Do You Know You?

Jesus tells a lot of stories. The Gospel of Luke has more of these stories, called parables, than the other gospels. Parables can seem simple, an obvious teaching tool, but they’re deeper than that and can invite us to wonder about so much more than that simple point they seem to make.

In Luke 18, Jesus tells a couple of stories to illustrate aspects of prayer. One, about an unjust judge facing off against a persistent widow, seems to be about being persistent - and consistent! - in prayer. But it raises the question of what prayer really is: that it’s inspiration and action, especially when it comes to justice and care for others. “Pray with your feet,” an African proverb says.

Then, Jesus tells a story about a pharisee, a leader of the temple, and a tax collector, pretty much a synonym for “sinner” in Jesus’ day, going to the temple to pray. The pharisee stands at the front by himself in his fancy ceremonial robes, raises his hands and loudly prays his thanks for not being like other people, listing the worst of the worst ending with “like that tax collector.” He performs all the right rituals and makes all the right donations, he says. The tax collector stands at a distance, head bowed, beating his chest. He simply and quietly asks for mercy because he’s a sinner. With these two contrasting examples, Jesus tells them that it’s the tax collector who goes home “justified,” or right with God: “for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”

The story seems to have  a pretty simple point which Jesus states clearly at the end there. And the author of Luke sets it up, just in case it wasn’t clear enough: “he also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt.”

But it just isn’t that simple. 

Despite our learned response that pharisees are dishonest, ungodly enemies of Jesus in the bible, that’s a generalization of a group of people who were often the most well respected holy men in the community, the guardians of the law, the keepers of the temple. That’s probably how most of the people hearing this story for the first time in the first century would have known them. And there doesn’t seem to be any indication in the story that the pharisee is saying anything that’s not true. Maybe he really is thankful not to be one of those “bad” people, maybe he does tithe and follow the letter of the ritual law.

Not tax collectors, though. They were mostly reviled and hated, known more for working with the occupying Romans and rich upper class to bleed the poor. They were often dishonest and corrupt. That’s how most of the people Jesus talked to, especially the poor, would have known them.

And that’s just it. We don’t know these characters beyond their stereotype. While that might illustrate a point about behaviour, I think it ought to raise some pretty big questions for us. Like, what is humility, and what does it mean to be authentic and true to who we are? Even, who am I?

To be truly humble is to speak from the heart and recognize who we are, beyond, or perhaps in spite of, our behaviour. God knows us for who we truly are, so when we come to God in prayer, we cannot make our relationship with God right unless we speak from the heart with honesty and sincerity. It’s the source of right relationships with each other and the world around us, too, because the same divine spirit of life that’s in us is in all creation.

And it’s not comparative, either.  I wonder how often we hear this story and think, well of course one wants to be like the tax collector. Thank goodness I’m not like that pharisee. But wait a minute.  Isn’t that just what the pharisee said?  It isn’t about the stereotype, or how he behaves or doesn’t. It’s about who we are and how we are, living out authentically and sincerely the love that’s in our heart. It’s about wondering: who am I?

Pray With Your Feet

According to the gospel of Luke, Jesus once told a story about a judge and a widow. The judge, Jesus says, “neither feared God nor had respect for people.” Not a good start if you’re looking for justice. And the widow was. The judge refused to help her, but the widow is persistent and keeps after him. In the end, the judge gives in, not because he thought her cause was just, but because she kept bothering him and she wore him down.

Pretty searing indictment of the system, right? Jesus frequently pointed out these kind of power dynamics in structures and how important it is to challenge them, condemn them and fix them.

Except, that doesn’t seem to be why he tells the story. “Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart.” That’s how the gospel’s author introduces it. And it’s followed by another prayer story, the one where the religious leader prays all fancy for show and the tax collector stands off by themselves and prays humbly and honestly.

Be persistent in prayer and pray often, Jesus is saying, be authentic and sincere. Really good advice, especially coming from someone who should know. I imagine that after he told those stories, someone in the crowd probably said “yes, offering thoughts and prayers is so important.”

“Yes,” Jesus says. And then he’d pause. “No, wait. Let’s make sure we all understand what we’re talking about.”

Prayer can’t just be words.

We don’t know what the issue is for the widow, just that she is seeking justice, literally pursuing it. As a widow, she has little power or status and no influence, just her persistence, not just in words, but action. Perhaps she was alone because no one else would stand up for her. But I imagine her protesting in front of the judge’s office, perhaps talking to people, the media, rallying support for her cause. I know I’ve just brought that into a more contemporary context, but isn’t that what Jesus wants us to do, bring these stories into our own time and place?

How can we offer prayer for injustice without acting to change it? Can we pray for the hungry without offering food? Or the thirsty, without offering water? Can we pray for the homeless without offering shelter? Can we pray for those who haven’t coats for the winter, without offering them clothing? Or the sick and the shut-in, without offering care and comfort?

How can we pray for a better world - that “your kingdom come on earth, as it is in heaven” - if our prayer isn’t accompanied by intentional action to make it so? That action must be persistent, unyielding and determined, it must be authentic and sincere. Words aren’t enough. John Lewis, the civil rights leader and later member of the US Congress, frequently quoted the African proverb “pray with your feet.” He participated in sit-ins, marches and the Freedom Rides, organized and attended non-violent protests, standing up to injustice and challenging the political and social powers.

What can you do? Be persistent and pray with your feet.

Thanksgiving Ritual

It’s Thanksgiving time in Canada.

Not that every day shouldn’t be a cause for giving thanks, but this is our yearly reminder. So don’t let it go by as just a one off. Even in a world like today, there’s something to be thankful for each day. There is.

It’s harvest time, so maybe there’s a good place to start. Thanks for the land, for the food it provides, the farmers who do all the hard work, the truck drivers, processors, grocers - everyone that brings that to our tables.

There’s time to remember both those things amongst all the traditions and rituals we might have for this holiday. Yes, “rituals” too. After all, the word holiday comes from the old English meaning holy day.

In Deuteronomy, the Hebrew people are told that, when they come into the promised land, there’s a ritual of thanksgiving to observe. It’s not about turkey or pumpkin pies or football games, though there’s something of a family celebration in it all. They’re told to take the first fruits of the harvest and present it to God as thanks for the land they now live on.

But there’s more. They are to recite the story of how they come to be there. “A wandering Aramean was my ancestor,” it begins. It tells how they found themselves in Egypt, a small number of aliens there who grew into a great number, enslaved by the Egyptians and treated harshly, how God heard their cries for help and brought them out of Egypt with power and signs and wonders, and brought them here, to the promised land. So it’s not just a thanksgiving for harvest, but for all that has brought them to where they are today, all that is around them, all that God has done for them.

There’s still more, though. It’s then that they get to celebrate. After thanking God for the harvest, the harvest they have because God has brought them to this land, they get to celebrate: “Then you, together with the Levites and the aliens who reside among you, shall celebrate with all the bounty that the Lord your God has given to you and to your house.” Levites are descendants of the tribe of Levi who perform religious functions in the temple. They’re the leaders of the ritual so they get in on the party, too. And so do the aliens who reside among you.”

Yes, you have to celebrate with the people who aren’t your people. You were once an alien, too, and you need to welcome them and celebrate with them.

This could be a Thanksgiving dinner today. However you know God, first offer thanks for all the earth has offered in order that you are fed and nurtured. Offer thanks for more than that, though. Offer thanks for the good that has brought you here. The little things, the big things, the simple and the complicated, the challenges and the opportunities. They’re there, you might need to think a bit these days (it’s worth it). Then celebrate that gratitude and its benefits by sharing it with others, especially those who are an “alien” to you and your land. God doesn’t call us to exclude or dismiss, but to include and welcome. We should be thankful for that, too.

"Please sir, I want some more"

Every week, if not every day, it just seems like there’s more. More hurt and brokenness, more anger and hate, more violence and confusion, more hunger, more poverty, more homelessness, more sickness, more grief. There’s more love and grace, compassion and understanding, too, I’m sure, but the voices - and actions - of the former seem to drown out the latter.

I can’t imagine there’s ever been a time like this before now.

There has, of course. Not exactly the same, things change and every moment is unique, but similar enough, especially in the sense of being so overwhelming. What can we do? We don’t seem to be enough. If only we had more … something.

How about faith?

I think there’s a moment in the Gospel of Luke when the disciples find themselves feeling overwhelmed. I think they see the world around them, feeling much like we might now, they hear all that Jesus is asking of them and they feel like they’re just not enough. They feel they need something more and they say to Jesus “give us more faith!” 

I’m interpreting, of course, but, for me, it sure feels like they’re desperate for help. They don’t feel they can handle everything, certainly not like Jesus does, and they want him to somehow make them stronger, to make them be more like Jesus. Maybe they thought he could just touch them or breathe on them and somehow they’d be “more.” After all, they didn’t want to fail him.

Again, I’m interpreting, but I imagine Jesus just shaking his head. 

Let’s be clear: it’s never about meeting expectations with Jesus. Jesus isn’t about expectations or passing a test or meeting a set achievement standard or being perfect (especially being perfect). Jesus is about how we live and how we love, with sincerity, truth and wholeness. Just as we are.

That’s important to remember because Jesus’ response to the their request for more faith is to say you don’t need more. All that you need is already within you. It’s not about quantifying your faith. There is no more or less. It’s about how much you use it.

He tells them that even faith the size of a small seed - like a mustard seed, Jesus’ favourite tiny image - is enough to do amazing things. How that seed grows is in how often you put it to use, living out the love, compassion and kindness that is our true nature. Finding that in ourselves, sharing it, finding it in others, this is faith in action. That’s how it grows, not in quantity, but deeper, more fit, healthy and capable. And more whole.

He also tells them that it doesn’t need to be grand or heroic. It’s not about heavy lifting, it’s about the ordinary, everyday things that serve others as well as ourselves. Small acts of kindness and caring, moments of love and engagement, reaching out to others, these are what we build our life around. Faith, like life, is lived.

You are enough.

What's In Your Way?

Time for my annual reminder: you are created in the image of God. Yes, you. We are all children of God. Yes you, and that person you don’t like, too. All of us, no exceptions.

(Now that I think about it, this might be a bi-annual, maybe even a weekly reminder. A necessary one, though.)

God language is what I’m using, but you know I mean “whatever faith tradition, however you know God” or whatever language you want to use, right? God is love, the spirit of life, the living energy that is in all things, the power of creation and the heart of good, the thing that connects us all. We all come from God (however you understand that) and we all return to God (however you understand that). 

Just because we don’t all use the same lingo, language or systems doesn’t mean we aren’t one family, one community, one people. 

And people are extraordinary, capable of great things, even amazing things. We're capable of great creativity, love, compassion, grace - all the things that remind us that we are created "in the image of God" (Genesis 1:27).

We're also capable of other things, the less desirable things, the things that are the opposite of those things we think of as "good." We can destroy and hurt and hate. We can be selfish, mean and abusive. We have a very diverse skill set.

I believe - and I know this is going to be trouble, so please just take a moment to think about it - that we are inherently good. For a very long time, we’ve learned about Original Sin and how we’re all inherently sinful, but I don’t see how that’s possible. In our stories, we’re created from the earth and by the spirit of God. Throughout the creation story, God says everything created is “good,” and God, surely, is good, so how can we not be inherently good? It’s our factory setting. Even if you don’t believe in what’s true in the story, surely the moment of creation is good. It’s the living and life experiences and choices that follow that affirm our good or denies it.

I also believe that, in the story, Eve and Adam simply made a choice. They acquired free will, thanks to a decision that followed a conversation with a crafty and clever serpent (who wasn’t evil, by the way) and made a choice. What if that was the plan all along? What if they weren’t cast out of the Garden of Eden for their sin, but instead became aware of their abilities - especially the power of learning - and found themselves aware of being co-creators, co-stewards of creation, rather than just residents in it? What if it wasn’t supposed to be a punishment, but a gift, and they didn’t leave “Eden” at all. What if it’s been this wonder of creation, this world in which we live, all along? What if they found themselves aware of their earthly-ness and the divine spirit within them and knew they were created in the image of God and could now live into that?

What if they then lost their way?

Jesus, and figures like Jesus - prophets, leaders and wise, spirit-filled people - have showed us what we’re capable of. They weren’t any more perfect than we are, or any less affected by the challenges of life we know. The point isn’t to hold them up and set them apart as something unusual and miraculous, but to learn from them that we are what they are, created in the image of God and capable of every love-filled, grace-filled, compassion-filled, empathy-filled moment we can imagine. 

What’s in your way?

A Time For Lament

Perhaps not everyone will see it this way, but, to me, the world sure seems broken and hurting right now. I don’t know what’s the best description or metaphor. These are dark times. We’ve lost our way. We’re at war with ourselves. The dystopian future of so many authors seems to be near.

“Is there no balm in Gilead?” asks the prophet Jeremiah towards the end of the 7th century BCE (Jeremiah 8:22). In the midst of political and religious strife, conflict and degradation of society, he sees the Hebrew people have turned away from God and he proclaims the impending destruction of Jerusalem and the nation. He hurts for the people, as does God, and laments their circumstances.

Jeremiah offers this metaphor: is there no balm in Gilead? Gilead is a hilly part of the country, east of the Jordan, famous for a soothing ointment made from the sap of balsam trees. So, he says, is there no soothing ointment that will fix this problem and make everything better? And the answer is no. No there isn’t, there’s only weeping day and night, lamenting the destruction of Jerusalem and the death of the people that is to come. And it does. Babylon conquers Judah, Jerusalem is broken and the Temple destroyed.

For Jeremiah, there is no balm for that. It needs more, and that’s Jeremiah’s concern. It needs more than a superficial repair or a moment of comfort, it needs time to hurt and mourn, time to lament. It needs time to journey through the hurt and then it needs something deeper, something transformative, something heartfelt. Jeremiah sees that as a turning back to God, not just in the temple or in the behaviour of priests, politicians or even ordinary people, but a deep, heartfelt and dramatic change in how the people live.

Later, much later, Jeremiah will offer words of hope that a new day is coming, but this moment calls the people to live the hurt and work together with God to transform it.

African-american slaves picked up on that. They didn’t sing a question, they made a statement: “There is a balm in Gilead/ to make the wounded whole./ There is a balm in Gilead/ to cure the sin-sick soul.” Their reference point is Jeremiah, but they find the answer in Jesus and the Holy Spirit: “The Holy Spirit revives my soul again” says one common verse and  “You can tell the love of Jesus” says another. This is no salve for irritated skin, this is something deeper, something to be found in the hearts of everyone. Something Jeremiah might understand to be more like the covenant God offers much later through the prophet:  “I will put my law in their minds and write it on their hearts” (Jeremiah 31:33).

However you know God, or not, this goes beyond religion, it goes to the heart of who and how we are. Like Jeremiah and the spiritual, I’d say it’s about turning back to God, following the way of Jesus, inspired by the Spirit. By that, I mean love and grace, empathy and compassion. These are the strengths of spirit that carry us through this journey. And it offers no quick fix. There’s no mental or spiritual “take a pill and be fine tomorrow.” It’s a journey on which God is with us, through the hurt, the grief, the challenges, the successes, the joy and the laughter. It’s the journey to wholeness and we’re invited to walk it respectfully together.

Lost and Found and Awaiting New Possibilities

There’s a Lost and Found box in the lobby of our church. It’s not big and it sits on top of a coat rack in the corner. It’s right next to our flock of stuffed sheep, so it’s not always very noticeable. We empty it every so often and any unclaimed items might find their way to new life at the thrift store or in a yard sale or, if it’s a toy, the kids’ room downstairs or even just to someone who needs it. Not much you can do with an odd glove, but sometimes it’s a pair, or a toy, a baseball hat, a sweater or sunglasses.

Things don’t get reclaimed very often. And they’re not going anywhere by themselves. They’re just sitting there, waiting to be found, probably by the person who lost them, but more often, we help them to a new life elsewhere.

That’s a little sad, though, isn’t it? If you found your way into that box, it’s because you were forgotten or misplaced and the person you belonged to either didn’t remember they brought you here, didn’t remember you at all or didn’t think it was worth the trouble finding you. You were just explained away as “lost.”

Thing is: you were found. You were found by the person who put you in the box, with the hope that someone will come for you someday or that, maybe, there’s a possibility of a new life, a new purpose somewhere new. Maybe the box should say “Lost and Found and Awaiting New Possibilities.”

In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus told short parables about a shepherd who lost one of his one hundred sheep and a woman who lost one of ten coins (Luke 15:1-10). The shepherd risked all the other sheep to find that one and the woman would not stop until she found the single coin. Both celebrated the recovery of the sheep and the coin as if they were of the greatest value to them.

Would you have done the same? Or would you have, quite sensibly, balanced the value of the thing lost with the cost of searching for it and, again quite reasonably, arrived at the conclusion that it wasn’t worth the trouble? It’s common sense, really. Some things are just so easily replaced - if, in fact, you really need it. And if you don’t, why even bother to look for it?

But Jesus tells these stories in response to the religious authorities complaining that he was spending his time with the worst kind of people, “tax collectors and sinners.” The religious authorities always seemed to be very well aware of their own righteousness and the unrighteousness of others. Why, they seem to wonder, would Jesus waste his time on “those people.” They’ve already been judged and cast aside and it just doesn’t make sense to waste time on them. They might as well get lost.

We judge and value everything because it makes sense to us to do so, from a lost glove or pair of sunglasses to people. Are they worth the trouble? What kind of effort do I have to make? Why aren’t they making more of an effort? What will it cost me? It’s their own fault, can’t they do better?

Jesus never asked those questions. Jesus loved. Jesus offered the most love to those we would judge the hardest to love. Jesus reached out to the helpless. Jesus spent his time with those that were valued the least and risked everything for them. Will we do the same?