Since Ash Wednesday, we’ve focused on the Seven Deadly Sins in worship. This week’s sin is “Sloth” which is really a word that’s been lost to our vernacular. Basically, sloth is the Sin of Not Caring. Scripture addresses Sloth several times, but modern translations call it Laziness. Again and again, the holy texts illustrate the matter by contrasting the ants and the grasshopper (Proverbs 6: 6-11). In this light, Sloth begins to take on a twinge of self-importance and pride, too. It maybe even highlights the expectation our culture has that all deserve Social Security after a certain age, whether or not we’ve worked to support others by funding it.
When I think on these things, I remember my childhood love for Walt Disney’s Silly Symphony. Funny thing is, I kept thinking I’d forgotten the remaining lines in the song the Grasshopper sings. Fact of the matter: the grasshopper only bothers to sing one line.
In “You’ve Got Mail,” Meg Ryan’s character, Kathleen, sits down with Greg Kinnear’s, Frank, to confront the fact that neither is in love with the other. Whereas Kathleen is ready to say that the hope of another exists, she’s not quite there yet. On the other hand, Frank has begun a rather public flirtation with a television personality who interviewed him. He declares, “I just can’t help myself.”
My friend asks me to share the song that I hate to love and another that I love to hate. Well, it’s like this. If I don’t like it, it’s probably now crowded out into the Land of the Forgotten Tunes. So much swirls up there in my noggin’ there’s not enough room to store something if I don’t enjoy at least a bit about it. So, I am not sure I’m going to come up with a song I love to hate. But, I can’t help myself when it comes to Gordon Lightfoot.
I remember riding around in our Orange VW Bus which we appropriately called “Bussie.” Dad popped the 8-track of Lightfoot crooning “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” as we rode around town. He sang along pretty well, I must say. The ballad is beautiful even though it is one of deep sadness. I think I always have loved stories and songs steeped in truth. Truth is important to share, even if it is painful.
In the meantime, I can’t help but share another bit of trivia I discovered by way of another friend this week. It is also a true story of which many are entirely unaware. Tomorrow is the 100th anniversary of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire. The tragedy became the basis of reform of safety standards and responsibilities of employers for their workers. You see, whereas most people die these days from smoke inhalation when there are fires, the Shirtwaist Factory caused deaths to 146 women either by burning to death or jumping to their deaths in order to escape the flames because managers had locked the doors to stairwells and fire escapes were not properly functioning. Most of the victims were between the ages of 16 and 23.
In these days, when we’re thinking a great deal about labor unions and the rights of workers and, as industries move overseas where the legal protections US workers enjoy do not exist, we must remember, come to the aid of others, and in the process, help ourselves. It’s called “doing it unto the least of these.” It’s called doing it unto Jesus.
One more “can’t help myself” tragic story/song: Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee.
Maybe my funny-bone just doesn’t tickle the way most of current North American culture does. I have never found CBS’s “Two and a Half Men” to be even slightly laughable despite my affection for Duckie… I mean Jon Cryer. Strangely enough, the program has ranked high in the ratings for years. Charlie Sheen’s behavior, however, is ranking worse than “not funny” and has moved over into the “downright disturbing.” Is it some sort of drug-induced psychosis?
Despite my lack of affection for sitcoms these days, I do love shows that make me laugh. Guess it’s a sign of aging, but I long for the golden days of The Cosby Show and Family Ties, or even Ally McBeal or Everybody Loves Raymond.
This week, I came across a lovely little comedy called “Drop Dead Diva.” Have you heard of it? I missed it when it premiered on Lifetime last year. Now, please understand, most of the time, Lifetime nauseates me. While it bills as television for women, most often the programs seem to encourage women to stay in unhealthy relationships of all sorts. But Drop Dead Diva is good. It’s the story of Deb, a beauty-queen wanna-be model who dies, goes to heaven, and in a strange turn of events is able to return to Earth. Mishaps happen, of course, and as Deb inhales her new first breath, it is in the body of a lawyer who is anything but a pageant-circuit kind of gal. Jane’s no-nonsense, brainy approach to life has made her a superb legal eagle. You see the comedic potential. If you don’t get Lifetime, let me recommend Netflix for instant viewing. Lifetime has accomplished something beautiful here. It’s not only funny but it’s poignant as Deb figures out how to be more than beauty. She goes from a life of zero positive or negative contributions to a woman who contributes and experiences a range of blessings and challenges.
Comedian and author, Eric Idle writes:
At least one way of measuring the freedom of any society is the amount of comedy that is permitted, and clearly a healthy society permits more satirical comment than a repressive, so that if comedy is to function in some way as a safety release then it must obviously deal with these taboo areas. This is part of the responsibility we accord our licensed jesters, that nothing be excused the searching light of comedy. If anything can survive the probe of humour it is clearly of value, and conversely all groups who claim immunity from laughter are claiming special privileges which should not be granted.
This cultural core of comedy is the reason that Jon Stewart hosts the number-one rated news program. With his wit he succeeds in influencing society more than any other newscaster at this time. Wisdom flows from humor, in this case.
Which brings me around to humor in the faith-sphere. If Easter weren’t so late this year (it’s the absolute latest possible date – April 24), my parish would have celebrated Holy Humor Sunday on the Sabbath closest to April Fools’. We’re talking good clean jokes. Divine humor (after all God spoke through a donkey, Balaam’s ass, to be precise. Playful clothing and music. Alas, it will have to wait until next year. We’ll be in the middle of the Seven Deadly Sins instead, this year.
In the realm of religion, we often take ourselves all too seriously. After all, we hammer into one another’s head that the only thing of lasting significance is spiritual. The responsibility of sharing the Gospel is, indeed, a joyful and burdensome thing. As a result, musicians through the generations have created beautiful works to tell the gospel story. But seldom with humor. Always aiming at conviction, there is little room for laughter.
So the oratorio, “Not the Messiah: He’s a Very Naughty Boy” is a welcome piece of comedy. You’ll hear overtones of Handel, Mozart, nine lessons and carols, and even Bob Dylan. A musical setting of “the Life of Brian,” the film is a delight: gorgeous symphony, gifted soloists, mass choir, and the goofiness of Monty Python all rolled into one.
There’s a world of difference between truth and facts. Facts can obscure the truth. ~Maya Angelou
Every so often, I’m confronted with questions about “the Truth.” I often hear people say, “the truth is” or “the fact of the matter is” or “to be honest.” Over the course of the past few years, I’ve begun to think that truth is really about perception. Frankly, to keep in the vein of being truthful, I think I shall write more about that later.
I’ve met a lot of people who pride themselves on their honesty and truthfulness. But you know what? When push comes to shove, I’ve learned that they often obscure the truth. They only share measures of the truth. It’s the point at which black-and-white becomes grey. Even more, it may show what good actors they are as they share white lies or soften the blows of the difficult truths they seek to avoid sharing.
Dissapointingly, I’ve learned that I cannot always reveal a whole truth all at once. This can apply to deep things of biblical study and church history, or even personal truths. Only portions are digestable a bit at a time. A whole truth can choke and kill. But does that make me untrustworthy?
For that matter, what if I’m unable to handle the entire truth all at once. I’m aware that I, too, am in the midst of birth pangs of a new creation not yet revealed. Maybe I hold the truth from myself.
Recently, I found my way to a blog post by Rachel Held Evans. In it she reflected on a conference I wish I could attend called “Epic Fail Pastor’s Conference.” (Note: In my humble opinion, scheduling such a conference days before Holy Week begins surely destins the conference for failure.) The concept behind “Epic Fail” got Evans to thinking about the things that pastors wish they could talk about with parishioners but feel they must avoid for a variety of reasons. That spurred the thought of parishioners who are hungry to hear the truth from their pastors. She wrote:
Dear Pastors,
Tell us the truth.
Tell us the truth when you don’t know the answers to our questions, and your humility will set the example as we seek them out together.
Tell us the truth about your doubts, and we will feel safe sharing our own.
Tell us the truth when you get tired, when the yoke grows too heavy and the hill too steep to climb, and we will learn to carry one another’s burdens because we started with yours.
Tell us the truth when you are sad, and we too will stop pretending.
Tell us the truth when your studies lead you to new ideas that might stretch our faith and make us uncomfortable, and those of us who stick around will never forget that you trusted us with a challenge.
Tell us the truth when your position is controversial, and we will grow braver along with you.
Tell us the truth when you need to spend time on your marriage, and we will remember to prioritize ours.
Tell us the truth when you fail, and we will stop expecting perfection.
Tell us the truth when you think that our old ways of doing things need to change, and though we may push back, the conversation will force us to examine why we do what we do and perhaps inspire something even greater.
Tell us the truth when you fall short, and we will drop our measuring sticks.
Tell us the truth when all that’s left is hope, and we start digging for it.
Tell us the truth when the world requires radical grace, and we will generate it.
Tell us the truth even if it’s surprising, disappointing, painful, joyous, unexpected, unplanned, and unresolved, and we will learn that this is what it means to be people of faith.
Tell us the truth and you won’t be the only one set free.
Love,
The Congregation
I cannot leave the subject of telling the truth without referring to a quote that always moves prominently to my mind. In the movie “A Few Good Men,” Tom Cruise’s attorney character examines Jack Nicholson’s Colonel Jessup. The attorney shouts that he deserves the truth. Jessup explodes: “You can’t handle the truth.” (Warning: the link has the unedited footage from the film and therefore contains offensive language.)
What are your thoughts on telling the truth? And if your pastor gave you full, honest answers to these questions, how would you respond?
Whoever is careless with the truth in small matters cannot be trusted with important matters. ~ Albert Einstein
Whether I’m reading a book or watching a television program, I do it. I can’t help myself when taking in a movie. From time to time, while reading an article in a newspaper or magazine, it’s almost a compulsive response. These days, it’s gotten so bad, that I even do it while reading a tweet. It even just happened when a friend posted a clip of Tracy Chapman singing “Talkin’ about a Revolution” back in 1988.
Mrs. Reed got me hooked when I was in the twelfth grade. I was only 16 years old when she had us read Herman Melville’s Billy Budd. Our Advanced Placement class took on a variety of assignments. Mine was to interpret the Christ-like qualities of the title character. I’ve never been the same since.
Not long after Billy Budd came T.S. Elliot’s “Journey of the Magi.” My obsession was building. Two years later, I was on a short-list of classmates who enjoyed our college-required “Great Books” class (all except for The Princes of Cleves, that is). Whatever the story, layered symbolism drew me. Stepping through the successive chambers of the nautilus, I discover something being said (or not said) about God.
So there it is. The truth is out. I confess: Imagery, theological and Christological, fascinates me. I find myself enthralled at God-images present in daily life, experienced in art and music, visible on the written page and the big screen.
As with so many dualities in our world, I find there are strict and loose interpreters when it comes to spirituality in the public sphere. Some people are deeply disturbed by movies like “Bruce Almighty” and its spin-off “Evan Almighty.” Fine folks fear disrespect of the faith. Equally excellent people think: “No big deal.” Films such as these playfully and provocatively address questions about God, faith and doubt. But are they bad? Blasphemy, it seems, is in the eye of the beholder.
Personally and vocationally, when spirituality enters the secular sphere I’m thrilled. I love it when people ask God-questions, whether they know it or not. For the record, how often do regular, non-religious Joe’s and Jane’s consider God’s ominpotence, omniscience, and response to prayer? With humor or without? Sitting in the comfort of their own couches, those who consider themselves “spiritual-but-not-religious” (the fastest growing faith-group in America, by the way) can consider a miracle and personal responsibility of being a faithful servant of God.
Way back in 1997, I began to hear quiet whispers about a rejected boy chosen for a curious path into an unknown world. His name was Harry. Children loved the books about him. But soon, I began to hear the strict interpreters complaining. It took me a few years to catch up because I was in the heights and depths of a seminary education and there were authors like Athanasius and Karl Rahner and Elisabeth Schussler-Fiorenza to read. By the 2001 debut of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, I had discovered a story that was the stuff of many a teaching-moment. For there within the first few chapters of Book 1 was a tremendous illustration of Prevenient Grace.
During the same span of time, Spirituality & Health magazine linked with Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat to show how pop culture reveals spiritual themes. A few years later, the Brussats spun-off to form “Spirituality & Practice”, naming annually the most spiritually literate movies. They have successfully led me to many a wonderful film.
I suppose it all harkens back to my God-given ability to see something beautiful and life-giving, no matter the circumstance. How is God present in the most stark and desperate moments? Even, as I type, glimpses of the girl in the red coat come swirling into my mind. If I’m not careful, here comes a rush of many more.
teach me wisdom in my secret heart 