Poetry: The Creativity of Everyone

Husband and new daddy Callid Keefe-Perry is a one of the most thoughtful/articulate people I’ve interacted with, while retaining a wonder, teachability and humbleness about him. He’s just finished a project documentary, Made as Makers, on creative reflections on faith, a poetic construction of others creative responses to some simple(!?) prompts: Tell me about God. Tell me about faith. Tell me about hope. Tell me how these things intersect with the church. He offers his interviewees creative license to respond viscerally, and with originality. Further, his interviewees are folks who go to conferences, work “day jobs”, and create on their own from time-to-time. Only a few would be ranked as pastors, theologians, etc., but do not seem to dominate his surveyed population.

What evolves is a small part of the poetry of a people of a YHWH faith, writing out their part of the prose to a divine cadence. The notes of their laughter, the sting of sorrowful tears, frustration from efforts to understand a corporate faith and their role, and the throw-your-hands-in-the-air feeling of following a mysterious God shape the greater body of this poem. You get a sense of the everyday-ness of people and their connection to YHWH, or at least the effort to know a creator grander, wiser, more playful then ourselves. The diversity in gender and culture Callid invited into the interview lend to a broader view of this creativity; some of the divergent thoughts and perceptions were from those with whom I do not share a cultural heritage. These voices in the prose were much appreciated. One man’s reflection on the corporate identity of a faith community, over and above the common individual reflections pulled my gaze from the self to the community, to the other. It was a needed, refreshing line in Callid’s piece.

Writing Your Faith Communities’ Poem

I know that Callid’s intention is to offer this back to the community as a gift, something to inspire a creative response in other faith communities. I echo his effort; your conversation around these simple(!?) prompts could open the way to directions not-yet thought of. It would be a risk, perhaps. But then, if you’ve ever created anything of your own you may resonate with the risk to share that with others: to expose yourself to critique or opinion when you’ve laid yourself bare in your efforts is a significant risk. Likewise, pursuing a creator God with all of ourselves requires the same risk. May Callid’s poem bring you to risk.

I continue to be changed by the stories of others at Valley View Presbyterian Church, a predominately African American community. And its no small irony that the most significant community gathering times in story-telling are those when parishoners are invited to share of themselves at length.  It was a Sunday of thanksgiving and ‘testimony’, where we shared the places we could identify the fingerprints of God, his orchestrated movement in our lives. I was struck again by the strength of a community of people who have been systematically oppressed, and landscape of their stories. And, yet again, was moved to tears listening to the character of those who shared, their reliance on God, and their faith and resilience of character in the midst of adversity. The stories are that much more poignant to me in this context.

The last woman who shared some of her story read this passage of Isaiah 58. It’s one for me that has a great deal of history; it reveals the heart of YHWH that beats for the justice and love for the oppressed, the unjust.

Fasting For “Me”

Tell my people what’s wrong with their lives,
face my family. . . with their sins!
They’re busy, busy, busy at worship,
and love studying all about me.
To all appearances they’re a nation of right-living people—
law-abiding, God-honoring.
They ask me, ‘What’s the right thing to do?’
and love having me on their side.
But they also complain,
‘Why do we fast and you don’t look our way?
Why do we humble ourselves and you don’t even notice?’

“Well, here’s why:

 ”The bottom line on your ‘fast days’ is profit.
You drive your employees much too hard.
You fast, but at the same time you bicker and fight. . . .
The kind of fasting you do
won’t get your prayers off the ground.
Do you think this is the kind of fast day I’m after:
a day to show off humility? . . .
Do you call that fasting,
a fast day that I, God, would like?

Fasting for Others

“This is the kind of fast day I’m after:
to break the chains of injustice,
get rid of exploitation in the workplace,
free the oppressed,
cancel debts.
What I’m interested in seeing you do is:
sharing your food with the hungry,
inviting the homeless poor into your homes,
putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad,
being available to your own families.
Do this and the lights will turn on,
and your lives will turn around at once.
Your righteousness will pave your way.
The God of glory will secure your passage.
Then when you pray, God will answer.
You’ll call out for help and I’ll say, ‘Here I am.’

People of Restoration

“If you get rid of unfair practices,
quit blaming victims,
quit gossiping about other people’s sins,
If you are generous with the hungry
and start giving yourselves to the down-and-out,
Your lives will begin to glow in the darkness,
your shadowed lives will be bathed in sunlight.
I will always show you where to go. . . .
You’ll be like a well-watered garden,
a gurgling spring that never runs dry.
You will rebuild the ancient ruins
and will raise up the age-old foundations;
you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,
Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.

-Text quoted from both the New International Version and The Message

Corporate Fast

In some theological circles in the west, reading the Bible individually on a daily basis is encouraged. It is often seen as a mark of ‘faithfulness’, the extent which one can recite the scriptures. However, part of the unintended consequences of this theology is the individualization of interpretation. This passage is not about “me”, in the literary sense. This is a prophetic statement to the ancient people of Israel, though its prophecy is just as valid and applicable today as then. It is to a corporate body, a community. How does a community fast? By withholding food from the self?

YHWH dispels this very notion at the beginning of the statement. It’s not about “me”, in the behavioral/identity part either: I am not the intended recipient of this message. It’s about how a community of people, oriented towards YHWH’s practice love, care, justice, and their gestures to a society they inhabit. Only when we become a voice of justice will we be a healing people, those who Restore Streets with Dwellings. In the context of western indivudality, this is probably one of the most difficult things for churches to wrap its’ collective head around. We are a group of individuals, not a synergetic community that knows how to interact as a community. This, in my humble opinion, is one of the bigger challenges of the church.

Have you a story about communities that fast? Where are the Repairers of Broken Walls you’ve been a part of?

J: Where you from?
Me: Hershey, near Harrisburg.
J: [blank stare]
Me: Know the chocolate bar? I lived in the town where they’re made.
J: [recognition] Oh. [pause] What language do you speak?
Me: [blank stare] huh?
J: What do you speak?
Me: [confused] As in language?
J: Yeah.
Me: [Suppressing Smile] English.
J: Do you speak Latin?
Me: [Pause. Blank Stare. More Pause.] No.
J: [Confused look] Oh, cause you talk funny when you’re mad. Like this [uses nasely impersonation]
Me: [surprise at his reference to my anger, and recognition of his line of questioning] Oh, I have an accent. Right. Didn’t know that.

The white man accent, nasal included. I am the other. And so transition happily continues…

Accio, Basketball!

One of the most difficult places has been our very home. Well, at least our corner. We moved in after some folks who partied. A LOT. As in, SWAT teams 3 times in 1.5 years. They’ve still got some close family members in 3 houses in direct vicinity of our corner, some in our  row. (We live in a row house.) Over their time in our  place, and the months it stood empty for reclamation, people came to understand it as the place to be. Folk of all ages knew this as the place to be. We’ve had folks we don’t know hanging out on our porch, leaning against our car, letting basketballs repeatedly strike the side of our house. It’s been tough; its still a busy corner.

However, its calmed down quite a bit; folks don’t congregate on our porch like they used to, the car is less a butt rest, and the ball isn’t is active as a hammer on our siding. However, the basketball continues to be a part of my education. Somehow, the aforementioned still-local family members acquired a mobile basketball hoop. (These are ubiquitous to youth life in Pittsburgh.) About a month or so ago, some elder teens moved it from the  alley on the other side of our row-house row, and walked it through the narrow sidewalk behind our homes to our street. They played the first game, setting the precedent as the place for street b-ball. (They haven’t been back since.) The tweens took over, and now don’t bother taking it back to the yard it belongs too. It’s a permanent fixture on the street across from middle of our row house, where they play to (and past, sometimes) midnight. Grrrr. (The physics of a basketball bouncing between two row houses amplifies the noise to ultra annoying levels.)

He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named: Darkness, Naming, and Identity

Here’s a confession: the basketball has become traumatic for me. The moment I hear it bouncing on the street at our corner, cortisol flushes my veins. I may never get over this; it makes me sad to think so. It’s associated with curb ball, a simple game of even the littlest ones in our neighborhood, and often the source of bumps and bangs as the ball endlessly hits the side of the house. I also would find my stress remaining elevated as they continued to play curb ball, or basketball for that matter. I felt like a caged animal in our house, waiting for something to happen. (Part of this stress is connected to the stories our neighbors told of their own experiences with both the family and the corner, and the not-so-innocent presence of folk on our corner. According to them, these kids push the envelope to see what they can get away with. This is true, to a point, but unfortunately maybe a bit more overspoken than is for a majority of them.)

Harry Potter knew something that many of his peers -and elders- didn’t: unnamed fear/s breed more fear. We create a reality around our perceptions, for lack of truth or awareness of the other. It blinds us to our stereotypes, and jails us into something that is based on limited interactions and imaginary creation. The mystery feeds the darkness and demonization, perpetuating the created false story of the other. Encouraging violence, our self-told stories fail to engage with the true fear, only fighting the created ones. Although Voldemort embodied some of the most violent and ugliest of fears, Harry knew when we failed to name them they only became mythical, epic, unreal. When you can name your fears, you can begin to release them.

But I was granted with grace early on. I had learned a couple of names of our young neighbors, starting with the day before we moved in. When I stuck my head out the door at the pounding, it was no longer nameless, strange others in the street. It was my neighbor, someone whom had an identity. A name. They belonged to someone, bestowed with meaning from past family perhaps, or significant people in their parents lives. I’m sure it was less romantic for others, and a name was just that: something to be called. No matter what the history of their name, it took away the power for me to keep them at distance, to hold them as an enemy -or worse, demonize them- as they played a game six feet away, on the other side of our wall.

Breaking the Violence of Stereotypes: The Boy Who Lived

The power that the situation holds over me has shifted, even if slowly. It’s still a work in progress. But I know more names now. More stories. Just bits and pieces for some, but he-who-should-not-be-named is no longer is mysterious, or even dangerous. He is a 12 year old kid, a seven year old boy, an eleven year old girl. They have distinctive laughs or vocal timbre; someone eats those fruit flavored tootsie roll things. When I step outside, we have a foundation of mutual respect, ever so slight, because we know each others names. They aren’t being malicious, with intent to harm or bother. (Such is my narcissism, that the activities of neighborhood kids is about me.) They are living life, utilizing the small space of the urban context to re/create with games. They are just being kids.

It also has softened my approach. According to my wife, I have a “street voice.” But lately, I haven’t used it as much. I know their names now, and I can respectfully ask/tell them to stop playing basketball, “because you see, it’s midnight.” I’m slowly understanding their stories, even collectively so. The violence I’ve done in determining who they are or what they will say or how they will act is breaking down into actually experiencing it from them. I’ve realized I’ve been holding my fist clenched. Fear and the unknown have driven my response. Learning someones name has provided salvation, invited story telling.

Harry was known conversly to Voldemort as The-Boy-Who-Lived. Is there any irony in his intuition to name his fear, and his successful struggle to live? Is that not part of living life, to face our fears without becoming incarcerated by them? “And this day I tell you, choose life.” (YHWH, Old Testament)

Lord, hear our prayer.

Rubbing Shoulders: Life in Suburbia

Sunday evening we took our little’s to a neighborhood park to get the last minute energy burned off a mostly-inside day. The playground wasn’t bristling, but it was comfortably populated. Enough room for all the kids to play, but interaction without rubbing elbows was impossible. While our sons shared the swings with other children, we heard fireworks in the distance. Our three year old asked (as he often does) “what was that?” “Small fireworks”, came my reply. Another child, no more than six, was swinging next to us in the “big girl” swings. Of African American descent, she told us matter-of-factly: “It wasn’t gunshots. Don’t worry. It wasn’t gunshots.”

My wife and I exchanged incredulous, sad looks. How is one so young to have such knowledge, recognition, awareness? Even typing this, I realize it’s not the fact that she is able to tell the difference: it’s how; It’s why. At six years of age, I could have likely done the same, coming from a family background deeply tied to the outdoor “sports”: hunting, fishing, and the like. But my story is told from the perspective of the shooting range or the woods. Not from the streets. It’s out of my contextual understanding -hence the shared disbelief and sorrow of me and Megan- to believe a six year old not in contact with hunting could have that ability. She knows what she knows because those who pulled the trigger did so with intent to hurt, kill. Having posted about this elsewhere, its possible that her knowledge is due to personal experience with gun violence against her family. This is her context, her story. Because it’s not mine, I can only shake my head, and pray.

Life Together: What Does This All Mean?

I’m so in the thick of other stories, I can’t process it all. Culture shock. The reeling from it and merely grappling with it makes it difficult not to hyper self-oriented. (Oh, the irony is thick here, yes? My struggle with learning the others story has me struggling more with not getting sucked into my own stereotypes, walls, real/perceived safety, etc. The escape from selfishness is a life long, difficult process.) It’s difficult to think about the religious institution I called home for most of my life, and see the lack of work  of reconciliation and learning stories has been limited to a homogeneous metanarrative. Let’s call it what it is; Christianity has failed in this place. The oft quoted “most segregated hour of the week is Sunday at 11am” reveals this as well.

I’m not ranting here, or even angry as I post this. I feel its more a sharing of what I’ve experienced as real on my corner (and playground), and the lack of any worthwhile theology that engages with this story. Western, U.S., White Christianity -my story- has fallen victim to only telling, learning, and retelling its own version of the story. I’ve got nothin’ to use, here on Hays and Mellon, given the majority of my theological background. Some exceptions are there, but very few and far between. Most of them have come from interactions with others stories.  No small irony.

The Longing for Sabbath Rest

I am tired, though. The work my family has before us is vast, and we need to be connected to the greater story of YHWH as we share stories with our neighbors. YHWH’s story is not above or bigger than my cultural story, nor that of my neighbors, but rather told through it. And there’s the rub: the friction of contact can be exhausting. Lord, Have Mercy. Christ Have Mercy. Lord Have Mercy.

Over the last ten days, I wrote of our personal experience in a church where gun violence had been a tragically accepted part of life. The tragedy of lost loved ones -mostly youth- was a sobering listen to the door opening on an others story. Only two days after I posted a reflection on the church’s effort towards mission, this story penetrated our families reality. It is the story of people we know. Sean was a the father of an unborn child, a child who lost his young dad to the violence of the streets.

Sean Thompson, Father to Be

PITTSBURGH — Channel 11 News has learned a 34-year-old man who was killed after being shot in

Lawrenceville early Thursday morning was a father-to-be.Police said Sean Thompson was shot along Keystone Street shortly after 1 a.m.

He was taken to UPMC Presbyterian Hospital, where he later died.Channel 11 News learned Thompson’s fiancee lives in the neighborhood and is pregnant with the couple’s first child.“It’s sad. No one deserves this,” one neighbor said.

Nearby residents said they heard the shots fired and ran outside to see what happened.”I’ve never been around violence like this before,” one neighbor said. “Maybe 12 to 16 shots were fired. We came outside and the guy was lying on the ground. He was still bleeding.

“Thompson was an employee at a car dealership on McKnight Road. His co-workers said he was a good man and a hard worker.

Stories Sittin’ on the Front Porch

Where is this world we live, when problems are solved with hand-held power of life and death, triggered by emotion? Where not only multiple shots are fired, but 12 to 16? What is this story, that so many of us don’t ever experience except for these news stories, that shapes our perception? We write and tell our own stories about the story, having never once been on peoples corners, sat on their porches, and eaten at their dinner tables to listen to something different than our own. We don’t know what we don’t know, and we write fiction to fill in the gaps.

The irony of our stories? They’re intertwined, despite our familiarity or ignorance. Further, we helped to author them. We are all responsible for this. We author the stories, writing into the script our systemic racism, universalism’s, cultural supremecy, with choices about the plotline: who we spend time with, where we live, how our ideologies shape our decisions great and small, etc.

“We’ve All Got the Blood On Our Hands”

Jack Johnson wrote a song about this very thing. Although song is a beautiful way to tell a story, I can only offer the lyrics…

“Cookie Jar”

I would turn on the TV but it’s so embarrassing
To see all the other people I don’t know what they mean
And it was magic at first when they spoke without sound
But now this world is gonna hurt you better turn that thing down
Turn it around

“It wasn’t me”, says the boy with the gun
“Sure I pulled the trigger but it needed to be done
Cause life’s been killing me ever since it begun
You cant blame me cause I’m too young”

“You can’t blame me sure the killer was my son
But I didn’t teach him to pull the trigger of the gun
It’s the killing on this TV screen
You cant blame me its those images he seen”

Well “You can’t blame me”, says the media man
Well “I wasn’t the one who came up with the plan
I just point my camera at what the people want to see
Man it’s a two way mirror and you cant blame me”

“You can’t blame me”, says the singer of the song
Or the maker of the movie which he based his life on
“It’s only entertainment and as anyone can see
The smoke machines and makeup and you cant fool me”

It was you it was me it was every man
We’ve all got the blood on our hands
We only receive what we demand
And if we want hell then hells what well have

And I would turn on the TV
But it’s so embarrassing
To see all the other people
I don’t even know what they mean
And it was magic at first
But let everyone down
And now this world is gonna hurt
You better turn it around
Turn it around

It was you, it was me, it was every wo/man. We killed Sean, pulling the trigger 12-16 times, leaving his child fatherless. I realize that this post is rather dark. I hesitated to post it, but I’m sure that Sean’s fiance, or his friends and family have experienced far more darkness than I can elicit here. And, I believe there’s some ring of truth to this darkness, though I won’t claim sole truth in authorship on even this story of a story. I hope this shines a bit of light in the darkness, and perhaps pushes out of writers block, or into a new way of storytelling. At least how we research our writing.

What new story do we need to write? How do we learn to narrate a different plot line?

As a brief shift of focus from this story, it became apparent to me that in some of our church conversations mission is a topic of dialogue is rooted very much in our own story. The white, evangelical (or formerly so, perhaps) conversations fueled by the emerging/emergent conversation push for “missional” foci for churches. However for a church like Valley View, the missional part of their participation in God’s work of reconciliation to creation, others, and self is always before them: they are in mission, or they do not survive. Literally, in this case. Could it be that the comfort of some of us in the missional conversation from an Anglo background are missing the places of work alongside YHWH? The search goes on, and yet for some the missio Dei carries a gun, taking lives of a group of people. Where are we looking for participation?

I don’t mean to make a poster child out of this church community we’ve become attached to, nor paint a picture for furthering our “white wo/man’s burden” phenomenon. I wish to offer, for dialogue, how the white church -those in systemic power- talk about mission, how we struggle at times with it, and how it seems we know little of the “other’s” story enough to see where God desires freedom from the oppression of Smith and Wesson, poverty and systemic racism. We discuss from/within a position of power. My friend, Drew, wrote eloquently of this. I don’t have it all figured out, for sure. My ignorance about life from my suburban upbringing and that of my urban peers, I hope, reveals this. I desire fodder for the conversation; hence, my thoughts found here.

What does it mean for the church to love the other? How does it shape mission? How do we live outside of ourselves, learn someone else’s story, if we continue to only talk amongst ourselves? How do we begin to give up power, especially if we continue living and pursuing YHWH in homogenous communities?

I grew up in a suburban community in South Central PA where I attended school in a township with one of the highest tax brackets in the state. My dad was an avid hunter and fisherman, and he invited us into his joy of the dance with nature, the hunter and hunted. Likewise, my socio-demographic background was made up of folk very much like myself: German, Austrian (often culturally Mennonite) or Anglo; diversity was limited to infrequent trips to the closest urban geography. Harrisburg is not that big, but culturally, was nearly 100% more diverse than my home town: African descent, Latin descent, Asian descent, etc., whereas less than 1% of my suburban home-town was non-white.

Urban Life With Others, 101

About 2 months ago, we attended church at Valley View Presbyterian Church in Garfield, Pittsburgh. Our family just moved into the East Liberty neighborhood, and had begun the search for a community to commit to. (Since this story, we’ve begun attending regularly.) A friend of ours is pastor there, while another has just finished interning here for his Masters of Divinity at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary (PTS). It was one of about four churches we attended. We happened to be there during a month long conversation about gun violence, gun control, and its effects on the neighborhood, residents, and parishioners of the East End. The church, when regular attenders are all there at the same time, is a beautiful picture of diversity of mostly Black and White folk. Our new commitment has yet to give us the opportunity to enjoy this, but we look forward to seeing it.

During the service, our friend Pastor Chad invited those present to share the names of those affected by gun violence. That is, to honor and remember those who had been killed by a gun. It was a hotter Sunday morning, and there were about 50 people in the sanctuary. At Chad’s invitation, one by one people began to share of sons, cousins, close friends, popular or respected members of local neighborhoods, etc. Quietly, but with firmness, they shared: To be remembered. Some were sad, but most spoke with a matter of fact-ness that I found hard to process. These fallen ones were almost all youth, and many were the innocent victims of cross fire. Unintended victims of others use of firearms. Out of those 50 present, about 12 people spoke in memory of around 15 loved ones lost.

Someone Else’s Story

I had so much difficulty during this service. I wanted it to stop; I couldn’t believe so many kept sharing. It was surreal. I was in denial at times, the delivery the victims stories were shared in every day parlance. I wanted it to stop; it was easier being naive or ignorant to the pain I was experiencing, listening to. Never in my life had I ever been subject to the loss of loved ones like this, nor had I ever imagined it for others. This is not my story! I reeled. I was becoming responsible with information I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear. Part of my denial, although individual, was carried by the guilt that I have for so long been unable to understand someone with such a different story, one that as a white male, I’m both ignorant of and perpetuate. Part of the systemic racism, I am.

I too, struggled to hold back deep, deep sorrow. Where am I, that these beautiful people live in a place that 30% of those present have lost someone to this utter violence? Where have I lived, that my brothers and sisters, folks with whom I share the commonality of fathers, mothers, children, extended family and friends have been subject to a story of brutality? To mourn the loss of so many, particularly the young, is unfathomable to me.

Living in Someone Else’s Story

In the end, this is why we chose this church, and the East End of Pittsburgh. After growing up and living in very homogenous, white places, Megan and I could no longer imagine ourselves in a culture of similarity, of sameness. Our time in Los Angeles fueled this burning in our bellies. We wanted to be in a place to hear other stories, to know more than our own ancestry. Its important for us for our children to know others as well. I don’t intend these words for a right to brag, or sound self-important or romantic. In fact, it’s hard for me to be here. Culture shock courses daily through my veins. It is our conviction of truth: our family is being killed in the streets, and we don’t know the story. We remain ignorant to their culture, their lives. Of course, it’s not all death. But with this Sunday came the reality of personal myopia: This is not my story. I need to hear others’ stories to be more faithful in my pursuit of loving YHWH, of loving others.

I must listen. And in order to have an ear, I must live in that place where my other family struggles, suffers. They could be my sons, and I want to learn to care for them as I do my boys.

The Koran in Context

At around the 8.00 mark, David begins reading from the Koran. It describes the supremacy of Allah, and that Islam will be made the religion over religions to the disgust of infidel’s. To be sure that we don’t miss out on the true meaning of the line he reads, he summarizes verses following this reading which instruct fighting/killing of the unfaithful, the sub-human quality of the unfaithful, judgement to unbelievers, etc.

Perhaps David is quite good with his Koran, understanding it in context and all of its complexity, theology, etc. Perhaps again, some of the contributors at their blog Answering Muslims are from Muslim background themselves. However, I would offer that its problematic to “read this in context” without first telling us what context is mean being referred to by this. Literary context? Historical context? Cultural context? Literary structural context (as in what verses are around the key text read to inform understanding)?

It seems its the latter, for there is no other introduction or explanation offered for other types of contextual information. This kind of contextual reading is quite helpful to keep one from pretexing a literary verse. Interpretation of meaning, then, can at least in part be kept on task to a writers intent of meaning. Because its the one that is most accessible to the everyday person reading a holy text, it also receives more weight than others as an authoritarian manner of reading.

The others are most significant as well. For example, if we do not know the Historical context of what was going on it the writers life, we could arrive at a much different meaning than the text was written. Was the writer a woman? Slave? The writers country under occupation? This information is accessible for most of us, just maybe a bit harder to find or more work than most of us want to invest. However, cultural context is nearly impossible for us to know given what little information might be gained from history. (And since history is written from only one perspective -often from that of power- it leaves little for accuracy.) That makes a cultural understanding, in all the nuances and memes of a society’s way of life, unattainable. So too, for how that shaped the words of the writer, and how meaning is interpreted across cultures.

As a last statement, because Islam is culturally -of what is deemed- Middle Eastern in geopolitical terms, David’s authority as a Koran scholar is suspect. There’s a great deal of cultural meaning, characteristics, and life that cultural Muslims share with one another that David simply cannot know or incarnate. His lenses for understanding are western, American, and from what little I gather, are likely from a modern/rational/systemic epistemology. The way David thinks, and an Egyptian Muslim are separated by a chasm of the manner the brain maps information, experience, affect, etc. His ability, therefore, to offer an culturally understood Koran reading are quite low.

The Bible in Context

Of course, the Bible is also subject to our cultural reading. Likewise, our contextual understanding spans different areas, each requiring some attention for us to better understand the writers message. What’s surprising to me, is that David fails to reference places in the Bible that mirror the statements found in the Koran. For starters, Israel was God’s -YWHW’s- chosen people, “set apart” (the Hebrew translation of our “holy”). They were special as well. Shall we start with the Ten Commandments, as to the supremacy of God, above all others?

 EX 20:3 “You shall have no other gods before me.

EX 20:4 “You shall not make for yourself an idol in the form of anything in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the waters below. 5 You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the fathers to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me, 6 but showing love to a thousand generations of those who love me and keep my commandments.

EX 20:7 “You shall not misuse the name of the LORD your God, for the LORD will not hold anyone guiltless who misuses his name.

There are stark statements of guilt, sin carrying over, etc. for not fulfilling these. (Please note: I am not offering these as a literal reading of the text, whereas I find them true as I discuss them here. The theology and context of these texts are too robust for my simple exercise. This is a counter proof-texting of the Bible I believe David may have provided, my attempt to make a point.)

What of YHWH’s character as it refers to killing others who don’t conform or believe? When Israel marched around Jericho, did anyone survive in the city? The whole mission in acquiring the promised land was to ask first, and kill the uncompliant to YHWH. (The Hebrew word is something like irrevocably destroy.) And what of Elijah and the competing false prophets before the altars of their god’s? Were they spared by YHWH?

1KI 18:40 Then Elijah commanded them, “Seize the prophets of Baal. Don’t let anyone get away!” They seized them, and Elijah had them brought down to the Kishon Valley and slaughtered there.

Stories and Culture

David and the Acts 17 Apologetics organization are not practicing good theology. If in fact they are holding Allah and Islam to standards of supremacy and judgement, than their narrative of the Bible must be recognized for containing the same things. And if David and Acts 17 offer the care to reading the Bible in context, than perhaps that should be exercised in the Koran. Again, I live room for that from David, but either his communication or his intent to leave it out leave his point lacking, and therefore questionable. Again, his methods do not reflect my understanding of loving actions that Jesus lived out.

Culturally, the contextual reading of both the Bible and the Koran are very likely out of our reach. At least in the sense of having a full, robust understanding of the writers intent. It is impossible to know, and we will read any text through our culture. In my humble opinion, we must practice knowing ourselves and our cultural lenses, reading, interpreting, and researching the texts as well as we can. We must let the understanding come from God, while holding loosely our own beliefs, lest we turn them into Truths that turn from faith into ideology.

America and Culture: Christian Nation vs. Nation of Islam

I must share that his video is very compelling, and put together well. He follows a rational argument that pokes holes at the policies with which the U.S. Government has mandated for interacting with holy texts. I found myself becoming drawn into the claims he made, the seamless arguments that offered that illuminated the lack of consistency with the decisions of President Obama, General Petraus, and the US military on its response to managing the Koran and the Bible.

However, there was also a splinter in my mind. While I was taken by his argument, the discontent grew within me. At first I had trouble naming it, but it became more clear what I was struggling with over time: This video reveals what seems to be a conflation of following Jesus (& perhaps Allah) and of being an American. He goes back and forth, describing the sociopolitical landscape as it pertains to the metanarratives of both the Bible and the Koran, and decides/demonstrates that America is already practicing Sharia Law. Using what I percieve to be the spin of fear, sowing discontent with any potential viewers, he describes a U.S. politik that is no longer Christian, but Islam. It also, in my opinion, breeds stereotypes and discord between peoples.

The Story of Nations; the Story of Jesus of Nazareth

I can’t speak for Muslims, but my first critique of his argument is rooted in this: Whose story are we to follow? As people of Jesus, its his story. He was Hebrew, but he was not a Hebrew “national”. In fact, most of his public life was contra to both systems he was subject to: Jewish and Roman. He often spent time in outlying towns on the margins of his home territory, because he incensed those he challenged. He was culturally Hebrew, but in no way tied to either his ancestral metanarratives or those of the Roman sociopolitical occupancy.

His metanarrative was one of truly loving the other, of non-violent resistance, of challenging the system on behalf of the marginalized. He spent time with the outcasts, who: washed his feet with her hair; followed him as a mentor as women against the societal norms; as tax collectors, ate dinner with them; touched the medically infirm and “unclean”; pulled money from fish to appease the system; told his followers to leave their weapons unused; and concluded all of this by asking people to do as he did. He showed us what it means to be truly human; in fact, he was the true human.

American Metanarratives and Jesus

This is the point I think David conflates sociopolitcal context of the U.S., its roots, and following Jesus. To begin, the U.S. was never a Christian nation. It may have had some Christian-esque values or founders who espoused the idea/narratives of some of Jesus, but to call America “Christian” is inaccurate. (We’ll leave the conversation about how non-western nations view the US as “Christian” aside at this point, which often includes Muslim nations.) It is based largely on Enlightment philosophy-which some from the Christian circle may call secular humanist- inspired further by the French Revolution. Although a statement of political identity like “all men are created equal” may ring some similar truth to “love your neighbor as yourself”, one only has to look at the metanarratives of America in its slave trade to see how both the roots and incarnation of the tenets of the U.S. have been lived out, not to mention its continued systemic racism.

To critique David’s line of argument from the national side then, the U.S. government -with its own doctrine, protocols, mission, etc.- will do with the Holy books whatever it deems necessary to fulfill the goals of the government. Its metanarratives are not those of YHWH, or Jesus, but of America. It will burn books, or maintain them, to the best interests of the country. It has no allegiance to Jesus, but only to maintaining or propagating itself. The “good news” of the U.S. is about narratives like “rags to riches”, “the greatest nation”, “pull yourself up by your bootstraps”, “freedom” and “democracy”. (Both of these last terms have very specific and problematic definitions, of course. Whose freedom and democracy will depend on who you ask – both in the U.S. and outside.)

The U.S. metanarratives are just that: metanarratives. They draw in, shape, and structure the lives of its adherents. They rank right up there with faith metanarratives as significant stories of influence.

It seems then, that David has described a situation in this video, with both stories lived out. And I certainly don’t wish to downplay the tension, the difficulty, of trying to pursue Jesus who as a cultural subject, didnt’t necessarily buy into the sociopolitical stories. That being said, David critiques his ability to live or share the metanarrative of Jesus, while putting his faith into an altogether different story -American- to give him that ability. It doesn’t fit; they are stories that are so different they aren’t told and lived in the same way.  American metanarratives, as stated briefly, have wrought much pain and oppression to some within our country. And what of the atrocities of a “great nation” via military might have killed our brothers, sisters, and infant children from different cultures? Economically enslaved peoples? Overhauled or reduced unique cultures with western cultural values?

Whose Power are We Fighting?

At the end of the video, David pipes a song called “Fight the Power” into the background, what I assume is to encourage his viewers to fight the power of the U.S. government to resist the Sharia law he sees in the U.S., and treat the Bible with the consistent manner with which the Koran is handled. Although I think the song has some truth in it for one struggling to work through living amidst two different stories, I believe a “fight the power” from a metanarrative of Jesus has roots in caring for the minority and suppressed/oppressed peoples in the U.S. As a white man, David represents the power, which the irony as both his agency in systemic power in the U.S. metanarrative and his call for fighting said system almost makes my head spin.

In my humble opinion, David is the power. The metanarrative of Jesus would ask that we be sure that our participation in sociopolitics cares for those without, those on the margins and mis/under represented, to the point of letting go of that power. The ideology of “free speech” and American “democracy” are not “Christian”. The whole of each metanarrative runs distinctly counter to the other in many places. “Fight the power”, then, is interpreted through one of these metanarratives. I humbly argue here that David is quixotically using a nationalistic metanarrative for the rights to express a competing one.

In Part 2, I dialogue about David’s use of the scriptual context of both the Koran and the Bible.