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Exploring the intersection of sacred and secular.
I worked for my parents’ electrical service company in college. That knowledge has proved most valuable over the years, but not always how I expected.
My brother’s friend from high school, Brian, also worked for my parents, in the office as tech support and as a general trouble shooter.
Now, this is more ambiguous than it first appears. My best friend Brian also worked for my parents’ company and became a career electrician. My brother Brian also worked for our parents’ company during school breaks. While we were allowed to hire non-Brians, it was gently discouraged.
Brian — the first one — seemed determined to be an anachronism. I don’t mean determined, as in he decided to present himself as anachronistic. I mean determined as in fated to be a throwback to the attitudes one would associate with a work-a-day post-Depression era aspiring curmudgeon. Mainly fried, but not because he was from the South, his diet was what he called “anything that can be a vehicle for salt.” He was relatively thin but was on cholesterol and blood pressure medicine. The doctor told him to watch his sodium, which he did as he put it on his fries, yet his attitude implied he didn’t need a doctor to tell him what to do, so long as science could correct it.
Did I mention he was about twenty-three at the time?
Some people seem out of time because they are anachronisms of a bygone age, whether by intention or fate. Others seem out of time, not because they’re old, but because they have a quality of timelessness. In the same way that there’s a particular way of not caring that makes one seem trendy, there’s a way of caring that remains trendless-ly relevant precisely because their concerns are depressingly persistent.
The first time I remember seeing Bernie Sanders was when most of the world remembers seeing him for the first time. I don’t remember; he was just always there and always old.
He’s also a man out of time — not like Brian, and I’ll let you guess which one, but in that timeless way. When I hear him speak, his authenticity reflects that his concerns have always revolved around paying less for a can of beans, finding a sensible pair of gloves, and fixing the American health care system, damn it. His integrity feels out of step with the company he keeps, and he wears his curmudgeonly mantle well.
During the 2016 presidential election, Bernie had a moment that never really ended for many of us. He was speaking outside when a small bird landed on his podium. It’s an ineffable moment that no depth of campaign coffer can manufacture. It feels genuine, biblical in its symbology.
Juxtapose this with a man who made his career building cheap gold(ish) things, who began his campaign on an escalator with its gaudy gold(ish) gilding. Considering these images together, I’m reminded of Zechariah and Joash.
Obviously.
As I know you know, Joash assumed the throne in Jerusalem at only seven years old and reigned until ~800 BCE (thanks, Wikipedia!). He effectively had two eras in his forty-year reign. Jehoida, his advisor and priest, advised Joash to collect offerings as Moses instructed. Joash is known in this First Era for restoring and maintaining the temple; nothing else stands out enough to mention. From where I sit at this moment in history, that sounds glorious. Then Jehoida died.
The Fancy Folks waited what I’m certain was a reverent ten minutes before enacting a scene played out in kings’ chambers since time began, arriving with a humble request and opulent gifts borne by men with pointy, pointy swords. We don’t know precisely what they offered — perhaps a plane! Whatever the case, Jerusalem abandoned the temple and resumed worshiping gods whose temples, I presume, required less upkeep. And again, though we don’t know for certain, I imagine their humble request, followed by the opulent gift borne by men with pointy, pointy swords, was followed by a humble suggestion about who might be a worthy recipient of these savings.
Zechariah, Jehoida’s son, responded as prophets do. He went to the most powerful person in the land and said — in what is an admittedly gentle paraphrase — “HEY! This is bad and will end badly! Stop being so stupid!” The king responded as you might expect.
He ordered Zechariah to be murdered to death by stoning.
So what?
When someone turns what is holy into a spectacle, what was once valuable becomes basic, gaudy. When left to his own devices, Joash is generationally nouveau riche — the kind of guy who would gold plate an escalator. Leaders who need this sort of vainglorious notoriety are the most dangerous sort of fool. They mistake flattery for respect; faint praise for appreciation.
They’re just the kind to perceive a small bird perched on their podium as threatening because it might steal their spotlight.
Eric Wolf is a local Lutheran pastor, and he’d love to buy you a coffee, tea, or beverage of your choice to tell him about your faith, your ideas about meaning, or whatever “sacred stuff” means to you. Reach him at ericthelutheran@icloud!