I wore a sweater this morning. A black V-neck, of thin-ish Merino wool, the kind I add to my inventory each year when the moths get last year’s and the new ones go on sale at Costco for about $20. It’s a magic price point.
I wore a sweater this morning, Aug. 25, 2019, around 9 a.m. EDT, at the Jersey Shore. The Weather Channel app said it was 63 degrees and cloudy; the breeze from the northeast had kicked up a bit and the flags were fluttering while the cattails were swaying.
I wore a sweater this morning until about noon, when the sun worked some of its magic and warmed anybody in its rays. Some of its magic, because the air never got past 69, and because the gusts kept jamming fat clouds between the sun and me. And because the wind was — ugh! — chilly.
It’s not sweater season, not at the Jersey Shore, not yet, even though Labor Day Weekend — next weekend! — drops like a guillotine on what people consider the summer.
We had a spring this year; we had a nice stretch of warming days that coaxed the blooms. But then we had monsoons that vexed backyard gardeners and wreaked havoc on their tomatoes, the official fruit of New Jersey (at least, I think it is).
The flawless lawn burned out in July and the crabgrass and goose grass are the only verdant, succulent leaves reaching toward the sun.
Which was feeble today. So I wore a sweater.
The equinox is about a month away. We’re coming into peak hurricane season. The ocean is tepid at last.
Please, Mama Nature: Let me leave the sweater in the drawer with the mothballs a little longer.
Jerseys with Eli, Foles, Simms, even Namath on them. Jeter’s No. 2; Mantle’s No. 7; Mariano’s and Jackie’s No. 42.
Maybe there’s a Sky Blue FC jacket in our closet, or whatever sneaker Steph Curry is endorsing these days.
Rock stars, movie stars, Broadway stars, maybe even politicians look down at us from the posters on our walls.
When the music is on, we crank it up.
When we play video games, we play loud.
When we’re at Madison Square Garden or MetLife Stadium, the digital display urges us to Get Fired Up.
And we do.
We don’t even need to be told, not really.
J-E-T-S! Jets! Jets! Jets!
Free Bird!
Victory dance!
In our culture, so obsessed with intense experiences, it only takes a spark to get us Fired Up.
Is that why so many of us are burnt out when it comes to Jesus?
“I have come to set the earth on fire, and how I wish it were already blazing!”
The tailgaters’ barbecues look pretty fiery.
The screams for Twenty-One Pilots sound pretty fierce.
Christians’ everyday lives? Maybe not so much.
Didn’t they used to say, “See how these Christians love one another”?
“Do you think that I have come to establish peace on the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division.”
Can we all agree that Tom Brady is the Greatest Of All Time? Of course not, but we can agree that an argument about it will be heated. Blazing, even.
Political arguments? Fiery. Especially as the Thanksgiving turkey is being carved.
Coke vs. Pepsi vs. Dew? Windmill vs. Max’s? Ford vs. Chevy? And does anybody even remember the notion of Mopar?
Whew.
Let’s take a breath for a second and pause to think: As I rattled off these trivial head-to-heads – and in the grand scheme of life, they really, really are trivial – as I rattled them off, did you hear yourself taking a side, picking your favorite? Maybe with a hint of passion? Maybe more than a hint?
It’s OK to have preferences; frankly, that’s the way God made us. We have senses, we have intellect to interpret what we sense, and our Creator gave us free will to let us choose among options.
We embrace what we choose. We get Fired Up. And when we’re Fired Up, and we disagree with someone, there is no peace between us. For a while, anyway.
It’s OK to have preferences; we know from Scripture that Jesus had special relationships with different disciples. He embraced the people for who they were and especially for how they used their God-given talents to get other people Fired Up about God’s kingdom.
So, what is this kingdom, this heavenly team whose jerseys everyone should be Fired Up about wearing? Why would Christ want to divide humanity, especially when we hear so often about unity?
And isn’t Jesus the Prince of Peace?
No Justice, No Peace.
Know Justice, Know Peace.
Throughout his ministry on Earth, and throughout his continuing ministry with us as his eyes and heart and hands, Christ divides the world into sheep and goats (and not the Tom Brady kind of GOAT). In St. Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus makes it clear that his preference is for all those who fed, clothed, housed, visited and comforted the least of his sisters and brothers. His preference is for charity in his name; his preference is for the justice that reduces the need for charity, the justice that brings true peace.
And we all know that God’s peace is active, interactive caring, not simply an absence of war.
This kingdom is possible; it can be here today. We have our roadmap. We have our marching orders.
Again, from St. Matthew:
“You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment. The second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments.”
To be certain, it’s a battle, and it would be simple to say it’s a war against evil. But that’s not only simple, it’s simplistic, because these days the real struggle is against indifference. It’s against laxity. It’s against shortsightedness.
It’s against misplaced priorities.
We get Fired Up for our star players and star singers and star politicians because they excite us, because we believe they offer us something meaningful in our lives.
How about someone who gave us his entire life? Who dedicated his life’s work to showing that peace is made of cooperation, and not by painting those people as Others to be feared and hated? Who in the end let his life be sacrificed unjustly so that justice could follow?
Who gave us his body and blood in the Eucharist to strengthen us, to renew us?
It’s not sweater season, not at the Jersey Shore, not yet, even though Labor Day Weekend — next weekend! — drops like a guillotine on what people consider the summer.
Can we all agree that Tom Brady is the Greatest Of All Time? Of course not, but we can agree that an argument about it will be heated. Blazing, even.