Here's something different: Original Choice

Here's something different.  Back in June, I suggested that a re-reading of the Adam and Eve story might be about acquiring freewill and the choices that led them to step out into the world rather than the doctrine of Original Sin and being cast out of the Garden.  We've had our children's summer program this week with the dual themes of Creation and Creativity and that inspired me to a re-telling of the story from that more positive perspective.  It goes something like this.

In the beginning, the very beginning, God created the world: the day and the night, the land and the sea, trees and flowers and all the animals.  And then, God created humans named Adam and Eve, to help care for the wonderful world God had created.

Everyone lived happily together in the wonderful world that God had created: the trees and the grasses, the flowers and the leaves.  The animals and birds and fish had their own places and they played together with Adam and Eve.  And Adam and Eve could talk with the animals and learned their names, so everyone knew just what to call each other.  And that's good, God thought.

But, after awhile, God began to feel like things just weren’t finished yet, somehow.  It just seemed like it was all too perfect, like everything was just like God - which it was, of course, God created everything.  And God noticed that every day, everything was exactly the same.  Nothing was growing.  Nothing got older.  It didn’t change unless God changed it.  And Adam and Eve, they only ever did what God told them.  They didn’t seem to be interested in learning how to do things or doing anything for themselves.  They just didn’t seem interesting at all.

One day God said to Adam, “what’s your favourite colour?”

And Adam replied, “what’s 'favourite' mean?”

“The one you like the best,” God said.

“How do we know we like one more than the others?” Eve asked.

“You just do,” said God, “that’s why it’s your favourite.”

“I don’t think I do,” Adam said. “Why don’t you just tell me what to say.”

And God sighed a big heavy sigh and said “oh never mind.”

So God grew a big, beautiful tree with big, beautiful fruit on it, in the middle of the Garden and God called it The Tree of Knowing.  And in front of it, God put a big sign that said, “DON’T!” in really big letters, “Don’t eat this fruit.  There’s lots of others you can eat.  Leave this one alone.”

The very next day, Adam and Eve were walking by.  “My, that’s a big, beautiful tree with big, beautiful fruit on it,” said Eve.  “Hey,” said Adam, “that’s new.  I don’t think we’ve seen that before.”

“Yes,” said Eve, “and I’m hungry, so let’s try it.”

But then they saw the sign.  “Oh,” said Eve.  “Okay, then,” said Adam and they continued on their way.  But then they heard something they’d never heard before.

“Why?” said a snake that was sitting quietly in the grass.

“I’m sorry,” said Eve, “what did you say?”

“I said ...why?” replied the snake.

Adam and Eve looked at each other and then looked at the snake.  They didn’t know what to think.  Literally.

“What do you mean?” asked Eve.

Now snakes are pretty smart and this snake was smarter than most.  “I mean,” it began, “why?  Why can’t you eat that fruit?  It looks particularly delicious.  God did say that you could eat anything in the garden.  And fruit makes you smart and strong.”

“But there’s a sign,” replied Eve.  “It says DON’T in really big letters.”

“I know,” said the snake, “but think about it: why shouldn’t you just try it.  The sign might not be for you, it might mean others.  And did anyone ask you about it?  I bet it’s worth trying.”

“Hmmm,” thought Eve, and she did just that for the very first time: she thought about it.

“I think,” said Eve carefully, as it was the first time she had, “you make a good point, sir.  But God’s not here just now to ask.”

“So, why wait?”  said the snake, “why not just try it.  You’re hungry; it’s there.”  

“I think,” said Eve more sure of herself than before, “I think I will.”  And with that, she picked one of the fruit and took a bite.  And it was delicious.  She smiled and said to Adam, “this is good.  Would you like to try it?”

“I think I will,” said Adam, and he did both those things for the first time.

“I think that’s my favourite fruit,” said Eve after awhile.

“I’d still pick apples as my favourite,” replied Adam.  “Let’s go over to the apple trees.”

“Ok,” said Eve, and they got up and started on their way.

But then Adam stopped and said “you know what?  I’ve been thinking.  Let’s go this way.”  And he turned down a different path.  “Maybe there’s something new this way, too.”

Now, God was missing Adam and Eve a little bit, so he went to look for them in the Garden.  But he didn’t see them because they’d taken a different path and it was very interesting and full of new things they were still exploring.

So God waited patiently for them to come back.  And when they did, God knew something was different right away.  Eve had decided that she didn’t like the sun being so bright in her eyes, so she found a really huge leaf from a tree and made it into a hat to cover her head and shade her eyes.  Adam found the path a little rough, so he found a big branch off a tree and made it into a walking stick.

When God saw them, God said “where have you guys been?”  And Adam replied, “we went to the apple trees because they’re my favourite fruit, but we went a different way and we saw so many different things and it got a little tiring so I made this cool walking stick to help me.”

“And I made this,” Eve added excitedly, “cause the sun was in my eyes.  I call it ... a hat.”

“Wait a minute,” said God, “what kind of fruit?”

“Apples,” Eve replied, “they’re his favourite, but I like the new fruit better.”

“Shhh,” said Adam quickly.

But it was too late - God heard and said to Eve “they’re his what?”

“His favourite,” answered Eve.

God looked at them again, more closely this time.  There was a long pause and then God said, “what have you done?  Right before you chose which fruit was your favourite, what did you do?”

Eve and Adam looked at each other and had a funny feeling.  They weren’t absolutely certain, but they were pretty sure they were in trouble.

“We saw there was a new tree,” said Eve carefully, “and the fruit looked good so we ate some.”

“Wasn’t there a sign by the tree?” asked God.

“Yes,” said Eve, suddenly realizing why God wasn’t happy, “but .... the snake!  The snake said I should try it.  The snake said it would be okay.”

“Eve ... “ God began softly.

But Adam, thinking he must be in trouble, too, jumped in with “I didn’t want to try it.  Eve made me.  It’s not my fault.”

“And the snake made me,” said Eve quickly, “so it’s not my fault either.”

And God sighed a big sigh.

“It’s no one’s fault,” God began.  “The snake didn’t make you, Eve, you chose to eat the fruit.  And Adam, don’t blame Eve.  You were there and you, too, chose to eat the fruit.  No one made you.  You each did it yourself.”  God paused.  Finally God said “you have free will.”

Adam and Eve looked at each other.  And they looked around to see if they could see this free will thingy they had.  And then Adam said, “what’s free will?”

And God told them “free will means that you can choose for yourself.  You can decide what you want to do on your own - you don’t need to be told what to do.”

“Awe, cool!!” said Adam.  But Eve looked a little concerned.  “Um, okay,” she said.  “But how will we know what to decide?”

“Well,” said God, “you need to find out all you can and then think about it and make a decision.  Remember when you talked to the snake?  The snake told you things you needed to know and you had already seen the fruit and the sign.  Then you thought about it and made a choice.”

“Right,” said Adam, “and we really enjoyed the fruit.”  “Mhmm,” agreed Eve.

“But you also saw the sign, didn’t you?” said God.  “It said DON’T in really big letters.  When you decide things for yourself, things happen and you have to live with what happens next, good or bad.”

“But how will we know what’s good and bad?” said Eve.

“That’s part of how we learn from making decisions for ourselves.  And there will be people who know lots of stuff that will teach you.  And I’ll always be there - sometimes you’ll get a feeling, just a feeling that something’s right or wrong, and that’s me.  Sometimes you’ll just know that you need to do something, just cause it’s right - that’ll be me.  Sometimes other people will teach you and show you and that’ll be me.  Sometimes, when you think you’re alone, you’ll just know that you’re not - and that’ll be me, too, because I’ll always be with you.”

“I’m having a feeling right now,” said Adam, “that things are going to be different.”

“They are,” said God.  “The whole world is going to be different for you now.  You have to leave this garden and go and take care of the earth for me.  And for you.  And for everyone that’s going to live in the world from now on.”

And Adam and Eve headed out of the garden on a new path.  The further they went, the more they both thought how much the world looked just like the Garden they lived in.  The sky was blue, the grass was green, there was day and night, there were birds in the air and animals all around.  Why, over there was their old friend, the big-furry-with-teeth they called bear.

“Hey, bear!” Adam called out, “how’re you?”

And bear turned and looked at them and ran towards them.  “Oh, look how happy he is to see us,” said Eve.  But as he got closer, they realized that they weren’t the only ones who could decide for themselves.  Bear had decided they looked delicious.  “I think we should run,” said Adam.

Ordinary Everyday Jesus

We hear so many amazing stories about Jesus, it's nice to hear something ordinary every now and then.  It's all relative, of course.  "Ordinary" for Jesus is still pretty amazing.

But, this week, the gospel reading set for Sunday is just that.  Well, it's not so much ordinary as a "non-story."  It's really just a couple of transition moments that connect stories we know well.  A few verses from here and a few verses from there in the sixth chapter of Mark's gospel, similar passing moments around big, substantial ones.  

Jesus has sent the disciples out on their first mission and it's gone well.  Interjected here, as we heard last week, is the story of the death of John the Baptist at the hands of Herod.  Then we have the miracles of Jesus feeding the 5,000 and Jesus walking on the water.  But we're not hearing those stories, we're just hearing how Jesus and the disciples get from one to the next.  Perhaps we should call these "untitled moments."

Just like Jesus, our lives are full of these "untitled moments."  And they're not nothing.  Look what happens with Jesus.  Jesus realizes that both he and the disciples are in need of rest, so he invites them to get away from the crowd by crossing the lake.  But the crowd follows them round on the shore and is waiting for them when they get there and "he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd" (Mark 6:34), so he spends time with them, teaching.  That's followed by The Feeding of The 5,000 and Jesus Walks On Water, the stories we don't hear this week.  Later, we'll hear how Jesus is followed everywhere by crowds bringing the sick, and all are healed.

Two things: rest and compassion.

Jesus, in his human-ness, needs rest and recognizes that the disciples do, too.  We all should.  But this isn't about the sabbath day of rest, a sabbatical or an extended vacation, it's just about a moment to rest.  After all, there's much to do.

Jesus naps.

Yes, that sounds so ordinary, but that's just the point: Jesus gets tired, too.  Remember what Jesus was doing a couple of chapters ago, when they were in the boat and the storm came up?  He was asleep in the back.  To engage the fullness which is the world around us, we need to balance it with some kind of rest.  Perhaps it doesn't have to be much.  The artist Salvador Dali would sit in a chair with a heavy key in one hand and a plate on the floor underneath it.  He would doze and fall asleep, dropping the key which would hit the plate and wake him up.  He claimed to be fully refreshed in that time.  Some people lie on the couch or even put their pyjamas on and get in bed for an hour.  Some people sleep on the boat ride.

That very ordinary, very human thing is needed if we're going to be like Jesus.  I think I've said before that "Jesus-ing" is an action verb and Jesus demonstrates it here: he's looking to get away from the crowd, but he can't, not just because they follow him, but because he looks at them and he has compassion for them.  Compassion isn't just a feeling, an emotion or an observation to be expressed.  It is action.  And not directed action, but action with those with whom we share it.  To have compassion for the lost is to help them find their way; to have compassion for the unknowing is to learn with them; to have compassion for the sick is to be part of their journey to healing.

The majority of our life's journey is made up of "untitled moments."  It's the ordinary, everyday to us.  But that's just it, it's life.  How important is that?

A different kind of amazement

"And he was amazed at their unbelief" (Mark 6:6).

That's Jesus, saying that.  Usually it's the disciples or the people or us who are amazed.  You'd think Jesus would be pretty hard to amaze.  And yet, the people of his hometown managed to do it.

As we continue our way through Mark this week, Jesus has been preaching, teaching and healing and now finds himself travelling back to his home.  As we might expect, he's greeted with great celebration and enthusiastic support, everyone hanging on his every word, shouting "hosanna, thank goodness Jesus is here!"

No. Not at all.  That comes later, from complete strangers.

No, Jesus may have been welcomed home as the young carpenter they knew who lived down the street, but that's all they were prepared to welcome.  That Jesus might be more than what they think they knew, and have things to say that maybe they weren't willing to hear, that was a problem "and they took offense at him" (Mark 6:3).

How easy it is for us to ignore voices when we've already determined their value.  Or, for that matter, hear voices whose value is assumed.  Even when we're willing to listen, our ability to engage and discern is already having to deal with source, context and our own personal viewpoint.  In other words, who's talking, what they're saying and what we already think we know.

It's no wonder Jesus is amazed.  He probably thought that these are people who know me - who would be more likely to hear what I have to say?  Turns out, they didn't really know him at all.

So that's Thing 1 here: it's relational.  That's one of the cornerstones of Jesus' teaching, that we are all related and the building up of relationships that are right and true means being able to talk and be heard, without assumptions based on some of the labels we use, like gender or race, culture or religion, name or social status.   The world isn't coming to an end because we're beginning to recognize the diversity of gender identity, or the equality - true equality - of race and social status, or the variety of ways to find God, it's just changing.  And the only way to discover if change is good is to engage it and be part of it.

Thing 2 is openness to hearing what others have to say and respecting it, even when disagreeing with it.  I don't recall anywhere in the Bible that Jesus says "you must agree with me" or "don't think about it, just do as I say."  We have choices, we're encouraged to make choices and we're encouraged to make them with wisdom, honesty and sincerity.  I think that's a pretty fundamental cornerstone of Jesus, too, that we should live right and true, not just do as we're told by others who claim authority.

That kind of openness requires Thing 3 (sorry Dr. Seuss, there's a Thing 3): that we must get past assuming that we already know better.  We are always learning and we can never know all.  It's how we grow.  I'm not suggesting we should always be second guessing ourselves, but rather that we always be adding to our wisdom, expanding our understanding.  The late Stephen Covey (of Seven Habits of Highly Effective People fame) wrote that “most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.”  I'm pretty sure that would describe the crowd Jesus was talking to in his hometown.

I'm pretty sure, also, that more than a few people might already be working up the reply of "that's all very nice, but it's unrealistic to think we can get past these essential human frailties" and seek to know each other, hear each other and understand each other in the utopian manner I'm suggesting.

Sure, ok, I hear you.

But I don't think it's about achieving perfection.  Not in this life, anyway.  It's an ideal to live towards, respecting our own human weaknesses and frailties.  Imagine how amazed Jesus would be if we all started working on knowing each other, hearing each other and growing in understanding with each other.  I don't think Jesus is waiting for us to get it perfect.  I think he's waiting for us to get started.

Faith Healing

Jesus, the healer, is featured in the story this week from Mark's gospel.  Well, it's two stories, really, but they're each a part of the other so that they're rather inseparable (Mark 5:21-43).

Jairus, a local leader of the synagogue, comes to Jesus and begs for his help.  His daughter is very sick and he's desperate.  Jesus agrees to go with him to his home, but, by now, he's constantly surrounded by crowds who've heard the stories about him, and he's not moving too quickly.  A woman, "who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years," comes up to Jesus in the crowd, desperately believing that if she could only touch him, she would be healed.  She does, and is healed, but Jesus notices that something's happened and asks who touched him.  Afraid, the woman admits to it and Jesus tells her that her faith has healed her and sends her on her way.  But that's held Jesus up and people come from Jairus' house to tell him that his daughter is dead.  Jesus says to him, "do not fear, only believe," and heads to his house anyway.  He tells them that she is not dead, but only sleeping.  He takes her hand and tells her to get up.  She does and is alive and hungry.

Mark tells it way better (Matthew and Luke do, as well), but I think that's the gist of it.  It's a long story, especially since it includes two healings, but the point is that Jesus heals them both.  Both received life.  So did everyone else in the story.

Jesus, after all, is a healer, not a doctor.  Please feel free to believe that actual physical miracles occurred in this story or that it's metaphorical.  Either way, what is true here is that Jesus heals brokenness and gives life.  Those are relational, qualitative things, and that kind of health, wholeness and living are for all of us.

Jairus is a leader of the community, he has status and probably some wealth.  He even gets a name in the story.  But that can't help his daughter who's dying.  The woman is an outcast, made poor by her affliction (she tried all the doctors) and poorer still by being "unclean" to the rest of her community.  She is, for society, already dead.

Both come to Jesus in desperation.  One publicly humbles himself, the other hides and tries to sneak in.  But both desperately seek what Jesus offers: healing.  They each reach out to Jesus in their own way, from their own place in society, from their own desire for wholeness.  They choose Jesus.

Her faith makes her well, Jesus says.  And to Jairus he says "do not fear, only believe."

Sometimes, I suspect, we might think it's a bit of a copout on the miracle aspect of the story to say it's not the miracle that matters, it's the engagement with Jesus.  But, oh, that is so wrong: a miracle's just a little tiny sliver of the life that comes with faith.  With faith, miracles are everywhere.

Faith demands that we live and love as Jesus did, that we think and wonder, and that we reach out to the world around us.  Just as Jesus did.

Because, look, there's a third character in this story.  Jairus' daughter.  To her, Jesus offers an outstretched hand and the invitation to live.  Will you offer a hand to the broken, the weary, the rejected, the outcast or even those who's life seems to have left them?  Do not fear, only believe.

Stories I need to hear

"Tell me the stories of Jesus I love to hear," says the old classic hymn.  I like that hymn.  It's a great message: tell me stories.

Jesus taught a lot with the stories he told, parables mostly, and the stories of Jesus' life teach us, too, as does the story of our own lives, when shared.  We live in story.

Yes, I like that old hymn, "Tell me the stories of Jesus."  It's just that next bit that makes me wonder, the "I love to hear" bit.  It makes me wonder: what about the stories I don't love to hear and don't want to hear, but might need to?  And what about the stories you might love to hear, but I have questions about?  And, equally, what about the stories I love that you don't or that you have questions about?

To me, those questions are all the more reason that we should share our stories and talk about them, respecting the unique interpretations that we might hold based on our own context, experience and wisdom.

Yes, I know that means entering the great quagmire that is difference of opinion and interpretation and fact and fiction and having to think about it and all that.  But if we are constantly seeking what is true in the story, if we listen and share with love and grace, then we will learn and grow and build relationships.  Just like Jesus' taught us we should.

This week's gospel story's in the hymn I mentioned.  It's the story from Mark about how the disciples were in a boat on the sea, with Jesus asleep in the back, when a storm comes up.  They're afraid and they wake up Jesus, wondering why he doesn't seem to care that they could die.  He commands the storm to end and asks them why they still don't have faith.  And they're amazed.

Of course they are, that was a pretty impressive miracle and reminds us to have faith in the presence of Jesus and the power of the Word to protect us in the storms of life.  I think there's more to the story, but that's the gist of the hymn.  Or was some of that in "Will your anchor hold in the storms of life?"

See, stories are complex and how they speak to us even more so.  And the thing about the story of Jesus calming the storm is that it occurs in the midst of a journey.

Jesus had been healing and teaching - he'd just told a bunch of stories (parables) himself - and now they were moving on, to the other side of the lake.  Who knows what's just ahead (we do, it's a man possessed by a demon) or further along (we do, the cross), but it will not be enough to just let this story be.  The disciples will need to pick up their awe of Jesus' power and their questionable faith and move forward with Jesus when they get to the other side.  When they get out of the boat, they will be different than when they got into it and they will be stepping out into a different place.  This has been one life-changing boat ride.  And now: forward into a new place.

Wonder, for a moment, at the many ways in which this story might be a parable for you.  

One example, I think, might be the recent closing ceremonies of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in Ottawa at the beginning of June.  While we might have a "closing" of the commission, telling this story - or, more appropriately, these stories - goes on into the work of reconciliation and relationship building.  These are stories we must hear, that must not be left behind.  We've come to a new part of the journey: the land of reconciliation will have challenges, "demons" to fight as well as apathy, stories to tell and a willingness and a struggle to listen.  The new shore must be a place of action.  Jesus goes with us, still.

This week's parable

I have a method for these weekly blogs.  It works like this.

They're usually based on the scripture readings prescribed for the Sunday that week.  So I look ahead at about six months and see if there's any themes that stand out or ideas I need to really plan ahead.  But mostly it comes down to that week.

On Monday, I read the scripture passages for the next Sunday, think about them and see if anything leaps out at me, needs to be addressed or seems particularly relevant to what's happening in the world.  So I begin with wondering about what I think the scriptures might be saying to me.

Over the next couple of days I read.  Commentaries, blogs, newspaper articles, books or, at least, parts of books.  By Wednesday, I'm thinking about what I'd like to say and I start to write something down.

That doesn't mean I'm done with it, though.  This is the beginning of what I'm going to say on Sunday morning.  So, once the blog's done, it keeps on growing.  With any luck, it'll keep on growing in those who read it or hear it.

It's kind of like the parables in Mark's gospel that are on tap for this Sunday.  Two short little metaphors in Mark 4:26-34 about the kingdom of God.  The kingdom is like seed that is scattered on the ground and begins to grow, says Mark.  We don't know how it grows, it just does.  Or like a mustard seed that starts out small and keeps growing into the largest of trees.

I'm not suggesting these few words are comparable to the kingdom of God, but these few words are part of the kingdom of God.  So are you.  So is creation.

We all start out small and become something bigger, physically, emotionally, spiritually - in every way.  Ideally, we become what we're supposed to be, just like the mustard seed that becomes "the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade" (Mark 4:32), right?  Well, that depends on your perspective, doesn't it?  Depending on where you live, mustard's a weed and not big enough for a nest and it's not the smallest seed.  But consider the context: in first century Palestine, maybe it grew big and maybe it was the smallest seed.  Or maybe the mustard seed has a spectacularly positive self image.

The point is, a parable's not just a metaphor.  Nor is it just a story or a single point.  It's a an opportunity for learning that connects with who we are.  And that means that it will be heard and understood from a variety of perspectives.  The mustard seed parable may mean so much more than just greatness from the tiniest beginnings.

The scattered seed that grows certainly isn't a parable about good farming practice.  But it could be about the generous abundance of God's Word or, more significantly, about the mystery of how it grows.  Sure, we can teach the science of how a seed grows, but that won't describe the experience of growth or the beauty of what it produces or how it then feeds others.

That's the thing about the "blog parable."  The point isn't just how it's written or even what it says, it's that it's part of the experience of growth, wonder and thought.

And, of course, when I say it grows into something more to say, I don't only mean "say."  As part of the kingdom of God, we participate.  We can't just talk about love, we must do love.  We can't just talk about grace and compassion and care, we must bring them to action.

I think that's why Mark writes that "with many such parables he spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it; he did not speak to them except in parables, but he explained everything in private to his disciples" (Mark 4:33-34).  It's not that the parables were all that hard to understand on the surface.  If they were, that wouldn't be a very effective teaching tool.  Nor was it that the understanding was secret and only the disciples had the secret de-coder ring.  It's that each of us comes with fresh eyes and our own perspective and parables are multifaceted just like us.

Bringing Bones to Life

I'm tired.

Are you tired?

I'm tired.

Not like "I need a nap" tired or "I need a good night's sleep" tired, or even "I need a vacation" tired.  All those things would be great, but no, not that kind of tired.  I mean "spiritually" tired, I guess.  Uninspired, lacking enthusiasm and an overall "joie de vivre."  I think you probably know what I mean.  You might even be feeling it, too.

And that's not good.  Because it's Pentecost this week, the so-called "Birthday of the Church," the day that celebrates the Holy Spirit coming into the apostles and empowering them to preach and teach and spread the story of Jesus.

But I'm tired.  That's a little awkward.  I need to be able to deliver some inspiring words of wisdom, some spirited words of inspiration and enthusiasm.  That should be easy because it's a great story.  The disciples have spent some time with the resurrected Jesus and he's left them, but he left them with the promise of the Holy Spirit, advocate and comforter, that would come to them and empower them to carry on what he had taught and showed them.  And here it was, the feast of Pentecost, and there is a mighty wind and tongues of fire and they begin to prophesy in every language of those who could hear them so that all could understand.  Come, Holy Spirit, come!

But I'm not feeling it, to be honest.  I've got nothing new.  I've got some great Bible Study material, sure, but just can't find the inspiration.

To be honest, I don't really feel like those apostles who were anticipating the coming of the Holy Spirit.  Yes, Jesus died and that was scary, but Jesus is alive again, "as he said," and he also said that the Holy Spirit was coming.  You can sense the anticipation.  And here it is.  That's awesome.

But I'm feeling more like that story in Ezekiel about the valley of dry bones (Ezekiel 37:1-14).  Dry bones, just lying there in the sun.  Waiting, not anticipating anything.  Just lying there until Ezekiel brings the word of God to them.

Anyway, I could think of nothing to say.  So I went and mowed the lawn.

Yeah, that's right, on a Wednesday afternoon even.  (Of course, now I'm writing this in the middle of the night.)  And if you've read me before, you know that I don't garden - I have a black thumb - and I only mow the lawn or prune trees because I have to, and I'm not real happy about doing that.  But I have to do something.

Yes.  Yes I do.  I have to do something.

And that's just the flesh and sinew.  In the story from Ezekiel, the first prophesy of Ezekiel puts flesh and sinew on the bones, but the bodies are still not alive.  It's only with the prophecy of the breath of the four winds, the breath of God, that they become alive.

How often do we just act out or go through the motions of doing the right thing, saying that we are following Jesus because we are doing the things "church" says we should?  I doubt that organization or structure was on the agenda of the apostles the day after Pentecost.  I bet their "agenda" said three things: one, know that Jesus is in your heart; two, be like Jesus; three, show others how to be like Jesus.

That's the breath of God, the fire of God and the voice of God.

Don't get me wrong, I love the church.  I love the community, I love the sharing of heartfelt joy, questions about life and seeking wholeness.  I love the heart.  But, sometimes, maybe we could have less meetings. Maybe, instead, we could meet a neighbour for coffee, you know, that neighbour who'd had a little trouble recently or lost a family member.  Maybe you can't be in the building Sunday morning, but you can help plant the community garden Saturday morning.  Maybe you could bring that neighbour with you.  Maybe a service isn't for you, but you have questions about that thing Jesus said and you'd like to talk about it.  Maybe a pew's not for you, but you know that Jesus is.

This Pentecost, I hope our little community of faith never loses its heart.  Buildings and bodies are useful, even meaningful when used with heart, but the Spirit is more than bones, more than flesh, it's the breath of God that brings life.