"We who were formerly no people at all..."

In my newspaper today, which was devoted mostly to the tenth anniversary of 9/11, I found an ad for picture frames on sale. So this afternoon I bought a frame for this print, which I have had for almost a year:

Among other things, it says this, if you can't read the picture:

"The Prince of Peace is Jesus Christ. We who were formerly no people at all, and who knew of no peace, are now called to be a church... of peace. True Christians do not know vengeance. They are the children of peace. Their mouths speak peace, and they walk in the way of peace."

-Menno Simons, Reply to False Accusations, 1552

Ten years to the day after the solemn voice of my high school principal interrupted a test I was taking in freshman Drama class to announce that planes had flown into the World Trade Center and Pentagon, I will hang in my home this call to peace written by the founder of the church I embraced because of 9/11.

On that day, I was worried: first for the safety of my cousins who live in New York City, and then, increasingly as days and weeks passed, about what new horrors would arise as a result of the terror of that day. I felt angry - first at the nebulous, powerful, extensive terrorist organization I was learning about for what they had done, and then at the bloodlust I saw from politicians and ordinary people as they responded.

Flags flew, voices on the radio and television called for retaliation, the National Anthem was played more than ever in my life, Arab and Muslim Americans were made victims of hate crimes, flags showed up on politicians' suits and people's t-shirts, bombing began in Afghanistan.

I said the Pledge of Allegiance on one of those early days and for the first time, I thought about what I was saying. "I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America..." which was omnipresent in those days, "...and to the republic for which it stands..." which was breaking my heart with its swift retribution.

I wanted to take part in the national mourning, but the national mourning in one breath expressed grief and called for infliction of further violence. How could we cry for the loss of three thousand innocent people and at the same time demand more death? I wanted calls for peace, I wanted to think about how a country makes brave strides toward forgiveness and seeks true justice in the face of terrible violence. I remember George W. Bush on television, assuring America that "You're either with us or you're against us" as he called for war. I felt profoundly alienated.

Each successive 9/11 anniversary, my anger and alienation have lessened and sadness and commitment to peace have grown.

On this 9/11/11, may we be reminded that we humans are children of peace. May our hearts overflow with peace. May we speak peace and walk in the way of peace.

Ash Wednesday

Four years ago, I gave up meat for Lent. It was the first time I had given anything up for Lent. It was not spiritually edifying for me. Perhaps for some, the surrender of a too-beloved food or activity is a spiritual practice, but for me it was just a dietary change. The sentiment I have heard from some Christians observing Lent of "Jesus died for me; the least I can do is give up ___ for him" became utterly ridiculous to me. And my change from semi-conscientious eater of meat to vegetarian did not achieve the asceticism of early baptismal candidates, who spent the forty days before Easter fasting and praying.

After that meatless Lenten season, I gave up on giving up vices for Lent and decided that if I chose to observe Lent, I would do so by making time for a spiritual practice. Since then, I have chosen to meditate on scripture. I've found it much more meaningful.

I have chosen Psalm 139:1-18 as my meditation text for Lent. I had saved it as an option last night when I was looking for one, and it was one of the texts used in our Ash Wednesday service this evening. It is 40 lines, one for each day of Lent. Reason enough.

Psalm 139:1-18

O Lord, you have searched me and known me.
You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
you discern my thoughts from far away.
You search out my path and my lying down,
and are acquainted with all my ways.
Even before a word is on my tongue,
O Lord, you know it completely.
You hem me in, behind and before,
and lay your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
it is so high that I cannot attain it.

Where can I go from your spirit?
Or where can I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there;
if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.
If I take the wings of the morning
and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me fast.

If I say, 'Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light around me become night',
even the darkness is not dark to you;
the night is as bright as the day,
for darkness is as light to you.

For it was you who formed my inward parts;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
that I know very well.
My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.
In your book were written
all the days that were formed for me,
when none of them as yet existed.

How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!
I try to count them -- they are more than the sand;
I come to the end--I am still with you.

During these forty days, I will have to deal with some big, life-changing decisions -- some made by me, some not. I am waiting to hear back from the one medical school I have a chance to get into. If I get in, Ross and I will start the process of leaving a place we love dearly, and we will need to make difficult financial and personal decisions. If I don't get in, I will need to reevaluate my career and educational prospects, a process I have already started. I will travel to Europe for two weeks, which will be a significant -- and hopefully very good! -- experience. There may be some significant changes at work, the details of which I don't yet know. This is a time when I sometimes hardly feel like I know myself, and I need to believe that I am part of something beyond myself. So, I'm looking forward to engaging this text.

O nata lux

I struggle with Easter. It is the pinnacle of the Christian liturgical calendar, the highest of holy days. And yet, it has not resonated with me.

The coming of spring and new life is part of my life experience and is welcome. Easter is happily aligned with the vernal equinox thanks to pagan influence. There is, as Christians say, new life in Christ. I've even had to remind myself that the Latin phrase-concept nata lux, "birth of light" refers to Christmas, not Easter. Yet Easter could be described as a birth of light -- as the days get longer, the stone is rolled away from the tomb. Jesus, light of the world, is reborn through resurrection.

But as we celebrate it, Easter is about the resurrection's implications for salvation, the defeat of death. "Up from the grave he arose, with a mighty triumph o'er his foes!"; "Christ is arisen and we shall not die!" the hymns go. But my faith is not one of Christus victor theology, not one that emphasizes salvation, and certainly not personal salvation. And to me, what comes after death is less important than what comes before. The gospels, which come between Christmas and Easter, which are elevated above the rest of the Bible in Mennonite theology, are the heart and soul of my faith.

And on Easter, when the gospels come to an end, perhaps it is natural to feel a little lost. It's like finishing a captivating novel -- I'm never satisfied with the ending, and I wish to be back in the throes of the narrative. On Easter morning, I'm with the disciples. I want to be with Jesus again as he heals and multiplies food and drink and speaks in parables and teaches what is dangerous, exciting, new, even revolutionary. I want to come along with this Messiah as he brings in the Kingdom of God. I am not comfortable with Easter morning reality. I do not want this empty tomb, this figure who is unrecognizable even as he speaks to Mary in the garden and the disciples on the road to Emmaus, whom Thomas must touch to believe.

And then, one by one, the disciples recognize Jesus. They come to terms with the new, impossible reality that their belief was not in vain. This miraculous reappearance cements their certainty that this Messiah was for real, although this new reality was unexpected and maybe even a little disappointing for some of them who were expecting a significantly different manifestation of God's kingdom. But here among them was the impossible. This experience would be the push that gave the early church momentum. Rather than return, defeated, to their hometowns, they would "make disciples of all nations."

As we observe Holy Week, we know what's coming. Part of our yearly cycle, it lacks the despair it held for the disciples; it is preparation for the celebration of Easter, not the end of everything we hold dear. Easter is not a surprise for us. And there is a lot of theology between us and those who experienced the resurrection in the gospel stories. Easter means both more and less. This - this separation - is where Easter loses meaning for me.

With the disciples, we have learned from Jesus how to build God's kingdom. And today, Jesus, our teacher, the prophet, is born anew from the grave. The birth of light, which the darkness has not overcome. As we, with the disciples but in a different way, suspend reality to experience the risen Christ, we come to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is the anointed one, God's son, love embodied, the light of the world. In Jesus' resurrection, our journey is validated. The end of the gospel story is satisfying.

Muslims attacked at Ramadan service in Dayton, Ohio

From the Dayton (OH) Daily News:

[A] suspected chemical irritant was sprayed into the mosque at 26 Josie St., bringing Dayton police, fire and hazardous material personnel to the building at 9:48 p.m.

Someone "sprayed an irritant into the mosque," Dayton fire District Chief Vince Wiley said, noting that fire investigators believe it was a hand-held spray can.

(...) The 300 or so inside were celebrating the last 10 days of Ramadan with dinner and a prayer session, but the prayer session was interrupted so those suffering from tearing, coughing and shortness of breath could receive treatment. (Source Dayton Daily News)

According to a personal account I found, the gas was sprayed into a room where babies and children were playing while their parents prayed. This incident occurred as anti-Muslim propaganda DVDs entitled Obsession: Radical Islam's War Against the West are being distributed by mail in Ohio and other swing states by the Clarion Fund.