Category Archives: Power

Fortress or Field Hospital?

I’ve been reflecting on the current stage of the sexual abuse crisis in the Catholic Church as seen through the lens of moral foundations theory, because it seems to me that one of the dimensions of dissonance in the responses of Catholic factions to what’s been unfolding since the summer of ‘18 relates to the findings of those proposing this new theory of moral psychology.

A little while ago, I read Jonathan Haidt’s The Righteous Mind, and (perhaps appropriately) it really struck home by validating something I saw in myself and the people around me. That is, people are not morally rational…at least not primarily rational. Instead, people form an opinion, especially about morality, intuitively, in their emotional center, and then turn to reason to justify that heartfelt opinion secondarily. What changes people’s minds, Haidt argues, isn’t really a change of mind; it’s a change of heart, usually by intersecting with personal stories that shift their current worldview by exposing them emotionally to another way of seeing a situation.

Moral foundations theory, which Haidt outlines in the book, assumes that communities of interest prioritize different constellations of moral values, with some mix of care/harm, fairness/cheating, loyalty/betrayal, authority/subversion, sanctity/degradation, and maybe liberty/oppression. Haidt (himself a self-professed progressive atheist) argues that progressives tend to keep their moral reasoning almost exclusively in the first two dimensions, while conservatives tend to use all of them in more of a balance. (Libertarians are a special breed, who in part sparked the addition of the sixth provisional value set.)

In trying to understand my friends who believe that the root cause of the current crisis is the tolerance of deviance from church teaching on sexuality (by which I don’t only mean openness to LGBT believers, but recognizing that that’s the key issue), what keeps coming up in my mind is an observation that they are driven by a deeply felt sensitivity to sanctity and degradation. At a very obvious level, this applies to a reaction to the idea of same-sex sexual relations at all by those who are offended by them; clearly, they would hold that same sex relations violate the sanctity of the divine design of human sexuality and signal the degradation of what sex was meant to be.

But, deeper than that, there’s a sense that what it means to be Christian is to seek sanctity and purity and to actively keep out all that degrades. The other elements are important – authority in determining purity, loyalty to that vision of sanctity, etc. But in this understanding, the Church is a fortress in a viciously antagonistic world, one that must be kept secure by keeping it pure, by keeping out those who by their identities would degrade it.

You could do a full-out Bible Study on Old and New Testament passages that underscore this point. I’m not going to, but I welcome those who want to. I’m just conceding that this is a narrative of what it means to be holy that extends back to the beginning of the Judeo-Christian tradition.

But it’s not the only narrative that can claim that heritage and power, and that may be the issue at play in a lot of the dissension we’re seeing today. What Pope Francis brought to his papacy was a different model of what it means to be Church (one echoed by his predecessor Saint Pope John XXIII and many others): Church as field hospital. Let me try to make that case:

One of the gifts of Catholicism is the lectionary – a break down of the Bible into chunks of Old Testament, Psalm, New Testament and Gospel passages that cycle you through most of the Bible every three years on Sundays and every two years on weekdays. Today, tomorrow, and any day, every Catholic Church in the world (pretty much) will read and reflect on the same set of readings, including at least one Gospel passage, one Psalm, and one other reading. These were set decades ago, so it’s not the case that a pastor wakes up, is struck by a particular thing, and goes to pick readings to underscore that thing. You have to play the cards that are dealt, and while that doesn’t cover the entire Bible, it covers most of it. So if you’re Catholic (or attend another Church that follows a common lectionary), you will hear over the course of time a broader lens of what’s in the Bible, I would argue, than if you are attending a Church in which a pastor picks one book at a time to go deep on. (Growing up in such a Church, I got a heavy dose of Pauline letters; less so the other stuff.)

I raise that to say, it is really, really hard to listen to Jesus’ exploits, both of word and deed, every single day without getting a clear sense that he was deeply subversive and intensely driven by care. Most of what He says, and most of what He does, centers around breaking a norm in order to show care and, even more subversive, actively include those who had been cast out as degrading, unsanctified. Widows and orphans, sure. Those afflicted by deformities and illnesses blamed on their sin or their parents, you bet. But lepers and bleeding women and Samaritans and Romans who were specifically declared unclean and degrading to observers of the Hebrew law of the time.

His subversive focus on care didn’t just undercut the sanctity/degradation and the authority/subversion realms. He violated fairness in what he said, all the time. The parable of the workers said forget paying people based on how hard they worked; shower them all with enough. The parable of the Prodigal Son becomes the parable of the Prodigal Father, who lets his son waste away half his inheritance on wine, women and song and then throws a feast to welcome him back, ticking off the older son who still clings to fairness and all-but-shouts “He’s cheating!” And, perhaps most uncomfortably, in his crucifixion and resurrection, he testifies that even the most malevolent harm can be transformed into loving care, not only for the sinless Son, but for the thief rightfully executed at his side.

In the light of that subversive ethos, this counternarrative of the Church says we are not called to be set apart from the hurting as a shining, exemplary, pure fortress on a hill; we are called to be a field hospital, choosing as Jesus did to go straight toward the margins, to actively embrace those that purity says you should keep at arm’s length, to overwhelm them with love and let yourself take on their stain in the process. One of the fundamental turning points in St. Francis of Assisi’s life doesn’t get as much play in the arts and legends as his taming wolves and preaching to birds. When he was younger, he was horrified by the lepers outside Assisi’s walls, reflecting the cultural norms and good hygiene. But in the process of his conversion, God confronted him with a leper who Francis finally saw not as an impurity or a threat but as a brother needing human touch. When Francis hugged the leper he had earlier scorned, it marked the turn toward sainthood. So are we called as Christians to love first those most scorned by our society, even those that make us go “Eww.” So says the Gospel writers. So says Francis of Assisi. So says the current pope, as imperfect as his example may prove to be.

I obviously have a rooting interest between these narratives, so I admit the bias. But it seems to me that our choice of vision is one of running away from sin or running toward love. Either way, you’re running; one direction is clean and cold, and the other is warm and messy. Like I said, I’ve made my choice based on the God I’ve encountered in Word, Spirit and Sacrament. But I also need to recognize that others hearing the same Word, participating in the same Sacrament, and receiving the same Spirit might be pulled in the other direction. (And the test I will offer – which life brings the most evidence of the fruits of the Spirit (love, joy, peace, patience, and the like) – might be a split decision or draw to a truly objective judge.)

As (almost) all of us react in horror to the thought that 16 years after US Catholic Bishops adopted a charter to protect children from sexual abuse, there remain thousands of cases (perhaps) that have never been reconciled, and a hierarchical culture of coverup, you notice that some people’s horror is a little different from others. The victims of abuse lose when we allow ourselves to obsess on those differences rather than the crimes from which there has been no repentance. But maybe if we understand how these divergent narratives of what the Church should be drive those differences, we can give them a nod of understanding and shrug them off enough to focus together on bringing care to the victims and justice to the wronged, and we can rebuild a Church that can hold together the tension of fortress and field hospital.

Advertisements

Miraculous Orbits and What to Do Next

I was reflecting this morning on the miracle of our planet’s orbit around the sun. Were our path any farther away from the heat of the sun, Earth would be too cold to harbor life as we know it. Were we any closer, we would all burn up from too much heat. And yet we are in this precious middle channel that offers the possibility of life.

This came to mind as I thought about the reaction of Catholics, myself included, to the unfolding story of ongoing cover ups by bishops and diocesan staff of sexual abuse by priests, which seems to get worse every day – partly in the lack of concrete responses from most of those in authority to the actual revelations of abuse and their cover ups, and partly in its devolution into a proxy battle for settling personal and ideological scores between conservative and progressive camps within the Church.

On the one hand, there is a temptation to ignore it all. Truthfully, the life of the Church is lived locally, and as awful as all this is, worship goes on, faith formation continues, service to those in need still happens, and as parishioners, this is where we really encounter our faith and our Church. So those who aren’t big on following the news don’t know much about the charges and counter-charges and even those of us who are aware can find it easier to act as if we don’t.

On the other hand, there is a temptation to get sucked into the vortex of anger, blame and animosity in ways that feed our sense of righteousness but aren’t directed toward resolving these issues and end up instead pulling us farther from the source of our faith, hope and love.

I am trying to surf the middle ground between helpless apathy and pointless rage. And here are the things that have been my guidestars; I encourage you to consider them as well.

  1. Double down on the actual practice of faith. It has been so inspiring to see many – both personal friends and public figures – responding to this awfulness by saying they are recommitting themselves to the essential elements of their Catholic faith. In essence, if the leaders of this institution are corrupt and have lost the centrality of the way of holiness through love of God and love of neighbor, than it’s a reminder to the rest of us to be all the more diligent in our pursuit of holiness. Whether you think of living your faith as a mix of prayer/study/action or a combination of worship/discipleship/community/service/witness or just applying a core focus on loving God, loving the people God puts in your way, and using what God gives you for Him, focusing on making yourself the best possible version of yourself is both key to preparing you to rebuild the Church and the only worthy goal to begin with. One way we risk “burning up” is by failing to look for ways of engaging that start with prayer and worship and end in an increase of the fruits of the Spirit – love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control – not only for you as an individual but for the Church as a whole.
  2. Do what you can do. If we focus only on cultivating our own garden of faith, nothing will ever change, and the future of the Church “freezes.” In the search to stay up to date, I have found myself getting buried in a morass of scapegoating, palace politics, and abstract online rage; thus the reminder to double down on the faith. But the Church has faced this sort of institutional rot before, and people stepped up to address it. People like Francis of Assisi, Teresa of Avila, Catherine of Siena. So what can Fred from Anytown do? Contact your bishop. Contact your diocese. Contact your pastor. Ask questions. Raise your concerns. Share your ideas. Tell your friends to do the same.  The key, I think, is in focusing your attention on those who can actually make changes to the way the Church operates, at the level where you can make a difference. I could be wrong, but I don’t expect the pope to listen to me, nor the head of the US Conference of Catholic Bishops. But my bishop? It’s not unreasonable to expect a fair hearing in my own diocese.

Don’t stop praying, but don’t stop pushing, either.

Did I ever tell you about that one time I faced a group of angry protesters?

This would have been back during the fight over the Affordable Care Act/Obamacare, which my organization supported on policy grounds. It was summer, and we were, like the foolishly idealistic policy wonks that we were, trying to educate our members about what was and wasn’t in this significant piece of health care legislation, explain the impact on the 50+ population we represented, and answer any questions or concerns that they had.

This was when the Tea Party really took off.

I was not the primary front man for most of these excursions, something for which I still experience some guilt. But there was one that was set up by a volunteer leader of ours in Volusia County that I was going to lead. He had done a great job of lining up a meeting space and because it was limited in size (and we had heard by this point that these sorts of events were drawing a bit of a crowd), we limited to members who made a reservation, and we had a full house. Some were pro-ACA, some were anti-Obamacare, some just had questions. So I hear. I never got in there.

So as we were setting up for the event, one of the community center’s staff members said, Hey, I think you should know there are some protesters outside with signs yelling stuff.

Let me not oversell this. They were about 20 in number, and they were angry, but they weren’t threatening anybody or calling anyone names or anything like that. But they were standing in the driveway of our building with signs yelling at cars coming in, and I though, man, that seems like a bad first impression for our members and any press who might be covering this thing.

So I checked with the center to see if they had a separate room where I could hold a listening session with them, just like the full-house one with our members. They really didn’t have another meeting room, but they had a little computer lab that would fit about that many people. That’ll have to do, I thought.

I commissioned my volunteer, who is still going strong in his 80s and once ran a medical school, to lead the main session and just have someone take notes of any questions we needed to get back to people on, and I invited the group of protesters inside to do a listening session with me. I explained (as they had already heard) that the main session was full, but I said they’d have my full attention this way, and look, it’s summer in Volusia County, it’s hot. Wouldn’t you rather sit in air conditioning and stand outside while everyone else is inside a room where they can’t even see you?

Thank God for Florida’s humid heat.

So once the group got settled and I set up at the “front” of the room (the farthest from the door), I said, look, we can do this whatever way works best for you, but here’s my suggestion. I was going to talk through with that other group why our organization has the position we do on this thing and then take any questions or concerns they had and do my best to answer them while also taking note so I could let the folks in DC know what people were asking about and what they were worried about. Would something like that work? They clearly hadn’t scenario planned this, but they couldn’t figure out was unfair or sneak about it, so they said, sure, provided I guarantee I’d listen and that I’d report everything they said. I promised I would. Plus, they were between me and the door, so I wasn’t going anywhere.

Our session was longer than the other group’s session; I’d have to go back to my notes at the time. One thing I learned quick, which was the only really sneaky thing I did, was that I needed someone else to take notes on their questions or concerns so I could focus on listening to them and responding while knowing someone else would capture what they wanted to be sure I reported back. They understood that, and I pointed out that they thereby controlled the record for the event that I’d report back. So I deputized one of their unofficial leaders as the reporter, which she liked, they liked, and I liked too…because she was the one who kept interrupting me. Once she had to take notes, it didn’t quiet her down all the way, but it did slow her down enough that I could at least finish a thought. So I guess that was sneaky.

So I explained what we liked about the bill and what we thought it would do and what we didn’t think it would do and what we didn’t like about it. I explained why we thought the pros outweighed the cons. But mostly, I listened. I made sure I understood their concern, made sure they understood that I understood, made sure our reporter understood too, and I gave my best answer as someone who knew the bill pretty well.

I won’t say it was fun, per se. But it was kind of a game, as they would try to get themselves mad about some part or another only to defuse them with calmness, kindness, patience, and a willingness to listen. By the end, the group that had come in convinced I was the mouthpiece of an organization they hated as evil and corrupt had moved to a point where they thought we were…well, wrong, and maybe stupid and naive, and maybe still secretly corrupt a little, but generally nice people.

I’m not saying that would work today. But it could. And when I hear that there is a Fred Rogers movie out, and that people are angrily protesting someone leaving a screening of that movie, this story somehow popped back in my head. I think none of us who were there in the summer of the ACA would ever imagine that those would be anything but a low water mark of civility in American discourse. We were wrong.

Pope Francis Blowback, Part 2: the George Will edition

This was a tough week. An idol of sorts got knocked off his pedestal, and really just about defenestrated.

When I was in seminary, I had to defend my honors thesis to a committee, which is nothing unusual. What was, in retrospect, funny, was that the highest compliment I got from the committee (other than that they passed me) was a statement from probably the most liberal member of the panel about my style: he said that I speak with a reasonableness, stability, a can’t-we-all-agree-that-this-is-common-sense-ness that he could only compare to conservative columnist George Will. It’s not that I set out to be like George Will, but I admired his style and his content a great deal, and I really appreciated the comparison.

Until this weekend, when the local paper printed the total hatchet job by Mr. Will on Pope Francis. 

It’s not at all disconcerting that Will disagreed with Francis. It’s that the George Will I remembered, the George Will I emulated, never resorted to cheap ad hominem attacks, because he could rationally lead you to his point of view. Not this time.

I will admit that I don’t read him as often now, so I can’t tell whether he has migrated toward this cheap and easy belittling of opponents along with the rest of the political pundit culture. But whether this was an off day or a slow decline, it hurts no less than watching Willie Mays in 1973 with the Mets. The Kid has lost more than a step when he resorts to name-calling. Sanctimonious? Shrill? Wooly? Vacuous? Will labels the pope with all four in the first two paragraphs alone. He tries to frame Francis for not footnoting the science behind his arguments (while coming from a position that belittles the consensus of the overwhelming majority of relevant scientists). He then takes potshots at the Catholic Church and equates the pope’s positions as a dying brand trying to adopt the latest fad to maintain relevance. I absolutely honor Will’s right to dissent, but it still seems like a cheap shot. More, it seems much less than I would expect.

The George Will I looked up to not only wrote voluminously on baseball but made cogent points about the positions he advocated. He would have invited Pope Francis to consider the power of free-market capitalism to lift billions out of absolute poverty (a pitch he waves at and fouls off.) He would have shown not only that we have fought back successfully against environmental degradation but that a free market is essential to spur the sort of innovation it will take to do so this time (again, he gives just a feeble swing, which in the process acknowledges human agency in climate change). He would have invited Francis to embrace the greater lights of the Catholic tradition by encouraging systems that capitalize on the divine spirit that lies within our agency. Instead he dismisses him as a neo-Peronist. Strike three.

Say it ain’t so, George.

A Catholic Congressman is Boycotting Pope Francis. Let me count the reasons this saddens me.

As Pope Francis prepares to make history by becoming the first pope to address a joint session of Congress, one Congressman has made news by declaring he will boycott the pope’s visit, because the Congressman believes the pope is going to focus on climate change (which is probably a fair bet) instead of other Catholic social teachings.  The Congressman goes on to outline all the Catholic doctrines he believes the pope is ignoring – like defense of religious liberty, advocacy for Christian refugees, defense of life – and states he cannot as a good Catholic and American leader allow the pope pass on this misguided agenda. I linked to his words, so you can read them for yourselves.

American liberals are loving this. After years of being labeled “cafeteria Catholics” for picking and choosing what elements of church doctrine they chose to embrace, they are reveling in the Schadenfreude of turned tables. They are hoping for a counter-push in which the new pope demands conservative Catholics embrace the more liberal elements of Church teaching or be turned away at the Communion line. (Digression: has The Onion done the story on the Midwest archbishop who warns Francis not to come to communion in his diocese for risk of being spurned?)

Not me. Here are five reasons why the Congressman’s decision brings me nothing but sadness:

  1. He ignores the pope’s records on the issues he cites. If there has been a more vocal defender of persecuted Christians (and other religious minorities), or care for refugees, I can’t think of who it would be. He has been consistent in defending the Catholic defense of life from conception to natural death, and I would be shocked if, during his discussion of the”throwaway culture” of the developed world he didn’t clearly reference the unborn and unwanted in multiple settings. To object on grounds that he hasn’t done enough on those issues requires a willful ignorance or a concerning lack of information.
  2. He ignores the continuity of Francis’ statements with Church teaching. If he read even just my blog, he would know that Francis’ encyclical actually plows very little new ground.
  3. He missed the real issue. I mean, I know climate change is the hot button, but Francis will say much more about inequality and the defense of the poor. Which, again, draws on doctrine central to Catholic teaching since at least 1891. If you’re going to boycott a pope, it seems like you ought to do it based on his primary disagreement with your policy, not a down-ballot issue. (More on this in the next post.)
  4. He made the most common choice that leads us astray. Look, for all the “Jesus, meek and mild” images, there is a disconcerting theme that runs through the Gospel about how Jesus and His message ultimately divides us from each other by forcing us to choose if we are with Him or with something else. Whether you are a liberal Christian or a conservative Christian or a (insert descriptor here) Christian, the sword of the Gospel will eventually cut through the word you put before “Christian” and make you choose. “Which is it?” And most of us, at least those of us who live in societies where Christianity is socially acceptable, will probably choose the adjective over the noun at the end of the day. This should be to our shame, but we usually wrap it around us as a prophet’s mantle of defending the true faith, because the alternative is to be exposed as selfish, idolatrous, wrong. It’s not an epic fail but a depressingly mundane one. Gloat only if you are blind to the ways it could happen to you. Feel the sadness Jesus feels when the rich young ruler fails to answer the bell.
  5. Boycotting shows how dysfunctional our political culture is. We knew this, of course. But when a member of Congress proudly proclaims that the way he treats people he disagrees with is to boycott them, to intentionally and publicly refuse to engage them in an encounter (to use a common Francis term), it acknowledges painfully and publicly how horribly off-course our non-discourse is. Disagree all you want (more on that in the next post), but really? Turn your back on people you disagree with, even if they lead the Church you attend? How effective can a legislative body, or a nation, be that embraces that as a tactic for dialogue?

Here’s what I hope Pope Francis does. I hope he gives the speech he planned to, and then, as quietly as a pope in DC in the social media world can do, I hope he seeks out this Congressman, embraces him, and tells him that, even if he is not ready to embrace the entirety of truth, he can join the rest of us imperfect sinners, Francis included, in a journey together.

Punk’d by Christendom

Two posts tonight. This one a follow up on Friday’s post about Syrian refugees.

I noticed in the local paper that a letter to the editor called Pope Francis to task for being “naive”, first for his guidance to European parishes to accept refugees (in light of the trend among Muslim immigrants to European countries to, you know, remain Muslim), which he said would undermine Christian values. Second, the writer said Francis was naive to champion socialism over capitalism. 

It’s statements like these that make me wish, just a little bit, that Constantine hadn’t converted to Christianity in the 4th Century, because wrapping the trappings of power around the Gospel has well-nigh strangled it at many points.

First, worth noting, while Francis (like many of his predecessors) has been unstinting in his critique of capitalism, for its consumerism, its lack of appreciation for the common good and the environment, and its anti-life bias for profits over people, I don’t know of an instance in which he has claimed socialism is a better system. That’s an assumption made by dualists – those who can only hold two supposed opposites as options. In the history of Catholic social thought, there are long traditions of critique for the excesses of both. More than that, there is the fundamental critique that both systems are guilty of – they see humans as primarily economic actors.whether you subscribe to the socialist notion that we are first and foremost workers and producers, or the capitalist idea that we are primarily consumers and owners, both systems sell humanity short by minimizing the primacy of our spiritual, social and communal nature. And as we create systems from either philosophy that reduce who we are to the economics of our existence, we ignore and neglect that which makes us fully human and can make us fully children of God. True love has no price tag, nor can it be managed by the State.

Is Francis naive about the refugee crisis? Should he be focused on protecting “Christian values” in Europe over welcoming those in dire need? I’m not sure how you can read the Gospels, but even more Paul’s letters, and even more than that John’s letters, without realizing that hospitality is the first Christian virtue. (To which I would add, if you read the Hebrew Bible, it’s pretty clear that we Christians inherited that from our Jewish forefathers.)

At the point at which you start arguing that “defending Christian values” required denying a key part of its Christianity’s core message, well, you might want to re-read the whole “deny yourself, pick up your cross, and follow me” part of the Gospels again. Because what you’re defending may be valuable, and it may be connected with Christendom, but it flies in the face of what Jesus taught his followers.

What to do about Syria, ISIS, Boko Haram…

When I got up yesterday morning, September 10th, I rewatched a video a friend had shared on Facebook that brought home for us Americans what the experience of a child in a place like Syria might be like.

Then I looked at the readings for the day, which included this:

Brothers and sisters:

Put on, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience, bearing with one another and forgiving one another, if one has a grievance against another; as the Lord has forgiven you, so must you also do.

And over all these put on love, that is, the bond of perfection.

And let the peace of Christ control your hearts, the peace into which you were also called in one Body.

And be thankful.

And this:

Jesus said to his disciples:

“To you who hear I say, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. To the person who strikes you on one cheek, offer the other one as well, and from the person who takes your cloak, do not withhold even your tunic.

And this:

love your enemies and do good to them

And this:

Stop judging and you will not be judged. Stop condemning and you will not be condemned. Forgive and you will be forgiven. Give and gifts will be given to you; a good measure, packed together, shaken down, and overflowing, will be poured into your lap. For the measure with which you measure will in return be measured out to you.

This, on the eve of 9/11.

We as a world seem to be stuck on whether to welcome refugees from places that are, literally, terrible places to live. Pope Francis has been consistent in urging the developed world to welcome refugees from Syria, Libya, and every other country whose situation is so unstable that residents feel their only hope is to flee. His exhortation this week for every Catholic parish in Europe to shelter at least one refugee made waves, mostly because Catholic Hungary and several other EU nations have been less than welcoming of would-be immigrants. But recall that his very first pastoral visit as pope was to the tiny island of Lampedusa, where he brought attention to the refugees and migrants who lost their lives there in a shipwreck trying to flee North African instability. While it took the image of a 3-year old Syrian to wake up America, Vatican Radio has been covering the refugee crisis from many angles since the beginning of Francis’ papacy. And while Americans may think the US immigration issue is completely different, I would not be in the least surprised if he argued otherwise in his upcoming visit to Congress.

So to those who would say it matters that the turmoil that drives some percentage of the migrants in Europe and most in the Americas isn’t physical violence but economic want, so what? (I suspect the pope will say something about economic inequality to Congress as well.) If what drives you into the hands of con-men and slave-traders and away from your family and community is poverty and starvation rather than bombs and thugs, what difference does it make? 

To those who balk because some, maybe most, of the immigrants are Muslims, so what? Recognize that the region racked by instability is predominantly Muslim, and the so-called Islamic State is not only not truly a state, but is every bit as barbaric toward the faithful followers of Islam who don’t hew to the perverse interpretations of the Koran that its leaders use to defend their barbarity. Of course they want out, too.

And to those who would claim that this is all a front, that the majority of those making the harrowing journey across back roads and wilderness into an undertaking future are actually jihadists seeking to infiltrate Europe and bring it down? Really?

What stumps me is not the refugee situation and our immediate response. What stumps me is how to stop it. Clearly, these regions need to be stabilized in a way that respects human rights and human development in ways that allow decent people to live and prosper in peace. How does that happen?

The Bible is of little help on this. Neither the Gospels nor Paul nor any other New Testament writer envisioned a scenario in which followers of Jesus would have political power.

History is of little help on this. While the world has defeated extremist ideologies in Europe through allied force, the military experience in the Middle East is different, and some of the sectional factions at odds have been fighting for millennia.

And what Jesus says in the Gospel of the day is the hardest message of all: You know those terrorists? The ones who profess death to America? He calls us to love them. 

What that looks like, and how we can love them while stopping the, from hurting others we love, I do not know. The only phrase that gives me a tangible place as an individual to go is this: pray for those who mistreat you. 

That we can do.