The taking up and giving up is a way of honoring the “way” Jesus took up and the life he gave up to call attention to the redeeming ways of God. He entered a long-established order, calling for repentance—a turning from one way of living, being, doing and thinking to a radically different way: from seeking revenge to offering forgiveness, from wanting to be first to choosing to be last, from having it all to living simply. His “way” was radical. He called for “disciples,” people willing to take up the discipline he taught. Every generation really needs to do the same—to break out of old ways of knowing, doing and being that do violence to others and to creation.

Rolled up in his invitation were also his teachings on faith that instills confidence, hope, and even feelings of security in spite of threats to the physical self, no matter the source. We worry, for instance, about our physical well being, our financial status, or fear losing our creature comforts. Jesus, though, surrendered all of these, and his surrendering was no more welcomed in his lifetime than ours will be now should we really get serious about this surrendering aspect.

So I was struck this week when I read again about Martin Luther King’s faith and courage–his willingness to take up a cause and, if need be, to sacrifice his own life. Once again, he was marching toward a police barricade. Behind dozens of law enforcement officers, an angry mob waited for the Civil Rights leader. Behind King were hundreds of supporters.

Alvin Poussaint, a young medical doctor and volunteer, was just a few people away in most of these marches. Poussaint was told always to carry a doctor’s bag full of first aid items and stay very close to King should he or anyone else be shot.

As they walked right up to the police blockade, just before King would be ordered to turn around, Poussaint had these thoughts: “I felt certain that Dr. King would be forced over to the lawn, where he would be beaten and pushed to his knees or perhaps shot and even killed, and some of us with him. I was terrified. But when we got right up to the line of police, King, without any protest, knelt down slowly and gracefully and began to pray, and all of us with him. His action—and his courage—changed the moment. No violence was rendered. Yes, anger from the crowd behind the police still filled the air, but no one threw a single fist and not a single shot was fired.”

Can any of us imagine living with such courage and conviction–such surrendering of oneself? Most of us fall to pieces in the simplest of challenges. Are we willing to take up confidence during Lent in our own challenges, especially as we gather our courage to speak for the “least of these?”

4,499 U.S. military killed

32,200 wounded

110,000 estimated Iraqi civilian deaths

2.5 million internally displaced Iraqis

$800 billion in federal funding for the Iraq War through FY2011

An estimated $3-5 trillion total economic cost to the United States of the war in Iraq.

As many as 300,000 U.S. troops returning from the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan with post-traumatic stress disorder.

320,000 troops returning from Afghanistan and Iraq with traumatic brain injuries

The number of suicide attempts by veterans could exceed an earlier official estimate of 1,000 a month.

We have to add to that list, unfortunately, what happened at Mount Rainer National Park on January 3, 2012: Gunman Benjamin Colton Barnes, 24, an Iraq war veteran, took the life of Margaret Anderson, a park ranger there, after shooting and wounding four others near Seattle. He was found dead late yesterday from exposure in chest high deep snow in the park. Though it’s not yet clear, it is possible that what he endured in Iraq caused him to lose touch with reality and commit this harm against others.

This war is not over at all because these “costs” will continue for a lifetime—a generation, perhaps forever—both for our country, for Iraq and beyond. Please understand: I am appreciative of the fact that a dictator who caused his people great harm is gone; please understand, too, that I deeply respect and admire those in service who were called upon to go. Even so, I lament the great cost.

Perhaps some will be irritated with me for bringing all of this up. “Let’s just forget about it and move on,” they may say. To some extent, I concur, but that doesn’t erase the reality that now is.

As for the “Prince of Peace,” God-in-the-flesh, Immanuel: I can imagine that the very heart of Christ is broken that peace remains effusive in a world that seems increasingly violent.

Even so, someone asked me last week if I thought it was the end of the world, and I’ve been thinking about that. Yes, it truly is the end of the world every single day for someone: It feels like the end of the world for Libya’s dictator. It feels like the end of the world for someone who’s lost her job and has no income. It feels like the end of the world for someone who’s just gone through a nasty divorce. It feels like the end of the world for someone who’s lost his sight because of macular degeneration. And for a young couple who left their infant locked in a hot car for only a short while last week, which caused the death of their child, which resulted in their arrest and their likely conviction of child abuse, child neglect and third degree murder, it does indeed feel like the end of the world—and so it should. It feels like the end of the world for someone whose waning health and physical strength has dictated moving away from her home and into a retirement facility. There truly are many “endings” in our world on a daily basis, aren’t there?

While some of the endings seem truly earned and deserved (like a dictator’s or a couple who leaves their infant in a hot car), other endings seem so unfair (like an aged saint who has to give up “home” or another who loses his sight).

A few Sundays ago I mentioned in the sermon something that I fear: that too many people look at becoming part of the church as means for gaining a “ticket to heaven.” “Let’s let heaven take care of itself,” I said. “Let’s live, rather, in this time and moment, no matter what the difficulties; let’s live in this time and moment, facing our fears and challenges by holding hands and not being afraid of the ‘lions and tigers and bears’ (quoting from the Wizard of Oz and the chant of Dorothy, the Scare Crow, Tin Man and Lion as they walked through the haunted forest on the way to Emerald City). Together, they walked, arms locked, hand in hand, and together they overcame their fears. Together, they walked toward their “desired heaven.” Interestingly, none of them got the “heaven” they thought they would upon their arrival in Emerald City. Instead, they all got something powerfully different, something even more life-giving and deeply meaningful than each had imagined. Dorothy got her return to her beloved Kansas by another way other than the balloon ride promised by the “Wizard of ‘Kansas.’” Scarecrow got the knowledge he desired, but not by the means he would’ve guessed, and the same was true for the Tin Man and the Lion.

They made it through the difficulties and all the way to their destination BY HOLDING HANDS, BY MUTUAL CARE, BY THE COMMUNITY THEY HAD CREATED. Money, power and position did not provide resolution to their challenges—togetherness did. Might the same be true for us all?

What, though, is the Christian response to this news? How are we to feel and respond? Should our response be different? As we hear this death being discussed over coffee, at work, and at mealtime, what might we add to the conversation as Christians? Do we join in the celebration? Do we keep silent? Or do we dare bring up the radical teachings of Jesus on such matters? You know, teachings such as, “You have heard it said, ‘an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,’ but I say … if your enemy strikes you on one cheek, then let him strike the other as well.” And what about, “If your enemy takes your coat, then give him your shirt as well?” And what about, “If you’re enemy demands you walk one mile, then walk two?” And what about, “Pray for your enemy?” And what about the prophet’s assertion: “’Vengeance is mine,’ thus said the Lord?” I find myself wrestling with these teachings in times like these.

I do understand the need for celebration, too. After all, Bin Laden was the mastermind behind the September 11 attacks a decade ago. Nearly three thousand people did die—all innocent civilians. These deaths and the massive destruction of that day, let alone the cost of military operations in this war on terrorism since then—both in lives lost and in money spent—the death of Bin Laden is an emotional issue for us all. It is an even more emotional issue for those who lost a loved one on 9/11 or for the families of those who have died in combat since then.

Regardless, though, I am not convinced the resurrected Christ would be celebrating. Remember his words from his cross: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do?” Where is the humility of Christ in our responses to this recent news? Where is the grief for all humanity—grief that it had to come to this?

With all due respect to my pacifist friends, I’m not one. In spite of the teachings of Jesus noted above, I am willing to confess that I do believe that there are times that when action is not taken, we open ourselves to additional harm. There are times when we have to protect ourselves. But even so, does there have to be joy that we had to do so? Besides, our celebration (and in some cases “gloating”) will likely fuel the anger of those in agreement with Bin Laden, giving them renewed energy for their angry cause.

How would you like to live in this kind of world? A world  where there was no violence, no war, no guns, no abuse, no discrimination, no one going hungry, no addiction, no pollution, no shortages, no societal class structure, no one being excluded? A world where there would be no crime and no need for prisons, no need for national boundaries, a world where all people truly were created equal? A world where there was no sexism, no racism, no ageism, no fundamentalism, and no homophobia? A world where children and the elderly were loved and valued and received ample amounts of our time for their love and care? A world where recreation and spending time with one another was done in a truly unhurried fashion? A world without death and illness even?

That was the vision of the Creator “in the beginning,” and the good that was created at that beginning was called “Eden,” a Hebrew word for “paradise and perfection.” The Hebrew-Christian scriptures tell the story of Eden’s loss and the Creator’s ongoing desire for Eden’s redemption. Over time, the Creator tried making humanity aware of that desire through imperfect prophets and priests, but without lasting and meaningful results. So the Creator decided to send a part of the Creator’s Self in the flesh whose name was “Emmanuel,” which means “God with us,” to reintroduce the created order to its original purpose: unhindered community with the Creator.

When we gather for worship in our tradition, our primary reason for being together is to remember this loss, to learn from it and to rekindle a vision of and energy to work toward the new Eden, which we most frequently refer to as “heaven.” Unfortunately, we often are pulled away from this high purpose by our own agendas. We attempt to hold onto power structures and systems that make us feel safe—a resistance that diminishes Eden’s restoration. What a rich irony that those very same agendas brought about Eden’s loss. It’s really no wonder, too, that we saddle Christmas—the season just past of celebrating the Creator’s advent among us—with being overly busy with spending and receiving for ourselves or our own small circle of concern. On top of that are added all of our broken relationships that drain our energies of new possibilities.

When I think of what most religious bodies are doing these days—church, synagogue, mosque or temple—I see little evidence that Eden’s loss is being energetically sought after. I see a going through the motions that adds little to the goal.

What if this year were different?

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It breaks my heart that the Christian Church, for the most part, is not a part of the solution to this growing crisis. In fact, churches too often are part of the problem. Condemnation is not a solution – only love and understanding, compassion and kindness are. Church leaders should be assisting families struggling with this issue in a redeeming conversation. Family members need help in understanding that sexual orientation is not a choice, but is every bit as genetic as eye color, height, and hair type.

The councilman’s words have helped thousands already. I long for the day that the Church will be as helpful on this issue.

I happen to live and work in a city where the practice of yoga is quite popular and many of us in our congregation embrace this particular spiritual discipline without reservation. When we have a yoga instructor available, we offer yoga classes in our downtown Boulder, CO, church.

From his seminary pulpit and blog, Mohler frequently offers similar edicts, always looking for a new group to offend or exclude. I’m really glad to see that his comments about yoga have caused a general public outcry, which indicates that American spirituality is far deeper and more inclusive in nature than this fundamentalist Southern Baptist leader in Louisville can even begin to comprehend. This emerging truth makes it far less frightening that he is president of the one of the largest Protestant evangelical seminaries in the history of humanity. He and his kind, thankfully, are simply are not wielding the power and control they like to imagine they are.

I shared with him something I’d heard Karen Armstrong say in a presentation recently (she has studied and written so much in her lifetime about faith and belief, God and religion): “In my travels and studies on matters of faith and belief in God, this is my conclusion – that it’s really all about kindness and compassion. That’s it. It’s not about doctrine, it’s not about belief, it’s not about so much of what we’ve been told and taught. It is simply about kindness and compassion.”

When I shared that with my Jewish friend, he said: “And I would agree. To that, though, I would add that it is also about justice and a sense of humor.” Then to him I said, “And I fully concur with your additions.”

I added before we parted, “And you, my friend, because of your kindness and compassion to those without power and means, are far more ‘religious’ than you might ever have imagined. And as for your belief in God – you ‘believe’ far more fully than you might ever have intended!”