How We Are One

I began last time with “it can be a harrowing experience trying to follow the news. There’s a lot going on and a lot of it isn’t good and that can be overwhelming.”

I didn’t think it would get so much worse so quickly.

I also wrote about how it’s important to stay engaged, even if it’s important to have a break, a little vacation even, now and then. In fact, we can’t disconnect completely because we’re so intimately connected. I mentioned “ubuntu” and “all my relations” as a way of reminding us that we are meant to be connected, to live in community, that we are one family on this earth. The fullness of our living and our own sense of wholeness is reliant on our unique individuality being lived out in community.

I suggested the opening of what we call the Sermon on the Mount in the Gospel of Matthew was a really good place to hear something affirming, positive and inspiring about this. Before he gets into all the teaching about how to live well and to live out the good that is in every heart, Jesus says something important about us, something we need to begin with, before all the teaching. It’s the foundation on which the teaching is lived. Otherwise it would just be behaviour.

Jesus looks at the people and sees all the poor, the weak, broken and hurting, the oppressed, the abused, the despairing. He sees the immigrants, the indigenous people, the Black people, the people of colour, the gay and queer and trans people, the people of different faiths and no faith at all. And he tells them they’re blessed. Just as they are. They are all children of God, loved by God, worthy to be the unique individual they are.

And he tells them they are salt and light. Not only are they created of the earth and the divine spirit of God, just like it says in Genesis and just like Jesus, it’s because of that they flavour the world around them, they interact with it, are connected to it and can shine in it. Just like the blessing, Jesus tells them - and us - that we are these things, not that we can be, but we already are. Salt of the earth and light for the world.

I know I said all that before. It bears repeating. Here’s the thing the tragedy in BC this week reminds us: we share our grief, too. Regardless of rhetoric being tossed around, ideologies and politics, in this moment we are one. We see that in ourselves, from the ordinary person at home to our leaders, and others do as well. King Charles and leaders of other countries offered love, condolences and support to the victims, their families, the people of Tumbler Ridge and the people of our nation because they know that’s who we are. In moments like this, we grieve together. We offer open hearts, broken open by grief, to share our love and support as one family, one people.

Jesus, I think, encourages us to share our love and our grief, to offer care and support and be open to sharing with each other because we are connected. We are salt and light, we are bound to each other in creation by the earth and by the spirit of life. There is work that needs to be done in the days ahead, but in this moment we offer prayer, we keep people in our thoughts and we share their grief, hoping that in that connectedness we are sharing spirit, a spirit of life and love.

In that spirit, in that connectedness, we can resist fear and hold our anger. The light of love is what needs to shine today. 

Where To Start

It can be a harrowing experience trying to follow the news. There’s a lot going on and a lot of it isn’t good and that can be overwhelming. So what can you do when you’re overwhelmed by all the conflict, the hate, the abuse of power, the death and destruction?

Some people simply stop reading or watching it. They disengage and disconnect from the world. Okay, that’s reasonable for a short break, a vacation or rest from it, sure. But you can’t really disconnect from the world completely. It’s coming for you, first of all, because you live in it. And, just as importantly, we’re built for it. 

You might be familiar with the African term “ubuntu.” It has a variety of related meanings, but essentially says “I am because we are.” It means we’re connected, relational, meant to be together, our uniquenesses meant to be complimenting each other in community.

Or how about “all my relations,” the indigenous phrase that highlights our connectedness to each other and all of creation.

Yeah, an occasional holiday might help, but you can’t just ignore the world around you and have a life that’s whole and full. That’s not to say that any life is free from struggle, hurt or hardship, of course, but engaging the world around you is how we live.

So you’re feeling overwhelmed. Read the first part of chapter 5 in the Gospel of Matthew. It’s the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount, a lengthy collection of some of the most important sayings of Jesus, things that teach us how to live well, build relationships, build a world that’s good, with kindness, compassion and love. The good stuff.

But before Jesus gets to any of that, he lays the foundation on which it has to be built. He begins with looking at the crowd around him and seeing those who seem to have lost hope, the broken, the poor, the homeless, the oppressed and abused, the overwhelmed. He tells us we’re blessed. Just as we are, whatever our place or condition in life, we are blessed simply to be. We’re all children of God, created in love. These are the Beatitudes, recognizing that wherever and however people find themselves in life, that we are all blessed.

He doesn’t stop there. He says we are salt of the earth. We season and flavour the world around us, bringing our essential uniqueness to impact it. We are light, too, to shine in the world, to show the world who we are, enlighten the world and shine on a path to good. Remember how, in the creation story, we are made of the earth and of the divine spirit of God? Salt and Light.

Here’s the most important part: in all of that, Jesus never says we will be blessed if we do this or do that, we will be salt and light if we behave this way or that. He says we already are. We are blessed. We are salt and light. Now: use it.

That’s the point. We already are these things, it’s about putting that to work in the world. That’s what brings the wholeness, the fullness, what Jesus describes in himself as the fulfilment of the law. What Jesus teaches about being true to the essential good that is in each of us, about living that into the world and how we do that, isn’t about behaviour, it’s about being.

All that Jesus teaches in this Sermon on the Mount and in his own living is built on this. We begin in knowing we are blessed, just as we are, and that we are of the earth and the divine spirit and we are connected to each other by that. And now, back to the news: what can we do?

That's What It Takes

If you spend anytime at all reading or watching the news, you probably have the same sense of dread, anxiety, anger, disbelief, sadness - the list could go on and on - that I have. It’s hard enough seeing what’s happening in the world and then, just this week, the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists moved the Doomsday Clock to 85 seconds to midnight. That’s the closest it’s ever been.

If you’re not familiar, the ominous sounding Doomsday Clock has been measuring how close we are to completely destroying all life on the planet since 1947. It might seem arbitrary, but it’s a way to indicate how serious the risk to the world is, taking into consideration “politics, energy, weapons, diplomacy, and climate science.” It gives very real meaning to “the end is near.”

It doesn’t have to be.

Lots of people would like it very much if religion just stuck to, well, religious stuff, but here’s some news: faith traditions have been talking about "politics, energy, weapons, diplomacy, and climate science” all along. In our own way. Jesus did, too. And the prophets.

Sadly, we’ve also been part of the doomsday side of all that. Through history, we’ve often been part of the worst of war, power struggles, the immense chasm between the rich and poor, the abuse and oppression of people, the destruction of land. We’ve lost our way as much as anyone.

But Jesus, the prophets and any like minded faith-filled figures that are true to what God is really all about (however you understand that word, God) constantly try to bring us back, back to understanding how truly blessed we are, just as we are, to be a part of this wonder that is the world we live in. Back to understanding that we are good and that we are capable of living good into the world.

When people are being oppressed, even killed by the very people meant to keep them safe, when power is abused to enrich a select few, when the earth is overwhelmed by greed, when people fear and hate what they don’t know or understand and unity seems a far off dream, we might wonder what could possibly put things right.

Well, love could.

Now, come on, I can hear the dismissive “pfft” already. Let me put it a little differently.

Suppose we were to approach everything by doing what was truly just and right. Suppose we offered kindness and care to everyone, respecting their humanity rather than simply judging them. Suppose we chose to walk together with grace and compassion, seeking equity with each other rather than power over others. Suppose we simply sought the good in each other and engaged each other in a way that could build relationships rather than conflicts. Suppose we tried that.

Micah is one of the minor prophets in Hebrew scripture. He framed it like this. He describes a scene as if all of nature was a court room in which God pleads their case for all that God has done for the people. And the people reply with all the stuff they could do, things that they could give. And God says no, all that’s needed is this: do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with your God.

I believe God is the spirit of life and love that connects all of us and humbly acknowledging that brings us together, to walk together on the road to what is good, being kind and compassionate, being just and standing up for what is right. You could say God or you can use whatever word has that meaning for you and we could try to walk together, live kindness and do justice. That could change things.

It Wasn't For The Free Fish

I wonder sometimes why Jesus chose fishers as his first disciples.

The gospel of John doesn’t mention their profession, but the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke all record a similar story of Jesus calling the first disciples. As Jesus begins his ministry, he walks by the Sea of Galilee. “He saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea—for they were fishers. And he said to them, ‘Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.’ Immediately they left their nets and followed him” (Matt. 4:18-20). The gospel of Matthew doesn’t even mention how Jesus called any of the other twelve, except one: Matthew, a tax collector.

So why fishers? Imagine if it were some other occupation. Like, maybe Jesus was walking in the marketplace one day and the first people he met were a couple of tax collectors. Follow me, Jesus says, and I’ll make you collect people. Or, at least a percentage of them based on their relative incomes.

That one doesn’t seem to work as well.

What if they’d been shepherds? That’s a familiar image in scripture, generally, and Jesus is the Good Shepherd. Follow me, and I will make you herd people. That’s a bit better, I suppose, and there’s lots of sheep and shepherding in the bible, but it still doesn’t have that same “oomph” as fishers.

Do you think the story would have changed any if they had been shepherds? Or carpenters, maybe? It likely Jesus learned Joseph’s trade. It would have made sense for him to go to people whose work he was familiar with. He’d know them, he’d be one of them. He’d fit right in.

What if they’d be farmers?  Or shopkeepers or any other occupation?

Not everyone likes fish.  Not everyone likes to fish. And don’t even start me on the difference between recreational fishing and fishing as a job. These people fished for a living and it was hard physical work, reliant on nature. First century fishers weren’t well off, and then there were those tax collectors. I imagine first-century-middle-eastern-fisherman was a tough job.

Then there’s that “fishing for people” metaphor. It has a lot of contemporary baggage and likely did then. And, in Hebrew scripture, it had even more. Jeremiah uses it as a metaphor for collecting people for divine judgement (Jer. 16:6-18). Yikes.

I wonder if, beyond the ordinary, everyday, practical nature of the occupation, what they did was all that important to the story. Other than they weren’t priests, because I don’t think this is just a story about calling religious leaders - priests, ministers, pastors, whatever our traditions call them. It’s for everyone, every ordinary, everyday person.

This is a story about living into the call that we all have as children of God. The life Jesus called them to was precisely that: life.  John’s gospel touches on this, too, when Jesus “names” Simon — Jesus knows who Simon really is, in his heart of hearts, and calls him to live into being Peter, which means “rock.” 

I think Jesus could already see what was in the heart of these fishermen. The same thing that’s in all our hearts: love and a desire for relationship built on that love. (No matter how hard we might try to ignore it or hide it.) He called these to come and learn how to live it fully in their lives so that others would learn, too.

Paul will later write that we all have different gifts and skills, but are still part of one “body” in Jesus. In fact, he’ll frequently be reminding the early churches that everyone’s gift, skill and occupation is valuable and needed but that, as the hymn says, “Christ is our unity.”

Jesus didn’t call the fisherman to different employment or even different traditions. He called them to live more fully the love and grace already within them. Jesus calls us all to that life, whatever our occupation, employment or skill set. Jesus doesn’t ask us to give up our daily lives, but to live them more fully. 

Try Me

I have tattoos. If you’re not a fan, or you don’t think ministers should have tattoos, well, sorry. Let me just say, though, that they all have meaning and they’re all pretty great art. The meaning part is particularly important to me.

So you might wonder why I have a beet tattooed on my arm. I’m pretty famous for not liking beets at all, referring to them usually as a turnip that somebody beat with a stick until it bled and yuck. If you like beets, good on you, you’re welcome to them, I just can’t eat them. Please do not regale me with all the best ways to prepare beets, you won’t change my mind. I’m okay with not having them and again, you’re welcome to them if you like them - you can choose that. I won’t like you any less, avoid you or demonize you for eating them. Eating beets shouldn’t be on anyone’s list of criteria for being a good person or not.

And please don’t “Green Eggs and Ham” me. How often do we try to convince people, "just try it, you'll like it?" Especially children and vegetables. How will you know how good they are if you don't try it?

Thing is, I have tried them. Don’t like them. At all. I know that because I tried them. And that’s okay.

So why is there a beet on my arm? Simple. God loves all. Just because I don’t like them doesn’t mean they’re not deserving of God’s love. The beet reminds me that’s true of people, too.

The important part is the trying it. Not because you will absolutely like them or because you better like them, but because you took the time to get to know them - because we are all children of God, loved by God and worthy of love, just as we are. We can be different, we can disagree, we can have different likes and preferences, even follow different traditions and faiths and we are still worthy of love, respect and grace. It may not be your way, but it’s someone’s, and that’s worthy of love, not judgement.

You’d think any faith tradition would have learned that. I wonder if religion, conformity and exclusivity have got in the way. The idea that you need to be more like me, my beliefs and my ideas, does seem to be overpowering love. 

But look, you have a choice. There’s this great story about how Jesus’ first disciples weren’t found by Jesus and told to follow him, but instead they found Jesus and chose to follow. In the gospel of John, John the Baptist (not the same John) points out Jesus to his own followers. Twice. This is the guy I’ve been talking about, he says. The second time, a couple of them follow Jesus around until he notices them. He says “what are you looking for?” Then he invites them to come and see what he’s doing. They choose to go, and they realize Jesus is the promised messiah, which means the anointed one or the chosen one. They chose to stay and follow him. They chose love.

We all come to God - however we know God - our own way. Some feel called. Some are seeking, they may not even know what. Imagine how different things could be if we all began with love, if we began with finding out what people are looking for in their life and invited them to come and see what we can offer.

A Revealing Beginning

On the church calendar, the season of Epiphany takes us from Christmas to Lent. It’s the season of light, which is really helpful given that it’s pretty much the darkest, coldest time of the year around here.

The word epiphany means a revealing, a manifestation that brings a sudden understanding. An enlightening, even. Epiphany begins with the story of the magi following the star - there’s the signature “light” of the season - that brings them to Jesus and that’s followed by stories of Jesus’ ministry that reveal who he is and what he’s all about.

First among those is the baptism of Jesus by John in the Jordan River. It’s quite literally the first story of the adult Jesus in each of the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke. Jesus is baptized, he retreats to the wilderness (the story that inspires Lent), and then begins his ministry. We’re hearing Matthew’s account this year, but each of the gospels tells essentially the same story with their own little variations.

John is preparing people for the arrival of the messiah by calling them to repent and be baptized in the river. Full submersion was likely his style. Jesus comes to the river, John recognizes who Jesus is and initially balks at baptizing him but Jesus says no, this is the proper way for things to happen. John baptizes Jesus and, as he emerges from the water, God’s spirit appears as a dove and a voice is heard saying “this is my beloved son, with whom I am pleased.” 

It seems like we should all be just as surprised as John that Jesus would want to be baptized. After all, baptism was the sign that accompanied John’s call to repentance. Why would the Son of God need to repent? Why would Jesus get in line with everyone else? 

“With everyone else” is exactly why.

From the very beginning, Jesus tries to establish that he is one of us. I think Jesus knows that we will try our best to set him apart, to worship him as “God beyond our reach,” not “God with us.” But Emmanuel - “God with us” - is what was promised. And here’s Jesus being just that. He comes to John like everyone else, with everyone else, because that’s who he is and what his life and ministry will show. Not something that’s meant to show power beyond us, but to reveal the power that is within us, the spirit of God that has been in all creation from the beginning.

I’m not surprised that baptism is the first story of the adult Jesus. I’m not surprised that it’s followed by his journey of discovery in the wilderness and then, only then, his ministry. We begin with a story that reveals the Holy Spirit to be with Jesus and that he is the “beloved son,” and then hear a life of stories that try to show us that the Holy Spirit is with each of us, too, and that we are all beloved children of God.

Jesus comes to baptism as one of us and leaves as one of us, spirit-filled and beloved by God. His life will show us how to reconnect with that spirit, to live into the divine that is in each of us and to restore our relationship with God. We’re in good company if we struggle to understand that. I seems like John didn’t get it at first, either. 

To Each A Season

That week between Christmas and New Year’s can be tricky, can’t it? Not always sure what day it is, what’s open, who’s working, then - BAM - it’s January and a new year. Christmas is done.

But it’s not. And not just in that “the message of Christmas is for every day” way. Christmas, the season of the Nativity, lasts until Epiphany, the season of Light. 

For convenience and, to be far, fullness, we combine the two birth stories of Jesus into one Big Story, but the gospels of Luke and Matthew tell two different stories. Mary, Joseph and Jesus are there, of course, but the characters around them are different and they each deserve their time.

Except poor old Joseph, it seems. There’s lots of carols and hymns about the baby, Mary, angels, shepherds and magi, even the star, but try finding one about Joseph. Poor guy. Maybe that’s a story for another time. (Bet he hears that a lot.)

The shepherds always get their share thanks to the popularity of Luke’s account, but they’re not the visitors in Matthew’s story. It’s the magi, the “three kings,” who follow the star to find the promised one and that’s revealed to be Jesus. Revealed. That’s what Epiphany means, a revelation or a manifestation. 

The birth had already been revealed to the shepherds who, Luke tells, came to the manger and found Jesus just as the angel had described. And, since Jesus came to the poor and the marginalized, it certainly makes sense that he would be shown to them.

But “shown” is the operative word: the birth was proclaimed to the nearby shepherds in detail and they were told what they were looking for and where to find it. They didn't have to look for him, they found exactly what the angel told them they would and the angel told them who it was they were finding.

The magi were not close by, they were “from the east." That's not a description you give of people from just the other end of town. And the sign they followed was a star, a celestial marker, that anyone should have seen from anywhere. And yet they were the only ones who truly "saw" what it meant. They followed a sign which they interpreted in order to find the fulfilment of a prophecy. They weren't really sure who or what they were looking for, though they knew it when they found it. They even had to stop and ask directions. This is a whole different thing from the shepherds.

The magi were not from the neighbourhood, or Judea for that matter, and likely weren't even jews. They were probably - gasp - foreigners. So God's arrival in Jesus isn't just for one small group, culture or tradition, but for anyone from anywhere.

And the magi were seekers. They came looking for something, following a sign, and found it in the baby of Bethlehem. Something that their faith, not an angel, revealed to them was what they were seeking. Something of such immense value that they tried to honour him with the most expensive gifts they could find. That, by the way, doesn't mean that they were particularly rich or even kings. Matthew's story doesn't say how much of any of these things they brought, nor how many of them brought them. The gifts are more symbolic than financially meaningful.

But that’s why both are important: the birth is proclaimed to the shepherds and revealed to the magi. Both have found, by their own way, the heart of the story: that God came to be with us in Jesus. Maybe that’s a good reason to put them together. Shepherd or magi, we come to that same truth in different ways, from different places, led by different desires. Both have had an epiphany. Will you?