“I am what I am, and that’s all that I am”

There are seven times in the Gospel of John when Jesus describes himself to people with a statement that begins “I am” … something.

The bread of life (John 6:35), the light of the world (8:12), the gate for the sheepfold (10:7), the good shepherd (10:11, 14), the resurrection and the life (11:25), the way the truth and the life (14:6) and the true vine (15:1).

I just want to be absolutely clear that I know there’s seven because I may have recently said six by mistake in a sermon, ironically leaving out “the resurrection and the life.” For some reason I blanked on that one. Just not an image that stuck in my head for some reason, perhaps because it’s so all encompassing of the story of Jesus that I didn’t set it apart. Whatever the reason, I confess it. Sorry.

Still, it does raise an important point about those “I am” statements. Do they all connect with you? Wouldn’t that be the point? Connection, I mean.

Biblical scholars, generally, place the Gospel of John much later than Matthew, Mark and Luke. It’s certainly different. While the other gospels each have themes unique to their narratives, they are still narratives, and it feels like the narrative is less important to the author of John than the meaning of who Jesus is. It seems to me that the author of John had time to experience those early days of the followers of Jesus, see their struggles and hear their questions and come up with a way of describing Jesus that they could connect with. I’m not saying they just made up stuff willy nilly, but rather they extrapolated from the narratives that they already knew and had Jesus express that. It would certainly explain why many biblical scholars - especially the Jesus Seminar - question whether Jesus actually said the things that are in John in those words (unless they’re corroborated in the other gospels as well).

So, John’s Jesus says these “I am” things. The very first connection point is going to be those very words, I am, reminding early listeners of how God answers Moses in Exodus 3:14. When Moses says to God that the Israelites will want to know what God is called, God answers ““I am who I am.” God said further, “Thus you shall say to the Israelites, ‘I AM has sent me to you.’ ”

Then, there are these ways that Jesus describes himself, all ways that seek to make a connection, visceral, earthy things that his audience would know and embrace. And yet, right from the start, John’s account reveals that they don’t get it right away.

Not only does Jesus say he’s the Bread of Life, but he doubles down and says you must eat my flesh and drink my blood. For real, it seems. His listeners freak out a bit at that, they’re not cannibals, after all. (Although, that was an accusation levelled at them by early non-Christians.) They just don’t seem to get it.

I wonder if that isn’t precisely why the author of John tells the story that way. They know that their listeners won’t get it either. It’s not enough to tell the stories. The beginning of living into the divine spirit in us is knowing the divine spirit in Jesus is nourishment for that divine spirit in us. It nourishes, then enlightens, encourages, comforts, inspires, leads and connects. I think that’s all seven.

Write me a letter

Every so often, I think it’s important to remind people that the Bible isn’t really a book. We’ve called it that because we bound it that way, but we shouldn’t really bind ourselves to that idea. If we do, we’ll start thinking about it that way and try to consider everything as if it all belongs in the consistency and uniformity of a single volume. If we do that, we might miss out on the incredible diversity of its content.

I like to think of it more as a library in your hand. There’s narratives that seem historical or biographical, there’s some fiction and even some fantasy, there’s poetry and songs, sayings and advice, there’s even a correspondence section.

That correspondence section can be particularly useful for followers of Jesus. As long as you remember that it’s correspondence written to the followers of Jesus by someone who’s not Jesus of Nazareth about how to be a follower of Jesus of Nazareth. Because that’s its real value.

The epistles or letters that were included in Christian scripture are correspondence written by Paul and others to communities where the earliest followers of Jesus had established themselves. There’s twenty-one of these letters, thirteen of which were originally ascribed to Paul, but modern scholarship suggests he might have been responsible for seven of those at most. I want to say they were written to  established “churches,” but they didn’t really have that yet, certainly not as we would recognize it. (And that wasn’t a bad thing, either.) It’s just that these letters we read as scripture weren’t meant to be that at all. They were for people that probably knew the stories and teaching of Jesus - or at least were being taught them - and attempted to build communities around that. They were struggling to figure out how to put into practice being Jesus and sometimes it didn’t go well. So Paul, and others, would write to them. I suspect that there was probably many more letters than the pieces we have that were formed into our scriptural epistles.  Many, many more. 

So. Here’s the teaching of Jesus. Here’s some leadership building communities around that. And here’s the written wisdom and encouragement of some of that leadership on how to do it, how to respond to problems that arise, how to encourage, how to share, how to, well, be Jesus. How to live.

Here’s the thing about the letters. They respond to real world application of the teachings of Jesus: the questions, concerns, struggles and trials of living a radical new way. They’re the working through of “applied Jesus” in the lives of people in those days, with the constant reminder that it’s not just about behaviour, but about what’s in your heart and how that’s lived. It’s about living in the transformative power of love, grace and relationship and living out that power into the world. In many ways, they reveal how hard that can be and also how incredibly rewarding.

Do You Hear the Voice of Jesus?

If you’ve been on vacation, maybe camping in the wilderness with no cell reception, you might have been fortunate enough to miss the opening ceremonies of the Olympics and the ensuing controversy.

I don’t want to contribute further to it, I really don’t. So I’d like to offer the acknowledgement of a couple of biases on my part and a thought about where we go from here. Or, more accurately, where we should have gone and where we could go.

I like the idea of the Olympics. I can certainly imagine how they got started and admire the principles and ideals of the Olympic movement, although I wonder how it’s been impacted by power, politics and corporations. I like the celebration, not only of sport but culture as well, although I’ve never been very interested in the spectacle of the opening and closing ceremonies. While the entry of the athletes and lighting the flame are great, and I find some of it entertaining, I often find I don’t understand the meaning of a lot of what’s happening. That’s not a bad thing at all. It’s really an invitation to find out more and learn some things, maybe historical or cultural things, of which I was unaware.

That’s a bias right there, too, isn’t it? Because you can sometimes choose to learn more and you can sometimes choose to let it go because it’s just not something you’re interested in. Doesn’t mean others aren’t and they should certainly enjoy that.

It’s a tricky thing, though, when people present their vision of something and others see something entirely different. Something offensive and disrespectful, something which they perceive to be attacking something they value.

Again, a lot’s been said, good and bad, wise and foolish. I’m not rehashing that. I’d just like to say that an apology was offered and, more importantly, an explanation of what was intended. And that doesn’t seem to have made any difference. Conservative and evangelical christians don’t seem to be willing to acknowledge the explanation offered - what they saw is what they’re sticking with - or accept the apology offered by the Paris Olympic committee. Some suggest it was intentional and the apology isn’t sincere - it’s another battle in the war on christianity. Others point out the hypocrisy of christians who’ve modified similar images for their own gain or suggested the real concern was the diversity of the offending scenes.

Okay. It seems many voices have been heard, religious and not. Many voices, except Jesus.

I think Jesus would say a couple of things. Forgiveness, would be one. Another would be to ask why we felt so threatened. Didn’t we find out more of what was meant by the artists and performers who created it? And even if we were still wanting to stick with what we think we saw, well, go back to that first thing.

In John’s gospel, there’s a point at which the crowd following Jesus just wants to see him do another miracle. Give us a sign we want to see, they demand. I think, right there, Jesus was so frustrated that he did a face palm. I’m the sign, he says. It’s not about me, personally, but what I’m pointing at: love, understanding, forgiveness, openness to learning and knowing and engaging each other. All the things that seem to be missing in this part of our story. Maybe we need to be less religious and more Jesus.

That Wasn't the Plan

Earlier this week, I saw a quote from popular American priest, author and speaker on spirituality, Richard Rohr. Over a picture of him in his Franciscan habit, casually patting an elderly black dog, it said “Jesus never said ‘worship me,’ but he often said ‘follow me.’”

I like Richard Rohr. He’s sometimes criticized for straying from traditional church teachings, being too progressive and over-emphasizing spirituality over religion, but that seems to me more like a compliment than a criticism. This quote’s a really good example.

It reminds me of the age-old question: if Jesus were to walk into a church today, would he be happy about the way we worship him? As often as people may have brought it up, I also think we’ve tended to ask it with the perspective of what we perceive to be the quality of our worship. Is it good enough for Jesus? Is it solemn, sacred, holy, respectful, repentant and righteous enough? Is it meaningful enough? Meaningful for what? I’m not sure anyone questioned why.

By the way, one of the people commenting on the post of Rohr’s quote said that the Bible says we should worship God, and isn’t Jesus God? They quote the opening verses of John’s gospel to support that and then also several places in the gospels where it indicates people “worshipped” Jesus. 

Okay, that’s a fair perspective. But I’d also suggest that the point of “the Word became flesh” wasn’t simply so that we’d learn to worship God in a different way. I think the point was to show how the divine was present in our humanity - in all humanity and in all creation - and help us reconnect with God’s presence, within us, around us and between us. Jesus shows us how to reconnect with the divine that’s in each of us and live the good that’s in us. That’s the “heaven on earth” Jesus talks about. Jesus shows us how to live whole and well, not so that we can worship better but so that we can live better.

And, by the way, I don’t think Jesus was at all comfortable with people worshipping him in person, either. I think he tried to get away. I think he knew that if people worshipped him it would be so much easier to set him apart and see all that he did as something “only Jesus could do.” That wasn’t the plan.

Getting back to that question, about Jesus being happy about how we worship, I think Rohr’s right on. I think Jesus would reply by asking if we’re caring for each other, especially the poor and the sick, if we’re loving our neighbour everyday, not just an hour on Sunday, and loving ourselves. He’d ask if we’re trying to build peaceful, honourable relationships with those we think are our enemies. He’d ask if we’re welcoming people just as they are and getting to know them, affirming and honouring different traditions, thoughts and beliefs. He’d ask if we nurture and encourage people to be true to themselves and the good that’s in them. He’d ask if we were following his lead.

He’d probably look around and say this is all very nice if it helps you do those things. But don’t worship me. Live me.

Campfire Connections

Sometimes I worry that the way we read the gospels in church each week gives the impression that Jesus’ life is a highlight reel of miracles and important sayings. That’s pretty much how we know all scripture, unless of course, you’re reading the Bible at home, too.

Each week we get a story. Or some sayings or a single psalm or a few words of wisdom from a prophet. Bits and pieces that highlight a theme or emphasize a particular life lesson. I’m not suggesting this isn’t helpful (it is), nor am I suggesting I have a better way or that we should spend a few more hours than we do, listening to someone read entire chapters or books of the Bible. (Again, you can do that at home.)

Thing is, though, it’s the life Jesus lived that we learn the most from, not just the highlights. We need the continuity of the story, how moments are connected, how Jesus lived love into each moment, how Jesus showed us that love is in us, too, and we are capable of living as Jesus did, embracing the divine spirit and human soul together. 

We need to remember and spend some time with those untitled moments in Jesus’ life. The ones that, like those untitled moments in our own lives, are just about getting us from here to there, the moments that are about taking time to rest, to spend some time apart and pray, to take a sabbath rest and just be with God. That doesn’t make for very interesting reading, but it’s important to remember that Jesus would have experienced them, just as we do, and that Jesus would have leaned into them so that he was ready for the next big moment.

That’s not to say Jesus would necessarily have been any better at it than we are. Jesus gets tired, Jesus gets frustrated, Jesus loses his cool sometimes. And how many times do we hear about how Jesus was trying to get away from the crowds, but they followed him. He sees they’re like “sheep without a shepherd” and he takes the time to show compassion and grace. I like to think that, for every one of those moments, Jesus managed to find sometime somewhere else to rest, refresh and rejuvenate. Just like the lessons of love, compassion, grace and connection, the lesson of wholeness is at the heart of Jesus’ life.

I get that the gospel writers might not have thought those moments were important, but it’s the ordinary moments that help us connect with Jesus so that we can be a part of the spectacular ones, too. It’s the ordinary ones that bring Jesus close, someone we can sit with and talk, just as I think he must have with everyone he met. “Tell me your story,” I think he’d say.

Our children’s summer program this year was called “Campfire Tales.” We structured the stories around the idea that Jesus and his disciples walked everywhere and would likely have camped a lot at night. They might share conversation around the campfire and Jesus might tell a story or two, maybe even one of the stories he told the people earlier or the next day. They might have chatted about, well, “things.”  Just like we would. Those are the moments that bring us together with Jesus.

What would it take?

Herod had a dinner. It didn't end well.

The gospel of Mark (and Matthew) tells how Herod, a minor client king of the Romans, had a birthday party at which he persuaded his wife's daughter to dance for him by promising her anything she desired. She dances and her mother tells her to ask for "the head of John the Baptist on a platter." Herod reluctantly grants her wish. Herod had arrested John because he was publicly critical of the king marrying his brother's wife, Herodias. But Herod regarded John as a prophet and didn’t want to kill him. Herodias wanted him dead.

I suppose you could argue that someone got their way and went away happy. But revenge doesn't bring happiness. This is a story about power over others, power to manipulate and control, hurt and destroy. That kind of power is potent and seductive and altogether too familiar in the news, in our entertainment, in our day to day lives and, sadly, becoming more prominent in the rhetoric of politicians.

There's no likeable characters in this story, no sympathetic ones, no positive message. If you’re interested in the Herodian family, look them up. They make Game of Thrones look like a soap opera. And John wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. He certainly spoke his mind. That’s what prophets do, and it can be very discomfiting. Speaking truth to power has a price in this story.

I believe that, from the very beginning, our “factory setting” is good, but we have freewill and choice and we’ve established pretty clearly that we’re more than capable of choosing something else. The power to kill over the power to give life; the power to destroy over the power to create; the power to hurt over the power of compassion; the power of hate over the power of love. We frequently chose "power over" rather than "power with."

So here’s a story in which that is concentrated. Herod only has power because it is allowed him by the Romans who have power by force and oppression. Herod extends that oppression and cruelty to his own people and throws in a dash of excess when it comes to his own lifestyle. And yet, he is not the one with power here. It's Herodias and her seductive daughter, and they abuse the celebratory moment by taking a life out of vengeance. Like it’s an everyday thing.

Mark’s gospel moves on from here to the miracle story of Jesus feeding the multitude of people who’ve come to hear him speak. Five loaves and two fish, blessed by Jesus, is all it takes to feed the crowd.

Jesus may have done something miraculous with the loaves and fishes. Or, it certainly would be a miracle that an initial act of sharing inspired so many others to find that they had something they could share and, more importantly, that they did share. All were fed and went away satisfied because so many were willing to look beyond themselves to the good of all. That’s a miracle.

So why is the brutal execution of someone speaking truth to power not so shocking and the feeding of a crowd of hungry people a miracle? 

What would it take for us to find the second story less a miracle and more a reality? How can we make the forces of oppression, the selfishness of all the Herods and the ruthless hatefulness of all the Herodiases an aberration, rather than an everyday norm?  What would it take for us to find our way back to the good, "the image of God," which is the root of our creation? What would it take? Jesus has a way: it would take love.

How do you really know?

Hard to know who or what to believe, isn’t it?

People say things, you read or see things in the news, on the internet, social media - however you acquire information - and you need to decide what you think is true.

How?

Well, I’d say we need to be more discerning and not just accept what we’re hearing and seeing as fact without more thought and consideration of the source and context. Can you trust the source and what’s the context? What’s your criteria for discerning that? 

In a world that’s so complex and diverse, so multi-layered and structured, I think we tend to lean towards what we know, what we want to hear and what we’re comfortable with. I think we have a tendency towards “me first,” not just out of selfishness, but out of safety. Our natural inclination is to protect ourselves, our own needs and what’s important to us as individuals. Besides, being more discerning and thoughtful can be a whole lot more work.

We’re more inclined to choose the narrative that already supports our view, not the one that challenges it and especially not the one that critiques it. Whether it’s something that benefits us, rights a perceived wrong (to us), or feeds our superficial distaste or fear of  something unfamiliar or different, we’re likely to listen to the loud voice that rages with us and follow the action that helps us feel more powerful and important. It becomes easy to dismiss experts, experience and intellect, and, most importantly, find simple, superficial ways to negate them. “I know you and you’re no better than me,” for example.

Just ask Jesus.

One minute, people are impressed with his teaching and wisdom and wonder at how he could be so prophetic and the next minute, in his hometown, even, he’s dismissed as the local carpenter’s son, a nobody “from here” who couldn’t possibly achieve such greatness (Mark 6:3 and others). One minute, the temple authorities dismiss him as an uneducated nobody and the next minute the crowds are astonished that he speaks with such authority (Mark 1:22 and others). What authority? He’s a poor guy, with no title or training, from Nazareth and “can anything good come from Nazareth?” (John 1:46)

Well, yes, as it happens. And that’s the point. Good doesn’t come from a geographic location, a place in society or a title, it comes from the heart. In order to discern what is true and good we need to go deeper, to the deepest part of our hearts in which is the good we come into this life with. Experience, fear and ego may stand in the way, but going deeper takes us to the source of what is true and good. It’s the only criteria Jesus used: is it love?