That Would Be Heavenly

In the gospel of Matthew, Jesus tells a story about a landowner who hires workers for his vineyard. He begins “the kingdom of heaven is like this,” and tells how the landowner finds the workers first thing in the morning in the town square, hires them for a set wage and off they go to work. At several other times during the day, he sees others who are looking for work, so he hires them, too.

When they get to the end of the day, he pays the last ones hired the same as the first ones hired. Those who worked the whole day grumble that the landowner is treating them all equally, though the others didn’t do as much work. The landowner replies that he is giving them what they agreed to and has chosen to give the others the same, it’s his right to do so. “Are you envious because I am generous?” he asks. And Jesus concludes by saying “so the last will be first, and the first will be last.”

Is this story about the generosity of God’s grace, that it’s truly for all regardless of circumstance? Could be. Is it a story about how those who receive the least from this life will be rewarded in the life to come? Sure, that’s another perspective. Jesus does begin the story by saying that this is what the kingdom of heaven is like. And, in the gospel, it does follow a story about Jesus meeting a rich young man and telling the disciples how hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of heaven. Maybe it is just about that heaven.

But Jesus uses the expression “the kingdom of heaven is like this” almost a dozen times in Matthew, a gospel in which Jesus begins his ministry by preaching “repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near.” A ministry in which he consistently shows us how we could move that heaven from near to here.

So, what if this is a story about here. And now. What if this is Jesus, being Jesus, addressing society’s structures and calling for just treatment for all. What if the landowners generosity is simply upending the standard of what we consider fair reward for work done and instead responding to basic human needs.

The landowner agrees to a certain day’s wage for the first workers. But then he finds others who are unemployed and looking for work. They’re not just sitting around or being lazy, there’s no mention of standards or specific skills, they need to work. They likely need to feed themselves, maybe even a family. They would need shelter, clothing, they might even need health care or education. Bring this story into a contemporary context and the needs are many. 

What if the landowner has simply decided to pay them what’s equitable. Not equal, not the same, but equitable, on the basis of what they need. Our needs can be very different, we all come from different places in life, but perhaps the landowner is simply trying to provide a basic level of support on the basis of need. All these workers needed a days wage. 

In telling the story, Jesus acknowledges we struggle with how we see each other. Put yourself in the sandals of those who worked all day and I bet you’d grumble, too. Overcoming systems and structures we’ve learned and lived in for so long is hard. But Jesus’ life ministry shows us how to see each other as all worthy of love, care and respect.

Perhaps when Jesus says “the last will be first, and the first will be last,” he doesn’t simply mean a one time inversion of the existing structure. After all, it’s a loop, isn’t it? As we live through this life, when the last become first, they must then become last because they’re first now and so on. Instead, maybe he means to draw our attention to equity, to something more level and balance, that we might learn and understand what each of us needs and offer that with respect and dignity, creating a community of caring. That would be heavenly.

Forgiveness is Hard

Forgiveness is hard. It can be easy enough to say the words “I forgive you,” but truly meaning it and living it out can be a challenge.

It’s clearly something that Jesus thinks is important in how we build relationships and, especially, how we reconcile broken ones. In the stories, it does seem to come so easily to Jesus and he makes it sound so simple, even in how often we might need to forgive. Remember how he responds to Peter asking how many times we need to forgive? He says “seventy times seven times,” or bible speak for pretty much as many times as it takes.

I wonder if that’s a true representation of how Jesus really handles forgiveness, or just the storyteller’s way of reinforcing Jesus’ nature as the perfect “Son of God,” something we’re never going to be.

But what would be the point of Jesus talking about forgiveness, showing us how important and meaningful it is, if he didn’t think we could do it? I’ve said it before and I’ll keep saying it, Jesus doesn’t have expectations for us or demand perfection. Jesus knows you’re perfectly you, just as you are, and there’s only one of you, so that’s enough. Jesus knows that we’re created “good,” like all living things, but also knows that this is something with which we’ll struggle. He also knows it’s something that’s part of that life-giving nature that moves us forward and builds - or re-builds - relationships.

When it comes to forgiveness, you have to allow yourself a little grace.

I don’t think that grace and forgiveness are the same thing, by the way. Grace, in a spiritual sense, is proactive. It’s going into the world with an open heart and mind, with love and compassion, and embracing life as it happens. It offers space for relationships to happen. Forgiveness is reactive. Something causes hurt or brokenness, especially of a relationship, and forgiveness is offered in response to it.

I think that’s where we can get tripped up by forgiveness. It’s offered in response to the hurt, not the baggage we weigh it down with. It should be unconditional and yet, we attach conditions. We expect an apology. We expect retribution. We expect compensation. We expect an ironclad guarantee that it, or anything like it, will not happen again. And we expect all that before we forgive.

But forgiveness is about you, the forgiver, not the person, persons or world that hurt you. It’s about grieving the hurt - that should be the hardest part - and letting go of the anger, the bitterness, the need to blame, the hate and the fear, and the expectations of what you’re owed in order for forgiveness to happen. It’s about you letting go of the things that will hold you back from moving forward and living again after the hurt. Those other things, those conditions, will chain you down, build walls around you, imprison you and keep you from reconciling the relationship that’s been broken. Forgiveness breaks the chains and opens doors to a new relationship.

Let’s be clear, though: just because forgiveness isn’t about those other things doesn’t mean some of them might not be necessary. Forgiveness isn’t about saying it’s okay, excusing it, or allowing it. Injustice must be challenged, abuse must be stopped, truth must be spoken to power and hurts healed. Things need to change. So don’t “forgive and forget.” Forgive and remember. Remember you forgave, and why, and remember what needs to be challenged, addressed and healed.

That’s where you need grace again, and a little understanding. In this world, “unconditional” anything is hard. But Jesus knows that, just as God does. Being you is enough, the you that can go into the world with grace and offer forgiveness.

The Real Deal

I get questions, a lot of questions. All ministers, of any religion, get questions. I have answers for some (the factual ones), but a lot of the time I can only say what I think and believe, based on what I’ve learned, and hope that the person asking the question will think about it for themselves. Sometimes, I don’t have an answer but I’m more than willing to work on it together.

And sometimes, I get a question that I’m pretty sure the person asking it already thinks they have the answer and they want to hear what I’m going to say about it. Every now and then, I’m also pretty sure that they know what I’m going to say and it’s not going to be the “right” answer for them.

Got one of those this week, and it’s not the first time: if someone were to walk into your church on Sunday morning, come straight to the front and say “I am Jesus, I’ve returned,” how would you know if it’s really Jesus or not? 

Right away I said I don’t know for sure, but I’ve known a lot of people who I think have been or are being Jesus in their lives, and they don’t announce that they’re Jesus. That, after all, was what Jesus was teaching us, I think.

That was not a very satisfying response, of course, because they meant the biblical figure we call Jesus and his promise to return, “The Second Coming.” So I said, well, I don’t have an answer to that, but I’m more than willing to work on it together. They weren’t interested, unfortunately.

I have thought about it, though, and I did think about it some more, and I have a few thoughts on how to know it’s “the real Jesus.” Here’s ten - that’s pretty biblical, right?

1. I’m not sure that Jesus would appear in my church on a Sunday morning. Not because there aren’t wonderful, kind and loving followers of Jesus in the pews there, but rather because there is. Jesus will always be found first with those most in need, the poor, the sick, the broken and the lonely.

2. I wonder how Jesus will handle “the church.” Jesus constantly questioned institutions and structures. That’s not to say that Jesus would avoid churches, I just think Jesus is about people first.

3. If the Jesus you meet has an answer for every question you have and tells you what you should think, I think that I’d think twice about that Jesus. I think Jesus wants to guide us on our journey in life, not tell us how to walk and where to walk. We find our way with Jesus by our side.

4. Speaking of life, if you think that the second coming of Jesus ushers in the “end times,” I’d say that anyone who tells you that they need to bring about the end times now, in any way that causes hurt, pain or damage to others or any part of creation, is not Jesus.  The end will come when it comes, we need to watch for it, not accelerate it. And remember, the end of this world is the beginning of a new one.

5. The good news of Jesus belongs to no particular nation, culture, tradition, society or people named Jesus. It’s about life, love and grace for all. All.

6. I don’t think Jesus demands blind obedience, but a thoughtful, heartfelt partnership.  “Blind faith” ought to be an oxymoron. True faith should demand our thoughtful minds, caring hearts and eager hands.

7. Jesus is about building community, with respect, justice and equality for all, whoever and however we are.  I don’t think Jesus is interested in sameness or uniformity, but rather a unity or oneness that comes from recognizing the uniqueness of each of us and how we come together.

8. That means relationships are important. I don’t think Jesus would isolate or set apart anyone. I think Jesus wants to engage the world, seeking ways to include everyone.

9. I don’t think Jesus would ever - ever, ever - use fear. One of the most important things said by the Jesus we know is “don’t be afraid,” and Jesus said that more than anything else. 

10.  Love. Jesus is all about love. If love isn’t at the heart of it, it’s not Jesus.

Come to think of it, you could probably just skip numbers 1-9 and just go with that last one. That’s how you know it’s Jesus: love.

I think I need a holiday now.

You're More Than Enough

There are some stories of Jesus that we tell so often, they can become familiar in a way that’s comfortable but not always helpful.

Take that story about Jesus walking on water, for example. It’s so familiar that we even started using the expression “walks on water” to mean someone who’s super holy or super human. It’s unfortunate that we use that to single someone out - often sarcastically, too - because we’re all super holy and we’re all super humans. Yes, yes you are. I think it’s actually the point of the story. Well, one of them at least. Depending on your perspective, there’s sure more than one.

Matthew, Mark and John all tell their version of the story. Matthew’s my favourite. It goes like this. After the famous potluck meal where five thousand people are fed by loaves and fish, Jesus sends the disciples across the lake in a boat while he takes some “me” time and prays. A storm comes up and the disciples’ boat’s in trouble. They’re afraid, although they’re fishermen so they might not have been that scared until they see this spectre walking across the water towards them. It’s Jesus and he shouts to them over the storm "take heart, it's me, don't be afraid." Then Peter says "if it's really you, then tell me to walk on the water towards you." Jesus tells him to, and Peter steps out of the boat and walks on the water. But he starts to be more aware of the storm around him and he starts to sink. He calls out to Jesus who pulls him back into the boat and says “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” (Matt.14:31)

Couple of things I think are critical to this story. First, Jesus isn’t the only one who walks on the water. Peter does, too. But then he becomes afraid of the storm and the water, appears to become aware of the seeming impossibility of what he’s doing and sinks. Jesus saves him. Although, again, Peter’s a fisherman, you’d think he’d be more secure in the water, even in a storm. Still, remember that part about Peter taking a few steps on the water.

Second, when Jesus helps him and says the famous line “you of little faith, why did you doubt?” there is no indication of tone. Determining it to be criticism, disappointment or compassion is entirely up to interpretation. Historically, I think we’ve landed quite heavily on the side of how important it is to have faith in Jesus. I know I’ve sure heard it preached is we all have to have faith in Jesus. Jesus saves. And, after all, it’s a miracle story: Jesus walks on water and Peter can’t.

But he did. Very briefly, but he did. So what if we could hear the tone of Jesus' voice and see what’s in his eyes when he looks at Peter.

What if Jesus meant to congratulate him? What if Jesus really meant "wow, Peter, that was amazing! You’re awesome! Look what you did with just a little faith: you got out of the safety of the boat, took the risk, and came to me. And look what happened when you began to doubt yourself. It didn't turn out the way you thought it would, but I was there with you. The whole time, I was there with you."

What if this story is about reminding us that faith is about risk, not safety? Everyone else stayed in the boat - the place of safety - and Peter was the one with faith enough to step out. What if the story is reminding us that faith isn't about the successful completion of a task, but about making the effort in the first place. Maybe it wasn't enough faith to defeat the laws of physics, but it was enough to bring Peter closer to Jesus. What if faith isn't about blindly believing something because you were told to, but about thinking, discerning, risking, questioning, even doubting, because it brings you closer to God?

What if we’re all amazing, too? What if there's "a little faith" in each of us? A little faith that won't grow if we protect it and keep it safe. A little faith that will grow when we bring it out and use it, risk it, test it, question it and offer it because Jesus calls us to do so and offers his hand to us, no matter the outcome.

That's Gonna Leave A Mark

Did you wrestle with God today?

In the book of Genesis, Jacob - literally the father of Israel - wrestles during the night with someone who turns out to be God in human form. The wrestler Jacob meets can’t seem to defeat him, so they put his hip out of joint. Still Jacob won’t let go until the other figure blesses him. When they do, they say that Jacob has “striven with God and with humans” and Jacob realizes that he’s “seen God face to face, yet my life is preserved.” You can read this part of Jacob’s story in Genesis 32:22-31. The whole story of Jacob in chapters 25-49. It’s worth a read.

This story isn’t just about the moment and the reaffirmation of Jacob’s role in the bigger story of Israel, it’s about Jacob’s life and our lives, too.

Jacob’s life isn’t easy. There are struggles, sometimes with himself, sometimes with God. Sometimes of his own making and sometimes how others - and life in general - treat him. But it’s his life.

Sometimes, like in this moment, those struggles yield obvious blessings. Sometimes the blessing may simply be hidden in how his story is advanced. But these struggles leave a mark or an imprint, too, impacting Jacob in a way that he will carry with him forever. Here, an obvious limp from the sheer physicality of the struggle, but at other times, it may simply be a learning, a subtle impact on his personality or a nuance in the way he lives. This moment doesn’t create a dramatic change in Jacob, but he is changed, nonetheless.

Just like in the earlier story of Jacob’s dream of the stairway between heaven and earth, he names the place of this experience. Because he realizes it was God that he had faced, he calls it Peniel, which means “face of God.”

If only God were always that obvious.

I think we wrestle with God everyday. Not every moment is a Peniel moment and we might not recognize God right away, if at all. But I think we’re constantly encountering God in ways that challenge us as well as affirm and comfort us. There are blessings in those moments and those experiences change us in ways that are both obvious and subtle. 

One of the most important parts of the story is that Jacob won’t let go. I don’t think it’s really a question of the wrestling God can’t defeat Jacob, I think Jacob simply won’t give up and let go. I wonder if that isn’t the secret to the success of Jacob’s life story: Jacob simply won’t let go of God.

In our own stories, I wonder how tightly we might hold on to God, however we know God. As the traditional God of our faith traditions, as the spirit of life that’s in all things, as the love, grace, kindness or hope that’s in that living. Hold tight, it’s gonna leave a mark. And a blessing.

Where The Good Road Begins

From early in his ministry, Jesus told people that the kingdom of heaven was near. He didn’t mean the good place to which everyone wants to go after this life is done, he meant how the good place could be here. The important word there is good. The kingdom of heaven being here meant everyone living into the good that is in them, knowing the divine spirit in their heart and living that into the world. This world, not some other place.

The First Nations Version, an Indigenous Translation of the New Testament, translates that kingdom of heaven as “the good road from above.” I love that image. It implies the journey of life, the constant movement of how we experience it and reminds us that heaven isn’t just a destination at the other end of this life, but something we can actively live. This heaven isn’t just a moment, but a lifetime and more.

While living it every day as an example, describing how the kingdom works was a little tricky. So Jesus resorted to parables and he began with how all things begin, a seed.

The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed: the tiniest of seeds that grows into a bush so big that birds can nest in it. It’s a great metaphor for a common biblical theme, that greatness often comes from the smallest, or the least, of things. Plant the seed and it will grow into something much greater. Never underestimate the power of  planting a seed.

But, hang on, some of his listeners might have said. The mustard is small, that’s for sure, but it’s not the smallest seed. It doesn’t grow all that big, either, certainly not big enough for birds to nest in. And, worst of all, it’s a weed. Sure, some used it for flavouring and colouring things, and it was a medicinal herb, but really it was more of an intrusive annoyance than anything else.

What if the point of the mustard seed isn’t just about size, but “ordinariness?” Nothing unique or exotic, but something you might see anywhere, at anytime, even just by the side of the road. What if the point of growing into a great bush isn’t about what we know can happen, but about envisioning something far beyond what we expect, imagining something greater than our own limited experience would allow? What if the point of using a weed is to suggest that we need to look again at what really is valuable to us? We call something a weed because we don’t see its value compared to a more useful plant, but that doesn’t mean it has no value – we just don’t see it. Perhaps others do.

Our lives are full of little, ordinary, everyday things. Even acknowledging that is problematic, isn’t it? What’s little, ordinary or everyday may be different for each of us. But every step moves us somewhere and it’s worth pausing sometimes to wonder about the simplest things we do and where they are taking us. And not just ourselves, of course. The truth is that Jesus didn’t do anything super complicated. Jesus made time for people, especially those that others didn’t. Jesus listened to people, especially those that others didn’t. Jesus cared for people as best he could, especially those that others didn’t. Jesus loved people, especially those that others didn’t.

Even the miracle stories can be understood to be less a divine action in the physical realm and more a divine action of love. When the possessed were exorcized of their demons, it was a miracle that Jesus simply gave them time, understanding and respect that restored their dignity and sense of personhood. When the blind received sight, it was a miracle that Jesus simply made them visible to the world and restored their place in it. When the multitude was hungry, it was a miracle that Jesus inspired such generosity and sharing with a simple gesture of offering all that there was, that all could be fed. Simple, ordinary acts change things.

On Your Mark

I’ve been wrestling with a part of the story of Jacob this week.

Not the part where he wrestles with God, more the wrestles with himself part.

You can find his whole story in Genesis chapters 25-49, more or less. Jacob’s the father of Israel, literally, but he has quite the checkered life. He makes a very unfair deal to get his older brother’s birthright, steals their father’s blessing by pretending to be his brother, runs away to some less than stellar wheeling and dealing elsewhere, wrestles with God, plays favourites with his children and, oh yeah, is repeatedly blessed by God. For all his failings, God still works through him, he just never seems to realize it.

Early on in his story, he’s treated his older brother Esau so badly, he has to run away to his uncle. On the way there, he has a dream. He sees a ladder between earth and heaven “and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it.” God appears to reaffirm the promise made to Abraham and Isaac, of land and a great nation in the future, and Jacob will become the father of that nation. The ladder isn’t just a sign that heaven and earth are close, they’re connected. Angels travel between them. There is something of heaven here and Jacob realizes it. He wakes up and says to himself “surely God is in this place and I did not know it!” “How awesome is this place!” he says. This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”And he marks the spot with a stone and calls it Bethel, which means house of God.

I wonder, though, if he didn’t mark the wrong place. What if God’s presence wasn’t just in some “thing,” a place or time. What if it was in Jacob himself and he didn’t realize it. He keeps on his deal making, even with God, and his life continues to be, well complicated by his behaviour. But would his life have been changed if he’d realized that divine presence was in him all along? What if he didn’t leave that experience of the divine behind at a place, but took it with him? His story may well have played out differently. Hmm. I wonder if things might have changed.

I wonder how often we have an experience of the divine spirit , of meeting God, and we celebrate the moment and then leave it behind or set it apart.

Would it be a different world if we could all see the divine in ourselves and each other and say “how awesome is that! Surely God is in me and you and now I know it?” Maybe it would be as if heaven is here, not just connected by a ladder that only angels - those that we see as special and set apart - can travel.

Later, much later, Jesus will try to do just that. He’ll provide an experience of the divine, a moment of engagement with God, and try to teach us that we are not just full of the divine spirit, but capable of knowing it, engaging it and living it. 

It’s challenging for us to see, though, and, like Jacob, we’d rather just commemorate the moment with something set in stone, than carry it with us. Maybe we need to wrestle with it some more.