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Signs of the Times  •  30 December 2020 •  No. 210

Processional. Joseph Haydn's Keyboard Concerto No. 11 finale in D major, performed by eight-year-old Klára Gibišová. (Thanks Wade.)

“The hopes and fears of all the years / are met in Thee tonight.” —lyrics from “O Little Town of Bethlehem”

Invocation. Holy Light, May we remember that full moon of your Light in this night of clouds and dim seeing. Release the grip on all that squeezes the life out of us…

        •the worrisome, dangerous leaders in our country;

        •the terrorists in our own land;

        •the evidence of more pain, more grief, more loss coming this way and every way.

        Hold gently each sorrow that weighs down our hearts.

        Thank you for joys that come with loving, seeing, awakening to the goodness of this shared life together.

        At this turning of the new year may we let go of regrets, let in your grace and lean into this year choosing life, choosing community, choosing relationships of meaning, choosing caring for those who are the hurting, and mercy for those who are overwhelmed.

        Give us courage to step into 2021 ready to learn new songs for new needs and new times. May we discover more fully and deeply than ever your cherishing of each of us and everyone and this Earth home.

        Alongside the One who births in us love again we pray. Amen. —Nancy Hastings Sehested, Circle of Mercy Midweek Prayer, 12.30.20

¶ Call to worship. “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” —Lao Tzu

Featured essay. “Angel wings and devil tails: Meditation on the Feast of the Holy Innocents"

The Feast of the Holy Innocents (aka Childermas or Innocents’ Day), referencing Matthew’s account of Judean King Herod’s order to kill all the male babies in and around Bethlehem to suppress a potential rival, was first established in the fifth century BCE. Some Christian communions in the West mark the day, officially, on 28 December; in the East, 29 December.

Right: Angel made by Dee Ann Dozier out of a face mask. Photo by Lynn Farmer.

However, the observance is largely forgotten in most congregations. You can understand why. Who wants to interrupt chirpy carols, the sight of ornamented trees and light-lit homes, and post-Christmas sales with the story of a massacre of babies?

Needless to say, few if any church Christmas pageants, with kids in bathrobes and assorted other makeshift costumes, include Matthew 2’s story. Christmas Eve candlelight services ignore this Nativity story.

It’s is party-pooper story. Certainly not appropriate for young children (as are many other stories in Scripture). Thankfully, few today remember that, in some Western communities prior to the 17th century, the day began with parents spanking their children to remind them of the suffering of those infants, who—gruesome as it sounds—are considered the first martyrs.

But the church ignores this Feast day both to our peril and to our proclamation. —continue reading “Angel wings and devil tails”

Hymn of praise. “Rejoice! Rejoice! / Christ is born of the Virgin Mary; Rejoice! / The time of grace has come for which we have prayed / Let us devoutly sing songs of joy / God is made man, while nature wonders / The world is renewed by Christ the King / The closed gate of Ezekiel has been passed through / From where the light has risen (the East), salvation is found / Therefore, let our assembly sing praises now at this time of purification / Let it bless the Lord: greetings to our King.” —English translation of “Gaudete,” Steeleye Span

Confession. “Don’t be in such a hurry to condemn a person because he doesn’t do what you do, or think as you think. There was a time when you didn’t know what you know today.” —Malcolm X

Words of assurance. “The Wicked Shall Cease Their Troubling,” Jessy Dixon, Dorothy Norwood, Edgar O’Neal (Thanks Billie.)

Short story. “Last evening, at the annual Christmas tree lighting in Brooklyn, a sculpture was unveiled honoring immigrants. “Angels Unawares” depicts a crush of refugees, with Mary, Joseph, and the baby "embedded within people from around the world, sharing the same experience about having no place at the inn,” explained Canadian sculptor Timothy Schmalz. The title comes from Hebrews 13:2: “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” (See photo at left. Thanks Pam.)

Word. “When they come for the innocent without crossing over your body, cursed be your religion and your life.” —Daniel Berrigan

Hymn of supplication. “Once I stood in the night with my head bowed low / In darkness as black as the sea / In my heart felt alone and I cried oh Lord / Don't hide your face from me.” —Merle Haggard, “Where No One Stands Alone”

Preach it. “. . .the human righteousness required by God and established in obedience–the righteousness which according to Amos 5:24 should pour down as a mighty stream–has necessarily the character of a vindication of right in favour of the threatened innocent, the oppressed poor, widows, orphans and aliens.  For this reason, in the relations and events in the life of His people, God always takes His stand unconditionally and passionately on this side and on this side alone: against the lofty and on behalf of the lowly; against those who already enjoy right and privilege and on behalf of those who are denied and deprived of it.” —Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics (Vol 2, the Doctrine of God)

Call to prayer. “Portal of praise: Praise as presage to Advent’s treason [On the Feast of the Holy Innocents]"

The Manger’s trailhead opens at
the portal of praise and genuflecting
thanks. Not because heaven arises to
piety’s incense. But because Advent’s
brush with mortal flesh is a perilous journey,
fraught with insurrection’s threat,
pregnancy’s scandal, birthed from
stabled bed, and Herod’s foam and fury.

The innocents take it in the chops every
time. Yet Advent threatens treason to
every Herod-hearted arrangement.
—continue reading “Portal of praise”

Good Golly Miss Polly. In 1995, Dolly Parton launched a nonprofit to provide books to children in low-income households in Sevier County, Tennessee, where she grew up. Since then her “Imagination Library” project, supplying infants-to-preschoolers with age appropriate books to stimulate reading, has expanded throughout the US and four other countries. In 2018 the US Library of Congress recognized her in a ceremony celebrating her one hundred-millionth book distribution.

        In 2016 she contributed $9 million to help rebuild homes lost to a massive wildfire that swept through Gatlinburg, Tennessee. Before that, she risked the ire of the country music industry by supporting response to HIV/Aids.

        In an interview with Billboard magazine earlier this year, Parton was asked about the “Black Lives Matter” movement. She responded, “Of course Black lives matter. Do we think our little white asses are the only ones that matter?"

        In November, Parton donated $1 million (and encouraged her fans to join her) to the Vanderbilt University Medical Center’s research which helped produce the Covie-19 vaccine, Moderna.

Can’t makes this sh*t up. With three weeks yet to go, President Trump has thus far spent more than one out of every five days of his four years in office at one of 17 golf courses. 308 days. And the Trump company is paid by the US government for the cost. That includes $500,000 for Secret Service rooms. Golf cart rental for his protective entourage: $765,000. When he used Air Force One on these junkets, the average cost per flight is estimated at $206,337 per hour. The Coast Guard’s cost for protecting the waterways at his Mar-a-Lago estate is $236,000 per day. Not to mention the $8,600 cost for Secret Service portable toilets. And there are costs considered classified by the Government Accountability Office. Of course, during his 2016 campaign he promised “I’ll be so busy I won’t have time to play golf.” Right.

Call to the table. “Joy is the serious business of Heaven.” —C.S. Lewis, Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer

The state of our disunion. “More than a quarter of all the public health administrators in Kansas quit, retired or got fired this year, according to Vicki Collie-Akers, an associate professor of population health at the University of Kansas. Some of them got death threats. Some had to hire armed guards.” —Frank Morris, “Toxic Individualism: Pandemic Politics Driving Health Care Workers From Small Towns,” NPR

For the beauty of the earth. This drone footage by Azamat Sarsenbayev was taken on Lake Karakol in Kazakhstan, as a flock of flamingos began their migration south for the winter. (1:05 video. Thanks Loren.)

Altar call. “If I had the wings of a snow white dove / I'd preach the gospel, the gospel of love / A love so real, a love so true / I've made up my mind to give myself to you.” —Bob Dylan, “I’ve Made Up My Mind to Give Myself to You’

Benediction. Watch this video (2:30), “A Prayer for the New Year,” adapted from a poem, “Benedicere: A New Year’s Day blessing,” by Ken Sehested

Recessional. “Ode an die Freude” (“Ode to Joy”) by Ludwig van Beethoven, performed in a 2014 flash mob performance in Nürnberg, Germany by the Hans-Sachs Choir and the Philharmonic Orchestra of Nürnberg. (Thanks Kevin.)

Just for fun. For satire lovers, listen to “Mother Mary Responds to ‘Mary Did You Know?’” the pop tart Christian song written by Cindy Sadler and performed by Charissa Memrick. (Thanks Loren.)

#  #  #

©Ken Sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org. Language not otherwise indicated above is that of the editor. Don’t let the “copyright” notice keep you from circulating material you find here (and elsewhere in this site). Reprint permission is hereby granted in advance for noncommercial purposes.

Feel free to copy and post any original art on this site. (The ones with “prayerandpolitiks.org” at the bottom.) As well as other information you find helpful.

Your comments are always welcomed. If you have news, views, notes or quotes to add to the list above, please do. If you like what you read, pass this along to your friends. You can reach me directly at kensehested@prayerandpolitiks.org.

 

Fear not the dark

On the Feast of St. Stephen, inaugural Christian martyr

by Ken Sehested

For when lawless people supposed that they held the holy nation in their power,
they themselves lay as captives of darkness and prisoners of long night,
shut in under their roofs, exiles from eternal providence. —Wisdom 17:2

Fear not the dark, you pilgrims, stragglers, misbegotten all, disembarked from the ship of state now arising from the sinews of democracy’s disemboweled cadaver, representing not a historic quake or anomalous fate but the sepsis of a long legacy of land leeched with gunpowdery fingers, prosperity wrung from the chained sweat of chattel brow, long, longer still the ever westward spread—gallantry on its lips, guile in its heart—a destiny manifest to none but its own acclaim.

A fearful people, this: ingenious of craft but bleak of soul, however innocent of intent—an innocence blind to its own capacity for prolific misery—inheritors nonetheless of poached estates whose spoiled fruits now breed carbon-scarred fields where the soil’s fecund hymn once sang.

§ § §

I tell you naught for your comfort, / Yea, naught for your desire, /
Save that the sky grows darker yet, / And the sea rises higher. —G.K. Chesterton

§ § §

Fear not, you refugees from monetizing tenure, advent’s promise against advert’s allure, for a new and swaddled Clue emerges from truth’s eclipse, a Way appears, through the back door (as it were), from beyond every fixed horizon, seeded from below, eschewing the trappings of privilege and power’s cynical assumptions, uncomely in its appeal, a still-small voice heard only at a distance from the boulevard’s racket, out in the bewildering places beyond the market’s bridle, where conveniences are few and provisions are bestowed in warrantless grace.

Here a different Darkness shelters, under shadow of wings, shielding the shamed and the maimed, the tossed and tormented, borne by friends like the ones who, in that older story, tore a hole in the roof over the Mender’s head.

§ § §

Moses drew near to the thick darkness where God was. —Exodus 20:21

§ § §

Tear a hole in the world’s veneer, you little ones—that world and its minders and binders and brokers of deceit bent on disparity’s rule; for another reign, the Sovereignty of Mercy, is marshaling beyond the reach of menace and rancor, where the armor of faith is fired in hope and fashioned in steeled compassion.

Here in this steal-away place lies the staging ground of Heaven’s planned redress, the garrison where grief’s smear turns to cheer and insurgent resolve is unshackled, from which incendiaries of the Spirit launch raids, even now, against a rancid world to reclaim the resplendent earth for its created purpose and pleasure and joy.

§ § §

To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight, / and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings, /
and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings. —Wendell Berry

§ § §

The seed of Redemption’s promise grows, but its time is not-yet. How long? Longer, for sure, than every heart-aching desire. The vigilance needed strains to outlast history’s bloody sway. Not long, but not-yet. For now, Hope is still whispered, heard only by those whose ears have yet been seared by the sirens’ counsel to life severed from neighbors in need.

In the Coming Day’s delay, wait in vigilance. Immerse yourself in patient engagement and practiced resilience. Mulch your soul with composted lament. Harness your death-defying vision in quotidian ways spread over ordinary days within recognizable neighborhoods, among nameable people, against petty malice and mischief that arise in routine encounters. Lend the spare weight of your solitary conviction to communal bonds and relational webs sturdy enough to withstand and forestall the grievous harvest.

§ § §

I will give you the treasures of darkness. —Isaiah 45:3

§ § §

Historic moments of grand-scale movements cannot be engineered. Our work is to be readied, rehearsed, abled, and allied for the season when gestating Darkness erupts in travailing labor to birth the Promise of the ages.

Remain faithful to the liturgy beckoning the Age to come: When the night’s dark fear melts from having loved so greatly the stars’ kindly light and clarifying direction.

Pray for us, St. Stephen, when Truth’s claim conflicts with law’s domain.

#  #  #

The Feast of St. Stephen is commemorated on 26 December in the Western church, 27 December in the East.

©ken sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org

Again I say rejoice

More is at work than we can see

by Ken Sehested

It’s been a bit more than a week since the Christian community celebrated “Gaudete (“Rejoice”) Sunday.” More properly, a Gaudete service should be observed every 22 December, the longest dark night of the year, Winter Solstice (in the Northern Hemisphere—six months later in the Southern). As a way of testifying to the conviction that what is promised is more than what is evident; more is at work than we can see.

Truth is, People of the Book share some values with our Pagan friends in their earth-based spirituality. Christians’ most distinctive conviction is that of the Incarnation, the materiality of the Creator in Creation’s flesh and blood.

§  §  §

Alas, there is little evidence of rejoicing now. We live in the face of multiple pandemics: biological, economic, ecological, social. Not to mention a Stephen King-esque horror movie nearing its climax in our presidential parlor.

One day our great grandchildren will ask from us an account of how we let this happen. I will be happy enough to have disappeared from the scene so I don’t have to answer.

But for now, people of faith need to be able to say why we believe that more is, in fact, promised. To say why joy—despite the cruel and contemptible evidence to the contrary—is the appropriate posture, the proper line-of-sight, the most reliable horizon, for the living of these days.

Joy is more than laughter. It is more than a boisterous dinner party. I’m not talking Mardi Gras. (Though I love laughter, boisterous parties, and parades.)

Rather, joy is that deep dwelling “Desire of nations,” in the stanza of “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” written by Henry Sloan Coffin. That desire, adjective for the Promised One, is the deepest current flowing in the river of all life. That desire, built into the DNA of Creation, for the restoration of right relations, for the Kingdom of God, for the Beloved Community, for the new heaven and the new earth—this is the stuff of the star dust from which we are made.

Joyfulness may be expressed in jolly moods. But joy is also the taproot of lament. If there were no joy, suffering would be reduced to silence. Wailing only occurs when there is some hope that it will be heard.

In our faith’s meta-story, the wailing of slaves is what triggered Heaven’s attention. This sequence has not changed.

§  §  §

Joy is the persevering confidence—despite cruel and contemptible evidence—that God is not yet done with us. Joy, in the Hanukkah story recorded in the Talmud (Megillat Taanit, Kislev 7-8), is the Temple lamp whose one-day supply of oil lasts for eight. Joy is the radical reversal of political inevitably, as when the Prophet Elijah (1 Kings 17) went “outside of Israel,” to a starving widow in Zarephath, to receive the last of her provisions for his meal, and then discovering that the flour and cooking oil are not exhausted.

Joy is the prison singing of Paul and Silas (Acts 16). Joy is the apocalyptic vision of John the Revelator (5:5) where, without explanation or prologue, the Lion is transformed into the Lamb, who takes away the sins—the spirals of violence and contention and conceit—of the world, retribution displaced by mercy.

The soaring chorus of Händel’s Messiah foretells, “The kingdom of this world is become the kingdom of our Lord. . . .” (citing Revelation 11:15)

In its most comprehensive sense, joy is resilience. Stamina. Staying power. Buoyance. Joy is the capacity to bloom even in the crevices of sheer rock, as some desert cacti accomplish. What enables this apparent miracle is the work of microscopic bacteria http://news.bbc.co.uk/earth/hi/earth_news/newsid_8209000/8209687.stm on a seed that eats away miniscule amounts of stone, releasing its minerals, which in turn feed the plant.

In other words, grit—in both its material and psychological meanings.

The Prophet Habakkuk provides the most fitting word of assurance in this season of despondence:

“Though the fig tree does not blossom, and no fruit is on the vines;
though the produce of the olive fails, and the fields yield no food;
though the flock is cut off from the fold and there is no herd in the stalls,
yet will I rejoice in the Lord; I will exult in the God of my salvation” (3:17-18)

And again I say, rejoice.

#  #  #

©ken sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org

Fear not the dark

On the Feast of St. Stephen, inaugural Christian martyr

by Ken Sehested

For when lawless people supposed that they held the holy nation in their power,
they themselves lay as captives of darkness and prisoners of long night,
shut in under their roofs, exiles from eternal providence. —Wisdom 17:2

Fear not the dark, you pilgrims, stragglers, misbegotten all, disembarked from the ship of state now arising from the sinews of democracy’s disemboweled cadaver, representing not a historic quake or anomalous fate but the sepsis of a long legacy of land leeched with gunpowdery fingers, prosperity wrung from the chained sweat of chattel brow, long, longer still the ever westward spread—gallantry on its lips, guile in its heart—a destiny manifest to none but its own acclaim.

A fearful people, this: ingenious of craft but bleak of soul, however innocent of intent—an innocence blind to its own capacity for prolific misery—inheritors nonetheless of poached estates whose spoiled fruits now breed carbon-scarred fields where the soil’s fecund hymn once sang.

§ § §

I tell you naught for your comfort, / Yea, naught for your desire, /
Save that the sky grows darker yet, / And the sea rises higher. —G.K. Chesterton

§ § §

Fear not, you refugees from monetizing tenure, advent’s promise against advert’s allure, for a new and swaddled Clue emerges from truth’s eclipse, a Way appears, through the back door (as it were), from beyond every fixed horizon, seeded from below, eschewing the trappings of privilege and power’s cynical assumptions, uncomely in its appeal, a still-small voice heard only at a distance from the boulevard’s racket, out in the bewildering places beyond the market’s bridle, where conveniences are few and provisions are bestowed in warrantless grace.

Here a different Darkness shelters, under shadow of wings, shielding the shamed and the maimed, the tossed and tormented, borne by friends like the ones who, in that older story, tore a hole in the roof over the Mender’s head.

§ § §

Moses drew near to the thick darkness where God was. —Exodus 20:21

§ § §

Tear a hole in the world’s veneer, you little ones—that world and its minders and binders and brokers of deceit bent on disparity’s rule; for another reign, the Sovereignty of Mercy, is marshaling beyond the reach of menace and rancor, where the armor of faith is fired in hope and fashioned in steeled compassion.

Here in this steal-away place lies the staging ground of Heaven’s planned redress, the garrison where grief’s smear turns to cheer and insurgent resolve is unshackled, from which incendiaries of the Spirit launch raids, even now, against a rancid world to reclaim the resplendent earth for its created purpose and pleasure and joy.

§ § §

To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight, / and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings, /
and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings. —Wendell Berry

§ § §

The seed of Redemption’s promise grows, but its time is not-yet. How long? Longer, for sure, than every heart-aching desire. The vigilance needed strains to outlast history’s bloody sway. Not long, but not-yet. For now, Hope is still whispered, heard only by those whose ears have yet been seared by the sirens’ counsel to life severed from neighbors in need.

In the Coming Day’s delay, wait in vigilance. Immerse yourself in patient engagement and practiced resilience. Mulch your soul with composted lament. Harness your death-defying vision in quotidian ways spread over ordinary days within recognizable neighborhoods, among nameable people, against petty malice and mischief that arise in routine encounters. Lend the spare weight of your solitary conviction to communal bonds and relational webs sturdy enough to withstand and forestall the grievous harvest.

§ § §

I will give you the treasures of darkness. —Isaiah 45:3

§ § §

Historic moments of grand-scale movements cannot be engineered. Our work is to be readied, rehearsed, abled, and allied for the season when gestating Darkness erupts in travailing labor to birth the Promise of the ages.

Remain faithful to the liturgy beckoning the Age to come: When the night’s dark fear melts from having loved so greatly the stars’ kindly light and clarifying direction.

Pray for us, St. Stephen, when Truth’s claim conflicts with law’s domain.

#  #  #

The Feast of St. Stephen is commemorated on 26 December in the Western church, 27 December in the East.

©ken sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org

News, views, notes, and quotes

Signs of the Times  •  23 December 2020 •  No. 209

Processional. “Rejoice in heaven, all ye that dwell therein. / Rejoice on earth, ye saints below. / For Christ is coming, Is coming soon. / For Christ is coming soon.” —“E’en So, Come Quickly Lord Jesus,” Paul Manz, performed by the Cambridge Singers

Call to worship. “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” Over the Rhine, Fairuz, Brothers of the Baladi. A musical journey through modern Bethlehem—in all its beauty and pain. From the church of the Holy Nativity, to the refugee camps and the checkpoint. 

§  §  §

More is at work than we can see

It’s been a bit more than a week since the Christian community celebrated “Gaudete (“Rejoice”) Sunday.” More properly, a Gaudete service should be observed every 22 December, the longest dark night of the year, Winter Solstice (in the Northern Hemisphere—six months later in the Southern). As a way of testifying to the conviction that what is promised is more than what is evident; more is at work than we can see.

Truth is, People of the Book share some values with our Pagan friends in their earth-based spirituality. Christians’ most distinctive conviction is that of the Incarnation, the materiality of the Creator in Creation’s flesh and blood.

Alas, there is little evidence of rejoicing now. We live in the face of multiple pandemics: biological, economic, social. Not to mention a Stephen King-esque horror movie nearing its climax in our presidential parlor.

One day our great grandchildren will ask from us an account of how we let this happen. I will be happy enough to have disappeared from the scene so I don’t have to answer.

But for now, people of faith need to be able to say why we believe that more is, in fact, promised. To say why joy—despite the cruel and contemptible evidence to the contrary—is the appropriate posture, the proper line-of-sight, the most reliable horizon, for the living of these days.

Joy is more than laughter. It is more than a boisterous dinner party. I’m not talking Mardi Gras. (Though I love laughter, boisterous parties, and parades.)

Rather, joy is that deep dwelling “Desire of nations,” in the stanza of “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” written by Henry Sloan Coffin. That desire, adjective for the Promised One, is the deepest current flowing in the river of all life. That desire, built into the DNA of Creation, for the restoration of right relations, for the Kingdom of God, for the Beloved Community, for the new heaven and the new earth—this is the stuff of the star dust from which we are made. —continue reading “Again I say rejoice: More is at work than we can see”

Hymn of supplication. “When I am laid, / am laid in earth, / may my wrongs create / No trouble / no trouble in, / in thy breast. —“Dido’s Lament,” performed by Annie Lennox & Choral Performance with London City Voices

§  §  §

Joy’s ascendance

“For Jesus, there are / no countries to be conquered,
no ideologies to be imposed, / no people to be dominated.
There are only children, / women and men to be loved.”
—Henri Nouwen

Yes. This. Of course. No doubt about it.
I stake everything on this claim.

However, some employ this credo
as warrant for quietude and passivity
in the face of threat:
         when conquering stalks the land;
         when imposition is frequent and flagrant;
         when domination is the organizing
               principle of public policy making;
         when fortune’s rise depends on
               squalor’s increase.

In such an age
(ours is hardly the first, nor will be the last),
truthful words are hitched to connivance;
trustworthy ideas are poached and sold on corrupt
markets as collector trinkets; righteousness is
muzzled and paraded in circuses for the glitterati;
faith is traded on Wall Street’s big board.

In such an age,
a certain kind of insolence is required.
A scrupulous disrespect is called for.
A principled nuisance needs be made.
A distinct discord sown,
        a discomforting voice raised,
         a troubling undertaken,
         a disturbing cry wailed.

Levitation from history is not an option.
None are exempt from making painstaking
choices amid contested and morally-
ambiguous terrain. Bystanding does
not protect innocence.
—continue reading “Joy’s ascendance: This stuff could get you in trouble"

Hymn of assurance. “A Night Like Any Other Night,” by Charlie King, performed by Darrell Adams

Word. “The celebration of Advent is possible only to those who are troubled in soul.” —Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Call to the table. “Magnificat Primi Toni,” Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina (c.1525-1594), based on Mary’s Magnificat in the Gospel of Luke, performed by Voces8.

Can’t make this sh*t up. Senator Tom Cotton (R-AR) has called the enslavement of millions of African people “the necessary evil upon which the union was built.” —interview with the Arkansas Democrat Gazette, Sunday 26 July 2020

For the beauty of the earth. Amazing starling murmuration, by Jan van IJken, National Geographic (2:00).

Altar call. “Go Tell It On the Mountain,” Blind Boys of Alabama, with Tom Waits

Recessional. “Rejoice, rejoice! Christ is born / of the virgin Mary / The time of Grace has come, which we have waited for.” —English translation of the first verse of “Gaudete,” a 16th century Swedish carol, performed by Aúna

Just for fun. “A Cajun Night Before Christmas,” by Trosclair (4:37).

#  #  #

©Ken Sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org. Language not otherwise indicated above is that of the editor, as are those portions cited as “kls.” Don’t let the “copyright” notice keep you from circulating material you find here (and elsewhere in this site). Reprint permission is hereby granted in advance for noncommercial purposes.

Feel free to copy and post any original art on this site. (The ones with “prayerandpolitiks.org” at the bottom.) As well as other information you find helpful.

Your comments are always welcomed. If you have news, views, notes or quotes to add to the list above, please do. If you like what you read, pass this along to your friends. You can reach me directly at kensehested@prayerandpolitiks.org.

 

Thanksliving

A poem for Thanksgiving

by Ken Sehested

Gratitude is surely among the precious few,
truly-renewable energy sources available. The
hearts of both giver and receiver grow larger
in the process. Saying thanks, especially beyond
the demands of simple etiquette, is among the
most accessible violence-reduction strategies.

It is quite possible, of course, that expressing
gratitude simply masks the desire to get in
line for future favors. Or fends off the
possibility that one is now in debt to the
donor. Or is simply a disguised form of
doing business (as in gratuities—tips—to
those who serve us). “Free” market values
have managed to commodify even our
most noble human values. Freedom language
has morphed into a cover for savagery.

      If you only give for what you hope to
      get out of it, do you think that’s charity?
     The stingiest of pawnbrokers does that.
     (Luke 6:32, The Message)

Genuine gratitude, on the other hand,
disentangles us from such compulsory
and stingy calculations. It stems
from the recognition that
           all good and perfect gifts
            come from above (James 1:17),
which is to say: Good gifts do not
originate with us and are not in our
control. We are custodians, not customers.

Giving thanks frees us from the deadly
habits of hoarding. It acknowledges that
all living—whether breath or blood or
water or spirit—must flow, must not
be dammed up, to be enriched.

Thus the appropriate response to
graciousness is to be gracious. Just as
surely as water runs downhill, so, too,
is gratuitous life oriented to the margin,
in the direction of those who lack the
capacity to reciprocate in kind.

When such gratitude abounds, life remains
fertile. When it does not, soil becomes
dust, available to every passing wind,
choking lung and lake and landscape.

I have endured such winds as a
     West Texas child.
They made my nose bleed.

To give thanks is to live thanks.
All living is rooted in giving.
Such is the ecology of the Spirit.

©Ken Sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org. Inspired by Luke 6:32, The Message; James 1:17.

Electoral ambiguity

Why don’t I feel happy?

by Ken Sehested

It was a leisurely Saturday morning. I promised a friend I’d help move some furniture and boxes, but he called the night before to say he needed to reschedule.

So, I said to myself, you no longer have an excuse for delaying your flu shot. Plus I needed to shop, since the kids were coming for dinner.

Upon my return, barely in the door, Nancy hollers, “Biden’s just been declared the president elect.”

I walked into the living room, staring at the TV for a few seconds; and then said, to no one in particular, “Why don’t I feel happy?”

Then a voice inside my head (I have several) responded: “That’s exactly what I thought you’d say, libtard.” (The preferred expletive of “realists” against lefties.) “You are willing to overlook the actual suffering of people for the sake of your precious progressive creed.”

The accusation—more bitter than I’d previously experienced from that corner of my mind—knocked me back on my heels.

(For context: I worked five years at the magazine theologian Reinhold Niebuhr founded. He’s the one who lodged the notion of “Christian realism” into the brains of generations of intellectuals and pastors. I was true and surely suckled on realism.)

“Really!?” a second voice in my head said. “That all you got?”

“You know how much you hate bucking the tide of your Facebook feed,” said the first. There was a lot of exuberance over the electoral outcome.

“Don’t get me wrong,” said the second voice. “I am delighted to know an eviction notice has been served at the White House, that a man with an ATM where a heart should be—a bigly con, a man-child with the emotional intelligence of a school yard bully, who mobilizes white supremacists and scoffs over covid’s stampede—will finally, along with his entire family of grifters, make their final ride in the Marine One helicopter.

“Yes, we’ll be singing a medley of ‘Oh, Happy Day’ and ‘Ding, Dong, the Wicked Witch Is Dead,’ the second voice responds sarcastically. “But trumpism isn’t going anywhere. Wall Streeters heavy backed Biden, and his transition team includes a bunch of former defense industry execs—you know that crowd would make their way to the front of the soup line.

“Not to mention the fact that after the inauguration, Our Former Dear Leader will have plenty of time to continue fanning his minions’ fevered pitch (when he’s not in court facing a slew of indictments).”

(As you can see, I carry on lively conversations even in the solitude of my study.)

I’m not sure I’ve ever had such a volatile a mix of emotions. Maybe not since the birth of my firstborn, when that second voice in my head said, jubilantly, “OMG!!!” and the first one responded in alarm, “OMG!!!”

No doubt, I remain a “prisoner of hope” (cf. Zechariah 9:12). But during the plaintive prayer, “how long?,” I wish I were more optimistic about the “not long” antiphon.

I hope to write more about this later. (I hope you will, too.) We all need to think carefully amid the travail of acting truly.

P.S. Listen to some sassy truthtelling in Janelle Monáe’s “Turntables”

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Dad’s “Heart Shield” Bible

A Veterans Day reflection

by Ken Sehested

At right is the image of my Dad’s “Heart Shield” Bible, an edition of the New Testament on to which a metal plate has been attached. The engraved cover, now smudged by corrosion, reads “May this keep you safe from harm.” It was sold by the Know Your Bible Sales Company of Cincinnati, Ohio, manufactured by the Whitman Publishing Company, Racine, Wisconsin, and was designed to fit into a soldier’s uniform shirt pocket. Multiple stories exist of soldiers reportedly spared serious injury when bullets struck this tiny piece of body armor.

An inscription inside the cover indicates that Dad’s sister, my Aunt Juanita, gave him this gift. No date is listed, but it was sometime before Dad landed with the first wave of soldiers storming Omaha Beach in the 6 June 1944 D-Day invasion of Allied forces on the French coast in World War II. Dad was among the fortunate survivors, though he carried for the remainder of his life a piece of German artillery shrapnel embedded in bone behind his right ear.

I pause on this Veterans Day to ponder a number of questions (listed below). These in no way disparages the courage of my father, among countless others—fathers, mothers, children and siblings—before, during and since that particular day in 1944. Jesus truly and rightly said that greater love hath none than this, than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends (John 15:13). In fact, as a pastor, I am envious of the military’s success in coaxing from its ranks the willingness to go into harm’s way for the sake of something greater than personal fortune.

My questions are not with soldiers’ moral capacity or disciplined devotion. Rather, they are about the object and point of reference of such capacity and devotion. My argument—where it arises and modest as it is—is about whose promises are more reliable and whose provisions are more decisive. These are questions about to whom the future belongs and about the footsteps toward that future.

I assume neither merit nor reproach for myself or any other in responding to these questions, for there is wideness in God’s mercy that no mortal mind can tell. Even so, I believe the questions demand our attention and discernment.

•Does the Way of Jesus preserve a vision sufficiently large and convincingly reliable to forego alliance with, and dependence upon, the redemptive promise of bloodletting resolve?

•Does the Word require our protective wrath to ensure the holiness of God?

•Was, after all, the blood of Jesus too anemic to insure salvation’s fulfillment?

•Is it true that Divine Honor (even that reflected as human freedom) does yet require appeasement by human sacrifice?

The profound desire to make things right—of soldiers and civilians alike, by people of faith and conscience of every sort—is a God-breathed virtue. The debate hinges on what that looks like.

Discuss.

©Ken Sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org

News, views, notes, and quotes

Signs of the Times  •  11 November 2020 •  No. 208

Processional. “Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me ‘Round,” Freedom Singers perform at the White House.

Above: Wild poppies grow in the “Trench of Death,” a preserved Belgian World War I trench system in Diksmuide, Belgium

Invocation. After Tuesday Prayer

Thank you God, for the shaping from the saints in our lives…for the foolish and the wise ones, the serious and the silly ones, the reserve and the overbearing ones, the mischievous and the obedient ones…lives whose presence have broadened and enriched our own.

Free us from regrets by your grace.

Strengthen us by the witness of your hope-bearing and love-embracing saints before us.

May these days make saints of all of us in perseverance in the struggles, in resistance to evil forces, in reliance on your Spirit.

After Tuesday, may we pick up where we never left off…feeding the hungry, teaching and tending the children, listening to the lonely, comforting the broken-hearted, healing the sick, raising all those who are dead and disheartened in spirit.

After Tuesday, may we be found among that countless number who still practice the politics of praise for your creation, and who have always made art of your divine deal of reconciliation.

After Tuesday, may we be counted among that number who still lives for your great dreams for humanity again and again and again…bolstered by the resolve that we are stronger together when we sacrifice together for the common wealth, the common good, the common cause of justice and peace.

After Tuesday, may you still find us with Jesus, walking unafraid, unfaltering…undone only by your Spirit swirling in and around us all.

After Tuesday, may we be convinced more deeply than ever that nothing, neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation can separate us from your love.

Through the Christ of love, we pray and pray and pray. Amen.
—This prayer by Nancy Hastings Sehested was originally written following the 2016 presidential election. It remains pertinent.

Right: Painting by Angie King

Call to worship. What we affirm after the election. “It’s easier to be a parent this morning. It’s easier to tell you kids character matters. . . .” —continue listening to commentator Van Jones’ emotional reaction on CNN to the announcement of Biden’s election. (2:13 video.)

Hymn of praise. “And I want to thank You, for always being there / I’ve been down and out, but You’ve always been right there beside me / And there have been times, Lord, when You were the only friend, / only friend I had.” —Perry Sisters, “I Just Want to Thank You Lord”

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Two featured meditations on Veterans Day

On the origins of Veterans Day

Veterans Day doesn’t lend itself to commercial attention like its twin, Memorial Day, probably because it’s squeezed between two other cash-registering holidays, Halloween and Thanksgiving, and it does not coincide with a car-cultural observance like the Indy 500 auto race.

But it is a federal holiday, what was originally called Armistice (or Remembrance) Day, marking the cessation of World War I hostilities on the 11th month of the 11th day at the 11th hour in 1918.

The “remembrance” is stirred by the poem, “In Flanders Field,” written by Canadian John McCrae, a Lieutenant Colonel during the war, from the point of view of the dead, early in that conflict before the war’s romanticism turned to disillusionment.

Here are four things people of faith should reflect on in this season. —continue reading “On the origins of Veterans Day”

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Dad’s “Heart Shield” Bible

At right (below) is the image of my Dad’s “Heart Shield” Bible, an edition of the New Testament on to which a metal plate has been attached. The engraved cover, now smudged by corrosion, reads “May this keep you safe from harm.” It was sold by the Know Your Bible Sales Company of Cincinnati, Ohio, manufactured by the Whitman Publishing Company, Racine, Wisconsin, and was designed to fit into a soldier’s uniform shirt pocket. Multiple stories exist of soldiers reportedly spared serious injury when bullets struck this tiny piece of body armor.

An inscription inside the cover indicates that Dad’s sister, my Aunt Juanita, gave him this gift. No date is listed, but it was sometime before Dad landed with the first wave of soldiers storming Omaha Beach in the 6 June 1944 D-Day invasion of Allied forces on the French coast in World War II. Dad was among the fortunate survivors, though he carried for the remainder of his life a piece of German artillery shrapnel embedded in bone behind his right ear.

I pause on this Veterans Day to ponder a number of questions. . . . My questions are not with soldiers’ moral capacity or disciplined devotion. Rather, they are about the object and point of reference of such capacity and devotion. My argument—where it arises and modest as it is—is about whose promises are more reliable and whose provisions are more decisive. These are questions about to whom the future belongs and about the footsteps toward that future. —continue reading “Dad’s ‘Heart Shield’ Bible”

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Confession. “I believed you when you said / that I should trust the words in red / To guide my steps through a wicked world / I assumed you’d do the same / so imagine my dismay / When I watched you lead the sheep to the wolves.” —Daniel Deitrich, “Hymn for the 81%” [of self-identified evangelical Christians who voted in 2016 for Donald Trump] Thanks Leroy.

Hymn of intercession. “Ooh, in this darkness / Please light my way / Light my way.” —Moby, “This Wild Darkness”

Important pastoral wisdom. “You don’t have to agree with political opponents to understand where they’re coming from.” Sanne Blauw reviews Arlie Hochschild’s book, “Strangers in Their Own Land,” accounts of the author’s series of interviews, over five years, of people in deeply-conservative South Louisiana. —The Correspondent

Can’t makes this sh*t up. Trump on peaceful transition if he loses: “Get rid of the ballots” and “there won’t be a transfer.” —Allan Smith, NBC News

Call to the table. “The current chaos is designed to make you hopeless about creating change, so that you give up. To combat that, look away and recharge your batteries. Focus on the things that ground you: family, friends, pets, gardening, movies, books, biking, church . . . whatever works.  Just come back when you can. It’s going to be nuts from here on out.” —Heather Cox Richardson

The state of our disunion. “What Will You Do If Trump Doesn’t Leave?” According to research, “50% of Republicans and Republican-leaning independents believe ‘the traditional American way of life is disappearing so fast that we may have to use force to save it.’ Nearly as many believe, ‘A time will come when patriotic Americans have to take the law into their own hands. . . . It’s time to start thinking about what you would do.’” —David Brooks,” New York Times

Best one-liner. “When disturbing injustice looks like disturbing the peace, you can be sure you’re living in a society that has structuralized chaos and called it ‘peace.’” —Rev. Preston Klegg, Baptist News Global

Altar call. “Study War,” by Moby.

Benediction. “Keep fresh before me the moments of my high resolve.” ―Howard Thurman

Recessional. “All my life I’ve been waiting for, I’ve been praying for / For the people to say / That we don’t wanna fight no more, there’ll be no more wars / And our children will play / One day (One day).” —“One Day,” a medley by The Shalva Band. (Thanks Candice.)

Just for fun. The moko jumbie stilt dancers of Trinidad and Tobago. —Great Big Story (2:29 video. Thanks Marti.)

¶ POSTSCRIPT: What’s up with “Signs of the Times”?

Unless you’re a new reader, you likely noticed that my (almost) weekly “Signs of the Times” column (“news, views, notes, and quotes) took a long hiatus. An explanation is in order, especially to you who contribute.

Late last year I sent a note saying that, as my Nana used to say, “I’m all tuckered out.”

Shortly after that, my Mom’s health took a nosedive. She passed in February.

It hit me harder than I anticipated. . . .
—continue reading “What’s up with ‘Signs of the Times’?”

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©Ken Sehested @ prayerandpolitiks.org. Language not otherwise indicated above is that of the editor, as are those portions cited as “kls.” Don’t let the “copyright” notice keep you from circulating material you find here (and elsewhere in this site). Reprint permission is hereby granted in advance for noncommercial purposes.

Feel free to copy and post any original art on this site. (The ones with “prayerandpolitiks.org” at the bottom.) As well as other information you find helpful.

Your comments are always welcomed. If you have news, views, notes or quotes to add to the list above, please do. If you like what you read, pass this along to your friends. You can reach me directly at kensehested@prayerandpolitiks.org.

 

What’s up with “Signs of the Times”?

Renovation underway

by Ken Sehested

Unless you’re a new reader, you likely noticed that my (almost) weekly “Signs of the Times” column (“news, views, notes, and quotes) took a long hiatus. An explanation is in order, especially to you who contribute.

Late last year I sent a note saying that, as my Nana used to say, “I’m all tuckered out.”

Shortly after that, my Mom’s health took a nosedive. She passed in February.

It hit me harder than I anticipated, in part because her death was the end of eight years of intensive care for her and my sister, including my living in South Dakota for 8 months during my sister’s failed battle with cancer. Then I brought Mom to live with us here in N.C.

I’m finally admitting I don’t have the get-up-and-go I once did. I not withdrawing from electronic publishing; and in fact I’ve probably done more original writing this year than most.

I’ve hired a consultant to help me redesign the site and create a more sustainable template. I’ve also got to learn new software since the platform I use is being aged out.

Again, prayer&politiks is not shutting down; only becoming a little less predictable in the near future.

Thanks for your support and encouragement.

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