What do we do now?

So, we’ve been living this story for awhile now and it seems to be coming to an end of sorts. Not really an end, of course, because it’s still there, but we’re at least at a point where things are changing, we’re leaving some things behind and we can look ahead to things being different. A new story is beginning and we’re likely wondering “now what?”

You’re likely thinking that I’m talking about the pandemic and what we’re experiencing right now - and I am - but I’m also talking about the story you might be living if you know Jesus. That story, as it so often is, is reflected in the real life story we’re living and has something important to say about it.

We’re coming to the end of the season of Easter and, just before we leap into the excitement of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost, there’s a very important story that I think has something to say to us right now. Forty days after Easter comes the story of The Ascension of Jesus, his final departure from the disciples: the resurrected Jesus is taken up into heaven in a great cloud, followed by the appearance of two figures in white robes who remind the disciples that, just as he is leaving now, he’ll be back. (Acts 1:1-11)

I think this story’s a way bigger deal than the time we give it. What we’ve made of it in our religious traditions aside, it’s the hinge between the stories of Jesus in the gospels and the living out of the teaching of Jesus in the earliest days of the church. It’s the opening story of the book of Acts and that’s what the book’s all about, those days after Jesus is gone and the disciples begin to live into the Jesus that’s in them.

Wait. Let me backtrack on that a minute because that’s precisely why this story speaks to us right now.

Picture this. The disciples are standing around and Jesus is telling them “my work here is done, it’s time for you to go and do the things I taught you, to share your experiences with others and help them learn to make a better world.” He might as well have said “here, I’m passing the torch to you, now go and do it.” He gives them a wave and off he goes to heaven. And the disciples just stand there watching him go. The figures in white robes appear and their first words are literally “why are you just standing here looking up at the sky?” (Acts 1:11)

Imagine what was going on in the disciples’ heads. They’d been through so much. They dropped everything to follow Jesus. Then Jesus is killed and they grieve that he is gone. But then he’s alive and they were just coming to terms with that when he’s gone again. Now what? On top of the amazement at the way he leaves - a second time - they’re likely wondering what to do now - a second time. And they might be tempted to just stand there, wondering where to go now. And, ringing in there ears, they might hear Jesus saying “get on with it.”

So might we. We’ve learned a lot as we’ve struggled with this pandemic, and continue to struggle with it. We’ve experienced a lot and shared a lot, at a distance. We’ve seen what’s really important. We’ve seen kindness, grace, courage and caring. I’d say we’ve seen people being Jesus.

Let’s go forward with caution and safety, but let’s go forward. Let’s take all we’ve learned and experienced and, together, make the world better. I’d say, let’s be Jesus.

On the same sea

Here’s a story that’s the kind of story we need right now.

During his many travels, the apostle Paul found himself in Greece, teaching and preaching about Jesus. The crowds weren’t terribly receptive. Some became angry at what he was saying and it became obvious that Paul should move on pretty quickly. Arriving in Athens, he gets into a debate with some philosophers who bring him to the Areopagus, a place like a court where important judgements were made. There he says things a little differently than before. The people listen. There’s only a couple of immediate converts, many sneer at what he has to say, but mostly, they just hear him out.

When he arrived in Athens, Paul saw all the temples to the many gods the Greeks worshipped in those days, pretty much a god for everything. He also noticed that there was one that was for “an unknown god.” I imagine him thinking that you have to admire the devotion of people who build a temple for every god and then worry that they left someone out, so, just in case, there’s a temple to cover that.

So, when he gets up to speak, Paul’s inspired. He doesn’t tell them that they’re wrong and they’re going to burn in the fiery lake for eternity. He doesn’t paint abusive graffiti all over their temples. He doesn’t threaten them with a weapon. He doesn’t angrily yell at them, tell them what to think or try to control them in any way. 

Instead, he shows them Jesus.

He begins by saying, look, I see by all your temples that you’re very religious and devout. I am too, so maybe we’re not so different. I see that you even have a temple for an unknown god. Well, let me tell you that I think I know that unknown god and, while you have many gods for many things, I know this one God who is everything. This is a God who doesn’t live in temples or rituals, but in the world, in every living thing. This is a God of life and good and love. In the God I know, he says, “we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28) just like one of your own ancient philosophers said (he quoted Epimenides). And, the story goes, some became followers, some rejected it, but many simply wanted to hear more.

This is the kind of story we need right now. 

As we’re trying to move forward from isolation, as businesses and community spaces are opening up, with guidelines and regulations for safety, some want to move faster, some slower, everyone has an opinion about everything and many are confused and concerned about how things are happening. We need to be thoughtful, aware and understanding, not only of how we’re doing it, but how we’re communicating and engaging each other. We need to know that we’re in this together, even as we’re all coming to it our own way.

Paul might easily have begun “listen, a couple of thousands of years from now, they’ll say it like this: we’re not all in the same boat, no, we’re all on the same sea, in the same storm, but in our own boats. Together, we can get through it.” That’s the kind of story we need right now.

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.