For Troubled Hearts

I like to take every opportunity to remind people that the one thing said most frequently by Jesus in the Bible is “don’t be afraid.” Or “fear not,” if you prefer.

You might think it’s “love God” or “repent” or “love each other” or even “don’t sin,” but no, it’s “don’t be afraid.”

And I don’t think for a minute that Jesus means to say “obey me and stop that right now.” I think he simply means to comfort and encourage people by reminding them that he is with them and that God is with them, however they know God, and, whatever happens, it’s going to be okay.

I’ve been saying this even more than usual lately.

One time, Jesus didn’t even say “don’t be afraid,” he said “don’t let your hearts be troubled” (John 14:1). I like that even more because it’s not just about fear, then, it could also be anxiety, discomfort, hurt - all the things that might come along with fear or even inspire it.

That phrase might sound familiar because it comes from verses we often hear at a celebration of someone’s life. I wish it were something we shared more often on other occasions because I don’t think it’s just about the next life.

In the gospel of John, Jesus makes a lengthy speech to his disciples on the night he’s arrested. We call it the Farewell Discourse partly because it sounds like a parting speech but also because we know what happens next. And that’s just it. We know. The disciples don’t.

Sure, Jesus talks about leaving and he won’t always be around and how he’s “going to the father” but we hear that the way we do because we know what’s ahead. I don’t think the disciples had any idea. I think they were anxious, concerned, perhaps even a little frightened and certainly confused by Jesus’ talk of leaving, but I don’t think they heard “I’m going to die.” Sensing their unease, Jesus says “don’t let your hearts be troubled.”

Prompted by a question from Thomas, Jesus goes on to talk about being “the way, the truth and the life,” and tells them that, in seeing him, they have seen God. Then Philip asks Jesus to show them God and I think you can just sense Jesus’ surprise and disappointment when he replies “have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father?’” I think that’s Jesus again having to tell them that the love Jesus lives, the same love he’s already told them is in his command to “love one another as I have showed you to love” (John 13:34), that love is in each of us, too. And then he doubles down on it “truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these” (John 14:12). Yeah, that’s for you.

I wonder if we shouldn’t be hearing this passage not just as comforting words that there is a place for each of us with God in the next life, but that there is place for each of us with God here. Now. Jesus has prepared the way, it is true and life-giving. When we live it, our hearts need not be troubled: God is with us, we are not alone.

It's enough

What’s enough for you?

Even when we might be tempted to say “times are good,” I’m not sure that one can generalize like that. There’s always people who find themselves struggling to have enough money, food, resources, health or happiness. Even trying to determine what might be basic needs or “essential” is tricky, at best.

And here we are. Times are most certainly not good and, particularly because we’re isolating, making sure that we have enough of anything is a top priority. There may be things that are obviously essential, but there’s still debate about many others. What’s “enough?”

Reminds me of a song.

Last fall, Bashaw Community Theatre presented a very successful run of ‘Matilda’ with additional show in Camrose in January. Amazing performances, so shout out to the cast of children and adults of all ages, crew and their awesome director. ‘Matilda,’ by Roald Dahl, is the story of a unique and specially gifted little girl and it includes one of my favourite songs, written by Tim Minchin.

In the show, Miss Honey, a kind and gentle teacher who helps Matilda, sings a song about her home, a rundown garden shed where she is forced to live by her aunt, the evil Miss Trunchbull.  It might not look like much, she sings, but it is enough for her.

She sings about the ordinary structure and meagre furnishings that simply meet her every need. It protects her, provides a place for work and rest and allows her to “stand on her own two feet,” to dream and imagine and be free and not be afraid. “There is nowhere I would rather be,” she sings, “it isn’t much but it is enough for me.” It’s not rationalizing what little she has, it’s knowing what really matters and that it’s enough.

“It isn’t much, but it is enough for me.”  I think Miss Honey, with all her hardship and struggle, has found "abundance” in her life.

That might not be how we, as a society, see it. I think we tend to see abundance as meeting our desires, not our needs, as having enough to have excess, rather than just the right amount.

But I think Jesus meant what Miss Honey knows when he said “I came that all may have life, and have it abundantly” (John 10:10). 

In John 10, Jesus talks about being the good shepherd who cares for the sheep. He provides for them, feeds them and protects them. He’s also the gate through which they pass from pasture to fold, the way home. The sheep respond to his voice because he know them and they know his voice. All simple, perfectly ordinary images to his first century listeners. Not so common to us, maybe, and our understanding of sheep-like behaviour can take on a negative connotation today, but I think we get the picture: it is all the life that is needed. They lack nothing.

Just like in the classic Psalm 23, “the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want for anything.” It’s a song of green pastures, gentle streams, the comfort of a shepherd's care and protection, food and drink, goodness and mercy.  Simple, perfectly ordinary images.  They are not grand or elaborate or even generous and yet, “my cup overflows.”  They're not big or fancy or even nice, but it is enough that "I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long" (Ps. 23:6).

Abundance isn't excess or extravagance or even plenty, it is simply enough. That's all. Enough for us to stand on our own two feet, on a floor or in a green pasture. Enough to keep us warm and safe, from rain or cold or on the right path. Enough that we might not fear, in winter storms or in the shadow of the valley of death. Enough that we would dream and be free. That is the life Jesus offers abundantly, and it is enough for me.

Life Story

The Easter Story may be one of joy and celebration and new life, but it’s also a story of grief, doubt and bewilderment. Which makes sense, really, because it’s a story about life. And, right now, we need a good story about life.

I want to celebrate as much as the next person and find the joy and happiness that’s been a bit of a struggle lately, to “rejoice and be glad” because “this is the day that God has made” (Psalm 118:24, sort of). I’d like to be finding that in every day, of course, but Easter’s the big one. Jesus is alive! Hallelujah!

Maybe, though, it’s a bit of journey still to get there, for many people. And that’s okay, because the story’s about that, too. See, I think we know how the story goes and we’re always keen to get to the hallelujahs, the chocolate eggs, the butterflies and the lilies, but let’s also spend a little time where we’re really at right now, because that’s in the story, too.

The initial reaction of the women who first found the tomb empty wasn’t just joy, it was fear and confusion, too. They were not expecting to find anything but the body of Jesus in a tomb guarded by Roman soldiers. They were still grieving. The story allows one day for grief in between his death and resurrection, but grief has its own sense of time. I can’t imagine that they were anything but bewildered and confused and still grieving.

The disciples didn’t believe them and doubted Jesus was alive until he appeared to them. It wasn’t just Thomas, it was all of them who needed proof that they could see and touch to validate what they wanted to believe. Again, though, I imagine that their grief and the sense of loss they experienced was not quickly put aside, like it might sound in a few sentences of the short story we read. 

Other followers met the risen Jesus and didn’t recognize him, not until he did something that the Jesus they knew had done. I think they didn’t expect to see him. After all, I guess they weren’t looking for Jesus to be alive in anyway but in the body they knew was dead. That would be cool, but impossible.

Grief takes all the time it needs and their are many people in the world who are bewildered, confused and grieving. 

But, it’s not a short story, like we read. It’s life and, alive, it’s a forever story. In his own life, Jesus was always taking the impossible and making it possible. Everyday, lives were changed, hurts were healed, broken hearts were made whole and all along, Jesus was showing us how to do it, to make the impossible possible. And this story of overcoming the ultimate impossible, full of grief and doubt and the unexpected, brings us back to that life that is now in us. Jesus is alive in me and you, in shared grief, in care and compassion, in love. Still find it hard to see? Look with an open heart.

Now More Than Ever

Every year, we hear the same story on the second Sunday of Easter.

Every year, the same story. Not even different versions of it, because it only appears in one gospel: John.

Every year, we hear the story of Thomas, the one who wasn’t there when Jesus first appeared alive after the crucifixion. And when all the other disciples tell him they’ve seen Jesus, he refuses to believe. And then, the next time Jesus appears, he’s there to see for himself. It’s the origin of the expression “Doubting Thomas” to refer to someone who, well, doubts.

Every year, I try to say that I think that’s unfair because I don’t think Thomas doubts what’s truly important. I think he already knows that, though he sees that Jesus is physically dead, he’s very much alive in the hearts and minds of those who love and live as he taught. That’s why he’s not there. No, it doesn’t say that in the story: the gospel writer doesn’t give any reason why he’s not there. But, in my heart, I know that Thomas is the most certain of all the disciples and I think he wasn’t there because he’s out sharing Jesus with everyone he can. He’s not afraid. Nor is he afraid to question the other disciples on what they have seen.

Every year, I say that the real gift of this story is that Thomas believed that Jesus was alive in himself. He already believed without being able to see what the disciples did. And when Jesus says “blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed” (John 20:29), I think Jesus doesn’t mean to criticize Thomas’s doubt, but to honour his belief and the belief of all who will come after, even you and me.

Every year, I say that questions affirm and inspire our faith, doubt is essential so that we ask those questions and it’s not the certainty of finding answers, but the journey with the questions that’s important.

Every year, I try to find new and different ways to say that. Every year.

This year’s different.

Perhaps there’s no need to find a new way to say it. The world’s different. Our view is different. Maybe, in this instance, we don’t need something new.

Maybe we just need to be reminded that questions are okay. That doubt’s okay. Maybe now is when we most need to remember that true faith embraces questions and doesn’t look for certainty, but rather company. When we share our doubts and questions, we might find others on a similar journey willing to share their own doubts and questions. And thoughts. Not to tell us what or how to think, but to help us find some fulfillment or, at least, contentment for ourselves.

Maybe right now is when we need to remember that true faith isn’t about finding answers, it’s about finding hope.

The Hope of Easter

There’s a pretty great joke going around right now. I’m not sure who started it, but it goes something like this. No wonder some world leaders are thinking that the virus will be over and done by Easter and we’ll all be out living our normal lives. Seems appropriate, after all: Jesus didn’t stay inside.

Haha. Hmm.

Okay, that’s cute and we could sure use a little humour, right? Except. Let’s be clear.

The hope of Easter isn’t that you get to go outside. It’s that you go and live. And not just live, but live new, not just one day, but every day. It’s the hope that comes with the dawn. Not just because there’s light, but because there’s a new day. It’s the hope that comes with spring. Not just because it’s warmer and there’s flowers, but because there’s new life. Everywhere.

The hope of Easter isn’t only that you have new life outside, but new life everywhere, inside and out. Inside and out of your home and you. It’s the hope that comes with creation. Not just because you’re part of something bigger, but because you’re part of the creating, making creation an expression of you. It’s the hope that comes with sharing yourself with others. Not just because you have company, but because you have community.

The hope of Easter is that Jesus is alive. Everything that is Jesus - love, kindness, grace, compassion, care, justice and peace and all that is good - lives in you and around you. So take what you’ve learned and share it, whether you can leave your house yet or not. Bring love to moments of hate. Bring understanding to moments of struggle. Bring kindness to moments of need and grace to moments of hurt. Bring compassion to brokenness and comfort to grief. Bring justice with respect for every person and part of creation. Bring curiosity and engagement to opportunities to learn and bring nurture to opportunities to grow.

Maybe this is a moment to see that the Easter story is happening in the world right now. As we struggle to see it, new life is waiting to happen. Try new ways to engage the world and when you do, bring trust that in the heart of all living things is the image of a God who loves and brings new life.

I Wonder

Sometimes, I find myself challenged by how we do Easter. I mean as a church. Feel free to also celebrate the bunny and chocolate and spring (if it ever gets here). We could use a little celebration right now - observing isolation, social distancing and all the necessary protocols, of course.

I’ve often found myself with questions as much as anything else as we navigate the traditional story of Easter. And maybe that’s a good place to start: the “traditional” story. The Last Supper, Good Friday and Easter Day have stories we know so well because we tell them every year. We know how the story goes (mostly) and we have specific rituals and songs and words to remind us. But sometimes, that’s as far as we go.  It’s a story. And we know how the story ends and that influences how we experience it and even what the story is supposed to mean to us. Jesus lives, alleluia.

But this year’s different. I’ve been saying this a lot lately, but in facing this pandemic, we have an opportunity to learn. A lot. Oh, so much. Here’s one little corner. Because we can’t gather for our big communal celebrations, maybe this is an opportunity to look at the story a little more personally, maybe wondering about some of those questions we’ve had that we’ve not asked because, well, tradition. And not necessarily tradition that’s the “we still do it because it’s relevant and meaningful,” but the tradition that’s “we’ve always done it that way.”

I have questions. Maybe you do, too. I’ll just share a few of those and, just to be clear, I mean questions, not challenges, questions.

Like “The Last Supper.”  We can call it that – in retrospect – but the disciples didn’t know that, did they?  They thought that they were celebrating the Passover meal with Jesus (a ritual meal itself which reminded Hebrews of God freeing them from slavery in Egypt). So the story from which we have built the central ritual of communion, was dinner. A family dinner, for that matter, because that’s what the Passover meal was about, families remembering their heritage with God. Do we remember God at our family meal? Do we remember that we are one family when we celebrate communion?

That’s a really good question this year because we can’t gather in person with our church family. Our church will be sharing communion online through a live streamed service this Easter, because the intention is communion in heart and spirit. As Richard Bott, the Moderator of The United Church has said, “when we share communion where the presider is in one space, and the elements and participants are in many, it is still true the bread that is broken and the juice that is shared continue to be real. Virtual space – real communion.”

On Good Friday, we might spend some time at the foot of the cross. But is our cross Jesus’ cross? In our world, particularly in our country, can we truly understand the horror and pain of the crucifixion? A tool of torture, intimidation and death is the symbol of our faith? I know we’re supposed to see that it’s redeemed by Jesus and all, but I’m still struggling with saying “God loves you” and showing someone a cross.

And if you were there, as the spiritual says, if you could put yourself right there in the story, imagine yourself at the hillside where Jesus was crucified, what would you be feeling?  It would be nice to think that we would be horrified, that we would try to help Jesus. But would we? If that was our world, or day, we might just think, oh, it’s another crucifixion – that’s probably ten this week, at least.  Maybe we would recognize that this was something different, but what if you were there: what would you think?  Or feel? “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?”

Maybe our Good Friday is tempered a bit by the fact that we know how this part of the story ends: resurrection on Easter Day. Yay, Easter Day! But what if you were there, what if you were Mary Magdalene or Peter or the other disciple that went with him?  What do you think Mary felt when she arrived at the tomb that morning, having watched Jesus die, and found it empty? Surprise? Anger? Was her first thought that someone had stolen the body? It wasn’t until she saw Jesus that she knew he was alive. So, Mary was surprised by the resurrection?

I guess that’s my biggest question: are we surprised anymore? Are we so comfortable that we know how the story goes, that we no longer wonder at it, that we are no longer moved by its power, challenged by its meaning. Do you wonder?

One on One

I can’t imagine that there is anyone or anything that hasn’t been affected in some way by the virus that’s enveloping the world right now. However you’re experiencing it, isolation is a unifying part of that and we’re just not built for it. We need connection, we need to gather and touch and share in some way. We’re built for community.

And communities are responding, people reaching out, supporting each other, finding ways to be encouraging and connect as best we can, on the phone, online, waving from the street and singing from balconies - you don’t always need technology. We can find new ways, too.

It will be particularly challenging right now because it’s spring and Easter’s this week. Whether you strictly observe the story of Holy Week, day by day, or celebrate the resurrection or just enjoy the big meal and chocolate eggs that come with the big bunny, the fact is it’s a time to gather and celebrate as a family, home family, church family, community family, every kind of family.

It’s going to be different.

We’ve been trying to come up with ways that we can help people engage the Easter story and celebrate the most important day on the church calendar as a church family. And it’s not just in the connecting-people-with-technology, it’s about the story itself. Maybe you’ve noticed this when trying to come up with more creative ways to work, learn or play: the more you look for different ways to tell a story, the more you notice about the story that you hadn’t perhaps seen before. Context is certainly a big part of that, too. Even a story that’s been told thousands of times speaks differently to a different situation.

So maybe, for example, the story becomes more personal. The Holy Week story is full of crowds: the Palm Sunday crowd that welcomes Jesus, the crowd that he throws out of the temple, the crowd who hears him teach, even the upper room crowded with the disciples for the passover meal, the garden crowded with soldiers and certainly the crowd that demanded his death. And what seems a moment of loneliness Friday, on a hill outside Jerusalem. Another in a tomb.

But the irony is that all those crowds also demonstrated just how fickle a crowd can be. And on Friday and Saturday, Jesus wasn’t alone. Mary and the other women were there, watching over Jesus, unable perhaps to save him from pain but present with him in his suffering it. Those same women come back the next day to find the tomb empty and are the first to see Jesus alive (Matthew 27-28).

What if we could find a way to be in those stories, not just as part of the safety of a crowd, but one on one with Jesus. How would the shout of “hosanna” on Palm Sunday feel if we remembered it wasn’t a cheer but a cry: it means “save us.” Would you shout “save me” to Jesus? How would we feel on Monday when Jesus drives people out of the temple if Jesus looked directly in our eyes and asked “how do you respect God?” Or when he’s teaching in the temple if he were to ask each of us, personally, “do you really want to learn how to live well?” At the last supper, when Jesus says “one of you will betray me,” will we honestly be able to say it’s not me? And on Friday, will you be able to stay and be present with Jesus rather than wander by with the rest of the crowd?

We all want to crowd around the empty tomb on Easter morning, but that’s exactly where he isn’t. Where he is, is with you. Wherever you are.