<\/p>\n
\n<\/p>\n
The Sunday My husband’s This Sunday, That would be Much of But who will Since At their best, Sunday January American If we don’t speak for the soul, our silence will surely aid evil. <\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The Sunday after Martin Luther King was assassinated in 1968, my husband’s family attended their Presbyterian church. They went with heavy hearts, expecting the pastor to help make sense of the tragedy. The minister rose to preach. The congregation held its breath. But he said nothing of the events in Memphis. He preached as if…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":66,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1,12,6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-33","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-christianity","category-news","category-religion-and-politics"],"yoast_head":"\n
\nafter Martin Luther King was assassinated in 1968, my husband’s family attended
\ntheir Presbyterian church. <\/span>They
\nwent with heavy hearts, expecting the pastor to help make sense of the
\ntragedy. <\/span>The minister rose to
\npreach. <\/span>The congregation held its
\nbreath. <\/span>But he said nothing of the events in Memphis. <\/span>He
\npreached as if nothing had happened.<\/span><\/p>\n
\nfamily left church that day disappointed; eventually, they left that church
\naltogether. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nmany Americans will go to church.
\n<\/span>A sizeable number of those people may be hoping to hear something that
\nhelps them make sense of the shooting of Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and
\nthe others who had gathered at her sidewalk townhall in Tucson. <\/span>Some pastors may note the event in prayer
\nand some may say something during announcements or add a sentence to their
\nsermons. <\/span>But others might say
\nnothing, sticking instead to prepared texts and liturgies. Many will eschew speaking of politics. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\na mistake.<\/span><\/p>\n
\nAmerican public commentary takes place on television, via the Internet, and
\nthrough social networks. <\/span>We
\nalready know what form the analysis of the assassination attempt will be. <\/span>Everyone will say what a tragedy it
\nis. <\/span>Then commentators will take
\nsides. <\/span>Those on the left will
\nblame the Tea Party’s violent rhetoric and “Second Amendment solutions.” <\/span>Those on the right will blame
\nirresponsible individuals and Socialism.
\n<\/span>Progressives will call for more gun control; conservatives will say more
\npeople should carry guns. Everyone will have some sort of spin that benefits
\ntheir party, their platform, and their policies. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nspeak of the soul? <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nPresident Obama has taken office, many ministers have told me that they have
\nfeared addressing public issues from the pulpit lest “someone get hurt.” <\/span>Well, someone is hurt–and people have
\ndied–most likely because bitterly partisan lies have filled the air and most
\ncertainly because some unhinged individual killed people.<\/span><\/p>\n
\nAmerican pulpits are not about taking sides and blaming. <\/span>Those pulpits should be places to
\nreflect on theology and life, on the Word and our words. <\/span>I hope that sermons tomorrow will go
\nbeyond expressions of sympathy or calls for civility and niceness. <\/span>Right now, we need some sustained
\nspiritual reflection on how badly we have behaved in recent years as Americans–how
\nmuch we’ve allowed fear to motivate our politics, how cruel we’ve allowed our
\ndiscourse to become, how little we’ve listened, how much we’ve dehumanized
\npublic servants, how much we hate.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n9 is the day on which many Christians celebrate the Baptism of Jesus: “<\/span>When
\nJesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the
\nheavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and
\nalighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved,
\nwith whom I am well pleased.'”
\n<\/span>Jesus’ baptism in water symbolizes life, the newness that comes of
\ncleansing. <\/span>But there is a darker
\nsymbol of baptism in American history: that of blood. <\/span><\/span>In
\n1862, Episcopal bishop Stephen Elliot of Georgia said, “All nations which come
\ninto existence . . . must be born amid the storm of revolution and must win
\ntheir way to a place in history through the baptism of blood.” <\/span>Baptism as water? <\/span>Baptism as blood? <\/span>Baptism accompanied by a dove or
\nbaptism accompanied by the storm of revolution?<\/span><\/p>\n
\nChristianity is deeply conflicted, caught between two powerful symbols of
\nbaptism, symbols that haunt our political sub-consciousness. <\/span>To which baptism are we called? <\/span>Which baptism does the world most need
\ntoday? <\/span>Which baptism truly
\nheals? <\/span>Do we need the water of God,
\nor the blood of a nine-year old laying on a street in Tucson? <\/span>The answer is profoundly and simply
\nobvious. <\/span>We need redemption
\ngushing from the rivers of God’s love, not that of blood-soaked sidewalks. <\/span><\/p>\n