What Everyone Needs

It’s not fair. How often have you heard that? Or thought it? Or said it?

Seems like we hear it a lot lately, especially in the negative, and almost as an accusation.

Fairness seems to be something we seek, but I wonder if we really know what it is we’re looking for. Just, equal, impartial and deserving are words we often use to define it, but I wonder if we really mean that. It’s hard to be objective about those things when we’ve already been influenced by so many variables like desire, personal and societal values and structures — especially when it comes to things like work ethic — not to mention power and our understanding of things like empathy and compassion. Or the absence of them.

And then there’s comparison and competition. Why’s this happening to me? Why didn’t I get the same deal as someone else? Why isn’t my work/time/product worth more?

The world’s a very conflicted place right now and it feels like we’re leading more with hostility and aggression than anything else. When we do that, I think we can become even more subjective about our sense of fairness.

Jesus has an interesting perspective. I don’t think Jesus is as concerned with what we’d call fairness as he is with the fundamentals of what should — that’s should — make it: justice, equity, respect, self worth. I think Jesus is also inclined to employ empathy and compassion instead of comparison and competition.

That’s not to say that Jesus isn’t very much aware of what we think about fairness and those ways we might perceive it. That’s why he’s always trying to poke a stick in them, if not completely up ending them or tearing them down.

One of the ways I think Jesus does that is by talking about what he calls “the kingdom of heaven” and how it’s near, even here. See, I think what makes the kingdom of heaven so different from this one is that it’s made of those very fundamentals on which we should build things like fairness. That’s the things with which we build relationships. We started there, but the building took on a life of its own and became something else with comparison, competitiveness and all those structures, institutions and traditions we built. It became something that separates us, disconnects us, even breaks us.

Think of how often Jesus says “the kingdom of heaven is like …” and then tells a parable that points to that particular fundamental he’s illustrating. Take the story of the landowner who hires labourers to work in their vineyard (Matt. 20:1-16). They hire day labourers, but at different times of the day, working different hours, but, at the end of the day, pays them all the same. When those who worked the longest complain, the landowner simply says we had a deal and I can pay the other what I choose, even challenging them that they’re envious of the landowner’s generosity. “The last shall be first and the first, last,” they say. Things are turned upside down, it seems.

Yes, they are. There are a variety of interpretations of the parable, from religious to socio-economic and everything in between, but go to the fundamentals that make the kingdom of heaven — after all, this is what the kingdom of heaven is like. Everyone is offered what they need. Everyone is treated with equity. Everyone is offered grace, everyone is loved, just as they are, first at the gate or not. There’s no hierarchy, no structure, at that very basic level of being because that’s where we start. Jesus knows not everyone wants to go back there and acknowledges it’s hard.

Come As You Are

We don’t sing a lot of the old timey classic hymns anymore. That’s sad for some, but, like anything else, we’re looking for hymns to have meaning for us today and, whether it’s the language, the theology or simply the relevance, there are lots of hymns that get left behind. They’re not gone, though, especially when they’re tied to memories and traditions. Sometimes, they just get a “tune up.”

Every so often, a line or two from an old classic just jumps out at you, though, because it’s saying something so profound, so meaningful and so important that you best not ignore it. In 1834, Charlotte Elliott wrote a hymn with every verse beginning “Just as I am” and every verse ending “O Lamb of God, I come, I come.”

Have to sing it this week, because it goes with a story Jesus tells about how we come to God in prayer. It’s really about how we come to Jesus and to each other, too. We should come just as we are.

The Gospel of Luke relates how Jesus was concerned about how people can sometimes be a little self righteous and full of themselves. So he told them a story about a pharisee and a tax collector or publican. Pharisees were a unique combination of religious leader, politician and community leader who had a great influence, particularly when it came to strict adherence to the law. They were meant to be holy people. During the Roman occupation, “publicani” were local business people who contracted with the Romans to collect taxes, supply the army and run public works. They were also notoriously corrupt, overcharging, accepting bribes and pocketing their own side profit. They were often despised and treated with contempt.

The pharisee makes a big show of going into the temple and standing front, pointedly praying his gratitude for not being like “those” people - sinners, all - especially like that publican. Not only does he pray, he fasts and gives regular donations to the temple. He does everything “right.”

The publican stays back in the shadows, away from people, and simply prays for mercy. I’m a sinner, he says, have mercy on me.

Jesus tells them it’s the publican who’s right with God. The pharisee prays from his own self importance, he puts on a show and has only contempt for those around him. The publican simply comes as he is, prays from his heart and asks for mercy. “Just as I am,” the publican seems to say.

Jesus frequently talks about the importance of sincerity, of authentically engaging and expressing what’s in our hearts. It’s not the letter of the law, it’s not the ritual practices or the traditions (or even the things we just keep doing because we’ve always done it that way), it’s what’s in the heart.

Thing is, prayer is just the first step. God already knows us, just as we are. When we come to God, it’s about how we come - is it authentic and sincere, true to who we really are? Prayer doesn’t change God or God’s relationship with us, it changes us and our relationship with God. And when we are changed, we change things. We take action, action that’s based on what is true and authentic in us.

I like to think the publican goes away right with God into a different life, but Jesus doesn’t say. I think that’s the point. It’s a challenge to those who heard him then and to us now: pray with honesty and sincerity, then do something.

Three For the Price of One

It’s complicated. If we’re going to talk about the parable of the Prodigal Son - as Jesus tells it - that’s got to be the very first thing to say about it. It’s complicated.

I feel I have to be clear that I mean Jesus’ telling of the story as it appears in the Gospel of Luke because it’s one of those parables (like the Good Samaritan) that has made it’s way into general culture. Sort of. There have been a variety of retellings, in different eras and different contexts, and the term itself has come into everyday use. Sure.

But I wonder sometimes, if we don’t use the term out of context and in a simplified way or simply focus on one aspect of the story. Like all the parables of Jesus, this one has layers, but it has many more than most and the characters and their relationships are much more complicated than a simple “return of the one that left” kind of story. 

That’s not to say there haven’t been contemporary retellings of equal complexity. It’s just that either one focuses on a particular aspect of the story or one dives into its complexity. I think that might even be the secret to its enduring popularity: it can speak very clearly, but at the same time offer an opportunity to engage the struggles that we might see in our own family dynamics or in those around us.

The message might at first seem simple enough. A son chooses to leave home and live a “prodigal” life, one that’s extravagant, lavish and reckless. When the money runs out and the first son finds themselves destitute, they decide to return home. The father welcomes them back unconditionally. The lost is found, he was dead and is now alive again, the father says. There’s a big party to celebrate. That seems to be the end of the Prodigal Son Story.

But that’s not where Jesus stops. There’s more. It’s the Resentful Son Story. See, there was two sons and the other one stayed and worked. When the prodigal one returns home, no one bothers to go and tell him, out in the fields where he’s working. He finds out when he returns at the end of the day, exhausted. He’s hurt, resentful and angry. When the father tries to bring him in, he refuses. He tells his father he’s worked like a slave since the other’s been gone and won’t hear the father’s love and joy that his brother has returned. And that’s where Jesus ends it. There’s no indication what that son does now. We’re left to decide.

But I think that’s why Jesus stops there. There’s more. Let’s call it the Unconditional Love Story. Both sons are offered love, each responding to it their own way. One goes, loses his way, but finds his way back. I would say that the other loses his way too. Was he just resentful of his brother when he said that he’d worked like a slave or was there more? Is it just his brother’s return or was that simply the climax of a life of feeling stuck and unappreciated? It’s complicated.

We don’t really know where any of these stories go next. Does the prodigal son stay and live well? What does the resentful son do? And how does the father embrace them both? What we do know is that Jesus tells these stories in a very real context: he’s been spending his time with the lost and broken, the sinners and “tax collectors” - all the wrong people, according to the temple authorities. And when he welcomes those lost and broken home, the temple authorities criticize and complain. They see Jesus flaunting the structures, rules and traditions they’re trying to uphold. All Jesus sees is love. 

I think that’s why Jesus leaves this story hanging. Jesus wants us to wrestle with it. Faced with the practicality of structure and societal norms on one hand and the extravagance of unconditional love on the other, where does the story go next?

Keep Shovelling

I get that we’re all different and we can disagree on things. I get that we’re all different and that can sometimes be scary to people, particularly when we don’t understand the way - or the why - others are different. I get that we’re all different and we’d really like to have our own way.

I think we also know that disagreement ought to be met with discussion and debate, fear of difference should be met with interaction and learning, and our own way should be met with a healthy openness to new ideas.

But it doesn’t seem to happen that way lately.

So often it seems like discussion and debate turns to mean spirited personal attacks, name calling and demonizing, factual information is being replaced with, at best, uncritical opinion and, at worst, outright fabrication, and new ideas are being rejected out of hand, if they’re even allowed to be expressed. It seems like we’re at a whole new ugly level of bitterness and recrimination.

I think we also know that there’s more than a fair amount of, well, what’s a good word? Rubbish, baloney, hogwash, hooey, malarky, crap? Let’s say “stuff,” for now. There’s a fair amount of stuff being offered by politicians, celebrities, corporations and others trying to sell a product or an idea or even someone just trying to get their own way who’ll saying anything, absolutely anything, to convince you to buy/vote for/support them. It’s not just on social media, it’s everywhere.

It’s all, well, one form of manure or another.

I think Jesus would ask you if that’s the kind of manure you want your life to be filled with. More importantly, is that the kind of manure you want to spread on the world around you?

In Luke 13:6-9 Jesus tells a story about a fig tree that wasn’t producing any fruit. The owner of the tree is angry that it hasn’t produced anything for three years so they tell the gardener to cut it down. “Why should it be wasting the soil?” he asks. But the gardener asks him to give it another chance. They’ll “dig around it and put manure on it” - in other words, they’ll care for it and feed it - and if it doesn’t produce, then he can cut it down.

And that’s where Jesus stops the story. He doesn’t say if the owner said yes or no, or if the gardener took care of it and it produced fruit, or if the gardener took care of it and it didn’t. The story ends with opportunity, not result. The expectation of fruit, or lack of it, shouldn’t predetermine our effort to nurture and care for the tree. (Fig trees, by the way, take at least 3-5 years to produce fruit.) In every moment is the opportunity for new life, for growth and for bearing fruit, and we should live into that moment as the story suggests: with a shovel full of manure.

But not that first kind. Jesus means the kind that nourishes, that feeds and restores, that helps us each grow into the best human being we are, the kind that produces a fruitful life. Jesus means grace and compassion, kindness and love, he means what is true and life-giving for everyone, not just ourselves. I think Jesus is asking, what are you shovelling?

Construction Zone

Jesus tells a lot of stories. Parables - those little stories with a big point - are one of his favourite teaching tools. Some are simple, some are more complicated. For us, some might require explanation of first century life and how people of that time understood certain words and images, especially as they related to day-to-day life, but all of them were designed to be readily understood (maybe with a little thought) and all of them illustrate some universal truth.

There’s one parable that we call The Wise and Foolish Builders. Jesus tells this little story about a wise builder who built his house on rock. Storms and floods came, but the house stood firm because it had been built on rock. A foolish builder built his house on sand. The same storms and floods washed it away because it had been build on sand.

It’s a great utility metaphor: a solid foundation is necessary to build anything, whether on literal bedrock or years of study, practice or training. Without a solid base, any structure is doomed to fall, a home or building, institution, business, career, a life. Especially a life.

And that’s Jesus’ concern when he uses it. The story appears in the gospel of Matthew at the end of the Sermon on the Mount and in Luke at the end of the corresponding Sermon on the Plain. Jesus offers this wisdom at the end of a lengthy teaching about how to live.

Matthew, in particular, includes The Beatitudes, teaching about the Law, teaching about moral and ethical issues, prayer and assorted other parables in his sermon. Whether it was one full length sermon or teachings assembled by Matthew that way, it is a key source of Jesus’ teaching. And then, at the end, this mic drop.

I don’t think Jesus means to say the foundation for our lives is just faith in God. Or Jesus. Or even in Jesus’ teachings. It’s certainly not about behaviour. He even prefaces the parable with another one of those great comments about how those who say they believe, use his words and put on a good show of behaving the way they should, just don’t get it. Those people don’t really “know” Jesus. To know Jesus is to live Jesus, that’s the foundation he’s talking about.

Faith needs to be put into more than practice, it needs to be put into life. All those teachings, from the Beatitudes to the Law and everything else, are meaningless unless lived from the heart. We build what we build from the good in our heart: love, grace, compassion, justice - all the things Jesus was just talking about - lived everyday from the heart.

It’s not easy and the world will push back. The house might get hail damage or broken windows, it might need new shingles and a fresh coat of paint, but it will be a home. Being Jesus means being authentic and genuine with what’s in your heart and, according to Matthew, the crowd sees that in Jesus that day. Will others see it in you?

It's not you, it's me

I’ve talked about the parable of the Good Samaritan before. A lot. It’s one of the most familiar parables of Jesus and, even if you don’t know the story itself, it’s pretty likely that you’ve heard someone referred to as a Good Samaritan and you know what that means.

It’s certainly a story worth repeating and the sentiments we often draw from it are certainly true, even if that wisdom becomes a little generic or stale. Sometimes, though, events in the world around us can bring them into sharper focus.

I think it’s important to remember that the parable, which only appears in the Gospel of Luke, is told in a particular context. A person comes to Jesus with a question: they ask what they need to do to gain eternal life. Jesus replies with a question of his own: what does the law say? The person answers that we should love God with all our being and love our neighbour as we love ourselves. Yes, says Jesus, that’s right. What, exactly, is a neighbour, the person asks, and Jesus replies with this story.

A man’s on the road to Jerusalem when he’s attacked, robbed and left for dead, naked in a ditch. The first person to come by is a priest, who walks by on the other side of the road. A Levite comes by, sees the man and does the same. Then a Samaritan comes, sees the man and stops to help him. He takes him to an inn in the next town and pays for his care.

Which one is being a neighbour, asks Jesus. The person who asked the first question answers that it’s the one who showed mercy. Yes, says Jesus, now go and do the same.

Even in the broadest understanding of “be kind to strangers” or “everyone is my neighbour,” we’re already on the right track. But this story isn’t some generic wisdom or universal platitude that we might think sounds great but find easy to circumvent when we’re confronted with it. It’s focused and specific.

The neighbour is us. I’ll come to the characters in a moment, but the question Jesus answers should begin with “you” because the question he asks at the end is “who is being the neighbour in the story?” The person answers the one who shows mercy and Jesus says go and do it, then.

I think we tend to hear this story as meaning everyone is our neighbour, therefore we should be loving, compassionate and kind. But that’s not the point. The Samaritan’s actions aren’t contingent on the other person, they’re his actions. We love because we are being a good neighbour, not because of who we encounter.

That’s the point of Jesus’ character choices. I don’t think it’s just the shock of the true neighbour being a Samaritan, a very personal enemy to Jews for a variety of reasons, but mostly because they were Jews of a different tradition to Judaism. The thing is, the name Samaritan is from a Greek word that comes from an ancient Hebrew word that means to keep safe or guard. They saw themselves as keepers of the Law. A priest and a Levite, a temple worker responsible for ritual and instruction, would also see themselves as keepers of the Law. And yet, which one actually lived the law? Which one was the neighbour? Which one brought the law to life with a chance encounter on the road?

Go and do likewise.

Beginning Thanksgiving

It’s Thanksgiving! The one day we set aside to remind ourselves of something we should be every day: thankful.

It’s not always easy to feel thankful, it isn’t. But it’s an essential practice, one that’s empowering and inspiring, especially when things are challenging.

The Gospel of Luke records a story of Jesus meeting ten lepers on the road. I know, that doesn’t sound like a thanksgiving story at first, but stay with me. They keep their distance, of course, but the call out to Jesus and say “have mercy on us.” Not “heal us” or “feed us” or even “help us,” they ask for mercy. Jesus tells them to go and show themselves to the priests at the temple.

That might not sound helpful to us, but, in Jesus’ day, if you were sick or disabled or something bad happened to you, they believed it was God punishing you for doing something wrong. If you got better or your circumstances changed, you had to be absolved and approved by the priests before you could be restored to society.

I don’t know if the lepers believed they’d be healed, but they follow Jesus’ instructions and, on the way there, they’re healed - “made clean.” One of them turns back and, while the others continue on to the Temple, he returns to Jesus and says something we don’t hear being said to Jesus very often: he says thank you. He praises God and thanks Jesus. In hie response, Jesus points out to his followers that only one returned and that this one was a Samaritan, a foreigner and traditionally an enemy of Jews. His last words to the man are “go your way, your faith has made you well.”

Sure, it’s a classic story of Jesus doing what Jesus does, offering healing to the sick and restoration to the marginalized, regardless of their culture or nationality. But there’s something bigger here, something more rare. There’s thankfulness.

There’s no indication that the other nine, who followed instructions and went to the temple, weren’t appreciative. We don’t hear about them again, but I like to think they did as they were told, the priests went “wow, good for you, you’re restored” and they lived happily ever after, grateful for the second chance.

But physically healed and restored to society are not enough for the tenth man. He needs to acknowledge the gift of new life given to him. Yes, it’s possible he was raised by very well-mannered parents who taught him to always say please and thank you, just to be polite. But it’s not politeness that’s happening here, it’s understanding, it’s gratitude being offered to the source of his new life and it’s faith that it wasn’t just the word of Jesus that was the source, but God, the very Spirit of Life. That’s why it’s this moment when Jesus says “go your way, your faith has made you well.”

This man has been more than physically healed. His gratitude for this gift connects to his heart, mind and spirit, too. His whole way of living has been changed. When Jesus says “go your way, your faith has made you well,” he means the hope of this man’s future: wholeness. Beginning in gratitude offers an opportunity to embrace each moment, appreciate it for what it is and live it fully and wholly.

Every moment is an opportunity to begin.