Resignation by J.D. McClatchy

“I like trees because they seem more resigned to the way they have to live than other things do.”- Willa Cather.

Here the oak and silver-breasted birches

Stand in their sweet familiarity

While underground, as in a black mirror,

They have concealed their tangled grievances,

Identical to the branching calm above

But there ensnared, each with the others hold

On what gives life to which is brutal enough.

Still, in the air, none tries to keep company

Or change its fortune. They seem to lean

On the light, unconcerned with what the world

Makes of their decencies, and will not show

A jealous purchase on their length of days.

To never having been loved as they wanted

Or deserved, to anyone’s sudden infatuation

Gouged into their sides, to all they are forced

To shelter and to hide, they have resigned themselves.

 Matthew 22:15-22

Then the Pharisees went and plotted to entrap him in what he said. So they sent their disciples to him, along with the Herodian’s, saying, “Teacher, we know that you are sincere, and teach the way of God in accordance with truth, and show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality. Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?” But Jesus, aware of their malice, said, “Why are you putting me to the test, you hypocrites? Show me the coin used for the tax.” And they brought him a denarius. Then he said to them, “Whose head is this and whose title?” They answered, “The emperor’s.” Then he said to them, “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.”

A few years ago I participated in one of the biggest protests of Publix Supermarkets that Gainesville has ever seen. We were bringing public awareness to the Fair Food Program, demanding that large corporations like Publix agree to pay one additional penny per pound for tomatoes purchased by large-scale farmers, and that that penny would go directly to the workers of the field; a job I would not last a half a day doing; a job where you are paid according to how many 30 pound buckets of tomatoes you can harvest in a given amount of time. It is a job that requires strength, speed, dexterity and grace as the tomatoes are delicately plucked from their stalks and whisked to the waiting trucks to be carted away to the processing plant; where they are then sold by the ton to the highest bidder. We marched, from Westminster Presbyterian Church to the Publix at 34th and University with signs and slogans and a heart filled with bloodlust for justice and concern for our friends from Immokalee. This was a march in solidarity with the Coalition of Immokalee workers, who had traveled all the way up to Gainesville to share their plight and to garner support.

The march was late in getting started. We wanted to have at least 100 people, but I don’t think we got quite that many. And then there were speeches to hear and signs to pass out and crowds to whip up into a gentle but generous frenzy. And when it was finally time for us to head out and start the mile or so walk to Publix, it started to rain. By the time we got to 8th Avenue, it was pouring. But we would not be dissuaded; and in fact the rain even added an element of comradery and joy to our protest. And so we marched; flags waving, signs running but spirits strong, demanding justice; seeking restitution, standing in unanimity. When it was all over, I spoke with the organizers from Immokalee. They, of course, were drenched. And hungry. And they had to head off to Tallahassee for their next organizing meeting. So I did what any good neighbor would do, I invited them to my house to use our clothes dryer, for one; but also to have something to eat before they hit the road. So I called home to give Tracy a heads up and to get her blessing, and we were all good. But we had one small problem. We had no food in the house. So…before our guests were to arrive…I had to run…to Publix.

I tell you this story to highlight just one of the daily challenges I face when navigating the issues of faith and justice while attempting to justify how we live our lives. The choices we make in life are a delicate balance between our desires to ease the suffering of others in the world while simultaneously living in it.  We must justify our real life home life with a faith that often asks us to sacrifice our comforts of behalf of those who are less comfortable.  To be fully faithful people we are told we must care for the sick, feed the hungry, support the poor, visit the imprisoned, clothe the naked; while at the same time we must care for an elderly parent, provide snacks for the 4th grade class, temporarily house our cousin who has fallen on hard times, bail our alcoholic father out of jail and still find the time and money to buy the latest fashion accessory for our moody young teenager with the hopes it will bring peace to the household for just a little while. Sometimes it’s enough just to keep putting one foot in front of the other, let alone march in opposition to the empire of your choosing.

Like the trees resigned to their plight in the McClatchy poem, we lean on the light we can find while wrestling with what lies beneath the surface.

Standing up for what we believe in while living in a world that challenges those beliefs on a daily basis is one of the great dilemmas of faith in America today. Consider this example from a recent article in The Atlantic, highlighting the saturation of corporate oligarchies and monopolies in our world. The author wonders how long it takes a typical American to interact with a market that ISN’T monopolized. “She wakes up to browse the internet, access to which is sold through a local monopoly. She stocks up on food from Walmart, which owns a quarter of the grocery market. If she gets indigestion, she might go to a pharmacy, likely owned by one of three companies controlling 99 percent of that market. If she’s stressed and wants to relax outside the shadow of an oligopoly, she’ll have to stay away from ebooks, music and beer; two companies control more than half of all sales in each of these markets. There is no escape—literally. She can try boarding an airplane, but four corporations control 80 percent of the seats on domestic flights.”

And it’s not just commerce, either. Did you know that the majority of Fortune 100 companies make significant campaign contributions to BOTH political parties? That sheriffs can’t get elected if they don’t have the endorsement of the National Rifle Association? We are surrounded by empires of our own making.  There is no escaping their influence on our daily lives.

One option, of course is to sell our cars, walk to work, shop only at Wards or better yet, grow all our own food, cancel our cell phones, our television, our internet, our health insurance, our credit cards, stop paying our mortgage,  make our own clothes, and only get paid in barter.

Another is to simply bury our head in the sand and wait for the apocalypse.

Neither of these options is very appealing.

Fortunately, there is a third way.

Author C.S. Lewis made a decision early in his career to avoid politics. He believed that there exists an objective moral truth which overrides the political pandering of the day. Even though he was a Christian, he would not support legislating faith-based morality, believing that faith has no place in politics, beyond a basic belief in the goodness—and brokenness, of all of creation. He believed, perhaps naively, or perhaps faithfully, that each person at their core has an inherent goodness inside of them; and that the governing politics of the day can’t change that. He said, “It is easy to think the State has a lot of different objects—military, political, economic and whatnot. But in a way things are much simpler than that. The state exists simply to promote and to protect the ordinary happiness of human beings in this life.”

Now, I think I can predict what you might be thinking. You’re likely shouting at me in your brain, “Did you not see the debate on Monday night?” “Have you not paid attention to what is happening in and to the black community in America?” “Does the name, ‘Aleppo?’ mean nothing to you? “You know that millions of gallons of contaminated water from a fertilizer plant just poured into the Florida aquifer, right? That’s the kind of thinking that got us into this mess in the first place. ”

You know, let’s go bury our heads in the sand, because clearly the apocalypse is here…

The State, according to Lewis, exists to promote and protect the ordinary happiness of human beings in this life. And I believe we should too.

I believe we are called to act as the occupational therapists to a world greatly in need. Occupational therapists, by their trade, discern what areas of everyday life create suffering for their clients; and it’s the therapists job to assist those people in finding ways to performing those activities more functionally, successfully and independently, thereby enhancing their clients’ quality of life.

This dilemma we face on a daily basis, of fighting against empire while simultaneously living in it is one of the most challenging parts of a life of faith we all must wrestle with. And, according to Reza Aslan, author of the book, “Zealot,” it was precisely that fight that brought about the most significant episodes in the life and death of Jesus.

Today’s gospel reading from Matthew is one that is typically glossed over.

Most interpreters see Jesus interaction with the Pharisees and the Herodians as a clever sidestep from a political debate on faith in the face of empire. But Aslan says that is not true. He argues that this interaction is actually the most political and most potent accusation he could make. Let me set the scene for you:

The temple in Jesus time operated like this.

Every good Jew had to go to the temple in Jerusalem at least once a year to renew their purity. To do so, they had to first, pay a small fee just to gain access to the outer courtyards. There, they could confess their sins to the Pharisees, the rulers of the law, who would then direct them to some of the many booths set up where they could purchase the necessary sacrificial objects to be cleansed of their sins. Hyssop and Cedar wood over here, doves, lambs, bulls for sacrifice over there. All, of course, for a fee. The people then would purchase these objects, give them to the Herodians at the temples inner gates, and assume that the sacrifices were being committed on their behalf, because, due to their sinful nature, they were not allowed access to the inner courts

It was a racket; and, of course, one of the chief revenue generators for both the Temple priests AND the roman occupiers, who took a cut of the profits.

When he arrives in Jerusalem, just the day before in the gospel story, Jesus storms the temple with his followers, protesting their commercialization of their faith practices, and objecting to the ruling priestly class for selling their souls to the occupying forces while neglecting their duties to the poor, the sick, the lost.Remember? He ransacks the place, throwing over temples and releasing the animals reserved for sacrifice. So the next day, he says, “give to Caesar that which is Caesars, and to God that which is God’s,” he is calling for a spiritual and moral revolution that neuters the ruling parties both the government and the temple of their power. Remember, Jesus was preaching a gospel that says that God’s love and grace that are available to all people, with no priestly mediator necessary. That act of sedition and protest is what labeled him an insurrectionist, and what ultimately got him killed.

Walter Rauschenbusch, the great Social Gospel writer, says that Jesus death on the cross is the ultimate symbol of his most transformative message. He said that Jesus died, “to substitute love for selfishness as the basis of human society.”

As I consider what forms of protest I see in the face of the empires of today, I look to examples of people like Colin Kapernick. He’s the San Francisco QB who now takes a knee during the playing of the national anthem. He is using what power he has to bring attention to a place and a people in great need in this world.  And in that symbolic image of a man on one knee, I see surrender in the face of empire, coupled with a deep, abiding love and solidarity with the suffering of others. I see it in the rescue workers of Aleppo, who fearlessly respond to bombs dropped in Syria, believing that the love that is required to pull the people out of the rubble is a love that is worth fighting and even dying for. Sacrifice, and surrender to the powers that believe they control our world, while acting in love, following, even imperfectly, the way of Jesus in personal involvement with each other, and strengthened by that bond, acting in Christian concern for the welfare of ALL.

I’m following that third way. The way that says God is with me, no matter who I am or what I do. God is with me as I care for an elderly parent and when I buy my teenager that useless trinket. God is with me when I house my homeless cousin, and with me as I feed some inspiring protesters; bringing them into my home—introducing them to my children, and hearing their stories of faith in the ace of empire. Because I believe the community we create and the love that is shared in the breaking of bread is more important than the $3.37 I had to pay the empire to it.

When in doubt, I lean on the light, as the trees do; and in that simple act of surrender, I am filled once again with the life giving love of God. And in so doing, I draw fresh breath, setting aside the pains of past days, and build on the strength of the love that resides within and around all things. And we reach out, like the trees in their praise and draw strength for another day of service in building the beloved community, the kindom of God, on earth as it is in heaven.