Under the Sea

How deep is your love?

When we think of the story of Jesus calling the first disciples, we might remember that they were fishermen and the classic line about him calling them to come and “fish for people.” That story is in the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke. In Luke’s account, Jesus goes to the lakeshore and meets Peter and the others returning from a day of fishing in which they didn’t catch much. He sends them out again and they return with boats overloaded with fish. When he calls them to follow him on land, they give up their sea life to do so (Luke 5:1-11).

On the surface, it’s a simple story of call. On the surface. That’s really the key to the story: in my “surface” retelling of the story, I left out the crucial part. When Jesus sends the disciples back out, he tells them to “put out into the deep water” (Luke 5:4). And when he calls them to follow him on land, he calls them to the same depths.

We are also called to the deep. In our relationships with each other, with the world around us and with God, we go to the deep. Or we should.

The ocean is a great metaphor for this. Stay on the surface and we can’t see the richness which is underneath. We might float along on the surface, or paddle around in the water, but to go any deeper is much more of a challenge. It becomes harder to see, so we might need a light, and we definitely need help breathing, but there are amazing things down there: fish, plant life, corral - a whole world, even, a whole world of experiences that make our lives so much richer.

Of course, there’s some pretty scary things, too. And dangerous things. And we can’t stay down there for too long. You have to come up for air sometime. And it’s easy to lose our sense of direction and get lost, too.

So it’s important to remember that God goes with us. In Jesus, there is a light for our way, the Spirit is our breath, the stories of faith in the bible help us navigate what is true. God is always with us, whether we sense it in ourselves or in the people around us. And even in the creation around us. When our relationships are true, we love as Jesus taught. That takes us beyond the surface, to the deepest depths we are able.

The Sum of its Parts

Body image has really become an issue lately.

Nope. I misspoke. Body image has always been an issue. Thankfully, more and more people - especially young people - are speaking out and drawing attention to the profound impact your perception of your appearance can have on your wellbeing. That perception is skewed by society, social media, advertising and a host of other factors, all of which seem to have more influence than the truth: you are a perfect child of God, just as you are. You being you should be more important than being someone else’s idea of you. And that’s a struggle for us.

I wonder why we don’t talk more about body image in church?

Thanks to the apostle Paul, “the body” is an image we use frequently to describe the followers of Jesus. “For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ ... Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it” (1 Corinthians 12:12, 27).  And it’s a good metaphor, mostly.  It acknowledges our diversity and embraces it. Everyone, in their own unique way, is a part of making the body whole. It celebrates our relationships, our interconnectedness, our need to be in community, our need to be active in being Christ-like - to be the hands and feet of Christ in doing, the eyes in seeing, the ears in listening, the mouth in proclaiming and so on.  Most important of all, to be a part of the heart of Christ in our living.

It raises a couple of questions worth thinking about, though.

Like, which body part are you? It’s easy to think that we’d like to be the brains or the hands or the heart, but somebody’s got to be the parts we’d rather not mention. You know, those parts we’d rather hide, that we often use to label someone else’s behaviour in a derogatory way. We don’t really need those parts, do we?

Every part matters, says Paul. Even the parts we think need to be hidden, even the parts we think less worthy, even the parts we don’t like or think we can do without, those should be lifted up and honoured. Wholeness isn’t about having only the best parts, it’s about all things sharing in their connectedness to support the whole. The same is true of parts that are broken, old or lost. Jesus calls us to reach out to them and Paul’s image reminds us that our interconnectedness is why: “if one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honoured, every part rejoices with it” (1 Cor. 12:26).

Just like our own body, a community will have a sense of self-esteem and its own perception of what it’s capable - and not - of doing.  So a community of faith - a church - will have a sense of body image.  And a good, healthy body image in the church body isn’t about appearance.  It’s about our acceptance of each other for who we are and understanding that we each have unique gifts that we bring to share with our community.  The sharing of those gifts is what makes the body what it is, a synergy: that “we who are many, and come from many places, are one.”

Your Table Is Ready

Back in 2017, there was an obscure and not well received movie called Table 19. Few people saw it, still more than critics thought it deserved, but it had an interesting premise. It’s about a group of people who all end up seated together at a wedding at Table 19. It’s the table furthest from the head table, an odd assortment of people that don’t know each other, with distant associations with the wedding couple and they didn’t know where else to put them. One of them quotes the bride’s aunt describing it as “the guests who should have known to send regrets, but not before sending something nice off the registry.”

That sounds mean. Even at a wedding, it’s likely there’ll be people who don’t know others or aren’t as social as others. I’ve never had to do that “where do you seat people” thing. I imagine it can be difficult. If you’re seating people in small groups, do you put people who know each other together or mix them up a bit? Do you put people together you think will have things in common and hope for the best? Do you try and put the real “partiers” all together and the more reserved at their own table? Maybe you don’t worry about it and let them seat themselves.

Things were a lot simpler in Jesus’ day. A wedding was a whole community event that everyone attended and it could last for a week. Everyone came together to celebrate with ritual, feasting and dancing and a lot of drinking. That’s a pretty critical piece of the first miracle story in the gospel of John. Attending a wedding in Cana, Jesus famously turns water into wine and saves the hosts the embarrassment of running out.

That’s not the only reason he does it, of course. This story is the first of seven “signs” in John’s gospel, miracle stories that point to something important about Jesus. In this one, Jesus attends a wedding with his disciples, His mother comes to tell him that they’re out of wine. He tells the servants to fill six huge stone jars, normally used for purification rites, with water, then serve it to the chief steward. Not only has the water become wine (and a lot of it in those six jars), but the steward congratulates the groom for saving the best wine until now. Only the servants knew what Jesus had done. And apparently the disciples did, too, because “Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.” (John 2:11).

Traditionally, the sign simply points to Jesus and the faith of the disciples. We might also want to consider that when it feels as though the wine has run out in our lives, metaphorically speaking, it is replenished by the abundant grace of God brought by Jesus, which is not only freely given, but given abundantly and is “the best.”

While you’re pondering that, though, here’s something else worth wondering about. Earlier, in chapter 1, John says “he was in the world … yet the world did not know him.” Do we hold Jesus at a distance, here but set apart, or do we seek ways to relate to him?

Right out of the gate, after calling some disciples, the first story John tells of Jesus is about going to a party and bringing the wine. This is the gospel of the incarnation, that the Word became flesh, that love become a human being, divine engaging humanity. We often wonder about Jesus’ appearance, but what was he really like? Where would you seat him at the wedding?

Was he the quiet, solemn type who sat at a table in the corner and didn’t say much? (But when he did, it was awesome.) Or was he engrossed in animated conversation with his friends? Was he the one with that broad belly laugh who told the best jokes or awkwardly sat at the “wallflower” table? Was he playing with the children? Did he like to dance? Or have a drink or two? Did he hang out with the band or work the room? Did he like to get out there and engage people or wait for them to come to him?

I don’t know, but I’d like to sit at his table and find out.

Remember your baptism

In the weeks between Christmas and Lent, many churches observe the season of Epiphany. Epiphany means a revealing or a knowing of the meaning of something in a way which has a profound impact. When one has an epiphany, it’s more than a moment of enlightenment, it can lead to something life changing.

No surprise then, that the first story of epiphany (after the arrival of the magi which marks its beginning) is the first appearance of the adult Jesus, coming to be baptized. The story of the baptism of Jesus appears in three of the four gospels. Matthew, Mark and Luke each put their own spin on it, but the essential ingredients of the story are Jesus being baptized by John in the Jordan River followed by the Holy Spirit appearing to descend on Jesus in the form of a dove and a voice from heaven saying “this is my beloved son with whom I am pleased.”

The fourth gospel, John, has no baptism story, but includes the appearance of the Holy Spirit as a dove coming to Jesus.

That seems to be the critical part of the story - the apparent “revealing,” even - that Jesus receives the Holy Spirit and is announced as God’s son. Many scholars, like John Crossan, suggest that the idea of Jesus being baptized by John would have been scandalous and an embarrassment to early Christians. John was the announcer, the messenger calling people to repent and be baptized to prepare for Jesus, “the one who is more powerful than I” (Luke 3:16). Matthew even describes a short exchange in which John says he’s not worthy to baptize Jesus. It wouldn’t be right for the lesser John to baptize the greater Jesus. And John had his own followers who might interpret that in favour of their teacher. Most importantly, John called people to repent from sin and be baptized. If Jesus, the Son of God, is without sin, why would he need to be baptized?

I think there’s more to be revealed here.

Jesus comes to John just as everyone else does, as one of us: “now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized” writes Luke as if Jesus had just done what was expected of anyone. Jesus identifies himself with us. There is not now, and won’t be, anything that Jesus asks of us that he wouldn’t do. Perhaps, in remembering our own baptism, we should remember that we share the water with each other and with Jesus. Like Jesus, we are already worthy. Baptism acknowledges in ritual what we already know to be true: we are all children of God, brothers and sisters of Jesus.

I wonder, too, if this isn’t also a moment to remember that Jesus didn’t come quietly by himself to see John and be baptized in private. He came with everyone and participated with everyone. It is best when we do these things together.

John calls everyone to repent - to turn, not just from sin, but to good - and be baptized. The baptism story leads to the beginning of Jesus’ adult ministry. It’s a turning point, even, from a life unrecorded (either preparing himself or so ordinary that it wasn’t worth describing) to a life of healing, teaching and loving - the fullness of his life in ministry recorded in the gospels. I don’t think the baptism itself made him holier or empowered him (the Spirit did that, perhaps), but it certainly seems to have reoriented him. Can it be the same for us?

Jesus lived into his baptism everyday and so can we. On the Sunday when we hear this story, we’ll remind people to “remember your baptism.” Not the actual moment of the event (so many are baptized as infants), but the intent of the promises made, promises meant to be lived out everyday. Of all the words we say when we baptize in our community of faith, I always hope these will be remembered: “You are a child of God and Jesusʼ friend: may you be love for all around you, always.”

Tis the season

January 6 is Epiphany on the church calendar, the day set aside to celebrate the arrival of the magi to see Jesus.  The magi, or "wise men" or, traditionally, the Three Kings, followed the star to Bethlehem, seeking the prophesied King. The story appears in Matthew 2:1-12.

Well, spoiler alert: there's a load of issues about the story as we traditionally tell it. The bible doesn't give them names or say exactly where they're from, tradition does, and the names vary in western and eastern cultures. It also doesn't say that they were kings. Nor does the bible specify how many there were. We assumed that - and made them kings - based on the three very valuable gifts the bible says that they brought: gold, frankincense and myrrh.  And, on top of all that - the big one - they couldn't have arrived at the manger on Christmas night, not if they followed a star from the east. In fact, the bible story says that they found Jesus, Mary and Joseph in a house. The next part of the bible story, again only in Matthew, tells about King Herod ordering all the children in Bethlehem under the age of two be killed and that’s not something that contributes to a happy Christmas story.  So we tell it a little differently and we have them arrive at the manger with everyone else.

There are really interesting things to explore in this story as Matthew tells it. There’s many a sermon in wondering where they came from or  why only the magi could see the star while Herod appears to not know where it is.  Or wondering about the journey the magi made and where they went when they went "home by another way." And what about Herod and his fear - shouldn’t he have known about the prophecy? Or the fulfilment of the various prophesies Matthew refers to or what about the escape to Egypt. Yes, they’re refugees. There's a lot there.

But what really is "true" about the story, what's the real heart of it? Isn't it their "Epiphany?" The word "epiphany" comes from a Greek word meaning manifestation, a sudden revealing or an immediate enlightening realization. This child, born in a little backwater town, in a stable, of poor parents, this little child is the King they were seeking.  They may have set out with a different expectation - others certainly expected a different kind of Messiah - but this child was revealed to them as the fulfilment of the prophesy, the one who was promised.

Our expectations can often get in the way of seeing what's really true. But it's also possible that the ways in which tell a story, where and when and how we place that central truth, may bring us to a more fulfilling understanding of it. In other words, might we not find this truth in telling a story of comfort and joy as readily as one of challenge and hardship, or even doubt and fear?

There is time for stories that illuminate and enlighten. Epiphany is, in fact, more than one day in most churches. It's a whole season of stories revealing Jesus to us. The first Sunday after Epiphany we hear the story of the baptism of Jesus, in which Jesus is revealed by the Spirit in the shape of a dove and "a voice came from heaven, 'You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased'" (Luke 3:22).  Then the story of the wedding in Cana and Jesus' first miracle, the reading in the synagogue and the fulfilment of scripture, and the mountain top transfiguration.

All of these stories reveal something about Jesus to us: that, in Jesus, God is come among us. And in telling those stories, we look to reveal something about us, too.

More than a day

I hope you’re having a Joyful Christmas.

You can have a merry one, too, and a happy one, but it isn’t always, and a few weeks back, I said that I would wish for everyone’s Christmas to be “joyful.” I mean that, so … Joyful Christmas to you.

And no, this isn’t a column that’s a week late. It’s still Christmas. Despite the number of memes that appeared on Boxing Day that say “ONLY 364 DAYS TIL CHRISTMAS” - often with the super excited face of Will Ferrell as Buddy, the elf - it’s still Christmas.

Technically, it’s a season. If you follow the church’s calendar, Christmas lasts - as a season - until Epiphany on January 6. That’s when we celebrate the arrival of the magi with their gifts and it’s a whole season, too. So, there’s twelve days worth of Christmas, just like in the song. So if you’re not following the church calendar, there’s still the traditional “Twelve Days of Christmas.” And don’t forget the traditions that celebrate Christmas on January 6 (Armenian Church) or 7 (Orthodox Church).

Still, some people like to get their decorations up early, do all the partying ahead of time and then take everything down and put it away on Boxing Day. That sounds like a good idea, “boxing” everything. Except that’s not the origin of Boxing Day. It dates from the 1600s in England when servants, trades people and others could expect to receive a gratuity of some kind, usually in the form of a Christmas box containing gifts, food and drink. Since they would likely have worked Christmas Day, they received it the following day. In other countries, the “box” is thought to refer to the Alms Box in churches which collected donations for the poor and sick, some of which was dispensed the day after Christmas on St. Stephen’s Day (remember “on the Feast of Stephen” in Good King Wenceslaus?). It’s a day of gratitude and thankfulness, not just for the day but the year before and the year ahead.

Remember, too, that at the heart of the story of Christmas Day (and we can debate “December 25” another time) is a birth. No matter what traditions, decorations or stories we add to it, it comes down to a story about the arrival of a little baby. So, yes, if you sang “Happy Birthday” to Jesus at some point, like we did at least once at our church, that’s appropriate. Thing is, though, despite those who celebrate a “Birthday Week” or even a “Birthday Month” (yikes), we tend to celebrate the day of our birth and, sadly, not the whole year. Why wouldn’t you celebrate you every day? After all, a birth day is just the beginning of a life.

In celebrating Jesus’ birthday, I believe we need to remember that Jesus is alive in each of us the other 364 days of the year, too. All that he taught, all the care and compassion and love that he shared, all of the wonder of life that he showed, all that began in this birth. Don’t wait a whole year to celebrate it.

I know it’s easier said than done.  There’s so much happening in the world that can dissuade us, so much around us that can make it difficult to live out what Jesus taught.  But in birth is promise.  New life brings new possibilities and every day, God invites us to new life in the promise of this child born in Bethlehem.

So, maybe don’t leave your decorations up all year. But maybe have a birthday week or month to remind yourself of the life Jesus lived and the one you live every day of the year. Maybe share that with others.

As Dickens’ Scrooge said “I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach!” Amen.

Right place, right time

Among all the beautiful decorations of Christmas time, my favourite is the creche or nativity scene.

It’s the tableau or diorama that represents the story of the birth of Jesus. It usually contains at least the baby Jesus, Mary and Joseph in a stable or cave where animals are kept, as it says in the Gospel of Luke. Sometimes there’s animals, especially a donkey, and there may be the shepherds who hear the story of the birth and have come to see, along with a sheep or two, also from Luke. There may also be magi, at least three, holding the gifts that Matthew describes, often with camels. And there might be an angel, too. Maybe even a star above it all. I recently saw one that had an innkeeper peering around the corner to see what was happening.

Pastors are often quick to point out what I already did, which is that this scene is created by at least two different sources and we sometimes add to it from others, like when we name the magi. That’s not in the bible. It’s also unlikely that Mary and Joseph actually had a donkey, the “stable” was probably just a cave, the magi probably didn’t get there until well after that night because the star didn’t appear until the birth and there’s a host of other things one could talk about to deconstruct this treasured Christmas tradition.

But why would you? Sure, there’s different perspectives and examining the individual stories can be truly meaningful. We should do that as well. But I think we put everyone there at the manger that night for a reason, even if we don’t really realize it at first. 

It’s because it’s right and true. Everyone belongs at the manger. We do, too.

A young couple, still trying to get to know each other, find themselves far from home. It’s late, there’s nowhere to go and she’s having a baby, a baby that’s, well, hard to explain. And yet, here he is and they wonder, with joy, at this tiny little miracle.

Shepherds certainly weren’t expecting to be there. They’re the lowest of the low in their society, poorer even than Mary and Joseph, and yet, they saw angels. Angels that gave them hope for something truly amazing. And here it is, in this tiny little miracle.

And over the side of the manger, they’re staring across at magi, wise foreigners from a distant land who have rich and expensive gifts. Their sign was a star and they weren’t even sure this was what they were looking for until they saw this tiny little miracle.

And don’t forget the animals. We put everything from sheep to pigs, chickens to camels in this stable, mostly, in fact, animals that wouldn’t even have been there. But we do, and they fit. This was their place, after all, and now there’s all these darn people in it. And this tiny little miracle.

Some people have even made their manger scene reflect changing times, different cultures and contemporary issues.

I can’t imagine that any of this was what anyone would have expected. And yet, here they all are, right where they belong. Poor and rich, the struggling and the seeking, the fearful and the certain, representing the ordinary, everyday uniqueness of all of us, here in one place together.

However you assemble your scene or tell the story, this is one moment in which we all belong there, sharing in this tiny little miracle.