Martin Luther Translation

As the granddaughter of a Lutheran church organist that particular verse makes me uncomfortable. Through my very Lutheran confirmation experience, I know that Martin Luther advocated unwaveringly for the removal of that verse from the bible. And let me tell you, when I wrote, directed, and starred in a on stage drama that depicted the life of Luther in seventh grade, the language of uncertainty in faith alone was not included. If you are curious, I am positive that my mother still has a recording of this masterpiece -- that was only one point away from nationals, not that I am still bitter or anything.

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? I think this is one of the verses that reminds me of every time my mother has used my full name to address me. Or of any time anyone has ever messaged me the phrase, “we need to talk”. Suddenly, every thing I have and haven’t done in my life has been brought to the forefront of my consciousness and I am pretty sure that the

world is cascading in tiny chunks all around me. These situations and this verse often serve as a reminder that we are completely imperfect and definitely not invincible. They nudge us towards something greater, despite how horrifically terrifying that may be.

If you pick up the nearest Urban Abbey coffee mug, or really just look around this room long enough you will notice a quote that marks this space with intentionality. “Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, to all the people you can, as long as you ever can.”

I think these words are encouraging us to show up in our lives and in the lives of others. It’s sort of like John Wesley or whoever actually said this was saying “Seriously, friends. You have to actually do things. You can’t just sit there and expect to change the world.” Perhaps this is a more poetic and massively gentler version of the verse from James. The message is clear, however. Doing good requires us to do SOMETHING. Something beautiful and something intentional.

I went to youth gathering in Detroit last summer where we had a week long conversation about the action of rising up. It was there that I first understood that fiscal and social issues are closely tied. I learned that Detroit didn’t collapse solely because industrial irresponsibility, but was vulnerable to economic distress because of the undeniable racism that defined the very infrastructure of the city. I think Detroit has a pretty awful reputation of being the most dangerous and destructive city in the continental US. But let me tell you, the people of Detroit are so innovatively passionate about their city. Their culture of compassion and hospitality is part of Detroit’s DNA. They do good simply because it’s what they do.

While in Detroit, I learned that it’s important that we, as people who care tremendously about this world, show up. We have to show up to do all the good we can. We, as members of a global community, have to acknowledge the hard questions and bear the burdens of others. We, as people who witness systems of injustice every day, have to break the chains that bind the people who walk beside us. Clearly, you can’t do that passively. Discipleship, doing good, is an “all in” sort of thing.

I think that's what scares us about discipleship. Discipleship can’t be a part time job that exists only when we have time and are totally comfortable. In fact, I think a vital part of discipleship is the act of being wholly vulnerable. Discipleship is about showing up to bear the burdens of others and build bridges towards general betterness. In all the ways you can. As long as you ever can. Not because it is some sort of means to salvation, but because that is who we are as people of faith - as members of this organic and flawed global community.

I think that this nudge from the second chapter of James and call to action from John Wesley root this community and others with intention to do good with humble urgency.

It forces us to ask the question, “What am I doing”? What am I doing to bear the burdens of the hundred of homeless teenagers in Omaha? What I am doing to bear burdens of a growing population of growing families that can’t buy groceries AND make loan payments? What am I doing to break the chains that destruct the beautiful LGBTQ community? What am I doing to break the chains that bind our most vulnerable neighbors to the end of an assault rifle? What am I doing to break the chains that allow one in four young women to be sexually assaulted? What am I doing to build bridges for the growing population of Muslim Americans who often are not made to feel welcome? What am I doing to build bridges for countless people who have fallen victim to addiction? What am I

doing?

This question can make it really hard to think about James 2: 14-17. Can faith save us? I think that when we talk about doing good and engaging in “works”, we aren’t having a conversation about salvation or redemption. But about how we can care for our sisters and brothers because they are a part of God’s beautiful creation and we care for them because that is who we are. We are beloved children of God who do good because that is simply what we do.

My father religiously complains about the growing piles of little laundry in my home, but quietly and dutifully folds each of them after my siblings leave every day. Since I moved to the basement in middle school, it has been my responsibility to deal with my own clothes. Naturally that never happens until a mountain of dirty jeans avalanches into my bathroom and I am forced to spend an entire day nursing 12 loads of laundry. Two weeks ago, my father paused at the top of the stairs and collected my laundry from the disaster that is my basement bedroom. He ventured to uncharted territory to engage in his own personal labor of love.

He knows that first born daughter who he loves tremendously despite her lack of love for baseball is leaving in six weeks. He knows that we will soon go to our last lunch at the lake and he knows that he will soon drop me off in room 804 of Leonard Hall in NorthEast DC. Still, he labors on because he knows that as a father, this is his identity. He serves his daughter in a way that is accessible and meaningful to him. His world is falling around him and he serves because that is what he does. It is who he is.

I think the world can learn a lot from my humble dad and our little catastrophe. Despite and because of our busy, confusing lives, we serve. We stand to bear the burdens of our neighbors and break the chains of our sisters. We take action to build bridges and bring hope, because that is who we are. As people who care deeply about this messy world. As a community. As people of faith. As beloved children of God. We do all the good we can. By all the means we can. In all the ways we can. In all the places we can. To all the people we can. As long as we ever can.

May it be so.