It's really about love

I'm going to wander a little bit this week.  Please come with me.

Here's where I usually reflect on one of the passages of scripture we'll be hearing in church this Sunday.  But this week is our annual Blessing of the Animals service at the Ag Grounds and Nikita, the dog that allows us to live with her and serve her every need, has inspired me to talk about something else: the Pope.

I have to say that I really like this Pope Francis.  I find him to be very much being like Jesus.  I'm not saying he's perfect and I have a whole lot of questions about some doctrinal issues and living in a palace and all that.  But I find his overall message speaks to being Christ-like and following the Way of Jesus.  Particularly lately, now that lots of people have started to criticize him, dislike him and - thank you, Fox News for this - fear him because "he's the most dangerous man on the planet" because of that message.

He wants everyone to care for the poor and marginalized, welcome refugees and fight oppression, respect and care for the earth and he's using his position to get that message out to world leaders and ordinary people alike.  

That all sounds good and I'm sure we can all get behind that, I hope.  As long as it stays in that warm, comforting, unintrusive Sunday morning sermon that doesn't challenge us to go and actually live it out.  But he's not doing that, he's engaging church leaders, world leaders and politicians and asserting that action needs to follow the words.

For many people that makes him political and the church should stay out of politics.  Separation of church and state, after all.  Okay.  I wonder, though, if we aren't once again making something black and white that isn't.  If we mean the separation of the institutions that are church and state and the structures that we have built for the management of those two institutions, then I can get behind that.

But how can it be that black and white?  Both those institutions aren't meant to control, they're meant to serve.  They're meant to care for people, protect them and nurture them and to support the ideals of justice, equality, respect and compassion.  And I don't think I'm being naive, I'm just pretty sure that it should be that way and it isn't.  As the Pope said in his address to the US Congress this week, "you are called to defend and preserve the dignity of your fellow citizens in the tireless and demanding pursuit of the common good, for this is the chief aim of all politics. A political society endures when it seeks, as a vocation, to satisfy common needs by stimulating the growth of all its members, especially those in situations of greater vulnerability or risk. Legislative activity is always based on care for the people. To this you have been invited, called and convened by those who elected you."

And also with you.

Yes, that absolutely applies to both institutions because no, it isn't always that way in churches, either.  But that also shouldn't negate the call to address those core values or their invocation in any context, religious, political or cultural.  We have advanced so far in 2,000 years and yet the call to put love, respect and care for each other into action is still as radical and challenging as it was then.

He's in the US right now, but I wonder what the Pope would say to Canada, with an election coming.  I imagine that he would keep on saying what he's been saying and remind people to vote with these issues in mind.  Not who to vote for, of course, you have to figure that out for yourself.  And, besides, that'd be too political.

I think and I hope that the Pope's goal is to change the world for the better.  Also like Jesus, I don't suppose he thinks that's going to happen overnight.  And, like he says, "to change the world we must be good to those who cannot repay us."  That's how Nikita inspired my thoughts here.  I think I know what he means, but I also think it's not exactly right.  Just like the child in last week's reading from Mark that Jesus holds up as an example of how we should welcome all, just like Nikita and all our pets, just like so many people in the world, it will seem that they will not be able to repay us for our actions, our care and our kindness.  But they do: with love, with companionship and with grace.

You're Welcome

Jesus loves children.  There's no doubt in my mind.  Jesus loves everyone, but Jesus loves children especially.  Not that Jesus would ever show favouritism, but, yes, I think Jesus thinks children are the greatest.

And I'm not just saying that because of all those great pictures you see in Sunday school rooms where Jesus is surrounded by happy, healthy, well-behaved children.

There's a terrific story in three of the gospels about the disciples trying to keep children away from the very busy Jesus.  But he tells them to let them come, pointing out that we should all come to God with the open, innocent, wonder of children.

Hence the pictures.  Happy children, laughing and frolicking with a smiling Jesus, with not a care in the world.

The gospel story this week is not that story.

On the road, the disciples had been debating amongst themselves who was the greatest, the top disciple.  Every group has that kind of dynamic, I suppose, whether it's competitive or simply an acknowledgement of where the strengths are on the team, bearing in mind that we're then going to rank them in order of importance and value.

But Jesus tells them that "whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all" (Mark 9:35).  In fact, says Jesus, holding a child, "whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me" (Mark 9:37).

To follow Jesus is to put others first, to serve others and to embrace them with love, just as Jesus does.  In a society where rank and stature seem so important, that already turns things upside down.  But there's more.

It's not the innocence and wonder of children that Jesus is pointing to, it's this: in Jesus' day, children were among the most vulnerable and isolated.  Mortality was high and they were often not seen as a precious gift, but, at best, a necessary expense, though an unwanted one, at least until they were old enough to work.  They were weak, needy and unimportant.  A child was powerless.

In the drama of this moment, it's a child that Jesus holds up, not just to be served but to be welcomed, not just to be cared for but to be engaged, not just to be acknowledged but to be embraced.  It's what Jesus lives in every story: Jesus welcomes into relationship. 

To live the Way of Jesus is to love in action: to feed the hungry, heal the sick, care for the vulnerable and marginalized.  It's to welcome into relationship those for whom a relationship may well be the most life-giving thing of all.  And it's to do all that for those that most need to be loved, the easiest to love, the hardest to love, even those who society says shouldn't be loved.  All are worthy of love.

In our complex and conflicted world, that's a challenge still.  Our views of children, the poor, the sick, the disenfranchised and the marginalized may have changed in a couple of thousand years.  I hope.  But children are still vulnerable, the poor are still poor, the sick still need healing (of body, mind and spirit) and the marginalized still need to be welcomed home.

Getting to know you

Put yourself in the disciples sandals for a minute. Who is Jesus, really?

When we read the gospel of Mark, we already know the answer to that question.  It's in Mark's opening line: "the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God."  And if we aren't familiar with Mark's gospel, our twenty-first century minds might still have an answer, acquired from a couple of thousand years of teaching, if not a few years of Sunday School.

But the disciples don't have that advantage.  When we hear Jesus ask them, in Mark 8:27, "who do people say that I am?" the best that they can do is what they've personally heard over the last few months as they've travelled with him: the raw, immediate answers of people who directly experienced Jesus.

Would you give that kind of answer?  Could you give that kind of answer?

Centuries of teaching about Jesus, talking about Jesus, even living like Jesus, has certainly brought a wealth of information, thought and even action.  But sometimes I wonder if it doesn't mean that we answer that question based on what we think we know rather than what we truly know in our hearts.  Because that's where Jesus is.  Jesus is alive in the experience of Jesus in the world, when we live out the presence of Jesus in us.

So I'd like to take back that earlier sentence, "the disciples don't have that advantage."  I'm not so sure it's an advantage that we think we might know so much about Jesus.

When Jesus then asks "who do you say that I am?" he isn't looking for a label, a precise description or even a mission statement.  I think he wants to know how the disciples have connected with him.  They've been with him pretty much 24/7 for awhile now and he wants to know that they "get" him.

And Peter certainly gets the right label.  "You're the Messiah," he says.  But when Jesus starts to talk about what's ahead in his journey, Peter wants him to stop.  He doesn't yet understand.  The life Jesus brings isn't the power-seeking, material driven, earthly life the disciples know.  It's about the richness of spirit, the sense of wellbeing and wholeness that comes with the love and grace of God.

That's not to say the two aren't connected.  Jesus' call to feed the hungry, heal the sick and care for the poor and disenfranchised wasn't just a metaphor for spiritual wellbeing, he truly meant to revolutionize how we approach our relationship with others, especially those in need.  That's what The Way of Jesus is about, the wholeness of body, mind and spirit in our connectedness to each other.  That brings new life.

That's not always an easy journey.  It's not always hope-filled and joyful, there is doubt and hurt.  There are crosses to bear and crucifixions to encounter.  But there is Jesus, walking with us, reminding us that in the death of the life we know is the new life of God's world.

Do you know this Jesus?

Lost it

I didn't want to write about any of the lectionary passages this week.  I started out writing about all the awesome pictures people were posting on Facebook of children (of all ages) going back to school.  From the elaborately posed to the casual over-the-shoulder wave, they're all happy, excited faces, eager to face the world.  You can't beat that.

I was going to relate that to how we know virtually nothing about Jesus as a child other than he was named and presented in the temple according to custom and that one story about him "being about my Father's work" when he was 12 (Luke 2).  I think maybe that's because he was busy having a normal, everyday childhood.  At least, as normal and everyday as it could be in an occupied country in the first century.  If they could have, maybe Mary and Joseph would even have posted one of those first day of school photos on Facebook.

I think I had a plan to connect those pictures of new beginnings to the passage from Ecclesiastes about how there's a time for everything and say something hope-filled about what's ahead.

But then there was that picture on Facebook, and in the news, and the story about Alan, his brother, Galib, and mother, Reham, and I lost my train of thought on the whole normal, everyday childhood thing.  Others will have something more eloquent to say, perhaps.  I'd like to suggest we might say a prayer of thanks for all that we can offer our children, a prayer of hope for those who struggle even to keep their children safe and fed, and a prayer for strength that we might be able to do something about that.

A post about Mark 7:24-37 tomorrow.

Yes, Gretta, there is a God

The gospel reading this week is another piece of the "I am the Bread of Life" section of John.  It includes these verses: "The Jews then disputed among themselves, saying, 'How can this man give us his flesh to eat?'  So Jesus said to them, 'Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.  Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day; for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink'" (John 6:52-55).

Yes, Jesus seems to be doubling down on the bread image and telling people that they actually needed to eat him.  It's no wonder pagans thought the early christians were the crazy ones, being cannibals and all.

Read on, though, and in the very next verse we hear "those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them."  A little less literalism and a little more thought might get to understanding what Jesus is driving at: it's not just about changing behaviour, it's about taking God so intrinsically into your life - ingesting, as it were - that it is true living, not just behaving.

Maybe I'm being overly simplistic and I could say a lot more, but I need to leave it there for now, because I've been thinking about something else this week.

Last week, in addressing the puzzle which is the body of Christ, I suggested that going a little "rogue" sometimes might not be such a bad idea.  Being revolutionary and radical might be something the church should keep in mind, especially the United Church as it engages in its triennial meeting this month, facing the possibility of some pretty profound changes.  Besides, I said, "following the way of Jesus is revolutionary in so many ways, it can sometimes challenge doctrine and, most importantly, challenge us to go places we've not been before and build communities that are new and different."

And in the week before that meeting began came the story that the United Church will be "reviewing" one of it's ministers in Toronto to consider her fitness for ministry.  Since 2001, Gretta Vosper has made it clear that she doesn't believe there is "a god called God."  Her 2008 book "With or Without God" was a bestseller and her personal website describes her as "minister, author, atheist."  Read the book, check her webpage and google the story, if you like, it's from Canadian Press, so it's pretty much everywhere.

It's been awhile since I read her book and I don't really want to debate it.  I'd just like to say that, initially, she makes some good points.  But I'd like to pick up on something in the news article.  I know that's a little dangerous because you never know how accurate the press is with these things, but I think it does reflect her position.  The article says that she "said the idea of an interventionist, supernatural being on which so much church doctrine is based belongs to an outdated world view.  What's important, she says, is that her views hearken to Christianity's beginnings, before the focus shifted from how one lived to doctrinal belief in God, Jesus and the Bible."

Yes, Gretta, the supernatural being thing is outdated, for most people.  And yes, Gretta, how one lives is important - even most important - and that ought to be our focus, as it was for The People of The Way, as the earliest Christians called themselves.  But just saying how you live is important doesn't "hearken to Christianity's beginnings."  It was "Christianity's beginnings" because people lived The Way of Jesus and The Way of Jesus springs from believing in a God of love as Jesus showed us to love.

I believe that the way we live is more important than doctrine and there's a lot of doctrine that should be challenged.  But the subtitle of "With our Without God" is "Why the way we live is more important than what we believe" and, for me, that can't possibly be right because we live out what we believe.  I think that's what Jesus means with that Bread of Life thing.  Living isn't just behaving a certain way, it's putting into action what's in your heart and soul.  And for me, that's not doctrine, or a supernatural being, or bishops, popes or humanist visionaries, it's this power of love and grace, this power of spirit that connects us all to each other and all of creation.  I call that power God.  I also recognize that we all come to God in a variety of ways and we call God by many names.  By all means, use what language is meaningful for you, but for me - and I'm pretty sure I'm not alone - I come to a God called God and the way is Jesus. 

Yes, Gretta, there is a God.

Rogue Body Building

Last week, I wrote about how important it is to remember that unity and uniformity aren't the same thing.  I particularly focused on how the apostle Paul uses the image of the body to make this point in his letters to fledgling Christian communities.  We are all members of one body, each of us with unique gifts that contribute to the wholeness of the body, just as the body benefits the wholeness of its parts.  We are connected and when our relationships are healthy, we are healthy and the body is healthy.  Well, it seems like a pretty solid metaphor.

And it is.  I also shared a few thoughts on "calling" (what body part are you?) and how we engage people to share in building the body in which we all grow, as the body grows (themes in the letter to the Ephesians).

The thing about metaphors, though, is that they focus on one or two facets of something much more complex.  Consider all the metaphors we have for Jesus, for example: bread of life, light of the world, the true vine, the good shepherd and many more.  Each represents an aspect - or aspects - of our relationship with Jesus and speaks to many, but not all.  None express the whole completely or to everyone.

But they can also raise more questions and lead us to explore more deeply our understanding of the original thing.  And the body metaphor does that, I think.

Think for a minute about the wholeness of the body.

Body image issues and superficial and subjective judgements aside, let's be a little literal for a minute (always a bit dangerous where the Bible's concerned).  We already have a preconceived idea of what the body should look like and how it should operate.  There's a foot at the bottom of each leg, a hand at the end of each arm, the various bones are connected where they ought to be and "dem bones gonna walk around," as the old spiritual goes.

But when you start connecting people, diverse and individual, you don't really know what you're going to end up with, and "like" people often gather together.  A mouth doesn't always look for a hand, for example.  What if the body were all mouths and no hands?  Or, worse, if it were all mouths and hands and no eyes or ears?

More often than not, we're like assembling a jigsaw puzzle with no picture to show you what it should look like.  We come together piece by piece, seeking the right fit, making something that's living and organic (like a body), but without any real idea of what it should look like until it starts to take shape.

At least, we should have an idea that there should be love and respect, care and mutual support (that's the "ligaments" Paul refers to in Ephesians).  But if we already have an idea of what form we must fit into, that's not creative, that's confining.

Now's a really good time for the body called "church" to remember that.  For centuries we've fit into a certain body type.  But the body's going through changes, as it were, and we need to be more open to new shapes and sizes.

At a recent meeting, while discussing the options being consider for restructuring the United Church, someone expressed the concern that too much freedom for individual congregations may inspire some to go "rogue."  I said then, and still say, I'd love it if someone thought my church had gone "rogue!"

Yes, I know they expressed a legitimate concern about a congregation straying too far from church doctrine and yes, "rogue" can have a very negative connotation (thank you Mission Impossible franchise for making that point in your latest film).  But following the way of Jesus is revolutionary in so many ways, it can sometimes challenge doctrine and, most importantly, challenge us to go places we've not been before and build communities that are new and different.  Maybe we need to go a little bit "rogue" to build the new body.

Body Building

It's so important that we always remind ourselves that, when it comes to people, unity and uniformity are not the same thing.  Neither are consistency and conformity.

Don't let your thesaurus fool you: it's just not the same thing.

One of the ways the apostle Paul explains this is the image of the body.  In the letters to the Romans, Corinthians and Ephesians (perhaps written later by one of Paul's disciples), he writes that we are all part of the one body, but individually unique parts that make the whole.  Each of us has different God-given gifts that are important to the body, important because it makes the body complete.  Our relationship to each other is that intimate, that our wholeness as individuals and as the body relies on our connectedness.

The way of that relationship is simple, but not simplistic: it's love.  In Ephesians, he encourages them to live into "the part" each has, "to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called" (Eph. 4:1).  We should do that mindful of the unity of the body, but it is in living out our calling that we build the body and help it grow.  By being true to ourselves and the body, and "speaking the truth in love, we must grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and knit together by every ligament with which it is equipped, as each part is working properly, promotes the body’s growth in building itself up in love" (Eph. 4:15-16).

Here's a couple of things  about that, though.

Do you know what is your "calling" or your "vocation?"   It's origins might have been religious, but vocation is a word that readily applies to any work (in the most general sense) that you might feel especially drawn to, or to which you feel somehow deeply connected.  Thomas Moore, in his book A Life at Work, writes that "a calling is a deep sense that your very being is implicated in what you do.  You feel that you fit into the scheme of things when you do this particular work."  There's that connectedness again.

And it may not be readily obvious or as simple as the "what do you want to be when you grow up" question.  It may change over time, producing a lifetime at the end of which you might, as Moore suggests, see several occupations tied together "composing your lifework and answering your calling."

Discovering your calling is discovering about you and listening to your true self.  It means discovering, in the old Quaker saying, how to "let your life speak."  

When you do that, you grow.  When you share that, we all grow. As Ephesians suggests, we mature and grow together as a body, building itself up in love.

There's another thing, though.  Like all relationships, it's a two way street and engagement goes both ways and here, I think, there's a learning from churches that could be useful to the world, whether you see the church as an institution, a community or a family.

Every so often, we go through a phase of "how to be more welcoming," which is great: we all need to examine our hospitality and how we practice engagement with others.

Just having an open door, a sign that says welcome and greeting people with a smile isn't enough, is it?  It's also not enough to simply tell others that they should come and try your church because they might like what you do.  It's not even enough to put up a big sign that says "we'll take anybody."  You need to own that, too.

Once you've done all those things, true community is created by more than just assembling people of like minds and similar interests and common beliefs.  The body grows in health and wholeness when we recognize the gifts that individuals bring, value them and engage them as part of who we are.  We ask them to share who they are, "speaking the truth in love," and create a unity of uniqueness rather than uniformity.  We all grow together, rather than conform and assimilate into a preconceived model.

Our issues with body image aside, for a moment, the body will grow and mature, change and develop, as we age.  Here's how Eugene Peterson phrases Ephesians 4:1 in The Message, he says "in light of all this …I want you to get out there and walk - better yet, run! - on the road God called you to travel."