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?

Welcome To The Manger

It’s a pretty simple story: young couple have a child. Happens all the time, every moment of every day even. An ordinary occurrence for ordinary people.

So what makes the Christmas story so special?

Well, Jesus, obviously, don’t be ridiculous, Robin. It’s the story of the birth of the Son of God, the Messiah, the one the prophet Isaiah proclaims “authority rests upon his shoulders, and he is named Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” He’s special.

Hear me out, though. That’s a pretty easy way of distancing ourselves from the story when it’s a story designed to connect with us, to bring us in and invite us to the manger.

To begin with, ask any parent if there’s anything ordinary about the birth of a child, a first born, no less. Every parent, I’m sure, would also tell you about the uniqueness of their particular situation, the wonder of that moment of life, the complications and challenges getting there, the worries, the very individual circumstances of bringing a new, completely extraordinary human being into the world. It’s a miracle.

Sometimes, those moments can also end in heartbreak and pain. Remember that, too.

The circumstances of Marys pregnancy are certainly unique. but I doubt her family or the people in her village appreciated it. Joseph wouldn’t have been the only one to wonder and, even with his support, it would have been difficult for the two of them to deal with that, let alone the travel to another place to have the child. It’s not like that doesn’t still happen today.

They were too poor for proper shelter, but did their best and, when the child’s born, their families aren’t the first to know, it’s strangers, ordinary folks from a nearby field.

Familiar enough, and then the author of Luke adds the features that bring meaning to just who this is that’s being born. An angel visits Mary and tells her that she’ll have a child who will be holy (of course, because all children are) and also be full of the Spirit of God and will be great and be called “Son of the Most High” and “Son of God.” Pretty fancy titles. Mary must have been pretty scared by all this. “Don’t be afraid” says the angel.

Come to think of it, Joseph was pretty worried and an angel said “don’t be afraid.” And I imagine that their journey to Bethlehem was uncomfortable at best and they had to hold on to those words more than a few times.

The ordinary folks who hear the news first also meet an angel, too. “Don’t be afraid,” the angel says and go see this child because this is the one that prophets say will save the people and change the world. So they go and they see the child and then they go and tell others the good news.

And that’s just Luke. Matthew’s account adds in magi, foreigners seeking a special child. An angel tells them to not be afraid and warns them of the danger of returning to Herod. Oh, and an angel telling Joseph he shouldn’t be afraid because the child will be the one Isaiah says will be Emmanuel, which means “God with us.”

Don’t be afraid. Or “fear not,” if you prefer. Why? Because the child is “God with us.”

We might see the manger as that special moment in a special story of a special child. And it is, but that ought not to distance us from Jesus, but invite us in. God is with us, just as God is with all the characters in the story. Our angels may be a little harder to see, but they’re there, constantly reminding us that we are special, too, we are, like Jesus, full of the spirit. And when this child grows up, they will live a life that says “don’t be afraid, God is with you.”

There Is Joy

Christmas is near.

You might be checking the daily calendar or have an Advent calendar you’re following. Or maybe, like so many churches, you have an Advent wreath, lighting a candle each Sunday as we approach Christmas Eve and the Big Moment.

If you’re following the wreath, you’ll have noticed that most wreaths have three purple (or blue) candles and one pink one. That pink one is about where we are now, that’s how close.

The reason that candle’s pink is that it’s for the Sunday of Joy or  Gaudete Sunday (that’s church latin for “rejoice”). If you’re following the themes that so often accompany those candles - hope, peace, joy, love - that’s how close we are. So. Bring on the joy.

Well, lots of people started their Merry Christmas a lot earlier than this. Lights are up, decorations, trees, the baking’s happening, Christmas parties, shopping, wrapping, Christmas carols - oh, the Christmas carols - everywhere you look, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

Not everyone is merry and bright at Christmas. For lots of people it’s a difficult time. Some are grieving lost loved ones, some are far from family, some lonely. There are people who are sick, who find themselves unemployed or overworked, poor or homeless, some have mental health issues that are complicated by all the sounds and busy crowds. It can be overwhelming.

Thing is, the Christmas story doesn’t offer merriment, celebration or, for that matter, a lot of happiness. In fact, if you count up the number of times an angel has to appear and tell people “don’t be afraid,” it’s a pretty scary story, full of the unexpected, the difficult, the painful, the unwanted even.

But it is full of joy.

Sure, joy can be celebration, it can have merriment and happiness and smiles and laughter. But it’s more than that. True joy is something that goes to the very core of who we are. It reaches into the deepest corners of our hearts, into the shadowy places, and brings light.

I believe that true joy is found in the moment in which we find God, however we know God (love, energy, connection and more) is present in our lives in a way that brings wholeness to our spirit. Yes, there may be happiness, there may also be a sense of rightness, connectedness, wellness. But there is also healing in brokenness, comfort in grief, hope in uncertainty and, deep within us, the knowing that we are loved just as we are and, most importantly, we are not alone.

Remember what the angel says to the shepherds? They say “don’t be afraid, I bring you news of great joy for everyone.” That news? Love is here. Long before, the ancient Hebrew prophet Isaiah prophesied that there will be a child who will be called Emmanuel, which means “God with us.” This child will grow up to show us how the divine spirit is in us, everyone. That spirit is joy, too.

The story of Christmas plays out in a world full of struggle, danger and fear. There are the poor and the weak, there are the powerful and the seemingly rich, kings and shepherds and angels. But there is joy. Love is here.