Contributors to our blogs are faculty, alumni, and students of Seminary of the Southwest sharing their reflections from the context of a community of faith. We hope you enjoy reading, and we invite your comments.
Last week the African American Presidents and Deans of Theological Schools in the United States posted “An Open Letter to Presidents and Deans of Theological Schools in the United States” in the Huffington Post. In it they wrote,
We invite our colleagues—presidents, deans and leaders of all divinity and theological schools—to arise from the embers of silence and speak up and speak out as the prophet of old, ‘let justice run down as waters, and righteousness as a mighty stream’ (Amos 5:24). We encourage you to endorse this statement by responding in your own particular context to our theological call to action with curricular programs, public forums, teach-ins, calls to your congressional leaders, writing op-ed pieces, and more.
In the well-known biblical passage quoted above, Amos reminded the people of Israel, and reminds us, that there is no status that places one above the demands of justice. Amos challenged Israel’s belief that divine election allowed them an assurance of divine favor over against their sinful, pagan neighbors who were going to feel God’s wrath on the “day of the Lord.”
The dirt of Laredo is caked on my boots, a dingy and grey chalk that bears the complexities of the lives of immigrants in this Texas border town, a matter of miles from Mexico.
During Encuentro this January, my classmates and I met two families at Christ Church in Laredo. They are separated from their extended families in Central America or Mexico. They, like many immigrant families on the border, face poverty, often finding only low-paying jobs. They fled the violence and injustice of their homelands, though they are not secure in the US; those who are undocumented – even if they are attempting to get paperwork approved – live in fear of the Border Patrol, deportation and state-sanctioned detention facilities.
“I have a dream.” The influence of these words by Martin Luther King, Jr was on full display Thursday night, January 15, at the 10th annual MLK Oratory Competition held at the George Washington Carver Museum. The room buzzed with excitement as it filled with parents and community members brimming with hope and expectation of what the young writers were going to say. The crowd slowly inched into the room with a dissipating hope of actually finding a seat. With standing room only, seventeen elementary school students, from different parts of Austin, competed in the competition as part of the annual MLK celebration presented by the Austin Area Heritage Council. In a five-minute speech, each speaker was to answer the question, “What message of hope do you think Dr. King would have for the world today?”
During the first week of January, I participated in the annual Interfaith Seminary Retreat sponsored by the Multicultural Alliance of Texas. This event brings together students from Christian seminaries in Texas with Jewish and Muslim seminarians from Los Angeles and Baltimore for the purpose of deeper learning and awareness of one another’s traditions. The focus of this retreat was the role of story telling. Stories were used not just to explain the various traditions represented but as a way of engaging one another in small groups and individually. The act of telling stories is a powerful way of humanizing those who might seem different from us. It allows us both to see what is distinctive about each of our journeys but also what are the commonalities that bind us together.
Today is Epiphany, when we celebrate Christ’s arrival among us, and revelation as the Savior of all. He came as a ‘mere’ child. Because of the recent visit of a young African choir, I am thinking today of the youngest and most vulnerable among us and the music they create.
There is a long tradition in the West of children’s choirs. Attached to cathedrals, colleges and universities across Europe, choir schools taught boys to read, write and especially to sing music for the liturgy. The levels of musical achievement were quite astonishing.
At a seminar on planned giving recently, I heard an estate planning attorney say something that tends to be at the heart of the challenges we all face in terms of creating or updating our wills.
His comment was, “Getting your will together is usually at the bottom of everyone’s to-do list.”
In an earlier blog post, I complained about the happy-ending, “fairy-tale” aspects of the parable of the prodigal son. Homecomings, I reflected, are rarely as rosy as all that.
But in the parable’s finale, when the resentful brother complains about the party, we feel right at home. Not only do we sympathize with him, we are him. “No fair!” we grumble over our laptops and spreadsheets while others watch TV. “No fair!” we grouse when another family member gets his favorite meal—again. “No fair!” we seethe in our cubicle as a new hire moves into the corner office. “No fair!” we whisper when a loved one dies and so many, many others do not.
It has been only 89 years since Pope Pious XI instituted the festival day of Christ the King, or more accurately, the day of “Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe.” This Sunday festival is a dramatic, theological exclamation point, which brings to a close the liturgical year. Inherent in this quite lofty title is Matthew’s apocalyptic vision of Jesus coming into his glory as he prepares for the last judgment, dispensing punishment on his left and reward to those on his right.
It is interesting to note that we now understand that Pope Pious XI’s underlying reason for reminding the faithful of Jesus’ kingly role was not necessarily a liturgical announcement of the imminent season of Advent. It was more of a preemptive strike against an alarming increase in secularity and the very real threat posed by the then, fledgling Italian kingdom which was threatening to usurp the Vatican’s sovereignty and land mass. It was in part a political encyclical saying, “careful you earthy evildoers, you too will be judged by the real King.”
In spite of the air conditioning working overtime in Christ Chapel, I was sweating. It was August in Texas and I was wearing a suit, but I wasn’t sweating for those reasons. I was sweating because I was anxious. I wasn’t sure if I would fit in at the Seminary of the Southwest. I wasn’t sure if I would fit in anywhere. I felt this way ever since I left the Army about a year before.
The first week of October, my husband Doug and I went exploring. We headed to Zion National Monument in Utah and to the north rim of Grand Canyon. Our named desire was to be in majestic natural beauty. We hoped for wonder. We wanted to visit places we’d not seen before. I suppose we are hungry for wide open space. Something about aging seems to have set our palates for wilderness.