What if it's not just a nice story, but a discerning parable?

There’s a federal election in Canada very soon. Please be sure to vote, if you haven’t already.

That’s all, just please vote.

I won’t say more about that, but I will just add that I think the gospel story this week is rather timely. And I’ll certainly talk about that.

In Luke 18:1-8, Jesus tells a story about a widow who persistently takes her case to a judge, seeking justice. Jesus doesn’t give any details about the case, only that she seeks justice and is persistent. She has to be, as it happens, because the judge “neither fears God or cares what people think” and is happy to ignore her. At first. But she’s so persistent that he finally decides to give her what she wants, not because it’s justice, but because he’s tired of her and afraid she’ll give him a “black eye” in front of the community.

Jesus then says even this judge gave in to her persistence. So how do you think God will answer? God answers quickly to those who call out, answering their prayers and bringing justice.

It seems pretty clear that Jesus is encouraging the disciples to be like the persistent widow. Be persistent in prayer and don’t give up, God will answer because God does answer. The author of Luke thinks so, too, because they preface the story with “Jesus told his disciples a parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up.” That seems pretty clear. And good point, too.

But it’s a parable, not just a story, and parables can have many sides.

What if this weren’t just a story affirming persistence, but a parable asking us to examine how we listen and respond?

What if we’re not the widow and God’s not the judge. What if we’re the judge, as self-centred and uncaring as this judge. What if God’s the persistent voice of the widow. Or the hungry. Or the poor. Or the sick. What if God’s the persistent voice of justice and we’re not listening?

What if this parable might simply be asking us just that: “are we listening?” Are we hearing the persistent cries of the marginalized and the needy? And are we ignoring them as the judge does or are we listening with compassion and care? Are we acting when it suits us, as the judge does, or will we be the image of God and see that “they get justice, and quickly?”

As we wonder if God’s listening to us, maybe we should wonder if we’re listening to each other. Jesus would ask us to do both.

Thanksgiving for Life

“Come, you thankful people, come, raise the song of harvest-home! All is safely gathered in, safe before the storms begin.” 

It’s Thanksgiving this week, in this part of the world anyway, and these words by Henry Alford are probably going to be sung a lot. They’re the opening lines of a chestnut of a hymn that’s been around since the mid 19th century. I guess it’s one of those “old time-y” traditions that are part of the warm, homestyle feeling of Thanksgiving.

I’ve always kind of liked the first two verses. They’re all about the harvest and how God provides for us and we grow and are nurtured just like the crops. Not such a big fan of the next two verses though. They’re more about the harvest of us and how we’re gathered home in the final harvest. It’s all good, I just prefer the relentlessly hopeful tone of “all is safely gathered in, safe before the storms begin.” Especially when winter arrives early and “all” isn’t safely gathered in.

But, again, olden days, right? Harvest festivals have been around since we were celebrating the mystery of how things grew and thanking “the spirits,” Mother Nature and God for all the great bounty we receive from the land. There’s another classic many will sing this week, “We plough the fields.” The chorus proclaims “all good gifts around us are sent from heaven above; we thank you, God, O holy God, for all your love.”

Yes, “all your love.” So, for many people, Thanksgiving’s become less about thanks for harvest and more about thanks for things in general, like all of creation and family and home, big stuff like that, and turkey dinners and an extra day off and time to clean up in the yard or enjoy the fall colours, if there’s no snow.

Those are all great things, the list is endless, and yes, we should surely be thankful for them, absolutely. Every single day, we should be thankful for creation, family, home, food and rest. But, at this time of year, it’s most appropriate to remember the harvest, all “safely gathered in” or not, with a day set aside replete with its own festive trimmings. And so we thank God for all that great bounty of creation. Right: thank you God. Done.

And?

Of course we thank God for all the gifts of creation, but what about being thankful for those who bring those gifts into our lives with their labour? Jesus calls us to a life of living well with each other and creation, to using the gifts God gives us to share with others and care for others. I think a pretty solid example of doing the best we can with the gifts God gives us is a farmer.

With their own personal gifts, they work with others, with machines, with science and with nature - surely the toughest relationship of all - to feed us. Now, I know we pay farmers adequate compensation for their labour. (Brief pause to allow for laughter.) But paying them for their product does not thank them for providing the means for us to live. That is what they do. It’s not just about making a buck, it’s a vocation that feeds people. And it’s not the only one.

Jesus spoke about being “the bread of life,” the food that feeds our hearts and minds, not our stomachs. But Jesus coupled that with a command to care for the physical wellbeing of others, to feed the hungry and care for the poor really, not just as a metaphor. In a sense, we’re all called to be like farmers, aren’t we, to work with the world around us, to care for the world around us and to feed the world around us, to nurture and grow life? It’s both powerfully real and powerfully metaphorical.

Maybe we should sing these words every year, too, from a more recent hymn by Brian Wren: “Praise God for the harvest of orchard and field, praise God for the people who gather the yield, the long hours of labour, the skills of a team, the patience of science, the power of machine ... Praise God for the harvest of mercy and love from leaders and peoples, who struggle and serve for fairness and kindness, that all may be led in freedom and safety, and all may be fed.”

Oh Lord, make me more

Lately, we’ve been making our way through the Gospel of Luke. We’re mid-gospel, Jesus has turned towards Jerusalem (spoiler alert: I won’t tell you what happens there) and, on his way there with the disciples, there’s some pretty dense teaching with a lot of stories. Parables of the the Lost Sheep, the Lost Coin, the Prodigal Son, the Unjust Steward (or the Shrewd Manager - it’s more an “and” than “or,” but it’s just a title and I’ve talked about that already), the Rich Man and Lazarus, sin and forgiveness and more. And there’s going to be more.

But, right in the middle of it now, it kind of seems like the disciples are feeling a little overwhelmed. Maybe we are too, and not just with this story. I’ll come back to that, but the disciples, they seem to be overwhelmed and they “said to the Lord, ‘Increase our faith!’” (Luke 17:5, NRSV) I could be wrong - and it’s not just the exclamation mark talking - but I think the disciples are feeling just a little exasperated. This is a lot of stuff, probably in a short time, they’re the ones who are the “chosen” followers, the close companions and I wonder if they aren’t just feeling a little pressure, a little frustration that they’re not getting it fast enough and maybe even some stress that living all this out might be challenging. Difficult, even. You know, like life is.

So they ask for help. And Jesus, well, I just picture Jesus doing another one of those face palms and, as he’s done other times, giving an outrageous request an equally outrageous answer. It’s all about mustard seeds moving mulberry trees and servants being rewarded for doing their jobs and simply doing what we’re supposed to. (Luke 17:5-10)

Here’s the thing. First of all, they’re on the right track. They don’t seem to know it, but they are. They don’t say “Oh Lord, make me smarter” or “Oh Lord, make me more wise or understanding or imaginative.” They ask for faith. They know it’s about faith.

The part they stumble at is “give me more.” So Jesus answers with some humour and some foolishness. The point is that you can’t quantify faith. All the faith you need is in you, just use it.

Faith, like God, simply is. There’s no faithometer. It is. You can’t go to church or read your Bible to top up when you’re low, that’s where you might go to learn what it can do. It isn’t about how much faith, it’s what you do with it. It needs to be exercised. And daily.

That’s why Jesus likens it to servants doing their jobs (remember, it was the 1st century) and, ultimately, people doing what they’re supposed to be doing. Faith isn’t just for special moments or for an hour on Sunday morning, it’s for everyday. It’s for the mountains and the valleys. It’s for sharing the joy of celebration and sitting quietly with grief. It’s for the love we give and the love we receive. It’s for grace. “Put these things into action every day, just like I’m showing you,” I think Jesus would say, “and you will know you have all the faith you need. Think about the stories I just told: love extravagantly (Lost Coin, Lost Sheep, Prodigal Son), engage the world where the world is (Unjust/Shrewd Steward), care for others and build relationships (Rich Man and Lazarus) and forgive, forgive, forgive (seven times a day).”

Maybe Jesus should have made the disciples play musical instruments. I know that sounds random, but hear me out. I used to be a musician (still am, I guess, but just for fun) and I still play the piano a bit. I know, as any musician does, that the more you play, the better you are. “Better” isn’t really the right word, though, because it’s not about the volume (pun intended), the mechanics or the technique (which hopefully do improve), it’s about the music. No, sorry, practice doesn’t make perfect. What it makes is more music. The world could use more music.

And more life. That’s the kind of faith Jesus is talking about. One that lives. Everyday.

What if

I’ve been known to express some pretty progressive, even radical, ideas here. As always, I hope that I’ve also been clear that, in sharing my beliefs, I have no expectation that others will share them, nor that anyone would agree or understand them as “right” just because I said them. Rather, I hope to make people think and wonder for themselves in the further hope that it might expand their own sense and understanding of how they know God.

Sometimes, I find something I believe - that I’ve shared - appears to be contradicted by a biblical text. Even, say, by something Jesus himself says. “Aha!” you might think, “what do you have to say to that, Robin!” And I say thank you, Jesus, for this opportunity to challenge my thinking and make me think even more.

There’s a great example on tap this week. The gospel story is from Luke. It’s Jesus telling a story about a rich man and Lazarus, a poor beggar. While the rich man feasts, poor Lazarus suffers in agony at his gate, cast aside and ignored. When each dies, Lazarus is carried by angels to be with Abraham in heaven, the rich man is consigned to torment in Hades. He begs Abraham to send Lazarus to help him, but Abraham says no, the rich man had his good times, it’s Lazarus’ turn, and now there’s a great chasm between them. So the rich man begs Abraham to send Lazarus to warn his family about how they could end up. Again Abraham says no, that’s what Moses and the prophets are for, and if they won’t listen to them, they won’t listen if a dead man comes back to visit them. (Just as an aside, Marley didn’t have any success with Scrooge, either, he needed the ghosts.)

Okay, so there’s probably a lot to unpack here, but, just for now, can I focus on where Jesus challenges my beliefs for a moment. I think it’ll actually get us to the heart of the story faster.

Jesus says the rich man goes to “Hades.” If you’ve read me before, you might know that I don’t believe that there’s a hell, not in the traditional sense. I believe that God’s love and grace is for everyone. To me, that means we all come from God and we all return to God. No one goes to hell for eternal torment.

I double down on that, too, because I believe that sin is the choices we make that distance us from God, however we understand God. I’m still loathe to use the expression, but if there’s a hell, then this is it. When we sin, here, it puts us as far from God as we can get.

So what do you say, Robin, when Jesus himself says there is one?

Well, first I’d say I’m not entirely convinced Jesus did mean hell in this story, not the way we understand it anyway. But that’s a bigger, more academic debate for another time and, besides, it’s not my real answer. Hang on, this is going to be one of those “what if Jesus meant this?” answers.

What if Jesus wasn’t really interested in the future destination of the rich man and Lazarus? What if the point of “the great chasm” (Luke 16:26) that separates them after death was simply meant to point you back to the great chasm that separates them in life?

What if the point of this story was to draw your attention to the relationship or, more importantly, the lack of relationship between the two characters? The rich man seems to ignore Lazarus in life, but in the afterlife he knows his name. But even then, the rich man doesn’t talk to Lazarus, he talks to Abraham.

What if the rich man had engaged Lazarus in life? What if he got to know him, helped him and shared with him? It wouldn’t be just Lazarus that would benefit. If nothing else, the rich man would have a friend, but maybe Lazarus would have been more than that. If nothing else, the rich man would have taught others, his family included, about living the love that’s in us and built a sense of community. If nothing else, their relationship with each other would then reflect their relationship with God. It would reflect God.

And wouldn’t that be heaven? Both of them engaging in a relationship of mutual understanding and support: that would bring the God’s kingdom to earth now.

What if that’s what this is all about?

I hope this makes cents

This column should probably come with a Content Warning: minister writing about money.

Relax, I won’t be asking for it, telling you to give it to the church or telling you it’s bad. Jesus never did any of those things so why would I. I also won’t be reminding you that money can’t buy you happiness. It can. And I’m pretty sure Jesus would say that.

Hear me out.

Jesus tells a parable that goes something like this. A wealthy person discovers their business manager was dishonest and squandering their property. So they call the manager in. Knowing they were about to get fired and afraid that they’ll be kicked out on the street - or worse, the manager goes round to all the people who do business with the wealthy person and starts telling them to make their bills less, even half, what they owe the wealthy person. “You owe for 100 of these,” the manager tells them, “change it to 50.” “You owe 20, make it 10.” The manager does this with all the clients, knowing that when they lose their job, they’ll have friends they can connect with in the business community. The wealthy person hears of this and commends the dishonest manager for being shrewd. 

Jesus seems to also commend - and recommend - this behaviour, then leading to the well known saying “no slave can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.” (Luke 16:1-13)

I really scaled back the story and focused on what Jesus says at the end there. That’s often where we go, I think, because it’s a tricky story and, fascinating though it might be, we can easily get lost in the nooks and crannies of it. So, money bad, God good, serve God.

Yes, but … that’s way to simplistic. Why is money bad? How do we serve God?

I think this parable is about the Big Picture and you need the story to understand that profound pronouncement at the end. Here’s where I think Jesus wants us to go.

First off, let’s not say just “money.” Let’s talk about “currency” because yes, just like we do when we talk about stewardship, it’s not just about money, it’s about other things of value like talents and time. Even then, if currency is the object of your affection and the purpose of your life, you are worshipping it and it controls you. That’s when it’s bad. That’s when money can’t buy you happiness.

Second, to serve God means to live the life that Jesus shows us, to love one another. And to love your neighbour, you need to love yourself. For Jesus, that means living from the good which is in your heart. You know, the “image of God” that is in you. When we do that, money, talents and time become tools to serve that good. That’s how they can “buy” you happiness - true happiness. And when the church, for example, asks you to give, it shouldn't be just because the institution is "The Church." It should be for what being church is about: love and care and grace for all. And you should be discerning about whether or not that's happening.

It’s all about our relationship with that currency, with our wealth, with our sense of abundance.

Clearly the manager is also self-centred and cares about their own self. Jesus seems to be okay with that and even says we could all learn something from his shrewd behaviour. Sure, that doesn’t seem very Jesus-like at first. But think about that in the context of living true to what’s in your heart and serving God. In Jesus eyes, living true to yourself and serving God is about your own self and how you share it with others. And the shrewdness with which the manager engages his dilemma recognizes that the world is not a perfect place and we may need to engage it and be astute and ingenious, shrewd even, in how we do that.

That really is Jesus: it’s about your relationship with wealth. It serves you, not the other way round. And when we live as Jesus shows us, it serves us serving God, bringing life and love to the world.

The Right People

The pharisees and the Temple authorities were right, you know. Jesus hung out with the worst people.

It’s true. In their eyes, at least. And those good ol’ pharisees, the keepers of Hebrew Law, even tried to help Jesus realize that. They’d try and help by pointing out that some of the people he spent time with were tax collectors and sinners. And that’s on a good day. Sometimes it was the sick, the poor, social outcasts, the ritually unclean and even prostitutes. There’s more, I’m sure, because there always seems to be an abundance  of sinners, especially in the eyes of those who consider it their job to judge. I imagine they kept accurate lists of all the sinning those people had done so they could show Jesus documented proof. I’m not entirely certain they wanted Jesus to spend more time with them, they just wanted him stop hanging out with “those people” and being, well, inconvenient.

But that Jesus was stubborn. He didn’t give up on his misfits. He’d double down with a parable or two. Like the one about the shepherd who had one hundred sheep. He counts them one day and there’s only ninety-nine. So he leaves them and goes in search of the one missing sheep. When he finds it, he brings it back and has a party to celebrate. (I hope they didn’t serve mutton.)

Or the woman who had ten coins. (Ugh, that just reminded them he spends too much time with women, too.) She counts her coins one day and there’s only nine. She lights lamps and scours her house from one end to the other looking for it. When she finds it, she invites friends over and throws a party to celebrate.

I have a feeling that the pharisees didn’t get the point. Or, I suppose they did, in fact, get the point and it just made them angry and defensive.

The real question is do we? From all these stories of Jesus and all these stories Jesus told, do we get that people in need are not “the wrong people?” Do we get that God’s love is most extravagant to those most in need? Do we get that we need to be that love? Do we get that’s a moment worth celebrating?

Yes, grace is messy. (And kudos to whoever said that first. It sure wasn’t me, but they’re sure right about that.) It’s complicated, it needs discernment and care. Yes, there’s risk reaching out and yes, it needs some work. But God’s love can’t stay in the pen with the other sheep or in the purse with the other coins or the church with the most seats. It needs to get out there and “bring good news to the poor … proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.” That would be Jesus, earlier in Luke, reading from the prophet Isaiah.

Why can’t we do that without judgement? Or a cost analysis? I know, as a society, we’ve learned to value, compare and look for the best deal, but this isn’t about dollars and cents, it’s about love and grace. There’s still a price. But imagine the value when the broken are healed, the unloved find love, the tired rest, and the imprisoned soul is freed.

Be like Jesus. Go embrace “the wrong people.”

Making, Moulding, Creating

Remember playing with Play-Doh when you were a kid?  Or, if your parents or school teacher made their own, it was play dough. It was, and still is, a lot of fun. You could make some amazing sculptures, pottery and other cool stuff with it. At least, it probably looked like an amazing dinosaur to you, even if it really looked like a blob of clay to someone else. That’s the power of a child’s imagination.

I suggest that you get some (or make some) and play with it while you read this. Really. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

In the Bible, the prophet Jeremiah says that God spoke to him and gave him the metaphor of the potter’s wheel for how God can be in our lives: we are the clay, says Jeremiah, God is the potter who moulds and shapes us.

There can, of course, be a negative side to that image, one of manipulation and control, but that’s not at all what Jeremiah means, is it? He knows that with God in our lives, we are not only created as wonderful things, we continue to be worked and moulded, formed over time into something even more amazing. Our awareness of God - however we know God - is part of loving ourselves and our neighbours and making our relationships affirming and rewarding. It’s about making our lives better, not in competition with each other, but with each other.

But as any good artist knows, or even a child playing with play dough, the medium has a part to play in the creation.

So what kind of clay are we? Hard as a rock, unchanging and unmoveable? Or so fluid and easy going that we never take a single form. Or are we firm enough to stand, but ready to be moulded, open to being created into something.

Or creating something ourselves. After all, we live in relationship with each other and we have a responsibility to be creators, teachers and inspirers of others, as much as we need to be open to receiving what other artists have to offer us.

I’m particularly mindful of that right now, because it’s back to school time. I’ve seen the children headed to school this week, some for the first time, some sophomores, some wily veterans of the elementary grades, and a few grizzled grade twelves, hunkering down for one more year.

There’s the look of excitement and wonder, some anxiety and a little bit of fear. On the teacher’s faces, too…

What an awesome responsibility to have, to be responsible for the “moulding of young minds.” And you have to thank school teachers for that, you really do. But I also hope that you, yourself, recognize it’s an awesome responsibility, because it’s not just school teachers that have it, is it?  It’s all of us.

Play with some play dough (or real clay, if you can). You don’t have to be an artisan to make something, even if it’s an “ashtray” like some of us made when we were kids. Think about how often we are like the clay and how often we are like the hands that form it. And think about when that clay is our hearts or our minds or our spirits. And think, too, about how often, as the clay, we might not just need to be open to God’s hands, but how often we might seek God’s hands and need God’s hands in our lives.

Play-Doh’s not just for kids, is it?