Come Closer

Isn't it funny sometimes how the very images and metaphors we think are helping us to understand something can help to distance us from it, too.

I'm wondering about the story of Jesus meeting a woman at a well.  He's been travelling with the disciples and, as they've headed off in search of food from the nearest town, Jesus sits down by a well.  A woman comes to draw water and he asks her for a drink.  There's a long list of reasons why, in those days, he shouldn't have been doing that.  And that's part of the point, he speaks to someone he shouldn't and she shouldn't be speaking with him.  But they do.  And, as he had asked her for water because he was thirsty, he offers her "water," the water of life.  “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty.  The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life" (John 4:13-14).  Jesus is the water of life, life-giving to the spirit and quenching the thirst of the soul.  As he seems to know who she truly is, she comes to know that he is the messiah.  So she leaves the well and goes to tell others in her town about this "water of life" and they come also to see Jesus.

Here's two important images: Jesus talks to someone he shouldn't and they talk about the water of life.  How shall we think about them?

Why shouldn't Jesus speak to this woman?  Well, she was a Samaritan and, historically, Jews didn't associate with Samaritans.  Period.  And she was a woman and, historically, hebrew men did not speak to women alone.  Period.  And, as Jesus reveals, she's had five husbands and currently lives with a man who's not her husband.  That's been interpreted a lot of ways, but, historically, he shouldn't be talking to her about it.  Period.  And she's at the well at noon by herself which is usually interpreted as she's been ostracized by her community, so, again, he shouldn't be approaching her.  Period.

Great, so it's pretty clear after all those periods that he shouldn't be talking to her.  But what does all that mean to us?  If we put this story in our contemporary context, how would we describe this person?  More to the point, instead of a stereotype, think for a minute of who we would set apart or ostracize.  Why?  What would make them so unapproachable, so set apart?  And so broken.

Yes, broken.  Because that's what this woman is.  We don't really know her back story, but we do know it seems to be full of broken relationships, both with individuals and community.  We know that when Jesus offers her the refreshment he offers, she embraces it and shares it with others - she evangelizes and brings others to see Jesus.

And she brings them to him for this special "water of life."  Isn't water a powerful image?  We need water to live.  We're made of water (between 45 and 75% based on age, gender and body type).  The things we eat need water.  The world needs water.

But how do we, where we live, perceive that need?  Our water comes from a tap.  We're surrounded by oceans, lakes and rivers and all the water in creation.  We bottle water to make it more easily transportable and because it "tastes better."  Few of us know the struggle of having to travel to a well daily, carrying what we need, and many are more likely to consume water as an ingredient in a carbonated beverage, coffee or tea than by itself.  Do we know a real thirst?

How will this story speak to us?  Who do we make outcast and how shall we offer them what they need?  And in doing so, how will we recognize our own brokenness and find what we need?

Perhaps wholeness may be found in understanding how we share with each other: we who are broken know what it means to be thirsty, just as we who know the love and grace of God through Jesus know what it means to offer life-giving water.

From the dark

Study for Nicodemus Visiting Jesus - Henry Ossawa Tanner

The story of Nicodemus visiting Jesus, told in the Gospel of John, is one of those Bible stories that can easily be lost to our need for a soundbite or two.

There are two in this story: the expression “born again” (more accurately, “born from above” or “born anew”) and the famous John 3:16, probably the most memorized verse in the Bible.  We’ve used both of these expressions of our faith as true soundbites, a phrase or two that’s been taken out of its original context and been imbued with all the meaning of its context, at best, and a whole lot more, at worst.

“You must be born again” has acquired the connotation of a certain set of beliefs, a certain way of believing and, most importantly, the exclusivity of access to a new life after we die.  John 3:16 has come to be seen as a summation of the Christian faith, all that we believe in a single Bible verse: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”

Though it makes me sad that “born again” is yet another one of those words or phrases that we’ve lost to a particular interpretation, I don’t want to tackle that here, other than to say that I believe that we are all “born anew.”  And John 3:16?  One of my favourite verses, and one which I like to talk about at great length, but I don’t for a moment believe that one can reduce the vast wonder and mystery which is expressed in the Bible to a single sentence.  I’d also like to add that if you like 3:16, read 3:17, too.  That’s the one that says Jesus didn’t come to judge, but to redeem.

But for now, my interest is in the bigger picture.

The story goes that Nicodemus, a leader in the Jewish community, comes to Jesus at night and acknowledges that Jesus must be from God because of all the great things (miracles) he’s been doing.  Jesus replies that no one comes to the kingdom of God without they are born “from above” (or anew).  Nicodemus assumes a human birth and doesn’t understand.  Jesus explains his meaning as being born again in spirit.  Still Nicodemus doesn’t understand.  Jesus continues to explain that God sent his Son to show us the way to live, to lead us back to God.

I wonder if Nicodemus ever really understood.  The gospel doesn’t say.  Maybe there’s a reason why.

I think the author of the Gospel of John was all about big metaphors.  You can’t get much bigger than Jesus is “the light of the world,” the light that leads us back to God, the light that shows us how to live well.  What if Nicodemus wasn’t an actual person?  Or, at least, if he was, what if Nicodemus represented all who were, literally, still in the dark about what Jesus really meant to the world.  There is something there that draws them from the darkness, something they are seeking.  

Like Nicodemus, we are seeking.  Perhaps the truth or a better understanding of each other or creation or God.  We think we’re seeking boldly.  But we fearfully cling to the structures we’ve created to organize our understanding.  The rituals and rules and order that keep us comfortable.

But the Spirit blows where it will.

Jesus doesn’t offer organization and structure, he challenges them.  He offers instead a new life with the Spirit, he offers truth and love and compassion.  And those can be messy.  And they can be freeing.  And they can be enlightening.

A case of mistaken identity

The season of Lent has begun.  Many people see these forty days before Easter as an opportunity to explore themselves a bit, to spend a little time "in the wilderness," as it were.  If you're doing that, I hope it's revealing and rewarding for you.

Some people like to help that self-examination along with a time of fasting or giving something up for Lent.  Some like to take something on.  There's even suggestions of an act-a-day that you could do.  Again, if you're doing that, good for you.

What have you found about yourself?

That's the important question, isn't it?  It's about identity and living true to who we are.

www.thebricktestament.com

The story that inspires our Lenten practice is the time Jesus spends in the wilderness being tempted by satan or the devil.  Three of the four gospels tell the story (it's absent from John): after being baptized by John, Jesus spends forty days fasting in the wilderness where he's tempted.  When his wilderness experience is done, he begins his ministry. 

Last year, the History Channel produced a popular miniseries, "The Bible."  While there were questions about the telling of some of the stories, their version of the wilderness story was criticized for the appearance of the one doing the tempting, the devil.  Critics pointed out that Moroccan actor Mohamen Mehdi Ouazanni resembled President Barack Obama.  Others suggested a Sith lord from Star Wars, while others also pointed out that he, like most of the villains in the series, looked very middle eastern while Jesus was very white and western looking.

Interesting critiques.  Personally, I would have liked to have seen the devil portrayed by Diogo Morgado.  That's the actor portraying Jesus.

No, I'm not suggesting another actor for Jesus or that I didn't like his portrayal of Jesus.  I'm suggesting the same person for both.

We tell the story as if temptation is an outside force that somehow attacks us.  Or seduces us.  As if it's something foreign or beyond us that we just have to stand up to and all will be fine.  But it wouldn't be a temptation if it weren't something inextricably linked to who we are.  That's the thing about temptation: it's familiar, it looks attractive, it draws us to it, it looks like it belongs to us.  If we knew it was evil, if we knew it was "the devil," wouldn't it be easier to resist?  Wait, maybe not easier.  But we would certainly know if it were right or wrong.

In his dialogue with the devil, each temptation begins "if you are the son of God…" and calls on Jesus to use his power.  But it's precisely because Jesus understands the true meaning of his identity that he knows how to respond.  He came for the hungry, the vulnerable and the powerless, that's what his ministry will be about.  As Jesus, Jesus is valuable, Jesus is enough.

Perhaps that's something the story tells us to work on.  It isn't just about knowing who we are, it's about knowing that's enough: we are valuable for who we are.

So much of the world tempts us with ways to "be a better you" and to "improve yourself."  We need this product or that product because it will somehow make us better or give us a better life.  We are tempted to act this way or that way that gives us a perception of power.

But God has already given us the power to be who we are, created in the image of God.  And that's all we need.

Get up and don't be afraid

The United Church of Canada, like all churches, is worried about it's future.  So they decided to survey all the congregations of the church.  The report's pretty much what you'd expect, concern about dwindling numbers in the pews and in ministry, financial concerns, unhappiness with unwieldy structures (institutions love their paperwork).  The report even has the very practical and entirely unimaginative title of "Comprehensive Review."  You can find it on the United Church of Canada website.  It's a little dry, but practical assessments have to be, don't they?

A few days after that report, the Comprehensive Review Committee produced something else: a document recommending possible directions the church could go, a remarkably creative discussion document they called "Fishing on the other side."

That seems right to me, somehow: the rather dry practical and factual document gets a suitably direct title and the creative one gets something kind of funky.

"Fishing on the other side" is a reference to John 21:4-6.  In the days following Jesus' death and resurrection, some of the disciples had gone back to fishing.  "Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach; but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus.  Jesus said to them, 'Children, you have no fish, have you?' They answered him, 'No.'  He said to them, 'Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some.' So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish."

Like any metaphor, it's fraught with complications, but the point is to suggest that bold and profound transformation is required of the institution we call "The Church."  Some change or adjustment isn't enough, we need to let go of how things have been done and recognize that living out God's mission means something "new."  Just like life.

This document's now being discussed by the local regions of the church and ours worked on it this week.  Locally, we're also working on a regional event called "Unstoppable Church," an opportunity for individual churches to work on their own particular issues and dream together.

There is no shortage of enthusiasm for these discussions and no shortage of desire for change.  But it also strikes me that there is a desire to know - now - what the future will be, to know where we are going and to have the expectation that comes with the knowledge of what that destination looks like.  And that's not surprising because that's often how we live.  We have that constant struggle between knowing where we're going and taking the time to enjoy the journey.

And what happens when it's not what we expected?  Disappointment?  Do we keep trying to make it what we thought it would be?  Or do we engage the people and places on our journey, looking to embrace where that takes us?

I don't have an answer for that.  I think we're all unique in our perspective and our personal interaction with life around us.  But I'm wondering about two bible stories that speak to me about it this week.

Near the beginning of John's gospel is another story of "invitation."  The first disciples come to Jesus because John tells them to: this is the one I told you about, he says.  They go and ask Jesus what he's doing and Jesus simply says "come and see."  No explanation, no promise of what's coming, no agenda, no pamphlet or informational brochure, no map.  Just the invitation to come and see: to experience the journey.  Maybe, as followers of Jesus, we're called to be life explorers.  Maybe as people, we're called to be life explorers.

That can be a pretty scary proposition, can't it?  But that's where another story seems appropriate.  It's a pretty universal moment in Jesus' ministry that happens frequently, in a variety of settings, but this week we hear it as part of the Transfiguration story (Matthew 17:1-9).  In one of those "magical" moments, two of the disciples witness Jesus being "transfigured" - illuminated in a bright light.  And they hear the voice of God say "this is my son, listen to him."  They don't know what's happening, they can't explain it, but it's something amazing and they're scared and they fall to the ground and Jesus says - wait for it, this is the moment - Jesus says "get up and don't be afraid."

Perhaps, as the season of Epiphany comes to a close, that's an "a-ha" moment.  How willing are we, really, to get up and step out into the world, living as Jesus taught, without fear because Jesus walks beside us?

That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard

That Jesus.  He says the darndest things.

Oh, he heals people and shows compassion to the marginalized and care for the poor and hungry, he loves everyone, he tells us that God loves us.  That's all pretty cool.  But did you hear what he said in that sermon on the mount?

Love your enemy.

He can't really mean that, can he?  Enemies must be defeated, overpowered and punished.  That's why we have "an eye for an eye," so that equitable justice will be meted out on those who break the law.  "Let the punishment fit the crime," says the Mikado in the famous Gilbert & Sullivan operetta.  Yes, that's how we maintain a well ordered society: retributive justice.  If only the law was always just.

But Jesus isn't talking about punishment at all, nor is he concerned with a well ordered society (that retributive justice idea has really worked well for us, after all, hasn't it?).  Remember, Jesus came to turn society upside down, to challenge the ideas that have brought us structure, but little else.  He's concerned with relationships, with creating community around love.  He's taking us back to the beginning, before we discovered the power of power, the ability to enforce and the desire to control.

No matter how much power we wield, an enemy is still an enemy, even in defeat.  Punishment, even as retribution, does not defeat evil.  Hatred, fear and ignorance are not ended by force.  Retribution changes nothing.  Centuries later, Gandhi was credited with the observation that a policy of "an eye for an eye" simply results in making everyone blind.  Furthermore, he said, "you cannot inject new ideas into a man’s head by chopping it off; neither will you infuse a new spirit into his heart by piercing it with a dagger."

Jesus isn't talking about management, he's talking about change.  And to make change, we need love.  Martin Luther King Jr., much influenced by Gandhi, would write "darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that.  Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."

Moments later in the gospel story, Jesus calls for something seemingly even more impossible than loving an enemy: "be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect" (Matt. 5:48).

Well, that's the most ridiculous thing, isn't it?   Jesus asks the impossible.  Jesus calls us to perfection, not just the perfection our earthly minds can imagine, but the perfection of God. 

But that's precisely the point: Jesus doesn't mean that earthly kind of perfection.  In the ancient Greek of the text, it says "telos," which means the wholeness and completeness that comes with the fulfillment of purpose, the fulfillment of who we are.

If we believe that we are created in God's image, then Jesus is surely calling us to fulfillment.  He's not pointing out what we're incapable of, he's challenging us to be more fully who we are.  We do not come from sin, we come from love.  We do not come from evil, we come from love.  We do not come from hate, we come from love.  We do not come from fear, we come from love.  Our true power is love.

As long as we rely on the power of force, the idea of retribution, the need for punishment for us to be satisfied, we will only "manage" our world.  And how effectively?  Change comes with love.  Transformation comes with love.  Wholeness comes with love.

You are blessed.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account.  Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you."  Matthew 5:3-12 (NRSV)

I've always had a "love/slightly-less-love" kind of relationship with The Beatitudes.  And I'm referring to Matthew 5:3-12.   Luke 6:20-22 is okay in its own way as Luke tells it, but Matthew's is "The Beatitudes" for me.

That being said, I've also been around long enough to hear (probably) too many sermons about it, read too many columns, articles or blogs, all of which have left me feeling somewhat confused about a focused understanding of it.  That's not a bad thing.  Jesus speaks to us how Jesus speaks to each of us and I think there are a number of ways into his words here.  (Hence my "love/slightly-less-love" relationship, rather than love/hate.)  The Beatitudes are words of comfort and hope sometimes, a challenge at other times, an outline of gospel themes, a way of living, about the spirit, about life, about living God's Kingdom now and about living into the Kingdom to come.  They are variously about blessing, happiness, fortune and honour.  And how Jesus, as he so often does, turns those things upside down.

I should clarify that: Jesus turns things upside down from how we've made them.  We may even know that they're not right.  We just don't always live them the way we should.  And we're not just talking about the "spiritual" things.

God's blessing, for example, is for all.  We are all blessed.  Not in the future, if we do a certain thing, but now.  I don't believe we earn it or attract it (remember "The Secret?") or make it greater with "positive" thinking.  It is always freely given, as is grace and love.  It is our openness - or lack thereof - that determines how we receive it into our lives.

We don't receive God's blessing by seizing it with power.  We open ourselves to it by giving power away.  Those who have nothing, who are empty, are open to being filled.  Those who are kind to others, loving of others, forgiving of others, all open themselves to receiving kindness and love and forgiveness: those who open their hearts to others will receive as they give.  Those who seek peace by sharing peace will find peace, not those who impose "peace" through force or control.

I know: we don't always receive as we give.  Sometimes love is rejected.  Sometimes love receives hate and kindness receives anger and an offer of peace is crushed with force.  "Relationship" is both hard work and dynamic opportunity.

That's why these Beatitudes are such a challenge: they call us to vulnerability.  To be truly blessed, to be open to receiving God's blessing, we must be willing to make ourselves vulnerable, both spiritually with God and in reality with each other.

But we've learned that vulnerability is weakness.  We feel helpless when we're vulnerable and we need to be in control.  We establish our sense of worth and worthiness based on our power and how much stuff we have and we've learned that equality is something we allow rather than embrace, as if our value depends on superiority to another.

It doesn't.  You are blessed.  Already.  As am I and everyone around us.  Blessed with God's presence, God's grace, God's unconditional (if we can truly understand that) love.  To be blessed by God isn't as narrow and specific as we make "blessings" in our daily language, but an all inclusive gift: life.  Life that we share in relationship with each other.  To know that, we open ourselves to it.  To share it with others, we open ourselves to them.  We become vulnerable with them as God is vulnerable with us.

Risky.  Unsafe.  Dangerous.  Uncertain.  Sure, being vulnerable is those things.  It's also daring, fearless, courageous and bold.  Go and be that kind of vulnerable.  You are blessed.  Already.

If I asked you to tell me about your call, what would you say?

The manner in which Jesus acquires the twelve apostles is one of the most familiar stories to Christians.  And like most things familiar to Christians, there's more than one version of the story.  Since the story appears in all four gospels, there's at least four.  Three of those stories are remarkably similar - Jesus calls fishermen to "follow me" and become fishers for people - but they each have their own tweaks that reflect the character of the book in which we find them.  The fourth has John the Baptist kind of introducing two of his own disciples to Jesus.  They follow him around, Jesus invites them to come and see what he's doing and they're hooked - obvious fishing pun intended.

I said at least four because there's also the manner in which people might interpret those stories for their own context.  Like most things familiar to Christians, we try to relate the story to our own lives and see where our lives and the story intersect.  And, perhaps more importantly, where they should intersect.

And there's where things can just start to get interesting.

If you were to ask me, a "capital M" Minister, about my call, I would suspect that you were expecting a certain kind of answer.  I would think that you want to know about my call to ministry.  After all, I'm a minister.  And besides, Jesus called the disciples to ministry with him, right?

Did he?

Well, yes, I suppose.  But maybe the bigger question is "what do we mean by ministry?"  Do we mean: 1. the action of ministering, that is, serving someone; 2. the work or vocation of a minister of religion; 3. a government department; 4. a period of government;  or 5. a heavy metal rock band from the 1980's.  

Some people might choose 1 and 2 from that list, I guess - trust me, don't pick no.5 - but if you're like me, you'd now be looking for another word instead of ministry.  Suddenly it seems a little small.

How about "life?"  Jesus calls us, invites us, to life.

The call to simply "minister" seems too narrow and too specific for me.  I don't think that there's any way one could interpret the stories of Jesus's first disciples as calls to a specific purpose or style of ministry.  He doesn't say "come and see me Sunday at 11, then go home and come back next week."  He says "come and live with me, follow me, talk with me, experience life with me."  Jesus wants us to learn to live.

Jesus's call is simple, but it sure isn't small.  It's God's call to life, through the experience of Jesus's life in our lives.  Our "ministries" are the day to day relationships we share.  I believe God wants us to live those to the fullest.  I also believe that "call" for each of us can be revealed in a moment of blinding enlightenment as well as through years of thought, challenge and hard work.  And, I believe that God wants each of us to find our call as it finds us: in a way that best allows God to speak to us.

I think a good place to start is how we gather as a community, how we make "church."  Not the institution we've constructed that divides us into denominations and separates us by traditions and belief systems, but the "church" the earliest followers of Jesus made, the one that brings people together as Jesus did and says "come and see."

So: will you come and see?  Will you follow?