City Of God 20

Small is Beautiful. I think I still have Schumacher's eponymously titled famous book somewhere on my shelves, but I'm not sure now. The concept is beautiful. It squares nicely with the idea of the mustard seed parable, that smallest of all seeds that produces the huge mustard tree (more a big plant) that provides a home for the little songbirds. It also suggests Paul's opening address in his first letter to the Corinthians, where he writes that Christ's strength is made perfect in our human weakness. It summons to mind the very foundation of my Christian faith: that God deigned to come to us in human form, but born in the humblest of circumstances, a baby of poor parents and questionable paternity being born in a stable in the middle of the night in a foreign town. The same Jesus died in great humiliation, executed by the Romans with the approbation of the Jews, that most ignominious of deaths, crucifixion. This is the same Christian faith that was embraced by kings, princes and nations, and also horridly perverted and distorted by them and their crony priests: the crusades, the Inquisition, the debauchery of popes, and in our day the sexual abuse of children by priests and bishops and cardinals. The church never seems to get it right. This is the religion of slaves, as Simone Weil so eloquently stated. Christianity. The religion of Christ. This is the faith of poverty and marginalization. Of human frailness and human weakness. This is the fellowship of the rejected and the unwanted. We are the City of God. But we are not a church, not a building, nor an institution. We are not a chartered organization. Not all of us read or even believe the Bible. Not all of us are confessing or professed Christians. Yet we are all part of this city, this great unseen fellowship of suffering humanity. We are people of love and compassion, who love others. Even though we are fearful, we are not cowards. I have known this for a long time. We are Christ's presence in the world. We are the presence of God. We do not know who is not a member of this fellowship, but we know one another. Are we exclusive? No. we are always accepting membership. What makes us members? I don't think there is a church membership here. You will find in our midst all people and all kinds of people. We are not organized. We don't live together, but scattered throughout the earth. Some of us worship together, many worship alone. This is the closest I can come to naming or identifying us. It is the power of our powerlessness, the strength of our weakness and the wealth of our poverty that makes us rise above and overcome the scorn and insults of the many who hate us. In the great sorrow that we have known in our lives have sprung even greater rivers of joy. I remember a time when I thought of what it would be like to feed other people. Then I tried it, till my funds ran out. We were a community then. but then something miraculous happened. I found that even when I was very poor, I could still have enough to share with someone, if only a simple meal in my tiny room. I have always had enough, and there has always been something to share. I know this defies logic. But love is its own logic. This doesn't mean that I feed every beggar that I see on the street, but on occasion, yes, I can do this. I might do this more in the future, because really, the only thing that is different between them and me is they are sitting on the pavement and I'm walking. I still find it odd that I've never had to beg. I used to think it was because of pride. Now I'm not so sure. I do know this. We are all poor beggars, every last one of us. Even the angry West Side home owners with the angry signs festooning their lawns because they are wroth about being expected to contribute a little more of their largesse to the communal good. They don't appear to be grateful for their big beautiful homes, nor for the many other blessings that God has bestowed upon them. Maybe because they believe, erroneously, that God didn't give them anything. They did it all themselves. That is real poverty, Gentle Reader. Not those of us with little more than nothing, but those who have everything, and they are still miserable. "Tu no puedes comprar el viento; tu no puedes comprar el sol; tu no puedes comprar la lluvia; tu no puedes comprar el calor; tu no puedes comprar las nubes; tu no puedes comprar los colours; tu no puedes comprar mi alegria; tu no puedes comprar mis dolores...mi tierra no esta de venta." In English from the Spanish: you cannot buy the wind; you cannot buy the sun; you cannot by the rain; you cannot buy the heat; you cannot buy the clouds; you cannot buy the colours; you cannot buy my joy; you cannot by my sorrows...my land is not for sale."