Where We Meet

Lately, I’ve found myself coming back to the same few words in the Gospel of John, over and over again. They’re important words to hear right now. We’re not just struggling with a pandemic, we’re struggling with so many other things and, most importantly, we’re struggling with each other. We’re frustrated and lonely and fearful and angry - too many emotions to count - whatever side you’re on. And those sides are getting further and further apart. Opinions seem more valuable than facts, facts seem to be what we make them, and we’re not so much talking as shouting. It’s like we’re building a “no man’s land” between our sides.

You know, that expression, though most familiar from World War I, actually dates from the 11th century. The point isn’t just that nothing can survive there, but to purposefully keep things - people, especially - apart. Intentionally. On purpose. We might as well just rename it “the middle.”

But I don’t think it’s empty. It’s where Jesus is. Mostly, when Jesus isn’t running back and forth between the sides, trying to draw people into the middle. And there’s never just two sides. Jesus is busy.

That’s why Jesus needs help. So, those few words from John. The night Jesus is arrested, the story in John has Jesus and the disciples sharing a meal and then Jesus makes a lengthy post-dinner speech. It’s clearly a farewell and he prefaces it by saying “look, I’m not going to be here much longer in person, so I have a new commandment for you: love one another as I have loved you.” And then he goes on to offer them words of comfort and even more words that explains more of what he means by “as I have loved you” and why it’s so important.

Thing is, “love one another” sounds pretty straight forward. It’s warm and fuzzy and comforting and I’m sure we’d all have our own way of understanding it. But Jesus didn’t say that. Jesus said “love one another as I have loved you.” I showed you how with my life. I showed you how in your relationships with me. I showed you that love is the way and that way is true and life-giving. Most importantly, I showed you with my life that your life is just as capable of it as me. You, too, come from God and the earth. You, too, are love - it’s your factory setting. You, too, can see that love in yourself, know that love and live that love into the world because the world is made of love. It’s the thing that connects all things. It’s the way. It’s not easy, it can be tricky and dangerous and scary. But it’s the way to wholeness. It’s the way to joy, not just happiness but true joy. It’s the way to completeness.

That’s the thing about “the way.” It’s not just Jesus, it’s love. By however or whoever you name it, it’s love. It’s not something to divide us, but to bring us together. It acknowledges our uniqueness, it allows our opinions, our thoughts, our beliefs, but invites us to a place of connection with grace, respect, openness and understanding. It invites us to see the value and true meaning of “together.” It invites us to the middle.

Growing in the Way

I'm not much of a gardner. I love a nice garden, I do, so I leave all the important planting and growing stuff to Lori. I’m just the mow, prune and shovel department. Even then, when I do what I call “pruning” the bushes and trees in our yard, Lori usually reacts with horror and disappointment that I "killed" them. Not so far, though, and they all come back bushier and heartier than before.

Our gifts might be dramatically different, but it seems we both have a hand in helping the garden grow. We all do, metaphorically. Whatever our gifts, the world needs you, just as you are, to share yours. We are both gardeners and garden. Diversity in gardeners is equally as important as diversity in flowers, plants and trees, in landscaping and protecting nature - the metaphor’s endless.

We didn’t always think so, and many still don’t. It can be scary to engage a world of difference and for some, the garden is more a jungle with dangers lurking everywhere. It seems safer to think that the one vine is my vine.

It seems likely to me that was on the mind of the author - or authors - of the Gospel of John when they recorded Jesus telling the disciples “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower … I am the vine, you are the branches” (John 15:1, 5). John’s gospel appeared at a time the fledgling community of the followers of Jesus was struggling. There was lots to fear and lots to doubt and here, in his farewell speech to the disciples before he’s arrested, here’s Jesus offering not only comfort and consolation but encouragement and certainty. I am the true vine, believe in me, be part of the vine and bear fruit because those who don’t will whither away and be cast into the fire. Some still preach the same exclusiveness: there’s only one way and we are following it.

After all, this is the farewell speech that begins with Jesus telling the disciples that they know the way to follow. “I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6). That seems pretty clear, and one could certainly understand why they might want to say that to their community. But what if, instead of meaning to reinforce the personality of Jesus, they meant to offer an invitation to all with the openness of a way that all could follow? What if, when Jesus says “I am the way, the truth and the life,” it meant exactly that: there is a way and that way is true and life giving. That way is love. I’ve showed you how to live it, now you show others and they’ll show others. It’s the way that’s important, not the name. That’s what brings you closer to God.

If we could understand those opening words like that, then the words that follow would reinforce that way that is true and life giving: love one another as I showed you to love. That’s as inclusive as can be.

Most translations of this passage say that the way to do that is to “abide” in the way. We may use that word differently now, but here it means to so immerse ourselves in love that it permeates all our living. That is the way. In The Message, Eugene Peterson says Jesus invites us to “live in me. Make your home in me just as I do in you” (John 15:4). That’s the depth of the way. We may call it Jesus, but I think Jesus would just call it love.

It's Practically Biblical

Can we please stop calling people sheep as if that’s some derogatory way of dismissing them? It’s offensive - and I’m sure it’s meant to be - but it’s also just plain wrong. I’m pretty sure sheep are offended by it, too.

Okay, I’m not a sheep expert. I think I’ve only ever really met sheep on a plate, in a sweater or stuffed, but I know they’re cute, they’re cuddly, their wool is really awesome and they’re delicious (consumption of sheep increased 28% in 2020, according to the Food Institute, by the way). Sure, they can be ornery and stubborn, they’re not great at defending themselves and we’ve decided they’re not the smartest animal, but, already, the good outweighs the bad.

And they’re not as unintelligent as we think. Like any living creature, some are smarter than others, but, generally, it doesn’t seem there’s any real evidence that they’re not as intelligent as any other animal. In fact, there’s people who really know their sheep who think there’s more depth to sheep than we think. We just decided differently based on a particular behaviour: they flock. Apparently, their need to be together and their willingness to be led or driven as a group is a bad thing.

Sure, a bad leader’s a bad thing. So’s being uninformed or not being discerning about information. And everyone should think twice about following the group, just because it’s a group. That goes for all creatures, especially the ones who are supposed to be advanced and aware enough to think about it.

There are positive things to being like sheep. No, really there are. Sheep flock for safety. Yes, they’re relatively weak and have a limited ability to defend themselves, but when they stick together, there’s security. There’s also warmth and companionship. And when there’s a shepherd - human or not - there’s someone watching out for the group so they can focus on the business of eating, rather than having to have one eye up all the time, watching for danger. The shepherd isn’t just their added protection, either, but a guide, a support, providing direction and care. It’s practically biblical.

Consider for a minute that the frequent image of the shepherd and the sheep in the bible wasn’t just because it was written in a more agrarian era. Nor is there any indication that sheep are thought to be less than intelligent. It’s about a relationship, one in which there is trust, care, companionship and love. And thought and discernment, too. When talking about being “the Good Shepherd,” Jesus reminds us to listen for the voice that is true, for the one that is truly the shepherd who loves and cares for the sheep, the leader who is devoted to their welfare, the one willing to give even their life for them. Perhaps we need to be more discerning about who our true leaders, our shepherds, really are.

The famous 23rd Psalm speaks of the constancy of God’s love and presence at all times, in green pastures and shadowy valleys, when our cup is full and when we face our enemy. How are we to see that and know that without the wisdom to look and listen and live it? By whatever name or in whatever way you know God, there’s an energy - a spirit - which connects and enlivens all of us. That’s what’s at the heart of the image of a flock: we’re a community, connected, caring and thoughtful.

Keeping it Real

I told a story recently that I’ve told frequently at Easter time, about a young person who once asked me if Jesus was a zombie. True story. And practically biblical. The disciples may not have been familiar with zombies, but they sure knew a ghost when they saw one and, according to Luke, Jesus had to convince them he wasn’t one (Luke 24:37).

As I confessed when I recounted the zombie story, I don’t have an answer to the question “how, then, is Jesus alive?” I mean, if you’re looking for a physiological one, I don’t have one. It’s a miracle. I’ll come back to that, but where I was going at the time was, of course, how Jesus is alive in each of us today. For all the moments of grief and brokenness, all the crucifixions large and small, all the moments of loneliness and heartache, there is always an Easter. The story is about the promise of new life, the hope of a new dawn.

Yes, that’s lovely and warm. And true. I still think it’s the main take away, the big picture of the story. But why, then, doesn’t Jesus just appear as a spiritual manifestation - a ghost, if you like - or a bright light and a voice, like Paul experiences Jesus? Why do each of the post-Easter stories of Jesus emphasize the disciples seeing and touching Jesus? In that passage from Luke where Jesus has to convince them he’s not a ghost, he tells them to touch the wounds and even asks for food. Everyone knows ghosts don’t eat. Only a human being would. Why is it so important that they see his face, touch his body, hold him close and share a meal with him? Why did they have to see him whole again?

Well, that’s the first thing. He wasn’t whole. He was wounded. He carries the marks of what he experienced. We all do. And he’s changed by it, as we all are.

And that’s another thing. The physicality of the resurrection reconnects us to the physicality of Jesus birth - the story of the incarnation, “the Word made flesh,” Emmanuel which means God-with-us. Jesus is one of us. And that’s crucial to understanding how Jesus is alive in us today because Jesus shows us how to be fully alive. When we hear Jesus say “love one another as I have loved you,” it’s not an impossible task or a bar set too high, it’s the fulfilment of what’s already in us. We also are created both in God’s image and of the earth, divine and human. We are meant to embrace Jesus and hold him close for that very reason, wounds and all, not put him on a pedestal to be worshipped at a distance as something unattainable.

Everyone who meets Jesus after the resurrection seems to need this physical contact. It’s not just Thomas who doubts, all do. And they wonder and are amazed and still cannot explain it. But wonder and doubt are part of the journey of faith. Which is why it is so important for us to hear this story, so far removed from it. To see Jesus, to know Jesus, to experience Jesus, to share Jesus, we need to look to ourselves and each other. That’s where the love is, waiting to be brought back into life, waiting to be shared, waiting to bring new life to all of us. That’s the miracle part. I don’t know exactly how it works, but it does. Love is not ended by death. It simply brings new life.

We'll take it from here together

One of my favourite theologians these days is David Hayward. After a lengthy career in ministry, he’s better known to many as The Naked Pastor, artist and creator of many insightful cartoons that challenge the status quo and encourage questions and dialogue. If you’re interested in knowing more - including why he calls himself that - check out the Six Ways From Sunday podcast. Ben Wilson interviewed him a few weeks ago. He’s Canadian, by the way.

He has a great Easter cartoon - which could easily be about the history of christianity in general - in which there’s a small group of women on the left and a large group of men on the right. The caption reads “So ladies, thanks for being the first to witness and report the resurrection and we’ll take it from here.”

In the days and weeks following the day of resurrection, let’s remember - and wonder at - a couple of really important things.

First, let’s stop talking about how Jesus went to the cross alone and abandoned. I think it’s true to say that the chosen twelve disciples left him. We can see that Judas would run off. Peter hangs around long enough to deny Jesus before he runs away. The gospel of John says “the disciple whom Jesus loved” was at the crucifixion, but we’re not really sure who that is and, well, it’s John, and that’s the later gospel that’s less of a narrative. But, for the most part, as far as we can tell, the twelve did desert him.

But the women stayed. They were at the cross. They saw Jesus placed in the tomb. They waited through the sabbath and were the first ones at the tomb Sunday morning. Mary is the first to see Jesus. And yes, they go and tell the men and the men don’t believe their “idle tale” (thanks for that, Luke’s gospel). Until they see Jesus themselves.

For these women, their understanding of Jesus’ resurrection is anchored in their experience of his suffering and death, the emptiness of waiting through the sabbath and the emptiness of the tomb. For them death has become truly a part of life.

So has the reality of doubt because, second, let’s stop talking about “doubting” Thomas as if he’s the only one who did. I’m not suggesting that Mary’s first response to the empty tomb was “I knew it!” It wasn’t. It was confusion and anxiety. But that was everyone’s response. The women wondered what had happened to Jesus body until they meet him or Mary meets him as the gardener and doesn’t recognize him at first (depends on the gospel). When Jesus appears to the disciples in a locked room, they need to touch him, just as Thomas will. The men on the road to Emmaus, the disciples by the sea, whatever story, no one recognizes Jesus because they aren’t expecting to see him “alive, just as he said.”

The point is, doubt’s okay. So is grief and fear. They’re part of the story. Also part of the story? Companionship. We aren’t alone. In our grief and brokenness, in our anxiety and fear, in our doubt, in our confusion, even in our joy, we aren’t alone. And Jesus, the one we would see as abandoned and alone in death and apart from us in resurrection, represents the very thing that binds us together: love. 

Undead or Alive

How is Jesus alive?

I’ve told this story more than a few times, I’m sure, but I think it bears repeating. Much likes Easter. A few years ago, a young person I know asked me if Jesus was a zombie. The presumption that zombies might be real aside, I asked what made him think that. He said that the story of Jesus’ resurrection reads pretty much like he was a zombie: body was gone from the tomb, he's seen walking around and he still has the wounds of his death. I assured him that Jesus wasn’t a zombie.

Mercifully, I thought, the conversation ended there. But I’ve come back to it many times since. Every Easter, in fact. How is Jesus alive? Let’s recap the story.

Only days after being welcomed to Jerusalem by adoring crowds, Jesus is suddenly, shockingly, unbelievably, dead, killed in a cruel and humiliating manner. His closest followers are in hiding, fearful for their own lives, grieving the end of their life with Jesus. But it's not the end. After the sabbath, the women go to the tomb and it’s empty. He's alive, just as he promised. Mary sees him, not recognizing him at first. The women tell the disciples about the empty tomb, but they only seem to believe when he appears to them. He appears to many and after this Jesus is gone, his followers tell the story and share his teaching - his life - with everyone they can.

The women watched him die and saw him placed in the tomb. For as much as his chosen disciples abandoned him at his arrest, the women seemed to have stayed with him. They see him die. Their experience of the resurrection is anchored in their experience of his death. They’re not the only ones to see him die, of course. The Roman authorities, the Jewish authorities, the crowd that called for his death, they all saw him die. Even his closest followers thought he was dead. 

So, how is Jesus alive, then? 

I don’t know. I’m okay with admitting that. There are many theories and explanations, I’m sure, but the circumstances of the physical appearance of Jesus simply aren’t central to the meaning of the Easter story for me. Jesus is alive because death isn’t the end of the story.

The power of the resurrection story is that there was death and it wasn't the end. That bears repeating, just as it is, because by knowing what "was" in the story, we know what "is" in our lives.

In our own lives, we experience hurt, grief and pain. We experience the sudden shock of loss, crushing and dispiriting. We experience moments of "crucifixion." No matter how others might regard or value them, we know those moments for the feeling we experience.

But that's not the end.

Jesus says "I am the resurrection and the life" - am, not just “was” or “will be” - and offers life in, and after, each of those life challenging and life changing moments. In our own moments of "crucifixion," we find life rising out of death. Or loss or sorrow or grief or fear. Jesus shows us the way to new life, not just in his death and resurrection, but in his life. Life comes from living as Jesus taught us to live. That bears repeating, too.

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.