I see the Lord

“Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, ‘I have seen the Lord’” (John 20:18).

That right there is the best Easter sermon ever.  I agree with Karoline Lewis in her blog Dear Working Preacher, a weekly letter to preachers suggesting themes and ideas for a sermon each week based on the suggested scripture readings.  “There’s your sermon, Working Preachers. It’s hard to imagine a better sermon than Mary Magdalene’s on that first Easter morning. Short and memorable and to the point.”

Right.  Done, then.  Saves me a lot of work.  Thank you, Mary.

Except.  She might have said just a little bit more.  And John says she does, she tells them about meeting Jesus by the tomb and how she thought he was the gardener and then he said her name and she recognized him and she said “Rabbouni!” (which means teacher) and he said to go and tell the other disciples (John 20:14-17).

You can just imagine her breathlessly, excitedly, telling them.  And soon, they will also get to say it.  “We have seen the Lord.”

But the eternal message of hope isn’t that Jesus was alive.  It’s that Jesus is alive.  And in order to know that, we also need to be able to say “I have seen the Lord” for ourselves.  Today.  In this moment.  It cannot be just a story we learn to believe.  It must be a personal reality.

There’s our struggle.  The world seems full of hurt and hate, violence and abuse, racism and prejudice, deceit and mistrust.   Someone’s understanding - or misunderstanding - of religion is often part of it.  Or power, always power.  And if not selfishness, then certainly self-centredness.  We seem content to be surrounded by signs of all kinds of death.

But I see the Lord.  Don’t you?

When love is shared as Jesus did, freely and without condition.  When people refuse to hate or judge.  When dominance gives way to community.  When religions stop arguing the authority of their traditions and embrace the common ground of grace.  When we act in any way that brings life into places where death has been too long.

And when we see where others can’t, we proclaim it and live it as loudly and extravagantly as we can, I have seen the Lord!

I wonder if our vision is sometimes impaired by our preconceived idea of what we should see.  “The Lord” is the language of structure and institution.  It may be what Mary says to the disciples, but it’s not her first reaction to seeing Jesus.  In that very first moment of realization in the garden by the tomb, Mary says “Rabbouni.”  She calls Jesus “teacher,” a word that describes the personal, one-to-one relationship that she has with Jesus.

Maybe if we looked less for “the Lord” of dogma and tradition and more for the personal way Jesus comes into our lives, we might better recognize Jesus is there.  Teacher, gardener, friend, lover, beloved, child, servant, revolutionary, maybe even a minister now and then.  How Jesus comes to us is reflected in how we see Jesus around us.

I have seen.  I see.  And you?

Can we talk about Friday for a minute

Well, this is a little awkward.

I try to post this blog Thursday night and I see it as early reflections on the upcoming Sunday.  That’s awkward in Holy Week.  It just doesn’t feel right to post thoughts of Easter before saying something about Friday at least.  Especially since I mentioned last time how important the story of the whole week is.

But I’ll be honest.  I’m not really comfortable talking about Friday.

When I was younger, and a musician, I appreciated the beautiful and moving music and liturgy of the Friday story.  I think I still do, as I know many do.  But something’s changed for me.  Maybe I thought about it too much or wondered about things that just raised questions for me about traditional church thinking.  There are a lot more shadows now.

Mind if I share some of those shadowy thoughts?  It won’t be too in depth (deep, perhaps, but not in depth), just talking points really.

Like “Good” Friday.  I don’t know if I can call it “good” anymore.  I know, there’s a variety of explanations for the term, like it could be a corruption of “God’s Friday” or that good used to also mean holy (some traditions still call it Holy Friday).  But I think most people still understand the “good” part as being that Jesus’ death, while brutal, was required for our redemption from sin.

I have some thoughts about that.

In the gospel narratives, Jesus’ death was not “good” in any way.  I’m not sure that I can accept a death as “good” to begin with.  I know that “a good death” has become a way of describing the care and compassion, comfort and relief that can be brought to surround someone’s end of life, and I honour that.  But there is still loss and grief.  It’s not “good,” perhaps, so much as “the best that we can do” and that is, indeed, a wonderful gift.

But in that moment, for all the family, disciples, friends and enemies, even people that had no idea what was going on, Jesus is dead.  There is pain and grief.

Jesus died in a horribly brutal way after being physically and mentally abused.  It wasn’t “good” in that respect, either, it was suffering.

And just because we know what happens next, I don’t think we get to call it “good” in hindsight, either.  Shouldn’t it still be Horrific Friday and Good Easter?

That’s very “in the moment” of the narrative, perhaps, so let’s look at the bigger picture.  Jesus died to save us, atonement for our sin, even for our original sin.  But, as I’ve said elsewhere at other times, I believe that, created in the image of God, our default setting - our birth setting, if you like - is good.  We may choose a different path - to sin - based on our experiences, but we begin from good.  From the very beginning.  I’ve long wondered if the story of Eve and Adam, the fruit and leaving Eden was really about sin, especially an original one.  The original act was choice, the first act of the precious gift of freewill.

There’s been lots of choice since then, both good and bad.  And sin.  If sin is the thing that drives us further and further away from God, then there’s been a lot.  A lot.  But not just before Jesus, after Jesus as well.

An act of atonement?  I don’t know that I can reconcile a God who requires payment for our sins with a God who’s love is for all, freely and unconditionally given, with grace and forgiveness equally so.  I think I go with the latter.

I believe that the life of Jesus is the way to follow: to love as he showed us how to love.  I think powerful people, feeling threatened by Jesus’ revolutionary and counter-cultural teaching about love and grace for all, had him killed.  They tried to end him without seeing that, as the embodiment of love, as the Word made flesh, you can’t kill that.  You’ll only - sorry to sound like Obi-Wan Kenobi - make it “more powerful than you can possibly imagine.”

Jesus brought a world of love, compassion and grace for all.  In doing that, he sought to bring us back to God, closer to the source of love and life.  We resisted - brutally - and still do.  But Jesus continues to live in you and me.  Crucifixions of all kinds continue to happen every day and Jesus stands there with us to remind us: this is not the end.  There is new life in this world and in the world to come.  In the midst of our deepest suffering, our enormous capacity for the harshest cruelty and weakness for the simplest of temptations, Jesus is there to help us shoulder our own crosses.

The Return of the King

I’m back at the church this week.  I’ve been on sabbatical since Christmas and I’m very grateful for the members of the congregation who’ve taken a leadership role in our faith community during that time.  They’ve inspired others with a variety of ideas and experiences, taken care of the administration and the week to week busy-ness of the church community.  Including changing the sign out front each week.

RETURN OF THE KING.

That’s what the sign reads right now.  Thanks for the welcome back pun, Ben, and for the wisdom and insight.  It’s all capital letters, though, so I’m not really sure if it says “the return of the king,” “the King” or “The King.”  And I don’t think they’re all the same thing.

What the church calendar calls Holy Week is a daily chronology of events which begins with Palm Sunday and ends with Easter, though Easter isn’t part of Holy Week.  After all, it’s “the first day of the week” after the sabbath, that’s why Mary and the others can come to the tomb (Mark 16:1-2).  It’s a “new day” all round.

There was a time when we’d all be going to church each day (some still do) in order to hear the story as it’s told, day by day.  We do things a little differently now.  At our church, we still have services Maundy Thursday and Good Friday as well as the Sundays,  but many often bundle everything but the resurrection into Palm Sunday.  Oh, the resurrection, yes, sorry, spoiler alert: Jesus lives.

I wonder if that’s part of our problem.  We know what happens, so, rather than make time for the story, we cut to the chase: one week Jesus is being celebrated, the next thing you know, his enemies have had him killed, but he’s not dead, he’s alive.

Read the story.  Please.  Read. The.  Story.  Imagine each day as if it were happening and what it might mean: the bewilderment of his followers through the week and their despair at his death, the anger of those that feared him, the disdain of the Romans, the surprise and joy of the disciples that the tomb was empty.  New life can only come with a death and death comes only after a journey.

Part of that journey is wondering about kingship.  It’s old language, perhaps, to refer to Jesus as King, but consider how the resurrected Jesus rules: the power of love, a love so great as to be worth dying for.  When love rules our hearts and our lives, it’s not a power over others, but with others.  It’s not about conflict, military might, control or dominance, it’s about grace, care and compassion.  It’s not about geography, it’s about life.

I don’t think that was the kind of king that people were expecting, coming into Jerusalem the week before.  Unarmed and riding a donkey (a sign of peace and humility), they celebrated his arrival waving palm branches and shouting “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!” because they still expected a king who would overthrow the Romans and restore the glory of Israel.  Jesus did not ever mean to be that kind of king.

It might well have seemed to his followers, in those last few days, that Jesus was no king, anymore than Pilate believed he was.  Where was his power?

And then Easter happened.

Take a moment this week to reflect on how we move from greeting a king on Palm Sunday to The King of Easter morning.  The journey is through judgement and death and a tomb overcome by love.  It’s a whole new kingdom.

The Stench of Life

Went out the door just the other day and there it was.  It shouldn’t have been, but it was.  It was too soon.  The end of February?  No, this is Alberta.

But it was unmistakable: the dank, musty smell of wet earth.  Some people may not think it’s the most pleasant smell, but it’s the smell of spring.  The stench of life.

Oh sure, there’s still time for winter to make a resurgence.  It was even colder again the next day.  But you’ve smelled it, too, haven’t you?

Does it surprise you?  Catch you off guard?  It’s a little early.  Remember last year?  Well, last year wasn’t too bad, but remember the year before?  Brrr.

Doesn’t matter, now, though, because it’s there.  To me, it’s the smell of spring.  And that means the seemingly dead earth is coming back to life again.  Breathe it in.  Savour it.  What does it mean to you?

The Gospel of John tells a story of Jesus stopping for dinner at Lazarus’ house before entering Jerusalem for the last time.  That’s the Lazarus that Jesus had earlier raised from the dead, by the way.  At the dinner, Lazarus’ sister Mary takes a container of nard, a very expensive perfumed oil, and anoints Jesus’ feet with it.  And “the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume” (John 12:3).

Judas challenges the waste of something so expensive that could have been sold to help the poor.  But Jesus says “leave her alone.  She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial.  You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me” (John 12:7-8).

Think about the imagery here for a minute.  Mary anoints his feet, but this is more than the hospitable act of washing his feet.  Jesus suggests that she had bought the nard for his burial.  So is Mary foreshadowing his death?  The Temple authorities have already decided to kill Jesus.  But Jesus wasn’t the only “dead man walking” at supper.  According to this passage from John, they also plan to kill Lazarus because of all the attention he’s getting (John 12:10-11).  After all, Jesus had raised him from the dead and he was attracting a crowd.  This meal was like a very public last supper.

And “the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.”

Good thing, don’t you think.  In the story of Lazarus, his family is reluctant to open the tomb because “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days” (John 11:39).  Was Lazarus free of the stench of death when he was raised to life?  Maybe.  But people came to see him because he had been dead.  Dead.  Now he wasn’t.

And here’s Jesus, surrounded by friends and followers, very much alive, radiantly smelling of an expensive perfume, a perfume he says is for his burial.  But it’s Jesus who says that and Mary isn’t keeping it for his burial, she’s using it now.  In front of everyone.

Perhaps instead of giving it to death, Mary decided to give it to life.  Mary honours Jesus with an outrageous act of gratitude for the life Jesus gave back to Lazarus, gave back to all of them.

That smell in the air?  It’s the sweet scent of new life.

Perfect Prayer

I wish that every seat in our church had been full on Sunday.

No, this isn’t one of those “everyone should be in church on Sunday morning” things.  I don’t think that, anyway.  You should be in church if you want - or need - to be, when you want - or need - to be.  I hope you want to be there as much as you can, but there’s more to “church” than Sunday mornings.

And it’s not like we take attendance, anyway.  You won’t get a gold star if you’re there and you shouldn’t feel guilty if you weren’t.  You’re always welcome and we’ll miss you if you’re not there.  Just as important, you might miss something.  Really.

And that’s just it this week: it was something awesome.

Last Sunday, a few teenagers and a bunch of children led our church service.  Let me say that again: teenagers and a bunch of children led our church service.  They had some help and support, but they weren’t directed or told what to do.  They picked their own songs, did their own prayers, read a story one of them chose and taught a lesson about prayer.

They did great.  It was everything leadership should be: authentic, sincere, meaningful.  They were also sometimes a little hesitant, a little shy and a little “this is my first time.”  There were some great videos, a couple of new songs (with some actions!) and a familiar one.  It was informal but engaging, fun and inspiring.

That should be enough right there, but that’s not why the church should have been full.  It was their lesson.

The scripture passage was Luke 11:1-13, the story that begins with one of the disciples asking Jesus “teach us to pray.”  Jesus then shows them how to pray with the words we know as The Lord’s Prayer of The Prayer of Jesus, that formal prayer we all say together each week.  Jesus goes on to talk about the need to be persistent in prayer and how important it is to remember that God answers our prayers, though the answer is God’s wisdom rather than our own.  And God knows us like no one else.

The theme of the morning was “a letter to God.”  Each of the children had written a letter to God, a prayer which expressed what they were thankful for and shared needs and concerns that they had.  Many of the children read their own letters, all of which also appeared on the big screen behind them.  All the adults were invited to write letters, too, if they wanted to, and they had paper to hand out.

It was the same paper they had used, that cheap, lined, three-hole paper like you might put in a binder for school.  Somebody had some spare.  And when they wrote their letters, they used pencil or crayon or pen, whatever was handy.  Some had little drawings as well as words.  The writing or printing might not have been the neatest, they didn’t always stay in the lines, the grammar wasn’t always good and the spelling was interesting.  Some signed their name at the top and some at the bottom.  Maybe even twice.  They’re kids.

But God knows what they meant.

And that’s just it.  

The Prayer Tree in the lobby of our church
- every ribbon is a prayer.

For anyone who struggles to pray because they’re not sure what to say or how to say it, don’t worry.  Or if maybe you wonder if there’s a proper form or a special way to address God.  Don’t worry.  God knows what you mean.  God reads - and hears - what’s in our hearts.  Just talk to God.

The “church” the children led us in last Sunday mirrored their letters.  It wasn’t traditional or formal and it certainly wasn’t perfect.  And yet it was.  It was personal, authentic and sincere.  Just what prayer needs to be.

Lent and The Hundred Acre Wood or You're Full of It Too

A few years ago, I wrote a piece about Lent that addresses a bit of a pet peeve of mine.  I was reminded of it this week because I’m on a sabbatical working on a creative project around stories for children and it used a particularly familiar childhood image.  But, as I read it, it occurs to me that it might have sounded a little less than serious and a little less than respectful of traditions that have meaning for many and it needed something more.  It is, after all though, just my opinion and it went something like this.

Well, it’s the season of Lent in many churches.  Sigh.

Lent’s that time in the church year that’s usually characterized by the colour purple and hymns in a minor key.  Slow hymns.  Really, really slow hymns.  Sigh.

Oh and giving up things.  Have you given something up for Lent?  Not a lot of people do that anymore, but it used to be a popular tradition.  Not much anymore, though.  Sigh.

The origin of giving something up for Lent lies in the season being a penitential one, one in which fasting was commonly practiced.  Fasting, almsgiving (giving to the sick and needy) and prayer were the cornerstones of Lent.  These reminded us of the need to be penitent, to engage in some self-examination and repentance leading up to Holy Week and Easter.  But before we can get there, the story of Jesus being tempted by the Devil in the wilderness leads us into Lent, a dark, dry and dreary time.  Sigh.

Okay, that’s a lot of sighing.  Some of those traditions and ways of understanding Lent have been, and still are, meaningful to many.  But I wonder if we might not also consider that there’s another way of engaging that time of introspection, self-examination, reflection and repentance.

The story that frames the season of Lent for many people is this: “Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil.”  (Luke 4:1-2)  Jesus, in the wilderness, being tempted by the devil.  Wilderness, temptation and the devil.  All things we fear or, at least, would rather avoid.

I wonder if we haven’t mis-characterized the season of Lent.  I wonder if we haven’t made Lent the Eeyore of the church year, when it needs to be the Tigger.

Remember them in the Winnie the Pooh stories?  Eeyore is the melancholy, pessimistic and fearful gray donkey.  Tigger is the enthusiastic, energetic and curious tiger.  

I think we need to re-engage Lent as a Tigger time.  Yes, we should be thinking about our relationship with God, learning about living with Jesus in our lives and considering what “repentance” might mean to us.  (It doesn’t just mean saying or being sorry for wrong, by the way, it means to take action to change as well).  But I think we should do that with enthusiasm, with curiosity and with joy.

For the earliest Christians, called “the people of the Way,” Easter was the focus of the year and an important time for baptism and for people joining their faith community.  Consequently, the weeks leading up to Easter were a time to learn about Jesus and how to live as Jesus taught, about our relationship with God and being part of this new community.  That’s an exciting time, lived with enthusiasm by committed Christians.

The word “lent,” by the way, comes from an old Germanic word that means “spring.”  You remember spring - when the days get longer, it’s warmer and stuff starts growing again - it’s a time of new life and growth.

But most important of all, go back and look at those verses from Luke again.  I don’t think Jesus was afraid to go into the wilderness, he didn’t back away from engaging temptation and he didn’t fear the devil.  Jesus, says Luke, was full of the Holy Spirit.  He wasn’t empty, reluctant, defenceless or afraid.  Jesus went with the power of God, the Holy Spirit.  The devil didn’t really stand a chance.

You, too, are full of the Holy Spirit.

Look back at the season of Epiphany.  Remember all those ways in which Jesus is “revealed,” not just to us, but in us.  The Spirit is in you.  Really.  There’s a little Tigger in everyone.

Easter’s coming.  Let’s take some time to examine our life, think about where God is in it, how we might be living out what Jesus taught and how we could live it better.  Let’s take on the task of trying to grow and be better people making a better world.  Let’s do it with enthusiasm, with sincerity and with commitment.

Easter’s coming.  It’s Tigger Time.

That, right there was my closing line: it’s Tigger Time.  I said it and I stand by it.

But it shouldn’t have been - and isn’t - the end.  Curiosity, wonder, fearlessness, enthusiasm and faith in God’s presence bring us to, and through, the journey.  The journey, itself, is full of questions and experiences that teach us, mold us and transform us.  Engage them all.

For Lent, or any day really, these words of Henri Nouwen are a really good place to start: “Did I offer peace today?  Did I bring a smile to someone’s face?  Did I say words of healing?  Did I let go of my anger and resentment?  Did I forgive?  Did I love?’  These are the real questions.”

The Big Reveal

Well, the season of Epiphany’s a wrap this week with the glorious story of the Transfiguration.  That’s assuming you recognize Epiphany as a season - and not everyone does.  But I hope you do, because epiphany means “to reveal” or “make known” and, week after week since January 6, we’ve heard gospel stories which reveal something about Jesus.  It hasn’t been a long Epiphany this year, so I’ll do a quick recap.

The first story is the arrival of the magi who followed a star seeking the promised one. Next is the story of the adult Jesus being baptized by John in the Jordan River.  “The Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased’” (Luke 3:22).  This is followed by the miracle-worker Jesus turning water to wine at a wedding in Cana.  Then Jesus reads scripture from Isaiah in his home synagogue, proclaiming it fulfilled in him.  Being challenged by Jesus, who they think they know, angers the crowd who drive him out of town.  And finally, this week, Jesus goes to the mountaintop with three disciples and is transfigured there: “the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white.”  Moses and Elijah appear with him and again a voice says “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” (Luke 9:29, 35).

That’s a lot of important information about Jesus: Jesus is the promised one, the Messiah;  Jesus is God’s beloved; Jesus is a miracle worker; the “Spirit of the Lord” is with Jesus to accomplish all Isaiah promised; Jesus is more than the “Joseph’s son” they think they know; Jesus is God’s chosen, the one to whom we should listen.

Jesus is.  Yes, that’s a lot of revealing.  But if you stopped at “Jesus is,” then I think you missed the most important point of Epiphany.  It’s not just how Jesus is revealed to us, but how Jesus is revealed in us.

Let me recap again, a little differently.  Let me tell you some of what I think’s really being revealed here.

Jesus is revealed to the magi as the promised one.  That’s magi who were not Jews, nor were they from Judea.  They were mysterious visitors we don’t know anything about from somewhere “east,” we’re not sure where, exactly.  We just know they’re different.  That reveals to me that Jesus is for everyone.  That’s everyone.  And we should be, too.

Jesus is God’s beloved.  You know who else is beloved by God?  You.  And me and everyone.  Jesus wanted to be baptized by John, just like everyone else, before he began living that ministry that teaches us how to live, loving others as we are loved.  Maybe that reveals that we, too, should recognize that we’re loved and love others as we are loved.

Jesus is a miracle-worker.  Sure, but is that really the point of the story?  Or is it that Jesus, in his first miracle in John’s gospel, gracefully and without drawing attention to himself, brings joy in a moment that could have gone disastrously in the opposite direction.  Maybe that reveals that we could offer our gifts - our own little miracles - in an equally humble and selfless way.

Jesus is filled with the Spirit and moved by the Spirit.  The scripture he is proclaiming fulfilled is that he will  bring good news to the poor, proclaim release to the captives, give sight to the blind and freedom to the oppressed.  Isn’t that what Jesus calls us all to do?  Sure it is.  And when we preach it, it sounds good and gives everyone a warm feeling.  But when Jesus challenges his own home crowd that they aren’t doing it, that isn’t what they want to hear and they’re offended and angry.  It takes strength of Spirit to stand up to them.  That reveals to me that we need to embrace the Spirit within us, not only to talk, but to do, to get on with a life that makes our living life-giving, too.

"Transfiguration" by Socrates Magno Torres

And that’s the thing about the Transfiguration story and why it’s such a great way to wrap up Epiphany and launch into Lent.  It’s not just that there’s this awesome mountain top experience with blinding light and all the signs of God’s love and presence.  It’s that it doesn’t stay there on the mountain.  Jesus goes into the world.  And so should we, knowing that God is with us, the Spirit gives us strength, we have gifts to share, we are loved and we should love others as we are loved, all others.

That’s a huge challenge and maybe needs some time and some thought to figure it out.  I think that’s why Jesus went into the wilderness that we call Lent.  Perhaps we could join him there over the next few weeks and wonder how we, too, are living into being Jesus.