Engaging Enemies (and others) with Severe Humility

On September 10, 1939 at the beginning of World War 2 C. S Lewis wrote this in a letter to his brother, Warnie:

In the Litany this morning we had some extra petitions, one of which was, ‘Prosper, oh Lord, our righteous cause’. Assuming that it was the work of the bishop or someone higher up, when I met Bleiben [the vicar] in the porch, I ventured to protest against the audacity of informing God that our cause was righteous – a point on which he has his own views . . . I hope it is quite like ours, of course, but one never knows with him.

– The Collected Letters of C.S. Lewis, Volume 2

And here is something by Lewis’ friend, Charles Williams, written in the middle of WW 2 (1942) when the outcome was still unclear:

The conversion, where it is demanded, of the wild justice of revenge to the civil justice of the Divine City is the precise operation of the Holy Spirit towards Christ. All we need to do is attend to the goodwill, to the civility; the justice (in the personal relation) can be left to Christ. ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, sayeth the Lord.’ It is perhaps desirable to notice that the repayment is not limited to our enemy. We shall be unfortunate if we forget the trespasses, the debts, which our enemies desire to repay with their wild justice and are content to leave to his promise. It is important that we should be ready to forgive the Germans; it is not unimportant to recognize that many Germans (including Herr Hitler? Possibly; we do not very well know) may feel that they have much to forgive us. Many reconciliations have unfortunately broken down because both parties have come prepared to forgive but unprepared to be forgiven. Instruction is as badly needed in this as in many other less vital things; that holy light which we call humility has an exact power of illumination all its own.

– The Forgiveness of Sins, p. 113

It is hard to imagine saying such things about our enemies. I don’t want to. But, then, it was hard to say them about Germany or Japan during WW 2. It was hard to say it about the Romans in Jesus' day. Do we dare to contemplate that people in the Middle East just might have much to forgive us in the West? And we Americans in particular? That the actions of, for example, Al Qaeda of Iran, however horrific and inexcusable, might be understood in some sense as acts of “the wild justice of revenge”? That things have been done on our behalf in the Middle East over the last 100 years that have contributed to the chaotic rage that seems epidemic there? Even a little understanding of our history in the region over the last century would indicate that it is so. It might require a sort of severe humility but I believe it is a faithful Christian approach to contemplate such things in our day just as Lewis and Williams did in theirs. We need to disabuse ourselves of the myth of our own innocence. Everyone is complicit in the mess the world is in. Some more. Some less. But all.

A couple of things strike me in the above quotes. Both Lewis and Williams refuse to get caught up in nationalistic rhetoric that assumes that "God is with us" or that their country is particularly blessed by God. Even in the midst of war, they were compelled by their Christian convictions to accept the possibility that their nation was (at least partly) wrong and that their enemies might well have grievances of their own.

I am also struck that this severe humility leads both Lewis and Williams to demonstrate an admirable reticence to claim to know overmuch about God's mind or to assume their side is necessarily God's. Both recognize that all humans are fundamentally bound to one another in a relational web and all humans are caught in the sin that infects that web. We should thus be wary of presuming our own innocence or consigning  total blame to others – both are awe-full things to contemplate if we recognize that we all live under the awesome gaze of God's love and judgment.

I know enough of both Lewis and Williams to know that neither would advocate anything like a posture of moral equivalency. And that is not what I am suggesting. And neither of them was a pacifist. But, what both do seem to advocate is a deep humility and reticence to assume the innocence or righteousness of their side. And I find both refreshing. I am convinced it is a fundamentally Christian posture, however difficult.

"For our enemies and those who wish us harm,

and for all whom we have injured or offended,

we pray to you, O Lord."

(Book of Common Prayer, p. 391)

See also:

God, Be Merciful to Us All

The Humility and Generosity of Lincoln

The Humility and Generosity of Lincoln

I love the movie Lincoln. It captures some of why Abraham Lincoln has been such an iconic figure in American history. He was truly a great man.

Among other things, the movie reminds us that politics in a democracy has always been a rough and tumble affair. However, much we might bemoan the current state of American politics, there is no such thing as a 'golden age' in which everyone just got along and cooperated toward a shared vision of the common good. And the movie shows Lincoln himself resorting to unsavory tactics to achieve good ends. Things might or might not be much worse now than they were then (though I do wonder about the effects of contemporary media and the influx of unprecedented amounts of money to skew things).

But, one thing has changed, unless Abraham Lincoln was truly a unique historical figure. The movie ends with the closing lines of Lincoln's Second Inaugural Address, which is itself one of the great political speeches of American history. The movie inspired me to reread the whole of that address (Second Inaugural Address). I am struck by two virtues Lincoln demonstrates that it would be good to see more commonly in contemporary politics. Those virtues are humility and generosity toward opponents. Here are the last two paragraphs:

Each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces, but let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered. That of neither has been answered fully. The Almighty has His own purposes. "Woe unto the world because of offenses; for it must needs be that offenses come, but woe to that man by whom the offense cometh." If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of those offenses which, in the providence of God, must needs come, but which, having continued through His appointed time, He now wills to remove, and that He gives to both North and South this terrible war as the woe due to those by whom the offense came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a living God always ascribe to Him? Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said "the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether."

With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all.

Note first, that, though Lincoln seems fairly confident he knows what is right, he almost instinctively qualifies his own "firmness in the right' with the caveat 'as God gives us to see the right'. Recognizing and naming the uncomfortable fact that both his side and the other 'read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the other", Lincoln further affirms that "The Almighty has His own purposes" acknowledging that those purposes might or might not line up with his own. This admission of partial vision is a fundamental aspect of the virtue of humility.

Such  humility allows Lincoln to entertain the possibility that others might also be right – even those who "dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces." I confess I find that hard to entertain.

Whether such humility was common in Lincoln's day, it has become rare in ours. Instead, the rhetoric, both left and right, would suggest that what is right is so clear that all reasonable people will agree. Which means that those who do not agree must be either unreasonable or nefarious. Thus, it is either impossible or unnecessary to engage them with respect.

But, Lincoln did engage those with whom he disagreed with respect. And with a notable generosity. Allowing for the likelihood that he was not altogether right and that his opponents were not altogether wrong created space for Lincoln to resist malice and extend charity even toward those with whom he was at war.

We would do well to cultivate the virtues of humility and generosity that we too might live with malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right – as God gives us to see the right.

See also:

Engaging Enemies with Severe Humility

God, Be Merciful to Us All

God, Be Merciful to Us All

Events of the past week have me thinking of this letter by C. S. Lewis written during the darkest days of World War II in response to a letter from a friend asking about praying with charity for one’s enemies:

The practical problem about charity (in one’s prayer) is very hard work, isn’t it? When you pray for Hitler and Stalin how do you actually teach yourself to make the prayer real? The two things that help me are (a) A continual grasp of the idea that one is only joining one’s feeble little voice to the perpetual intercession of Christ who died for these very men. (b) A recollection, as firm as I can make it, of all one’s own cruelty; which might have blossomed under different conditions into something terrible. You and I are not at bottom so different from these ghastly creatures. – Letter to Dom Bede Griffiths, 16 Apr 1940

One is only (only!) joining one’s feeble little voice to the perpetual intercession of Christ who died for these very men. For Hitler. For Stalin. For Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi (the leader of ISIS)?

Joining one’s feeble little voice to the perpetual intercession of Christ who interceded for those who had nailed him to the cross and mocked him as he hung dying, "Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing." (Luke 23:34)

Recollect all one’s own cruelty; which might have blossomed under different conditions into something terrible.

You and I are not at bottom so different from these ghastly creatures.

There is always the temptation to make oneself out as somehow innocent. Or, at least, less guilty than others. There is always the temptation to justify oneself or one's group and point to the fault of others. But that is the way of Adam blaming Eve and Eve blaming the Serpent. It is the way of the Pharisee, “God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax-collector." (Luke 18:9-14)

But for Christians, all prayer begins with the tax-collector's prayer, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” We recognize that we are inextricably caught in the web of human sin and brokenness. We believe Jesus has come to repair that human web. We look to him for forgiveness for our part in its damage. We hope for healing from it effects.

And when we pray for others – including our enemies, if we are going to pray with charity – our prayer should begin with “God, be merciful to _________.”

God, be merciful to Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi.

God, be merciful to the victims of ISIS.

God, be merciful to Vladimir Putin.

God, be merciful to Christians.

God, be merciful to Muslims.

God, be merciful to Conservatives.

God, be merciful to Liberals

God, be merciful to Barak Obama.

God, be merciful to Sarah Palin.

God be merciful to our own victims.

God, be merciful to us all.

We all need redemption. We all need mercy.

Let us join our feeble little voices to the perpetual intercession of Christ who died for us all.

There's a Wildness in God's Mercy

A sermon for Lent 1, Year B 
1 Genesis 9:8-17, Psalm 25:1-9, 1 Peter 3:18-22, Mark 1:9-13

[Singing] Like the murmur of the dove’s song, like the challenge of her flight, come, Holy Spiri–Crraaak! Like lightning splitting the sky, the heavens are torn apart and the Spirit descends – swoops down – on Jesus.

Jesus experiences the ecstasy of hearing the Father call him his beloved Son with whom he is well pleased. But, while those words are still echoing in his heart, the Spirit-dove – immediately – drives Jesus into the wilderness.

In Mark's gospel, the Holy Spirit appears as a dove, but it is a dove with an attitude – like something out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

The Holy Spirit drove Jesus into the wilderness like a nail into wood.

The wilderness represented the realm of chaos – of evil. The ancients did not have romantic notions of nature. The wilderness was inhospitable, untamed, dangerous, wild. It was the habitation of demons, the territory under the sway of Satan.

It is into that realm of the demonic that the Spirit drives Jesus. The Greek word used for the Spirit's driving Jesus out into the wilderness is the same as that used when Jesus drives out demons. Here, things are reversed. Instead of Jesus ejecting demons out of someone, we have the Holy Spirit injecting Jesus out into the wilderness – the devil’s turf. God is going on the offensive.

Mark does not elaborate the confrontation as do Matthew and Luke, but it is clear that the confrontation happens and that Satan is defeated. This is the beginning of the end for the Evil One. It is probably in the wilderness that Jesus "watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning" (Luke 10:18). The rest of Jesus' ministry – the exorcisms, the healings, the miracles are part of the mop-up operation. Jesus is injected into the domain of Satan, symbolized by the wilderness, and his mission of reclamation and liberation has begun.

I am struck by the wildness in this passage – the heavens torn apart, the Spirit driving Jesus into the wilderness. There is a wideness in God’s mercy, but there is also a wildness in God’s mercy.

We try so hard to tame that wildness. We have a tendency to try to domesticate God, to house-train him. When we do that, we end up with a God who is just an extension of our own biases – a God who lends spiritual support to our political and social prejudices. A God who will not step on our toes. A God who will not drive us into the wilderness.

But we also end up with a fairly anemic God – a God who mostly just wants us to be a little more polite, a little more nice. Not a God who wants us to be wild.

We are all familiar with the domesticated images of God. There is God as the old man with a long beard, riding on a cloud. He is rather remote and old fashioned – out of touch with real life.

There is Jesus "meek and mild," timid as a rabbit. In some of the old Hollywood films, we see this Jesus walking around like he is trying to dry his nails. He does not appear as one who would get his nails dirty, let alone risk breaking one.

Then there is the Holy Spirit, a vague, benign, sort of spiritual gas; there to give me a little energy so I can get on with living my life the way I already know it should be lived.

Such housebroken, tame images God neither threaten nor excite. The picture we get in the Bible is much wilder. And more exciting. Certainly, it is much more interesting.

The God of the Bible is a wild God, even dangerous. If we are not at least a little afraid of God, we probably have too domesticated an image of God. And one that is not very biblical. The God of the Bible might very well step on our toes. The God of the Bible might very well swoop down on us like a dove with serious intent. The God of the Bible might very well drive us into the wilderness.

But that is good news. Only a wild God can deal with the wilderness of our world. And with the wilderness of our own hearts. Only a wild and untamed God can save.

Remember the old westerns in which people gathered in a wagon train to head across prairie and desert to get to the promised land of Oregon? The folk, gathered on the outskirts of St. Louis, need a trail guide to lead them through the wilderness.

It is clear that it is not going to be any of the characters introduced so far. It won't be the timid grocer. It won't be the English dandy just off the boat. It won't be the wealthy banker. He can throw his weight around the financial district in New York, but he won't be much use in the wilderness.

Then, the one who is clearly the man for the job appears. He is barely civilized and undomesticated. He might be part Indian. He's got scars, both physical and emotional. You would not likely invite him to a tea party. But he is just the one you want to lead you through the wilderness.

Jesus is that kind of wild guide come to lead us through whatever wilderness we face.

Only a wild undomesticated God can save us. Only such a God can lead us through our wilderness. We need a God who is not afraid of the wilderness – the wilderness in our world and in our lives. We need a God who can enter into the wilderness of a world beset with sorrow, sin, and death. We need a wild God who is present in the midst of floods and disease, in the midst of starvation, in the midst of tragedy, torture, and terrorism.

Yes, Jesus is the relentless love of God. He came to gather us into the Father’s heart. He named us his friends. But, never forget; he is the same Jesus who did battle with Satan in the wilderness. Remember that the same Jesus who said, “Suffer the little children to come to me,” also tore through the Temple like a cyclone. He is the same Jesus who came calling us to repentance and then dared to suffer for us and, according to 1 Peter, went to hell and back for us.

Yes, the Holy Spirit is a dove, the comforter. But, the Holy Spirit is also a fire, come to burn away the dead brush of our lives like a wild prairie fire making room for new life. The same Holy Spirit who tore open the heavens at Jesus’s baptism can tear open our hearts and inject Jesus into the wilderness of our lives to conquer whatever demons hold us captive. 
The Holy Spirit wants to drive Jesus into the wilderness of our hearts and make us “little Christs.” 

It is the Spirit's intention then to inject us into the wilderness of the world around us. There we can dare to confront the demonic in our world. We can be peacemakers in a society captivated by violence. We can seek justice and righteousness. We can live lives of hospitality and generosity. We can take part in God’s mission of reclamation. We can be part of his healing and reconciliation.

Being a Christian is about exposing whatever keeps us from allowing the Holy Spirit to have its way with us. That is scary because we don’t really like change. Change is often uncomfortable, even painful. We mostly prefer a tame dove who will not ruffle our feathers to one that might tear things apart and drive us into the wilderness.

What might the Spirit of the wild God do with us? Are we willing to trust that the changes the Spirit might drive us to are really going to be for our truest joy. The faith we are called to is exactly that kind of trust.

Ultimately, the Spirit, who descends like a dove and drives us into whatever wildernesses we must face, is indeed driving us toward our truest joy, which is participation in God's life. The Spirit who is a wildfire, burning away our dead wood, is also a refining fire come to remove the dross from our lives and recreate us into finest gold and silver. 

When we understand this, we can dare to say, "come, Holy Spirit, come."

An Odd Work of Grace

The name of this blog comes from something by Charles Grafton (1830-1912), the 2nd Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Fond du Lac:

Rest in the smile of Jesus, be detached from self, even from your own growth in grace. Don’t be worried if you are not getting on, try, but do not worry. It hinders His work, be patient, leave self to God, and pray Him to make you what He would have you to be. He has His plan for each soul, and so, we can have no plan of saintliness: be willing to be like one of the “queer things” in the medley among beautiful pictures and statues, one of His odd works of grace, different, singular, peculiar, hard to make, but having its own place in the owner’s heart. (Meditations and Instructions, p. 12) 

Rest in the smile of Jesus. Don't be worried. Be patient. Trust in God's plan. Take your place among the beautiful things that God cherishes in his own heart.

I love the whole quote. It captures something of the mercy and delight of God as revealed in Jesus Christ. I am coming to think that almost everything in Christianity flows from the assurance of God's mercy and delight and the summons to live in light of that assurance. The assurance of God's mercy and delight is liberating. But it is also demanding inasmuch as we are not very good at receiving it or living it out with one another – Be detached from self, God does desire to make of each of us something more than we can quite imagine.

And I consider myself, in more ways than one, to be an odd work of grace. Fundamentally, all of creation is an odd work of grace.

This blog will explore the above themes as well as serve as a place to post occasional sermons and thoughts on various things. I hope you'll check in from time to to time. And feel free to leave a comment.