Rocks Sink, Don't They?

Can we talk about your faith for a minute?

Specifically, can we talk about how much faith you have?

I just want to tell you that you have enough. Yes. Enough. There’s no catch. It’s that simple, you have enough. Good for you.

I think we can easily get used to thinking that we always need more, like there’s a measurement of some kind and we never have enough. We’re always hearing that doubt’s bad, as if it’s the opposite of faith, and if we just had more faith, things would turn out the way we want them to.

Except that’s not how faith works, doubt’s not the opposite of faith, fear is, and faith doesn’t just make things be what we want.

You know that story about Jesus walking across the rough waters to the disciples’ boat one morning? It’s recorded in the gospels of Mark, Matthew and John, but Matthew throws in the added detail of Peter (“The Rock,” long before Dwayne Johnson), not certain that it’s Jesus, saying “if it’s really you, tell me to come to you on the water.” Of course, Jesus does and Peter steps out on to the water, walking towards Jesus. But Peter is distracted by the wind and rough seas and becomes afraid. He starts to sink and calls to Jesus to save him. Jesus does ands says “you of little faith, why did you doubt?”

What we hear is Jesus criticizing Peter’s faith and his doubt, whether that’s in himself responding to Jesus’ command to come to him or in believing that it’s really Jesus. We hear that Peter didn’t have enough faith and there you go, it’s an example for us: it’s about what we don’t have. We need more faith and doubt is what’s holding us back.

But what if we heard something different. What if we could hear the tone of Jesus’ voice and heard the Jesus who keeps encouraging people. Remember all those times Jesus said to people “your faith has healed you” or “your faith has made you whole?” That was sure enough.

Listen, what if it went something like this. The disciples see a figure walking towards them on the water. They’re already nervous with the weather and now this. The figure says it’s Jesus, but Peter wants to check it out. Believing it to be Jesus, Peter steps out on the water. He’s doing fine - being Jesus - until he’s afraid of the wind. He calls out to Jesus who saves him. And Jesus says: Good for you, Peter! Look what you did with just a little faith! If only you hadn’t become afraid and doubted yourself. Remember a couple of chapters back when I said to you “go and be me” to people? See, you can do it. Look what you did - you stepped out of the boat. You weren’t afraid to take the risk and step out. You started the journey and when you needed help, you reached out for me. And where was I? Right here.

Maybe, if that were the story we heard, we might know that all it takes is a little faith to step out on the journey. And, instead of being afraid, we might share our real doubts and questions and learn from them. Because that’s what happens. We step out with the faith we have, we use it and we grow in faith by asking questions and learning. That’s why we share the stories of Jesus, so we’ll learn that a little faith is all that’s needed to get started. And when we need help, God’s right there to hold us up, just like Jesus.

See, a little is enough. Use it.

You can do it, too

I’m not sure if now is the best time or the worst time to hear the story of Jesus feeding the multitude.

In the days of the pandemic, there are limits on the number of people who can gather in one place, even outside. There are way too many people simply ignoring that, but I doubt Jesus would be one of them. At the very least, he would have limited the size of the gathering, handed out masks and sanitizer and ensured that everyone was appropriately physical distancing. Not sure how he would have fed everyone, but I’m sure he would have found a way and it would have met recommended guidelines. Even then, it would have been far less than a multitude, so would that have made it less of a miracle?

On the other hand, because of the pandemic a lot of people are hungry and need to be fed and there are some very worthy organizations trying to do that very thing. Now is maybe the best time to remind people that compassion finds a way, as Jesus did.

Ah, but that was Jesus, you might say, and it was a miracle.

Sure. That’s true. But Jesus believes that you can be Jesus, just like the first disciples. Get in touch with the image of God in you and be Jesus. And, by the way, you can make miracles happen, too. Depends on your perspective.

One way to understand this story, like so many of the miracle stories (and there’s a lot of them), is to see it as an act of power from the Divine Jesus. This is the Son of God, the Word Made Flesh, and Jesus wields the power of God to instantly provide food for everyone who’s there. It’s a supernatural act done for us by Jesus.

Okay, but I have questions. These people followed Jesus out to the middle of nowhere and didn’t take any food or an extra cloak or anything with them? Why start by telling the disciples to feed everyone? Why start with what they have? (Or, in John’s version of this story, there’s a small boy who offers his lunch.) Why not just make a feast appear out of thin air? And why the needless extravagance of leftovers? There’s twelve baskets full, where are they going? Food Bank? Home with everyone? Back to the disciples? Why feed them at all?

I’m sure there are answers to those questions - probably several - but the biggest issue for me is this: even with the disciples handing over their wee bit of food, there’s no further participation from anyone but Jesus. The people themselves have no part in this. Jesus does all the work.

But I think Jesus’ life is about showing us how we can be love, just like Jesus. I think we’d have a part in this miracle.

How about this. Jesus shows the people that the disciples are willing to share all that they have. It’s nothing, really, it’s all we’ve got, and I want you to have it. Those who did have something already, find themselves inspired by this radical act of outrageous generosity. So they share. With complete strangers.

Please don’t tell me I’m explaining away the miracle. That kind of sharing is no less miraculous. It must be or there’d be no one going hungry right now. Everyone in our own communities and in the world would have enough. But they don’t. If they did, it’d be a miracle. A miracle we could do.

Jesus doing all this in a way that’s impossible for us to do, well, that just let’s us off the hook. And not a spiritual one, either. It’s not a metaphor. People’s spirits have been earlier, this is the practical moment of putting love into action and feeding hungry bodies. We can do that. We can do that and it will still be just as miraculous.

I wish it weren’t. I wish it were ordinary, everyday, just how it is. But it wasn’t in Jesus day and it isn’t now. That’s why we think it’d be a miracle.

But there’s a way for us to make this miracle happen and it’s in how this little vignette begins: “when he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them” (Matt. 14:14). Any story, miracle or not, that begins with compassion is one that we need right now.

Do you know what a sea change is?

Recently, I suggested that it must have been frustrating to be Jesus. We were looking at the story of the commissioning of the disciples and what followed that was a remarkable example of just how well things weren’t going for Jesus. He remarks about several places he spent time in, doing what Jesus does, and it didn’t result in their repentance. He’d warned the disciples that this - and far worse - could happen. But, on this occasion, I think you get a little of the sense that even Jesus found it frustrating. And we do, too, when we’re being Jesus. It’s only human.

But let’s be fair. It must also have been frustrating or, at the very least, hard work to be Jesus’ audience when he was teaching. Jesus challenged pretty much everything. And, for as often as we say things like “Jesus really knew how to talk to people,” “Jesus uses examples of things and language that ordinary folks could connect with,” or “Jesus liked to tell stories people could relate to,” I’m not sure that we recognize just what that means. Just because people got the point doesn’t mean they liked it. Even the disciples weren’t always supportive of how relentlessly challenging Jesus could be.

That might be something we miss when we hear the story in the fragmented, Sunday-by-Sunday way in which we tend to hear scripture. We hear a little story, we study it and extract what meaning we can - or, sometimes, want - and we hope to bring that meaning into our lives. And in the great scheme of life, that might effect some little change and be satisfied with that. We might say “a seed’s been planted” or we’ve taken “baby steps” or “a little bit at a time” is enough.

Does the life of Jesus say that, though? Jesus calls people to repentance, to turn away from sin and turn to living out the good which is in them, to live as the image of God in the world rather than the world’s image of God. Jesus commissions the disciples - and us - not to occasional random acts of Jesusing, but to be Jesus in the world in our own way. Jesus asks us to live into the image of God everyday as a way of living, without the expectation of a perfect standard, but simply the perfectness that we are.

That’s not a little bit of change, that’s a lot of change. That’s a paradigm shift. A sea change. And that’s tricky, to say the least. Despite the fact that change is also relentless and happening every moment, we don’t like it much and we’ll resist it. Jesus asks us to engage it and to do so from that image of God, that factory setting of good, that’s in us. That’s what brings the kingdom of God, that Jesus talks about, here.

And that’s a big part of the frustration. Jesus doesn’t give a clear definition of what it is exactly, the kingdom of God. We’d like to know the end result that will be gained in order for us to put in all that work and all we get are a bunch similes in parable form. In Matthew 13, Jesus says the kingdom of God is like seed a farmer casts anywhere or like good seed that’s overgrown by weeds, it’s like a mustard seed, it’s like yeast in bread, it’s like a buried treasure to be found, it’s like a valuable pearl to be acquired, it’s like a fishing net that catches a great many different fish, good and bad. It’s as if Jesus doesn’t have a precise description of the kingdom of God.

Perhaps that’s a good thing. Because perhaps the answer isn’t in the anticipated end result, but the process. All these parables demand a radical new perspective. They require a different understanding and a revaluing of things. They ask that we see things with a heart and mind in the image of God, not just the world we know. That’s what gives us a vision of the kingdom of God through the lens of possible.

Surely God Is In This Place

For weeks now, I’ve been going on about how we’re all Jesus. And by weeks, I mean all the time. That’s how Jesus is alive, we’re Jesus. I made it a verb, even, hoping that would make it seem more realistic: Jesusing. It didn’t really take off, though, and then I thought, maybe if I put a hashtag in front of it. #jesusing. And then I Googled that and there is, in fact, #jesusing but it’s not anything remotely like what I had in mind.

It’s mostly pictures and memes of people - and animals - doing Jesus-like things from the stories, like walking on water or posing with their arms held wide, meaning to be funny. I know, super disappointing. And Urban Dictionary says that “Jesusing” is when you don’t reply to someone’s messages for a few days and then suddenly reappear. Haha. Sigh.

Sure, there’s a few, more devoutly religious uses, but no real interest in how I think Jesus would mean Jesusing.

That makes me sad, because I think that’s all part of our inability to see that we’re Jesus. We’re happy to acknowledge we’re followers of Jesus, or to worship Jesus, but not willing to hear those words he said to the disciples: go and be me. We even find it hard to live those words “love one another as I showed you to love.” We can’t be perfect like Jesus, the Son of God, the Word Made Flesh, the Holy One. We’re so focused on the Divine in Jesus and the very human failings in us that we don’t seem to see the other side.

But what’s really the point, if we can’t see the humanity in Jesus? How can Jesus show us how to live if it’s something unattainable? What’s the point of the Word Made Flesh if the flesh isn’t a full experience of being human?

But let’s get back to us, for a minute. We’re created in the image of God. Even our origin story describes us being made both of the spirit of God and of the earth. Why is it so hard to acknowledge there’s something of the Creator in us? Why is it so hard to believe that we, too, are both human and divine? Just. Like. Jesus.

Sure, we have free will and make choices and have experiences that lead us far from the divine in us, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. In everyone.

Just ask Jacob. (Or any others of a thousand Biblical characters, we just happen to encounter a little of Jacob’s story this week.) Jacob displays his self-centred failings boldly and often. He steals his older brothers birthright, runs away to some less than stellar wheeling and dealing elsewhere, wrestles with God, plays favourites with his children and, oh yeah, is repeatedly blessed by God. All that human-ness still touched by the divine.

Part of Jacob’s story reminds us of how our world and the divine are connected. As he’s running away from his brother Esau, he has a vision of a ladder between earth and heaven “and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it.” God appears to reaffirm the promise made to Abraham and Isaac of land and a great nation in the future and Jacob will become the father of that nation, but, hang on a minute. Go back to the ladder. That’s not just a sign that heaven and earth are close, they are connected. Angels travel between them. There is something of heaven here and Jacob realizes it. He wakes up and says to himself “surely God is in this place and I did not know it!” And he marks the spot with a stone.

But what if that wasn’t the place that he should mark? What if it was the divine presence in Jacob himself that he didn’t realize until now. Wouldn’t it be a different world if we could all see the divine in ourselves and each other and say “how awesome is that - surely God is in me and you and now I know it." It would be as if the Kingdom of God is here.

So Many Stories

We all learn differently. I think I’m more of an experiential learner. I like to see the instructions, but, more often than not, I get more out of the doing than reading the “how to.” But, like I said, we all learn differently and it’s always better to be able to learn the way that works best for us. That’s not always possible, though, and sometimes we have to struggle a bit to find our way.

That was going to be a segue into “there’s no instruction book for Jesus,” but, of course, there are moments when Jesus is quite specific and direct. In addition, we’ve had centuries of wisdom, study, interpretation, more study, more interpretation and experience to help us understand Jesus better. I think we have to acknowledge that not all of that has been positive, especially when that study and interpretation has led us to distort Jesus’ teaching or find a way to work around it when Jesus is specific and direct. Like when Jesus says “love your enemy” and we find a way to interpret that that’s not love at all. Yeah, things like that.

Sorry, a bit of a tangent and I don’t want to go there today. Another time. Where I was going today, was to story. One of the things I love most about knowing Jesus is the story of Jesus. We don’t have a theological treatise illuminating our relationship with God by one Jesus Christ, we have stories of a life lived in showing us how to live. We have examples of how we might experience love, compassion and grace and how we might share it with others in a way that gives life.

Within that, we have stories told by Jesus, many of them parables. Long, short, detailed, simple, there’s a variety, but also a variety of imagery and contexts. I think Jesus told parables for the same reason we tell stories of Jesus: instead of instructions for behaviour, story invites us in to an experience that we can connect to on a deeper level. It engages our imaginations and encourages us to bring the story into our own lives, to make it part of our life, and inspire us in the story we are each living.

This is why I like to re-imagine bible stories and write them for children of all ages. In his book, ‘Does God Have A Big Toe? Stories About Stories In The Bible,’ Rabbi Marc Gellman says “a midrash is the Jewish name for a story about a story in the Bible. There are collections of old midrashim written by old rabbis, and I have learned from them, but the stories in this book are modern midrashim.” By doing this, Gellman says, we find new perspectives and new ways of understanding the stories. I couldn’t agree more.

Here’s a short, simple example. This week, we’re hearing the parable of the sower in Matthew 13. It’s pretty well known. A sower goes out and casts seed everywhere and it lands in different places: on the road, among rocks, in the weeds and on good soil. The seeds grow - or don’t - as you’d expect and Jesus himself provides an interpretation. The seed is “the word of the kingdom” and where it lands is how it is received. In our own interpretations, we tend to focus on the seed and how it is received (spoiler: we want to be the “good soil”). But what if it didn’t get that far…

Jesus got up one morning and went and sat by the sea. Seeing him there, many people crowded round. They’d heard about Jesus and were hoping to hear one of his famous stories. Jesus put down his morning coffee and stood up. The crowd hushed.

“A farmer went out to sow some seed,” Jesus began. “they picked up the bag of seed and began randomly throwing the seed in every direction, even before they reached the field that they’d prepared for it. The first few handfuls landed on the sidewalk and the road, and then …”

“Hang on a minute,” shouted a farmer in the crowd. Several people turned to look at them and frowned. “Shh,” the master is speaking.

“Yeah, I know,” said the farmer, “and he obviously doesn’t know anything about farming.” He shouted at Jesus “no farmer in their right mind is going to waste seed like that, Jesus. That’s just ridiculous. You should re-think this one.”

“Shh,” went several people. One said “you hardly let him get started.”

“But he’s wrong right from the get-go here,” said the farmer and they turned to yell to Jesus again. “Farmers wouldn’t waste seed by just throwing it anywhere. We plan, we till the ground and we carefully - that’s carefully - plant seeds where they’ll do the best and produce the biggest crop. Otherwise we’re losing out, money, time and effort. You don’t know what could happen, otherwise.”

There was an awkward silence as the bewildered crowd looked at the farmer, then Jesus, then the disciples, then back to Jesus.

“You’re right,” said Jesus, “you just don’t know what could happen.” Jesus smiled. “But this seed is God’s love. Let me start again.” Jesus cleared his throat. “A farmer went out to sow some seed. They picked up the bag of seed and began randomly throwing the seed in every direction …” I think we can take it from here, Jesus.

Burden of Blessing

It must have been frustrating to be Jesus, sometimes.

There’s a lengthy story in Matthew that we’ve been following for a few weeks now in which Jesus commissions the disciples to go out and be Jesus for others. So, once again, just to be clear because it’s super important to remember in this particular context: Jesus doesn’t tell them to go and be like me, he says that he gives them authority to be me. And, yes, I do tend to go on at length about how Jesus is speaking to us, too, that’s why we should all be doing Jesusing (he said, one more time).

Within that “commission,” Jesus tells them it’s not going to be easy and to expect rejection, persecution and worse. And in a classic “don’t be afraid” moment, he reminds them that God is with them, just as he is with himself, Jesus. Those who welcome the disciples, meet Jesus and experience God.

Lots don’t, it seems, and there’s a pretty immediate example. Matthew writes that Jesus goes from here to “teach and proclaim his message in their cities.” It doesn’t go well. We know it doesn’t because Jesus comments, first, that people found a way to dismiss both John the Baptist and himself by their appearance and behaviour. John came from the wilderness like a “demon” and Jesus hung out with sinners, so the people didn’t listen to their wisdom. Second, he “reproaches the cities” because he did so much there and they didn’t repent.

We might be tempted to just shake our heads at this moment of disappointment in the story and move on. Especially since we know the rest of Jesus’ story, that it gets much worse. But I think we should stop here for a moment and just wonder about how Jesus might be handling it. We may also experience in our own lives the disappointment of things not going the way we want them to, especially when we’ve put a lot of effort in and truly believe in the value of our message.

I think Jesus would have had one of those very human moments like Charlie Brown, when he seems to throw his head all the way back and shout a great “aaugh!” to the heavens. This is so much more than just a *sigh* or an “oh, good grief,” and we experience those moments, too. But Jesus doesn’t stop there, and we can’t either. 

It is frustrating being Jesus, sometimes. 

So, in those moments, I think Jesus invites his followers, including us, to let go of our slavish dedication to the letter of the law, to the structures, the institutions and the hierarchies we’ve built as a society. When we yoke ourselves to that, we carry a heavy burden of predetermining how things should be. Instead, look for what’s at the heart of it. Look to bring love and grace to lifting people up and, yes, giving them an experience of all that it means to be Jesus.

That’s why Jesus offers these words in Matthew: “come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matt. 11:28-30) These aren’t just words of comfort offering a respite from things, they’re words of affirmation, inviting the Jesus in all of us to what is true. The world can give us many heavy burdens to carry that weigh us down. But the burden of Jesusing is the love which lifts hearts, inspires minds and offers hope without condition or expectation. Eugene Peterson translates these words of Jesus as an invitation “to learn the unforced rhythms of grace.” To learn that, to “yoke” ourselves to that, is a burden of blessing.

Welcoming what's next

Back in March, when the pandemic closed everything but essential services, including churches, we were always hopeful that we’d be back. And here we are. With restrictions lifted and guidelines in place, some churches are headed back. Of course, that could change if there’s a second wave, but it feels good to know that we can go back. Back to sitting in our pews or chairs, back to Sunday mornings at 10:30 (or whatever day and time you meet).

Did I say “back” enough times that you’re suspicious about how I framed that?

When the pandemic hit, we reminded people that the church isn’t a building or a gathering or a structure. Being the church means living out what we’ve learned and experienced from the Sunday meetings. Being the church isn’t about being in, but about going out and living out God’s love.

That doesn’t mean we don’t miss gathering as a church. But when this began, it was a good reminder that there’s more to church than being in a certain place at a certain time doing certain  things. It was an opportunity to truly practice what we believe, with love, grace, kindness and care, not just in church but out of it.

Even now, for those returning to the physical space, we have guidelines in place to keep people healthy and safe that restrict many of the things that were done there. Physical spacing, no singing, no sharing of food or drink. This isn’t the same as before. Will it be something new or will it just be a way of asking for more patience as this goes on longer?

It was also a good reminder that there’s no going back. We go forward, and now we go forward with all that we’ve experienced and learned in the last few months. Many people have done some amazing Jesusing, many have received some Jesusing, and a lot have talked about how important it will be to remember all this Jesusing when circumstances change again. And again and, probably, again.

There’s also no going back to before the struggles that have accompanied the pandemic and the ongoing struggles that have been refreshed in the last few weeks. Systemic racism, violence, care of the elderly - the list is long and challenging, but it’s been lifted up again and we go forward, boldly stepping into a future of love, grace and peace.

Or haven’t we been listening to Jesus?

Over a few weeks now, I’ve been talking about the story in Matthew’s gospel about Jesus commissioning the disciples. You might remember: it’s when I once again started encouraging you to use “Jesus” as a verb. Because that’s what he asks of them in sending them out, to be Jesus to people. And he reminds them what that means. I say “reminds them” because I think they’d been with him long enough to see and experience the effect Jesusing has on people. Just as many church going folk have now.

He also tells them they’ll not always be welcome, they’ll be persecuted and attacked and people will reject them. And he tells them that there will be conflict and there should be conflict. What’s important is that we come to it with open hearts and minds, grace, compassion and love and, well, just being Jesus. Engaging diversity with love makes the world richer.

We’re coming to the end of that story and here’s where we might want to listen most closely. Jesus says, “whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.” 

Jesus didn’t commission the disciples to be indoors, asking people to come and join them there where they’d receive a warm welcome. He sent them to do Jesusing in a world desperate for love, knowing that they would not be welcome everywhere, but where they were, they would share an experience of God that would transform people, communities, nations, maybe even churches.

Whether we name it as God or Jesus or Spirit, whether we use the language of church or a particular tradition, we make the world a better place by living love into it, building relationships through grace and compassion, sharing justly and equitably and welcoming each other to the great connectedness of creation.