September 16, 2010

“Now when he saw the crowds, he went up on a mountainside and sat down. His disciples came to him, and he began to teach them saying: Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven….” (from the Sermon on the Mount in the Gospel of Matthew; also told in the Sermon on the Plain in the Gospel of Luke).

The gospels go on to tell us that those who mourn will be comforted, that the meek will inherit the earth, that those who hunger and thirst for righteousness will be filled, that the merciful will be shown mercy, that the pure in heart will see God, that the peacemakers will be called the sons (and daughters) of God, and that the righteous will live in the kingdom of heaven.

In the last few years we have all received too many of the messages that seem to fly as if they were witches through cyberspace, and we have witnessed more than we would choose of people who somehow believe that they are justified to stand in judgment and cast the metaphorical stone. Let’s face it—judging others is something most of us know first hand. But I am reminded that in the gospels, Jesus is recorded as having said, "If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone [at her]." (John 8:7) Some places today the stone is still very real. Even in those places, though, such utterly cruel behavior of human against human is not the sentiment of the majority, nor is it historically part of the faith roots of these places. It is instead an extremist corruption of these teachings. It is indeed a matter of power with its foot on the necks of those who feel powerless. In these places, fear reigns supreme.

Earlier in the summer I read an excessively long but nonetheless engaging novel set in the Carolinas in the late 17th century. Although according to documented history, trials of so-called witches were confined mostly to Puritan New England, nonetheless, accusations of witchcraft is at the heart of this story. Underlying these accusations is greed, playing on the fears of the masses. Fear was the weapon that dealt the blow, destroying lives in every way imaginable as people were falsely accused and condemned to die—in this story, to be burned at the stake. And in this story, all of this madness led to the death of the fledgling community where the plot unfolds.

In an article I read this morning, one writer calls forth the compassion that is at the heart of every God tradition. He has this to say about the absence of compassion as expressed in our judgment of one another: “Strangely enough, stoning for adultery isn't even mentioned in the Quran. The practice was common in the Middle East because it is the prescribed punishment in both the Jewish Torah and the Christian Bible in Leviticus 20:10 and Deuteronomy 22:22.

“Modern day Christians like to pretend otherwise, but Jesus didn't change that, either. In fact, he told his followers that every law on the books would remain there until the end of time.” ("Huffington Post", posted September 13, 2010, by Dr. David Liepert)

I just celebrated my 67th birthday on September 16. When a friend from Albuquerque called me the evening before to ask about my plans, all I could say is that they are simple. Early in the day I did 30 minutes on the treadmill at the gym 20-plus miles from this home in rural Leon County. I had to work at not letting either the right-of-center cable news channel that runs on both flat screen televisions in this gym or the too-loud claims of local “boys” about the “socialist direction” of our country spoil my modest workout. Later in the morning my sister, Joan, and I went “to town” 35 miles in a different direction with a list of things to-do. It was my list, and my sister did the driving. The outing ended with a lunch treat in glorious air conditioning, on a mid-September day that peaked out at 95 degrees. The night before I had said to my friend that the best birthday gift I could get is the temperatures dropping below 90 degrees. Somehow the persistent heat seems to make things seem a little worse than they actually might be. I’m waiting. I am waiting somewhat impatiently, but I know a change will come.

September 16, 2010—Normangee, Texas (September 17, 2010)
R. Harold Hollis