Something's Coming

Winter is coming.

If you’re a fan of Game of Thrones, you might hear that statement a little differently than if you were a snowmobile enthusiast.  In GoT, winters can last years and be unduly harsh, not to mention all sorts of nastiness that comes from north of the wall.  Snowmobilers can’t wait for that first snowfall, just enough to make it worthwhile taking it for a spin.

I guess.

The first one’s made up and you might not have any idea what it’s about.  Or even care.  But, to be honest, I’ve never been on a snowmobile, so I don’t really know what that’s like.  (Please don’t offer to take me for a ride.)

It rather depends on your perspective.

Advent is here, and that means that something’s coming.  Literally.  Advent means “coming” in Latin.  These four weeks remind us to prepare, to get ready, because something’s coming.  What that is, exactly, depends on your perspective.

This could be the liturgical season of Advent, or, as some may know it, Shopping Season, the Season of Stress, the Party Season, Cold for the Holidays, "Oh My, Is It December Already?,” "Is It Christmas Yet?,” and even, yes, my personal favourite, “winter is coming” (you have to hear it in John Snow’s voice).

That last one's a little tricky, too, because, well, you know … for some people, even saying the "C" word is wrong.  It's religious and we can't have that in our secular society.  Say Happy Holidays or Season's Greetings, even Compliments of the Season (what does that mean, anyway?), but don't say Merry Christmas.  Oh dear, I just did.

Maybe "The War on Christmas" is more of an American thing, but we get caught up in it, trying so hard to be politically correct, I suppose.  Some celebrate other faith festivals at this time of year and some celebrate a good time and perhaps they'd rather not hear about Christmas or see the symbols or hear the songs.  So maybe Happy Holidays is good.  Well, if you get holidays now.  Or Seasons Greetings.  That's good because there are a variety of seasons, right?

Jews celebrate Hanukkah this month.  Buddhists celebrate Bodhi Day in December.  Then there's the Winter Solstice (Modraniht if you're a traditional Saxon), Saturnalia, Pancha Ganapti. Christmas, Yule and Kwanzaa.  And it's winter, just plain old winter.  So maybe a generic greeting is good.

Or, maybe we could use what's appropriate and respect our uniqueness.

I think we could spend a lot of time worrying about keeping the "Christ" in Christmas in word and song and symbol.  But isn't it more important to keep the "Christ" in Christmas in deed?

Near the beginning of Dickens' classic "A Christmas Carol," Scrooge tells his nephew that he should "keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.''  "Keep it!'' repeated Scrooge's nephew.  "But you don't keep it.''

Precisely.

Keeping the "Christ" in Christmas isn't really about words and symbols, it's about how we live.  It's about recognizing that, as Christina Rossetti wrote, "Love came down at Christmas," the same love Jesus preached and taught and - most importantly - lived.  When we live that love each day, not just on Christmas Day, we truly keep the "Christ" in Christmas.

Oh, Advent.  You probably thought I got off on a bit of a tangent there.  Not really.

Advent is traditionally observed as the time of preparation for Christmas, a time of waiting and expectation, a time of hope.  But the "Christmas" that we prepare for isn't just a commemoration of the past event.  Jesus did come, Jesus lived and died and lived again,  and continues to live on in us.  Jesus also invites us to live as he taught, loving each other in this and every moment.  Jesus also invites us to look forward with hope to his coming to us again, whether that’s in some later apocalyptic moment or in those little moments each day when we see Jesus alive in others around us.  So Advent is, in a sense, a time to prepare to celebrate what has been, engage what is and hope for what is to come.  That's a lot of preparation to be observed.

So maybe it's time to do less observing and more experiencing.  Advent is the time to "let every heart prepare him room," as Isaac Watts wrote in "Joy to the World."  In the life lived after that first Christmas, Jesus taught us how to prepare to receive him again.  And again.  And again.  That'll put the "Christ" in Christmas.

Location, location, location

Perhaps now is a good time to talk about borders.

We use borders to define us.  Despite our constant crossing of them, over reaching them and claiming land beyond them, the borders of our nations define the area in which a certain authority, society and culture has rule.  Our understanding of our place is determined by them.  In Canada, “this land is your land, this land is my land,” but only from Bonavista to Vancouver Island.

And that vast geographic territory has such a diversity within it.  The cultural mosaic, a term first used in the 1920’s to describe the influence of so many eastern Europeans and Scandinavians on the prairie landscape, still describes the vast array of cultures and traditions that have found a home here.  Multiculturalism is a part of the Canadian identity - within our borders.

Even in The Lion King.  Remember that moment when Mufasa is showing young Simba the kingdom and they look out at the vast expanse of the land?  Mufasa says that “everything the light touches is our kingdom.”  And Simba asks “what about that shadowy place?”  “That is beyond our borders,” replies Mufasa, “you must never go there, Simba.”

Even “everything the light touches” has a border.  Darkness.

The thing about that, though, is that we see a border - our border - as describing the edge of what’s within it.  Our kingdom is defined by what it contains.

This week is Christ the King Sunday or Reign of Christ.  It’s the last Sunday of the church calendar, as Advent marks the beginning of the year, and an opportunity to consider the image of Jesus as King, an evocative and powerful image, but a confusing and confounding one for many.  What kind of king is Jesus, if the term “king” still has any meaning for us? What, or where, is the kingdom of Jesus?  How does Jesus rule in the world?

The gospel story is from John 18, after Jesus is arrested and taken by the temple authorities to Pilate, the Roman governor.  They want Pilate, the representative of the power that governs them to deal with Jesus, who, they say, claims to be king of the Jews.  Imagine the scene: Jesus, with only the clothes on his back, no money, no army, none of the trappings of what we might recognize as  power, stands before Pilate, in the heavily fortified praetorium, his soldiers nearby, surrounded by all the wealth and power of the mighty Roman empire.  And Pilate asks Jesus if he is a king.  My kingdom is not from this world, Jesus says.  When pressed by Pilate, Jesus says “You say that I am a king.  For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice” (John 18:37).

Who really has the power here?

Pilate brings all the physical might of Rome, who’s borders reach almost to the edge of the known world.  But empires fall and borders change and the world grows.  Even with all that power, Pilate seems to wonder at what’s really happening here.

The kingdom Jesus speaks of us has no borders and cannot be contained.  It springs from the smallest geography of all, the heart, to encompass the vastness of life.  If Jesus rules in your heart, geographic borders will not stop you from embracing your neighbour, offering aid and care to those in need.  If Jesus rules in your heart, love and compassion will stand up to hate and fear, wherever it is found.  If Jesus rules in your heart, justice and respect for all, no matter how different, will be the goal of all law and governance.   If Jesus rules in your heart, equality and understanding , grace and, above all, love will be the way we live with each other.

Those aren’t just poetic words, they’re real, practical and doable.  We bring the kingdom of God by living out what’s in our hearts, not by closing our minds, sealing our borders and separating ourselves from the world.  In the world where Jesus rules in our hearts, the light does shine everywhere, even into the shadowy places.

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.