Lighting Our Own Universe

Great Canadian hero Chris Hadfield’s a retired astronaut who, among other things, commanded missions to space, helped build the Canadarm on the International Space Station, commanded the ISS and walked in space. First Canadian to do most of those and certainly the first person to record an album in space, including his famous cover of David Bowie’s “Space Oddity” (watch it on YouTube). These days he travels and speaks and teaches. He’s also written some books, including a great children’s book “The Darkest Dark.”

It’s the defining story of his childhood. He always wanted to fly, be a pilot and an astronaut. But he was afraid of the dark. His parents let him sleep with them, but then they couldn’t sleep either. They’d check his room for aliens, gave him a night light and even a bell to ring if he was scared. The bell got taken away pretty quick, but finally his parents had to tell him something that was scarier than the dark: if he didn’t go to sleep in his own bed, he couldn’t go to the neighbour’s the next day. So he did. Chris’ family, you see, lived on an island in rural Ontario and it was 1969 and only the neighbour had a television.

Everyone was going to their house to watch Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin walk on the moon. Real astronauts. On the moon. And Chris was amazed. He also notice how dark it was there. “Outer space was the darkest dark ever.”

That night, when Chris went to bed, he wasn’t scared. It was still dark, there were still shadows and mysteries, nothing there had changed. But he had. He’d seen the universe was bigger and darker and he wanted to go there and explore all of it. He realized, too, that you’re never really alone there, because you take with you your dreams about what you want to be and do.

That’s just a brief “adult” description. The book’s way better and you should read it. Sometimes it takes an adult remembering what it’s like to be a kid, to tell a story like a kid, to help us understand the wisdom of a child is at the heart of being an adult.

He adds a personal afterword in which he says “it was quietly in the dark where I first decided who I was going to be and imagined all the things I could do. The dark is for dreams - and morning is for making them come true.”

Thank you, Jesus.

I’m pretty sure my interpretation of that isn’t what Chris had in mind. But listen, Matthew’s account of the life of Jesus has him begin his ministry in Galilee because that fulfils the prophecy of Isaiah: that’s where, he says, “the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.” (Speaking of interpretations, that’s the Christian one, of course - Isaiah’s audience would have heard it differently.)

The first thing he does is shine on some fishermen who drop what they’re doing and come and follow him so that they can “fish for people” with Jesus. They learn how to shine their own light and, looking ahead, they shine on people who, looking further ahead, learn to shine their own light who shine on people who, well, you get the idea.

But wait, Robin, if the light shines on everyone and everyone shines their own light - because, yes, the Light is in everyone and everything created by God, with God and in God - wouldn’t there be no darkness at all?

I want to say that would be nice, but no. How would we distinguish anything? How would anything be unique and how could we all have the uniqueness of our own perspective: the view created by us, shining our light into the world? And, we have freewill and make choices. Look at how Chris talks about the universe. I think he learned to shine his light into the darkness and that showed him the power and mystery and beauty of what’s there and then he did something with it. That, I think, is what Jesus does and what we, too, can do.

This could be just what you're looking for

So, here we are in the season of Epiphany. The stories we hear about Jesus, if you’re following the season, are about revealing who Jesus is and what he’s about. One of those is how Jesus acquires the first disciples.

I feel the need to say “acquires” because, while we’re so familiar with the story of Jesus calling the disciples from their boats to come and follow him and “fish for people,” that’s not how John tells it.

John, the writer, tells a story about John the Baptist or, as we should know him from his more important job, John the Announcer. The Announcer, says the writer, has just finished explaining that’s his job: he’s not the promised one, he’s to herald the arrival of the promised one. The next day, he sees Jesus and he says “that’s the one I’m talking about.” And he says he knows that because God told him that the Holy Spirit would appear as a dove with “the one” and he saw that happen. He has a first hand experience of Jesus.

The next day, he sees Jesus again and this time he tells two of his followers “that’s the one I’m talking about.” So they go to check out Jesus, Jesus sees them following him around and asks them “what are you looking for?” They ask Jesus where he’s staying and he says “come and see.” Now it’s their turn to have a first hand experience of Jesus.

In hardly any time at all, of course, they’re sharing their experience of Jesus with others and inviting them to come and see, too.

I think I like this interactive “call” story more than the fishermen story. There, it seems like Jesus charismatically commands we follow, here it seems like he gently invites us in to see what we might find in him. It’s good we have both, though, because an important piece of the Jesus story is that we all come our own way, in our own time, from our own lives, looking for our own meaning.

Churches and faith communities might also want to wonder about that. Sometimes, I think we’re really quick to share what we believe with a sense of command, wondering why everyone isn’t drawn to Jesus like we are. We might even judge accordingly those who aren’t. We might welcome everyone, but that’s a welcome to be one of us, to fit in and be just like us, and to meet our predetermined community behaviour. “Come and see” then becomes “be one of us.”

But that’s not what Jesus means, that’s why it’s not the first thing he says. “What are you looking for?” What do you need, what can I do for you, how can I help you - tell me your story. Those are the words that I think began every one of Jesus’ interactions with people. When we hear about Jesus healing the broken, reaching out to the marginalized, talking to all “the wrong people,” I think that’s how he began the conversation: “what are you looking for?”

We could do that, too. We could welcome people by affirming who they are and asking what they’re looking for. Then we could offer not only what we already have, but our openness to what they bring - questions and needs as well as gifts - and invite them to come and see how all that might go together with the love and grace that Jesus brings. That’s what creates a community in which we all learn and grow.

I have a lot of question about magi

The world could sure use a few magi right now.

We seem to have an over abundance of Herods and Ceasars. And I think we’re good with Chief Priests and Scribes. But where are the magi?

It’s not that I don’t believe that they’re here. Somewhere. In fact, I’m pretty sure they are. Maybe they decided to take another route home (Matt. 2:12). 

Much like the Christmas story itself, I think it can be easy to put away the Epiphany story as just another moment in time, a moment in which we say that Jesus is revealed as “the one.” That’s what epiphany means, a revealing, a manifestation or appearance. The magi are following a star that will lead them to the fulfillment of a prophecy: the birth of the messiah. Despite what they might have been expecting, they find what they know to be true, that this child, Jesus, is the promised one. Herod wants them to tell him where they find the child, but an angel (a common sense one, for sure) warns them not to, so they go home by another route. (Matt. 2:1-12)

The End.

Except, it’s not. We often stop there because no one really wants to hear the next bit. There are repercussions. That same common sense angel warns the new family to flee to Egypt. They’re in danger now because Herod knows about Jesus. This is the part where they become refugees from a brutal oppressor. Angry that the magi didn’t reveal to him the child’s location and feeling threatened by Jesus, Herod orders children in Bethlehem to be killed. Years later, when Herod dies, the family returns, but not to Bethlehem, which is still unsafe, but to Nazareth in Galilee. (Matt. 2:13-23)

So, that’s The End?

It can’t be. Look, we know the bible story now pretty much leaps over Jesus’ teen and young adult years to his baptism by John (Matthew does, anyway), but there was time there and there was years of living. Sadly, the gospel writers didn’t think those formative years were important to the story (their story, at least). Think about that, because we should talk about that sometime, too, but right now, since it’s Epiphany: what happened to the magi?

I don’t think “they left for their own country by another road” because they were afraid for themselves, they were afraid for Jesus. They might even have said so to Mary and Joseph and warned them to leave town. Although having the angel do it makes for a much better story, divine protection and all that, it seems to me that wise people would have given that wise counsel. But we don’t have any more of their story. They seem to have done their job - “he’s the one” - and disappeared.

I refuse to believe they did nothing. In fact, when we tell the story like that, what does it say about us? I think it leaves us abandoning the story right where epiphany becomes action, where faith becomes alive. Wouldn’t it be great if we had stories of what these great and wise believers did with what they found? The first thing they did was protect Jesus by not telling Herod anything. What happened next, living the rest of their lives secure in the knowledge that the messiah was here and it wasn’t about power, might and glory at all, but vulnerability, humility and love? How did they live into that wisdom?

Where are they now, the ones who see what is true and will travel a life journey to find it, the ones who believe that there’s something better and it’s here, the ones who are wise enough to keep seeking it. Maybe it’s you. Maybe you’re a magi, hiding in plain sight.

Not one day, but every day

Well, that’s that. Christmas is over. On to the New Year’s Resolutions. They don’t seem to last any longer than Christmas.

People have taken their decorations down and stores have their Valentine’s Day stuff out. And that’s fair, I guess. The first part, anyway. Let’s move on, it’s a new year. Of course, there’s that English tradition that there’s twelve days of Christmas and it’s bad luck to leave decorations up after that. (Yes, that Twelve Days - as in “a partridge in a pear tree.”) That would get you to January 6. If you were from one of the cultures where the church follows the Julian calendar, like Ukrainians, for example, Christmas Day is actually January 7 on the Gregorian calendar (the one most western countries use), so if you were to combine them, you could keep your decorations up until January 19. You might be a little confused, but you could do it, if you wanted to.

Some people put their Christmas decorations away on Boxing Day.

But. Is that all that we’re putting away?

It’s one thing to pack up all the decorations and the wrapping paper and the special recipes, but do we put Christmas away, too? I heard someone on the radio the other day say that he’s sorry that Christmas is over, but he can’t wait for things to get back to normal. “Normal?” Maybe we need to be a little bit more discerning about what “normal” is, because I think we could stand to have a little bit more of the stuff that makes Christmas special one day of the year, in all of the other days of the year, too.

I don’t mean the decor, the carols or even the snow. I mean what Christmas is really about. If Christmas is about love and joy and goodwill to all people, if it’s about hope and peace and hoping for peace, couldn’t we use a little more of that every day of our lives? Why would we only want those things once a year? Why would we make them “special” rather than commonplace?

Many of the stories we hear in church in the weeks after Christmas try to remind us to hang on longer and look deeper. They’re stories about revealing, about knowing and understanding who this Jesus is and what his arrival means.

In the nativity story in Luke’s Gospel, angels tell the shepherds who Jesus is. In Matthew, it’s magi - wise ones from the east - who follow the star to Jesus. It’s that story that’s marked on the church calendar as Epiphany (January 6), which literally means the revealing or realization of the essence or meaning of something. The magi “know” who Jesus is and what this birth will mean to the world.

But, in the wake of those, there are lesser known stories too. When the infant Jesus was presented in the Temple to be named (Luke 2), the Holy Spirit reveals him as the promised Messiah to the elderly Simeon and Anna. When the adult Jesus comes to John to be baptized, the Holy Spirit appears as a dove and a voice from heaven identifies him as “my beloved son” (Luke 3, Matthew 3, Mark 1). John, himself, is the one who is meant to herald Jesus’ arrival. There are so many stories like this that serve to remind us, look, here is someone to pay attention to, someone special to follow.

Though Christmas Day marks the simple birth of a child, so much more comes from Bethlehem than that. Wouldn’t it be a different world, if our “normal” days were as special as Christmas and filled with the same Spirit? Don’t put that spirit away with the decorations. Keep out the love and caring, joy and living of the Christmas Spirit. You’ll need it everyday.

Won't you be my neighbour?

For all the debate about how early you can put Christmas decorations up, it doesn’t take long for them to come down. I wonder if that isn’t part of how we tell the story: it’s a lot of build up to one moment on one night when everyone’s there, just like in a traditional creche or nativity scene. That one moment captured, a tableau into which we’ve poured the whole story. And then we’re done.

But it’s just the beginning of a story, not the end. As the legendary preacher Howard Thurman observed “when the song of the angels is stilled, when the star in the sky is gone, when the kings and the princes are home, when the shepherds are back with their flock, the work of Christmas begins.” Yes, after all that work preparing, there’s work to be done after Christmas. Just ask the Gospel of John.

The Gospel of John doesn't have a birth story for Jesus. Neither does Mark, incidentally. Mark jumps right in with John the Baptist announcing the arrival of the adult Jesus who’s then baptized by John, spends some time in the wilderness and heads into ministry. All business, that Mark.

But John gives Jesus a more cosmic beginning. John talks about “the Word” that was in the beginning, that was with God and is God and was part of the creation of all things. That “Word” has become flesh and bone, one of us. But not just a figure set apart, present but disconnected. No, this is about being one of us. As Eugene Peterson puts it in The Message, a contemporary language paraphrase of the Bible, “the Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighbourhood.”

“And moved into the neighbourhood.” This is a new way of looking at our relationship with God. It’s not just about “come, let us adore him,” it’s about welcoming a new member of the community and getting to know them and engaging them and being open to them engaging us.

We’re not always good at that. Especially if the new neighbour’s “different.” And there are so many ways we can be different. We’re really good at noticing the different and we’re really good at using the different to separate, negate, disconnect and exclude.

But here’s God saying “I’ll be just like you.” Not exactly the same, of course, that can’t be done. But here’s God saying I’ll be just like you and show you how love is alive in you and how sharing that love will make a better world: better relationships, better care, better, well, living.

Christmas is the annual reminder that God’s here, living next door, just down the street and across town. Maybe don’t put that part of Christmas away. Keep out a decoration or two that reminds you that the love in that manger in Bethlehem is in you and in your neighbour and in everyone you meet. 

Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

And yet.

For many people, this is anything but “the very best time of the year.”

Even a cursory scan through the news will give you more than a few reasons why. The economy’s struggling, there’s unemployment, there’s environment issues, violence and oppression seem to be thriving, people are on edge and anger seems to be spilling out all over the place.

And that’s the big picture. Look at your community, your neighbours and friends. There are people who are hurting, grieving the loss of a life close to them, grieving the loss of a relationship or a job or a home, struggling with health issues, broken in body, mind and spirit. It’s hard to find the Christmas spirit when your own is cracked and broken.

And yet.

The real story of Christmas - not the lights and trees and decorations, not the parties and the big dinners, not the gifts, not the “traditions” passed on through generations - the real story of Christmas has a special place for the world weary, the tired and the broken.

For all the warm, fuzzy comfort the traditional manger scene presents us with on Christmas Eve, the real story is hardly that. 

No angel says “it’s going to be just fine, don’t worry.” Mary and Joseph don’t say “yes, this is just how I wanted it to happen!” Shepherds don’t book the night off to party with the angels and magi don’t say “this is just what we were expecting.” In fact, an overarching theme of the story isn’t comfort, happiness or celebration, it’s fear. Yes, fear.

What the angel does say, repeatedly, is “don’t be afraid.” I imagine something Mary and Joseph said to each other, repeatedly, as they began their life together with a difficult journey, is “don’t be afraid.” And I’m pretty certain that when the shepherds showed up at the manger - and later on, the magi, too - their first words were likely “don’t be afraid.” I can’t begin to guess the number of people we don’t meet because they’re in the background of the story, but I imagine many of them, living in a poor country, oppressed and afraid, could have used someone in their life who said “don’t be afraid.”

Even more so because I don’t think that’s all that was said. That’s just the first part, “don’t be afraid.” The important part’s the next bit, the important part is the whole point of the story. Don’t be afraid: you’re not alone. God is with you. And so am I.

There’s no promise that the way ahead will be easy or even that things will get better. No one says “it could be worse” or “look on the bright side.” No one says “cheer up” or “you’ll get over it.” No one says “don’t cry.”

What is promised is that the child will show love to the world, a child that, in the Gospel of Matthew’s part of the story, an angel says is the fulfillment of a prophecy of Isaiah: that the child is Immanuel, which means “God is with us” (Matt. 1:22-23).

That child will grow up to spend time with the broken, the hurting and the marginalized. He’ll show the poor they have value, he’ll remember the forgotten and show the lonely that they’re not alone. He’ll try to teach us that love is life-giving and that life’s not just about happiness and celebrations but true joy, which we can find in each other, not in things. His life will be about showing us what the story of his birth does: God is with us and God is love, love that is in every heart, not just on Christmas Day, but every day.

What are you expecting?

This whole ”expectation" thing in Advent is tricky, isn’t it?

We even have a hymn for that: "Come, thou long expected Jesus.” It’s on old time classic by Charles Wesley, but we don’t sing it that often anymore. People expect something more contemporary. It’s best to be prepared for it, though.

That’s the two key words we most often use to describe Advent: preparation and expectation. Week after week, we hear scripture readings and perhaps their accompanying sermons calling us to be prepared for the coming of the Messiah who was prophesied. We need to be ready because something's coming.

Yes, something's coming, alright.

I think it’s often easier to get our heads around preparation and expectation than we might think. Too easy, maybe. We know what's coming and there's only these many days left. There's things to do, places to go, people to see, decorations and wrapping and don't forget the concerts, pageants and parties. Gotta be ready. And there's never enough time. Next to Merry Christmas, I bet the most common expressions at this time of year are "are you ready?" and "no."

But you know that already, don't you? You've been there, done that and been told it a hundred times. And on top of that, of course, that isn't the kind of preparation and expectation we mean.

No, perhaps it isn't. On the other hand, we use the same two words, preparation and expectation, we do the same kind of build up to "The Main Event," we tell the same story each year, follow the same traditions each year, even use the same decorations. And we're always trying to top last year.

Maybe the issue's the same: we think we know how to prepare because we know what to expect. We do what we do because we think we know what's coming.  Not only are we expectant, we have expectations. And they're not always met.

But maybe there's another way. We tell this story that’s full of characters that were caught completely off guard with the unexpected. Mary didn't expect to be pregnant. Joseph sure didn't expect that either. And I don't think either of them thought the manger was an ideal place for a baby. The shepherds didn't expect a visit from an angel choir. And the magi, well, I suppose you could argue that they knew the prophecy, but I don't for a moment think they really expected the star to lead them where it did.

None of them were ready. But they were open. Open to the unexpected and the possibilities that come from believing that God was with them.

And because they were, a moment was created, a turning point when prophecy was fulfilled and Word became flesh and a new life began living in a way that would teach us something about how we live.

What if we could hear "be prepared" and "be ready" as "be open?" What if we could be open to the unexpected instead of focused on our own expectation? Maybe we could create another turning point, one that would bring us closer to a world full of God's peace.

One of my favourite tellings of the Christmas story is a video from St.Paul's Church, Auckland, New Zealand, produced by their St. Paul's Arts'N'Kids.  As the children show us, God is in heaven - as only children might imagine it - surrounded by angels, deciding how best to help the people. Each time he reveals a part of his plan (which becomes the Christmas story), the angels react with surprise and amazement. And then, each time, just to punctuate it, one little angel pops up and says "they won't be expecting that!"

Be open this Christmas and let the unexpected find you.