Won't You Be My Neighbour?

This is the kind of story we need right now.

It’s been told so many times and has become so familiar that a key character in it has become the name we commonly call people who help out strangers. It’s so familiar that some people aren’t even aware that it’s a bible story told by Jesus. It’s so familiar it doesn’t even feel like it’s a parable anymore.

It’s the story told by Jesus, back in the day, to some Jews in the Gospel of Luke about a man on his way from Jerusalem to Jericho. He’s attacked by robbers and left for dead. A priest comes by, sees him lying there, and crosses the road to avoid him. Then a worker from the temple comes by but, again, crosses the road to pass by. Then a Samaritan, considered an enemy hated by Jews, comes by. They stop to help the man, bandaging his wounds and taking him to an inn where they pay for him to stay and be cared for.

It’s been told in other ways, in different contexts, but essentially: man needs help, two different people who should have wanted to help him ignore him, and then someone, a stranger, who we don’t think will help stops and helps him. That’s a bit simplistic, but you get the point, right?

This is the kind of story we need right now.

Jesus tells the story in response to a question: who is my neighbour? Well, two people whose roles might lead you to believe they’d make the best neighbours, who should not only want to help, they’re supposed to help, don’t. I guess you can talk about it, preach it and judge people for it, but you don’t have to do it. Maybe your idea of a good neighbour is to not get involved. Maybe you think not everyone’s your neighbour.

But now, someone you might not even want in your neighbourhood comes by and stops. You might be thinking they’re going to beat him up some more or take anything that’s left, like his shoes. And then they do the unexpected and help, bandaging his wounds and helping him up, finding him proper care.

Who was a good neighbour to the man in need? Jesus asks. The answer is the one who showed compassion and kindness. And Jesus says “Go and do likewise.”

Absolutely, Jesus. But, just to be clear, you mean show compassion and kindness to everyone, right? Even the priest and the levite, who we’re probably at least disappointed in, if not angry with.

Each of the characters in the story gets a label and we make assumptions about each of them. But we don’t know them, as individuals or as members of a community. And now that we’ve made those assumptions, perhaps we’ve labelled their whole community with them, too.

For as often as we’ve heard the story, perhaps right now is a good time to remember that, along with compassion and grace, loving our neighbour means getting to know them. It means being open to understanding them and hearing their story. And not just the neighbours we don’t know yet, but especially the ones we think we do and the ones we thought we did and now seem to be treating us differently. Is that really who they are?

This is the kind of story we need right now.

Jesus Says

Jesus says a lot of things.

Jesus says don’t be afraid. Jesus says you are blessed. Jesus says you are light. Jesus says love your neighbour. And your enemy. Jesus says love each other the way I showed you to love. Jesus says whatever you do - or don’t - to the least of people, you do to me. Jesus says treat others as you would have them treat you. Jesus says you, your self, your soul, is more important than stuff. Jesus says be humble, care for others, serve each other. Jesus says don’t judge others. Jesus says forgive.

Jesus says a lot more than that.

Jesus says. And we wonder, we interpret, we make statements, we create traditions, write books and preach sermons. Over centuries, we arrive here.

Jesus says a lot of things. Are we really listening?

The season of Epiphany wraps up this week. It’s the season of stories that reveal who Jesus is and, I hope, reveals how that same spirit can be alive in us. It begins with the light of the star that guides the magi to Jesus and concludes with the Transfiguration story, when a great light shines through Jesus on a mountain top, he’s seen with Moses and Elijah and a cloud appears and a voice says “this is my son, listen to him.”

Great story. Next week, we’ll head into the season of Lent, a time of reflection inspired by the story of Jesus going into the wilderness to find himself before he goes into ministry. Another great story.

Wait, let’s go back for a minute. The Transfiguration story might end there, but Jesus’ story doesn’t. He and the three disciples that had accompanied him up the mountain to pray come down and join the others below. A man calls out to Jesus to help his son who is “possessed of an evil spirit” because Jesus’ disciples, the ones who had remained at the foot of the mountain, couldn’t help him. Jesus, perhaps a little cranky after a night on a mountain, says “you faithless generation, how long do I have to be with you?” But, of course, he heals the son.

I think the Transfiguration story is a great story. I think it reveals the divine spirit that’s in Jesus, the same divine spirit he tries, time and again, to teach us is in each and every living thing, especially us. But the shining light on the mountain comes down into the valley of everyday and does what it’s meant to, and, if Jesus seems cranky that he had to do it himself, maybe what he’s trying to say is “when will you start to listen to me?”

Listen. Between the mountain tops and deep valleys of our days, a voice says “listen to him.” That’s the greatest wisdom of all. I wonder at how hard we try to explain away, make conditional, even build walls around what’s true in how Jesus’ life and words speak. Sometimes it’s less about what’s true and more about what we desire. Sometimes we’ll “use it” to judge, exclude, even control others. There are too many examples in the world today.

Listen. Perhaps it’s time to stop being Christian and just be Jesus.

The Answer Is Love. It's Always Love.

I’m pretty sure this is how it’s done. It’s not like we haven’t seen it before.

Someone sees you’re struggling. They see your hurt or your discomfort, anxiety or confusion and then it’s just a step or two to telling you what it is that you should be afraid of. You might not know any better, and when that same person tells you who to blame for it and that they have the answer to your fear, well, they’ve got your attention. All you have to do to be saved from this fear is whatever they tell you. Fear is a great motivator. The solution to it is a great power.

Fear comes to us pretty easily. I wonder, sometimes, if it isn’t the downside to our constant need to know more, our quest for knowledge. Remember the tree who’s fruit Adam and Eve weren’t supposed to eat?  It was the tree of knowledge. Because we want to know more - everything, even - we can easily come to fear what we don’t know.

We’re easily afraid of things that are different, too. Like people. Or culture or faith or even just, simply, ideas. That can often be because of what we don’t know. Things sometimes aren’t so different when you get to know them, but even when they are, why would we be afraid, rather than recognize and respect that difference? Maybe that thing that’s so strange to us might be meaningful to someone else. Or maybe we might learn something new, maybe we might broaden our view of the world, maybe we might be changed in some way.

We’re afraid of change, too, aren’t we? I don’t know why I say “too,” because isn’t fear of change really an advanced form of fear of not knowing? We might not know what change will do to the future, but we sure know what we like, what we’re comfortable with and what we think’s good for us. Change can be pretty scary.

I don’t suppose the unknown is the root of all fear and I don’t mean to minimize anyone’s experience of fear - each of us, as unique individuals, will know it our own unique way. But look around you. How much of our world, big and small, is ruled by fear mongering right now?

Politics is a pretty obvious place to look for examples. Governments should be elected and governance practiced on the basis of what good can be done for all people, not who you should be afraid of, who’s to blame for things and who’s telling you they can fix that if only you’d vote for them. Demonizing people, culture or ideas may get votes, but it doesn’t get to what is true. Whoever it is, whatever party, whatever view, whatever country or culture, if they suggest you be afraid, you should ask why. And don’t just settle for their answer, find the truth.

Law doesn’t always help when we treat it as simply a rule to follow or else. Our motivation ought to be what’s right and just, not that you’ll be punished. Fear of punishment doesn’t build a great society, belief in value of life and respect for others does. Laws should encourage good living and safeguard justice. If they don’t, shouldn’t you ask why?

And religion. Like politics and law and any system we’ve created, there’s such potential for good and yet, we’ve so often let it become about power and control. Fear has been a useful tool. It’s God’s love that makes the world a better place, not the presumed authority of someone or something that claims to represent God and demands your allegiance or worse, your servitude. To serve God is to love. If someone tells you different, you should wonder who they’re really speaking for and why.

Jesus says “don’t be afraid” more than anything else. Easy words, Jesus, but how? What do I need to do to not be afraid?

Love, says Jesus. Love your neighbour, sure, but also “love your enemies; do good to those who hate you; bless those who curse you; pray for those who mistreat you.” Love them.

But what does that mean? A smile and a warm hug? Maybe. I’m sure Jesus gave more than a few of those. But look at the stories, look at the teachings. Love means offering grace, compassion, kindness and healing. It means being calm in the face of anger. It also means standing up for what is just and right and speaking truth to power. It means listening to understand and seeking what is true. It means remembering we are all connected and all worthy of respect.

All of that is wrapped up in Jesus’ words “love one another as I have loved you.” Seek understanding, discern justice, offer grace and bring respect to it all. This is the answer to fear. 

Here We Are Again

Well, yes: here we are again.

I haven’t looked to see, but, next to how often Jesus says “don’t be afraid,” I wonder if the next thing he says most frequently is “listen.” I feel pretty certain that would then be followed by something he’s said before. Probably something about loving your neighbour.

So, listen, I’ll be honest. I’m struggling to read or watch the news anymore. The hate seems to be everywhere. It’s not enough to disagree with someone else’s viewpoint, or even to attack it, we’re attacking the people who put it forward. We’re using the word hate more and more and, if not using the word, then we’re using many words to signal that meaning. We’re cursing others and, again, not just their ideas or their different beliefs or cultures, but them, human beings that they are. Stories of abuse, of power and person, from the intimate to the international in scale, are everywhere. Sometimes all it takes is an insinuation, a suggestion or an accusation to start the hate happening. It doesn’t take much for the fire to spread.

So, listen. I think there’s lots in the Bible that’s interpretive. It’s not always as simple as the words on the page. But then, sometimes it is, and more often than not, that’ll be one of those moments when we might just wish “oh Jesus, I just wish you hadn’t said that.” That’ll be one of those moments of simple truth that we wish we didn’t have to address because we think it’s challenging or complicated or messy. Like love. Or life.

And that’s just it. To be life-giving, it needs love. Hate is destructive, it breaks down, it kills, it ends things. Love creates, builds up, gives life and begins things. Like relationships.

So, listen, says Jesus, here’s how you do it. Here’s how you live into your life, created in the image of God, created for relationship, created to create and to grow, created to mend and to heal. Start with you. You: love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless and pray for those who curse and abuse you, love those that are hardest to love. Do it for you. Make love the way that you operate. Create a place of care, forgiveness and respect around you. Then share that as widely as you can. Be Jesus to them, not as a behaviour but as a life, lived from the heart.

Hate, as Martin Luther King Jr. said, isn’t defeated by hate, it’s defeated by love. Its darkness is diminished by the light of love, its destructiveness is overwhelmed by love, its brokenness is mended by love.

So, listen, says Jesus, because it’s not just about you. It’s about the power of relationship and the power of that relationship to transform the lives of others. Love doesn’t make enemies, it makes friends, partners, lovers, it makes safe and endearing space for people to grow and thrive as the unique individuals that they are, in a way that builds community - the common unity of all of us together.

That’s a world powered by love, power that’s within each of us. And that’s where it starts: with you.

Making a Connection

Jesus calls the disciples. That's how we describe the first encounter between Jesus and those who will become his key followers.

The gospel of John says that the first followers of Jesus were followers of John the Baptist. He points Jesus out to them and they follow Jesus around a bit until Jesus invites them to “come and see” what he's doing.

Mark, Matthew and Luke tell the much more familiar story of Jesus meeting the first disciples by the Sea of Galilee. They were fishermen and Jesus says to them "come and follow me and I will make you fish for people.” Mark and Matthew’s versions are short and immediate, Luke fills out the story with more detail, even a miraculous catch of fish at Jesus’ encouragement (Luke 5:1-11).

I wonder, though, if we don’t hear them all pretty much the same way: Jesus calls, they drop what they’re doing and follow him. Matthew and Mark even say they do it “immediately.” Luke makes more of a story of it, but they still leave everything behind and go with him. It just doesn’t seem like they put much thought into it.

Perhaps that's the miracle aspect of call. Just as Jesus seemed to know them, perhaps they somehow knew Jesus (and what that meant) in that moment.

So maybe it’s not just a call story, but an epiphany story.

Epiphany comes from a greek word meaning a revealing, a sudden manifestation or appearance, particularly of the divine. Remember the magi? The prophesy said a great king would be born. Even though there was none of the trappings of royalty, they somehow knew they were in the right place.

So maybe those first disciples experienced a moment of epiphany in which they knew who this really was. The divinity of Jesus could be the epiphany moment, that being revealed to them would certainly explain their immediate departure and their willingness to step out into the unknown of what was ahead.

But the epiphany must have been about themselves, too. Maybe they knew that there was a different path waiting for them and now was the time to take it.

Other than the fishermen and Matthew, a tax collector, and perhaps Simon, who was described as a Zealot (a political movement advocating violent rebellion against the Romans), we don't really know anything about the background of the disciples. They were just random, ordinary people on the surface.

But that wasn’t where Jesus connected with them. That’s not where an epiphany happens.

I imagine the divine spirit in Jesus resonated with their own. I imagine they knew that they were so much more than they had thought, that wherever Jesus was going to lead them, it brought them to a better life. I imagine that epiphany moment wasn't just in that split second decision to follow Jesus, but in the days that followed as they lived with Jesus and began to learn what Jesus was about, what he taught and what he showed them. I imagine that these were the first to open their hearts to understanding that Jesus calls us, not to be different, but to be more of who we truly are.

What a Wonderful World

Here we are then. Rhetoric dialled up to ten. Anger and frustration up around 12, maybe, and hate, well, hate’s off the chart in some places. What a wonderful world.

It is, though, it really is. It just depends, as Louis sings it, on how you see it. In the song, he sees it in the trees and flowers that bloom for me and  you, in the bright blessed day and dark sacred night, in the colours of the rainbow not just in the sky but in people, too. He hears it when people really mean to say “I love you” and when babies cry, reminding him how they’ll grow to be so much more. And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

But right now, appreciation of our environment doesn’t seem to be registering with many, the days don’t seem blessed, the darkness is overwhelming and don’t even start on the rainbow. It’s hard to discern the love in so many of the things being said because it seems like people would rather attack than greet and, by the way, tears just make you a crybaby. 

Why does it seem like bullying is the preferred form of leadership? Why are so many people willing to ignore the environment or simply use it to their own benefit?  Why is it easier to deport your neighbour than love them? Why do people have to earn the help and support a caring world should offer? Why is getting the best deal more important than kindness? Why is it more important to say whatever you want than to listen and understand and offer wisdom? And when did it become more important to establish your own “truth” rather than discern what is really true?

Sorry, that turned into a bit of a rant. And I really wanted to write “say whatever the hell you want.” I was feeling it, but ministers don’t talk like that, right? It would offend someone.

It’s probably no surprise to anyone that I sometimes say things that offend people. This might be one of those times.

I remember one time, a few years back, I wanted to put “Dead Man Walking” on the church sign for Palm Sunday. That was going to be my message, that Jesus knew where things were headed even as people celebrated him. I asked Lori what she thought. She said don’t put it on the sign, people will be offended. Sure, but I thought it would get their attention. She said it would, but not the way I intended and then they won’t want to listen. 

She was right and I didn’t put it on the sign.

Even in his most human moments, I think Jesus always took into consideration who he was talking to, whether it was to teach, comfort, support or challenge. I think he tried to learn more about them, hear their stories and understand them before he said what needed to be said. I think he encouraged people to be active listeners by being one himself. I think he always put others first, even when he had to say something difficult. I think he always tried to speak with respect and kindness and I think he always tried to speak what is true.

We’ve lost a lot of that. We don’t listen to learn and understand, we listen to respond or, worse, overwhelm. Often, we participate only for our own benefit or to influence, rather than be influenced. And we demand and direct, rather than offer and support.

And I think to myself, be more like Jesus. What a wonderful world we’ll see.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

Jesus is from Nazareth. He wasn’t born there, of course, and after his birth he spent a few years in Egypt, according to Matthew’s gospel. But when his family returned, they went to Nazareth. “So was fulfilled what was said through the prophets, that he would be called a Nazarene” (Matt. 2:23). Sure enough, he is: Jesus of Nazareth.

Each of the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke tell a story of Jesus returning to his hometown and not being very welcome there. Most bibles title the incident “The Rejection of Jesus at Nazareth.”

Basically, Jesus goes to Nazareth and attends synagogue where he reads scripture and teaches. The people hearing him are "astounded" at what he says and question how he could possibly be so wise. After all, they know him, he's just that carpenter's son from down the street. Then, they’re offended at what he would presume to tell them. Jesus replies with the popular proverb that a prophet is never welcome in their hometown and goes on his way.

Both Mark and Matthew place the story well into Jesus’ ministry and, as they tell it, the people seem to take instant offence to Jesus' preaching because they think they know him. It appears they've already labelled him as a local boy of a certain status and therefore he can't possibly know or say what he does.

In Luke, however, the story is very early in Jesus’ ministry. In that account, Jesus reads from the prophet Isaiah "the Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour."  He tells everyone listening that this scripture is fulfilled in their hearing.  "All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, 'Is not this Joseph’s son?'" (Luke 4:22).

That sounds to me like they're proud of him, willing to hear what he says. He’s a local boy made good. But that changes pretty quickly. As Luke tells it, Jesus tells them he won’t be doing what he’s done elsewhere because they’re just interested in themselves and don’t actually believe him. He reminds them of how, in the past, God has helped foreigners more readily than them because of their failure to live true with God. And then, they get angry and they turn on him. That wasn’t what they wanted to hear. How dare he.

But just like the prophet Isaiah, Jesus spoke what is true. They haven’t cared for the poor or the blind, helped the oppressed or the marginalized, been just or served others. Jesus came to bring people back to God, to show how to live love and the essential good that is in us. There’s no better place to preach that than where the community of faith gathers. It’s where the spiritual meets the real, physical world and all its failings.

For the spirit to travel into the world, it must be true and authentic. Jesus "the Word made flesh" and "God with us" is also Jesus, son of Mary and Joseph, the ordinary working, playing, living and loving person like you and me. To live like Jesus isn't about being more "godly," it's about being more fully human and to be more fully true to the image of God that is at the heart of each of us. That’s how the Spirit of the Lord is upon each of us.

There Was This Wedding

In the Gospel of John, the very first thing Jesus does is go to a party. Sure, there’s the famous intro and his cousin John introduces him to some of his first followers, but the first action the gospel narrates is Jesus, his mother and his friends attending a wedding celebration in Cana.

It’s quite a well known story because Jesus brings the wine. Kind of. Wedding celebrations in those days were big week-long events involving the whole community and everyone brought food and drink. They ran out of wine and Jesus’ mother tells him to help them out. He tells the servants to fill some large pots with water and then they serve it and, when they do, it had become wine. And not just any old plonk, the best quality stuff. And a lot of it, too, more than they needed. The steward of the feast even congratulates the groom on holding back the good stuff until now. Crisis averted, party saved, it’s a miracle.

Is it, though?

It’s often referred to as “The Miracle at Cana” or “The First Miracle” Jesus did, but really, any street corner magician could probably pull that off. Maybe not in the quantity Jesus did, but is it really that spectacular? And compare it to other “miracles” of Jesus. No one was healed, physically or spiritually. Justice wasn’t done, no lives were saved, the hungry weren’t fed. Okay, you could argue he helped the thirsty and saved the groom some embarrassment, but it just doesn’t stand up well with the others, does it?

The so-called miracle’s not the point here, though. There’s more important things to notice, and the author of John wants you to. At the conclusion of the story, they write “Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee and revealed his glory, and his disciples believed in him.” 

It’s a sign. Signs point to things, they impart information and direction. You’re not supposed to focus on the sign, but what it points to.

The gospel that begins with the Word and how “the Word was made flesh” to live among us, puts Jesus right in the middle of a life-changing community event. And I don’t think for a moment that he was sitting quietly in a corner being a wallflower. I think he was in among the people, eating, drinking, dancing and having a great time celebrating. It was time to be just one of the people, not the messiah, not yet. 

Even so, as one of the people he makes transformation happen. Ordinary, everyday water, essential to the fabric of who we are, is transformed into something tasty, delicious even, fruitful, enjoyable and lively. Jesus transforms the ordinary into the spectacular. How’d he do that? 

Easy enough to say “well, he’s Jesus.” Sure, but what is Jesus but the divine spirit of love, grace, compassion, the good that has been from the beginning - the very things that he’ll demonstrate with the “miracles” of his life. A life that shows us we are capable of all that, too. 

As he leaves the wedding with his disciples all chatting excitedly about the miracle, I imagine him saying something like “you think that was cool, watch this.”