Spittin’ in the wind, pissin’ in the wind, protestin’ in the wind. Call it what you want, but that’s what it felt like on a recent Sunday.
I was visiting the care facility where my parents live in Las Vegas, so I decided to join them at their church, hitching a ride in the medical transport van. I don’t adhere to a religion, so it’s hard to sit through any worship service. But this conservative Lutheran version was especially dissonant, like a cheese grater across my brain. Every element of the liturgy made me wince.
- Hymns that spoke of Jesus coming again in clouds of glory to gather only “the faithful.”
- Multiple promises of being in heaven rather than working to bring justice on earth.
- A unison confession of sin that magnified our abject condition apart from Jesus’s saving grace.
- The Apostle’s Creed, that patriarchal relic with its Trinitarian formula and insistence on superstitious miracles.
What tweaked me the most, however, was the sermon. I had foolishly hoped that the pastor might be hip, since I noticed the motorcycle boots he wore under his alb. It was clearly part of his drip. When I asked, “you ride?” he responded, “yep, it’s the only time I feel free.”
Then came his homily. Its central illustration came from a memorial service he’d attended for a teen who died of a drug overdose. There were two preachers that day. One railed about how the girl didn’t “know Jesus,” and that everyone in attendance should be forewarned about their own salvation. The other preacher was more magnanimous. He revealed a private conversation in which he discovered that the girl had indeed “accepted the Lord.”
That assurance rankled me even more!
I know I should have restrained myself. I chose to be there, live and let live, avoid the landmines of religion and politics. Yeah, yeah. But if there’s anything remaining from my former religious leanings, it’s that I’m a protestant, emphasis on protest.
I approached the pastor after the service.
“Do you mind if I share a reaction to your message?”
“Not at all,” he replied.
I calmed my voice. “Your own scripture says that God is love. God loved this girl before she was born, during every painful hour of her addiction, and even now in whatever awaits us after death. That’s true whether or not she followed your religious formula. Do you really believe that if she hadn’t accepted Jesus, she would be banished into darkness?”
His expression changed. His smile grew tighter. His eyes narrowed.
“Yes, God is love. And God gives us free will to either accept or reject the promises of Jesus.”
It was a standard feint, not a real answer, so I continued.
“On the cross, Jesus said ‘it is finished.’ That applies to all of humanity. It’s a love so inclusive that no human mind can fully understand it.”
His smile slipped further, frown lines forming on his brow.
“You must be a universalist,” he said.
And there it was. Spittin’ in the wind, pissin’ in the wind, protestin’ in the wind. Nothing I said would change his world view; nothing he said would alter mine. In this polarized world—with our moats of doctrine, politics, and privilege—hasn’t this become the norm?
When Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde recently exhorted Donald Trump to have mercy and understand the apprehension felt by many Americans, my friends and I applauded her bravery. Face to face, speaking truth to power. Social media blew up with her image, her words, and profile pics that proclaimed, “I’m with her.”
But Trump and his allies, encamped on el otro lado del rio, were unmoved. They demanded an apology, accusing Budde of being woke, radical left, and mannish.
Spittin’ in the wind, pissin’ in the wind, protestin’ in the wind. It’s the norm, and the fact that our online news streams are shaped by predatory AI only makes the problem worse. As Paul Simon said in The Boxer, “A man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest.”
(Flashback. On May 4, 1970, Allison Krause, a student at Kent State University, was one of four unarmed students shot and killed by soldiers of the Ohio Army National Guard. The shootings occurred as students protested against both the invasion of Cambodia and the National Guard presence on their campus. The day before her death, Krause observed a single lilac within the barrel of a guardsman’s gun. An officer ordered the soldier to remove it, and Krause caught the flower as it fell to the ground, stating, “Flowers are better than bullets.” This quote—inscribed on her gravestone—has become synonymous with her legacy of peace activism.)
Return to the present. The US continues to arm countries around the world, especially Israel as it carried out its genocide against the Palestinians. And Donald Trump threatens troop deployment to quell domestic demonstrations.
Can you hear the wind whistling, loud and clear?
Krin Van Tatenhove - Words & Images 