Children of God

As we make our way round the Advent wreath, we come to the fourth candle: love.

I thought I had something pretty profound to say about love needing to be all consuming, in the sense that life needs to be full of love in order to be fully lived.  Much like the very principle of a candle where the flame is light, heat and energy for the world around it through the fuel which is the candle’s wax.  And I’m sure there’s something in that.

But then I got this message from Brook’s mom about something she’d written.  It went like this: “I know it's beautiful around the world.  I love the beauty in the world.  I love to see the world.  I love to go places.  I love the warm fires the hot chocolate.  I love the love in the world.  That is my favourite of all!”  Brook’s 6 years old.  The spelling’s a little more creative in the original.

I love what she wrote.

I love that there’s probably lots of parents who could say that their little child wrote or said something similar.  I hear about the conversations they have with their little ones and I hope you do, too.  We all need to, especially at Christmas.  Because it is that simple.

We’ll hear the stories of Jesus teaching us about love, the healing, the miracles, the parables, the grace, the living of a life full of love that leads to that one simple command to love as Jesus showed us.  All the complexities of a life will be lived out in a far too short lifetime on the way to the cross.  And we’ll examine it in detail and ponder it and think about it, as we should.  There is much to learn.

But perhaps, when we light the candle for love, we might think less about all there is to learn and more about the simplicity of a child-like love, one that’s open, innocent, unconditional, honest, fearless and true.  It’s easy to dismiss that with “children don’t know any better, they’ll learn from experience.”  But what if it were the opposite?  What if, when it comes to love - and hope, peace and joy, for that matter - what if they do know better because they have no inclination not to?

Remember that story of the very grown up Jesus telling the disciples that we need to be like children in order to come to the kingdom of heaven?  (Matthew 18:3 and 19:14.)  Child-like, not childish.  That can be a battle if you’ve got a lifetime of experience that encourages you to be fearful and protect yourself.  No wonder the disciples found it hard.  Of course, if we lived a lifetime into that childlike openness and loved others fearlessly, they might live that way, too, and others who experience their love would, too, and so on, and the world could be changed.

I know, maybe that’s a little simplistic.  Like a child, even.

Christmas is all about a child, though, and we take this time in Advent to prepare ourselves to come to this child, to come to the manger and marvel at the story and wonder at how God comes to us in the simplest way.

And that’s just it.  Maybe Jesus’ words are the wisdom of experience.  In this story of a child born in a stable is God loving us, loving like a child, fully, completely, unconditionally, all encompassing and all embracing.  God knows it's beautiful around the world.  God loves the beauty in the world.  God loves to see the world.  God loves to go places.  God loves the warm fires and the hot chocolate.  God loves the love in the world.  And I bet that’s God’s favourite part of all.

Joy to the world

The third candle on the Advent wreath is joy.  It’s often a pink candle, which is a nice tradition, though I can’t help wondering why we wouldn’t then let the other candles have there own colour rather than a seasonal colour with one anomaly.  What colour would you make hope?  Or peace or love?  It kind of makes joy stand out a bit, though, and I think I’m okay with that.

I know I’ve said previously that these Advent themes may well be all words that mean something different in the context of Jesus than when we might use them on a day to day basis, but I wonder if joy isn’t so much different as more.  And I don’t think it’s just semantics.  We might say happy or blissful, jovial or cheery, gleeful, merry, jubilant, the list is long for ways to describe how we’re feeling in a moment or about something.  But, to me, joy is the all-encompassing way to describe all those things at once, all those things in the context of something bigger than a moment, bigger than a feeling or a sense.

I think that’s because joy isn’t just about emotion or behaviour, it’s about spirit.  Sure, it’s all part of it, the warm fuzzies, the laughter, a smile, being “merry and bright” and all, but it’s more than that.  True joy, that's something that goes to the very core of who we are, the very deepest corner of our hearts, the very darkest place, and brings light.

I believe that true joy is found in the moment in which we find God present in our lives in a way which brings wholeness to our spirit.  There may be happiness and cheerfulness, there may be a smile or a belly laugh, but there may also be pain relieved, a moment of support that turns uncertainty to confidence, an awareness that our struggles are shared, that we are safe and secure and that we are not alone.  There will be comfort and contentment, a sense of rightness and a sense of certainty that life is good, in the true sense of the word.

There’s God’s presence, again, just like the wreath itself, connecting hope and peace and joy and love.  And just like those other “lights,” joy can’t remain just within us, but demands to be lived out.

I’m privileged to play the piano for Bashaw Community Theatre and they just did a show in our church.  Sister Act is lively and entertaining and the full house at each performance really enjoyed the shows.  And they were good shows (they’re always good shows).  I think people in the audience left each show with some joy.  Sure, the shows were good - as one of the characters might say, they looked good, they moved good, they sounded good.  But there was more.  There was spirit and warmth and connection that people on stage shared that was shared with the audience.  That brought them joy.

I know there were times when it was hard work, times when people came to rehearsal with their own issues and problems and tough days, times when they weren’t sure they could sing or dance or (most especially) do it on stage in front of people.  But I also know there was a space created where people felt safe, supported and loved, with friends that cared, where their company was enjoyed, playing and working together, and where they belonged.  There were friends and families, sisters and brothers, young and old, experienced performers and first timers.  There was people from this town and other communities, there was three generations of one family, an engaged couple, a very pregnant nun and buddies from school.  What there was, was a family, very much the kind of family that our churches and communities should be: loving, hopeful and filled with joy.  That’s life giving.

And that’s just the point of joy.  Not every moment of Christmas will be merry.  For some, it will be hard to find any moment that’s merry.  But there may be joy.  The way to joy can take us through pain and grief, struggle and disappointment, even loneliness.   But in sharing those with each other, in caring for each other, in loving each other, our spirits are made more whole and given life.  Maybe joy does deserve a candle of a different colour.

There was a child, born to a poor couple who probably feared the questions people would ask about his parentage as much as they feared being able to afford to feed him.  The baby was born with little help in a dirty stable.  Angels didn't tell the wealthy or the wise first, they told poor, struggling shepherds that nobody really appreciated or respected.  The magi who came with gold, frankincense and myrrh had to work hard to follow the star and when they found the baby, they barely escaped with their lives.  Lots of children didn't, thanks to Herod's fear.

There's lots in the Christmas story that's about struggle and pain and fear.  But at it's heart is a new life.  Joy to the world, love is come.

Towards a real world Peaceable Kingdom

The second candle we’ll light on the Advent wreath is for peace.

Like hope, the first candle, we could say that this is another term that means something different in the context of Jesus than how we might use it “in the real world.”  (There’s a reason for those quotation marks, and I’ll come back to that.)

The peace of Jesus is something different, alright.  In the Gospel of John, we even hear Jesus say “peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.  I do not give to you as the world gives” (John 14:27).  Truly.  This peace isn’t just about an absence of conflict, chaos or trouble, it’s about the presence of God.  It’s the next link on the Advent wreath: when we live into the hope of God’s presence in our lives, we can also find the peace of God within us, that peace which is then lived out in the love that Jesus teaches us to share.

Jesus didn’t offer the disciples just a sense of inner peace, but the realization that inner peace lived out creates peace - and shares peace - with the world around us.  Loving our neighbour as ourselves and loving the world around us as Jesus teaches us to love, brings the prospect of peace without as well as within. 

Let’s go back to Isaiah for a minute.  I’ve mentioned before, I think, how much the followers of Jesus love Isaiah.  Isaiah’s the most frequently quoted Hebrew scripture prophet in Christian scripture and for good reason: Isaiah’s hope-filled prophecies of a messiah are heard as being fulfilled in Jesus.  Isaiah 11:1-10, for example, describes the shoot that will come from the root of Jesse - that the messiah will be from the house of David - and how “the spirit of the Lord shall rest on him.”  He will have all the traditional God-given attributes of a great king, but also “he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked.”  I don’t hear an army in that or force, in fact, for me, the breath that can “kill the wicked” conjures up the image of the breath of the spirit, of Jesus sharing peace and the spirit with the disciples.

And that’s the thing about “the peaceable kingdom” that Isaiah then describes as the result of the messiah’s reign.  “The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them.  The cow and the bear shall graze, their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.  The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den.”  This isn’t a negotiated truce or an enforced cessation of violence, this is predators and prey living together and children, innocent and unknowing, kept safe from harm.  This is a fundamental shift in the relationships of all living things: “they will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord.” 

Edward Hicks: Peaceable Kingdom (1826)

This messiah will lead the world to be so fully aware of God that we will return to that Eden-like paradise of all things being in right relationship with each other, that we will know we are all children of God, that love and grace will rule all hearts and lives and that we won’t hurt each other.

Wait, though.  That’s certainly not our world, is it?  So does that mean Jesus failed or that Jesus isn’t the messiah?  Or does it mean that Jesus, alive in us, calls us to live into that peace and strive for that world in this life, even as we know we’ll return to God?

Hence my quotations, “in the real world.”  The peace of God isn’t a concept to talk about for an hour in musty old churches or even in hip cool churches, it has real world application.  It did with John the Baptist, too, remember?  He called people to repent because the kingdom of heaven was near.  To repent means to turn, literally, away from sin, to make a fundamental change to a new way of living, of living into a relationship right with God and with each other.

If we want to make peace happen, it starts within us and is lived out with others.  It starts with the light of hope to guide us and the presence of God’s peace on the journey.  Jesus teaches us to do, to love and care and build our own peaceable kingdom.

Turning of the Year

Every year, I try to remind people that the first Sunday of Advent isn’t just the beginning of the “season of preparation” for Christmas, it’s the beginning of the church year.  That means that the New Year doesn’t begin with a bang, but with a time of reflection, preparing for the celebration of the birth of Jesus.

That can be a challenge for many, especially when Advent is so full of Christmas already.  Maybe Advent needs its own moment of preparation.

Just like the secular calendar’s New Year’s Day has its New Year’s Eve, so does the church calendar.  Or it would, if the Sunday before Advent wasn’t already designated as something else.

Most everybody who uses the Revised Common Lectionary (the list of weekly scripture readings shared by most mainline christian denominations) marks that last Sunday before Advent as Reign of Christ Sunday, or Feast of Christ the King.  It’s a relatively new idea.  Pope Pius XI instituted it in 1925 and it moved to its current date in 1969.  The Pope was concerned with the rise in secularism and wanted to emphasize the idea that Christ should “reign in our minds … reign in our wills … reign in our hearts … reign in our bodies.”  It didn’t hurt that it also emphasized the importance of the church at a time that its influence was waning.  It also came at a time when the Pope and Italy were working out the details that led to the Lateran Treaty establishing the Vatican City as a state.  It’s fascinating stuff, but I don’t mean this to be a history lesson, so please Google “The Roman Question.”  It really is interesting.

In spite of the language of kingship - and the context of that historical stuff - it’s a pretty solid idea: an opportunity to draw attention to how Christ should rule our lives.  Assuming, of course, that you unpack “rule” in a way that is understandable and meaningful.  For most people, the historical role of kings and queens isn’t really positive, unless it’s in a Disney movie (and that’s no guarantee, either). 

But lets look at “rule” and “reign” a little differently.  We talk constantly about the presence of God in our lives.  As followers of Jesus, we strive to live as Jesus teaches, don’t we?  Before you answer, think about that for a moment: do we strive to “live” as Jesus teaches?  That’s not about behaviour, it’s about how we live.  That means, as Pius XI suggested, in our minds, our wills, our hearts, our bodies.

I was a choir boy in an Anglican cathedral choir when I was a kid, and I’m pretty sure the first latin words I learned (and still remember) were “ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.”  The first line of an ancient hymn, it means “where charity and love are, God is there.”  To me, that’s the reign of Christ or the rule of Jesus, that God is present in our lives through the love we live.  It isn’t about control or command or the trappings of royalty, it’s about welcoming and engaging the presence of Christ in how we live.

So maybe that’s a good thought for New Year’s Eve, too.  Do a “year in review” and take a moment before Advent begins to reflect on the past year.  Where did you see love rule in your life?  Where was there charity?  Or compassion, healing, hope or peace?  Where was there joy?  Where was there Christ?

God of the Living

I would usually write about the lectionary readings for the Sunday coming up, but I went off lectionary for our final service in Mirror last week.  So this week’s post reflects the passages from Luke for last week and this week.  Besides ... it seems appropriate.

“He is God not of the dead, but of the living” (Luke 20:38).

It’s usually about this time of year that I get two or three letters telling me that the end of the world is imminent and I’m going to burn in the very fires of hell.

I should clarify that a bit: the letters - they’re often pamphlets really - aren’t addressed to me personally, although the “you” they address feels pretty personal.  They also tell me that my safety during the coming armageddon and protection from the subsequent judgement can be easily assured by me supporting their very important ministry with a donation.

Sometimes I read them just to see what new and novel ways indicate that the end is near: the writer had a vision of a great beast devouring the earth; nature is fighting back and trying to destroy us; terrorists could get their hands on advanced weapons of mass destruction; the various conflicts around the world are getting progressively out of hand; the right is killing the country, or the left, take your pick; the Oilers are winning, for real this time.  All signs of the impending end of the world.

Okay, I’m making light of something that’s pretty serious.  In fact, some of those scenarios are very current and very real.  But are they signs of “the end?”  Or are they being used to make you afraid so you’ll believe in something?  Fear is a pretty powerful motivator.

Jesus talks about there being an “end time,” as do prophets in the Bible, and there’s the whole book of Revelation.  But Jesus also has a warning, that we should be wary of false prophets and those that would use fear to control and hurt the world.  Jesus has another message, too.

Don’t panic.

Really.  Don’t panic.  Don’t be afraid, first of all, because God is with us in this life and in the next: the end of this life is the beginning of a new life with God.  Secondly, God calls us to living in this life, to love boldly, to engage this life with all the enthusiasm, creativity and wisdom we possess - to use our capacity to make change happen.  Fear is death, not life.  Love is life.  Fear doesn’t empower us to learn and grow and change.  Love does that.  Fear holds us back from living boldly into the next moment.    Love moves us to embrace the world and step fearlessly forward.  And Jesus reminds us that our God “is God not of the dead, but of the living,” in living out this life and living into the next.

I suspect that the reason we see more of this kind of “literature” at this time of year, and hear bible stories about it, is because we’re coming to some endings.  The church calendar begins with Advent, so the end of the church year is this coming week.  The calendar year ends soon, too.  Oh, and it’s often election time.  How’d that go recently?

But those endings are also beginnings of something new, aren’t they?  They’re signs that something is coming, Christmas for one thing.  That, too, is a beginning.  The birth of Jesus shouldn’t be something that we acknowledge every year just because it’s marked on the calendar from last year.  We celebrate it because it reminds us of new life, shows us the wonder of our selves and our relationships with each other and God, and inspires us to live better in those relationships.

Even when it seems like the new beginning brings an even greater struggle, a setback or a defeat, Jesus reminds us that God goes with us and love is still the heart of life.  Choose to love.  With all due respect to George R.R. Martin, it’s not winter that’s coming, it’s summer.

And by the way, what made me think of this wasn’t elections or conflicts or change and upheaval, it was that I didn’t get any of those “letters” this year.  Not one.  Maybe that’s a good sign.

So don’t panic, Jesus says.  Stuff happens and, with God, we’ll live into those challenges as they come.  I certainly don’t want to be worried that the Oilers have started winning again.  For now.

A New Thing Ahead

On Sunday, November 6, 2016, the congregation of Mirror United Church will hold their last service after 112 years of serving the communities of Lamerton and Mirror.  It’s not a new or unique story: like many rural churches, the congregation has become small and tired and not financially able to sustain its ministry.  That’s happening a lot, and not just with small rural churches.

It’s a sad day and we grieve the loss of a unique church family, a place of worship and a building that was once at the heart of the community for many people.  There will be memories to share and stories to tell.  The life of the congregation comes to an end much like the life of an old, close friend.  There is a long life to celebrate, but it seems like the best years are past and it’s time for this life to be done.

After the few remaining members made the decision to disband, we sat and talked about what will happen next and what might be in the closing service.  One of them pushed a bible across the table to me, open to Isaiah, and pointed to these verses: “Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old.  I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” (Isaiah 43:18-19)

These were prophetic words of hope for the Hebrew people.  Conquered by the Assyrians and many exiled from Jerusalem to Babylon, this is the part of Isaiah that foretells that things are about to change for them: a messiah will come and Jerusalem will be renewed.  For the Hebrews, that was Darius and the Persians who defeated the Assyrians and liberated the Hebrews (kind of) and restored Jerusalem (mostly).   It’s also the part of Isaiah that Christians hear and love the most as foretelling the coming of Jesus.  It’s the most quoted part of Hebrew scripture in the gospels, not just for its prophecy, but for its message of hope in making a new world.

But I don’t think that the writer means for God to say forget the past entirely.  I think it means let go.  Let go of the past, don’t cling to it.  Let the past do what the past should do: inform your present and move you forward.  Let the past inspire your vision, not cloud it.  How else will you perceive the new thing that’s happening?

I think there’s different contexts for that letting go.  It’s not just about the hardship, struggle or conflict.  Every life has its share of that.  It’s also about letting go of the things we celebrate, in a way.  What we bring forward from all our experiences is what we’ve learned that can inform the new present, otherwise we’re simply repeating things, both destructively and because “we’ve always done it that way” (a classic church dilemma).  Both bind us to the past.  While we may find comfort and safety there, our ability to envision the future and see possibility and potential in it comes with holding the past where it belongs: in the past.

And Isaiah offers something else.  Right before these verses, he reminds the people that their God that promises them “a new thing” is the God of Exodus, the God who freed the people from bondage once before (Isaiah 16-17).  Let go of that past, says God, I’m doing a new thing.  And then, in the verses following, the new world of that new thing: a way through the wilderness, rivers in the desert, wild animals will be grateful and refreshment for God’s people (Isaiah 43:19-21).

Words of promise and hope.  Let go the past to be the past and step boldly into the future knowing that God goes with you to make a new thing.

We will celebrate with gratitude and appreciation the work of the Mirror congregation over many years.  The members that now move on to another congregation take their wisdom, experience, hopes and dreams there, looking forward to the new thing that is happening in their lives, knowing that God is with them.  The Mirror community, too, can look forward to a new thing happening with the legacy which is the church building.  We all can look forward to the newness of our lives with God.  Do you perceive it?

Living Thanksgiving

It’s Thanksgiving this week.  At least, in Canada.  And I mean the holiday named Thanksgiving, of course, not actual thanksgiving, itself.  That should happen every day.  I think it’s the point of a “holy-day,” to commemorate something we should be living out the other 364.

So go and be thankful, every day.  That could be the message of many a Thanksgiving sermon.  We might ask people what they’re thankful for or who they’re thankful for, maybe even in a creative and interactive way (yes, we’ll be doing that) and remind them to give thanks, to each other, to farmers for the harvest and workers for all they create, to friends and family and, of course, the Creator.  And not just this holiday weekend, but everyday.

You can’t command people to be thankful, though, or even to express their thanks.  Sure, from a young age we teach that one should say “thank you” when we are given something.  It’s a sign of politeness and respect to do so.  But just saying it doesn’t make you thankful.  Haven’t you ever said thank you when you weren’t really feeling thankful?

Our sense of gratitude is so easily impacted by expectation and entitlement.  It wasn’t what was expected or we expected better or we deserve it because it’s our right or it’s your job to provide that to me anyway.  And then there’s the things that we’re definitely not thankful for, like hate, war, violence, sickness, famine - that’s a long list, too.

But doesn’t that make it even more important that we be thankful for life?

Let go of the expectations and entitlement for a minute, please, and recognize the gifts that we are truly thankful for, the gifts that are deeper than those that we can be distracted from.  We know them, we do, because they feed us and they are life giving and life changing.  They may be large or small.  It may take a moment to discern them, to move aside all the other “stuff” that can get in the way, but choose to make that moment.  And not just one day, but everyday.

When I was little, we always said grace before meals.  This grace: “For what we are about to receive, may we be truly thankful.  Amen.”  I’m pretty sure that there were some meals I wasn’t too thrilled with.  I may not have eaten all my vegetables and sometimes there may have been beets, even.  But I remember “truly thankful.”  I may not always have seen it at the time, but I know it meant more than what was on the plate.  It meant that I was fed and cared for, had a place to be and people who cared for me and loved me.  It meant there was something greater.

I wonder if that grace isn’t for more than meals.  Maybe it’s for each new day, each new experience, each new moment that feeds our lives.

The gospel story for Thanksgiving this year is Jesus telling his followers that he’s “the bread of life.  Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”  (John 6:25-35)  I’m truly thankful for that, not perfectly, but truly.  And because Jesus feeds us, we should feed others.  Not perfectly, perhaps, but truly.  That’s living thanksgiving.  Truly.

Just a scratch behind the ear

We have a new puppy in our lives.  He’s a merle coloured chihuahua named Yoda.  We named him that in the hopes that he would be a small wise man with big ears.  You know, just like Yoda.

He’s not, of course.  Not yet, anyway.  Right now he’s a five month old puppy, so a whole lot of training has been happening at our house.  And here’s a few things he’s taught us: if you put it near me, I will chew it; I like to eat anything that’s on the ground - anything - but I’ll be a little fussy about when, or if, I’ll eat what’s in my bowl; the living room rug is a good place to do my business; I have no intention of doing as you say and, by the way - catch me; you better keep your eyes on the ground, cause I go where I want; I love my mommy and will cuddle and sleep in her lap, but that guy’s only good for being a bigger chew toy.

We’re learning, but I’m pretty sure he thinks we could do better.

Of course, I think he could do better.  He can be uncooperative, frustrating, time consuming, needy and annoying.  And super cute.  And friendly and fun and loving.  And did I mention super cute?  One minute he’ll be a rotten little so-and-so and the next minute he’ll be licking your hand and curl up next to you the couch.

He’s like a three year old boy.  Or a thirty year old.  Or a fifty year old.

Yeah, that’s where I’m going with this.  If you have a pet or a farm animal, you likely know that you can’t just expect them to be and do exactly what you want all the time.  Sooner or later there are moments when those creatures can behave in a way that's more than a little trying.  Then, a short while later, you'll be giving them an affectionate little scratch behind the ear and a smile like everything's fine and all is forgiven.

Wouldn't it be great if we could learn to give that much grace to people?  Wouldn't it be great if, the next time you saw someone on the street that you didn't like much or that you'd been having a disagreement with, wouldn't it be great if you just walked up to them and gave them a little scratch behind the ear.  Metaphorically, of course.

I know, you want to say "but it's not that simple for us.  We're much more complicated and sophisticated than animals."  Sure we are.  Mostly.  But why can't we be that simple - not simplistic - just simple?  Why can’t we be that childlike - not childish - about it?  That's the kind of simple grace God has for us.  And the kind of grace God would like us to have for each other, for all creatures and for the earth itself.

For the past few years, we’ve celebrated the last Sunday of September with a Blessing of the Animals at the Ag Grounds.  We’ve had many dogs and cats, kittens and puppies, a goat, a bearded dragon, chickens and bunnies.  We’d love to have horses, sheep, cattle and pretty much anyone.  Yoda will be there for the first time, sharing in the blessing that we are all a part of.

God's blessing rests on all creation.  Sharing that sense of blessing with each other, the other creatures who share this earth, and the earth itself, connects us.  “The earth does not belong to us, we belong to the earth.  All things are connected like the blood that unites us all.  We do not weave this web of life.  We are merely a strand of it.  Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves."  (Attributed to Chief Seattle, 1854.)

What do you see in a rainbow?

Our church has a rainbow.  Actually, now that I think about it, it has several.  But this new one’s a little different in scope.  It covers the entire walkway from the sidewalk to the front door.

Photo by Kerri Aucoin

It’s been an interesting couple of days painting it.  We made no announcement that we were doing it.  The church Board approved it and then we just did it.  Surprise.

People going by while it was being painted seemed quite happy with it.  Lots of smiles and compliments on how it looks and, interestingly, only an occasional “why?”  Or “what’s it for?”

I know that we did it as a statement about welcome.  Last June, the congregation voted to participate in the United Church’s Affirming Program, an educational and discernment process that reflects on what it means to be inclusive and evaluates our congregation’s openness to including all in the life and work of our ministry.  That’s ALL, including age, gender, race, ability, class, economic status and, in particular to the Affirming Ministry, sexual orientation and gender identity.

So, yes, we hope that people will recognize the LGBTQ+ rainbow and we hope they know they’re welcome and safe here.

We also hope that people who’ve seen our hand painted sign that says “We’ll take anyone” will find this a more eye-catching way of saying that and know that when we say anyone, we mean anyone, even “all the colours of the rainbow” anyone.  Not only are you welcome here, but appreciated for your differences and loved for who you are.

We hope that children will laugh and be inspired by it and know that the church is a happy and safe place for them, too.

We hope that people will be reminded of the ancient story of the Great Flood and remember that the rainbow is a sign of God’s covenant of life with us.

We hope that people will see that it’s creative and colourful and so are we.

We hope that people will see it and smile and be reminded of the sense of wonder and beauty that we experience when we see a rainbow in the sky.

The point is, we hope that you will see something that is welcoming, heart warming, friendly and inspiring that speaks to you.  See?

Mary Ellen loves this hymn

“Come in, come in and sit down, you are a part of the family.  We are lost and we are found, and we are a part of the family.”  That’s the chorus of Jim Manley’s hymn that many folks think is the unofficial theme song of the United Church of Canada.  Mary Ellen loves this hymn and every church should have a Mary Ellen.  There are other favourites, I’m sure, probably as many as there are congregations, but this is one that hits home with lots of people with its recurring motif of “we are a part of the family.”

The “family” image isn’t exclusive to the United Church, of course.  Our “church family” is a popular way to describe any congregation or community of faith.  We’ve probably heard it used in other places, too, anywhere that people work or play together in a close enough way to form a relationship: work, school, clubs, communities.  The key is the relationship part, isn’t it?

Yes, says Jesus, yes it is.

And we have some struggle with that.  It wasn’t that long ago that the structure of a “conventional” family was as set in stone as it was in Jesus day: father and mother, 2.5 children, dog or cat and a reliable automobile.  What society had established as the structure was the only structure and the emphasis was on the positions and how we perceived them rather than the relationships between.  You knew your place in the hierarchy and who you were expected to be.  Lots of these “conventional” families were happy and healthy, but when you looked beyond the required structure and the expectations, there was lots of dysfunction, too. 

Our understanding of family structures has been changing for some time now.  I’m going to say evolving and growing, because I believe that, but many still struggle to hold to the familiar system they know.  I think what makes the difference is respect for the relationship of individuals and awareness of the importance of everyone’s uniqueness in developing community.

In the church family, too. 

Jesus is all about relationships and about how we engage each other with respect and openness.  When Jesus talks about loving and caring, it’s not something you do to someone, but with someone.  Good stewardship is not about benevolent control over, but care with.  Peace and harmony isn’t about everyone being the same, but about respecting differences and engaging the richness of those differences.  This, of course, is the kind of church family we’d like to have.  But are we there yet?

We’re accustomed to hearing stories about Jesus that show us how important it is to love and care, about peace and unity.  But in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke we also hear Jesus saying that he comes to bring division, to pit father against son, son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, essentially to divide a household.  Jesus challenges the “conventional” family of his day, saying that place and status need to be broken down when they aren’t working.  And they aren’t working in the synagogue, either.  Family is important, but family is about being in relationship.

“Unity in diversity” is a key theme in many churches, especially the United Church, and it could be a family motto.  But it has to be more than words.  To truly mean it, it must be the real family: one where people are able to love and respect difference as well as similarity, to learn from each other, to fight and then forgive, and to embrace and to recognize the time to part.  Yes, relationships change and sometimes have to end, but they can do so with respect and integrity.  New beginnings require an ending, new directions a change in the path.

He said what?

Have you played Trump or Jesus, yet?  If you go to trumporjesus.com, you can play an online quiz that offers you a series of quotes and you have to guess who said it, Donald Trump or Jesus.  You shouldn’t get anything less than a perfect score.

The point is to demonstrate how, despite the many Trump supporters who claim to be followers of Jesus, the things that he says are just completely the opposite of Jesus.  Like I said, you should not get anything less than a perfect score.

You better not get anything less than a perfect score.

Jesus is all about love and peace, caring for others and loving your enemies, being humble and sharing what we have.  That’s the Jesus we know, right?  And I think we know where The Donald stands on those issues.

How about this one: “do you think I’m here to bring peace?  No, I bring division.  Houses will be divided, father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother … You look at the clouds or the wind and you use them to predict the weather.   But you see what is happening all around you and you don’t understand what’s really going on.”  Trump or Jesus?

Yeah, that’s Jesus.

Not something you might expect from the “Prince of Peace,” is it?  But there it is, in Luke 12:29-56 (that’s my paraphrase above).   Like something Trump says, you might be tempted to ignore it or set it aside with a disbelieving shake of your head as something that’s a little “off message.”   Not that fear mongering, conflict and an arrogant superiority aren’t part of Trump’s message, they are.  But that’s not Jesus.  So if we hold on to this and engage it as something said by the same person who lived and taught a radical way of love and peace and wholeness, what then could it mean?

First, let’s be clear about peace.  Jesus doesn’t bring the kind of peace that we might superficially understand as the absence of conflict.  I’d suggest that Jesus’ idea of peace would be a sense of God’s guiding presence in our lives.  Martin Luther King Jr. wasn’t the only person to suggest that “true peace is not merely the absence of tension: it is the presence of justice,” or something similar.  But I wonder if we don’t need more, like a mindset - and a “heartset” - that says there may be tension, division or conflict, but that we’d address it with love, respect, patience, and compassion, as well as justice.  In other words, what Jesus teaches that God intended.

Even the Prince of Peace cannot force us to live peaceably or ensure that every moment or situation would be peaceful.  We have a choice, each of us individually, as well as groups, countries, religions and cultures collectively.

Jesus knows that he brings division.  Not only because he challenges the existing structures of society and tries to break those that are hurtful, hierarchical and power driven.  Not only because he brings a message that some will hear and others may not.  But because he knows that, fundamentally, we will each hear that message with our own ears, think it through in our own minds and bear it in our own hearts.

And I don’t for a moment think that Jesus would prefer conformity and uniformity; one homogenous community where we all think, be and do the same.  No, I think Jesus is hoping for us to recognize that we’re different and engage those differences.  I think Jesus is hoping that we’ll look at the people and the world around us and finally begin to understand that division doesn’t have to be destructive.  If we could see every person, every creature, every thing in every moment for its unique place in creation and engage it with love and respect, just imagine the world that could be built.

Getting On Board?

Can I talk about “All Aboard the Ark!” for a minute?  Stick with me, it’ll be worth it.

“All Aboard the Ark!” was our children’s summer program at the church this year, just last week.  A big “thank you” to all the children, parents, helpers, supporters and leaders who had a part in making a great week.

We do one each year, for 5-12 year olds.  It’s a week, mornings only, with songs, stories crafts and games.  There’s a snack each day, of course, and a lunch on the last day.  There’s a theme for the week and this year it was the Noah’s Ark story (Genesis 6:9-9:17).

Sort of.

We didn’t really focus on the story itself so much as the ark.  Our idea was to wonder about how everyone got along, building the ark and spending all that time cooped up in conditions that weren’t really cruise ship worthy in order that they could make a new beginning for the world.

On Monday we introduced the story: God had decided that things hadn’t turned out the way God thought they would, so God, much like an artist with a painting that hadn’t turned out, decided to wash it all away.  At least, that’s how God described it to Noah when he asks Noah to help.  God wants Noah to build an ark to save two of every creature so that the world can start again, pretty much from scratch.  God even gets the animals to help Noah build the ark.  And we did.  The children got to be there favourite animal and we put together some big pieces of chloroplast (thanks Bryan!) and started building the ark.  Together.

On Tuesday, it rained.  In the story called “Water all around,” anyway, and the animals were worried.  They tried to find God and ask God to stop the rain, but only the fish, in the end, knew where God was: just like the water to the fish, God is all around us, always with us.

The Monday craft had been making rainsticks (a percussion instrument that simulates the sound of rain) so the kids could be part of the story.  Check out our Facebook page for a short video clip of them in action.

By Wednesday, we were on the ark and it was pretty crowded, as you might expect.  We talked about personal space, both our own and respecting other’s, with a story called “Personal Space Camp.”  Both the craft and the games included Tic-Tac-Toe, a game that’s all about individual spaces.

Thursday, with everyone respecting each others’ space, was an opportunity to learn about how we can be good neighbours.  So we talked about the Golden Rule, “do unto others as you would have them do to you,” with a story about a rabbit who wonders how to deal with his new neighbours, the otters.  Yes, it’s called “Do Unto Otters.”

When the ark ran aground on Friday, we had a story called “Water All Around,” in which the raven and the dove, the most plain of all the birds, are the only ones brave enough to go out in search of land.  When the dove can’t find her way back with the olive branch, all the other brightly coloured birds make a rainbow to show her where the ark is.  We sang “This little light of mine” and wondered about the amazing things that each of us can accomplish, both by ourselves and together, remembering that God is always with us.  Just like the fish knew.

It was a great week.  And thanks again to everyone who participated and helped out.

Here’s the thing.  When all was said and done and the week was over, I was sitting reading the news.  All I could think was how much I’d like to take everyone, from everywhere, and sit them down in the kids’ makeshift ark.  We’d read those stories and sing some songs and learn how we otter be getting along.  We’d learn about respecting each other and all that we can accomplish with our individual gifts and, together, fly a little higher and a little brighter over a new world.  It may be child-like, but it sure isn’t childish.

Our pretend ark was church pews, rope and big pieces of plastic.  But the world is an ark, too.  And, just like our week on the ark, we should build it together, know that God is always with us, live with respect, treat others as we’d like them to treat us, and we shouldn’t be afraid to live to the fullest.

Pray

Do you pray?

Just to be clear, I'm not asking about those times in church when the pastor says "Let us pray" and we all bow our heads or kneel and share in a prayer made on our behalf.  Nor am I talking about those times we share in the Lord's Prayer, the prayer Jesus taught us, whether we understand it as an example of how to pray or "the" prayer to be shared.

I mean, do you pray?  You.  By yourself.  With God.  Or by whatever name you call God.

In the gospel of Luke, the author gives us one of the two stories of Jesus answering the disciples request to teach them to pray (Luke 11).  His response includes a short version of what we refer to as the Lord's Prayer.  But Jesus goes on, first with a parable that reminds us to be persistent in prayer and second, a reminder that God answers with what God knows is appropriate.  It seems a little like saying - and I'm paraphrasing Luke with some additions, here - "ask, and it shall be given to you, though maybe not exactly what you were expecting; search, and you will find, though maybe not exactly what you thought you were looking for; knock, and the door will be opened to you, though it may be a little like playing The Price Is Right, 'cause you might find something you weren't expecting."  God knows what is best for you and will answer with what is best for you.  Trust God.

That's a good way of explaining that, I suppose.  At least, we want it to be.  Sometimes it's hard to make that enough.  Like when we pray that God will help someone with cancer get well and they don't.  Or we pray that God will protect us from abuse, but the abuse doesn't stop.  Or we pray that a loved one travels safely and they're hurt in an accident.  Or we pray that God will help us find a job so we can care for our family, and there's no work to be found.  Or we pray for good healthy crops and there's a drought.  Is it enough then?

I want to say it is.  But if you've been in one of those situations when you appeal to God for help and it appears that the help isn't coming, it's seems harder to believe, doesn't it?  And not just in God, but in ourselves.  After all, what if our prayers weren't answered because we prayed wrong?

Maybe the key to understanding that better is in the examples Jesus gives, comparing prayer to persistently asking a friend for help, or comparing how God might answer to a parent's response to a child.  It seems, in Luke's gospel, like Jesus is saying "you must understand the relationship as if God were a friend or parent who knows us, who really knows us, not like some distant, all powerful entity."  God is not the Great Oz, but our dearest friend, a parent, a lover that knows us intimately, genuinely, uniquely.  After all, if we come from God and return to God, how can God not know us so deeply?

Our Prayer Tree - say a prayer
and tie a ribbon on the tree.

I don't have an answer for how God responds to each individual and unique prayer.  I can't imagine that anyone does.  But I know this: prayer is the voice of our relationship with God.  God hears all that is said from our hearts and you can't - you can't! - pray wrong.  God loves us for who we are and God loves us regardless of how we live.  God answers all prayers with love, whatever that love may look like to us.

Talk regularly with God.  Pray for needs, but pray with thanks also.  Pray because God is listening like a best friend or a parent or a loved one.  Pray however your heart needs to speak.  But do pray.