The Irreverent Reverend

As a parish pastor this phrase used to irk the hell out of me. I thought it was some sort of cop-out to not get up on Sunday morning. Or maybe they were disgruntled former church members who discovered the church was just as human as any other institution. Perhaps their family did not go to church when they were growing up, so there was no established habit or denominational preference. Perhaps they were so wounded by a church they couldn’t imagine ever returning. Perhaps they saw no reason to affiliate with an institution on the cutting edge of obsolescence. Or maybe they were just plain fed up with the church having little or nothing to do with Jesus. Whatever the reason I filtered it through the lens of trying to grow the church I was serving, and these spiritual but not religious types were not helpful. They did, however, come to the church when they wanted to get married, have a child baptized or have a funeral for a loved one. And of course the church opened its arms in welcome. Mostly we never saw them again.

More and more people describe themselves as spiritual but not religious. People probably have varying definitions of what this means; but what is consistent is that, for the most part, they feel no need to participate in institutionalized religion. I get it. There isn’t a church on the planet that isn’t screwed up in some way, some more than others. The church is a human institution and as such all the frailties and foibles of human beings play out in the life of the church. It can be crazy-making.

As someone who served the church all my life, I can also attest to the fact that churches can be the most loving, faithful, inspirational communities in the world. Churches are the institution God chose to be Holy hands, feet and hearts at work in the world.  When the church can get out of its own way and actually do real mission and ministry, it is an amazing thing. As Margaret Mead said, “Never doubt that a small committed group of people can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.” If more churches were actually living the gospel, the world would be a very different place.

Now that I am six years into retirement, life has changed dramatically. I am an unintentional recluse. I belong to the church of my childhood, about 90 miles from where I live. I didn’t get custody of my local church in the divorce. My attendance at church is spotty at best. I do miss the communal singing, gathering at the communion table and fellowship with people I have known all my life. I believe there is a part of the Christian faith that can only be lived in community.

I never thought I would say it, but truth be told I am becoming spiritual but not religious. Not being able to attend church means I have to find other ways to nurture my spiritual life and ground myself in my faith. It has broadened my sense of worship and deepened my understanding that everything is holy.

It is a holy thing to watch vegetable blossoms turn into tomatoes, squash, beans and cucumbers. Watching the birds that find our backyard a haven of safety is an act of worship. I am struck silent in awe by the beauty of a summer day or the ferocity of a storm. I am inspired by the words of others who make me think differently about what it means to be a person of faith. I keep a journal and have quiet time every day. I listen to music that feeds my soul. I have a deeper appreciation for my tribe, that small group of people who show up no matter what, on whose fellowship I depend and through whose love I continue to grow. Many of them are also spiritual but not religious, but they embody the Christian faith in beautiful ways.

My heart is broken daily by the suffering, pain and hatred in the world. Watching the news is almost unbearable. Like many others I feel helpless to do anything to alleviate their suffering. All I can do is pray they will have some sense of the presence of the Holy to sustain them. I don’t pray for God to fix it. We don’t give God to-do lists. We humans messed it up; we are going to have to fix it. If I were younger and healthier I would be on a plane to work in the refugee camps, but alas that is not an option. What I can do is work to make my little part of the world a better place and live the love of Jesus as best I can. As the old saying goes, “If everyone swept in front of their own house the world would be a lot cleaner.”

Turns out, for the most part I am doing okay without the church. Whodathunkit? Surely I never did. My idea of what it means to be spiritual but not religious may be unique, or maybe not. It works for me and no one is more surprised than I.

It is widely believed that Jesus said it is more blessed to give than to receive. In truth there is no evidence of that in any of the gospels. Still it is an expression we have taken to heart. Whoever said it (widely believed to be Paul in Acts 20) neglected to mention that it is also a lot easier. Giving makes us feel good. Making meals for a sick friend or working for a charity gives a sense of satisfaction.

Giving also feeds our sense of independence. It demonstrates our ability to manage our own affairs and help others with our resources. Having our own house in order feeds the “rugged individualism” introduced by Herbert Hoover in the late 1920’s and early thirties. It is now woven into the warp and woof of our culture. There is no question it is easier to give than to receive regardless of whatever blessing may come our way as a result.

This perspective also means it is pretty hard to ask for help, or to need help. It can be seen as a sign of weakness, some indication we can’t manage our own affairs. For the most part we hate to be needy. Some say that being needy when accustomed to being totally independent is humbling. I’m not sure that is the right word. Merriam Webster Dictionary defines humbling as, “to lower someone’s dignity or importance.” While it may be a feeling we have when we are needy, in truth this definition is not helpful.

Asking for help or needing help in no way lowers one’s importance or dignity. It simply means life circumstances have changed. These changes may be temporary or permanent. Either way it has nothing to do with dignity or importance.

What lowers one’s dignity or importance is being made to feel shame for being needy, being “less than” or being marginalized. What erodes dignity is not having access to what one needs. In our culture access and importance are assigned by social status, economic resources, education, productivity and a host of other false categories.

Our importance is defined by being human and being made in the image of the Divine. It has nothing to do with what we do, what we have or what we need. It is all about who we are. A better definition of being humbled comes from my favorite apologist Frederick Buechner, “True humility doesn’t consist of thinking ill of yourself, but of not thinking of yourself much differently from the way you’d be apt to think of anybody else.”

Humility has nothing to do with neediness, ours or anyone else’s. Another way of thinking about neediness is as an expression of interdependence. Interdependence creates a framework for shared humanity. Interdependence assumes we will all take our turn at being needy. It also suggests we have some responsibility to others when they are needy.

Most of us have some remedial work to do when it comes to asking for help. Looking at our assumptions and values around neediness is a good place to start. We all stand on equal ground in the heart of the holy. It’s a good place to start.

Perfection: “noun, the condition, state, or quality of being free or as free as possible from all flaws or defects.” (Oxford Languages)

Perfectionism: noun, refusal to accept any standard short of perfection; “the need to be or appear to be perfect, or even to believe that it is possible to achieve perfection.…Perfectionism is not the same thing as striving to be our best. Perfection is not about healthy achievement and growth.” (GoodTherapy.org)

Perfection and perfectionism are two difficult words in the English language. The notion that we are able to be free from flaw or defect sets many people on a path of self-destruction in search of an unattainable goal. This is slipping over the line to perfectionism. After all, we are only mortal. This is the first bit of good news.

There is something to be said for striving to be our best, but that’s not the framework here. Surely every great stride in science, medicine, writing and all the arts have grown from the desire to be and do better. Watching the Olympics is a study in athletic excellence that pushes the human body to be its very best. Still, it is different from the pull of perfection that plagues and paralyzes so many.

There is a big hunk of religious baggage that attaches itself to the words perfect and perfectionism. In Matthew 5:48, these words are attributed to Jesus: “Be perfect as your Father in heaven is perfect.” As a kid I figured I was pretty much screwed as I had no chance of touching those words with a ten foot pole.

It wasn’t until I was in seminary that I learned that the translation of the Greek word to be “perfect” was complete garbage. I heaved a sigh of relief. Maybe I did have a better chance than a snowball in August. The jury was still out.

The verse should read, “Be complete, even as your Father in heaven is complete.” The verse is an invitation to wholeness.  Being complete begins with the assertion that we are made in the image of God and that we are most complete when we live in a defining relationship with God. It means a relationship that supersedes all other relationships. Gratefully this is not a task to be accomplished in a proscribed time frame, say a week from next Tuesday, but rather a life-long journey that centers and grounds the rest of life.

To say it is unfortunate that the translating fathers (and yes they were men) messed up this verse is an understatement. It contributes to so many followers seeing themselves as total failures who have no chance of being anything else. Being perfect may not  be one of the Big Ten, but being attributed to Jesus gives it a bit more clout than the average Joe muttering it under his breath on the way to his lunch break.

We tend to give the “words of Jesus” a whole lot of power, so it really sucks when people get them wrong. Jesus invites his followers to be complete, to be whole. It is nothing short of a wholesale transformation of our way of being in the world. And luckily we have the rest of our lives to live into the journey, knowing we will never fully attain it. This is one of those times when the goal is secondary to the journey. This is the next bit of good news.

We are invited into an eternal waltz with the Holy One where life is changed and reshaped as a result of the dance. It teaches us to love creation and treat it with reverence and respect. No more throwing trash out the window. Doing a better job caring for the few square feet of land entrusted to us for the time being. It means remembering that, as the old kids’ song goes, “All God’s Critters Got a Place in the Choir.” It means paying attention to Climate Change and so many other things. This dance means we see all of life and all of creation as holy and if that doesn’t change us, I don’t know what will.

The dance of relationship also changes how we look at one another. It means we have to dig deep down and rout out all the places where fear and prejudice and bias cause us to see others as “less than.” All the “isms” that separate us, all the judgements we pass on one another, all the socially constructed definitions of what is acceptable and what is not, need to go. All we need to know is that all people are created in the image of the divine. It is only through relationship that we look beyond what is presented to see the face of the holy within another.

God’s eternal love affair with humanity is nothing more and nothing less than an invitation to completeness. The dance doesn’t change God, it changes us–little by little, day by day from today until the day we draw our last breath. It is the most glorious and humbling dance we can do. And the best news of all is that it has nothing to do with being perfect. Put on your dancing shoes, the Divine awaits your entering the music that grounds the essence of life.     

When the word cancer is used in the same sentence as your name or the name of someone you love, it feels like you have purchased a one-way ticket to the land of the hopelessly screwed. It takes some doing to get your brain and being around the news. As the word spreads there are those who tell the story of their second cousin three times removed who had exactly the same thing. There are those who give you the pity-puppy-dog-eyes. Then there are those who assure that they “know just how we feel.” It’s all well-meaning and utterly unhelpful. All their efforts belong to the world of “after.”

After is what happens when you can’t “unknow” what you now know. After is the forever gone delusion of the end being “out there” somewhere on the more distant horizon. After is the Big Worry that goes with all the smaller worries that are part of a devastating and frightening diagnosis. After is everything that happens after you know.

I know this because Jean was recently diagnosed with cancer. Yes, her prognosis is excellent. Yes, she is in the best hands in the world, medically.

Still, I want before. Before is the time when we had the luxury of not thinking our worst thoughts and indulging our worst fears. Before is the time when we knew in a cognitive way that we are mortal but didn’t think about it much more than that. Before is the time when there was no feeling we had purchased a one way trip to the land of the hopelessly screwed.

I want before. I want the innocence and carefree moments that will never be again. Our lives are forever changed because from now on there will be scans and poking and prodding and bloodwork and doctor visits and all the things necessary to assure the disease has not returned.

As I was mulling all this over in the anxious and scared parts of my being, and as we talked about it and sometimes around it, it occurred to both of us that while everything has changed, nothing has changed.

We still practice the spiritual discipline of being present to the moment. We still trust in the Presence to guide us from where we are to whatever comes next. We still trust this is enough. It is the spiritual discipline of a lifetime to be truly present to the moment. The more we practice it, the less fear and anxiety rent space in our being.

Being present to the moment, even if the moment happens to suck, holds the promise of seeing the sacred in the midst of the fearful, the holy in the midst of the uncertain. It reinforces what I know in my bones; all we have is the present moment. It is the gateway to the peace that passes all understanding.

This peace is pure grace. It is not something we can will. It is not something we can wish for. It is not a fruit of believing all the “right” things or being “good enough.” It is simply a gift that comes when we live fully into the moment, no matter what the moment holds. It is a gift that comes when we hold on to the promise that we are ultimately in Good Hands. It is believing it will be okay, no matter how it turns out. I am not always in that head/heart space. When I am not, it is because I have allowed my fears and anxieties to run into the unknown and it is crazy making. But at the end of the day, I believe our lives are held by grace, that God is faithful because God can be nothing else, and that the bonds of unshakeable Holy love are the foundation on which all of life is built.

This has been true since time immortal. It is all the “before” I need.

A favorite old hymn to share:

Great is thy faithfulness,

God my Creator.

There is no shadow of turning with thee.

Thou changest not, thy compassions they fail not,

As thou hast been, thou forever wilt be.

Great is thy faithfulness, great is thy faithfulness

Morning by morning new mercies I see.

All I have needed thy hand has provided,

Great is thy faithfulness,

Lord unto me.

Listen Here

 

I look out the window a lot. It’s nothing new, I’ve been doing it most of my life. It’s not something I do out of boredom, perhaps with the exception of Mr. Kopel’s 10th grade algebra class. I look out the window because there is light or there is darkness. Both have its lessons.

 

When I was a kid, I would move the shade aside to peek out the window. Just after dawn the lake was like a mirror. Pine trees were reflected in the water; our old wooden row boat was painted on the surface of the water; it was magical to me. I would sneak downstairs and sit out on the porch. Gradually the light became brighter, the mirror image of the lake disappeared and another day had begun.

 

It’s how I learned about hope.

 

I’m not sure I knew how to name it at the time, but there was something profound touching my being as I watched night melt into day. Even on the cloudy days when I couldn’t see the sun, there was light. It fascinated me in my being, not just in my head. For millions of years this ball of fire has gifted its light to the earth. Day after day after day it shines, more predictable than just about anything else. 

 

Every morning the sun gently pushes down the night and tells it to wait its turn. Every evening the night reaches out to draw down the sun; it has waited its turn. This rhythm is a reminder to me that nothing lasts forever. It is an insight that holds great joy and great sadness.

 

In times marked by unbearable struggle, profound depression, catastrophic illness and severe injury, I look out the window and know that daylight will come. Nothing lasts forever. This isn’t some Polly-Ana crap that makes any of the pain less real or less devastating. It’s a reminder that I’m not in charge (always a newsflash, I keep forgetting). I don’t believe for a minute that God sent any of this junk into my life for some greater purpose. Let’s get that crappy theology out of the way right at the start.

 

Looking out the window at the light reminds me that I am not in charge and that’s okay. Actually, it’s a good thing. The rhythm of night and day ground me in a loving energy that is the very heart of the Divine. It is the best definition of hope I can think of. The steady unfolding of times to see and times not to see remind me that while I may be paralyzed by what is happening in the moment, it won’t last forever. I look out the window and see the light. I look out the window and see the dark. Neither lasts forever.

 

The dark is comforting in a different way than the light. It acknowledges the reality of whatever I am going through in the moment. And it doesn’t try and change it or fix it. It simply allows it to be. I grow weary of well-intentioned people who are all sunshine and light. They are the poster children for Annie’s theme song, “The Sun will come out tomorrow.” When the darkness is thick around me, let me be in the darkness. Come sit with me in the darkness. I know nothing lasts forever but it lasts for right now and hearing shallow platitudes is not helpful. Rare is the person who knows how to sit in the dark with another.

 

I look out the window. If it is light and the sun is shining I watch how the light dances on the trees and casts its shadows on everything that blocks its way. If it is night I look at the depth of darkness and listen for its comforting company. Sometimes I relate to the sunshine. Sometimes I relate to the darkness. When I am in the light, I am reminded that at some point darkness will come, and it will be okay. When it is dark, I know the light will come and it will be okay. Nothing lasts forever, and therein is my gift of hope.

On May 19^th I fell off the tailgate of my pickup truck. I broke both legs in multiple places and sustained severe soft tissue damage. After two surgeries and five days in Intensive Care I was transferred to a rehab facility where I spent another two-plus weeks. Thus, the Irreverent Reverend was missing in action for a few weeks; but I’m back, a little the worse for wear but back nonetheless.

Such accidents occasion reflection. For example, life can change in an instant. Exiting the tailgate of a pickup truck is something I have been doing all my life. This time it went horribly wrong. Sometimes life is what happens when you are making other plans.

Many well-meaning friends and healthcare workers were quick to state that, “everything happens for a reason.” They posited that this accident had some larger purpose in the eyes of the divine so that I might gain some kind of insight.

I don’t buy it for a minute. God did not send this to me as some sadistic lesson on _______; fill in the blank. God was not offering a cosmic commentary on my human experience in the hope that this clueless human would manage to get it, whatever “it” is. I think this makes God into a real creep.

On the other hand, neither did God intervene to save me from my klutziness.  No giant magic hands appeared to catch me and cradle me to the ground so I might avoid injury. I heard no trumpets signaling the suspension of the laws of gravity for my singular benefit. If God were to protect everyone from personal disaster, God would have quite a job—protecting little Jimmy from crashing on his bicycle or saving Mary from a rear end collision because she was looking at her phone. The opportunities for divine intervention to save people from themselves are endless. I dare say such suspension of the laws of nature would result in utter chaos around the globe.

Here’s the reason my accident happened: GRAVITY. It is Newton’s first law of motion. This law states that an object (my body) will remain in motion until acted on by a force (the driveway). As a result of such an outside force acting on the object in motion, the object’s movement in changed (stopped dead with a splat in the driveway).

There is no mystery here. It’s simply the law of gravity proving itself in a moment of klutziness and misstep.

Instead, God’s presence was revealed in countless other ways. Neighbors heard me screaming for help and came to my aid. One neighbor who is a nurse got a towel to rest my head on and helped me calm my breathing. Two other neighbors stayed by my side calling 911 and calling Jean to come home right away. They all stayed with me until the rescue came and Jean got home. Later, they returned and finished the job I had started when I fell. I only knew one of these neighbors, but in those moments they were the very face of God. In the ambulance I wept with gratitude for their presence and care, as well as for the ambulance staff who were comforting and encouraging. There were countless other epiphanies in the following days. The surgeon, nurses, aides, dietary and housekeeping staff were unfailingly kind and competent. Later in rehab I again encountered the very face of the divine in those who cared for and encouraged me to begin the first hesitant steps toward recovery.

Sometimes we are so busy looking for God in a burning bush we miss how God shows up in a glowing twig. Waiting for a manifestation of the divine in trumpets and fanfare, we can miss how the holy shows up in a handclasp and the still small voice of calm.

The notion of the earth as our mother has been around for ages. The earliest references reach back to Greek transcripts that date from the 12^th-13^th century BCE. These texts refer to earth as “maga” or “mother gaia.” The roots began with pre-Socratic philosophers and were strengthened by Aristotle.

Many cultures embrace the notion that “nature” has its own spirit and power separate from God. In Native American traditions earth mother is a feminine expression of the divine, a womb from which all of life emerges. This image holds great attraction for many as concern about the increasing degradation of the environment threatens the stability of the planet.

In the environmental movement sayings like, “care for your mother” are common. Mother earth or mother nature is seen as a reference to the environment as a whole. In typing this blog the auto correct prompted me to capitalize both mother and nature as if they had some divine status. Listening to the weather the other night, the meteorologist described a pattern of unsettled weather stretching into the following day as mother nature’s “moods.” The long history of likening the created order and its weather patterns to mother nature conjures an image of a housewife with PMS. It’s another way to make negative inferences about women and indirectly place blame for increasingly erratic weather patterns.

More importantly, however, it is really bad theology. The earth is NOT our mother. In the Judeo Christian tradition the earth is completely the generative activity of God. In Genesis 1, the world is created by the Word of God. It’s important to say that the creation narratives were never meant to be taken literally. Throughout the stories of the First Testament, it is clear the Hebrews borrowed stories from the cultures around them and added their unique theological perspective. Most importantly, that meant one God and one God alone who is the author and creator of all that is. To suggest that the earth has an identity separate from God comes dangerously close to a kind of polytheism that assigns the earth divine status separate from God. It is blasphemous.

Pantheism is a kind of polytheism that says everything is God. Panentheism is a monotheistic perspective that maintains that God is in everything because God is the creator of everything. All the created order bears the fingerprints of the Creator.

The earth is not a being alongside God that has its own generative power. In every way, the earth is subservient to God as a creation of God. It means that the earth is our sister. We stand on similar ground both literally and figuratively as creatures of the Creator.

Shifting our language to speak of the created order as God’s creation is an important first step. Creation is not an overtired, overworked, grumpy mother and housewife with a bad migraine and a case of PMS. The earth is our sister. We are made of the same stuff, dirt and stardust, water and light. Like every other living creature, we are planted and nurtured in the rhythms of life and take our place in the created order as stewards and caretakers.

This rich created order is the gift of God for the people of God. We are to be its stewards: holy gardeners who care for the earth. Biblically, to be a steward means to consciously use and manage all the resources God provides for the Glory of God and the betterment of creation. The central essence of the biblical world view of stewardship is managing everything God brings into the purview of humans in a manner that honors the Divine.

Working from home, attending endless Zoom meetings, distance learning for children, cleaning the house or apartment, cutting the grass, managing repairs, dealing with unemployment or underemployment, keeping the family safe from Covid, learning to live with the isolation; the list goes on and on. When it comes to the past year, normal is just a setting on the dryer.

 I will be the first one to admit that I don’t fully get it. I have little sense of the pressures that attend daily life in this time. As a retired person, the truth is my life didn’t change all that much during the pandemic. But I watched what went on around me in the lives of people I care about and all I could do was shake my head in wonder and feel my heart fill with compassion.

So I get it when Sunday morning rolls around and sleeping late wins out over going to church, whether in person or on YouTube. I get it when some quality time with the family eclipses sitting for yet another hour in front of an electronic screen. As a pastor, I also get the frustration of putting hours into creating a meaningful worship service and having only a few people show up, whether in person or virtually.

What gets lost in the shuffle, is that it is easy to forget that our souls need to be fed. That’s true whether we go to church or not. Sabbath time is moments of rest and recreation when we tend to being instead of doing. There is a reason we are called human beings and not human doings. We are more than the sum total of what we accomplish, or fail to accomplish.

Our primary identity rests in the truth that we are created by the Creator. We are creatures of the Divine. We join with all the created order as the beloved of God. Reminding ourselves of that for even a few minutes a day can make the day more tolerable. Honest.

I call it the five-minute Sabbath. It can come any time and in the midst of any moment. For example, you are stuck in traffic. It’s easy to get hot under the collar, lean on the horn or perhaps extend a certain digit as a way of blowing off steam. The truth is, when traffic stops us dead on the road, we have an opportunity to simply look around. Marvel at the miracle that is the modern automobile: the collection of bolts, nuts, screws, sheet metal and some magic that makes an engine run when you turn the key. People figured out how to do this. Spend a few minutes just thinking about the marvels of the human mind.

Or, look at the sky. Is it blue, gray, sunny or cloudy? Is it raining or snowing? Clouds are moisture suspended in the air. When we breathe out we exhale moisture (not just the virus that can kill people). All the water that has ever existed in the world since the beginning of time still exists. The moisture you exhale may contain water from Niagara Falls.  The options are endless. Spend a few moments paying attention to what is around you and let your thoughts take you where they will.

We are surrounded by wonder. Each person, even the ones that annoy the hell out of us, is a unique and unrepeatable individual bearing the image of the Divine. If we spent more time thinking about that and less time thinking about how they annoy us, we would be a lot calmer.

Taste your food. Most of us (me included) inhale our food, often while doing something else like watching TV or reading a book. Let the food dance on your tongue, even if it’s just a sandwich or something simple. Savor the flavors.

Sing along with the radio, even if you can’t carry a tune in a bushel basket. Feel the air as it flows over your vocal chords. Consider for a moment what a miracle it is that we can sing, speak and communicate. Enjoy the harmony and tune along with the words. There are only seven notes in a scale but they are put together in millions of ways to create every kind of music there is. Choose the music you like and ponder the talent that makes it possible.

There are countless ways to have a five-minute Sabbath. What they have in common is that they call us to pay complete attention to the moment and connect the moment to something larger than ourselves. And it is all holy. We are all creatures of the Divine and all that we create or observe in love connects us and others to the Divine, and in a mystical way to each other.

Life has more than its share of challenging moments in these days. While the end may be in sight, it is not here yet. A five minute Sabbath to ponder the moment you are in can transform all the other moments that come after it.

Oh yeah, don’t forget to breathe.

We have become accustomed to expecting the increased politicization of the Supreme Court. With six conservative Justices and three liberal Justices, decisions made along predictable lines are less and less of a surprise.

When the Court, however, ruled six/three in favor of an immigrant in danger of being deported, there was cause for surprise. The conservative block of Justices was split. Writing for the Court, Justice Neil Gorsuch was joined by fellow conservative Justices Clarence Thomas and Amy Coney Barrett, as well as the Court’s three liberal Justices. In dissent were conservative Justices Brett Kavanaugh, Chief Justice John Roberts and Samuel Alito.

The case focused on the plight of Augusto Niz-Chavez, a Guatemalan immigrant who entered the US illegally in 2005. One requirement of immigrants is that they must show they have lived in the United States at least ten years before applying legally for citizenship. On the surface Niz-Chavez met the requirements.

The argument that Niz-Chavez did not receive adequate notice of his deportation hearing was the heart of the case. The government sent a notice to Niz-Chavez in 2013. If it was deemed lawful, it would have stopped the clock ticking on his ten year residency locking it at eight years which is below the required ten years.

A technicality turned the court in favor of Niz-Chavez. In an article in The Hill John Kruzel wrote, “Specifically, the majority found… that federal officials must provide comprehensive notice of upcoming deportation hearings in a single document. The government’s failure to comply strictly with the requirement meant he had not been properly notified. At issue is the fact that Niz-Chavez received multiple letters, each with a portion of the information about his possible deportation.”

It is a decision that has huge implications for thousands of immigrants who have met the ten-year threshold but have received multiple documents giving portions of information about deportation. This decision allows them to legally apply for citizenship in the United States.

It is a hopeful sign that the Court did not split along predictable lines. It demonstrates that the High Court is able to think independently. This is no small thing when the Court is stacked with six conservative Justices and three liberal Justices. For the law to be evenly applied there must be equality of positions before the Court. The capacity to make decisions without undue influence from outside conservative or liberal influences is of utmost importance.

One of the concerns with the current composition of the court is how personal values and beliefs influence their decisions. During the confirmation hearings for Amy Coney Barrett, her conservative Catholic practices were of concern, particularly in relation to pro-choice issues. That she was able to think outside her conservative box gives some hope about the future of the court.

Many of the Court’s decisions go beyond the law and ask questions of moral import. How to treat immigrants justly is one of those questions. The law that was clarified in this decision is one such example of how Supreme Court decisions have moral implications.

The Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act of 1996 created the ten-year requirement for applying for legal status. A problem is that illegal immigrants who leave the country after ten years for any reason are not allowed to re-enter, even if an otherwise legal path to citizenship exists.  It leads to people staying in the US unlawfully for long periods of time and risking detection rather than uprooting their lives and being separated from their families (who are legal citizens) permanently.

The Court’s ruling last week can be viewed as a first step toward correcting the limitations of the 1996 law and creating more reasonable sanctions for those staying in the country illegally. Reforming the ten-year requirement for a legal path to citizenship could allow millions of undocumented immigrants to apply using the legal system. Codifying how notices for potential deportation are delivered is crucial. Specifying ways that those who have been here illegally for years can become legal residents levels the playing field in a system that is beyond broken, overworked, understaffed and underfunded.

It’s a small step, but it’s a start. Thanks to the Supreme Court for moving in the right direction. Keep up the good work.