All the Colours of Lent

How’s your Lent going? I know, we’re just getting started. But it’s good to check in - when stepping out into the wilderness, the first step can be a pretty big one.

The gospel story of Jesus going into the wilderness is the inspiration for the season of Lent. I think it’s important to remember that, for Mark in particular, the wilderness is where Jesus goes - with the Holy Spirit - after his baptism and before his ministry. In other words, it’s the place he goes to wonder about how to live out who he is before he goes and does it. Jesus appears, Jesus is baptized (remember, that’s when he sees the dove as a sign of the Spirit and hears the heavenly voice “you are my beloved child, I’m pleased with you”), Jesus goes to the wilderness, Jesus begins his ministry.

I like that because we could all use some wilderness time for the same reason. We need to set aside some time to wonder, about how we are loved by God, about how we could live that love into the world, and about how that love is lived in relationship - before we go and do it.

This year, each of the Sundays in Lent offers an opportunity to look at how we live those relationship in covenants.  Each week includes a story from Hebrew scripture about our covenant relationship with God and each other.

Biblical covenants aren’t contracts or investments expecting a personal return, they’re about much more. In a covenant, each of the participants give something of themselves that, together, creates a new thing which isn’t just of benefit to them, but has a much wider and bigger impact. A covenant creates relationships and community.

It’s important to remember that covenants aren’t perfect and neither are we. Our understanding of covenant doesn’t seek perfection, it doesn’t involve making an impossible promise that you’ll never break. We can expect that in covenant with one another we might fall short of what we intended. We might break our promises to ourselves, to each other and to God. Our divine side understands that our human side needs work - that’s why we’re doing this. What matters is that we continue to work toward being back in covenant, even if we fail at times to uphold it.

You can see why Lent would be such a valuable opportunity to wonder about this.

And we begin, not in the cold, sombre shadows we so often associate with Lent, but in the bright light of a new day and the brilliant colours of the rainbow. At the end of the story of the Great Flood in Genesis, God offers the rainbow as a sign of promise, that together with us and all of creation, we will be co-creators of a better world. Together.

The rainbow means so many things to so many people. However we see it, it’s the hallmark of inclusivity. A sign of more than just welcome, it says that we are all part of the same family of creation and we should care for each other and the earth as family. And, to God, all means all. We all belong, not because we’re the same, but because we bring our own uniqueness, we can share our gifts as well as our needs and we can do that with love, respect and appreciation. We can love as we are loved, we can change as we bring change, we can need as we are needed, we can be a living part of creation. Will we?

Part of the Story

The season of Epiphany ends this week with Transfiguration Sunday. We entered it with a shining star and we leave it with a shining star.

The season of revealing is now followed by the season of introspection, of self-examination. Now that we’ve had a time of learning about how God is revealed in Jesus and can be revealed in each of us, we have a season to look into ourselves and wonder how that might best be accomplished. And the hinge between those two is the story of Jesus’ being transfigured on the mountaintop. And Valentine’s Day. Okay, mostly the first, but love has a lot to do with it.

The Gospel of Mark says Peter, James and John went up a mountain with Jesus where they see him transfigured, shining with a bright light. They see him talking to Moses and Elijah and then a cloud envelopes the mountain and a voice says to them “this is my son, my beloved, listen to him.” Understandably, the disciples are scared, by Jesus calms them. “Don’t be afraid,” he says. And then, on the way down the mountain, he tells them not to tell anyone of this until after the resurrection.

Cool story. Why not tell it?

I’ll get there, but first, let’s consider a couple of things. Jesus is transfigured. That’s not the same as transformed, is it? Transformation implies change within and without, but I think transfiguration simply shows out more of what’s in. In other words, the season of revealing ends with a big reveal: here’s the whole Jesus, shining light, companion of prophets, child of God. But is it the biggest reveal?

I can’t imagine that the disciples, Jesus’ closest and most intimate companions, didn’t want to run back down the mountain and tell everyone of this shining moment of divinity, but Jesus tells them not to say anything yet. It’s as if Jesus was okay with sharing it with them but not everyone else. But why?

What if Jesus felt that showing his divinity this way was a side he wasn’t ready to show yet? What if he felt vulnerable and was okay with that with his best friends he knew he could trust, but not everyone else. What if Jesus felt afraid that people would hear the story and either dismiss him as a fraud or worship him as a god? And that would disrupt his message: I’m just like everyone else, human and divine, and here’s how you, too, can find that in yourself and live it out. What if Jesus knew that the best time to reveal this story was after he did the one thing no one expected, the one thing no one else could do?

That’s why this is such a great story between the stories of Epiphany - that show us how God is revealed, not just in Jesus, but in us - and the stories of Lent which invite us to look inwards, into our hearts and minds, to see that Jesus was right: love is there. Grace and good are there. Here we are now, on our way to Easter, with a time to consider our humanity and our divinity, and how we might live into it and share it. To do that, we’ll need to be vulnerable. It’s okay. Jesus started with his closest friends. Maybe that’s a place for us to start, too. Maybe that’s something for Lent. Remember, too, that Jesus didn’t ever go alone and neither do we: God is with us, always. We are loved, we are love, we can love.

Here's a Good Reminder

You deserve a break today.

And if you can read that without thinking of the rest of the McDonald’s jingle, you’re probably really young. McDonald’s ran that as their tag line from 1970 to 2014, finally retiring it after forty-four years.

Of course, it’s more than just a slogan, it’s something we should all keep in mind. And be sure to follow through on when it’s timely, not desperate. I’ll get to that in a minute, but you can see why this was a real gem of an advertising campaign when it first came out. It hits on three key things that you want to hear: you’re deserving; it’s an opportunity to step away from whatever you’re busy at, whether that’s work, play or some other activity; and it’s not just space you’re getting, it’s something of value that’s enjoyable, satisfying and fulfilling (even though you have to pay for it and there may be some question as to whether McDonald’s actually fulfilled that part … ). The assumption is that the end result will be you being refreshed, renewed and happy. That’s a good thing. (I think that one’s Martha Stewart’s slogan.)

It is a good thing. And it’s important to ensure that we all make time for a break that renews and refreshes us, that energizes - or re-energizes us - for the fulfilling life we want. Easy to say, Robin, but not always easy to do.

Right. Because, first of all, we’re all unique individuals in unique situations. Of course, so only you will know when you should make space for yourself. The important part is to remember to do it before it’s absolutely necessary. Or too late. The other thing is to ensure that your “break” is filled with what will re-energize you, inspire you, refresh you and bring you back to what you were doing with the enthusiasm and energy to give your best “you” to it. Maybe you do just need some sleep, but maybe you need a walk, a book, a game, a craft or an activity. Maybe you need people, that’s especially tricky right now.

Both those things require some discernment. And maybe a little help and encouragement from others. The point is, it’s more than physical. It’s mental and spiritual, too. We need something that refreshes, re-energizes and inspires to balance what wears us down, drains and dulls us.

Don’t take my word for it. Or McDonald’s. How about Jesus?

Many times, the gospels have stories of Jesus going “off to a solitary place, where he prayed.” Mark’s gospel has Jesus so busy right from the start of his ministry healing people and bringing them wellbeing that he first does that a mere 35 verses into the first chapter. His own wellbeing is important and he just needs to get away from everyone and pray.

And I don’t for a minute think he’s just “checking in with the boss.” I think Jesus’ prayer might begin “dear God, I’m so tired” and continue on with wonder. He might wonder about many things, but the point is, he talks to God, he wonders, maybe even ponders, things that will refresh his spirit. Maybe he needed the walk, too. Or did some yoga or went for a swim. Maybe he read a book or watched Netflix. The point is, he tried to find time for his own wellbeing, for his own wholeness.

Later, Jesus will teach people to “love your neighbour as yourself.” But he began early with care for your neighbour as yourself.

Time for Tears

I cry.

Some who know me might find that hard to believe, but most likely not, I think. Probably too many moments noticing that I paused just a little too long while trying to share something emotional.

There’s been a lot of crying lately. That there was cause, I wish were different. We can debate the whole “balance of grief and joy” thing some other time, this isn’t the time for that. This is the time for tears and that’s what it should be.

I firmly believe that “Jesus wept” at the tomb of his friend Lazarus isn’t an isolated incident. I also don’t think Jesus’ tears were just for Lazarus. They were also for those he saw around him in such grief and pain.

I think Jesus wept frequently. I think that every time we hear a story about Jesus healing someone who’s broken, there were tears when they shared their story with him. And Jesus shared in that. It makes me sad that sharing isn’t included in the story we read. I can’t imagine why the author didn’t think we needed to hear the story which led to the miracle of healing. As it is, we might be inclined to think it was simply the magical power of Jesus that did it, not the power of love, compassion and grace, a power that’s in all of us. It is.

I think that every time we hear about Jesus going off by himself to pray, I think there were tears then, too, for all that he’d seen and shared. There was surely joy, also, the balance of those two things is life. So I think there were tears of joy as well as grief. Not just happiness, but joy, the deep, trusting, empowering joy that is in each of us.

But in the moments the tears came, I don’t think Jesus tried to stop them until they were done. And we each will know that time differently. Tears flow more readily for some than others. We’re all different. But, understand: it’s not weakness. It’s strength. It’s a physical sign of our love.

Too many people have said this to attribute it to one person, but you might have heard “grief is the price we pay for love.” Is it, though? That feels like a way to quantify and exchange something for another. And it’s not that. Grief is love.

True love goes on. It changes its shape, perhaps its feeling. But love is. That’s why sharing our tears, sharing our presence, our thoughts, our prayers - sharing our love - is so deeply important.

Love, in its many forms, connects us, and love, like tears, is ready to flow when we need to share it. When our love turns to grief, it’s the love of others that holds us and gives us strength. We are each on our own journey, but we are built to travel together.

I believe that God is that very love that is in us and connects us. However you know God, please know that God doesn’t control or manipulate us. God is love, the energy of life and creation, the light that is in all things and holds all thing together. The light is with us always, even in the moments that seem darkest. We can see it in each other. We can see it in our loss: the light changes, but it never goes out. Never.

That’s why we share tears. And share stories and experiences and laughter, too. It’s how we remember and heal and grow and live. Tears come when they do. So does laughter. Let them come. Let the love flow.

The Kind of Story We Need Right Now

I think today’s a good day to hear the story of Jonah.

You might remember Jonah from Sunday school as the guy in the whale. He’s probably one of the most familiar bible characters, especially with children, because of that part of his story. His story makes for, well, great story, but I wonder if we sometimes lose the point of the story in the telling.

Thing is, it’s a story we need to hear, I mean really “hear,” right now. It’s worth reading and it’s only four short chapters. It’s a whale of a tale.

Briefly, it goes something like this. Jonah’s a Hebrew prophet. God tells him to go to Nineveh, the capital of Israel’s enemy, the Assyrians, and prophesy to them that God intends to punish them for their wickedness. But Jonah doesn’t want to, so he runs away and gets on a boat. He ends up in a giant fish for three days. Rescued by God, he goes to Nineveh where he tells them that God will destroy the city in forty days. Hoping to stop it, the people instantly repent. When God saw that they repented, God decides to not destroy them.

Jonah’s mad about that. He tells God that this is exactly why he didn’t want to do it: he knew that God would forgive the Assyrians. They’re enemies. He wanted to see them punished. He goes and sits on a hill to see if they keep to their repentance. And probably to sulk a little. In a closing exchange with God, God challenges his anger and lack of concern for the people of Nineveh.

That’s the end. But is it? We’re left hanging: what’s Jonah say to God next? What’s he do next? Do the Assyrians truly repent? Have they really changed their ways? Does Jonah learn from this experience? Do we? There’s lots to wonder about.

Here’s what I think’s worth reflecting on in our world today. First, Jonah is the constant beneficiary of understanding, compassion, care and forgiveness from everyone, including the sailors who didn’t want to do him any harm, to the Assyrians who listened rather than imprison an enemy, to God who kept calling and forgiving and caring. But Jonah has none for the people of Nineveh. They’re his enemy. Even when they repent, with a willingness and enthusiasm Jonah’s likely never seen, he’s still unwilling to see them as anything but an enemy that should be destroyed. There’s no understanding, compassion or mercy for them.

I think that’s precisely the point of God sending him: Jonah needs to learn to love his enemies. That doesn’t ignore the rightful consequences of their actions or the need for justice. But it recognizes that the long process of healing, reconciliation and restoration begins with repentance, and requires compassionate engagement and mercy.

Second, the story’s not just about Jonah. Sure, the Assyrians seem unrealistically quick to change their ways. Perhaps the author of the story is even exaggerating for effect.  It’s rarely that simple and the reality is that it can take a lot of work. And Jonah was their enemy. But maybe it’s worth considering that Jonah touched them somewhere deep down, that it was time for them to change their ways and they knew it. Perhaps they, collectively, began to realize that this isn’t who they really are and their behaviour needed to change. That, too, is a long journey that begins with repentance, and requires compassionate engagement and mercy.

A Come and See Community

I truly believe that the best way to know God is in community. And I interpret that broadly, far beyond just the idea of a religious community. I mean the common-unity that is us. All of us in creation. Go to church, sure. But you could also wonder at the stars. Commune with the trees. Feel the grass under your bare feet. Maybe not today, it’s winter. But you could make a snow angel. Or even just ponder the hope that is under the snow, in the hard ground, just waiting for spring. That’s all part of being community. It’s all part of knowing God, even if that’s not what you might name it.

For me, that’s a key thing about Jesus. I think “the Word made flesh,” as the Gospel of John describes him, is meant to show us how we, too, are both divine and earthly. Far from being set apart, Jesus means to embrace us, hold us close, teach us how we’re connected by love, how we’re part of the community of people and the community of creation. All of us, but especially the broken, the hurting, the needy, the left out and the excluded. The way Jesus lived was meant to show us how to bring together, connect, engage, embrace and heal. The way Jesus lived was meant to show us that we are capable of miracles, too.

Things don’t always turn out how, or when, you expect. But even things that might seem impossible or improbable aren’t for Jesus. Or us. But it all hinges on our openness to embracing community.

Jesus, the Bible says, had twelve followers that were closer to him than the rest. Even Jesus couldn’t reach everyone, he had to start out with a small community of “apprentice Jesuses.” We might be most familiar with the story of how Jesus saw some fishermen and called them to come fish for people with him. He said “follow me” and they dropped everything and did.

I think that story always needs a lot of unpacking, but I’m going to leave it for now because I’m more interested in a lesser known story told only in the Gospel of John. In that story, John had his own followers - I’d call them “apprentice Johns,” but that sounds awkward - and he points Jesus out to a couple of them and tells them that’s the guy he’s been talking about, the messiah. They go watch Jesus for a bit and finally Jesus asks what they want. They want to see what he’s doing. So Jesus tells them to “come and see.”

Come and see. And he didn’t mean just stand and watch. He meant come and be a part of things, experience things, learn things, share things. Be connected. Be part of the community.

This is why it’s so important to see Jesus as one us - so that we can see that we are one with Jesus. And each other. And creation. Our uniqueness, our own thread in the fabric, helps make the fabric stronger, healthier and whole, when we see ourselves in community.

It might, at first, seem a little tone-deaf to talk about engagement and community at a time when we can’t gather or embrace or engage each other in person as we’d like. But Jesus, I believe, invited those first apprentices to something different, something that wasn’t like what they knew. He invited them to create, to be open to discovering new ways to engage the world. Come and see.

Just Like Jesus

"You are my son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased." Mark 1:11.

This verse from the Gospel of Mark comes from the story of Jesus being baptized in the Jordan river by John, the Baptizer. It's, quite literally, the beginning: Mark’s story of Jesus begins with it. And it's very straight forward. John’s been calling people to repent and be baptized because someone greater is coming. Along comes Jesus, who gets in line with everyone else. “In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’”

You remember how that happened at your baptism, right? No? Well, maybe it was an infant baptism or so long ago you don’t remember. Or maybe you didn’t realize it was in the heart of every person who witnessed your baptism. Because it truly happened.

Listen. Here’s why I love this simple, unembellished story from Mark. I think it’s Mark’s “birth story” for Jesus. Or maybe “born again” story’s better. But it’s a story about us, too, one that sets the tone for how we might know Jesus.

Jesus appears, just like everyone else. Earlier, Mark described John the Baptist as appearing in the wilderness, “clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey.” But for Jesus, not a word of a description beyond being from Nazareth. As if he’s just like everyone else.

Presumably he gets in line, just like everyone else. And Mark doesn’t say that John recognizes him. He dunks him in the water and up he comes, just like everyone else. 

And then, Jesus alone sees the sign of the spirit and hears the voice.

I want to say a “just like everyone else” there, but I’m betting that you don’t think that’s just like anyone else. And that’s just the point. I think you should think about that.

Sure, maybe there’s no description of Jesus because he’s beyond description. Maybe the dove and the voice are unique and set Jesus apart, as befits The Son of God. And then we will hear the stories and know that Jesus is not like us, so we can’t possibly be like Jesus and we can hold Jesus at a respectful distance.

Or maybe “the Word was made flesh and lived among us” so that we would see that we, too are human and divine. Maybe Jesus came to be baptized just like everyone else because Jesus was part of the community, just like everyone else. Maybe Jesus experienced the Spirit, the power of God, and knew that he was a child of God, that God loves him and that God is filled with joy at his being because that’s what we, too, should know. Maybe that’s why we share in baptism as a community, so that we’ll see that love and joy being reflected from the faces of everyone else, all children of God.

Imagine how empowering that could be. Knowing all that, embracing all that, we could embrace Jesus, not hold him apart, we could learn from Jesus knowing that we, too, are capable of extravagant love, unlimited forgiveness, compassionate understanding and life-giving grace. Just like Jesus.