Again and again, it needs to be more than said

Last week, I wrote about something that I described as needing to be more than said, it needs to be lived.  I was talking about Jesus reminding the disciples that we are all light for the world and we should let our light shine for others (Matthew 5:14-16).

So I'll just say it again: you are light so let it shine.  I know it sounds like a song - it is - but it's truth.  We are all light for others in some way.

The words themselves are pretty meaningful, but it's only in living them into action that they have their power.  I even had some specific examples from our community.  It seems kind of obvious to say this, but that's where the words come to life, isn't it?  When we see them in action, particularly when we see them in action in a way that is personal, connected to us in some way.

There's an international movement called Back To Church Sunday that sets aside a Sunday towards the end of September to encourage people to go to church.  At our church it's September 28, but it varies.  I think it's an awesome idea, although I wonder if it shouldn't just be called Go To Church Week.  After all, if we're trying to be progressive and encourage people to remember that church isn't just about Sunday morning, it could be anytime during the week.  And "Back" to church implies you've been before and lots haven't.  Or that we need to get "Back" to where the church has been in the past and that's not really helpful to anyone, if you ask me.

Of course, I could be over thinking that.

In any case, I think it's a great idea because it suggests that people who attend church - on whatever day of the week - should invite others to join them and that should mean being able to answer the obvious question anyone would ask when you invite them: why?

Good question.  And I'm really not trying to be silly when I say, can you answer it?

See, I think people often find it a challenge to clearly articulate why attending a church is important to them.  I also think the answer lies in the Word becoming action in our lives, that what we do when we gather for church can only be "church" if we go out and live it.

That Sunday that we celebrated new stained glass in our church and our theme was from Matthew 5 (we are light for the world, let your light shine), we began together with these words: "All creation is made sacred by the presence of God.  In the great vastness of creation we have set aside this one small space in which we gather, that we make sacred by creating it with God, decorating it with God and being present with God.  We come in here that we may thank God and talk to God and learn how we might best live out there, in the world.

"We are the salt that flavours the world; we are light to enlighten the world.  We are the hands of Jesus in the world.

"This, Jesus teaches us.  This, Jesus shows us.  And so we will learn, we will share, we will live.  Our world is a feast for the senses, a riot of colour and sound, a confusion of opinion and thought.  But in this we are one:  we are all children of God."

We are all children of God.  When the words we share and preach and learn together become action, when we engage all of creation, including all the children of God around us, in living in a right and just relationship, that's when going to church becomes being church.

Yes, those are still just words.  But if those words speak to you or have some meaning for you, it will be because you have a story to tell of them being lived out for you.  Share your story.  Let your light shine.  Tell it, and inspire others to experience what it really means to be church. 

It's personal and it needs to be more than said

Back in February, I wrote about how Jesus uses the images of salt and light to describe who we are in Matthew 5.  I've come back to that passage this week, specifically the light image: “You are the light of the world.  A city built on a hill cannot be hid.  No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house.  In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven."  (Matthew 5:14-16).

I said then, and I'll say it again and probably again and again, that the most important point here is the obvious one: Jesus doesn't say that you can be light, or that you should do this and then you'll be light.  He says "you are the light of the world."

Let me repeat it one more time, so we're clear: you ARE the light of the world.

Now let me just point out something that's not in the story.  After Jesus tells the disciples that they're the light of the world and that they should let their light shine, the disciples do not all go "oh gosh, Jesus, that's nice of you to say, but no, I'm nothing special" or "aw shucks, Jesus, thanks, but … nah"  and then blush because they're embarrassed.  The disciples don't then tell Jesus to keep it quiet because they don't want others hearing that.  "People don't need to know that, Jesus," they didn't say.

Because they do need to know that.  That's the point.

Sure, humility's important, but this isn't about that.  This is about honestly and realistically recognizing the importance of sharing our gifts in a way that is a light to others, that inspires others and engages others in a way that leads them to find the light in themselves, too.

Now I know that someone might read this and say "oh, yeah, Robin, 'cause you do that all the time."  Yes, I do.  And I wish I didn't and I need to be reminded as much as anyone.

Two reasons that I'm reminding myself with this passage this week.

We're dedicating new stained glass windows - five of them - in our church in Bashaw.  They're beautiful and … enlightening.  They wouldn't be there to engage and inspire us if not for Fern, who sought out local artist Pauline Borreson and worked with her to design and create them.  Fern won't really like it that I outed her, but here's the thing: she said that she wasn't creative and she "wished" she could be.  And she is.  And she made this happen.  I think that's inspiring.  And that it's Fern makes it personal and real, not just an idea.  Everyday that I see those beautiful windows created by Pauline and Fern (and framed by Dwayne, who's awesome with wood), I'm reminded that everyone is capable of being light.

The other is this: Jonathan Langille's family is honouring his memory and wanting to support and inspire others in this community that he loved, though he didn't live in Bashaw long.  So they planned an event for September 20th.  It's evolved into something a little different than they planned, but it's happening and I think you should want to be there.  I know people are busy, and that's okay, but if you live in or around Bashaw please try.  It's not about whether you knew him or how he died or where or even when he lived.  This is about sharing the one light that we all have.  That's not a talent or a skill, it's love.  His family and his memory are giving their love to us, can we not offer them our love?  And our care and our support?

Please don't leave others in the dark.  Be the light.

Enough Faith

As a minister, I've always hoped that people would never hear a sermon or read a column or a blog or listen to something I said and assume that it was right just because I, The Minister, said it.  I've always hoped that people would think about it, consider it, and, hopefully, allow it to inspire them to think for themselves about whatever topic or theme we were talking about.  Maybe they'd like to find out more about it, hear what others have to say, and form their own understanding of how it speaks to them.  Maybe they agree with me, maybe they don't, maybe they agree with someone else, maybe they don't.  Either way, they're wondering about how the story - and God - is speaking to them.

So I'm always a little embarrassed to have to confess when I think I've done that very thing, accepting what's been said about something in the Bible, even if it didn't speak to me.

Sorry if that sounds a little obscure, but I'm up against the story of Jesus walking on water this week, the version in Matthew 14:22-34.  It's never been a favourite story of mine, I think mostly because I simply didn't get it.  So I accepted what I heard and read.  And still it didn't really speak to me.  Until recently.

 Yes, I understand that it's one of the miracle stories that affirms the divinity of Jesus and calls us to have faith.  And I'm okay with that.

But I was always taught that there's a flipside to that.  When the disciples see Jesus coming towards them, walking across the water in the storm, they're afraid.  Not of the storm, but because they don't recognize who it is.  So Jesus tells them, "take heart, it's me, don't be afraid."  Then Peter says "if it's really you, then tell me to walk on the water towards you."  Jesus tells him to, and off Peter goes.  Until he starts to be more aware of the storm around him and he starts to sink.  He calls out to Jesus who saves him and says “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” (Matt.14:31.)

Slam.  No matter whether you hear compassion, criticism or disappointment in Jesus' voice, the point seems to be that Peter failed because he didn't have enough faith.  He doubted when he should have believed.  Thank goodness Jesus was there to save him.  Yes, thank goodness.

Hang on.

What if Jesus meant to congratulate Peter?  What if Jesus really meant "wow, Peter, that was awesome!  Look what you did with just a little faith: you got out of the safety of the boat, took the risk, and came to me.  And look what happened when you began to doubt that you'd succeed.  It didn't turn out the way you thought it would, but I was there with you.  The whole time, I was there with you."

What if this story is about reminding us that faith is about risk, not safety?  Everyone else stayed in the boat - the place of safety - and Peter was the one with faith enough to step out.  What if the story is reminding us that faith isn't about the successful completion of a task, but about making the effort in the first place.  Maybe it wasn't enough faith to defeat the laws of physics, but it was enough to bring Peter closer to Jesus.  What if faith isn't about blindly believing something because you were told to, but about thinking, discerning, risking, questioning, even doubting, because it brings you closer to God?

What if there's "a little faith" in each of us?  A little faith that won't grow if we protect it and keep it safe.  A little faith that will grow only when we bring it out and use it, risk it, test it, question it and offer it because Jesus calls us to do so and offers his hand to us, no matter the outcome.

Looking for a more radical perspective

There's a moment in the 2009 film 'Passchendaele,' Paul Gross's Canadian epic about the First World War, which serves to remind me of the importance of perspective.

A doctor, who has never been to the battlefield, is addressing a room full of doctors and nurses about artillery wounds and the damage shrapnel can inflict.  He says that the new artillery represents the greatest single challenge to an individual on the battlefield.  He turns to Gross's Sgt. Dunne and says "Sergeant, do you agree?"  After thinking a minute, and remembering his own experience, he says "no sir, I'm sorry, I don't.  The single greatest challenge to an individual on the battlefield is trying to keep his matches dry."  Everyone laughs, thinking it a joke.  Everyone except Dunne's commander, who is embarrassed and angry.  He doesn't give Dunne a chance to say anymore then, but later, he has an opportunity to be clear: "if you're in the middle of a barrage and you reach for a smoke to steady your nerves and your matches are wet, well sir, your whole world buckles. It feels like it's coming apart at the seams."

One simple little thing.  The hinge on which rests other, much more complex things.

From the comfort of distance and disassociation, the doctor assumes the most obvious thing is the most important.  The thing which, coincidentally, is something he can deal with - physical trauma - and exert some control or influence over (he thinks).

But there's another, more radical perspective.  And when the audience hears it, they  aren't prepared for it and laugh it off as if it's a joke.  It was too different, too radical to hear.  Especially when they'd already heard what they wanted to: the "expert" opinion that suited their situation.  Their situation of comfort.

Right now we're in the middle of a series of Sundays on which we hear Jesus telling parables.  Sometimes, I think we hear many of Jesus parables as simple stories with a simple message.  One that we're now comfortable with hearing.  One that, while still meaningful in it's own way, we can put into a simple slogan about how we should behave.

But hang on, what about the radical Jesus who wanted us to transform our lives with love and respect and grace for all?  The story may be simple, sure, but is the message always that one obvious thing?

Look at the parable of the mustard seed.  The kingdom of heaven is like this tiniest of seeds that grows into a great shrub or even a tree that birds can nest in.  Okay, obvious exaggeration aside (mustard doesn't grow a tree), it seems simple enough: from the smallest of things comes something great.

But isn't there more to this image?  Mustard's a weed.  Weeds are invasive, they try to take over wherever they crop up and farmers and gardeners alike are always trying to get rid of them.  Can the kingdom of heaven really be an invasive weed?  Why not?  It can be subversive as it breaks in where you least expect it.  It can take over and influence the world around it.

And being a "weed" is part of our perspective.  Not everyone has the same negative perspective: when a child brings a parent a beautiful bouquet of fresh picked dandelions, do you see a noxious weed or an offering of love?

Deeper.  Different perspectives can take us deeper, especially if they are ones that challenge us or discomfort us.  And different perspectives can lead us to action, to go beyond the platitude into transformation, making a difference to our lives.

For all

Last year, our Bashaw Community Theatre presented a small ensemble of young people (and one old piano player) in a production of 'Godspell.'  It was a great show, lively and energetic, full of all that life you wish that a Sunday morning in church would have.

There's some great music in 'Godspell' and the story is really the parables of Jesus from Matthew and Luke.  These are presented by Jesus and his followers as if they were a travelling troupe of actors, using whatever props or set happen to be handy.  So the parables are not just words, but are brought to life by the characters.  Again, wouldn't it be great if we always put that much life into them.

The Parable of the Sower (Matthew 13:1-23) is interesting because the troupe portrays the seed and the different environments it lands in: the path, the rocky ground, the thorns and the good soil.  So the parable is already, in a way, being interpreted in how they act it out - it's about people, isn't it?  As Jesus explains, "when anyone hears the word of the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what is sown in the heart; this is what was sown on the path.  As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; yet such a person has no root, but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away.  As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing.  But as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit" (Matthew 13:19-23).

So we have it acted out as Jesus explains it.  Clearly we are the different landscapes the word lands on and we definitely want to be good soil.

Okay, that's one perspective.  So how do we be good soil if we're rock?  Or weedy?  Or always on the go (that's how I like to think of the seed that lands on the path)?  And, by the way, good soil is still not enough for us to grow.  We also need sunlight and water and nurture and the occasional bit of fertilizer.

Of course we want to be the well-tilled and cared for soil, but I also think that each of us is capable of being any of those other things - hard as a rock, overwhelmed or shallow - at various times in our lives, just as easily as we can judge others to be so (something else we seem to do).

Good thing the sower still casts the seed everywhere.  I know it seems counter to our need to maximize efficiency and invest in the best potential return, but God's love isn't like that: it's for all.  And Jesus didn't share God's love with only those who society deemed to be the most fertile ground, he shared it with those whose lives were hard, the marginalized, persecuted and oppressed, those who rejected society as much as society rejected them.

We might sometimes think it wasteful, but God's love makes new paths, it finds its way into the cracks and overwhelms the thorns.  We, too, must live God's love as Jesus did, casting it widely for all, not just those we think will welcome it.  We, too, must love those whose journey is different, whose life is complicated, who need compassion, care and support.  We, too, must love those who challenge us and reject us.  We, too, must risk loving with this kind of extravagance.

A lighter burden

I talk to a lot of people who are tired of "the church."  Maybe they used to go to church or maybe they never went, but they're really just tired of it.

They seem somewhat caught off guard when I agree.  And downright confused when I say that Jesus was, too.  Well, not "the church," I guess, but the religious authorities of his day.

It must have been frustrating to be Jesus, sometimes.  He offers a simple message of love and grace, of finding room in our hearts for God's love, and so many seem caught up in laws and traditions, more interested in judging their neighbour than loving them.  Really connecting with his human side, Jesus has a little bit of a rant, I think, in Matthew 11.  People don't want to listen to John's message because he was too wild and different, but they don't want to listen to Jesus because he was too ordinary and hung around sinners.  They're like children who won't play each others games, but only their own.  Some of the cities in which he and the disciples have done great things have virtually ignored them.  If that had been a place like Sodom, Jesus says, the people would have seen their work and the city would have been saved.

Wow.  Even a place like Sodom.  That's pretty damning.  Pun intended.

But that's the challenge Jesus puts out there.  To follow Jesus is to take into your heart this message of love and grace and to live it.  I'll say that again, to live it.

At least those Jesus seems to be chastising at first are those who don't hear the message.  But then he points to the religious leaders, the keepers of the law, the scholars and teachers who use their knowledge and the letter of the law to resist the message that threatens their power.  That's why the message is so readily heard by the powerless, the weak, the marginalized, the excluded - like children, Jesus says, they have no barrier to a love that welcomes and includes them, that cares for them and values them.

I think that's what Jesus means when he says this: “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light" (Matthew 11:28-30).  The weight of living up to the demands of society is heavy, the burden of following the letter of the law is exhausting.  But the "yoke" Jesus talks about binds your heart with God in living out this love he teaches.  That is no heavy burden, but an enlightening of spirit.  Learning to live that way is freeing and life-giving.

Hypocrisy is a lot of work.  So is maintaining power over others, controlling them and judging all that they do.  Jesus offers rest.

By the way, those people who tell me they're tired of "the church?"  I try to tell them we're not like that.  I mean, I'm sure we are sometimes, but we try hard not to be.  The church can change its own reputation, I know it can.  Just listen to Jesus.

It's good

Do you wonder about the beginning?

I love the creation story in Genesis.  Stories, I guess, since there's more than one.  I love the creation stories, but I don't love the arguments.  You know, the creation versus science arguments.  Personally, I don't think they're exclusive, I think they're complimentary, but that's for another time.  The question I'm asking isn't about knowing facts and understanding how things work, it's about wonder.

Each day, God created a piece of this awesome universe, noting, as any great artist would, that it was good.  And after "six days" of work - a substantial enough shift, considering all that was built - "God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good" (Gen.1:31).  Then, God rested.

Do you take time to wonder how "good" the world is?  I think that's the key to our role as stewards of creation.  It's not just that God says that we should take care of the earth, it's that our relationship with the earth - as a part of the great creation - includes that we, created in the image of God, take time to wonder that it is "good."  Not merely useful or pretty, but good.

It's pretty easy to get bogged down in things like the order in which God created or the time frame.  But what's really important is that all that was created was created in relationship to each other.  And that's good.  In fact, the web of creation is pretty awesome.

That's another reason why we need to take the time to wonder at how "good" it really is - each strand of the web, each piece of creation needs, and is needed by, another.  Except us, some scientists believe.  They think that the world would get on just fine without human beings, since no part of creation really needs us.

So why are we here?

To love.  That's our role as stewards of the earth, to love it.  That's our purpose with each other and with God, to love.  That means respect and care, to take only what we need and give back whatever we are able that nurtures and supports, to be aware of the needs of the earth and each other as much as ourselves. 

That's good.  Now take a moment to rest and wonder at how good that really is.