Jan 23, 2010 
For those who may be regular visitors to my blog, you’ve noticed an unusually long absence. Some of you may know through other sources the reason why. After an initial surgical procedure, non-invasive with an anticipated short and easy recuperation, our daughter-in-law, who lives with our son and our two grandsons in Cuernavaca, Mexico, developed serious, life-threatening complications that demanded four major surgeries in less than four weeks. “We almost lost her,” the surgeon confessed, after the first operation. Later today she is scheduled to return home. Betsy and I have been “holding the fort” – shopping and preparing meals, getting a seven and eight year old to and from school, supporting our son and visiting his wife in the hospital. We are physically and emotionally spent. But deeply thankful that she will return home today. Thank you for your patience. The “wheels are turning” afresh, so renew your discipline of checking in at this blog site . . . and sharing your responses. Just below is my first post-leave posting.
No Comments Two Sundays ago I invited some members of our monthly inter-faith group to share, during our Sunday worship service, their tradition’s appreciation of Jesus. The readings from their holy texts about Jesus were deeply affirming, moving, even adoring. The Story of the Magi inspired the invitation, they likely Zoroastrians, who come to “pay homage” to Jesus but with no hint in the text this is a conversation story. Many worshipers wrote to express appreciation. But others wrote to express their dismay, their feeling that Sunday worship was not the right setting for words from other religions, and that I should have reminded all present that Jesus is the only way to God and eternal life. My pondering inspired this blog posting.
The massive and magnificent Baha’i World Center located in Haifa, Israel is octagonal in shape, a magnificent door centered at each of the eight sides, one each for visiting pilgrims of the eight major world religions. Visitors are invited to enter the temple, the presence of God, by “their” door – Jews and Muslims, Christians and Hindus, Jains and Buddhists and so on. In fact, if I am not mistaken, one can become a Baha’i and remain an adherent of their present faith. (I am a “quiet appreciator” of the Baha’i faith, but that is for another time).
Images coming to mind from identical passages that appear in early chapters of both Isaiah and Micah in the Hebrew scriptures, pilgrims streaming to the holy mountain of God, I imagine an aerial view of present day pilgrims entering each by their door at Haifa – an “outside looking in” perspective. Each visitor, finding “their door,” chanting songs of their hymnody, with gestures and movements particular to their liturgy, carrying their holy texts, praying in the forms of their tradition, holding their faith in unique and singular ways. Commonalities and differences.
Allow me a moment of blatant anthropomorphism, edging, I confess, on idolatry, daring to image God in human form, divinity looking and gesturing as you and I would. My imagination dares an “inside looking out” perspective – yes, audacious enough to imagine looking through God’s eyes, aligning with God’s stream of consciousness, sensing God’s feelings, noticing God’s gestures and movements. Some would argue that God turns only to those entering through a particular passageway, that the divine welcome is extended to only one line of pilgrims, that God’s arms open ready for embrace to only one group. “Welcome to the kingdom prepared for you from the beginning of time” . . . “welcome good and faithful servants” But what of the others? “Throw them into the outer darkness, where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth” . . . “cast them into the sea of fire.”
I number myself among those who view God as brimming with delight with each one as they enter, by whatever door. The divine eyes dancing with joy, the divine arms spread wide. Rejoicing that each one – arriving by whatever path, guided by whatever practice, intoning whatever divine name, shaped by whatever beliefs – has made their way home.
A more earthy, everyday and real example: Tracy (I have changed her name) arrives at The Gathering – our bi-weekly circle of silence and solitude, spiritual support, prayer and reflection – looking noticeably different. No one failes to notice. Lighter of step and of spirit. An easy, relaxed smile. Moving with rhythm and grace. Something clearly different, it seemed wonderfully different. Someone finally asks and Tracy responds with contagious joy. She explains that recently come into the influence of an Indian guru, Amma by name (you may know her as the “hugging saint”) was attending satsang, a nearby gathering of followers of Amma. Tracy struggles to find words, but her spirit speaks the message for her. She says something like this: “Suddenly all that debris that has always cluttered the pathway between me and God has cleared away. I have never felt more profoundly the embrace of God. It is wonderful!”
Then, haltingly and hesitantly, she looks toward me. “Howard, twenty years ago I joined the church you served as pastor. I made a commitment to Jesus. And, by the way,” she hastened to say, “nothing that has happened to me has diminished my commitment to Jesus. But Amma has become an important guru for me.” Then she asks, with disarming directness, “What does Jesus think about that?” Yikes! I pause, more briefly than I might have expected, and then respond. “How dare I be so audacious to speak for Jesus” I confess. But I will say this, boldly and unapologetically, “The Jesus-I-know is thrilled.”
Jesus longed, it appears to me – he said it often, with such clarity and forcefulness – for those he met and touched, taught and healed “to know the Father the way I do.” Tracy, more than at any time in her nearly six decades of life, is “knowing the Father” in a way that seems what Jesus had in mind. Who could not smile with delight?
Humorist, cynic, iconoclast, and social commentator Bill Maher said it most crassly, something like, “Would not human history have been better off if religion had not emerged across its pages.” Whether warring between each other or among each other, collisions of world religions have claimed millions of lives. The aptly, sadly named “Thirty Year War” pitched Catholics and Protestants, intra-faith warfare among Christians. The Christian conquest, then the sweeping Muslim conquest of Northern Africa and the Middle East, a succession of inter-faith wars. The African slave trade and western expansion with genocidal impact on Native American populations carried out with Christian consent, arriving slaves baptized prior to stepping shackled onto the auction block. A legacy inevitably re-enacted, as if by some insane repetition compulsion, generation by generation. Sam Harris (End of Faith) names twenty-six wars over time, some extending into the present, initiated or exacerbated in the name of faith. I write all of this as an ordained Christian clergyperson. With sadness, awkwardness and a touch of guilt-by-association.
I am by nature a positive, hopeful person. I believe there can be a better way. I vision a world where adherents within a faith – mine being Christian – can choose acceptance, mutual understanding and high respect, even across significant differences. And a world where those of differing faith can diligently seek common ground, shared values and principles, focus beyond that which divides to that which connects. One might argue I being naïve, little evidence to support this vision I cast.
A very personal experience in the midst of a family crisis has freshened that hope and shed a most promising light. Our daughter-in-law, Mexican wife of our younger son, had a significant but not uncommon surgery two weeks ago and was apparently on track in her recovery process – when symptoms of severe complications surfaced. Over the course of seventy-two hours she had two additional deeply invasive surgeries. “It was close,” the surgeon later confessed, “we almost lost her.” My wife and I flew to Mexico and have accompanied Erik and Griselda and their young sons through these anguishing, though now grateful days. She will come home from the hospital in a day or two.
I sent emails to as nearly one hundred people – many participants in various groups in which we share membership, often groups gathered around common spiritual seeking – asking for prayer. For reasons too lengthy to profile here, except to name my sense of blessing in it all, recipients of those emails included Egyptian Muslims, Iranian Baha’is, Persian Zoroastrians, a Pakistani Sikh, a Chinese Confucianist, Jews and Buddhists, Quakers and Unitarians, indigenous Nauhtls, Mexican Catholics . . . as well as Christians across a broad theological spectrum.
Their commitment to pray and individual prayers were expressed in a rich and broad variety of wordings, reflecting differing understandings of the Divine, varying understandings of just what prayer is or how it works. But each prayer and pray-er shared a common focus – Griselda and our son and their boys and Betsy and me. It was “lived ecumenicity,” a ready and unifying bond common to all, shared by all, expressed by all – undistracted by the reality of our differences, undiluted by varying theologies.
Hope does spring eternal . . . all the more profound springing forth in the eternal now!
Glenn Beck is a phenomenon. I’ve developed what my friends call an odd and masochistic practice of listening to Mr. Beck a bit each day. (I described our “meeting” in an earlier blog posting). Most days I have to fight myself not to hit the scan button, his ranting more than I can bear. I am not one to dismiss an ideological adversary out of hand, and I cringe when an ideological companion declares someone (like Glenn Beck) to be delusional, psychotic, just plain crazy. But it is all I can do not to join that chorus some days. Then again, just last week, as he quietly appealed to his (reportedly vast) audience to be trusting, hopeful and confident in a brighter future, I found myself on the edge of tears. Okay, I am fascinated, to say the least, by this phenomenon!
Let me offer a “lens through which to look” at Glenn Beck – a lens that had me sighing “aha” a day or two ago, and is making more and more sense as I think about it. Beck is a Mormon, a part of the “The Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter Day Saints.” While in clear alignment with evangelical Christianity, proclaiming God’s love and celebrating Jesus as Savior, an official Mormon website adds that “God continues to speak His words and reveal His truth in our day through a living prophet.” (Mormon.org) The president of the Mormon Church is recognized as a prophet. But “On occasion, prophets may be inspired to foretell the future for the benefit of mankind” (Mormon.org). Is Beck posturing and positioning in the Mormon prophetic tradition?
Usually leaning forward, often cupping his chin in his hands, his eyes fixed on the camera, perhaps misty with weeping, Beck will quietly say something like, “Over the weekend some things began to become clear to me. I will be speaking about it in programs this week.” “Suddenly, it is all starting to make sense.” Is he suggesting that some sort of sacred revelation is touching him? That he is recipient of some divine message? Like a prophet? Just as poignantly, as if tears were authenticating, he offers words of assurance and comfort. “Do not be afraid. All will be well. You will be fine. You can live in trust.” The prophet as pastor? Or he offers clear marching orders, instructions about how and when to gather, carefully crafted values and principles to define and motivate the work. The prophet initiating a prophetic movement?
A prophet is defined, as much as anything, by a followership. One may lay claim to a prophet’s mantle, but only a cadre of the loyal, committed and devoted can birth the prophetic movement. Looks like a movement unarguably in formation. Hmmmmm!
Did I participate in a death panel? Did I collude with an assisted suicide? Let’s see: we decided whether a man should extend life or prepare for death; we chose to discontinue life-extending medications and treatment; we vowed to forgo any interventions designed to prolong life, with potentially effective options at hand; we opted for a treatment plan with only comfort in mind. In six weeks he died.
The “we” was a circle of seven: my mom and dad, my three siblings and myself, and, a representative from Hospice. The “man” was my dad, whose physical and mental health was in steady decline, though his capacity to hear, think and reason, weigh and decide were clearly in place. Though six of us, the Friend family, “decided,” the only vote that counted was our father’s. Among the “potentially effective options” was a deeply invasive exploratory surgical procedure that may have, but would likely have not have, the doctors reported, been helpful. Indeed, if it were successful, an even more invasive surgical procedure would logically follow, an assault our dad’s 94 year old body would surely not tolerate.
The “we” also included Hospice – a team of physicians, nurses, aides, social workers, counselors and clergy – and our parents’ health care insurance carrier. All players on the “death panel” were in place, part of a process designed to be win/win – the best possible outcome for each and all. The health insurance company, which covered all expenses for hospice, including a year of follow-up care for my dad’s survivors, “won” in terms of potentially costly extraordinary medical interventions being eliminated. The hospice care organization “won” in terms of its services and its large staff, experts in assisting the dying and their families, being funded. The family “won” in that a sensitive and supportive context for our father’s dying was in place. And my father “won” as he had the departure from early life he longed for.
Six weeks later, on All Saints’ Day no less, our father drew his last breath. Could days have been added to his life? Quite possibly. Might he have died in intensive care, tubes extending from his body, after hours and days of anguish for him and us? Quite possibly. Might he have had months, even years, tied upright in a wheel chair drooling on his tee shirt and staring blankly into space, holding my hand but completely unaware who I was? Quite possibly.
I have tried to make it crystal clear – in official and notarized documents, in instructions to my sons, in a reminder to advise any caregivers in any setting of my wishes – that I want a death panel convened as quickly as possible when my time comes.
On the face of it, they seem so logical and creative. When something is “our” issue – a concern that belongs to and effects all of us, a common threat to address or shared opportunity to claim, when deliberation and making a decision would be timely – why not get us all together? It seemed to have worked in colonial New England. Official and unofficial. Periodic, “as needed” or regularly scheduled: monthly, quarterly, annually, or when someone rang the church bell in the village square. With authority to elect officials, pass budgets, enact legislation, make binding decisions, or simply a forum for exchange of ideas. Then again, maybe they had raucous and rowdy gathering, unruly shouting matches, pushing and shoving too.
I only stayed for half an hour at this past summer’s nearby Health Care Town Meeting. Though likely more civil than many, when my stomach began to knot and a rare headache stirred, and the “discussion” (same root as “percussion” and “concussion”) heated up, and epithets and angry accusations began to fly, I was “outta there.”
As I have thought about it, I am not sure I have ever been to a Town Meeting that worked. I work as a consultant with religious congregations, all too often called in as conflict has arisen and escalated. “Let’s have a Town Meeting,” someone suggests, the idea seeming so obviously appropriate. “Just get us all together so we can hear each other out.” I used to concur, then came to resist, and now insist as persuasively as I can that it is a bad idea. Experience confirms the wisdom of my counsel.
I’ve attended Town Hall gatherings in small towns. It all seems so promising, as citizens pour into the hall. “We’re all together, how grand” is a logical thought. Not! How quickly pulse rate quicken, faces redden and neck veins protrude; everyone talking at once, voices rising to shouts and screams, arms flailing, fists clenched. An embattled moderator, one who came with presumed public respect, wisdom and authority loses any semblance of leadership.
I’ve attended congregational town halls at churches. Surely civility and mutual respect will reign there; people will express opinions in a reasonable and reasoned way. Not! I have overheard congregants, after a chaotic and fruitless Town Hall meeting, confess that they behaved in ways they would swiftly criticize in another, saying and doing things they never dreamed they were capable of.
There’s a lovely romance in that African saying: “If you want to go quickly, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” Maybe there’s a way we can come together that we can go both quickly and far. Any movement needs to reach critical mass. Numbers are important. Crowds grew large enough to demolish “that wall” and Boston Tea Parties turned a tide in early colonial organizing. A first anti-Viet Nam war protest, five people parading down Fifth Avenue in New York, grew to tens of thousands, enough to finally end a war. Protesters faced snarling dogs and punishing water cannons, non-violently, and a civil rights movement gained momentum.
It seems that one of two prevailing spirits inhabits such gatherings – one of mutuality, common cause, respect in the face of differences; the other divisive and fracturing, anger morphing into hatred, vigorous exchange tumbling into animosity and assault. As if a crowd develops a collective personality – either one of graciousness and unanimity, positivity and expectancy, innovation and forward momentum; or one of antagonism and negativity, obstructive and destructive.
Can the Town Meeting – rich with possibility, a platform for claiming common cause even amid inevitable differences, a launching place for creativity and positive change – be redeemed? To do so would be such a gift to ourselves.
Usually we “step closer to see more clearly” – making distinctions, noticing details, observing subtle inter-connections. Except with impressionist art: “step back to see more clearly.” Consider Cathedral at Rouen by Claude Monet in the National Gallery, one of thirty paintings by the French master of the façade of that great cathedral, each a different time of day. Stand first a foot or two from the canvas, where you can make virtually no sense of the short, broad brush strokes, shades of white, yellow and orange. Step back six feet and you can discern basic contours of the cathedral – immense doors, a circular window, a soaring steeple, the heft of the portico rising from the columns that frame the entrance – but no detail. Step back, four or five feet at a time, and statuary spaced on pedestals above the window become increasingly clear, the fold of robes, and the length of beards, clearer yet with each backward step. From twenty feet figures in the Rose Window become clear enough to name the biblical scenes depicted. Ironically, paradoxically all becomes clearer from a distance.
View health care reform like an impressionist painting. Step back from the increasingly acrimonious debate, details that distract, and the ideological maneuvering. See the whole canvas of health care reality. Nicholas Kristof ingathered the widely available data compactly – the awkward if not embarrassing data – in a November 5th Op-Ed piece in the New York Times. We may have awesomely advanced health care technology, but our health care delivery is nothing short of woeful.
- The U.S. ranks 21st in life expectancy (tied with Kuwait and Chile
- We are 37th in infant mortality and 3th in maternal mortality
- Statistically, Canada’s health care system out-ranks that of the U.S. in five of ten key categories, the U.S. superior in two, with three a tie
- Among 19 developed countries the U.S. ranked 19th in “preventing avoidable diseases”
- Americans take 10% fewer drugs than the global population, but pay 118% more per pill
- The U.S. does rank 1st among those 19 developed countries in the health of those over age 65 – the age at which a universal health care system becomes available
The very first attempt to craft health care reform legislation was vigorously resisted when insurance and pharmaceutical companies exercised concerted opposition, but was ultimately defeated when it was successfully characterized as . . . Bolshevik – in 1915! I do not write to advocate a partisan position, even on the current health care proposal before Congress. I write to personally declare that this “reality seen from a distance” is morally unacceptable, ethically indefensible, and humanly abominable. That nearly a century has passed with that same reality available to those who would look, without public outcry, without some combination of public and private creativity and action-taking, of which we are clearly capable, is nothing short of a disgrace.
I write as a follower of Jesus and the Prophets, in close partnership with those who follow Mohammed or Baha’u’ullah, the Buddha or Confucius of those of other paths that weave spiritual fulfillment and social justice. My mind, my heart and my faith tradition will not countenance silence, insist on outrage, stir lovingness, and demand action. Come stand “back here” and join me!
The story, which I first heard told by John Bogle, founder of The Vanguard Group, has been making the rounds, so maybe you’ve heard it. Authors Kurt Vonnegut and Joseph Heller meet at a cocktail party in a most elegant and pretentious home. At one point Vonnegut says to Heller, “What does it feel like to think that the owner of this house likely makes as much in a day as you made from the total sales of Catch-22?” Pausing briefly, Heller answered concisely, “But I have something he may not.” “And what’s that?” responded Vonnegut. “Enough,” Heller said quietly.
A gift of the current season of economic struggle, not in any way to minimize how deeply impactful this struggle is for many, may be a renewed appreciation of “enough.” Though re-assessing and re-calibrating personal and family budgets may be more necessity than option, I am sensing that there a fresh appreciation, an emerging creativity, about finding enjoyment that is not price-tag based.
And, an awareness that there is a measureable difference between (what I will call) the cost of utility and the cost of extravagance – in the same product or expense. A necessary cost and a discretionary cost might be a gentler way to say it. Consider three examples in gradations of scope and cost as examples.
- Look at your wrist. A quartz watch – fully reliable in time-keeping, available with a measure of style – need cost no more than $29.95. If your watch cost more than that, the difference is a cost of extravagance. The difference in cost is serving a purpose other keeping time.
- Look in your garage. One can argue that a car is an enclosure, supported by four tires, designed to get you from Point A to Point B. You can buy a new one, mechanically reliable, pleasing to the eye for $12,000. If your car cost more than that the difference is a cost of extravagance. The difference in cost is serving a purpose other than transportation.
- Look at the footprint . . . of your house, that is. My friends did not want to move, but each of the couple had lost their job and had no choice but to put their 7,000 square foot house on the market. Mercifully, it sold near asking price within the month. They have bought a much more modest, barely over 2,000 square foot house. Broad smiles, not of resignation but true delight, met me when I visited. “Guess what we discovered,” they said, almost in unison. “We realized we only really lived in 2,000 square feet in our other house!” They explained that they had used their spacious living room and ample dining room only a handful of days a year. All four bedrooms had never each been occupied in any single night. They “lived” in the eat-in kitchen, the cozy den and their bedroom, less than 2,000 square feet. And, they reported, they felt more truly at-home and comfortable, glad to be out from under high annual maintenance, insurance and taxes. “Enough” was enough!
Staycations (attractions, events, sites nearby) . . . buying generic rather than name brands . . . the surprisingly good taste of boxed wines (matching higher end wines in blind taste tests) . . . set a “special occasion” table, linen napkins, candlelight and quiet music and “eat gourmet” at home . . . take turns with friends preparing a “dinner out at home” for each other . . . share tools, camping equipment, tuxedos, lawnmowers and leaf blowers, et cetera. Use your imagination!
There have been suspensions for misconduct, some distressing and thoroughly unacceptable, in the Los Angeles, New York and Philadelphia police departments – and endless other departments across the country. After due process, penalties are appropriate. But there are no plans to de-fund, much less dis-band, these units! Devious and fraudulent brokers have conducted insider trading, manipulated the financial system for their own gain, or outright embezzled funds in investment businesses large and small. Indictments and appropriate convictions are important. But no one proposes that these firms be dismantled. Fire Departments, local charities, even larger regional and national philanthropic groups are victims from time to time of embezzlement, misappropriation of funds, gifts diverted for personal use. Culprits identified and prosecuted. But no one advocates for the abolishment of these organizations or discourages continuing charitable support. Even churches are not immune from illegal and immoral behavior on the part of clergy, staff or lay volunteers. The guilty are appropriately dealt with. But no one argues that a church or denomination discontinue its life and ministry.
Some ACORN employees were caught by cell phone camera involved in what appears to be compromising, unethical and illegal behavior. It is appropriate to investigate any degree to which this may be systemic, symptomatic of more extensive unacceptable actions. Guilty parties must be identified and brought to justice. But why the haste to discredit and dismantle the entire organization? Why the rush to judgment? Why did Congress act so precipitously to de-fund ACORN? Why this broad-brush assault?
I am not alone in the suspicion that it is the kind of work ACORN has done that evokes at least a substantial part of this spirit of retaliation. Among the huge numbers of voters they registered (last I knew this is an essential enterprise in a vital democracy), a large majority were persons-of-color, logical in terms of the neighborhoods and population with which they work. Among the many citizens with whom they have worked to secure housing, fair wage employment, child care, employment-readiness programs, health and nutrition education, public services are people-of-color. The issues around which they have offered advocacy, interceded where injustice was at play, involve largely people-of-color.
All of this is the more troubling because it begins to appear like a pattern: Conduct surveillance of organizations whose target population, issues of concern, activities and actions do not align with those conducting this careful observation; then, cherry-pick “telling stories” out of miles of film and present them as “typical” or “representative” – and then work to arouse the broadest possible indignation and opposition.
Martin Niemoller comes to mind, a Lutheran pastor in Germany of the late 1030’s. Paraphrased: They came for the Jews, and I was not a Jew, so I said nothing. They came for the homosexuals, and I was not a homosexual, so I said nothing. They came for the gypsies, and I was not a gypsy, so I said nothing . . . Finally they came for me, and there was no one left to say anything. I have not and likely will not become a recipient of ACORN’s services . . . but I have felt compelled to say something!
Scroll down and you’ll find an earlier one. “Gifts from my beach chair” I call them. Today it’s Montauk Point, Long Island. We park on the sand where jeeps position hundreds of yards apart, the only sounds the tumble and hiss of the rising tide, feet pressed into the sand and the sun warm on my face. My usually active and busy mind slows with the quieting pace of my breathing. I may doze, read a page or two of a novel, or gaze mindlessly across the expanse of the sea. Unforced, uncontrived, more by grace than intention, things I have been diligently pondering in search of insight and understanding come into focus, make sense, become, on their own it seems, unexpectedly clearer. In this moment I have wandered to ocean’s edge, the foam tickling my feet as I watch the tumble of waves pressing higher onto the beach as the top of the tide approaches.
The rise of the tide is not incremental, each wave merely rising higher than the one before. Some edge forward, while some surge forward; but others, the majority in fact, lose ground. A true ebbing and flowing. At closer look, the rise and flow, advance or retreat, of a given wave has everything to do with its predecessor. Every wave is unique and one-of-a-kind, yet, as they recede, they tend to behave in one of two ways. It may roll back gently, flowing low to the sand, “contributing” its volume and momentum to the rise of the following wave, “helping” it rise to a higher peak and stretch to a new high water mark. Or, it may tumble back, twisting and churning, battering and fracturing the wave mounting behind it, impeding its rise.
Everything has metaphor potential to me! I imagined each wave as a generation, a nation, an historical era, private or public sector leaders – those who have risen and crested, now receding; and, those rising and forming, seeking to crest. Then my metaphor-making became more specific, framed now as a question: What kind of wave will I be, will my generation be as it recedes? How will it relate to the waves to come? And a template for an answer was close behind.
- Will the hegemony of militarization, the use of power as force, the strategy of “shock and awe” and “preemptive strike” yield quietly to a commitment to peace-seeking, international collaboration, shrinking defense budgets that funding for humanity can expand, or, will it strut and posture, re-arm and re-load with deadly consequences?
- Will globalized capitalism, enhancing the already rich, a rising tide that lifts yachts but swamps dinghies, yield to a democratic free-market economy that more justly allocates resources and more justly spreads wealth?
- Will the “dominator-paradigm” that has prevailed for 5,000 years yield to a “partnership paradigm,” will “power over” yield to “empowered with,” will the “survival of the fittest” yield to a “thriving of all”?
- Will the U.S. surrender its role as “sole superpower” to becoming a “nation-among-nations,” sharing the center of the global stage with nations such as China and Korea, Brazil and India, and making room for all nations to find their place?
- Will mainline Protestant denominations, in statistical free-fall for forty years, graciously liquidate their massive assets, dismantle their top-heavy and largely inefficient bureaucracies and budgets, stewarding the financial resources liberated to nurture new forms of faith expression and fund programs responding to human need?
Always seeking illumination from a progressive Christian faith perspective, it is predictable a biblical allusion would come to mind. John the Baptist, who came to “pave the way” and announce the imminent arrival of Jesus, was encouraged by his followers to maintain his popularity and power base and compete with Jesus. His response was focused and compact: I must decrease that he might increase. Apt and timely advice.
