John 13:37 - Peter said to Jesus, "Why can't I follow you now? I would give my life for you."
Fear makes us say strange things sometimes. Peter - and maybe the other disciples and followers - is scared of losing Jesus. How will they be able to carry on without him? What will happen to them? Jesus has been keeping them safe by refuting the rhetoric and logic-traps of the Pharisees. With Jesus gone, who will protect them?
It seems Peter, here at least, has finally accepted Jesus' death as inevitable, but is still not prepared for the way Jesus wants him to "give his life for him." Peter is thinking of dying, Jesus is thinking of living a life dedicated to the movement Jesus has started. He can give his life by dying, but who benefits from that? Jesus wants Peter, the others disciples, and us to give our lives by living for Christ; by loving others and advocating with those who have little power, as Jesus has consistently done. And for which he was tortured and killed by the Roman government.
Just as there are many ways we as Christians can betray Christ, there are many ways we can give our lives for Christ. Being a pastor, priest, or servant of the church is one way. Yet, service in the world is where many of us are called to serve. Jesus calls each of us to our own vocations of service. Maybe we've heard this call and are reluctant to follow for whatever reason. (I don't blame you; it's a scary thing to give over your life without knowing where you will end up.) It's okay to say no, to take our time. When we're ready, our invitation will still be good. Jesus never stops calling us, inviting us to follow.
On this day, as we remember the cruel crucifixion of Christ, let us also remember the ways we have not lived for him, the ways we ourselves have crucified him and continue to crucify him over and over again. Let us close our Lenten fasts and meditations by repenting of these actions, but also by reflecting on where Christ's crucifixion is leading us.
Christ, have mercy on us.
This is more like God, right? She just invites everyone willy-nilly.
This is both comforting and disquieting. I don't know where I heard this
but it strikes me as true: we will all be very surprised when we get to
heaven. We'll be looking around and meet someone we despise or whose
theology isn't compatible with ours. "Wait," we'll say. "They made it
in?" I think the idea that everyone gets in - or even that everyone is
invited - disturbs our sense of fairness. Yet our sense of fairness
requires that all others things are equal.
And they are decidedly not. It's hard, I think, for white people to see this. Many of us have situated our lives such that we don't have to see it; consciously or otherwise. Many of us graduate high school and never learn anything again. Even our high school education heavily privileges the stories of white people; the stories of the native peoples or slaves or Black people are marginalized or erased altogether. They continue to be marginalized by white media and white people in general. Most of us never question what we were taught. We were taught not to question or think critically, in fact.
I grew up and lived in places where I was likely to see more Hispanic, Latinx, and Native American people than Black people. It's not that there were no Black people; there just weren't that many. I remember visiting Washington, DC for the first time; seeing so many Black people was surprising. I had the same feeling as when I first went to Japan; slightly discomfited because it was so different. Yet, in both cases, it didn't take long to get used to it. It was no big deal really.
So, I don't understand the hatred many white people have for "those people." I guess living in Japan really opened my mind to the beauties of other cultures. Yet, I met a lot of white people in Japan who constantly criticized the way they do things. These people were never happy. I, on the other hand, was happy there. I loved learning about Japan. I suspect those who weren't happy, didn't and don't appreciate "those people" here.
There's this weird desire white people have that everyone else assimilate to our culture. This will come up in a few verses (stay tuned!). But, why? Why should other people have to give up their identities, the things that helped shape them and are integral to their understanding of themselves just to assuage the feelings of some white people who might be uncomfortable in their presence? Why should they have to worry about the feelings of someone they don't know and are likely never to meet? That to me is absurd. No one in Japan asked me to assimilate. Of course, I'm like a chameleon anyway; by the time I left I had picked up the habit of bowing to people - even on the phone.
I get it; it can be disquieting at first to be surrounded by people so different. It can feel good to put all our fear and anger (still talking about white people here) onto Black people or Muslims for the terrorist attacks of 9/11. But those attitudes don't keep us safe. Nor do they help anyone. We may feel safe when our walls are up or our hearts are stone, but we're probably less safe that way; more vulnerable to propaganda.
What those attacks taught us is not that we're suddenly unsafe, but that we're not paying attention to what our government does and has been doing around the world and here at home in our name. It's not always pretty. But we don't teach these things in high school because some white teenager might be upset knowing their country isn't perfect. It doesn't matter that we marginalize and erase anyone who's not white, cis, straight, male, physically healthy, and Christian, preferably Protestant. Their feelings are not important. Our society is built on the idea that white men are the only people who matter.
Yet, God doesn't make these distinctions. He goes out into the main streets of the town and invites as many people as can be found to the wedding banquet. The God who created us wants to be with us forever. Why do we make distinctions where he does not? We are all invited - always and forever.
Come to the table. All is ready.
And they are decidedly not. It's hard, I think, for white people to see this. Many of us have situated our lives such that we don't have to see it; consciously or otherwise. Many of us graduate high school and never learn anything again. Even our high school education heavily privileges the stories of white people; the stories of the native peoples or slaves or Black people are marginalized or erased altogether. They continue to be marginalized by white media and white people in general. Most of us never question what we were taught. We were taught not to question or think critically, in fact.
I grew up and lived in places where I was likely to see more Hispanic, Latinx, and Native American people than Black people. It's not that there were no Black people; there just weren't that many. I remember visiting Washington, DC for the first time; seeing so many Black people was surprising. I had the same feeling as when I first went to Japan; slightly discomfited because it was so different. Yet, in both cases, it didn't take long to get used to it. It was no big deal really.
So, I don't understand the hatred many white people have for "those people." I guess living in Japan really opened my mind to the beauties of other cultures. Yet, I met a lot of white people in Japan who constantly criticized the way they do things. These people were never happy. I, on the other hand, was happy there. I loved learning about Japan. I suspect those who weren't happy, didn't and don't appreciate "those people" here.
There's this weird desire white people have that everyone else assimilate to our culture. This will come up in a few verses (stay tuned!). But, why? Why should other people have to give up their identities, the things that helped shape them and are integral to their understanding of themselves just to assuage the feelings of some white people who might be uncomfortable in their presence? Why should they have to worry about the feelings of someone they don't know and are likely never to meet? That to me is absurd. No one in Japan asked me to assimilate. Of course, I'm like a chameleon anyway; by the time I left I had picked up the habit of bowing to people - even on the phone.
I get it; it can be disquieting at first to be surrounded by people so different. It can feel good to put all our fear and anger (still talking about white people here) onto Black people or Muslims for the terrorist attacks of 9/11. But those attitudes don't keep us safe. Nor do they help anyone. We may feel safe when our walls are up or our hearts are stone, but we're probably less safe that way; more vulnerable to propaganda.
What those attacks taught us is not that we're suddenly unsafe, but that we're not paying attention to what our government does and has been doing around the world and here at home in our name. It's not always pretty. But we don't teach these things in high school because some white teenager might be upset knowing their country isn't perfect. It doesn't matter that we marginalize and erase anyone who's not white, cis, straight, male, physically healthy, and Christian, preferably Protestant. Their feelings are not important. Our society is built on the idea that white men are the only people who matter.
Yet, God doesn't make these distinctions. He goes out into the main streets of the town and invites as many people as can be found to the wedding banquet. The God who created us wants to be with us forever. Why do we make distinctions where he does not? We are all invited - always and forever.
Come to the table. All is ready.