Promise, Gratitude and Trust

The Gospel of Mark tells a story about Jesus and the disciples sitting by the Temple treasury one day, watching people bringing their donations. They watched some “rich people” donate large amounts, says Mark, although one has to wonder what or how one would qualify as “rich” in a country occupied by the Romans. Then, a poor widow arrives and puts in a couple of small coins, all that she has, and walks away. Jesus tells the disciples that she has given more than even the richest person because they had so much and gave only a piece of it, but she gave everything she had.

Foolish woman.

Okay, Jesus didn’t say that. That was me being cynical. But you can’t tell me that it hasn’t occurred to anyone to wonder about this woman’s motivation. She gave away all that she had. Now what? Let’s be discerning for a minute.

For so long, we’ve heard this story used in church fundraising. This poor widow is truly generous and gives with a sense of abundance in her heart. Yes, absolutely, she is an example of generosity to be emulated. Where does she give “all that she has?” To the Temple, the very people who should be most involved in the care of the widow, the poor, the sick, the needy.

We don’t hear any more about this widow than Jesus commenting on her example, but I’m sure we can safely assume that she was suitably thanked for her generosity and further, lived happily ever after in the care and safekeeping of the Temple authorities.

Or can we?

Jesus’ relationship with the Temple authorities - the pharisees, scribes and sadduccees - is well known. They didn’t like Jesus’ teaching and felt threatened by it. But Jesus was also very critical of their behaviour, mostly that they didn’t live the law and the faith that they proclaimed. Right before this story, Mark tells of Jesus warning people about “the scribes” who like to dress up, expect to be respected and to be honoured, but their heart is not in it. Beware those who do it for show, Jesus says.

But the widow doesn’t. Or she sees something different. Either way, I don’t think the point here is just her generosity. I think it’s about believing in where she offered her generosity. Right or wrong, she has faith in the Temple and believes that is where she should put all she has. Is she right to do so? We don’t find out for sure, but perhaps that’s the point - to ask the questions and be discerning.

Maybe that shouldn’t just apply to the Temple. Governments, businesses, charities all ask for our trust that they deliver what they say.

So there’s two sides to this. The first is that we be discerning about what we believe in, that we what we support with our finances, resources, even lives, should truly honour what we intend. And that, of course, should reflect our love, grace and compassion as children of God.

The other is that we honour what is given, first with thanks, but also with the gratitude of being true to what is promised for it. In other words, we be worthy of the gifts given to us.

As I write that, I find I’m struggling with the language because I’m not thinking of it in the context of the church or temple, but Remembrance Day. So many have given so much. Have we honoured that gift of sacrifice by living out its promise? Have we taken care of those who gave, their families and their communities? And when we ask those questions, let’s not ask them one day, but every day.

The devil didn't make me do it

Ben Wilson and I record a podcast each week. It’s a twenty-five minute (more or less) discussion over coffee about faith, God, church, the world, usually connected to whatever the theme or scripture reading is in our church that week. It’s not meant to be an academic endeavour, a lecture or anything definitive about a particular topic. Like any good discussion, we hope it opens some doors and gets everyone - us included - thinking more. You can find it on risingspiritministry.com or iTunes (as Six Ways From Sunday).

So, the commercial aside, I mention it because this past week it seemed appropriate that we talk about Halloween and All Saints Day and, as one might expect because it’s just a conversation over coffee, we got a little sidetracked. We started out well. We were trading stories about Halloween when we were kids and Ben had a costume story, so I had a costume story. For the record, his was about a cute bunny costume. Mine was about being a little devil. I think I was three, maybe four years old. I had a whole red suit, horns and tail, you know the traditional thing. There’s a picture of me walking down the street swinging my tail.

The point is, somewhere in that conversation I commented on the irony (or appropriateness, depending on your view) of me being a little devil. Especially since there isn’t one. And, as I tried to go on to something else, Ben said something like “hang on. What? Go back. Are you saying there’s no devil?” 

Well, yes. I did say that. Please hear me out.

I believe God is and always has been. I believe that because I believe that God is love, the energy of life, the power of creation, the web of life that connects all of creation, a higher power, the Great Spirit  - all of those things, and I call that God. You might call it one of those other things, but I call it God. So God is the Always, the good, the creative, the life. In the beginning, God created and because God created, there is something of God in all things. In the story of creation, human beings are the only thing in that story to be created by God in the image of God, but from the already created. I believe that we’re inherently good, then. Our life experience and, more importantly, our choices sometimes distance us from God. That’s sin, the actions that distance us from God. That’s how I believe the creation story, so I believe that we come from God and we return to God. (Jesus, by the way, teaches us how to live the love which is already in us and brings us back into a closer relationship with God.)

So here’s the thing. I think the opposite of good isn’t evil. The opposite of good is the absence of good. We start with good, we have from the beginning. When someone told that creation story in Genesis for the first time, I don’t think they ended each day with “it was good” because it was an issue of product quality or an assessment of artistic merit. It was good. We are created in the image of God which is inherently good. So, again, from the beginning there is good.

But we have freewill and choose how to fill that void. If we come to it thinking that we’re inherently good, that we’re created in the image of God, full of love and grace and, yes, good, then we’re likely to bring good to it. If we think we’re inherently sinful, prone to sin, and something less than the image of God, then what will we bring? I think this is where evil can enter the picture, not as the opposite of good but rather as a consequence of its absence.

It’s so much easier to say “the devil made me do it” or to suggest that evil can be personified, like a vice or virtue, when we make choices that lead away from good. God needs to have an adversary, right? No, I don’t believe so. We think in opposites, in comparison, in beginnings and endings. But let go of that for a moment and wonder about God - that love, creativity and life giving essence - that is always creating, always growing, always expanding, always bringing good. Wouldn’t the world be a different place if we didn’t give evil so much credit. It’s good that’s at the heart of all things.

I see

The gospel of Mark tells the story of Bartimaeus, a blind man healed by Jesus (Mark 10:46-52).  The gospels of Matthew and Luke tell a similar story of Jesus healing the blind and the stories have several characteristics in common: the location outside of Jericho, the blind calling out to Jesus and being hushed by the crowd, Jesus being addressed as the "Son of David," and the healed then following Jesus.

But Mark's story is somehow just a little bit more personal.  I think it's because it's the only time, in any healing story, that the person is actually named.  There are certainly lots of scholars who have good theories about that, even about the significance of the name.  But for me, even just knowing his name gives us more of a connection.

That's also, I think, why we're so quick to identify ourselves with Bartimaeus in the story.  We, too, are blind in many ways and our sight is restored by faith in Jesus.  Faith heals.

Or maybe we're in the crowd, hustling by that blind beggar on the corner, wishing he would be quiet because we want Jesus' undivided attention.  After all, he's just another street person and we're so much more deserving of Jesus' time.

That's not quite so comfortable is it?  But how often do we find ourselves, without thinking, in too much of a hurry or involved in our own stuff, passing by someone or something that needs us?  Sometimes we do notice, but we just don't have the time or the inclination to get involved, even when they call out to us in some way.  I know that I've often found myself regretting, later, that I didn't stop to talk with someone when I should have, just because, in the moment, I was in too much of a hurry.

Thank goodness there's Jesus to show us the way.

Which brings me to who I want to be in this story.  I want to be Jesus.

Imagine how different this story would be if Jesus, responding to the man calling out to him, had said "yeah, sorry, I just don't have time for you.  I have to preach in the next town and I'm late."  Or "would you stop bothering me, I have more important things to do.  Someone else can help you."  Or even "you know, there's government assistance available to you.  Get off the street and stop bothering people."

Well, you can't really imagine it, can you?  Because that wouldn't be Jesus.

Jesus makes time.  Jesus cares.  Jesus helps.  Jesus brings healing and comfort. Jesus loves everyone, especially those pushed to the margins of society.  Most importantly, Jesus doesn't ever see things as "someone else's problem."

The poor, the sick, the oppressed, the hungry, the homeless, the lonely - the list may seem endless at times.  The are so many hurts in the world, so many people in need of healing.  Even the world itself needs healing.  But as far as Jesus is concerned, one thing any of those things will never be is "someone else's problem."

We are called to be like Jesus.  Not just for the care of others, but for the care of ourselves as well.  Jesus knows, as we must, that our own sense of wholeness and healing is connected to how we bring healing and wholeness to others.

Maybe the whole world at once is too much.  But we can start with that person on the corner.  We can be Jesus, too.

Please, after you.

Back in the mid 1990’s there was a Canadian television show called Due South. I’m pretty sure that, back then, you couldn’t really call yourself Canadian unless you were acquainted with Constable Benton Fraser of The Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Of course, now that I say that, you might not ever have seen it. Don’t worry, you can get it on DVD. (You should.)

It’s the adventures of an old-school stereotype RCMP from the Yukon who ends up, as Fraser often says, in “Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father and, for reasons which don't need exploring at this juncture, I have remained, attached as liaison to the Canadian consulate.” Part comedy, part police drama, it played off the contrast between a good-hearted, honourable, by the book Mountie with unimpeachable integrity and his polar opposite, a Chicago cop.

There’s a running gag from the pilot when Fraser first arrives in the city and politely stops to hold a door open for someone. Then there’s another person. And another and another. This goes on for quite awhile, Fraser nodding politely with a friendly “after you” each time. In fact, it goes on a ridiculously long time because people keep coming and he keeps waiting, letting them go first.

Others think he’s just being silly, and so do we (the audience) until we get to know his character and realize that he’s just being true to who he is. He simply doesn’t know how to not be considerate of others. He’ll always put others first. It’s his nature.

It’s the image I always think of when I read the story of Jesus and the rich man in one of the gospels. (Mark 10:17-31 this week, but there’s a version in Matthew and Luke, too.) I don’t picture a disappointed young rich man when Jesus tells him that he must give up his wealth. I see Fraser holding the door open.

The man comes to Jesus and asks what he must do to enter “the kingdom of heaven.” Jesus reminds him of the commandments and he says yes, he’s kept all these since his youth. Then Jesus “looking at him, loved him and said, ‘You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.’” He sadly leaves.

Jesus then tells the disciples how hard it well be for wealthy people to come to the kingdom. It’s hard enough as it is, but for rich people even more so. The disciples don’t know what to make of this, especially since they’ve given up everything to follow Jesus. Yes, says Jesus, yes! You’re on the right track, but “many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.”

Everyone’s going through the door before Fraser because he invites them to.

You might think this would be a handy text for a stewardship campaign. And it is. In the best sense. There was a time when it might have been used to encourage rich people to give their money to the church, but back then it just resulted in a rich church, which didn’t turn out so well for anyone. No, this is what stewardship is really supposed to be about: fully loving with all you are and all you have.

The one thing the young man lacks isn’t that he not be rich. It’s not the act of giving away all his money. It’s that he truly, from his heart, needs to live all those commandments, that he truly live into a relationship with God. That means that he would give to those in need, care for the sick and the poor, put his wealth to use in engaging the world around him in a relationship of love and grace. The same relationship we have with God. To live with integrity the love of God that’s in our hearts. With abundance.

Instead, wealth can so easily get between our hearts and our actions. Acquiring “stuff” can build a wall that keeps our hearts and our actions apart. It’s not enough to go through the motions, it must have the integrity of love to live fully, then we are living into the kingdom of God right here and right now. It’s like holding a door open.

Do all dogs go to heaven?

This was going to be a Thanksgiving kind of thing, but we just held our annual Blessing of the Animals and I really wanted to address this important question: do all dogs go to heaven. So, thankful for my wonderful little dogs, I’d like to say that the answer, I think, is yes, of course, don’t be ridiculous.

The phrase “all dogs go to heaven” comes from the 1989 animated film of that name, as far as I can find. But the question of any animals, especially pets, and not just dogs, “going to heaven” has been around a long time and not everyone has always agreed.

The Bible, say some people, tells that animals were created for human beings, seeming to suggest that their purpose is fulfilled in this life. Some people have also wondered whether animals have a “soul” in the religious sense. The bible also says that only human beings are created in the image of God, so only human beings would be eligible to go to heaven. Besides, Jesus came to save us, not animals, right?

Like I always say, everyone’s entitled to their opinion. I couldn’t disagree more with all of those, but I’ve heard them and anyone is welcome to them.

Thing is, though, the last few weeks we’ve been exploring the creation story from Genesis and I can’t help but think that I’ve said some things that might have sounded very much like that last paragraph. So let me explain.

I believe that we are created in the image of God (Genesis 1:27) and also of the earth (Genesis 2:7) and we are intimately linked to both. I also believe that God (or call God love, the energy or spirit of creation, the life-giving force - I think God’s all those things) is in all creation. Call that the web of life, if you like. I’ve also said that I believe that our default setting is good and that sin is the action we take the leads us away from God. I also believe that we come from God and return home to God. Some of that might sound like it leads in the direction of the human centred ideas of the earlier paragraph, so let me say: so does all creation.

I believe that when we say God is in all things, God is truly in all things. All things are connected through love is another way to say that. It’s bigger than just us.

So is God. In that sense, I can’t imagine that anything doesn’t return to God. That’s not to say that heaven is simply all this somewhere else. It’s what’s true that returns to God, that piece of God’s heart, if you like, that God puts into you and I, dogs, cats (yes, even cats), other animals, living creatures and all living things. The spiritual essence from which this creation comes.

Does that mean that our pets cross the rainbow bridge and we’ll see them again, running and playing in beautiful fields, sharing again all those perfect moments we remember sharing with them in this life? Yes. I’ll say it differently in a minute, but if it’s comforting to image it that way, why not? Sentimental isn’t a bad thing. No, it’s not.

I think we imagine heaven in a many ways according to our own experience and vision. But the thing is that I don’t know exactly what home with God looks like. I’m pretty sure it’s different from anything we could possibly imagine here. But I believe we’ll know it or, at least, its essence. We’ll know peace and contentment and the comfort of all that we’ve known that’s good and gave us life in this world. And we’ll know love.

So, yes, all dogs go to heaven.

A little scratch behind the ear

For the last few years, we’ve had a Blessing of the Animals service around the end of September, beginning of October. (October 4 is St. Francis of Assisi Day and he’s the patron saint of animals.) We welcome any animals, pets or working animals, livestock - all the beasts of the field, birds of the air and fish in the sea. And people, too.

All of the animals that have come to this service are clearly very much loved. That is probably the best example of how our relationship with creation can be what God intended. When animals are treated with dignity, respect and love, whether they are raised as pets or companions or for a specific purpose, the relationship is right. Not just for them, but for us, as well.

But you know, if you have a pet or care for animals on a farm, that there are moments when those creatures can behave in a way that's more than a little trying. Annoying sometimes. Infuriating even. Then, a short while later, you'll be giving them an affectionate little scratch behind the ear and a smile like everything's fine and all is forgiven.

Wouldn't it be great if we could learn to give that much grace to people? Wouldn't it be great if, the next time you saw someone on the street that you didn't like much or that you'd been having a disagreement with, wouldn't it be great if you just walked up to them and gave them a little scratch behind the ear. Metaphorically, of course.

I know, you want to say "but it's not that simple for us. We're much more complicated and sophisticated than animals." Sure we are. Mostly. But why can't we be that simple - not simplistic - or that childlike - not childish - about it?  That's the kind of simple grace God has for us. And the kind of grace God would like us to have for each other, for all creatures and for the earth itself. It’s the grace Jesus showed everyone, every creature.

God's blessing rests on all creation. Sharing that sense of blessing with each other, the other creatures who share this earth, and the earth itself, connects us. As Seattle suggested in 1854: "The earth does not belong to us, we belong to the earth. All things are connected like the blood that unites us all. We do not weave this web of life. We are merely a strand of it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves."

From right here, right now

I’m from here. I haven’t been here long, but I just want to be clear that, if you ask me where I’m from, I’m going to say that I’m from here.

When I came to Bashaw 11 years ago, one of the first services I did was at the seniors lodge. I was talking to an elderly man afterwards, he was in his 90s, and our conversation went something like this.

He asked me where I was from. I said that I was the new minister at the United church here in town. He said yeah, but where are you from? Well, I said, I came here from Edmonton. He must have had a sense of something, I guess, because he said yeah, but where’re you from, really? Well, I said, I was born in Toronto.

He kind of gave me a look and said yeah, you’re not from here. I came here in 1930-something (he said an exact year, but I don’t remember it). I’m from here. You’re not from here.

There was no point in arguing, I knew what he meant: your home town/province/country. Fair enough, but shouldn’t you get to decide that for yourself? After all, it’s where you feel most at home, not where someone else tells you. Or it shouldn’t be.

I’m from here. This is my home. Yes, I mean Bashaw, Alberta, Canada. But I also think we need to go bigger. And, at the same time, more intimate.

In the beginning … there are two creation stories in Genesis. They’re complimentary, I think. The first is the six days of creation, seventh day rest story. It’s about the creation of everything, the beginning of the world we know, with human beings created in the image of God. The second is simpler and focuses more on the place of humans in the story. Their creation is more detailed: Adam is created from the earth (Adam means “of the earth”) and placed in the garden of Eden and, well, you know the story from there.

So, just to be clear. There’s a story of how God imagines everything into existence, including us being in God’s image, and then a second story in which, everything being imagined into existence, God creates a human being from the dirt of the earth, with water from the earth, and breathes into it the air of the earth to give it life.

Here’s my take away from that. These stories aren’t a history, and they’re not just about a long dead past. They’re a way of communicating an essential truth about where we come from and where we are. And, wherever we might think that is, we’re of God and the earth. That’s how intimately we’re all connected.

So when I hear Jesus say “love God and love your neighbour as yourself” (Mark 12:30-31) that just makes sense. We are of the earth and God and love is the thing that connects us. So we love God when we love our neighbour, we love our neighbour when we love ourselves, we love ourselves when we love God. There is a unity there, from love, when we recognize our connectedness. 

So why do we need to be reminded by Jesus? Why is it so hard to do? Why aren’t we always doing it?

Well, that same creation story - or stories - continues with the first human beings making a choice. I think that choice is the beginning of free will and, rather than being cast out of the Garden because of their disobedience and sinfulness, I think that’s the moment at which they became aware. Instead of simply existing in the perfectness of creation, we began to be aware of the diversity around us, we could choose to engage and create, build and destroy, love and hate.

We haven’t always chosen well. Instead of stepping confidently into the unknown, we’ve feared it and allowed fear and ignorance to lead us to hate the diversity rather than embrace it. Our experience can lead us to build walls to protect ourselves and separate us from others. And God.

And that’s just it. In all that diversity, we are still of this one earth and this one God, however you know or experience those things.