“No Laughing Matter”

Internet image. 

A reflection on the death of Robin Williams 
(and a possible introduction to a sermon on Matthew 15:21-28) 
by Magdalena I. García

On August 11, 2014, Robin Williams, an American actor and comedian who had struggled with depression throughout his life, as well as  with cocaine and alcohol addiction, was found dead after committing suicide by hanging himself. Williams was 63, and he died at his home in Paradise Cay near the town of Tiburon, California.

His successful career included multiple awards and such acclaimed films as The World According to Garp (1982), Good Morning, Vietnam (1987), Dead Poets Society (1989), Awakenings (1990), The Fisher King (1991), and Good Will Hunting (1997), as well as financial successes such as Popeye (1980), Hook (1991), Aladdin (1992), Mrs. Doubtfire (1993), Jumanji (1995), The Birdcage (1996), Night at the Museum (2006), and Happy Feet (2006).[1]

On the morning after his tragic death, the word of this untimely loss was at the top of all newscasts. Newspaper headlines announced the tragedy, and reported progress on the investigation to establish the official cause of his death. Radio talk shows replayed old interviews with Williams, and hosted medical experts to discuss depression. Facebook was inundated with images of his life and expressions of collective mourning.

And yet, this outpouring of emotion, appropriate as it may be, raises questions about our society and its values. Why is it easier for us to be overcome with grief at the isolated death of a celebrity than at the daily killing of children and youth in our cities and in other parts of the world? Why is a death in Hollywood more important than one in a suburb of St. Louis, Missouri, or on the streets of Gaza? Why are some lives more valuable than others?

Robin Williams was a funny man, no doubt about that. But the questions raised by our reaction to his death are no laughing matter.

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[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robin_Williams

 

 

“I Feel the Force of the Wind” / “Siento la fuerza del viento”

Chicago's skyline seen from Lake Michigan on a stormy spring day. 
Perfil de Chicago visto desde el Lago Michigan en un día de tormenta primaveral.
Photo by the author / Foto de la autora

A reflection inspired by Peter’s great feat and the struggle of Hispanic Latin missions inside Anglosaxon denominations.

“But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, ‘Lord, save me!’”
- Matthew 14:30a (Common English Bible)

by Magdalena I. García

I feel the force of the wind

that scares me, that sinks me.

The wind of indifference,

when you fail to accept me as your sister.

The wind of rejection,

when you refuse to speak my language.

The wind of forgetfulness,

when you exclude me from your plans.

The wind of abandonment,

when you don’t invest in my development.

But in the midst of the storm,

when the waves cover me 
and the current drags me,

when the tide rises 
and I fear I’m drowning,

I feel the force of a different wind.
It’s the presence of the Living Breath
moving once again over the waters.
And it revives me and renews me
like a gentle breeze;
and it launches me and propels me

like a hurricane wind,

to announce that we can stand 
over the sea of injustice

and the ocean of evil

because the God of Life

holds our hand, 
invites us to trust,
and helps us to walk.

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“Siento la fuerza del viento”

Una reflexión inspirada en la hazaña de Pedro y la lucha de las misiones hispanolatinas dentro de las denominaciones anglosajonas.

“Pero al sentir la fuerza del viento, [Pedro] tuvo miedo y comenzó a hundirse. Entonces gritó: ‘¡Señor, sálvame!’”
- Mateo 14:30a (Reina Valera Contemporánea)

por Magdalena I. García

Siento la fuerza del viento

que me asusta, que me hunde.

El viento de la indiferencia

cuando no aceptas que soy tu hermana.

El viento del rechazo

cuando no quieres hablar mi idioma.

El viento del olvido

cuando no me incluyes en tus planes.

El viento del abandono

cuando no inviertes en mi desarrollo.

Pero en medio de la tormenta,

cuando las olas me cubren 
y la corriente me arrastra,

cuando la marea sube 
y temo que me ahogo,

siento la fuerza de un viento diferente.
Es la presencia del Soplo Viviente,
que se mueve de nuevo sobre las aguas.

Y me revive y me renueva 
cual brisa fresca;
y me lanza y me impulsa

cual viento huracanado,

para anunciar que podemos alzarnos 
sobre el mar de la injusticia

y el océano de la maldad

porque el Dios de la Vida

nos da la mano,
nos invita a confiar
y nos ayuda a caminar.

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“Send Them Away?” / “¿Les decimos que se vayan?”

The Five Thousand, Eularia Clarke (1914-1970), Oil, 1962
Methodist Collection of Modern Christian Art, No.6 

http://www.methodist.org.uk/static/artcollection/image5.htm

A reflection on Matthew 14:13-21

by Magdalena I. García

A desperate crowd follows Jesus

looking for healing,

and he has compassion on them.

Meanwhile the selfish disciples

are busy doing the math,

adding up the financial cost

of feeding so many mouths,

and they come up with a clever plan:

“Send them away...”

People of color come to the church

looking for community,

and the anti-racism committee embraces them.

Meanwhile the governing bodies

are busy doing the math,

adding up the denominational cost

of welcoming so many strangers,

and they defund inner-city ministries:

“Send them away...”

Unauthorized migrants travel up North

looking for hope,

and a greedy economy entraps them.

Meanwhile elected officials

are busy doing the math,

adding up the political cost

of legalizing so many workers,

and they delay the vote on immigration reform:

“Send them away...”

Unaccompanied minors cross the Southern US border

looking for safety,

and humanitarian groups advocate for them.

Meanwhile legislators from both parties

are busy doing the math,

adding up the social cost

of sheltering so many bodies,

and Congress fails to approve an aid plan:

“Send them away...”

Funny how things can get lost in translation,

so that even historic churches
that pride themselves on Biblical scholarship,

and an allegedly Christian nation
that prides itself on human rights,

end up echoing the calculating disciples,

and disregarding Jesus’ command:

“There’s no need to send them away.
You give them something to eat.”

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“¿Les decimos que se vayan?”

Una reflexión sobre Mateo 14:13-21

por Magdalena I. García 

Una multitud desesperada sigue a Jesús
en busca de sanidad
y él tiene compasión de ella.
Mientras tanto los discípulos egoístas
están ocupados sacando cuentas, 
sumando el costo financiero
de alimentar tantas bocas, 
y se les ocurre un plan ingenioso: 
“Diles que se vayan...”

Gente de color viene a la iglesia

en busca de comunidad,

y el comité de antirracismo la abraza.

Mientras tanto los cuerpos gobernantes

están ocupados sacando cuentas,

sumando el costo denominacional

de dar la bienvenida a tantos forasteros,

y dejan sin financiamiento los ministerios urbanos:

“Diles que se vayan...”

Migrantes desautorizados viajan rumbo al Norte

en busca de esperanza

y una economía avariciosa los atrapa.

Mientras tanto los oficiales electos

están ocupados sacando cuentas,

sumando el costo político

de legalizar a tantos trabajadores,

y retrasan el voto sobre la reforma migratoria:

“Diles que se vayan...”

Menores sin acompañante cruzan la frontera sur de EEUU

en busca de seguridad

y los grupos humanitarios abogan por ellos.

Mientras tanto los legisladores de ambos partidos

están ocupados sacando cuentas,

sumando el costo social

de albergar tantos cuerpos

y el congreso no se digna aprobar un plan de ayuda:

“Diles que se vayan...”

Curioso como los matices se pierden en la traducción,

de modo que incluso las iglesias históricas

que se enorgullecen por su erudición bíblica,

y una nación supuestamente cristiana

que hace alardes de proteger los derechos humanos,

resultan haciéndole eco a los discípulos calculadores

y desobedecen el mandato de Jesús:

“No es necesario decirles que se vayan.
Denles ustedes algo de comer”.

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