The Jesus You Know

I call it “the stained glass Jesus.”

You probably know what I mean. The Jesus that appeared in old stained glass windows, solemnly looking ahead or with eyes raised heavenward or benevolently gazing  at the disciples or some other biblical character. A mostly benign figure, unsmiling, but still kindly, the very essence of divine perfectness. The Jesus that goes so well with soaring arches, high ceilings, polished wood and tall spires. The Jesus of tradition. The Jesus who reminds us of where we’re going (we hope).

There's nothing wrong with that Jesus. I love that Jesus. He speaks to me. Sometimes.

But I also love the very human Jesus who I think laughed and played, probably told a good joke, smiled a lot and wasn't always perfect. To me, that Jesus — down to earth, rough and unpolished, flawed and conflicted — goes well with the world we live in.

I love that Jesus. He speaks to me.

This is the Jesus in Matthew 15:21-28 who tries his best to ignore a Canaanite woman pleading for help, and then, when she won’t go away, he informs her that he's not here for her, he's here for “the lost sheep of Israel.” It’s not fair to take the children’s food and feed it to dogs, he says. Yes, Jesus said that, according to Matthew. Apparently short-tempered and exclusive, this Jesus doesn't seem to want to have anything to do with her.  So she points out that even the dogs get crumbs from their master's table. All she wants is what might be a "crumb" to Jesus, the healing of her daughter. Jesus acknowledges her faith and heals her daughter.

Now, before you’re tempted to dismiss this as “not the Jesus I know,” fake news or, worse, justification for excluding others (definitely not any Jesus I know), consider why the author of Matthew might think their audience needed to hear this kind of a story.

Connect this scene with the one before it, in which Jesus challenges the pharisees' criticism of the disciples not observing the appropriate cleanliness rituals. It's not what goes into your mouth that defiles you, but the words that come out of it, he says, challenging both tradition itself and the use of it to hurt and exclude. Then Matthew gives us a demonstration of that by having Jesus cruelly reject this woman's pleas just because she’s Canaanite, a traditional enemy of Jews. Matthew wanted their audience to feel the hurt of the woman, and they would have. And her power, too.

The point isn’t just the action, but the result: Jesus learns. And if the very human Jesus can learn that God is for everyone, then why shouldn’t you and I? The crowds have followed him everywhere, the pharisees challenge and test him, there are so many sick to heal. And there are the prejudices and traditions he grew up with as "a good and faithful Jew." If Jesus can learn and grow, then so can we, can't we?

Sometimes you have to break a window to be able to see clearly.

A Greater Miracle

Three of the gospels tell a story about Jesus walking on the water. I wonder if it might have gone like this.

It was a dark and stormy night … 

Jesus had seen the clouds moving in while they were having supper. It’d been a long day and the crowd that had been following him had stopped for something to eat. It was an outdoor meal, a simple one, a potluck with bread and fish and whatever else anyone had. But Jesus was tired. He decided to send the disciples on ahead, taking a boat to cross the lake to the other side. If they left now, they might beat the storm that was coming, and Jesus would have enough time to say a few last goodbyes, have a rest and walk around the lake in the morning.

Things don’t always go according to plan.

It was the thunder that woke Jesus up. The wind was pulling at his coat and the rain had just started. As he looked out on the lake with the first light of morning, he could see the wind picking up the waves. It would be a rough crossing. He could just make out a few boats, fighting the storm. There, at the front, were the disciples. He wasn’t much of a sailor, but he could see they were in trouble. There must be something he could do.

Meanwhile, the disciples were wishing they’d walked, too. The water was rough and dangerous and the storm was battering them from every side. Even the most experienced fishermen among them was afraid. And then one of them saw a figure out on the water, coming towards them. It seemed to be a person, not in a boat, but on the waves, climbing them, riding them, rushing towards them with each gust of the wind. The disciples were even more afraid. First the storm and now this: what could it be?

But as it drew closer, Peter could see it was Jesus.

“Don’t be afraid,” shouted Jesus over the storm, “you can do this!”

Thinking Jesus meant for him to come out to him, Peter stepped out of the boat on to the water. He took a few steps, feeling the rushing water beneath his feet. “How is this possible?” he thought. Then, he could also feel the wind and the rain, and the thunder boomed overhead and the lightening lit the white waves. And he was afraid. And he began to sink.

“Help me, Jesus, I can’t do it,” he shouted.

And just then, he felt Jesus’ hand grab hold of him and help back into the boat. “Oh Peter,” Jesus said. And he got in the boat with him and he said, “Peter, where’s your faith?”

Peter said “I thought I believed in you enough, Jesus, I did. I thought I believed enough to be able to do what you were doing.”

Jesus sighed (loud enough to be heard over the storm). “No, that’s not what I mean, Peter. I know you believe in me. I know you believe in God. I know that. That’s not what I mean. That’s not enough, Peter. You have to believe in you.” Peter looked puzzled.

“Believe in yourself, Peter,” said Jesus again. “Believe in you, believe that you are an important part of this world. Believe that God is with you, just as I am. Believe that God’s spirit is in you and in the sea and in the wind and in all around you. Believe in possibility and don’t be afraid. You’re not alone.” Jesus grabbed Peter’s arm. “Let’s show the others.”

Peter grabbed an oar and began shouting to the other disciples, telling them to row with the wind, to ride the waves, not fight them. He encouraged them to work together and not be afraid of the storm.

Before long, they reached the shore. Wet, tired and with more of an adventure than they’d wanted. But they reached the other side, ready for the next step of their journey.

It's a miracle!

I've always believed that the story of Jesus feeding the 5000 (Matthew 14:13-21) was the best kind of miracle story. There’s just no way you can tell it that it’s not a miracle.

It’s late in the day, the story goes, and the disciples want to send a crowd of people away so that they can find food in local villages. Jesus tells them - the disciples - to feed the people. That seems ridiculous to them because all they have is five loaves of bread and two fish. Jesus takes what they have, blesses it, and gives it the disciples to distribute. Everyone gets fed and there’s twelve baskets of leftovers. It’s a miracle.

It’s a miracle in so many ways.

Jesus, with the power of God, made five loaves and two fishes turn into enough food to feed everyone. Ok, that’s a miracle. It confirms Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, the Word made flesh, and has powers beyond this world. It’s about affirming who Jesus is and what the power of God can do. 

Jesus, with a demonstration of generosity and graciousness, inspires everyone in the crowd and they look to see what they have that they might be able to share. Radical hospitality at its best. That’s a miracle. It’s about affirming that Jesus is about showing us what we are all capable of.

It’s a metaphor for how all must be fed, both physically and spiritually. Still a miracle.

Even if Jesus had said sure, send them all from this “deserted place” to the local villages, I guarantee someone would have said “it’d be a miracle if they could find enough food for everyone.”

Still, then, a miracle. All are fed and there’s leftovers. It’s like the greatest of all potlucks.

For me, though, the story’s not just about being fed, physically or spiritually, it’s about compassion and kindness. It’s about sharing together, both in the abundance and scarcity of what we have. Especially how Matthew tells it.

The author of Matthew places the story immediately after everyone hears the news that John the Baptist has been executed by Herod. John, who proclaimed the Messiah’s coming, was a colleague in ministry and, according to Luke at least, was a cousin of Jesus was dead. “Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd, and he had compassion for them and cured their sick.” (Matt. 14:13)

It’s no wonder Jesus wanted to get away. I imagine he was grieving. But the crowd follows him. It would be easy to suggest the crowd followed him out of their own need, but what if the crowd, having heard the same news, was grieving too? What if it wasn’t just Jesus’ compassion for them in their need, but that the crowd felt compassion for Jesus? Perhaps this was a community sharing their grief and beginning to heal together. 

If that’s like communities now, I imagine more than a few of them, those that could anyway, stopped on the way to make a casserole or “a covered dish” or pick up some groceries they would have been happy to share. Still a miracle.

Do you understand?

Jesus tells a lot of parables. I’ve talked about this before, obviously, because, well, Jesus tells a lot of parables. Each of them is deserving of attention, study, understanding and thought. Which is why it’s so interesting to me that, after concentrating a bunch of parables about the kingdom of heaven into a single block in one chapter (13), the author of the gospel of Matthew has Jesus ask the disciples “do you understand?” Even more interesting is that they answer “yes.”

Really? The authors of all the gospels seem so often to go to great lengths to demonstrate to us that the disciples don’t understand and yet here they simply do. No questions, no clarifications, just a bunch of sayings and they understand the kingdom of God. An excellent example for all of us. I guess.

Except, we do spend rather a lot of time studying, thinking and talking about the parables of Jesus - pretty much everything Jesus, for that matter - so I have to wonder if it was all that simple. To me, it seems reasonable to consider that either the disciples didn’t get it at all but were afraid to say so, or that we just got the “sayings” part of the story and they had a lot of questions, thoughts and commentary of their own.

I think it was the latter. I think there was so much more to this exchange. I don’t mean to impugn the intelligence, sophistication or wisdom of the disciples (or any of the crowds who followed Jesus), they were good ordinary folks. But good ordinary folks ask questions and discuss things. It’s how they become apostles, leaders and wise teachers in their own right. 

I like to think the gospel authors knew that and left us with a similar opportunity, in our own time and place, as the disciples who were with Jesus. In Matthew, for example, I think those parables got many questions and lots of discussion before Jesus even got to the “do you understand” question. I also think that, by asking the question, Jesus didn’t just mean the obvious surface meaning, but that they had taken the time to think and ponder and mine the depths of the parable for meaning. That’s the thing about parables, especially ones about “the kingdom of heaven:” it’s not just one meaning, or even the many layers of meaning, each of which is valuable. It’s the thinking, the ongoing wondering and relating the story to our own lives in the kingdom, making the kingdom and being the kingdom, together.

We won’t learn by pretending to know. We learn by wondering and asking questions, seeking the wisdom that’s at the heart of the story. That’s what Jesus means by understanding. 

Or it could go like this

Depending on how you define it, Jesus told anywhere from a dozen to fifty parables. Basically, a parable’s a story with a meaning that’s used to teach a lesson. But it gets more complicated after that, because the lesson is often more than what’s obvious in the story. Parables can have a lot of perspectives, a lot of layers, and they invite a lot of thought. That’s why Jesus used them so often.

Out of all those parables, Jesus seems to offer his own explanation only twice, both farming stories, both found in the same chapter of Matthew’s gospel. They’re most commonly referred to as the Parable of the Sower and the Parable of the Weeds. Yes, I said “seems to” just then. Many biblical scholars now think that it wasn’t Jesus at all, but the author of the gospel (or a later author) who added them so that the it would be clear that the point was consistent with the themes of the gospel.

There’s many good reasons to think that. The very simple one I like is that Jesus used parables as a teaching tool. Why would he tell the story if he had to explain it? He almost never does, except here, and I think he almost never does, not because the meaning’s obvious, but because he wants us to think about it. Many parables have multiple meanings. Many prompt additional questions or thoughts. There’s more than one point and the Parable of the Weeds is a really good example of that.

Jesus tells this parable. A farmer plants a field with wheat. An enemy sneaks in and plants weeds so that when the field begins to grow, the weeds appear with the wheat. The farm workers want to go and pick out the weeds, but the farmer says that might damage the wheat, so let the wheat and weeds grow together. Then, when the field’s harvested, they can be separated, the wheat for grain and the weeds for burning.

The author of Matthew gives Jesus a perfectly reasonable explanation to offer: the field is the world, the enemy is the devil, the wheat is children of God, the weeds children of the devil. At the harvest, angels send the good to the good place and the bad to the fiery place.

Ok. I guess. As long as you remember that it’s God who judges who’s wheat and who’s weed, not us. And that you believe God does that judgement thing, rather than offer love and grace to all. And that you believe there’s a good place and a bad place in the next “life.”

But, what’s a weed, anyway? That’s so subjective. Isn’t it just something that naturally occurs where you didn’t want it? A plant that doesn’t seem to belong? What if the field is, indeed, the world, but the purpose is to show that we all belong together, the ones we each think of as valued as well as the ones we think of us weeds, because we’re all valuable. And, since this is the world, where we end up might be more about intention than judgement. A “weed” can have a purpose.

Maybe this could be about reminding us that what we perceive as good and bad do coexist in this world. But maybe it could be about belonging, rather than judgement. Maybe it’s about how quick we can be to judge and want to root out anything and anyone that doesn’t seem to belong because they’re not the same. Maybe the farmer isn’t “the Son of Man” so much as the Creator and maybe this is a world where all things can belong because they’re all valued, just as they are.

It goes something like this

I wonder how often Jesus told a story. The gospels, succinct as they are, seem to indicate that Jesus only ever told a story once. And that makes sense: the gospel authors wouldn’t want to be repetitive. But I bet Jesus reused some of his best ones. Different crowds, different places. Maybe he even retold some in a slightly different way, relating to his audience. The parables, metaphorical stories that have a point, could have multiple meanings, so it makes sense to me that Jesus would use them again and again. Good material can be hard to find.

Here’s one I think he might have reused more than a few times. I’ve borrowed it from Matthew 13: 1-9.

Listen, Jesus said. A wise old woman looked out her window one day. She looked up at the sun and down at the earth and she looked at her calendar and her clock and she said to herself, “it’s time.”

She picked up a large bag full of seeds and threw it over her shoulder. She stepped out her back door and she began tossing the seed to the earth, spreading them out as far as she could. And, when her bag was empty, she went back in the house and watched out the window, waiting.

Some of the seeds landed on the path from her door. She stepped on a few and some were eaten by the hungry birds that followed her.

Some of the seeds landed on rocks, where the birds didn’t see them. The sun was warm and the seeds sprang to life. But there was no water there, so they just shrivelled up.

Some of the seeds landed among weeds. There were dandelions and crab grass and chickweed and thistles. The weeds did very well and it wasn’t long before they overwhelmed the little seeds.

Some of the seeds landed in good soil. It was warm and wet and full of good things seeds need to grow. And they did, making a beautiful garden of the brightest flowers and the greenest leaves.

Jesus paused for a moment. The people were looking at him very confused. A couple were smiling, trying hard not to laugh. “What’s so funny?” Jesus asked.

“Well,” said one, “I’m not much of a gardener, but even I know that’s a lot of wasted seed.” “Yeah,” said another, “I have a bit of garden at my house and I would be a lot more careful where I planted the seeds. If you want things to grow, you have to be careful where you plant them. This woman is anything but wise.” There were nods of agreement all round. Except for Jesus.

“Perhaps,” said Jesus. “But the seed that fell on the path fed the birds. The seed that fell on the rocks was caught by the wind and planted elsewhere. Or, over time, perhaps enough will land there to make a little pocket of soil on the rock and start to wear it down. And the seeds in the weeds, well, what is a weed anyway? Sometimes they’re important, too. Besides, one or two might be strong enough to grow with the weeds, who knows?”

“Yes,” said someone, “who knows, Jesus. You have to invest in the best location. You have to plant where you know the seed will grow.” There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd.

“But,” said Jesus. “What if the seeds are God’s love? God invests in the certainty that all creation is deserving of love, just as it is. When we live God’s love in the world, each seed is like an act of love offered by you. The point is that it’s offered, with generosity and without conditions. Wherever it lands it has the hope of doing good, of growing more love and more generosity. Imagine, just imagine how full and beautiful the garden of earth would be, if we all offered love with the generosity of this wise old gardener.”

The Yoke's On You

Come to me, all you who 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.

Yes, I’m quoting Jesus. Specifically, from Matthew 11, verses 28 to 30. Just as importantly, though, I think we all need to say it, feel it and do it.

It’s so easy to leave these words with Jesus, a call to “the saviour” whose company brings comfort and peace. Life is easier with Jesus.

Except it isn’t. Simpler, maybe. Better, for sure. Fulfilling, certainly. Empowering, definitely. But easier it’s not. Not just because of the Bible Jesus whose words we read, but the living Jesus with whom we share life.

There’s two parts to this. The first is the rest that we can find in Jesus. To be clear, that’s not sleep or a break or “down time,” it’s rest. Rest rejuvenates and refreshes. It gives us the opportunity to rebuild, re-energize and re-engage the world with enthusiasm and spirit. I think Jesus is really talking about a sabbath time here, time for us to put down our everyday things to spend a little time on our relationship with the divine. And that is real rest: it refreshes and reinvigorates us. And we need that if we’re going to yoke ourselves with Jesus.

Yes, that’s the point: with Jesus. We might think of a yoke as an individual thing a beast of burden wears to help carry its load. We’ve even made it a symbol of hard labour or use the metaphor of the yoke of oppression. It’s constricting and constraining and a sign of hard work. But not with Jesus.

In Jesus’ world, a yoke wasn’t an individual thing at all. Its purpose was to connect two together in order that they may share the load they carry. The “burden” of being Jesus - of knowing the divine spirit and very earthy humanity of each of us and living love and grace into the world as we learn to do from Jesus - isn’t just light, it’s inspiring and life giving, and, most importantly, shared. Jesus walks with us, bonded to us, and shares the load we carry, both inspiring us with that burden of being Jesus and uplifting the many burdens which the world might lay on our shoulders.

So let’s not stop there. If the divine spirit and earthy humanity that Jesus shows us is alive in each of us and we can understand this yoke Jesus talks about as what binds us to Jesus, to share our burdens with Jesus, of the spirit and of life, then why wouldn’t we see that same yoke connecting us to another?

In a world where so many are grieving, struggling with mental health, wrestling with life, can we not offer to share their burdens? It takes little expertise to sit down, just like Jesus, and say “tell me your story.” Or how can I help share your burden? For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.