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One of my heroes’ last name is Favre. Now
I know what some of you are thinking: “There he goes again!
It is time for one of Nelson’s cheddar cheese induced
boyhood stories of the Green and Gold of Green Bay being led
to victory by good old number 4, despite being down by three
touchdowns with three minutes to play on some sub-zero
December day on Lambeau Field’s frozen tundra. (Would
somebody please tell him it’s grass…it’s just grass!) Give
it a rest, preacher. We’ve heard it all before.”
It’s true. I am a fan of the three-time
league MVP quarterback of the Green Bay Packers, Brett Favre.
But when it comes to my heroes, this is not the Favre I am
talking about. No, I am talking about my new hero, Eddie
Favre. Eddie Favre, aged 52, is the mayor of the small town
of St. Louis Bay on Mississippi’s Gulf Coast. He is indeed a
distant cousin of Brett Favre (the greatest quarterback in
the history of the game), but that is not why I admire him.
The reason I admire Eddie Favre is because, for the past two
years, he has refused to wear pants. That’s right. For
almost 24 months, Eddie Favre goes everywhere and does
everything in his Bermuda shorts. He conducts city business
in his shorts. He attends weddings in his shorts. He met
with the governor in his shorts. Not even the President of
the United States could get Eddie Favre to wear pants. In
fact, when Mayor Favre accepted the president’s invitation
to the Annual Radio and Television Correspondents’
Association Dinner, he showed up at the White House wearing
a tuxedo top and his trademark black Bermudas.
So why does Favre refuse to wear long
pants? Because, like many of his constituents, he lost
everything but the clothes he was wearing when Hurricane
Katrina flattened Mississippi’s Gulf Coast. In the days that
followed, Eddie Favre decided to turn his misfortune into a
vow: He wouldn’t shed his Bermuda shorts until his city is
back on its feet. This vow to keep wearing his shorts get
him lots of stares, his fair share of ribbing, and the
privilege of being the butt of a lot of jokes—all of which
he gladly welcomes as long as it keeps a spotlight trained
on his city, which, before Katrina plowed ashore, was known
for beachfront summer homes, quaint shops and a thriving art
colony, but is now littered with bare concrete slabs where
homes once stood, boarded-up businesses and
government-issued trailer homes.
“Make us whole,” pleads Favre. “Until you
make us whole, I’m wearing short pants. Somebody is going to
get stuck with these ugly legs.” Eddie Favre’s shorts have
become a symbol—a symbol to remind him of the promises he
made to the people who elected him, as well as a symbol to
remind the rest of us that the work of rebuilding after
Katrina is far from over. But Favre and his clothing choices
are also symbolic of more than just the immediate conditions
of the citizens of the Gulf. This man and his shorts are a
symbol of what it means to keep your promises. They are a
symbol of standing up for what you believe in. They are a
symbol of those whose stories need to be told. And they are
a symbol that every society is ultimately judged by how it
takes care of its most vulnerable.
Symbols are important and symbols are
powerful. The dictionary defines symbols as objects,
characters, or other concrete representations of ideas,
concepts, or other abstractions. Or to put it another way, a
symbol is something visible that by association or
convention represents something else that is invisible.
Symbols evoke feeling and emotion. Symbols mold our behavior
and perception. We live in a world shaped by symbols, so
much so that we often don’t even notice their presence or
realize their effect on our lives.
Let’s look at a few examples. In our
country, a red octagon is a symbol that immediately shapes
our behavior: when we see it, we stop. It also evokes
feelings of caution and attentiveness to what is happening
around us. A simple red octagon carries a ton of symbolic
power in our country.
Likewise, if you are driving down any
highway in this country and see two golden arches up ahead,
suddenly your mouth starts to water and the car starts to
veer towards the exit until you’re placing an order for a
Big Mac, fries and large Diet Coke. (Okay, maybe that’s just
me…but you get the point.) The golden arches have become
synonymous with fast, cheap food. Go anywhere in the world
and when you see those two arches, you have a pretty good
idea of what you will find there.
Here is an example that really shows the
power of a symbol: a black swoosh. Immediately we think of
tennis shoes. But the Nike swoosh means something more to us
than just shoes. In fact, I will spend anywhere from $50 to
$70 more for a pair of tennis shoes if they have that iconic
symbol on their side. Am I spending that extra money because
I think I am getting a better quality shoe? Not necessarily.
I am willing to spend the extra money in order to get the
other things, the invisible things, that “the swoosh” is
supposed to deliver. The swoosh is supposed to help me be
like Mike. The swoosh is the iconic symbol of coolness, sex
appeal and athletic prowess. All of that comes from this
symbol. Much of our lives, both secular and sacred, are
organized around symbols. Make no mistake. Symbols are
powerful things.
Why all this talk about symbols and
symbolism? Because as we journey through this story of the
First Family of our faith, the story of Abraham and Sarah,
we come to the moment when a symbol takes center stage.
Remember the scene. Time continues to pass for Abe and
Sarah. God had promised that through them and their
offspring, God would create a whole new people, a chosen
people, a holy nation. Abraham and Sarah were called to
become the father and mother of the faith. Once again, the
only issue is that they don’t have any children, and you can
hardly be the father and mother of a whole nation of people
if you don’t have any children to start with. And with Abe
about to turn 100 and Sarah not too far behind, God’s
promise seems to be fading by the minute.
But just when Abe and Sarah are about to
give it all up, God appears to them and reaffirms the
promise he made to them. “Look here, Abe. I know what it
looks like, but we made a deal. We made a covenant. Before
it is all said and done, you will be the father of many,
many children. In fact, they will number more than all the
stars in the sky. Forever, for all eternity, they will be my
people…and I will be their God.”
The language used here is important. God
reminds Abraham and Sarah that they have entered into a
covenant. Covenants are different than contracts. Contracts
are only binding if both parties keep up their end of the
bargain. If one party violates the terms of the contract,
then the other party is no longer obligated to fulfill its
part of the agreement. Covenants are completely different.
Covenants are binding agreements between parties that remain
in effect even if one of the parties fails to live up to the
terms of the agreement. God enters into a covenant
relationship with Abraham. The agreement? For all of
eternity, Abraham and his descendants will be God’s people,
and God will be their God. That’s the deal from here on out.
If it was a contract, then anytime Abraham or his
descendants failed to live like God’s people, God could opt
out of the deal; God no longer had to be their God. But
that’s the thing about covenants. They are unconditionally
binding. It doesn’t matter how bad, or how often, Abraham,
Sarah, or any that came after them screwed things up. God
would never leave and God would never forsake them. God was
their God forever, and from here on out there was nothing
they could do about it. It was just the way things were.
This is important to remember. God is not
a contract God. God is a covenant God—a God who keeps his
promises, a God who has entered into a binding, eternal
relationship with humanity. There are no loopholes in the
deal. There is no fine print. God is our God and we are
God’s people. That’s the deal. It doesn’t matter how badly,
or how often, we don’t live like God’s people. God will
always be our God. God will never leave us or forsake us.
God is a covenant-making God, and covenants are eternally
binding.
So just when it seemed that all hope was
once again lost, just when it seemed that God had backed out
of his end of the deal, God returned to remind Abe and Sarah
that the promise was still in effect. They will give birth
to a whole nation of people. They will have that promised
child. They will be God’s people, and God will forever be
their God. And just so they won’t ever forget this promise,
just so they will always be reminded of the relationship God
has entered into with them, God asks Abraham to mark
himself, and all of his descendants, in a distinctive way.
The signifying mark of belonging to this new community and
trusting in this outrageous promise was for all of the men
to be circumcised. Circumcision became the symbolic reminder
of the covenant.
Here is where our earlier conversation
about symbols is important. Remember, symbols are visible
representations of something deeper and beyond the symbol
itself. This is so important because otherwise the
requirement of circumcision seems like a very strange,
painful and almost sadistic request. If the ritual act of
circumcision didn’t point to something deeper than the act
itself, then any God who would require such an act is a God
that probably shouldn’t be trusted.
So what deeper meaning is to be found in
the symbol of circumcision? The intimate, humbling, painful
and sacrificial nature of the act of circumcision points us
to the kind of relationship Abraham and his descendants were
supposed to have with God, with each other and with their
neighbors. These relationships were to be marked by
intimacy, humility and sacrificial, costly love. The outward
and physical act of circumcision is symbolic of an inward
and spiritual commitment. There are lots of occurrences
throughout the scriptures that serve to remind the faithful
of the deeper significance of the covenantal mark of
circumcision. The tenth chapter of Deuteronomy puts it like
this:
Yet the Lord set his affection on your
forefathers and loved them, and he chose you, their
descendants, above all the nations, as it is today.
Circumcise your hearts, therefore, and do not be
stiff-necked any longer. For the Lord your God is God of
gods and Lord of lords, the great God, mighty and awesome,
who shows no partiality and accepts no bribes. He defends
the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the
alien, giving him food and clothing. And you are to love
those who are aliens, for you yourselves were aliens in
Egypt.
Circumcise your hearts. Feed the hungry,
clothe the naked, defend the orphan and the widow. Love the
stranger in your midst. God hopes that the outward mark on
Abraham’s body will always represent the deeper, inward mark
upon his soul. Symbols should always point to something
beyond the symbol itself.
This is important to remember because
when the symbols and rituals we choose to represent our
faith lose their theological intent and vitality, when they
no longer point to some deeper meaning beyond themselves,
then they become empty of the power to transform our lives.
They become empty forms nurturing self-deception, or they
become instruments of oppression or conformity. And when our
symbols become empty forms, they immobilize rather than
empower.
So, as Christians, if the cross we wear
around our neck doesn’t represent a life of sacrificial,
self- giving love, then that cross is simply a piece of
religious jewelry.
And if the WWJD bracelet we wear around
our wrist isn’t matched by the kinds of things—the radical,
compassionate, grace-filled kinds of things—that Jesus would
actually do, then that bracelet is just a consumerist ploy
to get into our pocketbooks and wallets.
And if the little fish tacked to the
bumper of our cars isn’t a symbol that we belong to the
community that welcomes the poor, the vulnerable, the
outsider and the marginalized, then that little fish signals
that the church has become an exclusive social club open to
members only.
And if the little red ribbon pinned to
the lapels of our jackets doesn’t represent that we are
investing our time and our money to help end a global
epidemic that has already taken the lives of 20 million
people and has infected 42 million more, then that little
red ribbon is nothing more than a faddy fashion statement.
And if the bread we break and the cup we
share aren’t reflected in lives that are broken open and
poured out so that others might live, then Holy Communion is
nothing more than an empty and antiquated ritual.
So the question remains: what is it that
marks us as Christians? What are the marks that define us
and tell the world who we are? Is it the amount of scripture
we’ve memorized, or the ability to recite proper theology
and doctrine? Is it our perfect attendance at church? Is it
our keen sense of who the sinners are or our ability to
determine who is going to heaven and who isn’t? Is it our
ability to pass somebody’s litmus test on all the right
social issues? Or is what defines us something deeper?
I don’t know. I guess we could ask Jesus
to tell us what it is that is supposed to mark us as his
followers. Truth be told, I am not sure what he’d say. But I
bet he’d show us his hands. And I guess that would say it
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