Reflections on an Evening at Occupy Boston

Note: The purpose of this blog is not political debate. I have no desire to argue the merits of the Occupy movement. I am attempting to look at the movement in the same way I attempt to look at everything else - in light of the teachings of Christ. Let’s talk about that.

I am not an expert on the Occupy movement. I am not an expert on economic theory or practice. I am a pastor, and it was with a pastor’s heart and mind that I spent several hours on the weekend after Thanksgiving at the site of Occupy Boston. My son Luke, who had visited the encampment several times, was my guide. What I am writing here is my first attempt at theological reflection of that experience. That it has taken me ten days in order to get to this point is indicative of how significant this experience was to me. I needed time to ruminate on all I saw, heard, and learned.

First, for those who have not been to an Occupy site, there are several things you need to know. While I was only at Occupy Boston, my understanding is that there are similarities to other sites.

* Folks are there for a variety of reasons. As one person who is supportive of the cause told me, “There are some people here just to camp out and smoke pot.” That did not surprise me. When I was involved with anti-Vietnam War protests, there were some there for similar reasons. And when I was involved in anti-abortion protests, I knew one young man who was there to meet women. 

* There is age and educational diversity at the Occupy sites. I saw young adults, middle-aged, senior adults, and folks who, due to their homeless situation, made guessing their age difficult. We heard folks who could barely put sentences together - some likely due to the above-mentioned consumption of marijuana, but also because of a lack of education. I also heard literate, reflective, nuanced commentary by highly educated people with considerable experience in academics and monetary policy. Of course, this is Boston, where I have known people with doctorates working behind lunch counters.

* Occupy is far greater than simply those at the encampment. Most of the people who are supportive of the movement are staying at home, going to work and school, and connecting  through social media and Occupy events. The size of this support will become more obvious as Occupy transitions from the encampments to rallies and other protest events.

* It is understandable that the Occupy movement has not translated well when interpreted through traditional media. Their practice of “horizontal democracy” means there is not a single voice, a leader to offer soundbites for TV. Into this vacuum the news media grabs whatever it can, such as the video of the college student who wants his loans forgiven, or the scenes of inappropriate violence when the camps have been forcibly moved by the authorities. This no more fully represents the totality of the Occupy movement than was Penn State University accurately represented by the students who protested the firing of Paterno, or sports fans well represented by violence after a championship, or all police officers represented by a few who have treated Occupy participants with too much force.

For me, there were several valuable insights gained from spending time at the encampment. 

It seems the one thing that all those present in the camp had in common was a sense of disenfranchisement. They feel disconnected from the political and economic powers that seem to control their lives. They believe that the opportunities they were told are available to Americans are, in reality, available to only a few.  They believe the teaching that we can trust in corporations and institutions to make life better is a lie. I heard a conversation concerning the relationship between big business and government. “Remember, corporations are only responsible to make money for share-holders, not to do what’s best for the country. That’s the government’s job. But the government is only doing what’s best for the corporations!” While there is certainly room for disagreement, that statement gives you a sense of the perspective of many involved with Occupy. They are angry with the large corporations, but they feel betrayed by the government.

When we were at Occupy Boston, we listened to a time of “open mic,” when anyone could come up and speak. There were some literate and thoughtful statements, some folks sharing their personal stories, and some comments that were barely coherent. 

I thought to myself - what if I went up and took my turn at the mic, and told them who I am and what I do? What if I told them that I want to pray for them? What if I told them that I care about them, and that my church cares about them? My sense was - I would be rejected out of hand. As I listened to the speakers, I came to the realization that the church, or at least how the folks there understand the church, is part of the problem. Many of those involved with the Occupy movement believe that the church has hypocritically spoken the language of love and then lived it out in ways that only reached a few. We have spoken out with boldness about the evil of some sins, while being silent and even supportive - in their minds - of other sins. We have declared some people, even and especially some within the encampment, to be the enemy of God and the church - due to sexual identity and political perspective. We have given up our prophetic role that was beautifully spoken during the civil rights movement (albeit by only a minority of churches) and have become simply a voting bloc within the political process. It was my sense, as I stood there listening to the voices of the Occupy campers, that in my role as a pastor - as a person connected to the church - I am the enemy. I am part of the problem.

But what about my other role - my more important role? What about my life as a simple follower of Jesus? I not only think Jesus would be accepted and welcomed at Occupy; I think it is where Jesus would choose to be.

Those of us familiar with the life of Christ know that Jesus found acceptance with those in his society who were disenfranchised. They responded to his love and teachings in ways that the power brokers and comfortable of his day did not. They did not fit in with those who claimed to be connected to God, yet they found grace and acceptance at the feet of the One who is God. And they enjoyed the moments when Jesus spoke out against the political, economic and religious leaders who relegated them to the trash heap of society. 

So - if Jesus would be accepted in this place, and I would not be accepted as a leader of the church, what is the problem? Is the problem with them? Or is the problem with me?

Laughter and Sadness on the Second Monday in October

Every year, on the second Monday in October, I laugh. It is the celebration of Thanksgiving in Canada.

This is why I laugh.

For many years I had the privilege of serving at a Christian college. It was truly a blessing. And one of the most interesting, humorous and exasperating aspects of that job was attending the monthly  meetings of the faculty. (If you have ever been in such meetings, you know exactly what I am talking about.) 

Every year, the faculty would discuss the academic calendar. The conversation would involve when semesters should begin, end, and when breaks should take place. Some faculty would pull out their calculators, making sure that classes on some days had the same number of classroom minutes as classes on other days. It was all taken very seriously  - except by some folks, like me, who had no real interest in the topic and could sit back and enjoy the show. The debate illustrated the old joke that “academic fights are so bloody, because the stakes are so small.” 

Inevitably, at some point in the conversation, someone would raise the problem of the proximity between Thanksgiving break and the end of the semester. There simply was not enough classroom time between the two. This would lead - every year - to one of my esteemed colleagues (a person I greatly loved and respected) standing to address the faculty. She would make an impassioned plea that the answer to this problem is obvious: move Thanksgiving to October. “By celebrating Thanksgiving at the same time as the Canadians, it would solve this problem.”  There it was! My single favorite statement of the year. My single favorite statement of over 20 years of attending faculty meetings. And I could not help but laugh.

I loved that statement because it so clearly communicated the perspective that the college was not in the real world. We should be able to move holidays.  It never occurred to my dear colleague that this would be inconvenient to students, their families, and to the families of all of her colleagues. It never occurred to her that students, while enjoying the break on the second Monday in October, would still want the break on the fourth Thursday in November. We should be able to tell these students and their families when to celebrate a holiday because, after all, we were in the business of telling students how to think and what they didn’t know but needed to know. Connection to the real world simply is not our responsibility as a true liberal arts college. 

To be fair, the college never tried to change Thanksgiving to October. However, that is only because of the absurdity of the suggestion. But that absurdity hid the truth of the premise - we really do believe that we are an entity unto ourselves. We have a perspective on life and truth, and it is the responsibility of students to conform. We build the boxes of academic life, and it is up to students to fit into them or be tossed aside. We are the elite, and we are the arbiters of admission into our world. The real world of the student - from which they come, and to which they will return - is not the concern of the academic institution because those who live in the academic world are not really connected to that world at all. 

This perspective doesn’t fit with the teachings of Jesus Christ. Even if a college, or any other institution, calls itself  “Christian,” if it does not have room for those who are different, and who are trying to figure out how to make a difference in the “real world,” then it is not following Christ. Christ called us to go into that world - to be salt and light. Christ called us to touch the least and the outcasts, even those who could not possibly understand the value of a liberal arts education. 

I still see the value in Christian higher education. I still love and support the college I served for all those years. And it still angers me that some students - smart, gifted students - are not valued in such places because they do not fit into the boxes created by those who have lost touch with the radical ways of thinking and being that it takes to show people the grace, peace and love of God in the real world.

And I still laugh on the second Monday of October. 

Monday Morning Hypocrite

I have been overcome this week by the difference between the way I live and the way I want to live.  I listen to stories of friends who have lost their homes due to flood waters, who have lost family members due to disease and war, who have lost love due to sin. I nod, I pray, I say words of comfort - as is befitting someone assigned to this role. I believe all the words I say.

Yet in my life, I am paralyzed by fear over lesser things. My mind is filled with questions and doubts: "Will we have enough? Are they okay? What if I fail? What is next?"

Everyday I watch those who do not make claims of great faith live lives that demonstrate great faith. And I am humbled. I watch those whose lives have given them an emotional kick in the stomach that would leave me broken and huddled in the corner of some dark room, and yet they get up and go on and pour their lives out for others.

I do not doubt the love of God, or my salvation, or my calling, although I understand why folks doubt those things. Instead, I live every day with a sense of nagging disappointment in myself. By this point I thought I would be further along on the journey. I thought the insecurities of my adolescence would be a distant memory by now.

I know that in one sense this is a spiritual issue. There is an Enemy who desires to distract me from the work I am called to do. And I know that if I would only spend less time thinking about myself, and more about the God who loves me, it would be better. I know that.

And I know that God uses broken people to reach broken people.

Lord, forgive me for trying to pretend that I am greater than I really am. Forgive me for twisting and turning and perverting the faith so that it seems okay to hide our true selves from those with whom we are called to live in community. Lord, forgive me for making it seem, in words and actions, that I am anything other than a man still in need of a savior.

Lord, forgive me, a sinner.

Mother Teresa Had It Easy

Sometimes I think Mother Teresa had it easy.

Well, not really ... but in one way she did.

As she walked the streets of Calcutta, the pain and suffering were obvious. Dirty, broken, thrown-away people lying in the gutter. They were everywhere, and their bruises and sores were there for all to see.

It is more difficult in many places in America. Yes, there are those people whose pain is readily evident on the outside, if we are willing to go where they are. As one of my favorite songwriters wrote, “Will you go down to the bridge by the river and meet all the folks who call it home.” And if we are looking, we will see the beggars and thrown-away people on our streets.

But most of the hurting, broken people in our society, in our community, keep their bruises hidden. Their pain is not so easy to see. Many surround their lives with enough stuff - houses and cars and toys -  to hide who they really are. 

So I have just decided to believe - and try to act as if - everyone whom I meet is just as broken and bruised and cut and battered and sad and lonely and hurt and anxious and afraid and in need of love as I feel sometimes. I have decided to see them as they might look if their pain was clearly obvious on the outside. Because if we could see clearly, I believe we would see that the only explanation for all of the weird, strange, irrational, hurtful behaviors we see around us every day is that most of the people we meet are in a great deal of pain.

Lord, help me to see people the way you see them. 

Sometimes, I think Mother Teresa had it easy.

Extroverts, Introverts, and the First Week of College

I have enjoyed reading the Facebook updates from those young scholars who are starting the first year of college. Well, I’ve enjoyed reading some of them - those written by extroverts. Updates from introverts, if they write them at all, can be painful to read. You see, the first few weeks of college are paradise for extroverts. It’s all about meeting new groups of people, and participating in social activities designed to help you fit into a large group of other new people. It’s extrovert heaven, primarily because it is orchestrated by other extroverts - those college student development staff members and student government types who are in those roles and given this task because, well...they are “people persons.” In other words, they are extroverts. And all those new freshmen who write on Facebook about how wonderful college is and how much they love it ... after just 4 days: well, guess what - they love it because it hasn’t really started yet. 

These first few days of college life are completely divorced from what the academic side of higher education is all about. Oh sure, an occasional dean or provost tries to throw in a philosophical discussion here and there, but those are few and far between, and are always led by the most friendly and outgoing young professors and graduate assistants. They don’t let the majority of the faculty anywhere near the place and the faculty aren’t complaining.

In order to become a college professor, you have to spend thousands of hours working alone or in small groups, mostly in libraries and laboratories. You have to be comfortable focusing your attention on things most other people don’t care about - and you really only like to be around folks who are interested in exactly the same things you are interested in. You don’t like social gatherings where the goal is to meet as many new people as possible. You see, most college faculty are largely - in a much higher percentage than the population as a whole - introverts. And when they think back on their undergraduate experience, they remember that the first few weeks of their freshman year was the worst time of their entire college life.

So, if you are the parent of a new college student, and he or she is a bit overwhelmed by all the new people and by all the forced social interactions - and just the idea of walking into the dining hall is overwhelming - tell them to hang on. It gets better. In just a few days, they will settle into their classes, and the focus will not be on making friends, but on the intellectual tasks of the college experience. That is usually much more in the “sweet spot” of introverts. And they can find a few people who are interested in the deep conversations and activities in which introverts thrive.

Of course, walking into the dining hall will probably never be their favorite thing, and dorm life is not near as much fun for some as it is for others. But it gets better, especially if someone sends real mail,  and that mail includes brownies or an occasional check.

Fat Babies

I participate in several ongoing conversations with pastors from around the country. Most of the time we talk about spiritual blessings, sermon topics, theological complexities, and the practical aspects of pastoral ministry. The conversations, and the people, are a blessing.

And there are times when we share frustrations. One of the greatest, and one of the most common, pastoral frustration, is as old as the church itself. The Apostle Paul spoke of this frustration in 1Corinthians 3, and the author of Hebrews referred to it in Hebrews 5 - believers who continued in their immaturity, and who desired spiritual “milk” when they should have been ready for “meat.”

Should pastors respond to people at the point of their perceived need, ministering to them as the immature folks desire, which may in reality be encouraging and even enabling them (to use the popular psychological term)  to continue in their immaturity, or should they confront the immaturity and encourage them toward spiritual maturity - which could result in them leaving the church?

This answer seems simple - in the abstract. It’s like the parent who continues to treat the grown child as if they are still young, providing for all of their needs. What was appropriate and healthy parenting when the child was little is no longer healthy and appropriate - yet it can be difficult to stop. From the outside, for those who are not the parents, it seems simple - just stop enabling the immaturity and demand a change in behavior. But for those in the middle of it, it is more complicated. A fear of losing the child’s love and a broken relationship lead some families to continue in the dysfunction.

The immature believer - no  matter how long they have been in the church -  demands that everyone meet their needs. Every pastor is familiar with the person who constantly wants to be recognized, to be affirmed, who wants their needs met while not focusing on the needs of others. Parents who want the youth group to take care of THEIR kids, even to the exclusion of kids not in the church. Folks who keep score about how many times they are thanked, how many calls they get if they miss worship, how many times they are asked to lead. Folks who need a personal conversation with the pastor EVERY Sunday. And these folks let everyone know that their needs are not being met.

Pastors struggle with how to best address the increasing demands of needy people. When folks are new to the faith, new to the church, such needs are expected. When folks are at a difficult place in life’s journey, the church should come alongside them at their point of need. Yet when, as one pastor told me, a long-time member keeps track of how many people come over to greet her on Sunday morning, yet will not move to greet others, there is a spiritual maturity problem. And simply trying to do better next time to meet the wishes of this milk-drinking saint is a recipe for constant pastoral frustration. 

Which part is for you?

Today I was reading from my devotional (Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals), and read this quote from Frederick Buechner:

"The grace of God means something like: Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn't have been complete without you. Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid. I am with you. Nothing can ever separate us. It's for you I created the universe. I love you. There's only one catch. Like any other gift, the gift of grace can be yours only if you'll reach out and take it. Maybe being able to reach out and take it is a gift too." (from Wishful Thinking, 1973)


As I was reading, I began thinking of people in my life. I thought of a specific person for each statement.

Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn't have been complete without you.


Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid. I am with you.


Don't be afraid. I am with you. Nothing can ever separate us.


It's for you I created the universe. I love you. 


There's only one catch. Like any other gift, the gift of grace can be yours only if you'll reach out and take it.


Maybe being able to reach out and take it is a gift too.


I don't know if Buechner thought of it that way when he wrote it. Perhaps, in his mind, he wrote it as a complete thought, and would be offended if he knew I was breaking it up into little pieces - like the musician who doesn't want someone to listen to just one song on his album, because he wrote and recorded every song to be listened to with every other song. Or when I hear someone take a single sentence from one of my sermons or lectures and say, "That part spoke to me," and I want to say, "But I didn't mean it to be taken alone! If you do that everything will be out of balance. You have to take it all together or not at all!" Okay, I don't get that upset - I'm usually glad that someone got something out of what I say - but I am often concerned that when they take just one phrase and claim it as truth for them, they will miss something really important by removing it from the context.

We do this with scripture. We claim a verse or a passage, and make it ours - and claim it, not just as truth, but as TRUTH! Sometimes, there is great blessing there, but there is also danger. We may be tempted to build an entire belief system around one statement, and by removing the context, we miss the big picture -  the really important, big picture.

All that being said ...

I think it is okay, once in awhile, to do what I just did with Buechner's statement, and with other writings. It's okay to take a scripture passage, like Jeremiah 29, and knowing full well the historical and cultural context of the passage, still offer it to a friend as a gift from God for them, for today. It is even okay, occasionally, (and those of you who know me know how much this pains me to say), to take a passage like John 3 (You know - the passage that includes verse 3, the one about being "born again"- and that some folks say as long as you've banged your head on the altar at teen camp, well you can detour around everything Jesus said about how we are called to live, including and especially Jesus' hard teachings such as Matthew 5-7 )  and offer it as a gift from God, as a description of how our relationship with God may sometimes look and feel.

Once in awhile, we don't have to make sure we draw the big picture, we don't need to offer a complete, systematic theology. Just give a gift. A small gift. A gift that can be just the right words for today.

So, I want to invite you to go back and read the quote from Buechner. Which part is for you today? Which part is a gift for you?

Reach out and take it.