These Days

Last year, as we approached Holy Week and Easter, we were wondering how we could make this work with no in-person church services. Or community gatherings. Or family gatherings. There’d be no classic hymns of the season, no waving palm branches or parading around on Palm Sunday, no crowded communion celebrations, no Easter breakfast or big Easter egg hunts. We had to be creative and find new ways to connect, new ways to tell the story through a screen, or things we could send out or drop off at peoples’ homes, new ways to do big things in a small way.

But we were only going to have to do that once, right? Well, no, as it turns out. Here we are again. So maybe one of the things to consider is that our creativity isn’t just coping until it’s over, it’s finding new opportunities, new ways to learn and connect that might last, that compliment - not replace - the personal connection we’ll return to one day.

Certainly, one thing is to see how disrupting our habits and practices can draw our attention to things that our old “normal” may not have. Easter, for example, isn’t just a day. (It’s technically a season, by the way, that begins with Easter Day.) It needs the story around it. It needs Palm Sunday and Holy Week. We call it Holy Week because it’s story of a week and a day, Sunday to Sunday. Eight days, altogether, because, of course, Easter Day is “the first day of the week.” It’s the only time we can assemble a day-to-day account of Jesus’ life. And death. And life again.

We know, Robin, you remind us about this every year. Yes, I know, but this past year maybe has taught us that it’s more than just a question of a chronological account, it’s about the personal geography of those days.

Look, a very long time ago, we might have gone to church every day this week. But we became a tradition of Sunday. Many churches are trying to break that habit these days, but here’s a moment when it’s obvious: if we celebrate Palm Sunday and Easter Day only, then we miss the point of the week. It’s not about chronology, it’s about geography. The personal, spiritual, emotional geography of a week in which Jesus is celebrated and welcomed as the messiah, angrily tears down the sellers and buyers in front of the temple, is repeatedly challenged by the Temple authorities, is betrayed, arrested, abandoned, abused and killed, buried and appears, alive, to his closest companions. That’s a full week.

We need to travel that geography and see how it speaks to our own lives. Lives that have their own ups and downs, joy and grief, confusion and hope. We might also see how the week is full of moments that contrast the behaviour of crowds with more personal, intimate moments. Embrace the story, not for its ancient images, but for how it speaks to us today about those daily moments we all encounter.

We might also see that our relationship with God has Palm Sunday moments and Good Friday moments. Our relationship with God might struggle through celebration, anger, learning, loneliness, death, even emptiness. But there will always be an Easter.

The days are surely coming

The pandemic has shut down lots of things over the past year, churches are just a part of that. And it’s not only about services, of course, it’s events, dinners, small groups. Yes, being “the church” isn’t about a place or a building and we are discovering new ways of being connected. Still, for a church like ours that believes we may not have all the answers to life’s questions but we’re part of the journey to finding some, the loss of conversation and discussion is a very big loss indeed.

Recently, someone told me how much they were missing in-person bible study and I said that, soon as we’re able to get together again, we should have a bible study on the book of Job. I mean, who suffered more than Job, right?  Hmm. I’ve thought about that a bit and I’m mistaken. We need to look at Jeremiah.

Jeremiah was a prophet through some pretty difficult times for the Hebrew people, including the defeat and conquest of their nation, the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem and the exile of people to Babylon. It was a time that people had moved away from God, even to the point that Jeremiah says that they’ve broken their covenant with God. Jeremiah is full of gloom, sadness and despair, enough to earn him the nickname “the weeping prophet” for the grief he and his people shared.

Great, Robin, bring us down some more. That’ll be what we need to hear. 

That’s not why. It’s because Jeremiah turns to hope. In fact, Jeremiah says that God offers a new covenant, one that will be written on the heart of each person. “The days are surely coming,” says God, when I’ll make a new covenant that will be different from the ones we’ve had before, the ones that have been broken or forgotten, that were written in stone. Instead of being a covenant that builds on behaviour, it’ll begin where we all begin: in the heart. And through it, the people will truly know God.

Know. God.

By whatever name you call God, knowing is more than knowledge or understanding, it’s an awareness of what God is and finding that “is” in ourselves, in our own heart, mind and soul, with every fibre of our being. That means we begin with love and we live in love and we live out love in all things.

Christians interpret Jeremiah’s prophecy as being fulfilled in Jesus, the one who shows us how to live the love that is in each us. That’s why it’s so important to understand Jesus as one of us, not set apart, so that we can see that we are one with Jesus and each other and creation. We are unique and individual, but our hearts, like Jesus, hold all the divinity and humanity that is love and grace. It’s written there for us to share.

“The days are surely coming,” says God. They are. Hope says that’s a certainty. Jesus framed it as “heaven is near.” Perhaps the days are still to come, though we see glimpses, every day, of what it means to live love.  But perhaps we’re still learning. Jesus, and others, have pointed out that we are created of God and of the earth. That same divinity which is Jesus is in you already. Has been since the beginning. What we need to work on is our awareness of it. That, and our willingness to live it, is our part of the new covenant. How are you doing your part?

Snakes on a Plain

There’s a pretty bizarre story about snakes in the Bible. Not the one in the garden, these snakes are out in the desert. It’s part of the story of the Hebrews being led out of Egypt by Moses and cared for by God in the wilderness.

Goes something like this. Having been freed from Egypt and now out in the desert, the Hebrews had complained repeatedly about things, including food and water, and God had provided for them. Now, they’re impatient and unhappy and complain about the food they have. So God sends them poisonous snakes. Not to eat. The snakes bite and kill many and the people go to Moses, saying that they’ve sinned and ask him to ask God to save them. He goes to God, and God tells Moses to put a bronze snake on a pole and hold it up. When they’re bitten, the people who look at the snake will be healed. And they are.

On the surface, it might seem like this is a pretty straight forward “punishment for complaining followed by a demonstration of God’s power” kind of story. After all, they’ve complained a lot since leaving Egypt perhaps God’s tired of their lack of gratitude.

Or … perhaps God understands that the complaining isn’t dissatisfaction, it’s fear. It didn’t take long for the Hebrews to move from celebrating their freedom to being afraid of the new unknown in which they found themselves. They question Moses - and God - from the very beginning. They seem to let fear overwhelm their faith in God’s presence, despite the constant evidence to the contrary.

So here’s a symbol, a sign of God’s presence. See it and believe and together, we’ll overcome this. The snakes don’t go away, they don’t stop biting, but their fear of the snakes is met with a sign of God’s presence and their healing can begin. The object of their fear, itself, becomes a sign so that all could see it and choose healing over fear.

There will be hard work and many challenges and it may be a long journey, but healing can begin with this covenant with God: I am with you, here’s a sign to show you, have faith that you are loved and not alone. Take the next step and build the next moment.

Later, the writer of John’s gospel will tell how Jesus referenced this story as a way of understanding the cross. Just like Moses raised up the snake on a pole in the wilderness, he’ll say, I will be on the cross, so that those who believe will have life. And that’s just the thing about holding up a sign: it’s a sign of something greater. It’s not to be held up and worshipped as itself, but as a way of connecting to that greater thing. That, however we know God, we are loved by God and we are not alone because God - and all God is - is with us.

There are a lot of poisonous snakes. We may find much to fear, many ways in which we feel broken, hurting, grieving, many feelings which might hold us back. They’re not going to go away, but we can face them, acknowledge them, and find a way forward. We are loved, we are love, we can share that love.

Saying it again for the first time

It’s no secret that I like to re-engage Bible stories in ways that might make them speak more meaningfully to our lives today. I think we need to constantly be doing that, sometimes over and over and even over again. How else will we find what’s true in the story, the heart that still beats there, the life that still speaks - there’s any of a thousand metaphors we could use, and there will always be more, because we grow. Our context changes. This is a new time. Every day is a new day.

Among the stories I revisit regularly is what I’m going to call Ten Great Ideas for Living Together. I know that sounds like one of those things that shows up in your Facebook feed or on YouTube - that’s kinda the point - maybe from BuzzFeed or WatchMojo, they get your attention. These days, odds are that you’re more likely to keep reading if it says “Ten Great Ideas for Living Together” rather than “The Ten Commandments.”

Calling them “commandments” isn’t even original - we started using that term in the 16th century - and it reflected, I think, a particular perspective that we should let go. They’re not commands or laws, definitely not as we would understand those terms today. They’re a way to build and facilitate relationships. That’s the point of them being a covenant. Together with God and each other, we covenant to create community with these ways of living. We begin with the love that we are and we share that love with these sayings as a starting framework.

Remember, too, the context of the people who first heard them. Because the Ten Great Ideas for Living Together is part of their story, the story of the Hebrew people in Exodus, newly freed from Egypt, feeling alone, confused and wandering in the desert. They knew law and order, what they didn’t know was relationship.

These ten sayings are an attempt to say something much more fundamental about how we live, with God, with ourselves and with each other, something that needs to be taught new to every generation in a way that generation understands. They’re about how we should live because we should live. We should live with freedom, not fear. With love, not hate. With peace, not conflict. With joy, not hurt.

One way we could get started is to frame them as affirmations of that love that is in us. There’s a lot of “thou shalt not” in what’s been handed down to us. Perhaps “thou shall” is a better way to go. How about this.

There is one great life-giving energy that is God. We know God in different ways, by different names, but we’re all one with God.

Only devote yourself to God. Stuff is just stuff, people are just people, God is love.

God respects you. Respect God.

Have a day of rest to reconnect with God.

Love and honour your parents. They gave you life.

Honour all life and keep it safe.

Build relationships and honour them.

respect what belongs to others.

Be honest and true.

Be happy with what you have, share with others, and love.

Faith, Trust and Imagination

One of the ways that I’m observing Lent is with an “Ash Wednesday to Easter in a Photo a Day” calendar. The idea is to visualize a word-a-day: one takes time to reflect on a word for the day and then take a photo that captures your thoughts about it. A pretty cool idea, I think, and one that provides a helpful daily practice for Lent as each of the words provides an opportunity for wondering about how we know ourselves, God, each other and the world around us. Each day has a different focus, but all connect back to who and how we are. And you have to visualize it.

It might seem odd to say it, but I was a little surprised to find “faith” on the calendar. Although, it’s the word for the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter, so I can definitely make a connection there. I was surprised because it stood alone without its companions in what, for me, is a trinity of living love into the world. Faith can be hard to see without the verbs that make it action. I might have trouble with a photo that day.

For me, faith is belief. Not the blind acceptance of whatever you may be told, but the thoughtful, discerning belief that asks questions and pursues the knowing of what is true and divine. I have faith in God, but also in people and in creation because people are created in the image of God and from the earth, and creation is made from the divine spark of love that, well, creates life. That spark is of God. We are all of God.

But faith needs to be put into action and we need a couple of things to get that started.

We need trust. Trusting that God is with us, in us and around us, means we can step forward without fear. Believe me, I know how hard that is. So does Jesus. Remember the words most frequently said by Jesus: don’t be afraid.  Not that you shouldn’t be scared, but, acknowledging that, know that God is with you, whatever happens. Wherever you go, however you go, God is with you. Physically, spiritually, emotionally - you don’t go alone.

And think for a minute about how you know God. I say “God,” but God is love. God is the energy of life that creates and inspires. God is the oneness that we all come from and return to. God is the good that is in us from the beginning. You can trust in that.

Faith needs trust, but trust needs something, too: imagination. You are loved by God and God goes with you, wherever you go, believe that and trust in that. Now imagine what you might do with that. Imagine what you can do with the love that is in you. In Jesus’ life, he shows us how he lives that out in ways that we can too. But Jesus doesn’t expect you to be perfectly Jesus. God doesn’t either. Because you can only be perfectly who you are. And that’s the point. Jesus is the example that calls us to imagine what we can do with that love, that creativity, that skill for living that’s in each us. Doing good Jesusing isn’t about being the same as Jesus, it’s about imagining how we can live all the love, grace and compassion that is truly our divine and earthly nature into the world.

There are so many Jesuses, in the bible and in history, that lived lives of faith, trust and imagination. We all share these three gifts, but imagination is what brings our own uniqueness into the practice, the action of faith and trust.

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.