Wednesday, January 22, 2020

The Stories We Tell

Last night, I watched Disney's Robin Hood. We're talking the 1973 animated bunnies and foxes version, out of the vault because of Disney's new streaming service, not an adultier version. It was one of my favorites as a child, and I was home alone, so no one could object. I was not prepared for Robin Hood to launch political angst. Again, I watched the animated version with bunnies and foxes.

Yet, the villain hit a little too close to home. He's Prince John, made ruler of the land by deceit. The rightful King Richard is off fighting in the Crusades. He exploits the people through high taxes that buy them nothing; failure to pay lands them in jail. Prince John fills his coffers ever fuller and so enter Robin Hood, robbing from the rich to give to the poor. The scruffy lion version of Prince John is petulant most of the time. One of the movie's songs about him proclaims, "He throws an angry tantrum if he cannot have his way."

It reflected American politics a little too closely. Of course, it was easier in the cartoon version. There is a clear rightful ruler there, one who is good and benevolent. When he shows up, he returns wealth to the people, pardons Robin Hood for illegally doing the same, and imprisons the corrupt rulers. But here I set, knowing I'm in a country with a president elected because of Russian tampering with the election. I've read articles calling for a return to paper ballots in the last week because of this tampering.

The temper tantrums are frequent and public, thrown on Twitter and on camera. This same president passed a tax plan that literally takes money from the lowest earning populations and gives it to the wealthy. I just wish we had someone as effective as organizing a response as Robin Hood was.

And somehow, we've missed it. Or forgotten. Or something. Robin Hood is a deeply embedded story that has been around for centuries. Most people in the US would know something about the good guy who robs from the rich to give to the poor. The connection to our reality isn't even a big leap. It's a puddle jump at best. Yet, we've gotten ourselves into this mess and can't see a clear way out.

Maybe even more shocking is that my reaction was much the same when seeing a live production of A Christmas Carol a couple years ago. There was no subtlety in Dickens' story of a rich man exploiting a poor one, even cutting off access to healthcare. It's also one of the stories that is part of our culture. It's a Wonderful Life is surely another. How many stories of deadly dragons hoarding wealth do we have? Smaug isn't the only one by a long shot. I'm guessing someone better versed in pop culture could rattle off a dozen movies that remind us how bad it is to be a rich being who hoards wealth.

We don't even have to get to the Gospels, presumably also a deep part of our cultural story. There, Jesus said things like "If you wish to be perfect, go, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me." The man goes away grieving, because he had many possessions. (Matthew 19:21-22)

Jesus follows it up with, "Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God." (Matthew 19:24) Plenty of commentary tries to work around this strange, impossible saying. It's pretty helpful at face value. Rich is bad; it means you are hoarding resources beyond what you and your family could ever use. That's not what money is for.

If you've made it to my blog, you probably already know this. If you're offended I likened President Trump to Prince John, go watch the movie and then let's talk. Here's the thing I really want though: tell these stories. There's a whole realm of political discourse that won't get us anywhere, or at least we can't start there. We've proven that time and time again. We can start with the stories we know. We can start we the stories we learned as children, and the stories we tell our children. We can tell these stories more. We can remind adults of them. We can sit and ask why on earth acceptable for Jeff Bezos to be allowed to hoard wealth when refusing to pay workers' a living wage or provide benefits when Prince John is the hated bad guy.

For those of us who have been shaped by the Gospel, it's easier to see. But we can take this one bit of Gospel to the world in so many ways--and starving for these stories.

Thursday, January 16, 2020

That's Going to End Poorly

A couple of Sundays ago, one of our kids threw her brother's shoe up on the roof. If I had to guess, I think she learned a few weeks earlier about the ladder leading to the roof and curiosity got the better of her. She really wanted to go up on the roof. Obviously, throwing her brother's shoe up there meant a trip to roof for someone; she was working to tag along.

Well, it didn't go quite as she planned. By the time the shoe was on the room, all the people who know how to access the roof had gone home. (This is one of the bits of information that I choose not to know, in part because it is a straight ladder leading to a hatch that grants access. I learned in barn lofts long ago that I hate climbing straight ladders.) So her brother hopped to the car on his one shod foot. Not surprisingly, he had on his more functional pair of shoes, so getting the one from the roof was critical. I promised to work on getting the shoe down.

I texted one of the people who could easily climb up on the roof, asking his mercy in retrieving the shoe. He stopped by later that afternoon, and the shoe made its way back to its owner. I was very glad that I knew the person who retrieved it would at worst roll his eyes at the kid and likely laugh at the whole thing very soon.

When the following Sunday she came to apologize to me for the trouble she caused, I bent down and told her, "If you want to go on the roof, ask. It's much better than losing a shoe." She was sheepish, to say the least. And yet, I also have put out a request to see if a children's field trip to the roof could be a reality. It's a flat roof with a wall around it, about as safe a version of a roof as possible.

Some of that request is shaped the the profundity of the Lunar Baboon cartoon posted here. I generally find the comic pretty wonderful. But I am especially intrigued by this one. I can't help but think that we don't know what comes next, for the church or this child. We can make guesses though. A nine year old wanting to go to the roof now can lead to annoying circumstances for sure. But in the not too distant future, we could be really glad for a sixteen year old gladly venturing to the roof. Someone has to venture up there occasionally now; those someones could be really glad for someone younger to go up on the roof in another seven years.

Church is most always about playing the long game. It may be the only institution that welcomes people cradle to grave--and blesses both. We keep reminding people to practice Sabbath in a world driven by productivity. The Church doesn't ask you to go and serve at the food pantry in December because it's the holiday season; the Church asks you to go and serve at the food pantry in July when they're desperate for volunteers and December when they need someone there who knows the routine. And the Church asks you to do that this year, and next year, and the year after that. Asks is probably the wrong word. The Church echoes the voice of Jesus, reminding you to remember and care for the vulnerable. It's always there, calling back to something else.

So many things begin poorly that don't end up that way. The story of our faith is one of things beginning not so great with that whole donkey/manger bit and ending even worse if you stop too soon. That Saturday spent sure that Jesus was really most sincerely dead is a terrible ending; you just have to stick with it for the something better.

May we hope in things that begin poorly, because the truth is, only God knows how they're actually going to end.