The world needs both of us, Pastor

Well, right off the bat, the title’s not correct, really.  The world needs all of us.  We’re all connected, all needing to honour our related-ness, all needing to recognize we are part of the same family, like it or not sometimes. We’re all God’s children.  There’s no exclusivity in that.  But I’ll come back to that because I want to be specific for a minute.

I was pretty excited last week - I still am - because I recently wrote a column that elicited a response from another minister, a pastor of another denomination, one which takes a very different view than I do.  We all know that not everyone’s going to agree with everything we think, say or do, but we don’t always have the opportunity for dialogue.  So, thank you, pastor, for writing your’s as a column in response to mine.  It inspires me.

I wrote a column in which I challenged the understanding that Jesus is the only way to God.  Jesus is, indeed, my way - and may be yours - but I believe that we all come to the one God, however we understand that God, in different ways and, for some, that way may not be Jesus.  Specifically, I suggested an alternate way to interpret John 14:6, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.  No one comes to the Father but through me.”  Rather than meaning “me, Jesus,” I suggested that Jesus simply meant “me, as in The Way that I teach you to live, the way that is true and life-giving.”  

That is not “correct,” was the response.  Jesus is the only way to God and this message is exclusively for those “people who recognize that they are sinners in need of a Saviour.  Sinners need a Saviour, not a good example.”

Okay, well, we don’t agree.  I do have a little trouble with the language of “correct” and “exclusive” that I want to say a word about, but I would like to thank you for expressing a contrary opinion.  Because it’s just that.

I was fortunate to have a professor in seminary who reminded people that the Bible speaks to people how it speaks to them - that’s what makes it so meaningful.  I’m paraphrasing her a lot, but she said that we interpret God’s Word as it speaks to us and you can’t tell someone that their interpretation is wrong.  You can challenge it with a different one, you can suggest that it’s a misunderstanding or that it’s misguided based on context, historic or factual knowledge, but you can’t say that it’s wrong if it leads to what is true and life-giving, because that’s what the Bible is all about.  It’s why it still continues to be meaningful, not matter how much work it can be to understand it: what’s important is its truth, not its literalism.

You write, “is this message only for certain people?  Yes.  The Good News is only for people who recognize that they are sinners in need of a Saviour.  Sinners need a Saviour, not a good example.”  But you also say that “we have a sin problem.  Outside of Jesus, the entire human race remains in a state of sinful rebellion against God.”  If we are all sinners, is the Good News only for those who realize it?  I can’t agree with that.  I think the Good News is for all, particularly whether they realize it or not.

The thing is, we could debate at length about all the things we disagree about, but ultimately I think that we’re headed to the same place, just from different directions.  And when I say “headed to the same place,” I mean building communities of people who live God’s love in the world, trying to be better followers of The Way that Jesus teaches us with his life.  Even as I write that, I think but that’s just it: that’s my view of Jesus’ life. Your’s - equally valid - is the view from Jesus’ death.  Jesus died to redeem us from sin.  It’s Jesus death that brings salvation.

Sinners do need a Saviour, but we also need a good example to follow.  Or maybe that could be the other way round: we need a good example to follow, but we also need a Saviour.  The point is, we need both and sometimes we lean to the direction that speaks most clearly to us, most clearly of what is true.

All the more reason, I think, to refute the idea that Jesus is exclusive.  You suggest that “in all the gospels Jesus encounters hostility precisely because he was exclusive in his teachings.”  I think he encountered hostility because his message was distinctly inclusive, available to all and worthy of engagement.  Both Matthew (10:34) and Luke (12:51) record stories of Jesus talking about how he brings conflict and division.  That’s not because he’s exclusive, but because inclusivity brings engagement, difference of opinion, debate, the sharing (often forcefully) of our uniqueness.  I don’t think for a minute that Jesus thought those conflicts would be settled by victory for one and defeat for the other.  Rather, I think he wished the result to be growth and learning, the rebuilding of relationships and the restructuring of society on the basis of love, respect and grace.  In short, the kingdom of heaven here on earth.

We are created in the image of God (Genesis 1:27).  Yes, maybe as you suggest, that image may be broken.  But I cannot agree with you that it “has been shattered like a mirror” and “is no longer functional.”  We may be broken, but our brokenness is healed by Jesus, by love, by grace, by death and by life.  We’re all God’s children, we come from God and we’ll find our way home to God.

It's not a mystery, it's a wonder

It’s a mystery.

In the church, that’s the classic answer to “what is the Trinity?”  It won’t get you very far as the answer to a game show question, but it’s the beginning of trying to understand something that has puzzled people for a long time.

June 11 this year is Trinity Sunday on the church calendar, one of the few times that calendar observes an idea, rather than an event.  The idea of the one God as being a “trinity” (meaning three, or a triad) has challenged people since the church “clarified” it at the Council of Nicea in 325.  But maybe that’s the important part - not the clarification, but the challenge of it.

The term “trinity” doesn’t appear in the bible at all, but is a part of the church doctrine (teaching) that has become dogma (teaching that the church considers to have been divinely revealed in the Word and therefore becomes part of faith).  There’s lots of both, but the Trinity is the concept that God is three persons, classically represented as Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and this concept is revealed in scripture.  Therefore, it becomes part of our faith.

Seems simple enough.  So is our God one or three?  Yes.

The real answer, I think, isn’t in the definition of the concept, but the language we use to describe it.  This is also why I think it’s a very relevant way to describe God - and a forever contemporary one, too.

When we say that the Trinity is a “mystery,” it doesn’t mean a riddle or a who-done-it.  Rather, it means something to wonder about, something that we come to understand and sense through worship, symbol, and faith, to experience and struggle with, rather than intellectually comprehend.  An ancient proverb describes this kind of mystery as being not a wall to run up against, but an ocean in which to swim.

When we say that God is three “persons,” it means the ancient understanding of personhood that reflects both the individual and the sense of that individual existing in the context of community.  Individual, but not separate; unique, but not alone; separate, but of the same essence.  The three “persons” exist with each other, but are not each other.  Traditionally, the Trinity has been Father, Son and Holy Spirit, but we have developed other descriptions, too, such as Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer or Parent, Friend and Comforter or God-in-the-world, God-among-us and God-within-us or Lover, Beloved and Love Between and others.  A new one that I just discovered thanks to a colleague writing in the resource magazine ‘Gathering’ is God the Unknown, God the Known, God the Worker of Miracles.  I’m really liking that one.

I’m really liking it because it reminds me that the Trinity invites us to see God in all the amazing ways in which God can be present in our lives: the wonder which is all creation, the universe and all time; the stories of Jesus, God incarnate, Emmanuel (Matt. 1:23)  which means “God with us”; and the action in which live that experience, the inspiration, strength and refreshment in which we experience our relationship with God.

The Trinity is constantly active relationship.  That’s a powerful way to understand God: in the world, in relationship and in action.  And that’s where the mystery challenges us, to try and live in relationship with God who is the very model of relationship, to live in community with God who is the very model of community, and to live out that love, not alone, but with the world around us.

That’s not a mystery, it’s a wonder.

Getting in touch with our essential oneness

The United Church of Canada’s crest is an interesting thing.  All its features have meaning - its shape, its symbols, its colours - and are worth exploring.  Check out the national church’s website to find out more about that if you’re interested.  Today, I’m particularly interested in the words that frame it.

In addition to the name, it says two other things.  Well, two things that I think are really one thing.  When the crest was adopted it had the Latin phrase “Ut omnes unum sint” and in 2012, a Mohawk phrase was added, “Akwe Nia'Tetewa: neren.”

The Latin phrase means “that all may be one,” a reference to John 17:21.  At least, I read somewhere that it’s a specific reference to verse 21, but that phrase appears several times in John 17, as Jesus prays to God on behalf of himself, the disciples and everyone.

Let me step back a moment.  John 15-17 is often referred to as The Farewell Discourse.  As John tells the story of Jesus’ last night with the disciples, Jesus spends a fair bit of time talking to them about important things.  At the end of that farewell talk, he prays.  A unifying theme in this prayer is this thread of “that all may be one.”

But this isn’t about uniformity, conformity, sameness, homogeneity or any of those other words that mean “all exactly the same.”  I think if Jesus had meant that, he would have said “that all be the same.”  He doesn’t.  In fact, in the larger context of the prayer, he makes it pretty clear that he means that all may be one in the same way that Jesus and God are one: in relationship.  Jesus and God are not the same, they are one together.

I think Jesus framed this near the beginning of the prayer when he asks God to take care of the disciples, to support them and protect them (John 17:11).  I think Jesus recognized that there’s greater strength in relationship than uniformity, greater strength in the intertwining of uniquenesses than in the commonality of sameness.  Love is the thing on which these relationships are built.  Love is the means by which the interaction of diversities becomes unity, as we love and are loved.  That love is in each of us, as it is in Jesus and God.

John’s gospel frames this as “that all may be one.”  The gospel’s author might have appreciated the much later - and more political - statement “unity in diversity.”  It’s a common way of describing the Canadian identity of multiculturalism and in 2000, it became the official motto of the European Union.  But I think John’s words imply more, that there’s an essential element to the building of that unity and that’s something that encompasses respect, grace, openness and willingness: love.

The importance of the relational aspect of this kind of unity is reflected in the Mohawk phrase.  It means “all my relations.”  Our unity is, simply, our connectedness.  Recognizing that we are connected not just to each person we meet but all persons, not just the one place will live but all the earth, not just people but all living things.  Whatever language we may use (because that’s incredibly diverse, too) to describe that connectedness, Jesus makes it simple: it’s love.

Following the Way that's True and finding Life

Did you memorize Bible verses as a kid?  Church school or summer camp, memorizing verses as a child was often a key way of connecting children to the Bible.  Even as adults, we sometimes find a key verse or phrase that represents a story or has some fuller meaning than just those words and it becomes important enough for us to remember literally.  And that can be a great thing when it inspires us to remember the fuller meaning to which it’s connected.

The problem, of course, is that a single verse out of context can take on a life of its own.  Biblical soundbites can positively affirm or connect us to a deeper meaning, but they can also become something different all together.  I could give you a list, but it’s long and there’s a particular verse on my mind this week.

“I am the way, the truth, and the life.  No one comes to the Father but through me.”  That’s a popular verse from John’s gospel (John 14:6) that we can hear as an affirmation that following the way of Jesus will bring us closer to God.  That’s great.  We can also hear it as decisively commanding that Jesus, and only Jesus, is the one and only way to God.

I suppose I want to be okay with that.  After all, I like the affirmation that the figure I believe in, that I follow, is the right one.  But the hole’s getting deeper already, isn’t it?  Am I believing the way, or the figure who represents it?

This puts me on thin ice with some folks, I know.  It seems like I’m doing that thing of questioning something that as “a believer,” I’m somehow not supposed to question.  So let’s be clear: I am.

In this verse, in this story, in John’s telling of it, I can’t bring myself to believe that Jesus meant to exclude any and everyone who does not come to God “in his name.”  That’s not the Jesus I believe I know.

I think the “me” Jesus refers to, when he says “no one comes to the Father but through me,” is the “me” he just described: “the way, and the truth, and the life.”  To live as Jesus lived, to “love one another as I have loved you” (John  13:34-35) is to live true to who and what we are in our deepest heart and soul and that is the way to God.  If we live into our potential as being created in the image of God, then we are living the way Jesus lives.  Then we are truly People of the Way.  And that’s life-giving.

We may also want to consider the context of John’s gospel.  It was written later than the others, at a time when the fledgling Christian community - who, incidentally, called themselves “people of the way,” not “christians” - was threatened by persecution from Romans and Jews.  It makes sense that, in that context, John’s Jesus would say “I am the way, follow me,” not “there’s lots of ways, pick one.”  And he’s not going to point at Fred and say, “Fred’s the way, follow him.”  He’s going to say let me show you, follow my example, live as I have shown you.  Don’t just talk about it, do it.

Am I splitting hairs here?  I don’t think so.  A key feature of what Jesus taught was action.  You must live out what is being preached.  Sadly, we have lots of examples of when and how that hasn’t happened.  One of the greatest criticisms of the church, of any religious institution, by those who don’t “follow the label” is that we don’t, literally, practice what we preach always.

I also don’t think Jesus means for us to blindly follow without thought or consideration.  If that were the case, we wouldn’t need freewill or choice, would we?  The moment we make our “label” exclusive, I think we deny a key feature of living the way Jesus lived: Jesus welcomed all, regardless of their place in society, their gender, their cultural or political views.

I believe that Jesus knew that, before God, we are one family, but we are also all unique and individual.  I think that’s why, just before the “I am the way” verse, he says “in my Father’s house are many dwelling places” (John 14:2).  There is room with God for everyone.

We are constantly referring to “the family of Jesus Christ.”  That’s who we are, and we are all part of the family, a worldwide family.  If we believe that, we are going to need to accept the challenge of being a family, that sometimes we aren’t always alike, we don’t think alike or act alike, yet we are still family and we must still love one another.  If we believe that we are the family of Jesus Christ, then we accept each other for who we really are, not who we can pretend to be because someone tells us to behave a certain way.  And when we stumble, or we have questions and differences, our family should be there to support and help us.  

I believe that’s “the way” that Jesus had in mind, the way we can travel together.

That's no disguise

I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s wondered why no one recognizes that Clark Kent is Superman.  Or Superman is Clark Kent.  Is a pair of glasses and a suit really enough?

Actually, CNN reported last year that the University of York did a study that indicated there was a “significant” change in recognition of persons study participants didn’t know from when they were not wearing glasses to when they were.  Accuracy dropped a whopping 6%.  They weren’t suggesting that answers the Superman question, but it did raise some questions about facial recognition from picture ID in places like airports where 6% can mean millions of people.

But setting that scary thought aside for a moment, one might also consider change of clothes and, most importantly, context as reasons why someone might not be recognized.  So maybe glasses, a suit and a job at a newspaper are enough to hide Superman.

Okay, says the actor Henry Cavill, who played Superman in two blockbuster movies, let’s try it.  He hung around Times Square in New York last summer doing a little promotion/social experiment.  He just walked around wearing a Superman t-shirt, even standing in front of giant billboards with his picture on advertising the new Superman movie.  He bought coffee and sat in a coffee shop.  Not one person recognized him.  He posted pictures on Instagram with the caption “the glasses are enough.”

I know, you’re probably thinking I’m wasting your time here.  After all, it’s just a story, a comic book creation of an imaginative mind.

Well, here’s a story.  The Gospel of Luke tells the story of two disciples on the road to Emmaus who meet Jesus “that same day” that the women discovered the tomb was empty (Luke 21:13-35).  They’re lost in the events of the last few days and, when Jesus joins them on the road, they don’t recognize him.  He asks them about what happened and they talk, the disciples sharing what happened and how they felt, Jesus sharing with them why it was so important that it happened.  Jesus stays with them for supper and they finally recognize him “in the breaking of the bread.”

These disciples didn’t know it was Jesus until he did something they recognized as being a Jesus-like thing to do.  That’s when they realized, “were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?”  He was being Jesus all along and only just then did they realize it.

They’d heard the story that Jesus was alive, they told the stranger as much, but they don’t seem to believe it any more than the others did.  Perhaps they were also waiting to see Jesus in person before they believed it.  And yet here he is, not introducing himself as Jesus, not showing them the wounds in his hands and feet, but just being Jesus.

I wonder if these disciples might then have told others this story and said something like “I can’t believe we didn’t know it was Jesus right away!  He was doing just what Jesus did, talking with us, teaching us, lifting us up.  And we just didn’t see it.”  It wasn’t a stranger, it was Jesus.

We’re still doing that, aren’t we?  We say “Jesus is alive” and then look for Jesus to appear as we expect Jesus should.  Much like we so often choose to see people as who we think they should be rather than be open to who they are.  It’s just not that easy to “be open” to encountering Jesus, any more than being open to a stranger for who they are.  There’s no doubt it’s challenging.  But it is worthwhile.  If Jesus is alive in all of us, how else will you meet him?  He might be wearing glasses.

Leave no doubt

Now you see me …

You’re waiting for the rest of that now, I bet.  You’re expecting “now you don’t” to follow it, like that abracadabra moment when the magician disappears, right before you’re very eyes, only to reappear moments later.  I can imagine how the story of those first few days after Easter might seem kind of like that.  Jesus appears by the tomb, then he’s gone, appears among the disciples and he’s gone, appears to Thomas and he’s gone, appears on the road to Emmaus and then he’s gone, and so on, until he’s really gone.

Except he isn’t.  And maybe that’s the real reason why the story of Thomas is so important.

Wait.  Don’t say it, don’t even think it.  Don’t call him that.  I know you want to call him Doubting Thomas, but please don’t.  I know we’ve called him that for a long time and held him up as an example of someone who doubted  - as if we shouldn’t either.  But I think we’ve treated Thomas unfairly because I think Thomas is the greatest of the original twelve, certainly the bravest and the most committed.  I don’t think Thomas doubted Jesus for a minute.  I think he chose to question the words of the other disciples, I think he didn’t believe Jesus was there in person, but I don’t think he doubted Jesus.  It’s just not the same thing.

Here’s how I see it.  Remember way back in John 14?  Jesus had just finished the passover meal with the disciples, he talked about his betrayal and Peter’s denial and then he begins what we refer to as The Farewell Discourse (John 14-17), a final talk with the disciples before his arrest.  He begins by saying to them, don’t be afraid.  In God’s house there are many dwelling places, one for everyone.  I’m going ahead to make a place for you and you know the way there.  But one of the disciples says, we don’t know the way: tell us the way.  It’s Thomas who asks that question.  And he hears Jesus answer, I am the way.

I think Thomas hears that answer and knows The Way to be true and, from that moment on, doesn’t doubt Jesus for even a minute.

I think Thomas believed that Jesus died on the cross, just like everyone else did.  And they did.  If the criteria for doubting is not believing that Jesus is physically alive, he has a lot of company from all the gospels.  Mary and the women coming to the tomb didn’t believe.  They came to anoint a dead body.  When Mary saw Jesus, she didn’t recognize him at first.  Then she went and told the others and they didn’t believe.  They were actually in hiding because they were afraid that they’d be identified as followers of Jesus.  They didn’t believe until Jesus appeared to them.  And we think Thomas was the only one who doubted?

I don’t think Thomas doubted at all.  I think Thomas wasn’t there because he was the only one of the disciples courageous enough to be out doing what Jesus taught them to do.  He was the only one brave enough to be outside, willing to identify himself as a follower of Jesus, teaching people what Jesus taught, showing people what Jesus taught, loving people and caring for people - showing people The Way.  And yes, I’m sure he acknowledged it was in the shadow of Jesus having died, but I bet Thomas’ conviction was simply “Jesus is alive in me.  Jesus can be alive in you.”

Thomas didn’t doubt Jesus.  He had more questions of the disciples.  He may even have wondered that perhaps they were simply imagining what they so desperately wanted to be true.  He wanted evidence, he wanted proof that it was real.  He already had that for Jesus’ teaching.  He’d experienced Jesus’ love and care, his kindness and grace.  He’d seen proof of The Way.

So when Thomas sees Jesus, in the flesh, he says the only thing he can think of.  Not a concession or a confession, but a statement of praise, an affirmation of the deep, committed faith of a follower of The Way: “My Lord and My God!”

A moment of triumph or a wild ride?

For many churches, Palm Sunday’s a day that has a story made for ritual.

Jesus enters Jerusalem, riding on a donkey while crowds of people throw their coats and branches on the ground before him, waving palm branches and shouting “hosanna” to welcome the triumphant king.  So we have palms, some that we wave, some that we fold into crosses to help us remember the story continues, some for decoration.  And we shout “hosanna” and we might even have a parade, either as a procession around the building or an actual parade on the street.  There’s tremendous potential for re-enacting the story and we often do.

Maybe this is a moment to pause and consider some of the other stories of Jesus we could re-enact regularly, like feeding the 5,000 or healing the sick or showing compassion to a stranger.  Just a thought.

But back to Palm Sunday.  The story’s in all four gospels, each with it’s own particular features, but generally it’s full of important symbolism that acknowledges who Jesus is: he comes to Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives, where tradition holds the messiah will appear; he rides into town, like a king, but on a donkey, a symbol of humility; that kind of arrival was prophesied by Zechariah, that the king would come, riding a donkey, and put an end to war and fighting and there will be peace everywhere; branches and clothes to walk on honours his royalty; shouts of hosanna and praise for “the son of David” and “Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth” are signs acknowledging his great triumph.  In this moment.  But the story goes on.

I often like to remind myself that we know how the story goes on.  What would it be like if we didn’t know what was happening next?  Wouldn’t we embrace the moment, wouldn’t we buy into the excitement, wouldn’t we want to celebrate - as one of the Skit Guys says in one of their videos - that this was the moment when “Jesus showed up?”  Jesus showed up.  Jesus.  The Jesus we wanted, the Jesus who triumphs.  Even if it’s just a moment, maybe we need to stop here and enjoy this moment of triumph to more fully understand the disciples’ heartbreak later in the week.  It was all going so well.

Or do we just want it to look that way?

Lately, I’ve been wondering about this story and how manufactured it feels.  It seems highly unlikely that Jesus had ever been on a donkey before, or any animal for that matter, he walked everywhere and wouldn’t have been able to afford it anyway.  And he’s going to ride a donkey or its colt, described as “unridden,” into a crowd of shouting and cheering people on narrow streets, streets on which people have tossed branches and clothes?  I don’t know that I see a calm and organized procession, royal and triumphant.

I think I see marginally organized chaos.  As Jesus tries to remain calm (hopefully) and hold on, and people shout loudly all around him, the donkey tries to pick his way over the branches and clothes, trying not to trip, stumble or fall.  It might need to be pulled, rather than led, or it might be trying to bolt, either way, I feel kind of bad for the donkey.  It must have been terrifying.  I know, you want to believe he knew who he was carrying, or maybe that Jesus had a way with animals, but the donkey was probably too busy being scared.  Or maybe he knew where things were headed.

So maybe the moment of triumph is meaningful for you in the context of a story that will now see many emotions, betrayal, fear, sadness and grief, before the next “ first day of the week.”  Or maybe it’s worth considering that the journey of that poor donkey, not really sure where he’s going or why, surrounded by noise and confusion, carefully watching his step and trying not to stumble, maybe that’s a better metaphor for a week that will see lots of twists and turns before its end.  Maybe that’s even a metaphor for a life, rather than a week of one.  Where does the story lead you?

One thing about that donkey.  At the end of this wild ride, I can see Jesus patting him fondly on his neck and offering him a long, cold drink of water, maybe even a handful of straw.