There's More to the Story

The season of Advent begins this week. That’s the four weeks before Christmas that many churches observe as a time of anticipation and preparation for the celebration of the birth of Jesus. It’s often seen as a time of reflection, a time of stillness and peace, a time of shadows and darkness into which breaks the Light of the World on Christmas.

Or. It’s a hectic time of shopping, concerts, parties, baking, wrapping, decorating and Hallmark movies and the shadows and darkness have been lit up like a Christmas tree - literally - since November 12.

Well, it’s not “or” at all, is it? It’s “and.” The reality for most people is that Advent will be a time for all those things. And more.

Some will also struggle with grief and mental health in a season that seems to demand as much as it offers. It can be a time, not of peace, but loneliness, not a time of busy-ness, but of pressure and anxiety.

A very long time ago, the prophet Isaiah said that “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness — on them light has shined” (Is. 9:2). For Christians, Isaiah is an important part of the Christmas story. He foretells the coming of Jesus, the light that lightens our darkness. He has more to say about Jesus and also about another character in the Christmas story: John the Baptist, the voice calling “in the wilderness, prepare the way of the Lord” (Is. 40:3).

As an adult, John will call people to repentance and to be ready for the messiah, but he’s part of the Christmas story, too. The gospel of Luke tells that John’s mother Elizabeth is a cousin of Mary, the mother of Jesus. Luke writes that, before going to Mary, the angel Gabriel visited Zechariah, John’s father, to tell him that they would have a son who would be very important - he would call people back to God and to be ready for Jesus. Since Zechariah and Elizabeth were elderly and unable to have children, he was more than a little surprised. Amazed even. Sound familiar?

There’s more to that story, but that’s just my point: there’s more to the story. We might want to jump to that wondrous tableau so beautifully represented in the creche: the baby in the manger, all the other characters there, the star lighting things just right. But there’s more to the journey there. And it’s not all darkness.

Each week, we light a candle to light the way: lights for hope, peace, joy and love. Lights that remind us that the light of Jesus is already here, alive in us, and we can live it each day, not just in anticipation of the one day each year we might celebrate the coming of the light.

They’re lights that remind us that there’s more to the story. There’s the hope of Elizabeth and Zechariah, patiently waiting (Luke 1:5-25). The peace offered by angels to the shepherds, the first to hear the news of Jesus birth (Luke 2:8-20). The joy of Mary, singing a song of celebration and praise to God when she visits with Elizabeth (Luke 1:39-55). The love of God come to earth in Jesus (Luke 2:7).

They’re lights that remind us there’s more to our story, too. They’re lights that guide our journey, through anxieties and peace, through hectic preparations and moments of rest, through joy and grief. Lights to remind us to to make the time to engage our whole story.

What were you expecting?

Many churches follow a calendar that begins with the First Sunday in Advent. That’s the four weeks before Christmas, so, give or take a few days, about a month before the calendar year begins. The last Sunday of the old year - New Year's Eve for church, if you like - has been known in many denominations as Reign of Christ Sunday or Christ the King since 1925.

It was the Pope’s idea. Pius XI thought it was a good way to encourage people in a secular world to remember that God rules over all creation, including our daily lives. I’m not the Pope, and I wasn’t there, so I don’t really know what was his understanding of “rule” and “king” and the biblical language of kingship, but I imagine many people struggle with the image and don’t find it as familiar and comforting as some other depictions of Jesus. Especially in the 21st century, our understanding of kingship is murky at best, clouded with limited experience, historical figures and fairytale kingdoms.

But having a pretty clear idea of what kind of king they wanted didn't help the first century Hebrews understand Jesus either. Because he didn't give them the kind of king they were expecting. They wanted a warrior, he gave them peace. They wanted someone who would hate the enemy, he told them to love everyone. They wanted someone to restore their glory and riches, he told them to give it all up. They wanted someone who was powerful, as they understood power, and he gave them vulnerability. They wanted someone to serve, he was their servant. They wanted someone who would take back what was theirs, he gave them someone who sacrificed for all.

At the very least, Jesus redefines kingship in a radically different way.

From his birth, which was hardly regal, to his death, he lived a life that challenged people’s understanding of power. In Luke's account of the crucifixion, the sign "This is the King of the Jews" reminds us we once failed to understand what kind of king Jesus is, and perhaps we still do. When we talk about being a great leader, the first things on the list are rarely love, compassion, kindness and service.

But maybe, like one of the criminals crucified with Jesus, we might come to understand Jesus' kingship better if we understood the relationship to the kingdom. "He said to him, 'Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.' He replied, 'truly, I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.'"(Luke 23:42-43)

If we want to find paradise, it won't come through war and anger. It won't come through controlling others, crushing our enemies, exercising great power, acquiring enormous wealth or forcing others to serve us. It will come with love and grace.

The first century Hebrews expected a messiah who would return them to their glory days and make them great again. Are we still expecting that kind of king?

Just What Do You Mean By That?

"Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil." That's the way we most often recite it, likely because we memorized the Lord’s Prayer in Sunday School. It’s still the most common version, but as we see more contemporary translations of the original text in the Gospel of Matthew, and new ways of expressing the prayer itself, there are more opportunities to ponder what Jesus might have meant here. And what we mean, when we pray it.

Pope Francis weighed in back in 2019, approving a change to the Lord’s Prayer that would reword "lead us not into temptation" to "do not let us fall into temptation." The Pope found that there was the inference that God would, perhaps, intentionally lead us into temptation. The Pope feels God wouldn’t do that.

Roman Catholics worldwide are still working their way through it. There’s resistance, as you can imagine, both from those who feel anchored in the traditional words and scholars who debate the accuracy of literal translation versus understanding. Some also suggest that there are instances in Hebrew scripture when God does use temptation. And then there’s the story of Jesus being tempted by the devil in the wilderness. I’ll come back to that.

While we’re talking about accuracy of translation, it’s not just the leading part, either, it’s the “temptation” and the “evil.”

The ancient Greek word used, “peirasmos,” has a variety of meanings and could be temptation or trial or testing. It's the same word used by Matthew when Jesus goes into the wilderness and when Jesus prays in Gethsemane. The word for evil could be translated just as evil or as the evil one, a generic evil or a specific entity. So how specific do we think Jesus is being?  Is it about a specific temptation or test and a certain evil or a more general context of the world around us?

I’m not a qualified biblical scholar or linguist and I’m not the Pope, but I think this is one of those moments when the answer is simply "yes." It is both and all. This is a moment for our discernment with our own lenses, both personal and communal. Our lives include an almost constant presence of temptation. It's part of our decision making process that requires choice and choosing for what is right, true and good, just as those moments we feel are a test or a trial. We have free will. Even when confronted with what we understand as evil, we still need to make a choice.

Sometimes we think it's easier to make a choice if we can name evil. So we call it the devil, for example, or an evil spirit, thinking that somehow, when we name it, it is easier to address. But is it easier? When we put a label on something, we often don't look any deeper - we think we already know what it is. Just as we need to discern our relationship with God or Jesus or the Holy Spirit, we need to discern what is true when we make choices, from the routine to the complex. Sometimes our life experience makes that a challenge.  Sometimes, evil - as the antithesis of good - makes that a challenge.

Again, our participation is required. I think that it's not about God leading us or not leading us to the temptation or rescuing us from evil, it's about God accompanying us through. I don't believe that God tempts or tests. I don't believe that God is about that kind of power. And power is something that's important to us.

I mentioned earlier that "peirasmos" is the same word used in Matthew's telling of Jesus being tested by the devil (or the personification of evil) in the wilderness. But what's that story of testing really about? Isn’t it really about Jesus finding what’s true in himself? Isn't it about power and who has it? "The devil" tempts Jesus to exercise power over things, only to find that Jesus "full of the Holy Spirit" (Luke 4:1) chooses another power, one that is true and life-giving, one that is true to the good that is in himself.

The power of God is love. And that's not a power over or a power to control, it's a power with, a power to be shared. We should pray for that.

"Forgiveness liberates the soul"

"Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us," we pray in the Lord’s Prayer. Or debts or sins in some versions. We usually translate Matthew’s original text as “debts,” but they follow up the prayer with a bit about forgiving others their “trespasses.” Those all can mean different things and, at times, we’ve made a point of trying to clarify exactly what’s being forgiven but, frankly, it ought to include all of them. Forgiveness ought to be whole. Let's stick with the action part for now, though, the forgiving.

I think this should remind us that the action of forgiveness flows to, and from, us, that we can forgive because we are already forgiven. If we're asking God to forgive like we do, we're definitely in trouble because we’re not very good at it. So I think Jesus wants us to know that the power of forgiveness is in us, literally to give, because God's grace is for all and is freely given. We pray that we might know that strength and use it just as freely. That’s why it’s a petition and not just a statement.

We should know, then, that forgiveness isn't conditional on repentance, changed behaviour, changed circumstance or retribution. Forgiveness is, most importantly, freely given. It is not about the response, but the giving. The freedom it offers, the wholeness it extends, comes first to the forgiver and from there opens the opportunity for reconciliation and relationship. Nelson Mandela always talked about how, when he was finally released from prison, he needed to leave the bitterness and hatred behind or he’d still be in prison. “Forgiveness liberates the soul, it removes fear,” he said.

That's why we should never "forgive and forget" or, sorry Elsa, “let it go." Forgive and remember. Remember that forgiveness was given and that the experience - all of it - has become part of our life and can inform our living.

Forgiveness is hard, yes it is. It is one thing to talk about, but a different thing entirely when you are faced with doing it.  "Everyone says forgiveness is a lovely idea, until they have something to forgive," C. S. Lewis wrote.  And yet, Jesus calls us to live into our being "created in the image of God."  Within us is the power to forgive, unconditionally, and free ourselves from the bonds of unforgiving, of blame, anger and hate.

I don’t recall Jesus ever saying it was going to be easy, only that it would be rewarding. Truly, deeply, wholly rewarding.

Daily Bread

Do you like bread? I like bread. Probably too much. I like a good sandwich, especially a simple cheese and lettuce. Or a grilled cheese. You don’t want to add too much because it takes away from the bread and that’s the most important part. I like a good whole wheat especially. You just can't beat a freshly baked loaf of whole wheat, fresh from the oven.  It's practically a comfort food.

How lucky some of us are to be able to think of bread that way, with an appreciation, a sense of thankfulness for something abundant, enjoyed abundantly.

But not everyone gets to see it that way. Many in the world wonder if there will be any food at all on their table today. Their daily experience isn't abundance, it's survival. I bet the first century listeners hearing Jesus pray "give us this day our daily bread" would have felt that way, too. Their's would be less likely a prayer of thankfulness they knew would be fulfilled, but rather a prayer of desperation and an intense longing for the security of "daily" bread.

I think these would also have been people who understood "daily bread" with the unique perspective of the exodus experience. Hungry in the wilderness, God fed those freed from slavery in Egypt with manna, bread from heaven (Exodus 16:1-36). This bread came daily and "morning by morning they gathered it, as much as each needed," and only what they needed for each day. Any they tried to save went rotten, except on the sixth day when they collected enough for the sabbath also.

So God provides what nourishment was needed. There was enough for each according to their need, no more and no less, and those who could not gather were provided for by those who could. So the story reminds us what's important: according to our need, that we are all equal in need and that our participation is required.

Yes, our participation is required. We still have to gather and share. We still have to be good stewards of the creation that feeds us. And all of that can be challenging and worrisome, especially in today’s world.

Remember how Jesus tells the people not to worry about food and clothing, because God will provide it, just as for the birds in the air and the lilies in the field? (Matt. 6:25-34) They are provided for, according to their need, but they still have to participate, they still have to do work. They still do what birds do and flowers do, they do what each part of creation does, by being what it is meant to be. We are a part of that creation.

And what is our “work?” What are we meant to be? Perhaps we can learn that in another way in which we are fed our daily bread. In John’s gospel, Jesus describes himself as the Bread of Life. “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry,” he says (John 6:35) This isn’t only spiritual nourishment, but the life of Jesus, himself, which shows us how to live into what we are meant to be. It’s a life that shows us how to live with ourselves, with each other and with creation in a relationship that feeds us all. The wholeness of that relationship is our daily bread, food for body, mind and spirit. 

In this heavenly kingdom

There's more than a few wonderful moments in the classic movie 'Field of Dreams,' based on the equally classic book 'Shoeless Joe' by W.P. Kinsella. If you haven’t seen the movie or read the book, you should. There’s a lot more to it, but, essentially, Ray, a corn farmer in Iowa, hears a voice tell him “if you build it he will come” and is inspired to plow under part of his field and put up a baseball diamond. Long dead players, including Shoeless Joe Jackson, come to play there and Ray’s father, who he never really knew, is one of the players. One of my favourite moments is when Ray meets him.

His dad asks, "is this heaven?" and Ray answers "it's Iowa." His dad ponders that and says "I could have sworn it was heaven." "Is there a heaven?" Ray asks and his dad says, with certainty, "oh yeah, it's where dreams come true."  Ray looks around at his family, his home and the land that he loves, he looks at the baseball diamond that has brought him healing with this father and, finally, wholeness in his life, and he says "maybe this is heaven."

Yes, Ray, yes it is.

I think this is what Jesus means when he says “heaven is near.” I think it’s also what Jesus means when he prays “your kingdom come, your will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.” It’s an affirmation of what is, not something we’re asking for or that we hope will one day be. This kingdom isn't in the next life or the kingdom promised with Jesus' return or the New Jerusalem of Revelation. It's now.

I think God’s “will” isn’t about a divine plan or about power or authority. It’s not what God wants, but what God is: love. It’s grace and compassion, kindness, justice and peace. It’s serving our neighbours and caring for the earth. It’s a whole and true relationship with all creation. Sure, I know that sounds big, general and idealistic, but it’s all there in the stories of Jesus’ life and those who live as Jesus. It’s the kingdom Jesus lived. It’s the kingdom Jesus said was so near because it’s already here, if we can only grasp it, engage it and live into it as Jesus did.

 Perhaps one of the difficulties we have is the very language Jesus seems to use in those stories, speaking of the kingdom, of God's will. It’s language that sounds hierarchical and about the power of God over us, rather than with us and in us. But that’s where God is, among us in Jesus, within us and in all creation around us. What's needed is our participation, our engagement of it. We pray "on earth, as it is in heaven" as if God - and all the love and grace that is God - is something that belongs in that other heaven and is somehow foreign to earth. As if, at best, it needs to come in here from outside somewhere, somewhere on the other side.

I believe the heaven Jesus talks about “on earth” is what Ray sees. It’s not like his life has been easy, it hasn’t. In the story, he had no relationship with his father. He’s struggling with the farm. And farming’s hard work, so is a family and building a home. There’s no suggestion that it’s easy. But when he looks around at where he is, how his life is, I think he sees the heaven that Jesus is telling us is right here: a heaven he’s part of.

The Prayer That Jesus Taught Us

Did you learn how to recite The Lord’s Prayer when you were little? Back in the day (maybe even still today, in some places), The Lord’s Prayer was the first thing you memorized in Sunday School. Or Confirmation class. Or even in school. It was pretty much everywhere.

I remember memorizing it in Sunday School, along with the classics: the Ten Commandments, The 23rd Psalm and The Beatitudes. There were probably others, but those I still remember. Mostly. I'm pretty sure I could recite the Lord’s Prayer from memory when I was five or six. With some interesting pronunciation, probably. Words like "hallowed," "forgive," "trespasses" and "temptation" are a challenge for a little person to get their tongue around. Seems ironic that those are also the words that adults often have trouble with understanding. The meaning, at least.

That’s the thing: the meaning. I remember memorizing the words long before I understood what they meant. It was even longer still before I started to wonder about them and how I might be living them.

Anyway, that was a long time ago. These days, one can’t always assume that people know it. That may not be such a bad thing: new things can be fresh. And there's newer translations that might be better to understand than the old thees, thous and thines.

That's the thing about The Lord's Prayer: the balance between what it means to us as a piece of our ritual heritage and what it has to say to us.

For many, the meaning of the prayer isn't just the words, but the connection to our sense of community. We all say it together. It's the one thing so many know together, that's common to different traditions and denominations. If we know it, that is. Imagine how you might feel if it’s assumed you know it from memory and you don’t. While everyone else is reciting it from memory, wouldn’t you feel left out? So much for belonging.

Note to self: if you’re going to use it, make sure that The Lord’s Prayer is always printed where everyone can see it.

I do love that community aspect of it. And to me, it's like a treasured hymn or song that we all know, but we might know slightly different words or variations of the tune, and that’s okay. We can still share in it all together and have our own distinctiveness.  You, instead of thy, or maybe even mother or parent, instead of father.

I think that's all good. I'm not convinced that The Lords' Prayer was meant to be a set prayer. It might have been an example of how to pray, rather than "The One Prayer." I also don’t think it was meant to be just a community prayer. I think it was meant to be a personal prayer, too. More importantly, I think it bridges both. Jesus, I always remind myself, wasn’t an either/or kind of guy, but an and/with one.

This prayer is personal, this prayer is communal, this prayer is shared.  In 'Speaking Christian,' the late theologian Marcus Borg wrote that "the Lord's Prayer is a summary of what mattered most to Jesus.  When we pray this prayer, we are praying for what he was passionate about … we are praying for what God is passionate about.  We are praying for God's dream for the world.  To pray this prayer is to be invited, enlisted, into participation in God's passion and the passion of Jesus." We are invited, enlisted, together.