You said what?

I have questions.  I've always had questions, I will always have questions.

To me, belief is the beginning of questions, not the excuse to stop people asking questions.  I think the satirist and comedian Bill Maher is mistaken when he says "faith means making a virtue out of not thinking."  Faith demands we think more.

So, because it's Lent, let me tell you some things I believe.

I say that, "because it's Lent," because I believe that Lent is a time for self reflection and examining ourselves, our lives and how we're living.  Let me clarify that: Lent is an "I" time.  It's not time for me to tell you how you should live, what you should fix, how you should behave or what you should think.  I'm not sure there is ever a time for that, to be honest.  Still, I think Lent is about looking inward first, and examining "me" and how that "me" relates to God and you.  "And you, and you and you," to quote the Sound of Music.

So to say "I believe …" is just the starting point, the beginning of questions.

I believe, for example, that God is awesome.   I could say so much more about that, but let's just leave that one there for now.

I believe that Jesus is about life, not death.  While I respect the various theories of atonement (and there are many), I believe that Jesus dying should draw our attention to the important part - how he lived - and we should "live" like that, too.  And that should bring us closer to God.  At least in this life.

I believe that we come from God and we return to God.  I believe, therefore, that God knows us before we come here, and will know us again, and God knows us for who we truly are, no matter how we live this life.  I believe that we should want to live this life well because that, in itself, is reason to do so.  Created "in the image of God" (Genesis 1:27; 5:1; 9:6), should mean a desire to live in grace and right relationship with the world around us, not a need for power or control over the world around us.  To me, the threat of eternal punishment and a terrifying afterlife shouldn't be necessary.  That's like saying you should do the right thing or else you'll be punished.  No.  You should do the right thing because you should do the right thing.  That's why it's called the right thing.

Yes, I know "the right thing" is a little subjective.  Perhaps that's why we need more questions, more thought, more conversation, more relationship to understand what it might be, which is to be what is true.

I also know that I can say we should "live in grace and right relationship" and I leave myself open to the acknowledgement that I haven't always done that.  Yes, that's true.  Good thing there's a time like Lent to look hard at that and reflect on it.  Good thing there's also grace.

You see, that's a huge one: I believe that God's grace is for all.  God's grace is God's love and forgiveness freely given.  It's not up to us to decide if we're worthy of it, or who gets it or, more importantly for some, who doesn't.  God simply gives it.  To everyone.

To live out God's grace in our lives is to share that grace and love as best we, in our humanity, are able.  For followers of Jesus, that is to live not just as Jesus teaches, but as Jesus showed us: to, literally, "love one another as I have loved you" (John 13:34).  We might not always be successful, or make the right choices, but it's grace and love that empower us to continue to try, not the threat of consequences or the desire for superficial gain.

That's a lot of legs ...

Well, that's just a start, probably just enough to start thinking about and question.  Oddly enough, what started me thinking about it was the image Jesus uses to describe himself in Luke 13:34, part of the reading for the second Sunday of Lent: "Jerusalem … how often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!"  Jesus knows that he can't make people follow, and he laments that.  But with wings spread and chest exposed and vulnerable, he offers himself, nonetheless, open to attack or embrace.

Cupcakes, Cards, Lent and Love

Well, I'm just having some difficulty focusing on Lent, right now.  See, it's Valentine's Day today and, for a gift, my love made me my favourite kind of cupcakes.  That might not sound all that impressive unless you knew how much the kitchen is not her friend - I do the cooking (mostly).  So she made me cupcakes.  And, bonus, they're delicious.

If only someone had made Charlie Brown some cupcakes.  I'm a big fan of the Peanuts cartoon, but the Valentine's Day story always bothered me.  Charlie Brown doesn't get any  valentines.  He waits at the mailbox.  Nothing.  He brings a briefcase to school to carry them all home.  Nothing.  The next day he gets a used one because some of the girls felt guilty.  Sad.  All those expectations.  Crushed.  And that's only one thread of the story.  Linus is disappointed to find out the teacher he loves has a boyfriend and Sally's love for Linus once again goes unrequited.  It's almost like Charlie Brown's lost in a wilderness with no love.

Or, at least, a wilderness where love is represented by a piece of coloured paper with a few hearts and some poetry.  Charlie Brown seems to be missing the love, friendship and care of his sister, his family and his best friend Linus, among others.  If only someone had made him cupcakes, maybe.  But, as Linus has said to him before, "of all the Charlie Browns, you're the Charlie Browniest."

Jesus, the gospels tell us, went into the wilderness and was tempted by the devil.  Each of the temptations isn't just refused, but refuted.  Nor does Jesus lash out at his tempter.  It's as if Jesus has some inner strength.  He does: "Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness" (Luke 4:1).  Jesus is aware of God's love and grace present in this moment as much as any other, present in the wilderness as much as in companionship, present in moments of trial as much as comfort, present in moments of conflict as much as peace.

I think we, like Charlie Brown, can sometimes find ourselves wondering if we live in a loveless and graceless wilderness because we, human beings that we are, have valued, expected and judged and been disappointed.  This wilderness of our making isn't a place we've sought for solitude, thought and prayer to bring us closer to God, it's a place distant from God where we've given into those temptations that lead to our disappointment, even fear and anger.

This Lent, I'd like to take on the wilderness experience of Jesus, a wilderness where I may reflect and discover more about my relationship with God and with others by resisting the temptation to assume, to expect and to judge.  I'd like to take on the kind of wilderness where we can be free to discover, knowing that God's love and grace is in every moment, waiting to be embraced.

Care to join me and see who can be the least Charlie Browniest?

Who's listening?

On our church calendar, the season of Epiphany concludes with Transfiguration Sunday.  It's a powerful way to end the "season of revealing:" with a story revealing the glory of Jesus as the Son of God.

Lewis Bowman's "Transfiguration"

Jesus takes three of the disciples with him to the top of a mountain.  While there, Jesus appears to be transfigured.  That is, his appearance is changed and he shines with a dazzling light - with "glory," Luke says - and Moses and Elijah appear next to him.  The disciples want to build three "dwellings' for them, but suddenly there's a great cloud and a voice is heard saying "this is my son … listen to him."  The disciples are fearful, Jesus is alone with them again, the moment passes and they go down the mountain and on with their day.

Okay, I didn't mean to sound like I'm trivializing the ending there.  After all, I think that's pretty much the most important part of the story, but I'll come back to that.

The story appears in the gospels of Mark, Matthew and Luke, and there are some details that are a little different, but that's the gist of it: Jesus' transfiguration reveals the very human man to be also the Son of God, the meeting of human and divine.  We should listen to him because he is more than a messenger of God, he is the Word made flesh.

It's Luke's version of the story we hear this year and, I have to say, I like Luke's story.  Each of the gospels give us ways to break open the story, discover what it might mean and imagine how that might become part of our lives.  Luke, I think, gives us a little something more to take away here, he gives us a way forward.  Like I said, a way on with our day.

Luke writes that Jesus and the disciples went up the mountain to pray.  In fact, "while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white" (Luke 9:29).  Prayer is a theme throughout the gospel of Luke.  Thank goodness.  How else might we listen?

Right: listen.

I can imagine the wonder of the moment.  I mean, I can imagine my own sense of wonder at the moment.  How do you imagine the glory of God or the voice in the cloud?  Or the awe and fear of the disciples?  And, with some study, I can explain various aspects of the story and what they might mean.

But what happens when I leave the mountain top?  After the wonder and the understanding, where do I take this story, how do I "listen to him?"

First, I wonder if Luke isn't trying to remind us that we can hear the stories of Jesus and we can hear Jesus' words as the story reports them, but to "listen to him" demands more of us.  It demands that we understand the words and put them into practice in our lives, not just as behaviour, but as living.  And to understand, we must listen for what is true and experience that in our own lives.  The story must come alive for us.

And second, we must pray.  We so often think that prayer is about asking or thanking, but it's more than that.  Prayer is a critical part of our relationship with God.  It's our communication with God, our conversation with God, our sharing with God.  And God shares with us.  So when you pray, do you leave God some space to answer?  

In the beginning

Well, alright.  A blog.  It's my first time, and I was reluctant at first, so thanks for the encouragement everyone.

I'll explain why I called it "On the way" in a minute, but thanks first to Coleman who suggested "Rev Rob's God Blog."  At least his title gives you a clue as to what you're getting.  Kind of.

Here's the thing.   I preach on a Sunday morning without notes.  So on Monday, I start with the scripture passages for that week and over the next few days I read as much as I can and think about where I want to go with it.  By Wednesday, I'm planning the service.  By Friday I have in my head what I want to say and, with the Spirit's help, something meaningful might come out Sunday morning.  Somewhere in there, I've also figured out how to approach the theme with the children, too.

In the midst of all that, two weeks out of three, I write a column for the local newspapers.  That's due on Thursday afternoon.  So by the time I've got that done, I should be - wait for it - on the way.

So that column is really some ponderings on the way to a more fully formed expression on Sunday.  That's pretty much what you're getting here.  Sometimes it might be where I went in the end, sometimes I might have taken a left turn, or even a right turn.  Maybe.  The point is - and I remind people of this as often as possible - my goal is never to tell you how it is or what you should think, but to invite you to think about it.  Maybe you've got a thought, an idea or a question that needs more exploring.  Maybe you'd like to share it.

After all, I hope that's what we're doing here, exploring ... on the way.