What I Want... (A New Year's Prayer)

I want to believe that I don't just create God in my own image, cutting and pasting the texts of Scripture to suit my own fancy. (But I suspect that I, and almost all other Biblical scholars, do).

I want to be set free from slavery to gluttony, lust, laziness, pride, anger, despair and greed.

I want to wake up in the morning and be filled with gratitude rather than feel like I have a hangover from the previous day.

I want to be part of a church where I can be who I am and not put on a face and not act like everything is alright.

I want to want God.

I want to share my life with the poor, to resist the urge to escape from poverty, and to embrace a life of simple solidarity with the broken as the will of God. And I want to find peace and joy in doing so.

I want to stop medicating myself with all the wrong things.

I want to long to read the Bible more than I long to read the newspaper or long to watch television or long to surf the web or long to sit and watch paint dry.

I want to stop feeling like somehow the Bible demands that I look down upon, judge, or oppose the civil rights of homosexuals.

I want to learn how to pray.

I want to lose weight.

I want my family to know how much I love them and hate how I treat them when I'm in a bad mood.

I want 2009 to be a better year than 2008.

Amen.

Trip to a War Zone

So today my friend David showed back up after an absence of several weeks. I had seen him in jail sometime in early November, but he'd been nowhere to be found since his release on the 6th despite his repeated promises to come to church every Sunday.

But today he came banging on my door and telling me that he had relapsed. He wasn't too repentant about it though because, in his words, "you'da relapsed too, pastor, if you'd seen what I seen last night." So I asked him about it and I managed to piece together his story:

After a quiet evening at his aunt's house where David is living until he can get a place of his own, his 24-year old nephew showed up at the house needing a place to stay for the night. It being below freezing, they let him inside where a hodgepodge of family members were staying -- an old matriarch, a young single mother and her 7 month old son, David who was recently released from prison, and now this 24-year old kid up to no good.

Around 2:00 am they all awoke with a start as several men jumped out of a van, ran onto their front porch and started riddling the house with gunfire. The men were apparently carrying assault rifles and unloaded on the sleepy house, shooting out windows and sending bullets flying in all directions through walls before piling back into the van and peeling out to go who knows where. Turns out the nephew who was visiting had been looking for a place to hide from some men who were out to get him. He'd apparently sold them some bad drugs or something. When the grandmother of them all called the police, David's nephew grabbed his coat and took off.

A bullet had missed the young mother's head by a few feet as she slept next to her beautiful baby boy. David took off to "get a drink." No one slept the rest of the night.

So this morning, David comes and asks me if I want an education. He offers to take me to his place and show me the "real inner city." So I went. The whole way he kept saying, "If I see those bastards again I'll blow their heads off. I gotta protect that little baby. I'm gonna stay up all night with my rifle at my side. You ain't gonna believe your eyes, pastor. These bastards coulda killed that little baby." When he asked me if I would defend my own home with a rifle after such an incident, I thought for a second and nodded my head.

The home was a total dump. A fat, elderly black women greeted me at the door in her bathrobe. "Days of Our Lives" played in the background and the air hung heavy with the stench of tobacco and alcohol as I got a tour of the various bullet holes in the walls. The young woman had made a home for herself and her baby by throwing an old, filthy mattress on the floor. No sheets. Just a couple crumpled blankets used for a pillow, a 1980's style telephone, a radio, and random piles of mail mixed with McDonald's wrappers. She sat up when I came in, but never got up and I smiled and played with her beautiful baby boy as everyone around talked about how close they came to getting shot.

I got my education today. I never learned this in seminary. I visited a war zone. I learned about how the police don't care about neighborhoods like David's. I learned about the demonic oppression that hangs in the air over a home stricken by poverty. I learned about systemic racism by going to this black home in a black neighborhood. I learned what an assault rifle bullet hole looks like when it goes through glass, drywall, and cement. I (only slightly) learned about what it must be like to be a baby that grows up with a bottle that hasn't been washed in two weeks. I learned why David went out for a drink.

David swore that even I would go grab a beer after seeing what he wanted to show me. Well, I didn't do that. But I did stop by a Starbucks, order a coffee, and sit down over the newspaper. Same difference.

Broken Down

Kids screaming in the night,
alcohol, drugs, prostitution, theft, abuse, rape, poverty,
fear at all times
fear of bad men eyeing my daughters
fear of addicts who would beat my wife for money,
fear of darkness, darkness, darkness overwhelming.

Depression, dark clouds unending
icy cold mornings
long hours of work
church people who hate each other
phone calls, phone calls, phone calls
meetings, sermons, visits, peacemaking, silent pain
emptiness inside. Godlessness.

My kids screaming in the night,
sleeplessness, diapers, laundry, dishes, urine on the floor,
bills due, income scarce
hard work, no reward, tension with Courtney,
longing day after day for escape.

Empty motions,
aching for somewhere I know not where,
aching for someone I know not who,
suffering, suffering silently with Christ
... or sometimes without him.

Gregory Ryan Coates is Broken Down tonight.

Good Friday or Black Friday?

Pause for a moment and ponder this fact: the one event in the year which inspires millions of Americans to wake up early, bundle up and face the cold, and weather huge crowds is... shopping. Yesterday many of my friends, Christians and non-Christians both, wakened in the dark to go and participate in an annual frenzy of consumerism. $79 digital cameras, $799 50 inch HDTVs, and $100 GPS systems motivated our nation to emerge from their warm, sleepy blankets and stand in massive lines before our modern temples -- the Wal-marts and Targets and JCPennys.

The Seattle Times reported the following this morning: "In a sign of consumer desperation amid a bleak economy, the annual rite of retailing known as Black Friday turned chaotic and deadly, as shoppers scrambled for holiday bargains.

A Wal-Mart worker on Long Island, N.Y., died after being trampled by customers who broke through the doors early Friday, and other workers were trampled as they tried to rescue the man. At least four other people, including a woman who was eight months pregnant, were taken to hospitals." This god has literally turned us into cannibals.

I am a pastor. And I know for a fact that if I asked my congregation to come to church at 4 am on Good Friday in order to memorialize the death of our Lord Jesus Christ, I could count on about 4 people showing up.

Is there any doubt in anyone's mind who the God of our country is? Pause for a moment and reflect on the contrast between Good Friday and Black Friday. Which garners more enthusiasm? Which loosens our wallets? Which motivates a massive turnout? Which excites people to the extent that they will wait in lines for hours?

Jesus is starving. Jesus is cold, naked, and homeless. Jesus is being ravaged by AIDS and we, his children, prefer to pledge our allegiance to Black Friday instead of participating in Good Friday.

God, have mercy.

A Friendly Game of Monopoly

This evening at our monthly all-church game night, I played a game of Monopoly with three teens and an adult from the neighborhood. I stuck out like a sore thumb. Unlike my competition, I was able to do basic math in my head and, when it came to wheeling and dealing, my fellow players often lacked some common sense. For example, they were always more interested in CASH. Cold, hard cash here and now -- something to buy a cheeseburger with. It didn't occur to some of them that property ultimately held more value than cash because it could generate more wealth in the long run. I watched with amusement as one of the teens yelled "Aww, snap!" in jubilation as he sold a set of three properties valued around $600 for about $650. As you might guess, I gradually began to accumulate masses of wealth and one by one eliminated my competition.

It started as just a game of Monopoly with some of my poor, uneducated friends from a few blocks down. It ended with me in deep thought about systemic economic injustice.

I was born in Lexington, KY to two parents with college degrees, one of whom was working on a Masters. They read to me at night, fed me three square meals a day, put me to bed at a decent hour, and took me to the doctor when I got sick. My father loved my mother and treated her with dignity. I enjoyed green grass and found ample room to run and play in the great outdoors. Furthermore, my parents instilled in me a system of values about hard work, responsibility, and discipline all undergirded by a robust ethical system from the Judeo-Christian heritage. I did not choose this life; it chose me. I could just as well have been a Buddhist in Guangzhou, a nomad in Somalia, or a gypsy.

As I looked around the table, I thought about the lives of my "competition." The other white player at the table was the son of an alcoholic. His mother left him when he was a few years old and he's only seen her once ever since -- she apparently married some rich guy, but never sends a check or birthday card. I've been to his house; the holes in the walls are clearly the results of punches thrown by an angry man. And the stench of the living room is what you might expect to find in the home of an unemployed, overweight, wifeless alcoholic who watches 16 hours of TV each day and lives off of his kid's SSI. The other three of my competitors were part of the same family: a young mother perhaps a year older than myself who has a 14 year old son and 12 year old daughter. This household is once again led by a single parent. The 14 year old son is clearly mentally retarded and the girl is incredibly intelligent, but embarrassed to show it in front of her peers for fear of being excluded from their community. Whereas I was tucked in at night and kissed on the forehead, it is not uncommon for my 14 year old friend to tell me that he once again had to sleep on the porch even though it was raining and in the upper 30s. He had pissed of his mom again.

The game of monopoly wasn't really much of a challenge. Sure, we all started from "Go" with $1500 cash, but it was over before it began. They watched in amazement as I built up my empire to squash them and shouted, "Daaaang... you smart!"

You see, some people in this world seem to think that every human being starts at "Go" with $1500 in their pocket. The rest is up to hard work and intelligence. The rich will get rich because they deserve it... they worked hard and made the sacrifices. The poor likewise deserve their fate since they are lazy and make stupid choices. But more than ever I am convinced that this is The Great American Lie.

Some people are born into this world like myself -- with Park Place and Boardwalk already in their stash. They got it from their parents who got it from their parents who exploited the "niggers" to climb to the top of the heap. I entered the game with hotels on all the dark blue and dark green rectangles; they entered it owing me money.

I know some people find the idea of redistribution of wealth to be morally repugnant. Personally, I'm not too bothered by it. I see it as one way that we can right the wrongs of our past, even the playing field, and make sure the game isn't fixed before it even gets started.

How Do I Get There?

I have heard the call, Lord. You've asked me to empty myself and take on the very nature of a slave, to consider others to be better than myself, and to become nothing. You have called me to die so that I might live and to become the least so that I might be the greatest. You have told me to take up my cross and sometimes I can do this... for a few minutes or even a few hours, but then I drop it and run back like a pathetic addict to the comforts with which I can medicate my pain.

Computer games, food, soda, movies, laziness, time on Facebook, medications, bursts of anger over insignificant things... I turn to them instead of you. Sloth, lust, gluttony, avarice, wrath, despair, pride. Lord (if I may be so bold as to call you that), I am a slave to them all. I help the poor at my door, but only so much. I give him my shoes, but I don't invite him into my house for a meal. Or at least not everytime.

I've heard the call; I know your will. I just can't do it. The power isn't there. The words of your servant John ring in my head: "Anyone who is a child of God does not sin." But I sin. I do it all the time. I do it willingly and defiantly. I make a habit of it, of choosing to please Greg Coates instead of others and instead of you. And I feel terrible about it; I'm overwhelmed with guilt.

Surely this isn't the life you want me to live. Surely you want to take me to new places and see new wonders. You want to make a saint out of this broken, stubborn man, but I just don't know how to get there. I've tried the Bible reading, the fasting, the prayer, the serving the poor, the taking the sacraments, the accountability, the small group and one-on-one discipleship groups, the revival meetings, the voracious reading of Christian mystics, the regular attendance to church, the going on the mission field and leaving everyone behind, the preaching and teaching and scrubbing dirty floors and hugging the drug addicts. All rubbish. It's not doing it. I'm not there and I want to be. How do I get there?

Send me an e-mail if you don't mind. I check it quite often.

Consistently Pro-Life

Good ol' Chuck Colson recently lamented the election of Obama with the following words: "The President-elect, along with his newly strengthened allies in Congress, opposes almost every pro-life and pro-family position conservative Evangelicals and conservative Catholics have fought for so hard."

I am so sick of conservatives claiming to have the edge on "pro-life" and "pro-family" positions!

It's true that the right tends to be pro-life and the left pro-choice, or, as I like to say, "anti-life" when it comes to abortion. But is this all it means to have a consistent ethic of life? Hardly. It is equally pro-life to be opposed to all of the machinations of war which destroy human life on massive scales and consider the death of innocent women and children to be "collateral damage." Take a long look at the pictures coming out of Iraq and Afghanistan and tell me that the Republican party is "pro-life."

Being "pro-life" ought to include refusing to play God with someone's soul by choosing when they should live and when they should be put to death. The United States, along with China and several radical Islamic countries, leads the world in executions. This is spearheaded by many "pro-life" Republicans.

And why is it that the religious right will fight tooth and nail for a child to be born into this world, but as soon as that child is born, they are on their own -- without health care and without structures that prevent the child from being malnourished or sucked into systems of poverty? I only wish evangelicals were as loudly advocating for our toddlers as they are advocating for our unborn. But that great pro-lifer George Bush vetoed a bill that would have provided basic health care to kids under five years old -- in the richest country in the world, no less. Is the right consistently pro-life? I don't think so.

For 20 of the past 28 years, a Republican has been in the White House. During that entire time, promises were made to us that Roe v Wade would be overturned. It's beginning to look to me like the right has been using this issue to form a coalition for the purposes of perpetuating their own power. I honestly doubt the sincerity of many so-called pro-life Republicans who claim to be pro-life, but when pressed on the issue cannot even promise to nominate a pro-life supreme court justice if the opportunity came along (as McCain recently admitted).

Let's expand our definition of "pro-life" to mean opposition to the following things which bring death:

abortion,

the poverty that leads young women to chose abortion,

euthanasia,

war and war-mongering,

the global weapons trade,

extreme poverty,

environmental degradation which poisons the water our kids drink,

capital punishment, and

genocide taking place in countries that are irrelevant to our own "national interest."

That's a pro-life agenda worth advancing -- and it's not one owned by either the Republicans or Democrats.

Ode to Eve

My long slumber is ended,
awake at last I find myself,
alive and eager to live anew,
this child has resurrected me.

The ears, the cries, the simple sighs,
the sleep, the calm, the peacefulness --
reminders of the fabric of life;
Love is center, eternal, abiding love.

Eve, you make this hard man cry
my numbness now has gone;
I dream again of happy days
of trees to climb and melting ice cream.

L'chaim -- to life -- which begins again
To hugs and kisses and snuggles
To coffee and books and stories with friends
I thank you, Eve, for this reminder:

... life is worth living.

What the USA and Zimbabwe Have In Common

You might not think that the US and Mugabe's oppressive regime in Zimbabwe have much in common, but yesterday they agreed on one thing. 147 nations belonging to the United Nations voted in favor of a treaty to limit and regulate the global arms trade. This trade contributes to the death of 1,000 people every day according to some human rights groups. However, the United States, by far the world's largest weapons exporter, and the government of Zimbabwe cast the two dissenting votes.

President Dwight Eisenhower warned many years ago of the growing military-industrial complex. His warnings have gone unheeded. The USA now gives the finger to the world's attempts to reduce violence. Limiting the arms trade, you see, would hurt our precious economy. And who cares if we indirectly contribute to the deaths of thousands of people around the world? At least it is making us money.

Ironman, the Modernist

Courtney and I watched Ironman last night. Fun action movie. It also got me thinking about our own sense of identity as Americans and how this is constantly reflected in our comic heros.

Americans have always perceived themselves as that lone vigilante for justice. The myth of the cowboy or Batman or Mr. Smith in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington pervades our psyche. We are suspicious of totalitarian power and the injustice perpetuated on masses of people by the "evil" ones of the world. Interestingly, in the movie Ironman the protagonist realizes that his weapon-making business has been falling into the wrong hands and as he witnesses his own weapons being used against innocent civilians, he undergoes a sort of conversion. He decides to stop producing weapons, much to the dismay of the Powers.

But then the movie takes an interesting (and expected) turn. Our protagonist decides that he can no longer trust justice to be done by anyone... except for himself. So he creates a flying, missile-shooting, invincible metal suit for himself and, in good American fashion, goes out and kicks some arse.

This is the modernist illusion. We are the good guys; they are the bad guys. It's our moral duty to kill the bad guys so that they don't do bad things anymore. We do not trust others with power so we reluctantly take up power upon ourselves so that the "evil" ones won't rule over the "good." Such dualism, says postmodernism, is an illusion and I happen to agree. None of us are the good guys and none of us are the bad guys. And we are certainly not trustworthy with our Iron Suit. Soon we, the powerful ones, become corrupted and before we know it, we're the ones killing the women and children and calling it "collateral damage."

It wouldn't make a very good movie, but if the Ironman had been a postmodernist instead of a modernist and had allowed himself to be suspicious of all controlling metanarratives, including his own, then he wouldn't have made an Iron Suit. He would have, as Jesus said, "Put down his sword."

Ironman, a fun movie I must admit, perpetuates the myth of our own self-righteousness. When will we stop seeing everyone else as infected by power's corrupting influence except ourselves? When will we stop playing the executioner? When will we learn to trust the One who knows everyone's story perfectly and who is able to mete out justice flawlessly? When will we set aside our one-man, iron-suited vigilante ways and instead start bearing the cross?