “family.” All effort is on the preservation of the family unit, perhaps the congregational unit as well. All of the conversation is about well- being and safety. But the truth about this idolatry was laid bare by Alexander Solzhenitsyn in his famed Harvard Speech, where he said this: “Even biology knows that habitual extreme safety and well-being are not advantageous for a living organism. Today, well-being in the life of Western society has begun to reveal its pernicious mask.” Making families and congregations into suffocating havens is an idolatry.

So too, the focus on innovation and the search for answers leads to a kind of rootless and commitment free society. We see this in the reaction to the stifling “protestant ethic” of our culture. There are those who make a life out of resisting the common sense values of the dominant church culture. To make families and congregations laboratories of resistance is also an idolatry.

It is said of mental illness that is “doing the same, self defeating behavior again and again, expecting, this time, a different result.” We seem to be doing that in our religious shouting matches. The “Family Values” crowd and the “Wilderness Values” crowd seem to be shouting past one another. We are getting nowhere fast. Can there be another way?

Real men drill - Ellen Goodman

One neglected focus is the care and nurture of young men as they sort through their own ways of being in the world. We now have young men growing up in our world with no experience of any wildness at all. They are deeply suspicious, if not phobic about what lurks in nature. We also have young me who approach the natural world as their domain, using the tools of civilization to overwhelm, even attack the natural world. The tracks of 4 wheelers, the roar of Sea Do’s and the wanton destruction of wild places attest to omnipresence of this way of life. In July of 1994, I mused on this dilemma, writing this:

Sitting by the falls of the Ohio River, once one of nature’s mighty spectacles, now smelling of creosote, its backwaters stacked with coffee cups, tampon inserters,

six pack binders, the ever present plastic. The turd laden waters of the Ohio drift by hearty souls who angle for jackfish and the bottom feeding species. Nature, while under siege, still attracts the hunter gatherer. The call of the hunt is pursued even under the most adverse circumstances. I name this convergence the “missing husband.”

By this I mean that the model of manhood in nature is neither exploitation for the good of the family, nor is it found solely in nature for itself. Rather, manhood flourishes when it acts as husband. Husbanding is that peculiar role that both depends on natural gifts and at the same time resists their overuse. The husbanding paradigm is not of wild man protecting the family, nor is it of wild man protecting wildness. It is flexible, moving between each as it is require. In short, a husband approaches nature with judgment.

Husband is wildness with commitment, it is relationship. Building true manhood is about building commitment to the well being of the human family and to the divine root of the creation.

In wildness is the preservation of the world. -H. D. Thoreau

So what do we teach to young men in the wild? We teach mirroring and we teach creativity. Mirroring in creation is about finding within oneself the continuity between self and other. It is not a case of man against the wilderness. We have suffered at the hands of the opposition long enough. But it is about creation located in ourselves. It means finding creation in us. It means returning to the same places again and again so that a relationship can form. I have visited some wild places for over twenty years, before they began to reveal themselves to me. Watching the shifting vegetation in one spot year after, rejoicing in a new crop of wild fruit, sitting still enough to see an animal in its natural setting; these are ways of being in continuity with wildness. Creativity of heart is the compliment to continuity with wilderness. It is not enough to fall in love with the wilds. We must learn to express the wild in the culture as a whole. That means learning to do the arts in response to nature’s gifts.

Balanced men are husbands. A husband enters the wilds with love as his guide. He finds ways to be partners. It seems to me that the Church, the place of partnership, is the place peculiarly prepared to do this work. But it will mean abandoning the peculiar excesses of ego centered theologies. It will mean putting families in their place, forging paths between what is outside and what is inside and hearing the passionate voices who find in the created order the voice of the divine. Oh, that’s pantheism, you say. If our wild places are to be around for future generations, we must find a way to introduce them to our worship. A good place to start are with the wild men of holy writ, Moses and Jesus. They are our forerunners, whose work began in wild places. Part of today's theological challenge is to recover the husbanding of all creation.