The Opposite of Reparations

by | Jun 7, 2021 | Monday Morning Reflections, Uncategorized

Return to Reflections

The Opposite of Reparations

“Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

Mark 12:43b-44

We are entering into summer, and at least for me, I enter with a complex of emotions. I am getting just a glimmer of hope that we might be free to experience life more fully and openly this summer, but I have not yet been able to “flip the switch” from cautious isolation to confident exploration. My sense is that our churches have also been experiencing this change in different ways, and unlike the last 15 months of restrictions, when everyone had to comply to set rules, our growing freedom means that every church session needs to decide what works best for their congregation. So, for instance, some churches are worshiping indoors now, some are worshiping outdoors, some are thinking about mid- to late July for a transition, and many are doing hybrid worship, so that our church members can worship together, whether or not they are able to come to the church campus. Your session has the freedom and the responsibility to determine the most faithful way to be church in these changing circumstances.

We have a Presbytery meeting coming on June 19. Because this meeting was set to be online, we are opting to turn our annual Day of Service into a Day of Empowerment and Engagement. I think of it as a miniature teach-in. The meeting will be a morning of business, an update on County guidelines on COVID-19, worship and fellowship, and some exciting looks forward in our immigrant accompaniment ministry and opportunities to deepen our intercultural relationships and anti-racism initiatives. It should be a great morning. You can register now—and you don’t have to be a voting commissioner to attend. The meeting starts at 9:00 am.

Of many different ways we can be a more anti-racist presbytery, one topic that has been compelling to several Presbytery leaders is the question of reparations. This is an extremely complex topic, and we have thought about focusing on specific situations to explore the different elements involved.

One situation that might be studied is the Tulsa massacre from 100 years ago. The Tulsa massacre is one of 25 massacres of African Americans that have been perpetrated since the end of the Civil War —a part of American history that is rarely taught in school.

The Tulsa massacre offers a glimpse into the complicated history of race in the United States. I do not have room in this column to explore all of it, but part of the history includes the trials experienced by the Native Americans who first encountered European immigrants (undocumented, to be sure) to what is now the United States. Because they attempted to assimilate to the practices of the settlers, they were called the “Five Civilized Tribes”: the Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Creek (Muscogee), and Seminole nations. They adopted European ways, including entering into legal contracts and sometimes running their own plantations with African slave labor. But as the expansion of European- owned plantations grew, these contracts were reversed, leading to the forced removal of these nations to the Indian Territories, which is now Oklahoma. From 1831 to 1847, it is estimated that about 58,000 Indigenous persons were removed, and 10,000 died en route. There were approximately 4,000 enslaved Africans who were also brought to Oklahoma. By the way, there were Presbyterian missionaries who worked with these peoples, who also came to Oklahoma.

The Five Tribes generally sided with the Confederacy in the Civil War, so after the war there were negotiations that led to emancipation of the slaves. The freed slaves (freedmen) became members of the tribes with equal rights, which resulted in the freedmen becoming landowners, contributing to the economic strength of the African-Americans in Tulsa, before the 1921 massacre.

As I was exploring this history, I randomly chose to look into the history of the Choctaw nation, who happened to be the first to leave. I stumbled onto a report that in 1867, just 16 years after they were dislocated and suffered massive death and starvation along the way, the Choctaw took up a collection and sent $170 (over $5,000 in today’s dollars) to Ireland, to help the people starving from the potato famine. The money donated by the Choctaws was distributed in Ireland by members of the Quaker community. Thus began a relationship between the Choctaw and Irish peoples that continues today.

To mark the 150th anniversary, eight Irish people retraced the Trail of Tears, and the Kindred Spirits memorial by sculptor Alex Pentek was unveiled in Midleton, County of Cork. In 2018, Ireland announced a new scholarship program to allow Choctaw students to travel to and study in Ireland. And since the spring of 2020, Irish people have raised over $1.8 million in response to a GoFundMe appeal from the Navajo and Hopi nations who were hit particularly hard by the COVID-19 pandemic.  (If you follow the link to the

GoFundMe page, you’ll see they are still accepting donations—and you can read the heartfelt comments from Irish donors who continue to give.) Gary Batton, chief of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma, wrote that the tribe was “gratified — and perhaps not at all surprised — to learn of the assistance our special friends, the Irish, are giving to the Navajo and Hopi Nations… We have become kindred spirits with the Irish in the years since the Irish potato famine. We hope the Irish, Navajo and Hopi peoples develop lasting friendships, as we have.”

There is much hidden in history for which much has to be confessed, and which call for reparations. But there is also much that can be raised up and honored. We weep as the Indigenous peoples of this land have been almost erased, yet we see how powerful it is when those who have suffered can show empathy for others—and how resilient is their act of generosity. May we account for and reconcile for past sins, and learn from the grace and generosity and gratitude of those who have much to teach us.

May there be a time for all of us to recount long relationships between peoples that have nothing in common except for our common humanity.

In Christ’s peace,

Wendy

 

Friends for Life

by | May 31, 2021 | Monday Morning Reflections

Return to Reflections

Friends for Life

“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love
than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”

John 15:12-13

I hope you have a meaningful Memorial Day today.

I don’t assume what kind of meaning you might have, though. You see, my family church celebrated Memorial Day by having a separate memorial service to remember all church members and friends who passed away in the year. It wasn’t until I went to a dominant culture church in Silicon Valley, while I was in seminary, that I was scolded for not understanding that Memorial Day was not for anyone who died, but specifically for those in the military who died while serving our country.

Nowadays, Memorial Day is just as often celebrated as the start of summer.

Though I still don’t know many people in the military, I do have an appreciation for the people who serve in this way, and the experiences of camaraderie and leadership that can be developed thanks to the military. My glimpse into military life came during my time in Hawaii, because the military has a very large presence there. From church members I saw how they offered training and education quite broadly, and effectively.

I also appreciate the military because it is one of the most diverse institutions in the United States. I’ve often thought about how the military creates an esprit de corps even among people who would have no contact in their private lives.  This picture is of Company A, 3rd Battalion, 34th Infantry Regiment, the first Army home of Simran Lamba, the first observant Sikh to serve in the US Army after a ban for over two decades. Corporal Lamba made a request for a religious accommodation – in his case, the wearing of a turban and not cutting his hair or shaving his beard, all of which are prohibited in the Army. It took almost a year to grant his request, but eventually he was received, and accepted well by his fellow soldiers.

When I was in seminary almost three decades ago, my church held a large town hall on homosexuality. I was surprised to see that some of the people who were most accepting of gays were older men.

They explained that they had friends in the military who were gay, and they came to trust them with their lives. I have a conservative chaplain friend who also became more understanding of gays when he would counsel them; he realized that they miss their families and love their partners just like anyone else.

Harlan Redmond just graduated with his MDiv from Princeton and is already planning for his new ministry as Organizing Pastor for Interwoven New Worshiping Community. His ministry in racial reconciliation is partly informed by his experience in the Army. He tells the story of his first assignment, when he was paired up with a man who was different than him in race, background, and outlook. For several weeks they were required to make each other’s beds – to their partner’s satisfaction. As Harlan tells it, this kind of humbling exercise tends to break down barriers pretty quickly.

In order to write this column, I thought I might consult Wikipedia to learn something about Memorial Day. The holiday has roots in the Civil War, and the ways Confederate women decorated the graves of their slain soldiers. However, there were a couple of early instances in Mississippi, when the women decided to decorate the graves of both Confederate and Union soldiers, and pondered the shared grief of all their families. This was praised and appreciated as a sign of reconciliation and common humanity. It was also noted that German and Irish soldiers – who were discriminated against at that time – had won respect as Americans through their service. As a Japanese-American, I know well of young Japanese-American men who signed up to the 100th Battalion or 442nd Regiment during World War II to prove their loyalty to the USA. Many marginalized people, and many seeking US citizenship, have entered the armed forces for the same reason, and many lost their lives.

I pray that we would live in a peaceful world where armed forces do not need to be so large or at risk. But there is something about joining with other people, from very different backgrounds, and asking them to work together for a cause bigger than themselves. In the secular sphere, the idea of national service, whether military or other forms of duty, might accomplish this. Jesus calls his disciples to be willing to give their lives for their friends whom he called together, even if they might have once been enemies. We Presbyterians believe in geographic presbyteries as a challenge for us to connect with whatever people happen to be in our proximity, whether or not we have worldly similarities.

There are many ways to commemorate Memorial Day. For some of us, we remember and honor loved ones we have lost in service to our country. For some, we remember loved ones, whether or not they died in battle. For this moment in time, we can’t be faulted for being more eager than usual about the prospects for a healthy summer, relatively free of pandemic-induced restrictions. But I might also suggest that we take this time to consider how we can commit (or recommit) to a cause larger than ourselves, a cause larger even than any group of humans – a cause that can only be addressed fully with the help of God, the life-giving love of Jesus Christ, and the newly-refreshed power of the Holy Spirit.

May our churches be communities of shared faith and service, drawing together people from many backgrounds to serve our God.

In Peace and Service

Wendy

 

Power

by | May 24, 2021 | Monday Morning Reflections

Return to Reflections

Power

“But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

Acts 1:8

Yesterday was Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit came to fulfill Jesus’ promise to empower his followers to spread the gospel around the world. This promise came upon the people of the Jewish diaspora gathered in Jerusalem to celebrate the Festival of Weeks, or Shavuot.

Whenever I think of this promise, though, I remember the second sermon I ever preached, which was on this text. That preaching experience was an exceedingly difficult one; actually, it was my worst nightmare, but not unexpected. You see, when I entered seminary, I never expected to get ordained, because I had such paralyzing stage fright that I didn’t want to have to preach the one sermon you must preach in order to be certified ready for ordination. My fear of preaching was realized in this second sermon. Now, God being God, my FIRST sermon was a miracle, and proved that it wasn’t up to me to preach, except to the extent that I had to be willing to show up in the pulpit and open my mouth. Because of that first wondrous experience, the second horrible experience just gave me opportunity to appreciate God yet again having the last laugh on me.

So how could the sermon be so difficult? I was asked to preach for a Japanese church by their pastor, a family friend of mine. She told me how the church was known for their stubbornness that caused a traumatic split in the church, because the younger generation wanted them to broaden their ministry, but the leaders insisted that they stay very exclusively Japanese.

This was also a time when the Korean churches were growing very fast, so they were often asked to share their faith in just about every venue in the PCUSA. Back then, they would begin every testimonial with a recounting of the atrocities they suffered at the hands of the Japanese. For Japanese-Americans, this caused some awkwardness. Some would feel shame for the real atrocities that the Japanese military inflicted on the Korean people. Some would resist the shame, saying something like “we didn’t do that to the Koreans; we were in internment camps in the United States when this was happening.” This, to me, was our parallel to White people objecting to the thought of reparations on the part of their racist ancestors. My response is that while my parents or I did not commit the atrocities, we hold within us the same kind of pride that enabled us to succeed and, if left unchecked, can lead to dehumanizing brutality against those deemed inferior. Just as I have benefited from this cultural self-confidence, I grieve the imperialistic extremes that flared during World War II, and this always humbles me in relationships with my Korean siblings.

Back to the sermon. My friend and I talked about this church’s troubles with their own members and neighbors, so I thought I could speak to our sin of rejecting the people closest to us. When I consider Jesus’ promise, I notice how the promise started small, with their own people, then moved to the Samaritans, who I consider to be the estranged cousins of the Judeans, before moving out to everyone else: “you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” I thought how the most painful breaks occur with those closest to us; I don’t believe it’s coincidence that the most painful, bloody, and schismatic war in US history was the war within our borders. So I boldly (foolishly?) pointed out to this church how they could be looking to reconcile with their members (who were their young adult children, mostly), and with their local Korean neighbors, before attempting to reach out to international missions.

During the sermon, I had the distinct feeling that I was preaching to concrete blocks. But regardless, I still believe that we find reconciling with those closest to us to be the hardest. Many churches prefer a mission focus with a different country rather than connecting with their impoverished neighbors. Divisions within families, churches, and denominations cause more distress and continued hard feelings than disagreements with strangers. (Former Fuller president Richard Mouw pointed out how the PCUSA will form close relationships with Lutherans and Episcopalians far more easily than with members of other Presbyterian denominations like the EPC or ECO.)

But to me, the deepest, oldest, most intransigent conflict of all is that between the children of Abraham, the children of Sarah and Hagar, God’s own people—the people of the Holy Land. We Presbyterians have long and profound relationships with the people of Israel, Palestine, and Egypt, among other nations. I am grateful for Egypt’s role in facilitating the ceasefire in Gaza. But it is particularly painful to see the continued conflict between Israel and Palestine, and the impact it has throughout the world, so much so that we tremble at the thought of saying anything that may be perceived as hurting Israel, even while we cry at the sight of walled-in communities, kindergarten- age bombing victims, and an entire people who have no citizenship in any country. I continue to be grieved and paralyzed by this; just as I believe Japanese lost any credibility in holding Koreans to account, Christians have no moral right to critique the Jewish people who have suffered so much by people claiming Christ in their hateful attacks.

So what do we do? For now, I can only pray, and I found a prayer from Christian Aid UK, who is asking that we all pray on the 24th of each month (that’s today) for peace in Gaza, and throughout the Middle East:

Let us pray not for Arab or Jew, for Palestinian or Israeli,

but pray rather for ourselves, that we might not

divide them in our prayers but keep them both together in our hearts.

When races fight, peace be amongst us. When neighbors argue peace be amongst us. When nations disagree peace be amongst us.

Where people struggle for justice let justice prevail.

Where Christ’s disciples follow let peace be our way. Amen.

Let our prayers have the power of the Holy Spirit to do what we cannot do for ourselves. Praying for Peace,

Wendy

 

Kuleana

by | May 10, 2021 | Monday Morning Reflections

Return to Reflections

Kuleana

I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, so that, with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe, according to the working of his great power.

Ephesians 1:17-19

Lately, I have been thinking about Hawai‘i more than usual. I was reminded of some fun experiences, and of concepts and values that expand my understanding of living in the world and being a faithful follower of Christ.

One word I always appreciated is “kuleana.” The word is usually translated into English as “responsibility.” But, as happens regularly in translation, there is much more to it than however each of us might understand “responsibility.” I heard it stated in the context of an assigned task (“It’s my kuleana to make sure the kids are safe”), or authority (“You have the kuleana to guide us.”). It may be an inheritance; one of my friends was the son who inherited the bulk of his parents’ estate, which meant he had the responsibility to manage the estate on behalf of his siblings. Frequently, Hawai‘i residents are reminded of their kuleana in caring for the land. Their relationship with the land allows them to benefit appropriately from its gifts as they care for it with gratitude and respect.

While there may have been some codification to enable people, especially outsiders, to live within healthy relationships with each other and with nature, I think “kuleana” is best appreciated within the larger framework of community. This is easier to appreciate when you live on a small island like Kaua‘i, where it’s relatively difficult to leave or to hide, so your behavior sticks with you and impacts you in a much more pronounced fashion, and people also learn how to live together through differences, and to forgive. So it seemed there was greater focus on maintaining healthy relationships over following the letter of the law. One of my favorite examples of that involved the beloved piano teacher in Waimea, who had moved with her husband to the island from the mainland in 1947. In 2000, a local police officer stopped her for a minor traffic infraction. He recognized her (everyone knew her), but he still needed her driver’s license to complete his report. She handed him her driver’s license—from the Territory of Hawai‘i! She had never bothered to get it updated. The police officer looked at it, gave it back to her and said, “Oh, Mrs. Cassell! That’s quite an antique, but please, you really should get a new driver’s license.  We’re a state now, you know.”

In North America, we are so much bigger and diverse, we cannot assume that people will make judgments based on commitment to shared community values and relationships, so we rely on written rules and regulations to create environments that may or may not be peaceable, but at least they are less dangerous. It would be great to develop a spirit of community and love for each other, and to develop good discernment practices to support them, but in lieu of that, the laws are there to keep some level of order. Martin Luther King, Jr., spoke of the role of religion and education to teach morality and love, but until that happens, “It may be true that the law cannot make a man love me, but it can keep him from lynching me, and I think that’s pretty important also.”

In the Presbyterian Church, we have tended to rely on rules and regulations to guide our life together.

Sometimes we have held to these rules even when they failed to address every situation with mercy or understanding. Even though our polity is deeply rooted in our theology and the experiences of our people, the rules can become so complex that too many people follow them not because they understand them, but because they are there.

Many Presbyterians became so dependent on the Book of Order that when it was stripped back for greater flexibility, there was widespread panic. Some presbyteries attempted to insert the old Book of Order into their policies, in order to reinstate control. A few other folks took this new freedom to maximize their personal profit, to the expense of the gospel. We had to be reminded that with freedom comes responsibility. In times when the rules aren’t clear, you can’t be paralyzed, nor should you look for ways to ignore your responsibility to ensure a safe, just, and mutually beneficial environment.

Why do I reflect on this? Because the great low numbers of COVID transmission is leading public health officials to change the regulations at a dizzyingly rapid rate. As a presbytery, we are trying to provide guidance and updates, but there will naturally be a lag time, and the public health guidelines sometimes conflict with each other. We will continue to try to track and interpret the guidelines as they evolve, but every church session has the freedom—and the responsibility—to make the best decisions for your church, considering a few general guidelines:

  • The session should know best the needs of your congregation—and the session has the responsibility to watch for the safety of your members, and your community
  • You do not need to change every time the public health (or presbytery) guidelines are relaxed
  • Feel free to consult with the Presbytery staff, and your sister churches, about how to phase in new plans
  • Know that Jesus is in charge of the church, not the pastor or the loudest session member or your neighbor or the big church down the street—and God will bless your church as you seek to be

As we exit pandemic conditions, there will be some uncertainty for months to come. New strains could arrive, and there is added risk when the fall comes. So it is all our kuleana to stay alert, stay agile, and be faithful and sensitive to the many responses our communities have to the changing, hopeful conditions. This is a “good” problem to have, and with God’s help, we will weather this historic pandemic with renewed faith and better focus on the essence of our ministry.

Blessings in your discernment and your prayerful leadership in your church and your life,

Wendy

 

Mothers

by | May 3, 2021 | Uncategorized

Return to Reflections

Mothers

Jesus said, “My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and do it.”

Luke 8:21

This coming Sunday is Mother’s Day. For those who are mothers, I hope you feel loved and appreciated. For those whose mothers are with you, I hope you are able to see them or contact them in some way to share your love and gratitude. For those whose mothers have passed on, I hope you have many fond memories to remind you of her love that lives in and through you.

The greatest experiences I have had of God’s grace came as I dedicated my life to God’s service, especially while I was in seminary. Of course, God’s grace abounds whether or not we are aware of it. For instance, my family tells how I suffered nerve damage while being born, and I was initially paralyzed along one side of my body. My mother’s ob/gyn was a woman who told my mother about an experimental technique of moving the paralyzed limbs several times a day in hopes that the nerves would kick in and I would develop control of my body. According to my mother, the doctor said, “You might as well try it. She’s already paralyzed, so what will it hurt?” My mother did try with her usual focused attention, and for whatever reason I recovered, so I personally knew nothing of this crisis in the first days of my life. Since I heard this—seminary had a way of giving me permission to ask about my history—I began to see my right thumb, which is longer than my left, as evidence of God’s grace, manifested through my mother.

There is nothing more basic to life itself than the relationship of mother and child. Yesterday I heard a sermon based on the lectionary passage John 15:1-8 (“I am the vine, you are the branches”), and I thought about the sap that runs through plants, bringing nutrients as the plant grows, as similar to the life force that runs from mother to child, first in the womb, then through mother’s milk, and through all the ways a mother gives nurture, growth, learning, faith, and so much more.

Of course, while the Bible often uses metaphors from the physical world, God’s love is much greater than God’s creation. So while all forms of family relations, the skeletal system of the body, and a monarch’s rule are examples of the basics of life on earth, Jesus calls us to transcend their mortal limits. The body is now all of us, bound by common love of Jesus Christ. The rule of an earthly king is temporal and faulty compared to the eternal realm of our Lord. And we can be family together— we are mandated to be family together—by our common kinship as God’s children.

For those of us who were not blessed to have children or to have siblings or a sense of belonging, this is good news. We do not need to have biological connections to be family. We do not need to have gone through pregnancy and labor to be as mothers to others. In fact, while the Bible attests to Jesus’ love for his mother throughout his life, even arranging for her care while on the cross, he extends this love to anyone who hears the word of God—and does it. So we all have the opportunity to show that kind of life-giving, nurturing care that was traditionally considered the work of mothers.

We are entering a time when gender roles and even identities are questioned in interesting ways. Recently I was speaking with one of our pastors, who has three children, and though he is male, he carries out the more “maternal” responsibilities as the primary caregiver. And while the expansion of gender roles is discussed more frequently in these modern days, the role of mother can be claimed by anyone, as far back as Jesus’ teaching.

Back in the 14th century, German theologian and mystic Meister Eckhart wrote “We are all meant to be mothers of God.” Now this sounds pretty darn challenging and downright heretical (and granted, some of Eckhart’s writings were deemed heretical), but be careful of misleading editing. Here is a little more of what he wrote:

We are all meant to be mothers of God. What good is it to me if this eternal birth of the divine Son takes place unceasingly but does not take place within myself? And what good is it to me if Mary is full of grace if I am not also full of grace? What good is it to me for the Creator to give birth to his Son if I also do not give birth to him in my time and my culture? This, then, is the fullness of time.  When the Son of God is begotten in us.

Jesus pointed to his disciples as his mother and brothers and sisters. We have been given the call, the mandate, to bear the gospel, the mission, of Jesus Christ to our world. And many if not all of us can point to individuals who have been like mothers to us, as they have cared for us, nurtured the spark of life in us, and helped connect us to God and to our world. May we all find ways to be like mothers— mothers to people who need that extra care, mothers who nurture the potential in friends and church members, mothers to God’s dream of tomorrow.

Blessings to all of us, as we hear and do God’s word to be mothers for all who need the love and care that mothers bring. For those whose motherly role is more present and pressing, may you be supported by your family of faith as well as all your larger family connections. Your role as mother to the next generation will change the world.

Thanks be to God!

Wendy