The Empire Has No Clothes – raw truth precedes real hope – Part One

Pick your emperor: It's the same empire

The losses and damages characteristic of our present economy cannot be stopped, let alone restored, by “liberal” or “conservative” tweakings of corporate industrialism, against which the ancient imperatives of good care, homemaking, and frugality can have no standing. – Wendell Berry

Now that Mitt Romney has effectively vanquished all other contenders, the real election posturing can begin, and we all know it won’t be pretty.  More importantly though, we also know it won’t be true, or at the least very little of it will be true.  We’ll be promised a brighter tomorrow if we stay on the present path of growing government in order to offer systemic help to the downtrodden.  We’ll also be told that the way forward requires shrinking the government and deepening the pockets of wealthy industrialists so that they, stripped of environmental, finance, and other forms of regulations will be free to “grow the economy”.  Promises?  Lies actually.

Unspoken is the reality that the developed world has enthroned ‘economic growth’ as its deity, and both parties are equally guilty.  We will, for the next few months, be engaged in a dialogue about which party or leader can best serve this false god, but in either case, the goal is enable us to consume more, travel more, work more.  We’re trying to right the ship of the global economy, rather than asking where the ship’s going, or if, perhaps, there’s a more systemic reason for it’s sinking than merely Greek debt, or global terror.  Still enthroned in the minds of most (and surely both political parties), is the notion that the best future is more robust consumerist version of the present.

Two readings yesterday reminded otherwise:

Psalm 122 reminds me that we’re made for “shalom”.  We translate the word as “peace” in English, but that’s sorely inadequate because our notions of peace have been reduced, largely, to absence of conflict, in the same way that health has been redefined as absence of disease.  I can find mere ‘peace’, at least for the moment, by building big fences, gated communities, and having the biggest military budget on the planet as a means of protecting my stuff.  But let’s not confuse that with ‘shalom’, which envisions a robust wellness, rooted in justice, hospitality, and an ecological interdependency between the earth and all its creatures.  Shalom requires sharing with the poor.  Shalom requires caring for immigrant.  Shalom requires generosity, and recognizing the limits of growth, one of which is embodied in the call to sabbath and jubilee.  When this works properly, everyone has a calling/vocation that contributes to the common good.  People’s lives aren’t enslaved to mind numbing or body destroying work which fills the pockets of the few while the many remain trapped, through debt and poverty.

If I take shalom seriously, I need to take the well being of everyone seriously, and seen through that lens, I realize that both parties, well funded by multi-national corporations, are painting a future that remains fundamentally unchanged, where consumerism is king, and we are all recruited to define the good life as accumulating consumers primarily, and as worker bees to keep the fuels of consuming stoked, secondarily.  The cost of this vision for the planet and all it’s inhabitants should make us shudder.

This, no matter who wins, is so far from God’s vision of shalom for both land and people as to be unrecognizable.

Wendell Berry’s Speech – Berry, the poet/farmer, gave the distinguished “Jefferson Lecturer” speech this year, the full transcript of which can be read here.  He opens the speech by talking about his grandfather’s excitement, in 1907, the night before he was to take his tobacco crop to auction.  Regarding the day after the auction, Berry writes:

He came home that evening, as my father later would put it, “without a dime.” After the crop had paid its transportation to market and the commission on its sale, there was nothing left. Thus began my father’s lifelong advocacy, later my brother’s and my own, and now my daughter’s and my son’s, for small farmers and for land-conserving economies.

The problem was the rise of industrial farming, and the American Tobacco Company, owned by James B. Duke (of Duke University fame), which systematically worked to absorb small farms.  The demise, though, of “small” meant the demise of the quality care which nurtures the land.  The “big company” thinks of immediate profit and efficiency as both opportunity and necessity, but at what cost?

Berry: It may seem plausible to suppose that the head of the American Tobacco Company would have imagined at least that a dependable supply of raw material to his industry would depend upon a stable, reasonably thriving population of farmers and upon the continuing fertility of their farms. But he imagined no such thing. In this he was like apparently all agribusiness executives. They don’t imagine farms or farmers. They imagine perhaps nothing at all, their minds being filled to capacity by numbers leading to the bottom line. Though the corporations, by law, are counted as persons, they do not have personal minds, if they can be said to have minds. It is a great oddity that a corporation, which properly speaking has no self, is by definition selfish, responsible only to itself. This is an impersonal, abstract selfishness, limitlessly acquisitive, but unable to look so far ahead as to preserve its own sources and supplies. The selfishness of the fossil fuel industries by nature is self-annihilating; but so, always, has been the selfishness of the agribusiness corporations.

There is no shalom in the sort of short term consolidation and then rape, of either land or small businesses, that are only doing what capitalism does: maximize efficiency and profit at all costs, including long term costs to both sustainable ecological systems, and the well being of families.

Until I’m willing to see both the idolatry and insufficiency of the present “McWorld” system, I’ll also fail to see the radically hopeful nature of the gospel, which provides an exit strategy from these false hopes as it invites us into so much more than a ticket to heaven.  Until I see the present systems for the oppressors they are, though, I’ll continue to hope that a tweaking, a party change, a debt reduction, the demise or solidification of a new health system, will solve the problem.

No.  The solution is smaller and grander, more radical or more hopeful, than we’ve perhaps ever thought.  And it begins with us turning away from the false promises of the empire, and living into our calling as disciples.

Tomorrow… Living into the “Yes” of God’s better story

I welcome your thoughts…

The extent of the common good…from bodies to nations

I cut myself Saturday morning, right on the tip of my first finger, which is not the best place to bleed if you like writing.  Immediately, though, things begin happening throughout my whole body to begin a healing process (you’ll forgive my layman’s understanding of this?):  Elements conspire to stop the blooding.  White cells attack and confine potentially infectious intruders.  Skin is miraculously reconstituted.  Scab falls away.  Done.

This is happening all the time in both visible and invisible ways in our bodies, and while I don’t understand it, I know that the healing of any one part happens because all the other parts get involved.  Success, for the body, is a holistic matter, and interdependency is the only way to get there.

The apostle Paul understood this when he wrote his letter to the Corinthians, and he used the body analogy to express the interdependency that is, or ought to be, the church.  This is where he declares that if “one member suffers, all the members suffer – if one rejoices, all rejoice.” One for all.  All for one.  The church, too, is best served by pursuit of the common good.

We who live in the United States, need to have a conversation about what “the common good” means when applied to our national identity.  The truth is that we already have commitments to the common good.  Everyone pays taxes, so that if your house is on fire some fine people will come with fancy equipment and risk their lives to put it out.  We all understand that the whole community is best served by the collective paying for this because the other option is the occasional pile of ashes on an empty lot that would blight the neighborhood.  Like the whole body kicking in when there’s a cut on my finger, we work together to keep things from burning to the ground.  We have a similar commitment to education, a belief that the whole community wins if everyone can read, write a complete sentence, and understand a few things about math and big ideas.  Because we all win, we all pay.

I’ve not yet heard any arguments from the right proposing that we dismantle fire departments and schools, privatizing them and shifting the responsibility away from the government to the private citizenry.  Thankfully, it seems that there’s some sort of baseline belief that there are services that everyone should subsidize for the common good.

You know where I’m going with this.  We live in a country where nearly half of all housing foreclosures are the result of health care crises.  We “spend twice as much as residents of other developed countries on healthcare, but get lower quality, less efficiency and have the least equitable system” according to this report.

So here’s my question:  Why does our commitment to the common good, as seen in the human body, and called for in the church, extend only to police and fire protection, and education, but not include health care, a system that works only for an increasingly shrinking percentage of the populace?  Or, if one views the government as both evil and incompetent, why not go all the way, privatizing education, libraries, police and fire protection, and making access to emergency health care illegal for all the uninsured?  How does your faith inform your view – whichever view you hold?

Perhaps we can have a civil discussion about this?

 

Following the Light

light and fog - what will prevail?

The latitude here in southern Germany is nearly identical to Seattle, which means that the number of daylight hours this time of year is very short.  Add a layer of fog to the shortness, and the daylight becomes so muted as to barely qualify as light.  The fog hides the sun, mutes the shadows, and makes forward progress challenging because one isn’t looking at vistas – one is simply looking for next steps.

This was the situation when I, along with my daughters and some friends, set out on a hike just outside Kandern, Germany.  Our destination, some centuries old castle ruins, had a slight elevation gain to it.  On the face of it, this didn’t appear to be a hiking day at all.  The damp and cold were so penetrating, the visibility so poor, that it seemed perhaps that a good book and some coffee, some games, even “It’s a Wonderful Life” would be time better spent.  But the magic and mystery of fog, light, and weather, is that one never really knows what the next step, next hour, will hold.  So, one goes anyway, to see what’s around the corner, above the fields, at the end of the road.

Conversations, in the midst of the fog, were rich.  After a very full autumn, and a very challenging past month of activity, it was pure joy to simply walk with some friends and my daughters, just being together and talking.  I spent the most time with my daughter Holly, having enjoyed rich conversations with my other daughter the weekend prior in a different part of Germany.  We spoke about the challenges of living in a world of light and darkness, how at one moment the darkness can be so overwhelming that you feel like giving up on trying to make any difference in the world, and then you see something and realize that, no, you can’t save the world, but you can take this one single step to be a blessing in some simple way.  Darkness and light.  Despair and Hope.  Sorrow and Joy.  Disengagement and Presence.  These, it seems, are the clothes we must all wear, not just alternately but sometimes, simultaneously as well.

We turn a corner and because I’ve been this way before I know there is a hut just ahead, but with the fog, it’s not to be seen.  Look for it, wait for it, keep walking.  Then, slowly, the shape is visible. This is the way of life.  We know that hope is there, that shelter awaits, even while we’re out in the cold of loss, or doubt, or uncertainty.  We keep walking upward, believing that, when the time is right, the shelter from the storm will be there for us.  “Do I keep walking upward, to the light, when I can’t see?” I ask myself.

 

conversations about the future, as the shelter becomes clear

As I sit with my lovely daughters on the steps of the tiny hut, it becomes clear that the sun is doing battle with the fog.  We’re right on the edge, but darkness and light, uncertainty and clarity.   Fog settles in the lowlands, and sometimes if you can just keep walking upward, you come out of it, into clarity, where you can not only see what you need to see, but see too that the light is working it’s magic, dispelling the fog below, slowly but certainly winning the war.

We press on and soon we’re utterly above it.  The tower comes into view and we arrive, bouldering on the sides of it, shedding our packs, and making our way up the spiral staircase to the ultimate view.  Before ascending though, I’m smitten by the beauty of the sun and shadows formed in the courtyard, creating a Narnia like scene, where I nearly expect Aslan to appear and surrender himself on the stone table.  It’s a moment of worship because I believe that every good gift is from God:  this sunlight, this beauty, these daughters, these friends, this health that enables us all to enjoy it all.  My God… what a giver you are!

the courtyard of the ruins: might as well be Narnia

From the top we can see that the sun is banishing clouds and fog, and I realize that this is what life is to be about.  We who follow the light of the world will, even in the midst of our own fogs, become light for others.  We do this when we practice hospitality, or generosity, or forgiveness, or simply when we continue believing that the son is banishing the darkness even though we’re in thick fog in the moment.  We are the light of the world, and as I watch the clouds depart, I pray that I’ll live into that calling more fully.

 

from up here, you'd never know there was a light/fog battle

Like Peter with Jesus when they climbed a mountain in the Bible, I want to stay up here.  But we must return, and as we do, we descend into the fog once again.  We pass through a section where the battle between light and fog is intense, right on the edge.  Then, just a bit lower, it appears that the fog has won.  But of course, we know better now.  We know that it’s just a matter of time.  We know because we’ve seen.  Sure enough, by the time we’re back to the city, the fog has been banished by the one true light.  It was beautiful.  Everywhere.

 

all is clear... and perfect... and beautiful

This isn’t just a hike.  This is advent.  We who live on the edge of light and darkness are often wondering which reality will prevail, in our lives, our families, our world.  It’s understandable to wonder, but the truth is quite clear:

I will lead the blind by a road they do not know, by paths they have not known I will guide them. I will turn the darkness before them into light, the rough places into level ground. These are the things I will do, and I will not forsake them.

Isaiah 42:16

 

returning to the fog as people who have seen the light

 

lights will prevail - don't lose hope

 

Are you longing for the light?  Keep walking upward, looking upward, hoping, believing, because the light is here and coming, battling and winning – all at the same time.

you can see the entire light/fog adventure in my photostream here.

Obama, God, and Wrong Conversations

Why are we more concerned about this...

Obama failed to give thanks to God in his online Thanksgiving address.  He thanked God in his written address.  He thanked God last year.  He closes speeches, as every president ever has, with “May God bless the United States of America”.  None of this matters though to Fox News, who obsessed over his Bush like omission (Bush also failed to mention God in his final Thanksgiving address).  The failure was offensive enough that one paper wrote  his comments are “just what we would expect from a Marxist or other Socialist” while another wrote:  “Unreal that Obama doesn’t mention God in Thanksgiving message. Militant atheist. To whom does he think we are giving thanks?”

than this?

All this leaves me wondering why the decibel level is so high on this issue, while there was relative silence over the pepper spray shopping incident, and the other moments of madness that characterized the great war for good deals known as Black Friday.  We might be disgusted by these events, but nobody is writing about these events as signs of moral decay or faith erosion in our culture.  It appears to me that there are a big group of Christians out there who think the president giving a nod to God in a you tube speech is more important than our collective virtues of contentment and civility.

I’m about to head over the Europe for a week of teaching.  I’ll arrive in the town where I’m teaching late on Saturday evening, after the shops are closed, and when I wake on Sunday, I’ll not be able to run down to the grocery store for my favorite chocolates and a bag of oranges because the store will be closed – as it always is on Sundays – as it always has been throughout the industrialized era.  Though I’m generalizing, it’s true that my European friends shop less and save more.  They talk with friends more and watch TV less.  They shoot each other less and divorce each other less.  Poor secular Europe?  That’s one way of looking at it.

But listen to Jesus: “Every healthy tree bears good fruit – but the diseased tree bears bad fruit” (Matthew 7:17), which seems to be a way of saying that if we’re the real thing, personally or nationally, it will show up more in what we do than what we say.  And yet, Obama, not our collective propensity towards greed, violence, or arrogance – is where some of the press points the finger.

We’re having the wrong conversations:

1. I’d rather have a conversation about how I can align my heart and life with the 2nd Adam, who is Christ, than a lengthy debate about how long it took to create the 1st Adam, or when and where he lived.

2. I’d rather have a conversation about how we can, as the people of God, nurture contentment and generosity, than a heated debate about whether more taxation or less will solve our fiscal crisis.

3. I’d rather have a conversation about how to nurture a deeper prayer life, so that Christ becomes, increasingly, an intimate friend with whom I speak regularly, than vilify a president (either this one or the former) for failing to mention him in a talk.

4. I’d rather have a conversation about how to develop habits for reading the Bible regularly, and developing other spiritual disciplines, than one about whether the word “inerrancy” is better than the word “authoritative” as a descriptor of the Bible.

5. I’d rather call people to the “simplicity and purity of devotion to Christ” than draw implications regarding the quaility of their faith based on the political party with which they affiliate. After all, our kingdom is, supposedly, not of this world.

The burning question for the apostle Paul was this:  “How can Christ be more fully formed – in both me and others?”  Out of such formation a deep love for the poor will grow and find practical expression; so will a care for creation; so will a revulsion for violence, and a desire to protect life in the womb, and strengthen marriages, and pursue simplicity and contentment.

The noise of misguided conversations is deafening these days.  My prayer during advent is that in the midst of the noise, I’ll listen, actively, for the voice of Christ, and follow Him.