An Article From "REFLECTIONS of the Living Hope Church" in the July, 2007 issue.

From the Pastor

Sicko

by Tim Sitterley

Anyone who knows me well knows that I'm not a fan of documentary filmmaker Michael Moore. So for me to admit that there might be actual merit in his current film Sicko takes a great deal of effort.

Let's face it, we all come to Michael Moore's films with our own established preconceptions, just as Moore arrives onscreen with his rather renowned baggage. For those who loathe his methods and politics, he is, as the great film critic Pauline Kael said, a peddler in "gonzo demagoguery." For those who celebrate his zealousness and guerilla tactics, he is a prophet, calling forth repentance in the public square.

While many would assume that in Sicko, Moore is out to slay the dragon of America's nearly 50 million uninsured citizens, he's not. It's about the millions of others who dutifully pay into their insurance each and every month, and when it comes time to draw upon that reserve, find themselves ensnarled in bureaucratic red tape. America currently ranks No. 38 in global health care—just behind Costa Rica and just above Slovenia. Touting the best medical care known to man, Americans are far from the healthiest people on the planet, nor do we have the longest life expectancies. There are third world countries with lower infant mortality rates than the United States.

In Sicko there is the man who cuts off two of his fingers and was told he had only enough money to choose one to be reattached. There is the woman who was charged for an unapproved ambulance ride after she was rescued unconscious from the scene of a car crash. There is the debt-ridden couple who now live in their daughter's basement because their insurance refuses to cover their cancer and heart treatments. There is the mother who was turned away from the hospital because she didn't have the right insurance. There are the disowned 9/11 rescue workers now suffering debilitating respiratory infections as a direct result of their heroic efforts at Ground Zero. There is the dazed patient dumped by her hospital at a homeless shelter because her insurance had run out.

Whatever your political leanings, Sicko will have you asking why, out of the top twenty most prosperous nations, only one—the United States—does not offer universal health care.

Interestingly enough, health care is not the only thing the US spends far more on than it gets in return. In 2004 the American people contributed over 144 billion (yes, billion) dollars to churches and charitable church-sponsored organizations. Yet in that same year over 20 million Americans left the church, citing as their primary reason, that the church was no longer relevant to the community surrounding it.

If the church is truly in the business of helping the spiritually sick, then we are doing a worse job than the healthcare industry. Christians are dying in the pews in record numbers, and our unwillingness to invest outside our walls is turning those most in need from our doors by the thousands. And judging from our divorce, suicide, child abuse and substance abuse rates, we don't even have a clue how to practice spiritual preventative medicine.

Yes, universal health care is something we should probably pursue in this country. But as Christians, we should be far more concerned about ETERNAL health care. No one should be turned away from our door for lack of insurance, because the price of their coverage was paid in full, two thousand years ago on a cross.

And yes, as hard as it is for me to admit, that even applies to Michael Moore.



An Article From "REFLECTIONS of the Living Hope Church" in the June, 2007 issue.

From the Pastor

A Messy Spirituality

by Tim Sitterley

I called on the king, but he made me wait in his hall, and conducted like a man incapacitated for hospitality. There was a man in my neighborhood who lived in a hollow tree. His manners were truly regal. I should have done better had I called on him.

—— Henry David Thoreau, Walden

I conducted a funeral last week unlike any I had participated in before. But then, the man I spoke about was unlike any man I've dealt with before. The only word I could find to best describe the life of Glenn Romprey was "messy".

Glenn was a man who was both brilliant and insane — perceptive and manic. A man whose vision for the church was only overshadowed by his struggle with mental illness. Glenn saw clearly past the trappings of "Churchianity" to what the church could be, and as a result, he made those of us with the job of tending the flock very nervous.

Glenn is at peace now, and the church can rest a little easier as well. But the attitudes Glenn expressed in the following poem are still issues facing those in leadership today. I know the pastor Jack he speaks of, and I've had the chance to share communion with Josh.

And all too often I have asked myself if I'm part of the problem or part of the solution. Men like Glenn Romprey have a way of creating that kind of uneasiness.

Church Without Walls

by Glenn Romprey
(October 3, 1964 - May 6, 2007)

"A church without walls,"
I said to the Rev,
Who purchased my burger,
some fries, and a coke ...
It must have been winter
some several years back;
I was out on a lunch date
with dear Pastor Jack.
His dream was quite big,
and kind were his lips
When he asked me this question
between thoughtful sips:
"Glenn, I care for the homeless
- I actually do.
I'd like them to come
and fill up my pew.
I'd like to build a new church,
you see;
One for the poor
to come and hear me."
I said to the Rev
- with no thought at all -
YOU NEED TO BUILD A
CHURCH WITHOUT WALLS.

You put up a South wall
- they will not stay;
An East and a West wall
will keep them away;
Maybe a North wall
to hang your high cross;
But your four solid walls
will not save the lost!

He looked at me a bit aloof.
"That's right, Jack," I said,
"you can forget the roof!!
They've begged for a roof
for a hundred years.
You watched in the rain
with crocodile tears.
You let them come
sit down and dry -
Then ran for the exit,
when they came by!
For every drunk
in his personal Hades,
I hope you found mercy
for all the bag ladies.
It's too late for a roof, Rev.
Thanks for the lunch."
He looked at me thoughtful
and nodded a bunch.

A year had passed.
Jack moved up the street
To a wonderful church
where the wealthy folk meet.
Far up in the hills,
too far to walk,
Where theologians love to talk.
I visited them.
I ate their rich food.

But I was a stranger
and seemed kind of crude.
I smelled back then.
My clothes, they were old.
Yet into Jack's church,
I came walking - bold.
"Pastor Jack is busy, sir,
please wait by the wall" -
Knowing they'd rather
I'd not come at all.

Wonderful walls, painted up halls,
clean toilet stalls
inhabit each floor.
A fully stocked kitchen.
Lord, what a score!
So I fed myself well,
not knowing when
I'd ever get to eat there again.
And I had a few words
with dear Pastor Jack.
But I was crazy
and not welcome back. ...

Some years have now passed
and I've cleaned myself up -
I found me a church
with a communion cup.
I do not agree with all of their views.
I'm somewhat upset
that they rearranged pews!
We never sing my favorite hymn,
But, by and by,
I've become part of them.
I quit condemning their violet walls,
But every chance
I crowd in their halls
Homeless bums and smelly feet -
Those who need a place to eat.
Crazies, roughly pushed away;
They are the ones I want for to stay.

And now my church is heaven bent,
Forgiving men incontinent.
Chairs can be cleaned - carpets, too.
I love the homeless. How 'bout you?
They hide and they sleep
outside our wall.
I wish they saw no wall at all.
'Cept for Josh who likes our wall;
He found a place where he can crawl.
One night it plunged past 25.
I worried he would stay alive.
'Cause if he froze outside our wall,
would that impact my church at all?

Hmmm. I often think of Pastor Jack.
You think that he would take it back?
If you head up-class,
there you may find him.
Give him my love
- and then remind him -
No need to say my name at all.
Just whisper in his ear, "No Walls."


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