Are we there yet?

Still feeling like Moses this week.  I think there's lots of people who are.

Last week, I suggested that we all have that moment, like Moses, when we just really want to see God (Exodus 33:12-23).  Face-to-face.  And we can't.  But we can see where God has been, in creation, in our friends and family, in our experiences, in our lives.  I suggested, in part, that God's "presence" that goes with the Israelites into the Promised Land is what we might recognize as God, present all along as the spirit, the energy, the source, the power, the life - whatever you wish to call it - that is in, and connects, all creation.  It breaks down the barriers we build between us, shares our grief as readily as our joy, and binds us to each other and to all of creation.

Now, the wandering Israelites have come to the Promised Land.  And Moses, standing on the mountain, is shown the new land by God, the land he will not be able to enter.  Moses' time is done and, though "his sight was unimpaired and his vigour had not abated" (Ex. 34:7), he dies and it's Joshua that leads the Israelites on.

Moses got to see the promise, the land even, the land "flowing with milk and honey," but not experience it.  And this is my Moses Moment this week.

I think what he saw in this moment was promise.  Promise not yet fulfilled.  How things went forward from here (Moses returns to God and the Israelites move forward into the land) is something else.  I wonder if many people aren't still seeking "the promised land" in their lives.

Martin Luther King spoke for a generation and a people when he spoke like Moses.  The thought, if not the exact words, has been expressed by many famous, visionary, prophetic people.  But I don't think you have to be great to have an "I've seen the promised land" moment.

This past week I was feeling like Moses.  October 26 is Peace Sunday on our church calendar.  I don't know where to begin with what's been happening in the world this week.  Ottawa.  Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu.  Iraq and pretty much anywhere in the Middles East.  Ukraine.  Africa.  Korea.  There's more.  Peace seems like a far off land.  A Promised Land.

And we've seen it.  A moment here and there, fleeting, to be sure, but we've seen it.  We may even have experienced it.  Not because there's been no war or conflict.  Peace isn't about the absence of anything, peace is about presence: the presence of love.

When asked what was the greatest commandment, Jesus said love God and love your neighbour as you love yourself.  That fundamental relationship of love brings peace.  We've seen it.  When we show love instead of hate, love instead of fear, love instead of selfishness.  When we do justice, offer grace, show compassion, we are living love.  These are steps to the promised land of peace.

Sometimes it feels like we're taking two steps back for every step forward.  Like Moses, it often feels like we've seen it, but we just can't reach it.  But the journey is our life and living our lives to the fullest means living into love.  And, challenging as that is, we go on that journey with the presence of God.

Where God's been all along

I'm feeling a little like Moses right now.  I think there's lots of people who are.

We all have moments in our lives when we'd really, really like to see God just do something.  Or, if not do something, at least show up in person and answer some questions.  And that's not new.  It seems like it has always been like that.

Moses had a moment like that.  After the burning bush and the plagues and leading the Israelites out of Egypt, he'd brought the Ten Commandments down from Sinai only to find the Israelites had got tired of waiting and had made their own new god, a golden calf.  So he broke the stone tablets and destroyed the idol and he sorted out the Israelites and headed back up the mountain to see God.  And here's the moment.

Moses has to persuade God not to destroy the Israelites completely, but God's fed up and says that he'll send an angel ahead of them into the promised land.  God won't accompany them.  But Moses is maybe a little fed up, too.  He says to God that, after all that God's done for God's people, all that everyone's seen because this is God's chosen people, the people whom God favours, then God should really be going with them.  And God says "my presence will go with you" (Ex. 33:14).

Still not enough for Moses.  He wants to see God, to see his "glory," in person.  God replies that no one can experience God in person and live.  But Moses has a relationship with God: God "knows" Moses.  So God puts Moses in the cleft of the rock, God covers him with God's hand and, after God has passed by, Moses can see God's back.

That seems to have been enough for Moses.  At first, I wondered if that would be enough for me, but I think I came to the conclusion that it wasn't about knowing what he was seeing so much as what it meant.  I'll explain.

This is a rich story, full of much meaning.  But right now, I'm holding it like this.  There are many in our community who are grieving.  An unexpected and tragic loss, illness that has taken or will take a loved one, a broken relationship - with respect, there isn't really any way to justly describe their pain in words.  They are surrounded by loving, compassionate people who want to help and would do anything for them, if there was anything they could do.  There often isn't, so we hope our presence, our thoughts and our prayers are enough.  But we wonder, as those who grieve do, where God is.

Why, as Moses wonders, doesn't God just show up and do something?

There's a variety of stock traditional answers to that question, and I know they may be comforting.  But are they enough?  I've been wondering lately at how amazing it is that we seem to be wired to question, but not to understand.  This is why Moses' story is becoming so valuable to me.  Moses has a relationship with God and that relationship allows Moses to see something.  And when he does, he comes to recognize and understand that what he's seen is really the most important thing: where God has been.

God "knows" Moses.  I believe that God "knows" you and me and all people because I believe that we all come from God and we all return to God.  I don't doubt that.  But do we each know God as Moses did?  More importantly, even when we do, how often does our grief or our fear or misunderstanding blind that knowing?  Perhaps then, we may not see God in this moment, but only in reflecting on the moment past.

Perhaps that's when we may recognize that God has been present all along as the spirit, the energy, the source, the power, the life - whatever you wish to call it - that is in, and connects, all creation.  It breaks down the barriers we build between us, shares our grief as readily as our joy, and binds us to each other and to all of creation.

Thanks Giving Thanks

A wise man said, "I think God made it like this.  We were supposed to all have something.  This land isn't mine, it's His.  I just use it for awhile.  And then somebody else will use it.  And that's the way it should be."

Sounds almost biblical, doesn't it?  Or at least like it's from a famous deeply spiritual thinker.  And it is.  Well, maybe not the "famous" part - unless you're from Bashaw or Mirror, Alberta.  It's from Ted Buelow.  He's a farmer.

I'm quoting Ted from a video about his farming family produced by FarmOn.  But it might as easily have come from Deuteronomy, or any number of other places in the Bible that remind us that we are stewards of the land, not owners; that the land doesn't belong to us, we belong to the land.

I think that when Ted says he'll just "use it for awhile," he means something more than how we so often mean "use."  He means more of a relationship.  He means he puts in hard work, the land does too, and we all benefit.  I think he means that we're all meant to work with creation, not over it or against it, and that makes us all - the land included - better.  And when our time is done, we leave it for others, hopefully leaving it better for the relationship it had with us.

I'm not a farmer, but even I know that it doesn't always seem like nature's particularly cooperative.  Neither are we.  But that's sometimes how relationships are.  There's more than one party.  They need work and constant attention.  They need understanding and love and grace and compassion.

So I'm thankful, not just on Thanksgiving but all year long, that farmers feed me.  But I'm also thankful for what farmers like Ted can teach us: imagine what the world would be like if we applied that stewardship thinking to all of creation, especially each other.  It would be life-giving as well as life-living.  "I know that there is nothing better for them than to be happy and enjoy themselves as long as they live; moreover, it is God’s gift that all should eat and drink and take pleasure in all their toil." Ecclesiastes 3:12-13.

Oh yes thou shalt!

How well do you know the Ten Commandments?

I mean the actual Ten Commandments in Exodus 20 of the Bible, of course, not the classic 1956 Cecil B. DeMille film that made Charleton Heston a star.  Worth watching, though, if you have three hours and thirty-nine minutes to spare.  Of which about ten minutes is actually the story of Moses receiving the Commandments and how he then "shares" them with the Israelites.

Hmm.  That's interesting.  The movie's called The Ten Commandments and yet so little of it is actually about the Ten Commandments themselves.  Even less about what they actually say.  It seems to be more about the life being lived before them, and around them.

It might seem like I digress, but I don't think I do.  That's still, I think, the big problem we have with the Ten Commandments: my original question, how well do you know them?

Maybe you memorized them in Sunday School, like I did back in the day.  Maybe you can recite them from memory.  And please don't stop me on the street and test me - I have a feeling that I might not do very well.

But just because I can't recite them exactly doesn't mean that I don't know them.   Maybe that's why the movie's only peripherally about them.  The movie's about the bigger story of which they're a part.

I think the Ten Commandments are less about rules and laws, less about "don't" than they are about how we should live right.  I know, all those "Thou shalt not"s are pretty powerful.  But that's a problem right there: if these commandments are really about how we should live together, maybe we should see them less as what we shouldn't do and more as what we should.

I know human beings wrote them down, and I believe they intended to make them clearly understood, but I'm just wondering why God would want to address how we live together by telling us what shouldn't be and what not to do.  If God thought we needed a little help, a few guidelines, a little direction to steer a fractured and broken community in the direction of living together and living well as God intended, then I'm having a little trouble thinking that God would frame that as what you shouldn't do - or else you'll be punished.

As a society, most of our laws and rules tend to be designed to tell you what you can't do or what you have to do because otherwise something bad will happen.  And if you don’t follow the law … there’s punishment.

That’s a whole load of negativity for a God of hope and promise.  The God who heard the cries of people in bondage and sought to free them for a better life.

Suppose we were to look at laws and rules as a means to living better.  Not so much a means of controlling society as a means to encourage living well, living whole and living with each other with respect and compassion and love.  That would be good wouldn’t it?

This week, many Christians – of all denominations – will be hearing the story in Exodus about Moses receiving the ten commandments from God on Mount Sinai.  Many will also be celebrating World Communion Sunday, a day to recognize that, in the rite of communion (or eucharist, the sacrament that is central to Christianity), Christians all over the world are part of the same tradition.  Maybe this is a great opportunity to wonder about how we might come closer together through what we do, not what we don't.  Think of the respect and appreciation for each other we might have, the love, compassion and understanding that might result if we all got to know each other a little better because we lived well together.  Not because of fear of punishment for doing wrong, but by doing right because of possibilities for a better world.

We could start by being a little proactive about some of those commandments.  Instead of not coveting or not stealing, what if we shared the world’s resources and shared what we had with our neighbour so that there was no reason to covet or steal?  What if we worked at having good relationships with those around us so that honouring others – not just parents – came first, and being deceitful or murderous was completely absent?  What if we worked at having a good relationship with God and with creation, so that we could understand that there is one God, but perhaps we might all come to God in different ways?  What if we could?

That’s a lot of questions.  But maybe the ten commandments is a good place to start that shift, from “don’t do wrong” to “do right,” from “or else there’s punishment” to “because there is a reward in living.”

I don’t think any church has answers to all the questions, but I do think it’s a faith-filled community in which to explore and to seek answers on our life’s journey.  And it should be a place where hope and optimism lead that journey.  After all, I’d rather learn how we can make a better world with God and each other, rather than just how we should not screw it up some more.

All the parts

Thanks to the apostle Paul, the body is a metaphor we use frequently to describe the church.  “For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ ... Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it” (1 Corinthians 12:12, 27).  And it’s a good metaphor, mostly.  It celebrates our relationships, our interconnectedness, our need to be in community, our need to be active in being Christ-like - to be the hands and feet of Christ in doing, the eyes in seeing, the ears in listening, the mouth in proclaiming and so on.

And that's all great, as far as it goes.  We hear that as an important way to understand our community.  Any community, really.  But Paul was a practical man in his advice to the Corinthians.  So ask yourself this: which body part are you?  I’m not trying to be flippant (though there’s a tonne of jokes here ...), but which part are you?  Do you walk the walk, do you lend a hand or give your heart - or do you sit and close your eyes and cover your ears?  Maybe we’re various parts at different times.  After all, sometimes you walk, sometimes you sit, sometimes you lift and sometimes you rest.

And that's just the easy way to look at it.  We often use the expression "the hands and feet of Christ" to describe how we should act.  But we're more than hands and feet, or eyes and ears, and Paul extends the metaphor to include all the body parts, even that "those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and the parts that we think are less honourable we treat with special honour.  And the parts that are unpresentable are treated with special modesty, while our presentable parts need no special treatment" (1 Cor. 12:22-24).  I don't want to suggest that anyone's a "weaker" part or a "less honourable" one or an "unpresentable" one, or even a "presentable" one for that matter.  That's Paul's weighted language.  But we are all different and we can only be a community by recognizing that, welcoming that, honouring that, encouraging that and protecting that.  We cannot be a whole without all the parts.  And, as Paul points out, God created the body to be a whole.

Jesus welcomed all to the body because Jesus knew that the appearance of the body wasn't as important as the wholeness of the body.  And that wholeness included not just every body part, but the mind and spirit and heart also.

Just like our own body, the church will have a sense of self-esteem and its own perception of what it’s capable - and not capable - of doing.  The church community will have a sense of body image.  And a good, healthy body image in the church body isn’t just about appearance.  It’s about our acceptance of each other for who we are and understanding that we each have unique gifts that we bring to share with our community.  The sharing of those gifts is what makes the body what it is, a synergy: that “we who are many, and come from many places, are one.”

Again and again, it needs to be more than said

Last week, I wrote about something that I described as needing to be more than said, it needs to be lived.  I was talking about Jesus reminding the disciples that we are all light for the world and we should let our light shine for others (Matthew 5:14-16).

So I'll just say it again: you are light so let it shine.  I know it sounds like a song - it is - but it's truth.  We are all light for others in some way.

The words themselves are pretty meaningful, but it's only in living them into action that they have their power.  I even had some specific examples from our community.  It seems kind of obvious to say this, but that's where the words come to life, isn't it?  When we see them in action, particularly when we see them in action in a way that is personal, connected to us in some way.

There's an international movement called Back To Church Sunday that sets aside a Sunday towards the end of September to encourage people to go to church.  At our church it's September 28, but it varies.  I think it's an awesome idea, although I wonder if it shouldn't just be called Go To Church Week.  After all, if we're trying to be progressive and encourage people to remember that church isn't just about Sunday morning, it could be anytime during the week.  And "Back" to church implies you've been before and lots haven't.  Or that we need to get "Back" to where the church has been in the past and that's not really helpful to anyone, if you ask me.

Of course, I could be over thinking that.

In any case, I think it's a great idea because it suggests that people who attend church - on whatever day of the week - should invite others to join them and that should mean being able to answer the obvious question anyone would ask when you invite them: why?

Good question.  And I'm really not trying to be silly when I say, can you answer it?

See, I think people often find it a challenge to clearly articulate why attending a church is important to them.  I also think the answer lies in the Word becoming action in our lives, that what we do when we gather for church can only be "church" if we go out and live it.

That Sunday that we celebrated new stained glass in our church and our theme was from Matthew 5 (we are light for the world, let your light shine), we began together with these words: "All creation is made sacred by the presence of God.  In the great vastness of creation we have set aside this one small space in which we gather, that we make sacred by creating it with God, decorating it with God and being present with God.  We come in here that we may thank God and talk to God and learn how we might best live out there, in the world.

"We are the salt that flavours the world; we are light to enlighten the world.  We are the hands of Jesus in the world.

"This, Jesus teaches us.  This, Jesus shows us.  And so we will learn, we will share, we will live.  Our world is a feast for the senses, a riot of colour and sound, a confusion of opinion and thought.  But in this we are one:  we are all children of God."

We are all children of God.  When the words we share and preach and learn together become action, when we engage all of creation, including all the children of God around us, in living in a right and just relationship, that's when going to church becomes being church.

Yes, those are still just words.  But if those words speak to you or have some meaning for you, it will be because you have a story to tell of them being lived out for you.  Share your story.  Let your light shine.  Tell it, and inspire others to experience what it really means to be church. 

It's personal and it needs to be more than said

Back in February, I wrote about how Jesus uses the images of salt and light to describe who we are in Matthew 5.  I've come back to that passage this week, specifically the light image: “You are the light of the world.  A city built on a hill cannot be hid.  No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house.  In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven."  (Matthew 5:14-16).

I said then, and I'll say it again and probably again and again, that the most important point here is the obvious one: Jesus doesn't say that you can be light, or that you should do this and then you'll be light.  He says "you are the light of the world."

Let me repeat it one more time, so we're clear: you ARE the light of the world.

Now let me just point out something that's not in the story.  After Jesus tells the disciples that they're the light of the world and that they should let their light shine, the disciples do not all go "oh gosh, Jesus, that's nice of you to say, but no, I'm nothing special" or "aw shucks, Jesus, thanks, but … nah"  and then blush because they're embarrassed.  The disciples don't then tell Jesus to keep it quiet because they don't want others hearing that.  "People don't need to know that, Jesus," they didn't say.

Because they do need to know that.  That's the point.

Sure, humility's important, but this isn't about that.  This is about honestly and realistically recognizing the importance of sharing our gifts in a way that is a light to others, that inspires others and engages others in a way that leads them to find the light in themselves, too.

Now I know that someone might read this and say "oh, yeah, Robin, 'cause you do that all the time."  Yes, I do.  And I wish I didn't and I need to be reminded as much as anyone.

Two reasons that I'm reminding myself with this passage this week.

We're dedicating new stained glass windows - five of them - in our church in Bashaw.  They're beautiful and … enlightening.  They wouldn't be there to engage and inspire us if not for Fern, who sought out local artist Pauline Borreson and worked with her to design and create them.  Fern won't really like it that I outed her, but here's the thing: she said that she wasn't creative and she "wished" she could be.  And she is.  And she made this happen.  I think that's inspiring.  And that it's Fern makes it personal and real, not just an idea.  Everyday that I see those beautiful windows created by Pauline and Fern (and framed by Dwayne, who's awesome with wood), I'm reminded that everyone is capable of being light.

The other is this: Jonathan Langille's family is honouring his memory and wanting to support and inspire others in this community that he loved, though he didn't live in Bashaw long.  So they planned an event for September 20th.  It's evolved into something a little different than they planned, but it's happening and I think you should want to be there.  I know people are busy, and that's okay, but if you live in or around Bashaw please try.  It's not about whether you knew him or how he died or where or even when he lived.  This is about sharing the one light that we all have.  That's not a talent or a skill, it's love.  His family and his memory are giving their love to us, can we not offer them our love?  And our care and our support?

Please don't leave others in the dark.  Be the light.