Ungrateful? No, Inappropriate.

A friend on Facebook posted the meme above today. It shows a child bending down to drink from a muddy and murky river. The caption reads, “Lord, if I’m ever ungrateful, forgive me.”

But something bothers me about the photo and caption.

I get why he posted it. He’s attempting to make a point about gratitude on this Thanksgiving week.

In one sense, I agree with the sentiment. Those of us who have plenty ought to be fully aware of the fact that there are millions of people in the world who are deprived of basic needs, including clean water. And we ought to be thankful that we don’t struggle to make ends meet.

Gratitude is about appreciating what one has, rather than lamenting what one doesn’t have. We are especially called to give thanks when we gather to celebrate with our families and friends this week.

Yet there is something fundamentally twisted and corrupt about this picture.

First of all, I am uncomfortable with the fact that there is a real human child in this photo. There is no way to know anything about where the picture was taken, who took it, and who the child is. If it’s a staged picture, then I am disturbed that somebody has faked the shot in order to make a point.

But if it’s a real-life situation, I’m bothered that a photographer took a picture of what is a truly desperate and dangerous moment. I want to know if the photographer approached the child after taking the picture and offered him or her a drink of clean water. I want to know if the photographer asked his or her permission to share the image with others. I want to know if the photographer profited in any way from the picture. If so, did the photographer share the profits with the child?

I’m uncomfortable with the fact that I have to refer to the child as only that — a child. I don’t know his or her name. The photo completely objectifies a precious human being, for the sake of making a point.

And what is the point being made?

That we should be grateful that we’re NOT LIKE THAT CHILD.

That’s what bothers me most. The caption tells us to give thanks to God that we have it better than others. And it attempts to shame us into this position of thankfulness by pointing out that there are people worse off than us.

Throughout my life, I’ve heard lots of people come back from mission trips and say things like, “I’m so glad I went to Far-Away-Third-World-Country because I realized how good I have it here at home, and I recognize that I need to be thankful for what I have and where I live.”

This line of talk has always bothered me. Because it makes mission about us, about “me.” I want to say in reply, “But what about them? In what way did you give hope to someone in despair? How did you feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, comfort the hurting? Did you give anyone a reason to be thankful for YOU?”

Another thing that bothers me about the picture is the fact that it’s a black child. I recognize that the fact that the child is black doesn’t necessarily mean the picture was taken on the continent of Africa, but it seems clear that this is what is implied. The image plays on a stereotyped idea of Africa as a continent of great poverty, need, and deprivation — and ends up confirming the stereotype.

However, we should never forget that the problem of clean drinking water is NOT merely a Third World problem; look at Flint, Michigan, where water supplies only became safe a few months ago, after several years of dangerous lead levels.

The worst thing about this picture? I can’t imagine Jesus would have responded with platitudes about being thankful.

No, if Jesus saw a picture like this, I believe his response would be something closer to this:

“What’s wrong with you people? Why don’t you make sure every child of mine has clean water to drink? How can you enjoy your Thanksgiving meal when kids are drinking disease?”

I know that’s not what any of us want to hear on Thanksgiving, but it’s the truth of the world we live in.

And the only way to live faithfully in this world is to maintain an attitude of gratitude while, at the same time, working to relieve the suffering of the world’s poor.

But let’s not attempt to make ourselves feel better by saying, “There’s always someone worse off than me — thank you, God!”

Jesus Sang the Blues

If you follow me on social media, you know that I am a big U2 fan, and have been for years. Bono, the lead singer of Irish rock group U2, once wrote an introduction to a special edition of the Book of Psalms in which he suggested that David was the original bluesman:

“At age 12, I was a fan of David. He felt familiar, like a pop star could feel familiar. The words of the psalms were as poetic as they were religious, and he was a star — a dramatic character, because before David could fulfill the prophecy and become the king of Israel, he had to take quite a beating. He was forced into exile and ended up in a cave in some no-name border town facing the collapse of his ego and abandonment by God. But this is where the soap opera got interesting. This is where David was said to have composed his first psalm — a blues. That’s what a lot of the psalms feel like to me — the blues. Man shouting at God — ‘My God, my God, why has thou forsaken me? Why art thou so far from helping me?’ (Psalm 22).”

As an art form, blues music fascinates me. I don’t listen to it all the time, but it is a very particular style that is suited to certain times and moods. I happen to think that it is especially appropriate during Lent.

That’s why seven years ago, when I was pastor of the contemporary service at FUMC Rowlett, I introduced a service called “Jesus Sang the Blues” which I debuted on Palm Sunday. Two years in a row, we celebrated this special service, in which our contemporary band played the blues, and we focused on the story of Jesus’ suffering.

I’m excited about unveiling the service here at Kessler Park UMC this Sunday. The 11:00 am service will be outdoors on the east lawn. We’ve set up a stage against the building, where the Pat Boyack Band will be playing a number of blues tunes in our service, including “Peace in the Valley” and “People Get Ready,” as well as the classic hymns, “Just a Closer Walk With Thee” and “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms.” (Pat Boyack is the husband of our office administrator, Yvonne.)

Why the blues on Palm Sunday? For one, Palm Sunday is also known as Passion Sunday, and it is liturgically appropriate to not only observe Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, but also Jesus’ suffering leading up to the crucifixion (known as the “passion”).

If you are one of those churchgoers who only attends Sunday worship, and not the special services throughout Holy Week, you could possibly go from Palm Sunday to Easter and never hear much about the pain that Jesus experienced on his final days. That would be unfortunate, because the death of Jesus is just as important as the resurrection of Jesus. To put it another way, you can’t really understand the joy of Easter unless you have also experienced the despair and hopelessness of Good Friday and Holy Saturday.

The point of observing “Jesus Sang the Blues” on Passion Sunday is to remind ourselves of Jesus’ vulnerability during the darkest days of his life. Jesus went through the complete range of difficult emotions on that last week — betrayal, abandonment, bitterness, torture, depression, and a bleak death on a cross. While hanging on that cross, he shouted a line from Psalm 22, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

That cry has been heard time and time again throughout history, from the victims of wars, the survivors of natural catastrophes, the oppressed and the poor. That cry has come to full expression in the writings of the prophets, the words of the poets, and the music of those who play and sing the blues.

When we see that Jesus sang the blues, then we come to the startling realization that Jesus has completely identified himself with the human situation. Jesus was truly one of us; and not just “one of us,” but one of the least. He was condemned, humiliated, cast aside, and marginalized.

Jesus suffered, too.

Jesus cried and shouted and protested his innocence, too.

Jesus railed against God, too.

All of that is true of Jesus, just as it is often true of me and you. Holy Week is not just about the suffering of Jesus, which was hardly unique; it’s about human suffering, and the ways in which we torment ourselves and each other.

Sometimes there’s nothing left to do but sing the blues …

(If you're not into the blues or not interested in worshipping outdoors, there will also be a traditional Palm Sunday service with Holy Communion in the church sanctuary at 8:30 am.)

Experiencing All of Holy Week

There’s a saying among pastors that you can’t get from Palm Sunday to Easter without going through Good Friday.

Believe me, there is a tendency among many American churches to jump from the parade-like quality of Palm Sunday straight to the glory of Easter morning, without ever delving into the messiness and horror of what actually happened that last week of Jesus’ life. We tend to be very uncomfortable with the blood and suffering; not only does Holy Week veer mightily close to our own pain, but it forces us to look upon a Jesus who was betrayed, battered, beaten, and executed.

No thanks, we tend to say. We’d rather imagine a resurrected, bright and shiny Jesus. We like winners!

But I don’t think the story of Jesus Christ has any power at all unless it is true that he experienced so much suffering. The entire point of the resurrection is that evil does not have the last word in our world, despite the enormous amount of evil that exists in the world.

A Jesus who did not face his own personal terror would have nothing hopeful to offer the people of the world who are terrorized by the threat of nuclear weapons. A Jesus who was not whipped and beaten would have nothing meaningful to say to a Congolese woman who was raped by rebel militiamen. A Jesus who did not die on a cross would mean absolutely nothing to a Syrian refugee whose father and three children had been killed by sarin gas.

This is not to say that Jesus’ suffering was unique; his pain was not any greater than any other. Instead, it was representative. It marks him as human, like the rest of us. He was one of us, a member of our race, a participant in our plight.

And what God did through Jesus was to herald a coming age in which humanity would be saved from the plight and plague of evil and wickedness. In God’s reign, tragedy will be transformed into beauty. Jesus’ death and resurrection are a kind of parable of what God is doing in the world — even today.

Frankly, the only way to encounter the fullness of Easter is to become immersed in all the events of Holy Week, to get in touch with Jesus’ suffering, as difficult as it might be.

That’s the reason we gather on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday for worship. We hear the rest of the story, the part that happens in-between Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday.

Another way to experience that part of the story is to walk the Stations of the Cross, which are now open and available in the sanctuary at Kessler Park UMC. The Stations of the Cross are an ancient spiritual practice of the Christian church, meant to imitate the journeys of early Christian pilgrims to the Holy Land, who retraced Jesus’ final steps on the way to Calvary.

There are fourteen stations, scattered throughout the sanctuary; each one represents a different moment in Jesus’ suffering and death. A booklet guides you to each station and offers a Scripture reading, reflection, question, and prayer. You are welcome to linger at each station as long as you like, and meditate on what it all means to you.

I walked the path this morning, and found myself marveling, once again, that Jesus had the courage and love to say of his persecutors, “Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they’re doing.”

These words would mean nothing at all if Jesus said them on the back of the donkey while entering Jerusalem; likewise, if he’d said them on his deathbed at a ripe old age, they would ring hollow and trite. Instead, the fact that he said it while he was hanging on the cross gives the phrase a force that challenges all the world’s evil.

At that moment, Jesus truly overcame the horror of humanity’s inhumanity. Jesus refused to be sucked into the cycle of vengeful violence and hate, and chose to forgive.

Confronted with such a love, our only response can be, “Lord, have mercy on us.”

The Stations of the Cross will be open for visitors on Thursday and Friday from 8:30 am to 9 pm, and on Saturday from 10 am to 1 pm.