Life Before Death

As part of our preparation for Holy Week and Easter this year, our churches have had a study group in Lent looking at the key characters in the story through the lens of how those characters are portrayed in Jesus Christ Superstar, the musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice. This was inspired by the Bashaw Community Theatre production over the Palm Sunday weekend, Good Friday and Holy Saturday.

There’s been lots of debate about JCSS since it first appeared as a rock album in 1970 and subsequently became a popular stage musical. It’s the story of Jesus’ last days, but it’s not particularly “biblical.” That’s not its point. It imagines the relationships between Jesus and the one dimensional characters that surround him in the narrative and gives them depth and personality. It imagines a different way to see the story and from that vantage point invites us to think more deeply about what was happening.

At least, I think it does, whether you’re familiar with the story, both the gospel narratives and the traditions we’ve developed around them, or you don’t know the story at all, and then it offers a deeply passionate exploration of relationships, love, power and sacrifice. Passion is the key word there.

In one of our last group meetings, someone commented that they’d been listening to excerpts of the St. Matthew Passion by J.S Bach on the radio when they realized that Jesus Christ Superstar was a “Passion.” The Passion is what the church formally calls the narrative of Jesus’ final days, his arrest, trial and crucifixion. Just like the movie title, The Passion of the Christ. Reading “The Passion” as part of the Good Friday service or, more recently, the Sunday before (calling it “Passion Sunday”) means reading that portion of one of the gospels that covers those days. Many classical composers have set that to music and J.S. Bach’s are among the most famous.

I agree, Jesus Christ Superstar is a “Passion,” though it offers a different perspective on telling the story, one which is, in all ways, passionate.

The Passion, as the church titles it, is the arrest, trial, and crucifixion of Jesus. In other words, it’s about suffering, agony and death. The characters in the story - the good, the bad and the fearful - serve that narrative simply, without much colour or complexity. JCSS takes the time to explore some of those characters and their relationships. How Mary struggles with her love for Jesus, for example, and, more importantly, how Judas does, too. Yes, Judas. And Jesus. Is he, as the song says, “who they say you are?” What’s really going on with the temple authorities? What do they really think of Jesus? And Pilate and the colourful Herod, too. 

The point is, it raises questions that dive deeper into the story because it develops the characters in order to understand their relationships, their love, their devotion, even their sacrifice. Though it ends in death, it explores life, love and yes, passion for that. It’s emotional and deep and passionate in the best possible way.

I wonder if we might spend a little more time with the stories of the living rather than simply how they serve death. That was really the point of Jesus, to bring life, not with his death, but with his living and loving. Jesus was passionate about life.

Living the Life of Lazarus

I find the Gospel of John can be tricky sometimes. I love it dearly, the language is beautiful and so evocative, but I also know that it was written significantly later than the other gospels and writings that are included in christian scripture. The author likely knew the gospels of Mark, Matthew and Luke - and much more than that, probably - and had more experience of the followers of Jesus and their lived understanding of what Jesus was all about.

I don’t think that’s a bad thing, not at all. I just think it’s helpful to remember that when the author of John says something that no one else does. It makes me wonder.

Take the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. This story only appears in John. It’s not the only story of Jesus raising someone who appears to be dead. The other gospels have Jesus raising the daughter of Jairus, a leader in the synagogue, and Luke has one about Jesus and the son of a widow. John doesn’t have these accounts and Lazarus’ story is different. It’s more complex and here John seems to double down on the death: Lazarus isn’t newly dead, he’s been dead for days and is already in a tomb. In fact, the author of John quite pointedly has his sister describe his condition - and the King James Version text is just the best here - "Lord, by this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead four days.”

Jesus tells them to move the stone from the tomb’s entrance and he calls to Lazarus to come out. Lazarus does, still wrapped in the burial cloths. “Unbind him and let him go,” Jesus says.

Cool.

Traditionally, we’ve interpreted the story as demonstrating both Jesus’ humanity (this is the story with the famous shortest verse in the Bible - “Jesus wept”) and his divine power over death (the verse “I am the resurrection and the life” is part of this story). It also advances the narrative. It’s the moment, as the story continues, that inspires the temple authorities to want to kill Jesus. His bringing life leads to his own death.

But the story continues without Lazarus in it. One more mention, that Jesus is at Lazarus’ house for dinner the night before going into Jerusalem on what we call Palm Sunday. The author of John writes that people came to see Jesus but also Lazarus because he’d been raised from the dead. So now, the temple authorities plan to Lazarus as well as Jesus.

There’s no mention if they did, but I’m already wondering what happened to Lazarus. And I think that’s pretty critical to how I understand the story.

I don’t know if the story’s real, if it really happened this way, but there’s something very true here.

Jesus’ life shows us how the divine spirit is alive in all of us. To be fully alive, to be whole, is to be more than the physical being we are, it’s to connect with that spirit of life. When it feels like the world has become a tomb, overwhelming our living with hate, anger and despair, Jesus calls us out. Jesus is the Way, according to John, and the Way is true and life-giving. Not the name Jesus, but the Way of being Jesus shows us and calls us to: the love, grace, empathy and compassion that we learn from the life of Jesus is the way to respect, justice and equity, the way to wholeness. 

I wonder what Lazarus did next. I bet he lived.

Open My Eyes

There’s a story  of Jesus giving sight to a blind man in the Gospel of John. The moment itself is quite brief, but it’s what happens to the man afterwards that forms the bulk of the story, which is long. An entire chapter long.

And that doesn’t always happen, does it? We often hear a miracle story as just that: the focus is on the miraculous moment of change brought about by Jesus. Then everyone goes on their way wondering at the divine power of Jesus and we’re on to the next encounter.

But in John 9, that healing moment when the man is given physical sight, as interesting as it is (there’s a whole creation element with mud and spit), doesn’t seem to be the most important part of the story. It highlights a couple things, most significantly that the man was born blind, so it’s not really a restoration moment, but a creation moment. And it offers the opportunity to challenge the idea that what we might judge to be a disability is somehow a punishment from God for sin. That was a prevailing understanding in those days and Jesus’ points out that’s not how God works. There may still be some who think that today, so please see this and any of the many other times Jesus demonstrates that it’s not. Look, it’s just not.

But the judgement continues. Jesus leaves and the man finds himself being questioned, his identity questioned, the reality of his experience being questioned. He ends up being interrogated by the pharisees. They question his parents, too, and all he can say is “I don’t know who he is or how he did it, I just know that I was blind and now I see.” But the pharisees don’t. They judge him a sinner, just like Jesus who had done this on the Sabbath. They determine to cast him out from the synagogue. Jesus gives him the thing that he was marginalized without and he's cast out again, for it this time. Hearing what happened, Jesus seeks him out and tells him who he is. The man simply says “I believe.”

It’s a journey, you see, not just a momentary miracle. And it’s just the beginning of a journey because now he sees the world through Jesus. The healing miracle that begins the journey is different than other such stories in the gospels. The man doesn't seek Jesus out and request it, nor does Jesus ask the man's permission, nor is the man's healing a result of his own faith. The man doesn't seem to know Jesus or anything about him. And yet, he sees. Unlike the pharisees, trapped in the stoney strict adherence to the letter of the law, unwilling to see behind their authority, unwilling to open their eyes to this man’s experience, unwilling to see Jesus - and this man - as anything but a threat. 

Transformation is messy, complex and convoluted sometimes. It can feel like it begins in the mud, it can mean gaining friends and losing them, gaining new life and losing it, it can mean understanding and confusion, it can mean questions with answers and questions with just more questions.

But when we truly open our hearts and minds and look beyond what we know, what we think is certain, we grow. Faith, love, empathy - all these things that build relationships, that connect us, they aren’t threatened by doubt or questions, but by the certainty that we already know everything and by the judgement of others based on that certainty. Do you see? 

Through the Wilderness

If you’re part of any christian faith tradition, you may be in the middle of Lent right now. If you’re not, you might want to consider that the origin of the name isn’t anything to do with a loan or borrowing, it means “springtime” or “lengthening of days.” So maybe instead of the classic church traditions, you might just consider that now is an opportune time to do some spring cleaning.

That’s a worthwhile way to see Lent, I think. You’re taking time for some self-reflection, working on yourself a bit, maybe letting go or cleaning out some baggage, maybe dusting off some things you haven’t looked at for awhile. That’s what those spiritual practices that churches often suggest are meant to do. “Abstinence, prayer and almsgiving” are personal things you can do in order to direct your contemplation, thoughts, reflecting on who you are, your relationship with God (however you know God) and the world around you. It’s about working on you.

That makes sense, given that the story that inspires Lent is Jesus going into the wilderness alone to be tempted or tested or find himself, depending on how you understand the story. Or which version: it’s in three of the four gospels. It’s worth remembering, by the way, that each account says the Holy Spirit goes with him. That same spirit of life is in you and me and all living things. It’s the very power and energy we need to do life, so that’s what you’re working with when we’re tested or tempted or working on ourselves.

But Jesus isn’t the only one in the Bible who goes into the wilderness to find himself. His ancestors spent forty years wandering in the wilderness. Having spent generations in slavery in Egypt, the story goes, God sent Moses to lead them out of that life into a new life as their own nation. But they weren’t ready to be that, they needed to learn, to figure out who they are, what their relationship is with God, and learn how to care for each other and live together - as a people, a community, a nation. The experiences they had, how they were fed (spiritually and physically), the “commandments” even, were all about how they live together in relationship. They weren’t lost in the desert, they were finding their way.

Now seems to be a good time for us all to think about that, too. It can feel very much like we’re lost in a wilderness right now, one devoid of love, empathy, compassion, grace or even basic respect, not just individually but as communities, as peoples, cultures, nations. Whether it’s war (or whatever we’re calling it this week), politics, services, business or society in general, strength seems to be measured in weapons, power over others, brutality, meanness and just plain cruelty. Before we get mired in that wilderness, maybe we should be looking for the ways in which we can learn our way out of it.

Let’s look for leaders who build relationships, look for equity and model respect and care. Let’s look for ways to care for the sick, broken and hurting, to use what resources we have to support the weakest among us and lift people up, not knock them down. Let’s look for ways to build peace on mutual respect and build trust, honouring people for who they are and how they live. Let’s look for ways to imagine, create and build together.

I know what that sounds like. Warm, fuzzy, even woke. It is. It’s also Jesus. It’s also easily set aside as an unattainable ideal, just as Jesus often is. But maybe the first things to hold onto in the wilderness are our creativity and imagination. Maybe the first things to hold onto are each other.

Let It Go

Did you give up something for Lent this year? Maybe that’s not such a big thing anymore. Maybe Lent isn’t, either. But back in the day, it was always the “go to” thing to do.

The old traditional three practices of Lent are abstinence, prayer and almsgiving. Yeah, it’s that old that some churches still say “almsgiving.” It means giving money or food - or doing charitable acts - for the poor. Abstinence is the giving up part and prayer is, well, prayer. Maybe it’s because prayer and care for the poor are meant to be things we do all the time, but abstinence tended to be the one that got very specific attention.

Usually that attention was directed at things we saw as tempting pleasures. People often gave up smoking, coffee, chocolate - things that could tie into the “temptation” theme of the Jesus-in-the-wilderness story that inspired the season. Historically, it was things like fatty foods and fun things. That’s what gives us the tradition of pancake suppers on the last day before Lent begins. Fat Tuesday or Mardi Gras was the final opportunity to use up all that stuff you couldn’t use in Lent and have a good time doing it.

The point of that abstinence, though, is that it’s meant to be something that inspires your attention and focus on the purpose of Lent, that it’s a time of self-reflection, a time of discovery about your self, your relationship with God, and with the world. You let go a physical, earthly pleasure in order that you can focus on the spiritual.

I think - and you can call it semantics, if you like - “let go” is probably a better route to spiritual practice than abstinence or giving something up.

What if, instead of giving up something pleasurable or even something we see as physical sustenance (if we fasted, for instance) for a short period of time, we could let go of something weightier? Maybe even as a step to letting it go beyond the forty days of Lent.

Say, instead of giving up that coffee or chocolate, we let go of some anger. Or hate. Or ignorance. Maybe we could let go of some of that fear or that shame for feeling imperfect. Maybe we could couple that with taking some things on, like patience or love or learning or confidence or self awareness of how singularly meaningful we are just as we are.

Maybe we could let go of some of those things we’ve cast in stone and wonder and ask questions about them instead.

The author of the gospel of John tells a story about Jesus meeting Nicodemus, a pharisee, someone whose job was strictly keeping the law and traditions. He literally kept the things cast in stone cast in stone. But this pharisee has questions. Not doubts, questions. He’s wondering about Jesus and what he’s teaching.

The story even has him come to Jesus at night. Sure that could be because he was afraid to be seen talking to Jesus, but it could just as easily be because he had a busy day. Or it could have been a simple metaphor about coming from the darkness to see the Light. 

I think Nicodemus represents all of us who need to let go of some things in order that we might learn and grow. Jesus describes that to him as being born “anew” by the spirit, a new beginning, a new way of life. I think Nicodemus begins to experience that here. He begins to let go of the letter of those laws and see what’s written on the heart, what’s the true meaning of how we should be, with ourselves, with God, and with each other.

Whatever might be weighing you down, perhaps Lent’s a good time to let it go and be inspired by the spirit to wonder, to learn and to grow.

It's Time For Lent

How do you know God?

That’s the language I’m going to use because it’s my faith tradition, but you might know God in other terms. Like creator or spirit or a higher power, the universal energy of life, love, the fabric of creation in which we are all a thread. You can even call it the Force if you want to, I still think we may well be talking about the same thing.

You might not even think in those terms. Okay. I’d still like to ask: have you wondered about it?

I think you should. Just my opinion, of course, and you’re not obligated to - it’s not like anyone can demand that you do. I’m just inviting you to take some time to wonder about things. Things like: what feeds your spirit, your heart and soul; do you know the uniqueness of who you are and how much you are loved by God (however you know God), just for being that; do you see how your uniqueness is connected to everyone else, how you are a valuable part of life and how that relationship is shared?

I know, big questions, “life, the universe and everything” kind of questions. God questions.

You can fine tune them, of course, and work on things that are more specific and feel more real and present to where you find yourself in your journey through life. But it really is a good idea to do that every so often. It’s checking in on where you’re at and building things for the days ahead. 

Spiritual reflection has real practical application, doesn’t it. Knowing what nourishes you, knowing you’re loved, and loving, and knowing that we’re all connected - bring that to relationships with respect, an open heart and an open mind, a little grace and some empathy and just imagine what you could do.

The world seems to missing those things a lot these days. Imagine how different it could be, even just in your small corner.

I think that’s where Jesus found himself. Literally. Each of the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke begin their stories of the adult Jesus with him going into the wilderness to be tested, tempted or well, find himself.

The sequence is important. The adult Jesus appears, go to John to be baptized (just like everyone else), then he goes into the wilderness and then he goes into his ministry, his life of teaching and healing, and living that with the world.

There’s something else common to the stories, too. Each account says that Jesus goes into the wilderness with the Spirit. I think Jesus is taking time in solitude to work on himself, but also his relationship with God and how that can be lived out. Later Jesus will remind us: love God, love your neighbour as you love yourself.

Matthew and Luke have the devil appear to test or tempt Jesus three times. But these temptations are essentially biblical ways of asking the same questions I asked earlier: what feeds your spirit; do you know the uniqueness of who you are and how much you are loved by God, just for being that; do you see how your uniqueness is connected to everyone else, how you are a valuable part of life and how that relationship is shared?

Read the story in Matthew 4:1-11. This is the story that the season of Lent is built on. We’ve added so many traditions and practices, but essentially those should all be focusing us on this wilderness experience, this time of reflection and discovery that we can then live into in the days ahead. What are you doing with your Lent?

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.