This weekend marks the second anniversary of our country’s involvement in the war in Iraq. It is also the beginning of holy week and I am struck by the timing. Ever since the peace of Constantine in the 4th century (look what they teach you in seminary) Christianity has struggled with being an accepted and mainstream religion. There is power is being a religion of resistance. A religion where the faithful are willing to go against the authorities because of their beliefs: they’re willing to risk death. We’ve lost that in Christianity. When it became a state religion it became something you just did. And, though we live in a country with no official religion, Christianity often still seems like something we just do. We are no longer a religion of resistance, we are a religion of status quo. 

How strange. Our gospel is not a gospel of status quo. If you’ve been reading this blog, or if you go back and read some of the entries, you know that I’ve been struggling with the ridiculousness of the gospel, the promises that are implausible, the miracles and the exhortations to do the impossible. The scriptures, Hebrew and Greek, are full of commands to go against what exists: to do the will of God no matter where you are or who you are. They are full of commands to do the impossible, to believe in the impossible, to live into the impossible. 

Just look at prophets: God made Hosea take a wife of whoredom who left him and he had to take her back; Ezekiel was made to eat a scroll full of lamentations and regret; Jonah was sent to a land to proclaim destruction and then God changes God’s mind and Jonah’s reputation is ruined; one prophet is not allowed to grieve, another not to marry, another made to lie on his side for 380 days. If these are not counter-cultural actions then I don’t know what are. 

And then we have Jesus. Jesus who bucked every kind of authority that existed. Ate with sinners, called fishermen to follow him, overthrew tables in the temple, worked on the Sabbath, and generally caused a ruckus. Jesus who lived through Holy Week, a week of betrayal and false trials and death. A Jesus who resisted even the confines of death and rose again. 

And yet often we live lives of least resistance. And for good reason. Life is hard enough all by itself, making it harder is . . . well . . . not intelligent. And our faith does urge self-care: we are cared for more than the birds or the flowers, Sabbath is made for our rest, but we are also called to take up the cross. Take up the cross. What a foul statement. Who wants to do that? Listen, taking up the cross might mean getting killed, or at least jailed or cold or uncomfortable or fired and what kind of stewardship of our lives is that? 

What is our religion these days? In his book, “Religion versus Religion,” Ali Shariati argues that religion is what we love the most, what we cling to. Do you cling to God? I don’t most days, if any days, and certainly rarely on the easy days. It’s easier to cling to my possessions, the things that make me me, or to my grades, or to my relationships. It’s no wonder the command to take up the cross is repulsive to me most days. 

I do not define myself primarily in relation to God. I am a good student, I am a daughter and a sister and a friend, and a girlfriend, I am someone who likes to write and read and listen to music, the list could go on. Of course I am a child of God, but that just goes without saying, and often without meaning. So to take up the cross, well that would mean giving up who I am. And I like who I am. I am someone of value, someone with gifts, someone who could make a difference, I’m not inclined to give up who I am, that seems silly: God made me who I am. 

Yet, the great religious leaders of the past century were ones for whom religion was defined by resistance. Martin Luther King, Jr. argued for example that the church must not merely be a thermometer of society and popular opinion. Rather, the church must be “a thermostat that transforms the [values] of society.” 

Oscar Romero argued that faith is about continual conversion: a continual turning toward God. Not perfection, but a continued attempt to follow God. He argued that it was the attempt that makes us disciples. 

Called to transform, called to turn again and again to God. Both imply that we change, we turn away from something. Jesus did it. He did everyday, and he did finally in his journey through Jerusalem to the cross. It is not an easy journey. It is not an easy turning. It must be done everyday. It wasn’t for Jesus, remember the Garden of Gethsemane? So chances are it won’t be easy for us. 

Call is a strange term and I think it too often gets associated with those in seminary or in the ministry. And, trust me, we talk about call A LOT in seminary. But, everyone is called. It may not be your profession, but you are called to something. You are here for a reason and you are called to live into that. And call is not a once in a lifetime kind of thing. We are continually called and our calling is continually changing. 

In addition to our individual calls, we are also collectively called. We are all called to live differently. To live for what we truly believe, not what is easiest or most convenient. Not what we can justify or rationalize or explain, but what we truly believe at our deepest core. We’re called to live out of that, no matter the consequences. 

This passage I’m living with for a sermon, Matthew 6, it says, don’t worry about your life or what you will eat or what you will drink or what you will wear. God knows what you need. Instead, consider the lilies of the field and strive for the kingdom of God. Pay attention, in other words. And strive for what you know is most important. It’s your calling. It’s our calling.