Sacrifice into Living

I wonder, sometimes, if we really understand what sacrifice means anymore.

This year, on the Sunday before Remembrance Day, the gospel reading we’ll hear is the story of the widow who gives her last two coins to the treasury at the temple.  Jesus observes this and points out to the disciples that, while the rich give only a portion of the abundance of their wealth, this widow (the poorest of the poor) gave everything she had.  “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury.  For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on” (Mark 12:43-44).

I can’t begin to guess how many times I’ve heard this passage preached as a stewardship lesson.  Many a financial campaign has tugged at the generosity of givers with the example of the widow who gave all that she had.

But I can’t.  I think this is so not about stewardship.  It’s about sacrifice.

And let’s be clear, too, that sacrifice and sharing are not the same thing.  Not at all. Sharing is what the rich people in this story do, they give a portion of what they have.  In fact, sharing some of what you have is pretty good stewardship, depending, of course, on how you prioritize the “some” of what you have.  The traditional “tithe” is ten percent, of what you have or your income (net or gross, who can be sure?), but today, many people prefer to give in support of a thing (like a program or a cause) rather than simply to a church or temple treasury.

Either way, I don’t suppose for a minute that Jesus thought that the contributions of the wealthy were enough.  It’s just that that’s not the point.  This woman sacrifices.

She “put in everything she had.”  Why?  Clearly, “everything she had” wasn’t required or even expected when everyone else was only giving a part of what they had.  So why give “all?”

I wonder if she thought her all, little though it may be, would be exactly what Jesus described, a spirit-filled, hope-filled “more” that might inspire others, not just to do the same, perhaps, but to value it more greatly as the sacrifice it is.  Her two coins alone might not be able to do much, but to know them to be the sacrifice they were should surely inspire those who received them to do greater things with all that they were a part of, to build on those two coins and seize the opportunity to create a greater, more loving world.  Right?  Right?

Well, no.  There’s no indication that anyone but Jesus and the disciples witnessed it.  And certainly the temple authorities (who Jesus constantly challenges) wouldn’t care much would they?

But maybe that’s Jesus’ point.  A sacrifice this great should be honoured with love and respect, but more importantly, with living into the potential it creates, the potential to grow and build a better world.

On Remembrance Day we will honour the sacrifice of many.  Not just those who died on battlefields, but those who lost loved ones, friends and neighbours, and gave up life and living to support others in building a world.  This world.  Do we honour them in one moment on one day or in every moment of everyday that we live into the opportunity and potential they sacrificed for us to have?

See, I don’t think their sacrifice is for what was or is, but what will be, the possibility of a future that freedom, peace and love can create.  And to truly honour their sacrifice, we need to live that.

There’s a great moment, among many, in the film Saving Private Ryan.  It’s the story of a squad of soldiers sent to find the one surviving brother of four sons who went to fight in the second World War.  Near the end of the film, with most of the squad killed in their quest to bring James Ryan home, the dying captain pulls Ryan close and says “earn this.”  The scene dissolves into a much older Ryan visiting the cemetery where his saviours were buried, hoping he’d lived well enough to have earned their sacrifice.

That’s the thing about sacrifice.  It’s more than the giving of everything.  It’s the living out of the gift of what that everything provides.  Are we earning this?

I guess I'd be a hero

I was having lunch out the other day and, as I was leaving the restaurant, I saw some people I knew at a table.  It included a little girl that’s in our upcoming community theatre production of Shrek.  She said “hi” and her mom said that she’d see me tonight at rehearsal and I said “yeah, ya Little Freak.”

Okay, now hang on a minute.  Not what you think.  She’s the nicest, cutest little girl and, in the show, she plays one of the fairy tale characters that Lord Farquaad banishes from his kingdom of Duloc.  To the diminutive Farquaad, all magical fairytale creatures are “freaks,” and our show has Big Freaks and Little Freaks.

So, technically, she’s a Little Freak.  It’s a badge of honour, really.

Of course, I wondered if anyone heard me say that who didn’t know what I meant or how I knew her.  Can’t imagine they thought I was being very nice.  But I guess it depends on your perspective.

Exactly.

Those enjoying the traditions of Halloween will no doubt see a variety of heroes and freaks, superheroes and zombies, the more traditional ghosts and the more contemporary political and video figures.  Some people will want to be their personal heroes and some will be anything but.  That’s the tradition of Halloween: to be something other than who you are (preferably something scary…).

And the next day?  Well, it’s All Saints Day in the church and, while many churches have many different views on sainthood, it’s traditionally the day we celebrate those historical figures who are everything we aspire to be, examples of love and leadership just like Jesus.  All the good things we could be.

That’s great, it is.  But between the All Hallows Eve of being something other than who we are and all the Saints of history we could be, lets remember who we are: the saints of today.  All the good things we could be are already in each of us.  We are differently abled, gifted with unique skills and talents and love.  Finding that in ourselves and living it out - especially the love - is what makes saints.  And saints can be found in the most unusual places.  So can heroes.

In the play, Shrek’s asked who he’d rather be if he could be anyone but himself.  He’s an ogre, after all, and who’d want to be that.  So he sings a wonderful song about how “I guess I’d be a hero.”  The irony is, of course, that he chooses the very thing he truly is, a hero.  It’s not his appearance that matters, it’s his character and his heart and that’s what brings him true love in the end.

The “freaks” embrace their selves, too, and, flaws and all, learn to stand up for themselves.  Being a saint isn’t about being something you’re not, either.  It’s about being who you really are, and sharing that.  Every year on All Saints, I hope we remember that.

I once was blind but now I see

Bartimaeus gets a name.

Even if you're familiar with the story of Jesus healing a blind beggar who's name is Bartimaeus (Mark 10:46-52), that might not seem like a big deal, but I think it is.  Many bible scholars have researched it and there's some fascinating theories about his name and what it means.  They're very interesting, but I just think it's important he got a name.  Any name.

Jesus heals a lot of people and nobody gets a name except Bartimaeus.  Well, there's Lazarus, I guess, but that's more a resurrection than a healing.  And people seemed to know Lazarus.  He even gets a second mention and the people's awareness of Lazarus seems to have made the Temple authorities nervous: "so the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well, since it was on account of him that many of the Jews were deserting and were believing in Jesus" (John 12:9-11).

I wonder if that isn't why Bartimaeus gets a name.  Maybe the author of Mark thought people would recognize him, hearing this as an origin story for a figure they knew.  Maybe they knew Bartimaeus for more than this story, because of this story.

Following Mark's narrative, we've just seen three episodes in which Jesus tries to explain to the disciples what he's all about and they just don't seem to understand.  Peter earlier correctly identifies him as the messiah, but then doesn't seem to understand what that means: Jesus is not the kind of messiah they were expecting.  Or that anyone was expecting.  They just don't see what he means.

And then there's this blind beggar at Jericho.  He seems to know who Jesus is, calling out to him "Son of David," another name for the Messiah.  The son of Timaeus (that's what Bar-Timaeus means) calls to the Son of David.

How does he know who Jesus is?

Probably the same way we all know what's true: both by knowing it intuitively and by what we've experienced.  This little story begins with "they came to Jericho" and the very next thing is "as they were leaving Jericho," there's Bartimaeus.  What happened in Jericho?  Maybe Bartimaeus heard Jesus doing what Jesus does, teaching and healing, and put that together with his own sense of what was true and realized who it was.  We can all do that with what's true, can't we?  What we know and what we experience?  Maybe Bartimaeus is really good at discerning truth, but, still, I don't think it's why he gets a name.

He's persistent, too, with his calling to Jesus, even when others try to silence him.  And when he finally has Jesus' attention, he leaves behind his cloak, probably his one possession of any value, and comes to Jesus, asking only for his sight to be restored.  "Go," says Jesus, "your faith has made you well."  That is a powerful faith, but, still, I don't think that's what makes him name-worthy.

"Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way" (Mark 10:52).

Wait.  What?  Jesus told him to go, but he didn't.  Instead, he "followed him on the way."  I think people might have known Bartimaeus, not by who he had been, not by what happened here with Jesus, but what happened next: "he regained his sight and followed him on the way."  Isn't that the lesson of this story for us?  Not just that he believed, but that he followed on the way.  With his physical sight restored, he lived into the what his heart saw to be true.

The 2009 film Amazing Grace is about the campaign to end slavery in the late 18th century.  The title refers to the supportive influence of John Newton, a former slave ship captain and author of the famous hymn, on William Wilberforce, the key figure in the campaign.  In one scene, Wilberforce visits the aging Newton, now physically blind.  Newton has written down all the ships, routes and slave traders he recalls and offers it to Wilberforce as evidence to help the cause.  He quotes his hymn, "'I once was blind but now I see.'  Didn't I write that, too?"  Wilberforce replies "yes, you did."  "Well, now at last it's true," says Newton.

It became true not just in faith, but living that faith into action.  I think that's how we should know Bartimaeus.  It should be how we know each other, too.

Are you able?

Sometimes I feel sorry for the disciples, at least in their early apprentice years with Jesus.  They get pretty solid, post resurrection, but early on they seem to be pretty dense.  They play the ordinary, everyday guy-off-the-street (or boat) really well, but sometimes, when they repeatedly just don't seem to get it, I wonder if Jesus might not have assembled a better crew.

But then I remind myself that Jesus picked them for a reason.  They're just like me.  Or you.

The Gospel of Mark is particularly hard on the disciples.  There's one stretch, a cycle of three little episodes, in which Jesus tries to teach them about what it really means to be the messiah and what's ahead for Jesus (arrest, death and resurrection) and each time, they respond in a way that seems to indicate they just don't understand.  Peter, for example, correctly labels Jesus the messiah, but he tries to chastise Jesus when Jesus tries to explain what that really means.  Then the disciples argue amongst themselves who is the greatest.  And then there's James and John.

Poor James and John.  They're the ones who ask Jesus if they could "sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory" (Mark 10:37).  In other words, when all the bad stuff's done and we've won, could we have a place of honour, please?  They still seem to think this is about power over others, being appropriately rewarded for their devotion and a place in the hierarchy of greatness.  They've been with Jesus for awhile now and they're on their way to Jerusalem next, you'd think they'd be catching on.  You can just imagine Jesus doing a facepalm.

Like I said, though, just like me or you.  The disciples had a few years with Jesus.  We've had a couple of thousand and we still think being a leader is about power over others, we still reward loyalty the same way and we haven't really changed our hierarchy of greatness, have we?

Here's the thing, though.  Who doesn't want to be near Jesus?  Sure, they're looking for a special place, but maybe we could cut them a little slack for wanting to be near Jesus when it gets to the good part (the "glory") after all that other hard stuff he was talking about is done.

I'd like to be near Jesus.  So here's something instructive about the story.  "But Jesus said to them, 'You do not know what you are asking.  Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?'  They replied, 'We are able'" (Mark 10:38-39).  And yes, they are.  They are able to be like Jesus.  They're the first Jesus' apprentices after all.  But, Jesus says, he doesn't have the authority to decide about who ends up where "in glory."  Perhaps that's Jesus being like us, a reminder that it's God that decides that.

The thing is that we can be "like" Jesus.  Perhaps we won't achieve what Jesus does, but that's not the point.  Just as we're created in the image of God, says Genesis, but we are not God.  What we are is able.

What's the story?

Sometimes, when struggling with a thorny issue - like say, a scripture text about divorce in the gospel passage from Mark this week (Mark 10:2-6) - I like to sit in the church and think.  I find the atmosphere helpful: the quiet … the stained glass … the banners … the abstract painting behind the cross … the hand painted signs that say "Keep Out!" and "Beware of Ogres" …

That seems rather incongruous, I bet.  But there are days that the drama of our church services gives way to the drama of the Bashaw Community Theatre's rehearsals for Shrek, coming later this fall.  Our space is sacred both for the community that gathers and the community it makes.

That intersection of things is a powerful reminder to me of the importance of context.

I don't mean the appropriateness of things inside the building called a church.  Every community of faith can decide what's appropriate in it's space and ours has simply decided to begin with deciding that it builds community, honours the desire to welcome everyone and lives out our mission, which is "living God's love, sharing God's love."

No, I mean the relevance of the stories we tell, and the message we share, to our life experience.  Love, hope, joy, peace, wisdom - too many ideas and principles to name them all - become most meaningful and alive to us when we can see them where we are.  Comforting or challenging, doubtful or inspiring, calm or dramatic, these things all become more understandable, more tangible and more real in practice.

Jesus didn't sit in a cave somewhere and wait for people to come to him for his words.  He was out meeting people where they were and how they were, teaching with words and action.  Feed the hungry - look, I'll show you.  Care for the sick - look, I'll show you.  Welcome the poor and marginalized - look, I'll show you.  Love one another - look, I've been showing you with my life.

What's true in Jesus' life is timeless, but the stories of his living are in a certain time.  I know it's part of my job to delve into the context of the day and draw out the meaning and I love a good bible study and find the study of ancient history fascinating and, ultimately, important.  But I don't live there.  Or then.  So, sometimes, I have to wonder how Jesus might tell a story or make a point today.  Who would be the characters in the Parable of the Good Samaritan?  How, and where, might he feed a large crowd of people?  How might Jesus talk to a global audience?

Which brings me to that passage from Mark.  Pharisees come to test Jesus with a question about whether or not divorce is lawful.  It's a trick question, of course, because Moses allows for it in the law.  Jesus isn't interested in Moses' law, given because of "your hardness of heart" (Mark 10:5), but rather what God intended, which is that people be in relationship, joined by God.  He even goes on to say "Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her; and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery" (Mark 10:11-12).

Ouch.  That seems pretty clear and to the point.  Bearing in mind, of course, that in the first century, it was simple: marriage had nothing to do with love or relationship, it was a contract involving the exchange of goods and divorce ensured (or manipulated, in most cases) your contractual obligations were met if you wanted out.  And also that Jesus is clear that the law only reinforces the brokenness of the people.  And, of course, that this is someone's retelling of what Jesus may have said in that moment, to those people, retold for the benefit of later readers.

Now that we've mitigated a little of the harshness, what's Jesus really talking about?  Relationship.  Just as Jesus challenges the other structures of society and reminds us of what's at the heart of the law, Jesus challenges this law, too, as leading away from what was intended by God, that we live in loving, mutually respecting and life-giving relationships.

What might Jesus say to that question today?  Maybe the same thing.  Or maybe Jesus might acknowledge this much is still true: the law is there to put a structure on something far greater, kind of like how religion is the way you structure belief, government is the way you structure care for all people and society is the way you structure the organization of your lives.  None of them are perfect.  All of them need to take into account the fundamental need for relationship and what might be right relationship, lived with love, respect and grace.  But this much we have learned, that relationships aren't a contract, they're a covenant in which something new is created, that bond between people.  He might also acknowledge that we've learned enough that we know that many relationships do well and many don't.  People grow and relationships change and it can get messy.  What's most important is our commitment to being in relationship.  And if that relationship is broken, that we commit to mutual healing, however that changes the relationship.  And we commit to loving one another, as Jesus still loves, as God loves.

This moment in Mark is followed (not at all coincidentally, I think) by Jesus telling the disciples to let the children come to him because "whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it" (Mark 10:15).

Maybe this means, literally, when you're a child, but I doubt it.  Maybe it means with the open, wide-eyed innocence of a child.  That would certainly bring us to embracing what Jesus was teaching.  Or you could look at the children around you today, in this time.  Children engage - they need to touch and taste and ask questions, they say "no" a lot and they don't always do what you tell them.  It can get messy.  But they look for relationship.

It's really about love

I'm going to wander a little bit this week.  Please come with me.

Here's where I usually reflect on one of the passages of scripture we'll be hearing in church this Sunday.  But this week is our annual Blessing of the Animals service at the Ag Grounds and Nikita, the dog that allows us to live with her and serve her every need, has inspired me to talk about something else: the Pope.

I have to say that I really like this Pope Francis.  I find him to be very much being like Jesus.  I'm not saying he's perfect and I have a whole lot of questions about some doctrinal issues and living in a palace and all that.  But I find his overall message speaks to being Christ-like and following the Way of Jesus.  Particularly lately, now that lots of people have started to criticize him, dislike him and - thank you, Fox News for this - fear him because "he's the most dangerous man on the planet" because of that message.

He wants everyone to care for the poor and marginalized, welcome refugees and fight oppression, respect and care for the earth and he's using his position to get that message out to world leaders and ordinary people alike.  

That all sounds good and I'm sure we can all get behind that, I hope.  As long as it stays in that warm, comforting, unintrusive Sunday morning sermon that doesn't challenge us to go and actually live it out.  But he's not doing that, he's engaging church leaders, world leaders and politicians and asserting that action needs to follow the words.

For many people that makes him political and the church should stay out of politics.  Separation of church and state, after all.  Okay.  I wonder, though, if we aren't once again making something black and white that isn't.  If we mean the separation of the institutions that are church and state and the structures that we have built for the management of those two institutions, then I can get behind that.

But how can it be that black and white?  Both those institutions aren't meant to control, they're meant to serve.  They're meant to care for people, protect them and nurture them and to support the ideals of justice, equality, respect and compassion.  And I don't think I'm being naive, I'm just pretty sure that it should be that way and it isn't.  As the Pope said in his address to the US Congress this week, "you are called to defend and preserve the dignity of your fellow citizens in the tireless and demanding pursuit of the common good, for this is the chief aim of all politics. A political society endures when it seeks, as a vocation, to satisfy common needs by stimulating the growth of all its members, especially those in situations of greater vulnerability or risk. Legislative activity is always based on care for the people. To this you have been invited, called and convened by those who elected you."

And also with you.

Yes, that absolutely applies to both institutions because no, it isn't always that way in churches, either.  But that also shouldn't negate the call to address those core values or their invocation in any context, religious, political or cultural.  We have advanced so far in 2,000 years and yet the call to put love, respect and care for each other into action is still as radical and challenging as it was then.

He's in the US right now, but I wonder what the Pope would say to Canada, with an election coming.  I imagine that he would keep on saying what he's been saying and remind people to vote with these issues in mind.  Not who to vote for, of course, you have to figure that out for yourself.  And, besides, that'd be too political.

I think and I hope that the Pope's goal is to change the world for the better.  Also like Jesus, I don't suppose he thinks that's going to happen overnight.  And, like he says, "to change the world we must be good to those who cannot repay us."  That's how Nikita inspired my thoughts here.  I think I know what he means, but I also think it's not exactly right.  Just like the child in last week's reading from Mark that Jesus holds up as an example of how we should welcome all, just like Nikita and all our pets, just like so many people in the world, it will seem that they will not be able to repay us for our actions, our care and our kindness.  But they do: with love, with companionship and with grace.

You're Welcome

Jesus loves children.  There's no doubt in my mind.  Jesus loves everyone, but Jesus loves children especially.  Not that Jesus would ever show favouritism, but, yes, I think Jesus thinks children are the greatest.

And I'm not just saying that because of all those great pictures you see in Sunday school rooms where Jesus is surrounded by happy, healthy, well-behaved children.

There's a terrific story in three of the gospels about the disciples trying to keep children away from the very busy Jesus.  But he tells them to let them come, pointing out that we should all come to God with the open, innocent, wonder of children.

Hence the pictures.  Happy children, laughing and frolicking with a smiling Jesus, with not a care in the world.

The gospel story this week is not that story.

On the road, the disciples had been debating amongst themselves who was the greatest, the top disciple.  Every group has that kind of dynamic, I suppose, whether it's competitive or simply an acknowledgement of where the strengths are on the team, bearing in mind that we're then going to rank them in order of importance and value.

But Jesus tells them that "whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all" (Mark 9:35).  In fact, says Jesus, holding a child, "whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me" (Mark 9:37).

To follow Jesus is to put others first, to serve others and to embrace them with love, just as Jesus does.  In a society where rank and stature seem so important, that already turns things upside down.  But there's more.

It's not the innocence and wonder of children that Jesus is pointing to, it's this: in Jesus' day, children were among the most vulnerable and isolated.  Mortality was high and they were often not seen as a precious gift, but, at best, a necessary expense, though an unwanted one, at least until they were old enough to work.  They were weak, needy and unimportant.  A child was powerless.

In the drama of this moment, it's a child that Jesus holds up, not just to be served but to be welcomed, not just to be cared for but to be engaged, not just to be acknowledged but to be embraced.  It's what Jesus lives in every story: Jesus welcomes into relationship. 

To live the Way of Jesus is to love in action: to feed the hungry, heal the sick, care for the vulnerable and marginalized.  It's to welcome into relationship those for whom a relationship may well be the most life-giving thing of all.  And it's to do all that for those that most need to be loved, the easiest to love, the hardest to love, even those who society says shouldn't be loved.  All are worthy of love.

In our complex and conflicted world, that's a challenge still.  Our views of children, the poor, the sick, the disenfranchised and the marginalized may have changed in a couple of thousand years.  I hope.  But children are still vulnerable, the poor are still poor, the sick still need healing (of body, mind and spirit) and the marginalized still need to be welcomed home.