Following the Way that's True and finding Life

Did you memorize Bible verses as a kid?  Church school or summer camp, memorizing verses as a child was often a key way of connecting children to the Bible.  Even as adults, we sometimes find a key verse or phrase that represents a story or has some fuller meaning than just those words and it becomes important enough for us to remember literally.  And that can be a great thing when it inspires us to remember the fuller meaning to which it’s connected.

The problem, of course, is that a single verse out of context can take on a life of its own.  Biblical soundbites can positively affirm or connect us to a deeper meaning, but they can also become something different all together.  I could give you a list, but it’s long and there’s a particular verse on my mind this week.

“I am the way, the truth, and the life.  No one comes to the Father but through me.”  That’s a popular verse from John’s gospel (John 14:6) that we can hear as an affirmation that following the way of Jesus will bring us closer to God.  That’s great.  We can also hear it as decisively commanding that Jesus, and only Jesus, is the one and only way to God.

I suppose I want to be okay with that.  After all, I like the affirmation that the figure I believe in, that I follow, is the right one.  But the hole’s getting deeper already, isn’t it?  Am I believing the way, or the figure who represents it?

This puts me on thin ice with some folks, I know.  It seems like I’m doing that thing of questioning something that as “a believer,” I’m somehow not supposed to question.  So let’s be clear: I am.

In this verse, in this story, in John’s telling of it, I can’t bring myself to believe that Jesus meant to exclude any and everyone who does not come to God “in his name.”  That’s not the Jesus I believe I know.

I think the “me” Jesus refers to, when he says “no one comes to the Father but through me,” is the “me” he just described: “the way, and the truth, and the life.”  To live as Jesus lived, to “love one another as I have loved you” (John  13:34-35) is to live true to who and what we are in our deepest heart and soul and that is the way to God.  If we live into our potential as being created in the image of God, then we are living the way Jesus lives.  Then we are truly People of the Way.  And that’s life-giving.

We may also want to consider the context of John’s gospel.  It was written later than the others, at a time when the fledgling Christian community - who, incidentally, called themselves “people of the way,” not “christians” - was threatened by persecution from Romans and Jews.  It makes sense that, in that context, John’s Jesus would say “I am the way, follow me,” not “there’s lots of ways, pick one.”  And he’s not going to point at Fred and say, “Fred’s the way, follow him.”  He’s going to say let me show you, follow my example, live as I have shown you.  Don’t just talk about it, do it.

Am I splitting hairs here?  I don’t think so.  A key feature of what Jesus taught was action.  You must live out what is being preached.  Sadly, we have lots of examples of when and how that hasn’t happened.  One of the greatest criticisms of the church, of any religious institution, by those who don’t “follow the label” is that we don’t, literally, practice what we preach always.

I also don’t think Jesus means for us to blindly follow without thought or consideration.  If that were the case, we wouldn’t need freewill or choice, would we?  The moment we make our “label” exclusive, I think we deny a key feature of living the way Jesus lived: Jesus welcomed all, regardless of their place in society, their gender, their cultural or political views.

I believe that Jesus knew that, before God, we are one family, but we are also all unique and individual.  I think that’s why, just before the “I am the way” verse, he says “in my Father’s house are many dwelling places” (John 14:2).  There is room with God for everyone.

We are constantly referring to “the family of Jesus Christ.”  That’s who we are, and we are all part of the family, a worldwide family.  If we believe that, we are going to need to accept the challenge of being a family, that sometimes we aren’t always alike, we don’t think alike or act alike, yet we are still family and we must still love one another.  If we believe that we are the family of Jesus Christ, then we accept each other for who we really are, not who we can pretend to be because someone tells us to behave a certain way.  And when we stumble, or we have questions and differences, our family should be there to support and help us.  

I believe that’s “the way” that Jesus had in mind, the way we can travel together.

That's no disguise

I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s wondered why no one recognizes that Clark Kent is Superman.  Or Superman is Clark Kent.  Is a pair of glasses and a suit really enough?

Actually, CNN reported last year that the University of York did a study that indicated there was a “significant” change in recognition of persons study participants didn’t know from when they were not wearing glasses to when they were.  Accuracy dropped a whopping 6%.  They weren’t suggesting that answers the Superman question, but it did raise some questions about facial recognition from picture ID in places like airports where 6% can mean millions of people.

But setting that scary thought aside for a moment, one might also consider change of clothes and, most importantly, context as reasons why someone might not be recognized.  So maybe glasses, a suit and a job at a newspaper are enough to hide Superman.

Okay, says the actor Henry Cavill, who played Superman in two blockbuster movies, let’s try it.  He hung around Times Square in New York last summer doing a little promotion/social experiment.  He just walked around wearing a Superman t-shirt, even standing in front of giant billboards with his picture on advertising the new Superman movie.  He bought coffee and sat in a coffee shop.  Not one person recognized him.  He posted pictures on Instagram with the caption “the glasses are enough.”

I know, you’re probably thinking I’m wasting your time here.  After all, it’s just a story, a comic book creation of an imaginative mind.

Well, here’s a story.  The Gospel of Luke tells the story of two disciples on the road to Emmaus who meet Jesus “that same day” that the women discovered the tomb was empty (Luke 21:13-35).  They’re lost in the events of the last few days and, when Jesus joins them on the road, they don’t recognize him.  He asks them about what happened and they talk, the disciples sharing what happened and how they felt, Jesus sharing with them why it was so important that it happened.  Jesus stays with them for supper and they finally recognize him “in the breaking of the bread.”

These disciples didn’t know it was Jesus until he did something they recognized as being a Jesus-like thing to do.  That’s when they realized, “were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?”  He was being Jesus all along and only just then did they realize it.

They’d heard the story that Jesus was alive, they told the stranger as much, but they don’t seem to believe it any more than the others did.  Perhaps they were also waiting to see Jesus in person before they believed it.  And yet here he is, not introducing himself as Jesus, not showing them the wounds in his hands and feet, but just being Jesus.

I wonder if these disciples might then have told others this story and said something like “I can’t believe we didn’t know it was Jesus right away!  He was doing just what Jesus did, talking with us, teaching us, lifting us up.  And we just didn’t see it.”  It wasn’t a stranger, it was Jesus.

We’re still doing that, aren’t we?  We say “Jesus is alive” and then look for Jesus to appear as we expect Jesus should.  Much like we so often choose to see people as who we think they should be rather than be open to who they are.  It’s just not that easy to “be open” to encountering Jesus, any more than being open to a stranger for who they are.  There’s no doubt it’s challenging.  But it is worthwhile.  If Jesus is alive in all of us, how else will you meet him?  He might be wearing glasses.

Leave no doubt

Now you see me …

You’re waiting for the rest of that now, I bet.  You’re expecting “now you don’t” to follow it, like that abracadabra moment when the magician disappears, right before you’re very eyes, only to reappear moments later.  I can imagine how the story of those first few days after Easter might seem kind of like that.  Jesus appears by the tomb, then he’s gone, appears among the disciples and he’s gone, appears to Thomas and he’s gone, appears on the road to Emmaus and then he’s gone, and so on, until he’s really gone.

Except he isn’t.  And maybe that’s the real reason why the story of Thomas is so important.

Wait.  Don’t say it, don’t even think it.  Don’t call him that.  I know you want to call him Doubting Thomas, but please don’t.  I know we’ve called him that for a long time and held him up as an example of someone who doubted  - as if we shouldn’t either.  But I think we’ve treated Thomas unfairly because I think Thomas is the greatest of the original twelve, certainly the bravest and the most committed.  I don’t think Thomas doubted Jesus for a minute.  I think he chose to question the words of the other disciples, I think he didn’t believe Jesus was there in person, but I don’t think he doubted Jesus.  It’s just not the same thing.

Here’s how I see it.  Remember way back in John 14?  Jesus had just finished the passover meal with the disciples, he talked about his betrayal and Peter’s denial and then he begins what we refer to as The Farewell Discourse (John 14-17), a final talk with the disciples before his arrest.  He begins by saying to them, don’t be afraid.  In God’s house there are many dwelling places, one for everyone.  I’m going ahead to make a place for you and you know the way there.  But one of the disciples says, we don’t know the way: tell us the way.  It’s Thomas who asks that question.  And he hears Jesus answer, I am the way.

I think Thomas hears that answer and knows The Way to be true and, from that moment on, doesn’t doubt Jesus for even a minute.

I think Thomas believed that Jesus died on the cross, just like everyone else did.  And they did.  If the criteria for doubting is not believing that Jesus is physically alive, he has a lot of company from all the gospels.  Mary and the women coming to the tomb didn’t believe.  They came to anoint a dead body.  When Mary saw Jesus, she didn’t recognize him at first.  Then she went and told the others and they didn’t believe.  They were actually in hiding because they were afraid that they’d be identified as followers of Jesus.  They didn’t believe until Jesus appeared to them.  And we think Thomas was the only one who doubted?

I don’t think Thomas doubted at all.  I think Thomas wasn’t there because he was the only one of the disciples courageous enough to be out doing what Jesus taught them to do.  He was the only one brave enough to be outside, willing to identify himself as a follower of Jesus, teaching people what Jesus taught, showing people what Jesus taught, loving people and caring for people - showing people The Way.  And yes, I’m sure he acknowledged it was in the shadow of Jesus having died, but I bet Thomas’ conviction was simply “Jesus is alive in me.  Jesus can be alive in you.”

Thomas didn’t doubt Jesus.  He had more questions of the disciples.  He may even have wondered that perhaps they were simply imagining what they so desperately wanted to be true.  He wanted evidence, he wanted proof that it was real.  He already had that for Jesus’ teaching.  He’d experienced Jesus’ love and care, his kindness and grace.  He’d seen proof of The Way.

So when Thomas sees Jesus, in the flesh, he says the only thing he can think of.  Not a concession or a confession, but a statement of praise, an affirmation of the deep, committed faith of a follower of The Way: “My Lord and My God!”

A moment of triumph or a wild ride?

For many churches, Palm Sunday’s a day that has a story made for ritual.

Jesus enters Jerusalem, riding on a donkey while crowds of people throw their coats and branches on the ground before him, waving palm branches and shouting “hosanna” to welcome the triumphant king.  So we have palms, some that we wave, some that we fold into crosses to help us remember the story continues, some for decoration.  And we shout “hosanna” and we might even have a parade, either as a procession around the building or an actual parade on the street.  There’s tremendous potential for re-enacting the story and we often do.

Maybe this is a moment to pause and consider some of the other stories of Jesus we could re-enact regularly, like feeding the 5,000 or healing the sick or showing compassion to a stranger.  Just a thought.

But back to Palm Sunday.  The story’s in all four gospels, each with it’s own particular features, but generally it’s full of important symbolism that acknowledges who Jesus is: he comes to Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives, where tradition holds the messiah will appear; he rides into town, like a king, but on a donkey, a symbol of humility; that kind of arrival was prophesied by Zechariah, that the king would come, riding a donkey, and put an end to war and fighting and there will be peace everywhere; branches and clothes to walk on honours his royalty; shouts of hosanna and praise for “the son of David” and “Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth” are signs acknowledging his great triumph.  In this moment.  But the story goes on.

I often like to remind myself that we know how the story goes on.  What would it be like if we didn’t know what was happening next?  Wouldn’t we embrace the moment, wouldn’t we buy into the excitement, wouldn’t we want to celebrate - as one of the Skit Guys says in one of their videos - that this was the moment when “Jesus showed up?”  Jesus showed up.  Jesus.  The Jesus we wanted, the Jesus who triumphs.  Even if it’s just a moment, maybe we need to stop here and enjoy this moment of triumph to more fully understand the disciples’ heartbreak later in the week.  It was all going so well.

Or do we just want it to look that way?

Lately, I’ve been wondering about this story and how manufactured it feels.  It seems highly unlikely that Jesus had ever been on a donkey before, or any animal for that matter, he walked everywhere and wouldn’t have been able to afford it anyway.  And he’s going to ride a donkey or its colt, described as “unridden,” into a crowd of shouting and cheering people on narrow streets, streets on which people have tossed branches and clothes?  I don’t know that I see a calm and organized procession, royal and triumphant.

I think I see marginally organized chaos.  As Jesus tries to remain calm (hopefully) and hold on, and people shout loudly all around him, the donkey tries to pick his way over the branches and clothes, trying not to trip, stumble or fall.  It might need to be pulled, rather than led, or it might be trying to bolt, either way, I feel kind of bad for the donkey.  It must have been terrifying.  I know, you want to believe he knew who he was carrying, or maybe that Jesus had a way with animals, but the donkey was probably too busy being scared.  Or maybe he knew where things were headed.

So maybe the moment of triumph is meaningful for you in the context of a story that will now see many emotions, betrayal, fear, sadness and grief, before the next “ first day of the week.”  Or maybe it’s worth considering that the journey of that poor donkey, not really sure where he’s going or why, surrounded by noise and confusion, carefully watching his step and trying not to stumble, maybe that’s a better metaphor for a week that will see lots of twists and turns before its end.  Maybe that’s even a metaphor for a life, rather than a week of one.  Where does the story lead you?

One thing about that donkey.  At the end of this wild ride, I can see Jesus patting him fondly on his neck and offering him a long, cold drink of water, maybe even a handful of straw.

Let Die and Live

Lazarus.  Now there’s a name with meaning.  The man raised from the dead by Jesus (John 11:1-45).  So well known is that name - with that story - that we we can instantly recognize the meaning of its use to describe something.

In medicine, for example, the Lazarus Phenomenon describes the spontaneous return to life after resuscitation efforts have failed.  It’s also a 2005 documentary that looks into life after death and theories of what happens when we die.  The Lazarus Effect also refers to how AIDS patients in Africa, near death, have literally come back to life after receiving antiretroviral drugs that cost less than forty cents per day.  There’s a great documentary about it from HBO called, surprise, the Lazarus Effect.

In science, the Lazarus Effect describes atoms that seem dead but appear to come back to life at a lower temperature.  I’d explain that some more, but I don’t really understand any of it.  You can Google it.

It’s also specialty computer software that allows you to recover lost data.  Bring it back from the great cyber-beyond, as it were.

Even in sports and politics, someone who makes an amazing comeback from a seemingly insurmountable injury or loss is said to be “like Lazarus.” 

In John’s Gospel, Lazarus is a friend of Jesus who becomes ill.  When his sisters send someone to Jesus to tell him and ask him to come, he says he will, but then seems to take his time.  Four days, in fact.  By then, Lazarus has died and been buried in a tomb.  Jesus insists he is not dead and calls him to come out of the tomb.  He does, and the story demonstrates Jesus’ power to bring life.  Ironically, in John’s narrative, it’s also the point at which Jesus’ own life turns to death.  News of this event is the last straw for the chief priests and Pharisees who are determined to find a way to kill Jesus.

Jesus brings life.  Yes, but I have a few questions I wonder about.  First, does Jesus give Lazarus new life or renew his existing life?  I’m not trying to split hairs, here, it’s important to my second question.  Lazarus had a life.  Now he’s dead.  Now he’s not.  Is Lazarus changed in any way?  What does he take forward from his old pre-dead life?  And I don’t mean physically, this isn’t an “is he a zombie” question.  That would be silly.  Mostly.

Surely the experience of being alive, dead and alive again, thanks to Jesus, would have some kind of spiritual and emotional effect on Lazarus.  I wonder how he was, in his new life, given to him by Jesus.

Second, what happened next?  What happens to Lazarus after this?  He’s mentioned one more time in passing (John 12), and it seems that the chief priests considered killing him as well as Jesus because so many people came to see him as an example of Jesus’ power.  But did they do it?  Or did Lazarus have many more years after all this and, if so, what did he do with them?  John doesn’t say.  What do you think?

We speak often - in church and out of it - of new life in Christ, of being born again, of experiencing the love of Jesus and the grace of God in ways which change our lives.  We speak of life changing or life defining moments, even when we don’t seem to be able to sense God at work in them. For me, Lazarus raises the question of what becomes of the life we had and how it’s part of the renewed one, how it informs or feeds or even challenges it.

And I think that’s worth wondering about because, sometimes, I wonder if Lazarus was a real person.  He only appears in John’s gospel (different Lazarus in Luke), one likely written much later than the others and one which appears to be designed to speak to a community experiencing persecution, uncertainty, doubt and fear.  He steps into the narrative for one dramatic moment and then is gone.  What if Lazarus is a metaphor, not just for us individuals, but for our community or our church?

It’s frequently reported in various media that the church is dead or, at the very least, that it’s near the end of a terminal malaise after centuries of decline.  Is it?  Or is it in the midst of a Lazarus moment, a moment for believing that the question is not will we live, but how shall we live?

How do you know it?

I love the 23rd Psalm, I really do.  Always have.

People have favourite bible verses or things they memorized in Sunday School, back in the day, or even just stories or quotes they’ve heard that they like, but I bet the most familiar for many are those opening words, “the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”

Or perhaps the fourth verse, “yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death …”  How many times have you heard that in a story or a movie?  And always the King James Version of the Bible, right?  Just try saying “I lack nothing” instead of “I shall not want” or “the darkest valley” instead of “the valley of the shadow of death.”  It’s how we know it.

And there’s the thing: how we know it.

At a bible study the other day, I asked people why Psalm 23 was so important to them.  The answers were things like how comforting it is, or the images of green pastures and still waters or the promise of God’s care when we’re in the valley or the understanding that it reassures us of God’s presence in all life’s situations or that we can look forward to dwelling “in the house of the Lord forever” when the time comes.

All great - and true - answers.

But, with all due respect to shepherds, sheep farmers and keepers of sheep, not one person said that they really identify with the image of God as a shepherd.

When we talked about that, we began to realize that our understanding of God - and Jesus - as a shepherd came from what we have learned about shepherds in the ancient world of King David and, later, Jesus, information mostly imparted in sermons and bible studies.  No one knew a shepherd.  One person used to have sheep on their farm.  But no one really knew what the life or responsibilities of a shepherd were like, especially long ago.  That didn’t seem to lessen their appreciation and love for the psalm, but it opened a door on how we know God.

The person who wrote this song of trust and assurance did so confident in their understanding of God’s constant presence, care and love when things are comfortable and safe as well as when they’re not, confident that God protects and gives in a way that leaves us wanting for nothing, confident that, in the end, we will be with God always.  And the person who wrote this song framed that understanding with an image they knew personally and deeply, that was intimately a part of their identity in a way that there could be no mistaking the significance of the connection established by using it: a shepherd.

But that was ancient times when the relationship between shepherd and flock was understood by everyone as a metaphor for kingship.  And now?  Who’s our “shepherd” now?  Well, we wondered about that in the bible study the other day, too, and there were a few ideas.  There were probably as many ideas as people there, in fact.

And that’s just the point.  I think this psalm was meant to be personal.  It was meant to be more than a collection of images that affirm how God loves and cares for us.  That’s easily said.  This psalm says “like this” in a way that expresses the deepest trust that it is true.

“The Lord is …”  How would you begin?

Fresh from the tap

We need water.

It’s a fundamental building block of life.  All life (well, carbon based life forms, anyway, as Star Trek fans know).  Almost sixty percent of the average human body is water.  It’s essential to the proper functioning of all our organs, from the skin to the brain, and we’re shedding it constantly, in a variety of ways.  So we need to replenish it.

And it’s worth noting that we’re often not very good at that.   Health care professionals suggest that we need to take in somewhere between two and three litres a day.  Or there’s the “8x8 Rule” - that’s eight 8-ounce glasses a day.  I heard someone say the other day that another good rule of thumb is to take half your body weight and make that the number of ounces you need each day (they didn’t say whether that was pounds or kilograms).  Of course, if you’re physically active, like an athlete for instance, or you have health issues or you’re a certain age, you’ll need more.

Those numbers - and I’m sure there’s lots of other ideas about how much we should drink - are all a little different.  But the point is that, whichever one you choose, it’s a lot.  A lot more than we probably do drink.  Certainly a lot more than if we only drink when we’re feeling thirsty.  Yes, you’re probably not getting enough water to be healthy if you only drink when you’re thirsty.

Okay, so there’s a few conflicting studies lately, some suggesting that you should actually only drink when thirsty because, well, your body knows, right?  Others say that you definitely need this much (insert number here) each day.  But the more important point is the need to keep your fluid level balanced.  You shouldn’t just slam down a few glasses when you’re thirsty and you shouldn’t just have a couple of mouthfuls after working out.  Your body needs water consistently, not just when you feel like it.

That can be a little problematic for those who don’t really like water much.  And some people prefer their liquids in the from of other beverages, from juice to soft drinks, tea and coffee, and other, um, adult beverages.  We might think that at least we’re drinking something, right?  But a lot of those have other things in them that can be unhealthy or dehydrating.  Read the label.  No matter how you dress it up, water, just water, is still the best thing for you.

Your spirit needs water, too.  Not just when you’re thirsty and you can oh so desperately feel it.  Not just when you feel like it because it’s convenient or handy.  Not dressed up and made pretty and entertaining.  Not flavoured with the fear and hate which can dehydrate your spirit.

The water that refreshes the spirit, the living water that Jesus offers is God’s love.  It’s a gift offered with no price or condition.  It’s refreshing, empowering and life giving.  It comes with a Spirit of its own, flowing freely and enthusiastically through all creation, available to all.  And it’s readily available - from the tap, so to speak.

There’s a story in John’s gospel about Jesus meeting a Samaritan woman at a well (John 4:1-42).  There’s a multitude of really good 1st century reasons why Jesus shouldn’t be talking to this person, but let’s just concede that, once again, here’s Jesus talking to the marginalized and broken.

Jesus is thirsty from walking all morning and he comes to the well.  He doesn’t have a pail and it’s noon (hottest part of the day) so there’s no one around.  He needs help to get the water that will refresh and sustain him.  Here’s the Samaritan woman.  She probably comes to the well everyday at that time to get water.  Jesus asks her for some, they have a conversation and Jesus tells her about “the living water” he brings.  She asks him to give her this living water, their conversation continues and Jesus reveals to her that he is the promised one.  “I am,” says Jesus.  And there it is.  The well - the tap - from which the living water flows.

I think the living water Jesus brings is God’s love and the well from which we draw it is the encounter, the relationship that we have with Jesus.  In that relationship, that dialogue, that “back and forth” with Jesus, we find love revealed and we are refreshed and inspired to live that love with others.  Perhaps it’s only in our thirstiest moments that we seek it out, but the well is always available for us to return, again and again, to be filled.