And so it begins .... again

There's so much in the gospel reading for the second Sunday of Advent and I seem to keep coming back to the very first verse, the opening verse of the Gospel of Mark: "the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God."  Actually, I'm not even getting past the first two words.

"The beginning."

Mark then introduces us to John the Baptist who introduces us to Jesus - the very adult Jesus - who is the one for whom we must "prepare the way."  There's no birth of Jesus story, Mark cuts right to the chase: here's "the good news" (that's literally what "gospel" means, by the way), here's Jesus.

But three weeks before Christmas, shouldn't we be preparing for the birth story?  We're hearing this in Advent because Advent isn't a chronological season.  It's about preparing for the Jesus who has come, is coming now and will come again.  That's why we can hear about what will happen when Jesus returns (last weeks' gospel), how Jesus ministry is introduced by John, and how Jesus comes to us again this Christmas.  And how the angel Gabriel visits Mary … on the Sunday before Christmas.  It doesn't need to be in real time because it's part of a story whose meaning is timeless.

But back to "the beginning."  There's something else in that.  It's not just about being the beginning of a text that ends (rather abruptly) sixteen chapters later with a rather open-ended ending.  There's no "The End."  It's about the beginning of something that is still going, still growing, still preparing a highway for God (Mark 1:3).

It reminds me that we are constantly at the beginning, the beginning of something new.  This isn't the same Advent as before, or the same Christmas or the same December.  Sure, there may be things that feel or look similar, but they're not the same.  Every moment has the potential for a new beginning.

Now lets add the rest of the sentence: "the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ."  Let's add John's call to be ready, to make the pathway ready for Jesus to come, to repent and turn to follow that path with Jesus.  Every step becomes a new beginning.

It's always Advent

Every Advent, I remember a sign I used to see as a child.  We lived in the east end of Toronto and every time we went downtown, we'd pass over the Don River near the lakeshore and this sign would appear over the edge of the rail, proclaiming in bold red letters "Christ is coming!  Call Jim" and there was a phone number underneath.

It was actually on the roof of an evangelical church.  I never called the number myself, though I heard if you did, there was a recorded message about going to Jim's church.  Hearing that was a little disappointing: I just assumed that Jim knew when Jesus was coming.

The sign was there year round.  For years it was a landmark.  I hope Jim got lots of calls because he's right, Christ is coming.  And not just metaphorically because December 25th is, too.

The earliest followers of Jesus believed he would return, that they would "see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory" (Mark 13:26).  All that cool apocalyptic stuff was going to happen when Jesus returned and his return was imminent.  As in "in my lifetime" kind of imminent.  After all, Jesus said he would come again.

But that's not what happened and many started to believe that maybe they hadn't clearly understood what he meant (how often does that happen?).  And they came to believe that "about that day or hour no one knows … beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come," as Mark's Jesus says (Mark 13:32), not just for your lifetime, but ever.

So Advent is a time of preparation and expectation for the commemoration of the first Christmas and the anticipation of the second coming.  Seems like Advent should be more than four weeks.  If Jesus may appear at anytime, we're really an Advent people all year.

Well, yes, I think we are.  The season of Advent is an opportune time to focus that sense of expectation with the celebration of Christmas.  Advent also begins the church year, so there's the added sense of new beginnings and new life.  But really the end of the world could come at anytime, right?

Whoa.  There's our little problem with this whole impending apocalypse, second coming thing.  Our focus always seems to be on the dark side of the apocalyptic part, the end of the world, the battle with evil, horsemen, scrolls, destruction and death, the end of all these things we live with that are so important to us.  It makes for great television and movies, no matter how wildly interpretive and inaccurate, it sells books and puts fear into people.  But I don't believe that Jesus was ever about the end of things, he was about beginning things.  New life.  New relationships.  Resurrection.  And no matter how hard anyone tries to suggest that there is any doubt about the outcome of the apocalypse stories, there isn't.

New worlds are born when others end.  The new world promised by Jesus is nothing less than the kingdom of God.

Perhaps another little problem is scale.  Our days are filled with moments in which God tries to break into our lives, moments when we might see Jesus standing with us or helping us up when we fall or leading us when we get lost.  Again from part of Mark's gospel called the "little apocalypse" (Mark 13), Jesus says “from the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near.  So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates."  Are we seeing the right signs?  Or are we trying so hard to look for something grand and epic, a moment worthy of the 3D Imax screen, that we miss those little moments that are so important, those little moments of new life and new beginnings.  So small they might fit in a manger.

Perhaps we are an Advent people all year long.

Coming to Judgement

These last few weeks of the church year before Advent begins have brought us three great stories from Matthew's gospel.  Before we begin the time of preparation for the coming of Jesus we celebrate at Christmas, these stories direct our attention to the return of "The Son of Man" and what will happen.  Yes, it's time to talk about judgement.

First, we heard the Parable of the Wise and Foolish Bridesmaids (Matthew 25:1-13).  Awaiting the arrival of the bride groom, five bridesmaids had enough oil for their lamps and five did not.  When the groom arrives in the dead of night, those who were not prepared with enough oil had to go and find some and were shut out of the wedding feast.  "Be prepared," it says, or else.

That "or else" was the part that I said bothered me.  I suggested, instead, that the preparedness we needed was in being open to receiving Jesus in our hearts, not just at the end, but in every little moment that Jesus tries to break into our lives every day.  That may be with lamps lit and the door open or it may be sitting in the dark waiting for the coming of the light, I said.

That's followed by the Parable of the Talents (Matthew 25:14-30).  A rich man, going on a journey, entrusts his fortune to three servants.  To the first, he gives five talents (in the first century, a "talent" was a very large amount of money), the second gets three and the third, only a single talent.  When he returns, each of the first two has doubled the amount they were given (presumably through wise use and investment).  But the third, fearful of what the master would do if he lost it, simply buried it in the ground for safe keeping.  He returned a single talent.  The master rewarded the first two and the third was cast "into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth" (Matt. 25:30).

This parable, I suggested speaks in a variety of ways, but chiefly we've tended to use it as a stewardship story.  Whatever kind of talent it is (money or skills), we should invest it wisely in building up the kingdom of God here on earth.  Another interpretation flips that and suggests that the third servant is Jesus, the one who stands up to the expectations and actions of an unjust society and loses his life for it.  Either way, I think, whether you engage your talents to build up or to challenge, you do so with an element of risk and risk is required for living.  The key thing is what Jesus so frequently reminds us: don't be afraid.  Don't be afraid because God is always with us.  Knowing the presence of God overcomes our fear and strengthens us to do what is right.

And now, in Matthew 25:31-46, it's the final judgement.  When it happens, it'll be like a shepherd separating the sheep from the goats.  The sheep are the ones who saw that "I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me" (Matt. 25:35-36).  When the sheep ask when they did this - because they didn't know - the answer is "just as you did it to one of the least of these … you did it to me" (Matt. 25:40).  The goats are the ones who didn't do it.  They didn't know that they weren't doing it, mind you, because they didn't know that caring for "the least of these" was caring for Jesus.  They goats get eternal punishment, the sheep get eternal life.

So let me tell you three things I believe about this judgement thing.  The first two are related and are pretty practical, the third connects this "Last Judgement" story to the two before it.

First, you don't get to judge.  I'm not talking about those moments when you judge that this burger is the best you've ever tasted, this is the best movie you've ever seen, that colour's not good on that person or your hockey team didn't play well.  I mean the Big Judgement that happens at the end.  The judgement in this story.

You don't get to judge.  Neither does your neighbour, your friend or enemy, this country or that country, this religion or that religion, governments, bishops or popes.  Because God judges.  Only God.

Second, that's great news.  Because God is God of grace and love and compassion and forgiveness.  God is not a practical shepherd or a tyrannical rich master or even a bridegroom with no regard for those who are waiting.  God is God.

Third, I believe these stories are connected.  Notice that neither the sheep or the goats knew the connection between "the Son of Man" and "the least of these?"  I think the action of the sheep came from the heart.  They shared themselves and their gifts with others because they were moved to do so by the spirit within them.  And they were moved to do so because they were prepared to receive the love of God when they experienced it, prepared to receive it and to live it out.

That's how this string of stories are related.  Whether you believe in that Final Judgement or simply that God welcomes all of us (all of us!) home with open arms - that's a discussion for another time, perhaps - we are not just good acts, nor are we judged to be good by those acts.  Our actions come from our hearts and when those hearts know the presence of God and the love of Jesus, the Spirit moves us to acts of love and compassion and grace.

An Acceptable Risk

I have a little anxiety, sometimes, about understanding parables in the gospels.  Interpreting them isn't always obvious - obviously - and the subtleties and nuances of the stories often allow for a variety of ways in which they can speak to us.  Our own personal context is a factor, too.

But that's all good because, ultimately, how The Word speaks to us will be true if we listen for what is true.

That's all by way of saying that sometimes I think we have to allow for the presence of variety, even if we are hearing only one voice today.

The Parable of the Talents (Matthew 25:14-30) has many voices.  It's the story of a man, going on a journey, who entrusts his wealth to three servants, each, it says, according to their ability.  So he gives them "talents," a measured weight of gold or silver: to the first he gives five talents, the second gets two and the third, one.  When he returns, the first two have used their talents to double the amount they were given and are congratulated by the man.  The third, however, was afraid of what the man would do if he lost it, so he buried it in a field.  He returned only the single talent he was given.  The man was angry at the third servant and, after rewarding the first two, cast the third one out "into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth."  Yikes.

Churches have often used this parable as a stewardship story: we have talents - both money and, literally, talents - that we should invest in the work of the church.  Why, yes you do and you should.  But others might flip things and suggest that the third servant is Jesus, the one who stands up to the expectations of a greedy, wealth dominated society and looses his life.  Fair enough.  And there's more, so much more in this parable.  Read it and see how it speaks to you.

Today, the voice I'm hearing is the one that says "don't be afraid."

At the heart of this parable I find risk.  And I'm reminded of how frequently Jesus said "don't be afraid."  Whether you engage your talents to build up or to challenge, you do so with an element of risk and risk is required for living.

Look at the behaviours in the story for a moment.  In the first interpretation, the third servant is afraid of the master and his fear paralyzes him.  The others have no fear and are willing to take risks and, as a result, gain.  In the second, one might consider that the third servant names the wrong behaviour of the master, that's emulated by the other servants, and is punished.  The other servants, however, may not simply be copying the master, they may only be doing what was expected of them, fearful of doing anything different.

But the very idea of the "talents" inspires me to want to go so much deeper than just behaviour.  To the average person hearing Jesus speak, even a single talent was a lifetime's worth of work.  So maybe we're talking about something of more value than money or things.

Our behaviours will sometimes fail us, risks will not always be successful, but God will always be with us.  That belief is sustaining, life giving, risk following and fear defeating.  Jesus so frequently reminds us to not be afraid because it is the presence of fear that puts us in the "outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth."

This isn't about behaviour, it's about something deeper.  It's about our relationship with God and how we take Jesus' teaching to heart.  True transformation doesn't come from changed behaviour, it comes from going into the depths of ourselves and finding God there, present in our lives.  And with God's presence, we are not afraid to live out what Jesus teaches us, from heart into action, fearlessly risking new life.

Surprised? Or saw it coming?

The church year is winding down and there's only a few weeks left before Advent, the time of preparing for the coming of Jesus at Christmas.  But the "preparations" begin before Advent: as the year comes to an end, the stories we hear in church are all about being prepared for what's ahead.

This week, Matthew's gospel brings us the story of the wise and foolish bridesmaids (Matt. 25:1-13).  Half have brought enough oil for their lamps, half did not.  When it's time for the groom to arrive, at midnight, half need to go to find oil - the foolish, of course - while the wise welcome the groom and head into the wedding feast.  The foolish, coming back later, are locked out.

Sure, it's pretty dated (we could spend some time on first century Hebrew wedding customs, if you like) and there are some curious quirks to explore, but I think we can all agree it's about being prepared.  Or else.

Now, to me, that's the tricky part, that's the part I have trouble with: be prepared or else you're locked out and you don't get in.  Seems pretty unreasonable.  After all, if God's love is for all, especially the most needy, it seems pretty unfair to lock them out of the party just because they weren't ready.  And besides, the command at the end of the story is "keep awake" and it's everyone who seems to fall asleep waiting, foolish and wise alike.

I imagine this story a little like that joke about Peter at the Pearly Gates, letting in just the "right people."  Gabriel comes by because he's concerned that there seems to be more people in heaven than Peter's letting in.  He goes to investigate and comes back to tell Peter "it's okay, it's Jesus - he's pulling people in over the wall."  The door may be locked, but somewhere, somehow, Jesus is helping people get in anyway.

It's just that the journey's different.

It doesn't mean that we should't try to be prepared.  But every journey's different and how we prepare and what we need is different for each of us, isn't it?  And even with all the preparation in the world, sometimes we fail.  And when we fall down, the first hand that reaches out to us to help us up: it's Jesus.

Perhaps that's the real preparedness that we need.  That we are open and ready to welcome Jesus, whoever and however we are, whenever we encounter Jesus.  That may be with lamps lit and the door open or it may be sitting in the dark waiting for the coming of the light.

I'm mindful, too, this week, that it may not be just preparing for the next Christmas or the return of Jesus, the Second Coming as promised in the Bible, the Big One.  But all the little ones, those moments when Jesus breaks into our lives unexpectedly, suddenly reminding us of what's truly important on our journey.  Sometimes in the middle of the night, sometimes in the middle of day, and all the hours in between.  Are you ready?

Are we there yet?

Still feeling like Moses this week.  I think there's lots of people who are.

Last week, I suggested that we all have that moment, like Moses, when we just really want to see God (Exodus 33:12-23).  Face-to-face.  And we can't.  But we can see where God has been, in creation, in our friends and family, in our experiences, in our lives.  I suggested, in part, that God's "presence" that goes with the Israelites into the Promised Land is what we might recognize as God, present all along as the spirit, the energy, the source, the power, the life - whatever you wish to call it - that is in, and connects, all creation.  It breaks down the barriers we build between us, shares our grief as readily as our joy, and binds us to each other and to all of creation.

Now, the wandering Israelites have come to the Promised Land.  And Moses, standing on the mountain, is shown the new land by God, the land he will not be able to enter.  Moses' time is done and, though "his sight was unimpaired and his vigour had not abated" (Ex. 34:7), he dies and it's Joshua that leads the Israelites on.

Moses got to see the promise, the land even, the land "flowing with milk and honey," but not experience it.  And this is my Moses Moment this week.

I think what he saw in this moment was promise.  Promise not yet fulfilled.  How things went forward from here (Moses returns to God and the Israelites move forward into the land) is something else.  I wonder if many people aren't still seeking "the promised land" in their lives.

Martin Luther King spoke for a generation and a people when he spoke like Moses.  The thought, if not the exact words, has been expressed by many famous, visionary, prophetic people.  But I don't think you have to be great to have an "I've seen the promised land" moment.

This past week I was feeling like Moses.  October 26 is Peace Sunday on our church calendar.  I don't know where to begin with what's been happening in the world this week.  Ottawa.  Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu.  Iraq and pretty much anywhere in the Middles East.  Ukraine.  Africa.  Korea.  There's more.  Peace seems like a far off land.  A Promised Land.

And we've seen it.  A moment here and there, fleeting, to be sure, but we've seen it.  We may even have experienced it.  Not because there's been no war or conflict.  Peace isn't about the absence of anything, peace is about presence: the presence of love.

When asked what was the greatest commandment, Jesus said love God and love your neighbour as you love yourself.  That fundamental relationship of love brings peace.  We've seen it.  When we show love instead of hate, love instead of fear, love instead of selfishness.  When we do justice, offer grace, show compassion, we are living love.  These are steps to the promised land of peace.

Sometimes it feels like we're taking two steps back for every step forward.  Like Moses, it often feels like we've seen it, but we just can't reach it.  But the journey is our life and living our lives to the fullest means living into love.  And, challenging as that is, we go on that journey with the presence of God.

Where God's been all along

I'm feeling a little like Moses right now.  I think there's lots of people who are.

We all have moments in our lives when we'd really, really like to see God just do something.  Or, if not do something, at least show up in person and answer some questions.  And that's not new.  It seems like it has always been like that.

Moses had a moment like that.  After the burning bush and the plagues and leading the Israelites out of Egypt, he'd brought the Ten Commandments down from Sinai only to find the Israelites had got tired of waiting and had made their own new god, a golden calf.  So he broke the stone tablets and destroyed the idol and he sorted out the Israelites and headed back up the mountain to see God.  And here's the moment.

Moses has to persuade God not to destroy the Israelites completely, but God's fed up and says that he'll send an angel ahead of them into the promised land.  God won't accompany them.  But Moses is maybe a little fed up, too.  He says to God that, after all that God's done for God's people, all that everyone's seen because this is God's chosen people, the people whom God favours, then God should really be going with them.  And God says "my presence will go with you" (Ex. 33:14).

Still not enough for Moses.  He wants to see God, to see his "glory," in person.  God replies that no one can experience God in person and live.  But Moses has a relationship with God: God "knows" Moses.  So God puts Moses in the cleft of the rock, God covers him with God's hand and, after God has passed by, Moses can see God's back.

That seems to have been enough for Moses.  At first, I wondered if that would be enough for me, but I think I came to the conclusion that it wasn't about knowing what he was seeing so much as what it meant.  I'll explain.

This is a rich story, full of much meaning.  But right now, I'm holding it like this.  There are many in our community who are grieving.  An unexpected and tragic loss, illness that has taken or will take a loved one, a broken relationship - with respect, there isn't really any way to justly describe their pain in words.  They are surrounded by loving, compassionate people who want to help and would do anything for them, if there was anything they could do.  There often isn't, so we hope our presence, our thoughts and our prayers are enough.  But we wonder, as those who grieve do, where God is.

Why, as Moses wonders, doesn't God just show up and do something?

There's a variety of stock traditional answers to that question, and I know they may be comforting.  But are they enough?  I've been wondering lately at how amazing it is that we seem to be wired to question, but not to understand.  This is why Moses' story is becoming so valuable to me.  Moses has a relationship with God and that relationship allows Moses to see something.  And when he does, he comes to recognize and understand that what he's seen is really the most important thing: where God has been.

God "knows" Moses.  I believe that God "knows" you and me and all people because I believe that we all come from God and we all return to God.  I don't doubt that.  But do we each know God as Moses did?  More importantly, even when we do, how often does our grief or our fear or misunderstanding blind that knowing?  Perhaps then, we may not see God in this moment, but only in reflecting on the moment past.

Perhaps that's when we may recognize that God has been present all along as the spirit, the energy, the source, the power, the life - whatever you wish to call it - that is in, and connects, all creation.  It breaks down the barriers we build between us, shares our grief as readily as our joy, and binds us to each other and to all of creation.