Life Giving

Jesus isn't the only figure in the Bible to be resurrected.  Three other resurrection stories, connected to Elijah and Elisha, appear in Hebrew scripture and, in Christian scripture, one person's raised by Peter, one by Paul and three by Jesus, as well as the "many saints who ... came out of the tombs after his resurrection and went into the holy city and appeared to many people" (Matt. 27:52-53).  They're all rich stories that you should read, but I'm only interested in one of them this week, the encounter between Jesus and his followers and the funeral procession of a man, led by his widowed mother, leaving the town of Nain (Luke 7:11-17).

Jesus, says Luke, "had compassion for her and said to her, 'do not weep.'  Then he came forward and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still.  And he said, 'young man, I say to you, rise!'  The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother."  Everyone is amazed and praises God, calling Jesus a great prophet.

This is one of three stories of Jesus raising people from the dead.  There's Lazarus, whom Jesus knew and was his friend; the daughter of Jairus, a leader in the synagogue who begged Jesus to come and help his daughter; and this un-named man that Jesus meets on the road, who's mother doesn't ask for help and whom Jesus doesn't know.

So first off, let's be clear about compassion: just like grace and forgiveness and love, it requires no setup or response from the receiver.  It's an act of giving, without demand or condition and available to all.  It requires no begging or familiarity, no act of faith or statement of belief.  And, when freely given, as it is by Jesus here, it's life-giving.  Jesus doesn't just restore the man to life, he restores the widow's life, too.  To first lose her husband and then her son, this woman would have had nothing and no one to care for her or protect her.  Jesus restores them both and continues on his way.

That's compassion as modelled by Jesus.  So here's something to think about: how's your compassion?  Do you see others' hurts or pain?  Can you find sympathy or empathy?  Or do you have boundaries or restrictions?  Maybe you're overwhelmed by your own challenges?

It bears some hard  thinking about because here's a great example of compassion that we should follow.  But there's something else to think about here, too, another perspective.  We might want to be like Jesus in this story.  But what if we're the widow?  Or the dead man?

The way of Jesus is life-giving.

Here's something I think about when I hear this story.  We seem to be hearing a lot about how the church is dead, is dying or, for that matter, has been dead for some time.  I suspect, to paraphrase Mark Twain, reports of the church's death have been greatly exaggerated.  But it is dead to many, perhaps, because it seems no longer relevant or meaningful or supportive.

What if the dead man in this story is the church?  What if the widow's the world?

There's not really any indication in the story, but I wonder what the man and his mother's lives were like before he died.  There seems to be a crowd gathered for his funeral, so perhaps he was known in the community.  Perhaps he kept busy with the ordinariness of life, working had to make enough to live, being a good, solid member of the community, but generally consumed with day to day life.  Here's where their life journey, the dead man and his mother, has brought them, to a roadside encounter with Jesus.

I wonder, sometimes, if we aren't on that same road.  And there's Jesus, looking with compassion, inviting us to rise up again and saying, in the language of John's gospel, come and follow, live the way I show you, because it's true and the way to new life.

We'll take anyone ... and we mean it

Almost a year and a half ago, I preached a sermon about the magi coming to find Jesus.  I've written about this before; more than once or twice, probably.  I suggested that the magi being from another country - and not Jews - tells us that, even from his birth, Jesus is for everyone, just as God’s love is for everyone.  It’s another reminder to us that we, as followers of Jesus should welcome everyone.

I began that sermon by saying that I had a dream that, one day, our church, and churches everywhere, would have a big sign on the front of their building, where everyone could see it, that said “we’ll take anyone.”  Jesus’ life tells us that in how he sought out the marginalized, just as this story of his birth reminds us that anyone can come to Jesus.  I also suggested that we’d have a sign inside, where we could see it, that said “and we mean it.”  A little something to remind us to live it, not just say it.

Before the end of the week someone in our congregation had put those signs up.  I hope that we do endeavour to live into those signs everyday.  Isn’t that part of what “being church” is all about?

I'm sure there's some who don't care for our sign.  Some might disagree with it entirely and that's okay.  Some people believe that church ought to be more exclusive and you should believe a certain thing and act a certain way to get in.  We don't.  You are welcome, whoever you are, however you are, because we believe that's the way Jesus would do it and we're trying to follow the way of Jesus.  We hope.  We do our best, but just hold that thought for a minute, I'm coming back to that.

Some might think it's a nice idea, but if we'll take anyone, what does that say about us?  Does that mean we're all just "anyone?"  Um, yes, yes it does.  Going to church doesn't make us special or better than others or superior or any of those things.  I think it helps us live.  I think it helps us understand God and each other better.  I think it helps us learn about Jesus and how living like Jesus can make the world a better place.  I think it helps us love and support each other and creates a sense of community and belonging based on that love and support.  I think it helps us wonder about spiritual things, mysteries of life and the universe and all that, and maybe, just maybe, help us answer a few questions for ourselves.

Anyone, openly, equally and without cost or fear of judgement or anything else, should be able to do that.  And not just able to do it, but appreciated for what they bring to the community.  You might not want to come or it might not feel like a good fit or you might disagree with everything we might say or do, but you are welcome here.  

We hope.  Let me go back to that for a second.  I hope we live into that sign.  I hope it means more than words.  But I think it’s an ongoing process of experience, learning and growing.  Being welcoming is more than just a smile and a handshake, it’s being intentional in how we engage people, both those who come into our church and those who we meet outside the church.

So, this June, our church is considering whether it will engage in the United Church's Affirming process.

The Affirming Ministries Program describes itself as an educational and discernment process that reflects on what it means to be inclusive and evaluates our congregation’s openness to including all others in the life and work of our ministry.  This means learning about and engaging a variety of areas that may be barriers to people coming to our community, including age, gender, race, ability, class, economic status and, in particular to the Affirming Ministry, sexual orientation and gender identity.

The process is different for every congregation, because every congregation is different.  It is tailored to our specific context and community, but will include sharing stories, discussion on the use of scripture to affirm and to discriminate, hearing from other Affirming ministries, social justice workshops and discussion.  There are a variety of resources available that we would work on over the next year or two.

As we discuss this and, potentially explore it further, I hope that we hear from anyone who wants to share their thoughts and feelings with us.  Process or not, we've opened a door you're welcome to walk through.

How do you experience it?

The Senior High Drama Program at our school did Fiddler on the Roof recently and it was good.  It was very good.  Well, let’s be honest: it was very good just as it was.  Put that in the context of a program only five years old in a school of less than 250 students, total, in a community of about 875 in rural Alberta and it’s nothing short of amazing.

Okay, I’ll acknowledge my bias.  I’m married to the director, I know the teachers she works with and many of the students.  And I was playing the piano for it.  Yes, that’s a lot of bias.

But hear me out, because I just what to talk about one of the many, many reasons it was amazing.

A few weeks back, before the performances, I started to find that I had to really focus in rehearsal - yes, I know I should be anyway - because I was being distracted by the play.  Just to be clear: I was distracted by the play, not the players or the set or anything else.  They were telling the story so well that I was drawn into it, especially in the very emotional second act.

There’s nothing “lite” about this story: challenging tradition in a time of change, love, discrimination, this is a mature play.  And high school students were telling it.

And that’s what was so amazing about the performances.  They moved people.  Sure, there were lots of proud parents and relatives, but there were a lot of people who quickly put aside that they were impressed by young people and engaged a deep and meaningful story with lots of applause, lots of laughter and many tears.  They went home, not just entertained, but moved and taught by essential truths that meant something to them, told in a story that took place over a hundred years ago in a society very different, in a place far away.

I wonder if we do church as well as they do.  And I mean more than just talking to God as often as Tevye does in the play.  I mean, are we moving and teaching people with an experience that means something to them or just saying words and reiterating old sayings and stories that people can’t really connect with?

Here’s a thought about this week, which is Trinity Sunday.  It’s a day we acknowledge the belief that God is a trinity: the doctrine that God is one, but is three persons, traditionally (there’s that word “tradition” again) referred to as Father, Son and Holy Spirit, but we have developed other descriptions, too, such as Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer or Parent, Friend and Comforter or God-in-the-world, God-among-us and God-within-us or Lover, Beloved and Love Between.  There are many others.

For centuries, we’ve described the Trinity as a mystery, a relationship that we didn’t understand.  As if, somehow, 1+1+1=1 and we don’t need to know why, it just is.  But I don’t think that’s true.  Since the beginning, we have needed to know why and we’ve explained it many times, in many ways, in words and symbols that each new era might understand.

And there, I think, is the problem.  No relationship is just about words, but about relevant, interactive experience that means something to us.  Just as understanding isn’t only about explanation, it’s about acceptance and belief.  Past the surface explanation that God is present in all creation, expressed in Jesus and lived out with the Spirit, is the continuing and constantly changing experience of that idea.  We believe that God is present in all things because we experience it lived out through the life of Jesus as we live that life, empowered by the Spirit which is the energy of God present in all things.  That experience is love.

Born to be church

The story of Pentecost is the story of the birth of the church.  Not the building or the institution that we call church, but the whole idea of church.  There is the rushing mighty wind that fills everything - I see the spirit filling every nook and cranny of life; there are tongues of fire - I see the energy of the spirit animating our every action; and words spoken  that are heard and clearly understood in any language - I hear the spirit helping us connect with each other in ways that bring us together.  (Acts 2:1-21)

That’s church, isn’t it?  For everyone, everywhere, isn’t it?

Is it?

We want it to be.  So I imagine, in many churches this Pentecost Sunday, we’ll want to be as hip and relevant as we can: the balloons and streamers will come out, and the big fans for that rushing wind, we’ll sing really energetic songs and there’ll be cake.  Birthday cake for the church.  With one big candle to represent all those years.  And we’ll tell the story with as much energy and enthusiasm as we can muster.   ‘Cause we’re hip and cool.

Which is fine if you really are hip and cool.  But not everyone is, not like that, anyway.  For some it’s going to be solemn plainsong, candles and incense and still others gospel songs and fire and brimstone preaching.  Some will gather in great cathedrals, others in plain little wooden buildings and still others in theatres or hockey arenas.

For some, this year, the images of wind and fire will resonate more with fear and destruction than joy and celebration.  It will be difficult to see those images as a positive and inspiring reflection of the power of God at work in the world.

Isn’t that all part of the third piece, though?  Once the wind and fire - the special effects - had settled down, they began to communicate in a way that each person could understand.  No amount of energy overcomes faulty communication.  As I just suggested, even the images we use to communicate energy and enthusiasm might not do the job for everyone.

So how do you do that third piece, then?  How does the church share the story of God and Jesus, of what is true and right about how we should live together and, as we’ve been talking about for several weeks now, teach - and learn - how to love one another.  It sounds like a pretty lofty and idealistic goal, but just how do you do that?

I think that’s the answer right there.  How do you do that - you and me and each of us?  If we mean what we say when we say things like the church is a living thing, the church is people, the church is about community, the church is about relationships and, ultimately, our relationship with God and all creation, then shouldn’t we be more of a living, breathing being that interacts with others?

Just ponder that for a minute and ask yourself a few questions.  Like, if church were a person, would you want to know them?  And how would you go about that?  If church were you, would you want people to know you?  (Seriously, think about that.)  And how would you go about getting to know people?

It seems to me that’s how church got started.  The disciples shared the story in a way people could understand.  Paul built communities by bringing people together on common ground.  We had to figure out how to be together.  But then we thought we knew how and we cast it in stone and told people what they had to be in order to belong.   And soon it was about excluding those who didn’t meet the criteria.

But that’s counter to both the story of Pentecost and the story of Jesus.  The Spirit moved the disciples to communicate in a way that connected with people, loving and living with everyone, even those who thought they were drunk and “filled with new wine” (Acts 2:13).  Jesus met people where they were, physically, educationally and emotionally, he healed the broken and restored them, he challenged the structures of society that confined and excluded people.  That’s what church was born to be.

Ut omnes unum sint

On the night he was arrested, according to John’s gospel, Jesus talked to the disciples at length, something referred to by bible scholars as the Farewell Discourse.  Knowing what was to happen next, “that his hour had come to depart from this world” (John 13:1), Jesus tells the disciples - and us - some really important things.  It’s long, the Farewell Discourse, and full.  At the end of it Jesus prays to God for the disciples.  And us.

I’ll just repeat that.  At the end of a lot of important teaching, Jesus prays.  For the disciples.  And us.

And it ends with something huge: “I ask not only on behalf of these, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me.  The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.”  (John 17:20-23)

That they may all be one.  Maybe I’m a little biased, because those words, in latin and French, are on the United Church crest, but I think that’s huge.  Not Donald Trump huge - really huge.

I wonder, though how we hear that.  In the United Church, I think we’ve always tried to understand that as meaning we are both united and uniting, that it’s an ongoing process, this unity thing.  It means that we recognize the uniqueness of the individual and that we are all different, but we respect those differences and welcome everyone for who they are.  That, in itself, is a unifying thing, as is our unity in being followers of Jesus, as is our unity in being children of God.

Of course, that’s just my opinion.  There may be others.  And I respect that.

The thing is, people are a lot of work.  Relationships are a lot of work.  And sometimes we stop there.  But it’s bigger than that.  Jesus said “all” and “one.”

A few years ago, the church added another line to the crest in recognition of our First Nations heritage.  In Mohawk, it means “all my relations.”  That’s not just about people, it’s about the interconnectedness of all things, a sense of harmony with all forms of life.  It reminds us of our place in the web of life.  All life.

That’s huge.  Overwhelmingly huge, even.  When Jesus says “all” it’s not selective, it’s truly all.  Just as the love Jesus lives and shares isn’t selective, it’s for all.  All our relations.

And so is the “one.”  There is a power in that “all”  - it’s the “one.”  God.  That’s what all that “you’re in me, I’m in you, they’re in us” is all about.  That’s what adds “completely” to “all” and “one:” it’s our relationship with God.  Jesus prays that we may all be one in relationship with each other, all of creation and with God, recognizing that that very interconnectedness of life we talk about, the relationships we know are there, the harmony with all living things, the thread that weaves the fabric of life - this is the power of God: love.

What's next?

What’s next?

I don’t know.  Truly, I don’t know the answer to that question, not exactly.  And neither do you.  Not exactly.  Because what’s next hasn’t happened yet.  That’s why it’s called “next.”

I’m not trying to be flippant, just precise.  We can, sometimes, predict what’s going to happen in a general way.  We may even feel the confidence of knowing that things seemed to have happened they way we thought they would, good or bad.  But the fact is, given the universe full of variables in each and every moment of time as we experience it, things never happen exactly as we predicted, do they?  Because the moment, in the linear way in which we perceive time, hasn’t happened yet.

That’s not to say we don’t try to make things happen a certain way, of course we do.  That’s how we go forward on our life journey.  Simply put, we “do.”  And sometimes we embrace the journey forward with joy and sometimes we fear it.  Sometimes, maybe a little of both.  But one of those things is life-giving and the other isn’t.

I’m pondering that this week while I sit in a meeting of the local region of my church.  We’re discussing - and voting on - the steps our national church is taking to restructure and re-energize this institution we call the church.  There’s a lot of anxiety.  People are worried about the future.

You’ll know the feeling.  Maybe not about the church, but you’ll know the feeling.  Who hasn’t, at some point, worried about what was going to happen next?  And especially if you fear that something that’s important to you, something or someone you love, something that you’ve been a part of, is threatened or might come to an end, you know this feeling.

Well that’s the scene in John’s gospel when the disciples are all gathered around Jesus for the Passover meal that last night before he died.  It begins in John 13:1 with “Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world.”  It includes that moment Jesus washes the disciples feet to show them how important it is to serve others: “for I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.  Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them.”  It includes that last supper Jesus shared with a diverse group of disciples, with both Judas, his betrayer, and Peter, the one who promises to follow, but who will soon deny knowing him.

It includes that moment I talked about last week when Jesus challenges the disciples to love one another just as he has shown them to do.  Those aren’t words of comfort, they’re a call to action.  This is how you follow me, he says.  And I think Jesus knew exactly how hard that was going to be for them to do and how hard the world was going to make it for them to do.  And the same goes for us.  Like I said before, let’s acknowledge that’s hard and that we fail often but we are always and forever called to try.

And if Jesus had left it right there, we - and the disciples - might be tempted to say “gosh, thanks Jesus for dropping that on us and leaving.”  But Jesus doesn’t.

There are words of comfort and inspiration and a promise of support.  When I’m gone, Jesus says, the Holy Spirit will come and be with you and will teach you and lead you and remind you of all that I taught you.  “Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

I don’t know what’s next for the church but I believe that we are not alone.  We should love each other as Jesus showed us and whatever happens, the Spirit will be with us and we should not be afraid.

I don’t know what’s next for the world or for my little corner of it or for me or you.  But whatever happens, I believe that we are not alone.  As complex and challenging as life may be, it is only life-giving if it’s lived well.  The Spirit will be with us and we should not be afraid.

We all have doubt

We do.  We all have doubt.

So maybe we should stop calling him “Doubting Thomas.”  Remember the disciple that wasn’t there?  In John’s Gospel, Jesus appears to all the disciples in a room on the evening of the resurrection, all the disciples except Thomas.  When the others tell Thomas, he doesn’t believe them.  And he won’t believe them until he sees the evidence for himself.  He does, of course, and believes.  “Blessed are those,” says Jesus, “who have not seen and yet have come to believe” (John 20:29).

Doubt seems to be a constant in the Easter narrative.  I wonder how many of the disciples heard Jesus, at supper, say that one of them will betray him and thought “will it be me?”  When Jesus is arrested, I wonder how many of the disciples went home thinking “that’s that, then.”  Only Peter seems to have followed.  And he denies knowing Jesus.  After Jesus’ death, I wonder if the disciples simply stayed together to mourn, wondering what they’ll do, now that it was over.  It certainly doesn’t seem like they anticipated what would happen next.  And when it does, even Mary wonders first where other may have taken him.  She doesn’t even recognize Jesus when she sees him, at first thinking he’s the gardener, because she didn’t expect to see him.  The disciples sure seem to doubt her story.

They believe Jesus is alive as they see him, all of them.  Thomas is simply the only one who voices his doubt.

I think he’s a hero.  He should be “Brave Thomas,” the only one bold enough and honest enough to voice his doubt.

I used to think that we’re all Thomas in this story.  I’m pretty sure that we’ve all found ourselves with doubts and questions, right?  But we’re not all Thomas.  We wish, maybe, that we were.  But so many people are more inclined to be like the others, afraid and in hiding, unwilling to ask the questions that will lead us to belief and understanding.  Or worse, living a blind faith that’s willing to accept whatever we’re told and rigidly adhering to a system of belief that we’ve never even thought about.

I want to be Thomas.  I want to doubt and ask the questions that will bring me closer to seeing the truth, to understanding what Jesus was all about, what God means in and for my life.  I want to know what is true because it is, not just because someone else said so.  Don’t you?

Jesus isn’t angry with Thomas, or any of the others, for doubting.  He’s reassuring and encouraging.  “As the Father has sent me, so I send you,” he says to them all (John 20:21).  Go and tell others, go and teach and love and forgive, just like I showed you.  And they will show others, and they will show more.

I wonder if that isn’t what the author of John’s gospel is getting at here.  In response to Thomas, he writes that Jesus says “have you believed because you have seen me?  Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe." But he goes on, and writes that “Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book.  But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.”  (John 20:29-31)

The stories of Jesus lead us to wonder and question, to take our uncertainty about life and learn to experience love.  They lead us to take our doubts and say “look around you.”  And when we do, we just might see Jesus.